The Birth of BIRD UNCAGED

"I am a writer." The words bounced back and forth in the walls of my mind until I wrote them down. "I am a writer."

Memories flooded my mind. Five year old me presenting to my mother my first book, a book about mice, complete with a front jacket picture. Then my responding to the pressing letters of the publishing company Vantage Press telling them I would send my manuscript as soon as I could complete it - at the age of 11. My goal was to be the youngest published author. Once that letter was sent, I never heard from them again. 

But it was still in me. I was a writer. And over this past year, this gift, this thing that I have never laid down stared at me in the face, beckoning me to pick up my pen. But rather, my phone. To type into my phone. To write. 

So far my life has been a full one. I remember at the age of 16 expressing how I didn't want to have any regrets when it was my turn to leave this life. Do I? Certainly. But not the kind that comes from missing life. My regrets come in my not seeing things sooner. Or missing time with my girls. Or in saying something that hurt another. But I don't regret my life. It is, it has been, and it will be, full. 

And the trials. The tears. The tests. The great pains of my life. Those were my favorite parts. I hated them. Hated every part of them. I wouldn't wish them upon anyone and I, with all the strength I possess, try to teach the lessons I learned in them to my children so that they can learn from my pain. To spare them. But I know they have to walk their own journey. And it will be okay. I became more during those times. I grew. I became who I am during those dark places. So for that, I'm grateful. 

And so, "write," came the instruction. "Write everyday," the one with the beautiful heart said. "Practice the muscle," he said. "Write about the fear." And so here I sit doing the thing I've wanted to do my entire life. Write. 

Alphabet soup. It is there, all of it. But a jumbled pot of alphabet soup. Those letters need sorting. Oh how I don't know how to start. After all the tears, after all the fears, after all the trembling, my greatest fear is that the words will remain bottled up and the music will die inside me.

Please. Please let these words pour out of me the same way they have in times past when Your hand rests on me. Please let all that I have walked be an inspiration to others and give them hope. Please do not let me die with this music still inside of me.

Here am I. Send me. I come with empty hands, but a willing heart. I want to make a difference, but I don't know where to start. But I'm here. I'm ready, and I am available.

And hence, here is the Birth. Here is the Birth of Bird Uncaged. ❤️