📖 Sacred Testimony VII

“The Light I Remember”
offered to every soul who carries both ache and joy in their story, and chooses to remember the light

It’s true—I carried anger.
I wrestled with sadness.
I said I didn’t belong.

But it’s also true—
I had a great childhood.

I remember the fun times with my parents:
the camping trips,
the long drives to Dover
to see my mom’s family—
where love felt like food on the table
and stories shared across generations.

I remember the UKC hunts.
The excitement.
The gathering of men with their dogs and their quiet pride.
And I remember Mom and Evelyn in the kitchen,
cooking for them with joy in their hands—
a sacred kind of service wrapped in cornbread and laughter.

I remember swimming—
that freedom in the water,
the sun on my skin,
the way my laughter floated up like bubbles.

Not every memory hurts.
Some of them heal.
Some of them carry me back to the girl I was
before life complicated things.

There was laughter.
There was love.
There was togetherness.

🌿 And I honor it now:

The good and the hard.
The truth and the tenderness.
The sorrow and the sunlight.

Because all of it is part of who I am.
And today, I choose to remember the light.

✨ A Blessing for the Joy That Remains

May the laughter you shared
become a song that still plays softly in your soul.

May the taste of home-cooked meals,
the splash of summer water,
the long car rides to family—
live forever in the warmth behind your heart.

May your mother’s hands,
and Evelyn’s laughter in the kitchen,
be remembered as holy acts of love.

May the forests, the campgrounds, the coon hunts,
the swimming holes and shared meals—
remind you that joy was always part of your story, too.

And may every sacred memory—
no matter how small—
be honored now as a blessing that shaped you
in the most beautiful of ways.

Because joy, once truly lived,
never dies.