Staring at this blank page is not unlike looking at my life right now. My life is a blank canvas.
I have whitewashed my past -- let go of the blame, the bitterness, the shame and the dreams.
I am now looking at this new, totally blank page knowing that I gave myself a second chance.
I can repeat the story again -- paint the same picture or write something new -- paint with bold, bright colors.
Writing the same story is secure and safe. Creating a new story is exciting but unfamiliar. How many times will I fall back on the security of writing the same story? When will I find the courage to find new words for my life's story?
This once totally blank white page now has some words on it. Is this how life will be for me? ... One letter, one word. one paragraph at a time and then, suddenly, I open my eyes to discover that I have written a book.
How do I begin my story? Or did I already start?
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