Push

It's really all I know how to do. I can't help it. I push.

I push myself when I am tired, and I push harder when I am hurting. I will rest, usually my body forces me to rest after hours, days, weeks of constant pushing.

I can't really explain the why of it, but I can tell you that it's always been there, burning ambition and a desire to propel myself is entangled in my earliest childhood memories. I believe I was about three years old when I learned to read. My mother taught me how to write at the age of four, and I was five years old the first time I saw her write my name in cursive. I remember looking down at my paper and then at hers. That's how it's supposed to be, I thought. and I spent the day mimicking my mother's script. I tried my hardest but I couldn't make my blocky attempt at script match hers. I was crushed and I cried my eyes out. My mother picked me up and cuddled me close. I stopped crying, but I didn't stop trying. I took that paper with her handwriting everywhere. I practiced every chance I got.
I pushed, and at 35 my handwriting is still identical to my mother's.

As I go through this personal storm, and positive transition, I wonder at God's awesomeness. He placed a burning desire for success in me. That drive has pushed me through some of life's darkest moments.

Pushing though is what I do, even if I don't want to... It's high time I embrace it!

Until next time

Julia