Written several years ago for my friend, Cheryl Luke’s Blog, this blog speaks to my heart this morning. I don’t have all the answers, but I know one thing, I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Even if that keeps me from drowning in negative thinking for one minute, I am content. I hope the post will provide hope for someone who needs to hear the truth of who they are from God’s perspective.

Writing the sonnets helped me put a lifetime into a few lines of poetry and laid the foundation for writing my memoir. As I near the end of the first revision of my draft and prepare to send copies to beta readers, I decided to repost the last sonnet of the sequence because it expresses the hope I want my readers to experience when they read my story.

“Sonnet V-At Last I Stand Approved” illustrates my acceptance of my true worth.

As I write my memoir I experience grief for the child that never knew love. While the grief I feel for my younger self is different than the grief I felt when John died, the pain is the same. The emptiness I felt after John’s death reminds me of the emptiness I felt as a child. Reviewing this post from several years ago reminds of the solution to the emptiness. I thought it might help others who struggle with the loss of a loved one or who struggle with the loss of innocence through abuse.

Writing a memoir is not easy. Over the past several weeks I have learned a great deal about the little girl who endured so much at the hand of those who should have loved and cared for her. The chapters of the memoir are told through the eyes of a child, but as the adult on the other side of the trauma, I feel compelled to write short reflections to that little girl to encourage and uplift her.

The sonnet below is a poetic version of last week’s blog. In the sonnet, I attempt to capture the emotional, physical and spiritual turmoil of the past few weeks. However, I also want to express the hope and courage I’m rediscovering as I write. The final couplet reaffirms God’s love for me and the child who’s tale I tell.