Once upon a time the pieces of two lives converged to make one and through that life there began a family.
Centuries have passed but what began way back when continues on. And laying beneath markers across this soil and beyond are what remains of the life's that made me who I am.
And for the most part I don't even know their names. Not that the names have the most significant draw of my imagination, no, it is the countless stories those lives possessed that I may never hear.
Yet, they are my history.
Denise and I stopped at a Revolutionary War Cemetery recently. Many of the graves had stories written right on them, though some we're too worn to understand. But each life and death had meaning to someone all those years ago.
In the midst of the cemetery stood a brick fence with an iron gate. Inside that fence was Mary.
Daughter, wife, mother.
Loved and lost too soon.
And that grief that drove her husband to erect a monument there for her extolling her virtues spoke to my heart.
The story it told was of love. Great love.
I am in the middle of writing my history. And through the choices I make stories will be told of my time here on earth.
I have the opportunity to leave a legacy that generations will remember or just leave.
Forgotten till someone stumbles upon my grave and wonders who I was.
I want to make every day count. I want to be remembered for my faith, my prayers, my love.
I want my history to inspire someone else to go as far as God will take them, to follow His lead even when it is not the popular way, because I want my history to reflect it is the best way to live.
There may be things in my past I regret, but never do I regret my walk with Him.
I have a history. And tomorrow I have the chance to add to it again. I chose to give tomorrow to Him.