In a 1989 journal entry, I poured out my dashed dreams to God. Those few precious moments became a watershed event in an unfolding narrative that began ten years before when I turned my back on God. Turning my back on God did many things, most of them sad, but foremost it made me forget who I was. But there was someone who never forgot. Someone who never gave up on me.
Don’t cry, Mishalariah. I know who I am now.
Part One
Life passes while I the ostrich hide my head in the sand.
Part Two
I dream of what could be if only I could live what I dream.
The Story Behind The Story
I began journaling in September 1982, when my first marriage started falling apart. Then after that remarkable night in October 1989, I used the journals to talk with God. Approaching him like a dear friend, I would write down my questions, listen quietly, and then write down his answers. This went on for decades. I often wondered if someone would find these intimate conversations and write about them long after I was gone, but once I started writing fiction in 2020, I looked back in awe at what had been recorded and decided to tell the story myself.
My son gave this sermon on Mother’s Day 2013. You have to listen to the end.