I often hear “you have to let go of the past in order to move on with the future”. As an over thinker, hyper emotional and over sharing person that is a concept I find myself often struggling to grasp. It’s not that I enjoy or want to live in the past but I know under all the layers of hurt, pain and even some shame that if I keep digging I will find a treasure chest filled with memories, stories and life lessons. These little pages of history, no matter how ugly some may be, are a part of who and what I am. I owe it to myself, my children and my future grandchildren to share, because my past is my story and my book that was written about me and what my life was, is and will be.
I come from a family of over sharers and people who loved to talk about and at times live in the past. They would share past experiences in great detail that opened up, just for a brief moment, a picture of their history. Their stories gave me a glimpse of who they were and what what it was like. In a way giving me a chance to relive that part of their memory along with them almost like taking a ride into a time machine into their past.
My great grandmother shared amazing stories growing up in the early 1900′s being poor in a small town when medicine wasn’t what it is today. As a young child there was a break out of some type of illness that tragically was killing many family’s in her town in alarming numbers. Because of fears that this disease could spread they would quarantine people to their homes. They would have to rely on what they had at hand and some would get sick from lack of food and water. During this dark moment in her history, her family was locked away from the world with little to no food and they feared they could starve. Out of desperation, as a family they began to pray. One morning there was a knock on the door and a stranger was there to offer them hope, help and food. This man only stayed long enough to help heal and feed this family, my family. He offered them comfort and acted as a reminder that God listens and with just a little faith everything can and will be ok. As a young girl out on the farm in the middle of no where, my great grandmother swears that after his work was done, this stranger walked away from their home down a dirt road and disappeared never to be seen again.
Her story still pulls at my heart. Part of it’s strong meaning maybe because of the faith it gave her, talking about the angel God sent her family to save them and how it began her long lasting faith in the Lord and how important it was to share his word with her children and grandchildren. Or maybe it means so much to me because of how interesting it is to get a taste of my family history and where my roots started. It doesn’t matter why I just love that old story.
I don’t know how much of her story is true or exaggerated. I don’t need to know how the real details happened and what was left out abut of the man that saved her. I don’t want to know because I like her story the way it is. I like believing that a stranger, an angel, saved them and helped them to live and also allowed their faith to grow brighter.
My own children may grow tired of the same stories over and over again but someday, I don’t know when, they may have a stronger meaning to them like they do to me. I can only hope that they will cherish my own stories and the stories of my families past that way I do and someday they will share them with their own children.
I will continue to be an over sharer and I refuse to let go of the past because sometimes, that past can offer hope. Hope not only for me; but maybe just like my Great Grandmother’s stories, offer hope for generations to come.
Here is to never letting go of the past filled with so much hope.
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