It’s that time again! Time for a grace-washed group of brave writers to band together and create. 5 minutes, 1 prompt, 0 editing. If you want to play, you can find all the specifics at http://www.lisajobaker.com. And here we go!
When I saw this morning’s prompt, I knew where a lot of the FMF posts were going to go. There would be lots of posts about Mama, and how she was such a source of comfort, and how home was such a safe and loving place to grow up. And that made me a little sad, because I don’t have that kind of story. If that’s not your story either, it’s OK. Our stories still have value because they are OUR unique stories. Here’s a piece of mine:
My mother loves me, and I know she loved me as I was growing up despite my conviction that I was left on the doorstep by Gypsies – which I believed because we were so different in looks and personality. She was not a toucher because (I believe) that conflicted with her desire to avoid forcing herself on others (part of her shy nature), so once I hit school age I cannot remember a single instance of my mother hugging me. There were a few times that *I* remember hugging *her* but for the most part we just don’t touch. I tried to convince myself that didn’t bother me, but really it does. As an adult I used to avoid being hugged and pretend I didn’t enjoy it, but truthfully I did. I’ve gotten better about it and lately, I notice that *I* am even sometimes initiating a hug. There’s just something about the comfort of a hug from a friend or loved one. I want to be able to offer that comfort to those I love.
Maybe because I didn’t have that kind of comfort growing up, I’ve looked for comfort in lots of places, most of them inappropriate. Growing up with divorced parents does not help a child to feel safe and secure, however loving the parents might be. There’s still a void there, still a space we are left longing to fill. And so we try to fill it with “stuff”. Food. Friends. TV. Books. Rushed relationships. Money. (Sadly, I must tell you that comfort cannot be found at the bottom of a tub of Peanut Butter & Chocolate ice cream) But it wasn’t until I found myself a divorced mother of a 3 year old that I discovered I had had the ultimate comfort all along.
So many people love Romans 8:28 that it’s almost become a cliché, but it still rings so true for me. God works ALL things to the good of those who love Him, who are called according to His purpose. No experience is wasted – He works them all for good. I’ve been through some rough times in life and if I hadn’t been able to hold onto the fact that HE could work it out for good, I might have been tempted to give up.