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My response to the prompt at this link.


I had fun writing this…hope you enjoy:-)

My story would be written the old fashioned way, in a book of uneven paper pages, the words crafted with great artistry and skill using a feather quill and turquoise ink. I don’t know where the book is, but I know it’s leather bound and precious, and it’s being written in, right now…but who’s holding the pen?

See, my story is magic. Every step of the way I’ve been guarded and watched over, though I think it took until I was about twenty one for me to feel that in any tangible way. The moments when I was apparently most ‘in danger’ were also the moments when I was safest, because they were the moments I allowed the writer of my story to take over, and write what was best for me…and I could feel the love, the blessing in the hands that hold that pen, for they hold me too in their invisible palms.

My life as an adult on a path to becoming, began in Africa, for it is Africa that has carved the deepest canyons in my being, and Africa that has flooded me with rivers deeper and wider than I thought a human heart could sustain. My life has been a journey of discovery, for now I know that the physical heart that beats in my chest is only the beginning of the life and strength and love that I have the capacity to be…and sometimes that scares me.

My life has been an ongoing stretch and expansion, an extended loving invitation to grow into the best I can be and then beyond. At times my sense of purpose has been clear and strong, but right now I feel my story is about to start a new chapter…and I’ve no idea of the title, let alone the content.

So I pray to the one that holds the pen, and imagine and celebrate those moments when I have held that pen myself, and lovingly been guided to write the story of my own creation, word by magical word…it’s time for me to pick up that pen again.