Journal #7
Prompt:For your journal this week, I’d like you to (AGAIN) look back over your “epiphanies” journal from last week and pick ONE to write an evocative autoethnographic account of. This one must be different than the one you wrote in week 6. Remember to take the reader into the experience of the epiphany, and offer analysis/links to at least 2 concepts from our course in the narrative. This is meant to give you a another chance to attempt writing something using autoethnography that you can use later in your final paper!
When I was a little girl, about 7 years old, I desperately wanted a doll house. My friend Joanna had a big beautiful wooden doll house that I tried not to be jealous of every time I went to her house. My family couldn’t afford even a small simple dollhouse, so I was saving up my birthday money. I cherished every penny as it got me closer to a beautiful dollhouse like Joanna had. One day sitting in church dressed up and desperately trying to sit still and pretend to understand what the pastor was talking about, something caught my attention. The pastor was telling a story. A story of someone in need and asking for an offering. I don’t remember exactly what it was for, but I know it was to help someone who needed it more than I did. My little heart started to beat faster, my palms began to sweat, and I knew that this is where I should put my money. Nothing else mattered as much as helping people that needed it, not even my doll house. I took out all the money I had in my little pink purse and put it in the gold and red-velvet offering plate as it went past. That afternoon driving home from church I watched all the houses flash past and knew I did the right thing. I understood that the doll house I wanted was even further out of reach and that made me sad, but I also knew I would give up a million doll houses if it meant I could help someone who needed it. I was content.
That night as my brothers and I were playing outside I saw something AMAZING. It happened to be the week of the big trash pick-up day that happens a couple times a year, and in one of the piles at the top of our cul-de-sac was a pink and white treasure waiting for me: A beautiful doll house. I ran inside heart racing once again, and my dad helped me carry it to our house and give it a good scrub down in the shower.
The moment I saw that doll house sitting there waiting for me on the same day that I listened to the voice inside of me that told me to help others, I felt like it was God saying, “Trust me, I will always take care of you.” Little did I know that that image of the white and pink doll house poking out of the trash pile would represent such a deeply needed promise from God. This image would carry me through eviction notices on our door growing up, bankruptcy for our family when I was in high school, and the struggle after David and I got married causing us to move 8 times in 4 years before finding a place we could call home. In moments of feeling worthless, less than, and undeserving, I don’t always know if I believed the words of that promise. Even in the moments of doubt, God always gently reminded me that He will always take care of me. I can trust Him. Weather it’s something as simple as a doll house, or as big as signing the papers buying our first home, He cares.
When I was a little girl, about 7 years old, I desperately wanted a doll house. My friend Joanna had a big beautiful wooden doll house that I tried not to be jealous of every time I went to her house. My family couldn’t afford even a small simple dollhouse, so I was saving up my birthday money. I cherished every penny as it got me closer to a beautiful dollhouse like Joanna had. One day sitting in church dressed up and desperately trying to sit still and pretend to understand what the pastor was talking about, something caught my attention. The pastor was telling a story. A story of someone in need and asking for an offering. I don’t remember exactly what it was for, but I know it was to help someone who needed it more than I did. My little heart started to beat faster, my palms began to sweat, and I knew that this is where I should put my money. Nothing else mattered as much as helping people that needed it, not even my doll house. I took out all the money I had in my little pink purse and put it in the gold and red-velvet offering plate as it went past. That afternoon driving home from church I watched all the houses flash past and knew I did the right thing. I understood that the doll house I wanted was even further out of reach and that made me sad, but I also knew I would give up a million doll houses if it meant I could help someone who needed it. I was content.
That night as my brothers and I were playing outside I saw something AMAZING. It happened to be the week of the big trash pick-up day that happens a couple times a year, and in one of the piles at the top of our cul-de-sac was a pink and white treasure waiting for me: A beautiful doll house. I ran inside heart racing once again, and my dad helped me carry it to our house and give it a good scrub down in the shower.
The moment I saw that doll house sitting there waiting for me on the same day that I listened to the voice inside of me that told me to help others, I felt like it was God saying, “Trust me, I will always take care of you.” Little did I know that that image of the white and pink doll house poking out of the trash pile would represent such a deeply needed promise from God. This image would carry me through eviction notices on our door growing up, bankruptcy for our family when I was in high school, and the struggle after David and I got married causing us to move 8 times in 4 years before finding a place we could call home. In moments of feeling worthless, less than, and undeserving, I don’t always know if I believed the words of that promise. Even in the moments of doubt, God always gently reminded me that He will always take care of me. I can trust Him. Weather it’s something as simple as a doll house, or as big as signing the papers buying our first home, He cares.
Comments
Thank you