FORWARD
So many people have told me I need to write my story. It isn't something I have ever wanted to do, because of the pain it could cause my family here, or those already gone. Plus the purge pain I anticipate. Is my story that important? I have always felt so unimportant, it is hard to imagine anything I have said or done, or had said or done to me, could be of interest to anybody.
Prodded by these folks, I have tried not once, but twice and again three times to accomplish the writing of my life. As you might suspect, it hasn't happened. I have stalled with false starts, or felt at a total loss. I did try writing vignette blogs - bits and pieces here and there. Again, I fell short of the finish line. Perhaps this time I will succeed.
There is a chain necklace hanging from the mirror in my car. It has a glass disk which reads "She learned to dance in the rain". This has been my mantra for years, so it only seemed right to give place to it, as the title to this blog. I will be as honest as possible as I write. I will pray about my words and thoughts, and trust the Holy Spirit to lead me.
What I so often first remember is an event which happened when I was two or three years old. The year was 1945. I awoke from sleeping in the back seat of an automobile to the thrum and swoosh of tires moving rapidly over a wet highway. And so my story begins.
Sunny Rowe
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