Here is the heartfelt cry of the girl who has decided the mistakes of her yesterdays will not keep her stuck in regrets and the soiled state of had-I-known. Here is the deep longing of the woman who has swallowed the bitter pill of truth, that says, yes I messed up at such and such a time and that’s okay because I can change.
It is the moment of truth for the girl who is done crying over spilt milk and decides right after wiping her face and nursing her wounds, that it is time; time to clean up her mess and move on. It is the voice of a resolute determination and an unshakable stance, that spits in the face of the accuser, saying, “You cannot put me down. I’m going on ahead and you cannot stop me.”
She is looking in the mirror and saying to herself; I may not be proud of my past, I may not be proud of the silly mistakes I’ve made, I may not be proud of the pitfalls I’ve encountered, and all the traps I walked blindly into, I may not be proud of my past choices and how they always resulted in the worse of circumstances, I may not be proud of the previous years but I am going to make the rest of my life the best of my life!
She is in a quiet place, and in deep thought she summons the fragile pieces of her broken dreams, beliefs, value systems and aspirations. With steady hands, she pieces them back together, she will make a lovely collage of these shards and splinters. Like the coat of many colors, she will sew each piece with love, not condemnation, with patience, not anxiety, with gentleness, not brashness, with hope, not fear.
She will remain in that still quiet state of being, where her dreams are safe, where they can recover, where they can breed, where they can blossom. Like a gardener, with diligent hands, she will prune and trim, she will nurture her dreams within the confines of her most delightful thoughts.
And if per chance her thoughts begin to drift to where dreams are snatched and snuffed out, into the dark alleys of doubt, crippling fear and unbelief, she will quickly retrieve them with the crook of the shepherd’s staff, the staff of her strong-will and determination.
She will remain in control. This is her life and she will dress it and grow it. She will cherish the gift of one glorious day after another and with persistence and focus she will tell a new story, plant a new garden, create a new reputation, create a new life.
And when days turn into weeks, and weeks into months, and months into years, her life is a huge blooming victory garden. When her pretty face lights up a room, and her strong voice echoes with power before a great multitude, when her collage of patched dreams becomes a great masterpiece, then the world would say, “Look, there goes a vision…”
They are oblivious of her dark days, the long nights of toil and crafting, of planting and watering, of watching and believing, of pain and of joy all mingled together. They did not see what went on in those quiet places beside still waters. They only see her lit up face, hear her soothing rhetorics, and her graceful gait.
This could be you. This could be your story. It doesn’t matter where you’ve been, where your past has landed you, or if you’ve been washed up unto distant shores, far, far, way from home. You can begin all over, right at the bottom and work your way to the top. You can make the rest of your life the best of your life.
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