As I set out on this exciting journey of writing my first blog, I can’t help but ask myself, “Where do I begin?” This lingering question has been my companion for nearly six months, echoing in my mind.
After experiencing my uncle’s inspiring sermon titled "Wake Up the Gift of Boldness," I thought I was finally ready to dive in. Yet, I found myself drifting further away from my true calling. Despite being told I possess a powerful testimony, that encouragement wasn't enough to ignite my passion. Now, as I sit in my living room, fingers poised over the keyboard, I realize that this moment is about breaking free—shattering the chains of resistance that have held me captive for so long. God has entrusted me with a vital assignment, one I have wrestled with and postponed for too long. To share my life requires embracing vulnerability, which means being transparent and honest. As someone who cherishes their privacy, I’ve always been cautious about the personal details I reveal. The thought of creating this blog makes me feel like an open book—completely exposed. I can’t control who will read my words, and, frankly, that thought fills me with apprehension.
But like Peter stepping onto the water, I’m ready to put my faith into action! I stand on the brink of my comfort zone, and although it feels overwhelming, I believe that with faith, I can achieve the extraordinary. Just as Peter relied on Jesus while walking on the waves, I am trusting Him to guide me—even when the waters get rough. Yes, I’ve faced my share of doubts—more than I’d like to admit—but Jesus reminds me to remain courageous and keep my eyes fixed on Him, especially as I navigate the tumultuous seas of life. In this moment, I hold onto the empowering scripture: "For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power, love, and a sound mind" (2 Timothy 1:7). With these words, I am ready to embrace the adventure that lies ahead.
I grew up with my mom, dad, and sister in Peoria, IL. My sister and I were one year and six months apart, which made me the baby. Yes, I lived up to my title "baby." I was known as a crybaby and mama's baby. I was like a little koala clinging to my mom whenever you saw me. My mom didn't have to work, and my dad was the provider, ensuring we were well cared for. My dad kissed my mom before leaving for work. His hard work allowed our family to live in a nice neighborhood with a swingset in our backyard. My sister and I would play with the neighborhood kids for hours while Mom fixed lunch, and playtime was interrupted by lunch and afternoon naps. We placed sheets over a blowing fan, crawled under it, and napped. Life was perfect, with memorable moments, from family time to visiting family and playing badminton in our backyard. I still remember the drive-in movies, packing snacks, and my potty chair because I was too small for the potties inside. Those were the good old days. Another fond memory didn't mind. I disliked the comparison; I looked like my dad, sister, and mom. Don't get me wrong; my dad wasn't ugly, but my mom was beautiful in my eyes. My childlike mind took that comparison literally. Who knew that every time I heard it, it would cause a complex about my appearance? Looking in the mirror, I started seeing my imperfections. The darkness above my lip looked like a mustache, my thick Elvis sideburns, and my big nose on my little round head. These same views would impact my confidence. Many childhood memories I learned shaped my adult perspective and self-esteem. When children dislike their appearance or feel unhappy with their bodies, their self-esteem can suffer. Their self-image impacts every aspect of their lives—both negatively and positively—including their short-term and long-term choices.
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