The years are chapters in the stories of our lives. Here is one early chapter from my life.
In January 1967 I was 18, married for 7 months and a new mother of a 2 month old boy. The cute little house we were renting became too expensive to heat that winter so we moved into the house my in-laws had vacated to live "in town". The house in rural South Dakota did have electricity. It had a wood stove but no seasoned wood had been cut, the septic system wasn't working. A dead mouse had tainted the water so we had to haul drinking water.
So there I found myself, young, isolated and alone most of the time. In my effort to use the wood stove, smoke billowed into the house more often than I care to admit. We had to use the outhouse. We hauled water. My husband left every day for his 12 mile commute which seemed like 100 miles away. There was no car for me to venture out. The phone only worked for incoming calls. We had a black and white television with one channel. All of my friends were attending college classes and dating. I spent my winter days nurturing my baby boy ( he was a happy healthy little guy), reading when he napped, cleaning...Oh how I cleaned.
I tell my story, not describe a hardship but because I got through it! At the time I didn't know that the challenges I faced would make me strong. We took each day as it came.
We all do that. An event forces us to veer off our path. We choose to sit right down to wallow or get up and take a step. And then another. Take heart, the years write our story, make it a good read.