Rachel L Peterson
There once was a little girl named Rachel. She wasn’t me, but she loved me because we had the same name and we both wore glasses. Rachel’s speech wasn’t always very clear and her intelligence seemed lower than the rest of us, but her smile suggested she didn’t notice or mind.
I wasn’t old enough to understand, but there was something wrong with Rachel, there had to be for all of the grownups seemed nervous about her and her sister. They came from a bad family, but no one talked about it. I remember wishing Rachel didn’t like me so much, for I feared if I associated with her the grownups would disapprove of me too. But despite my fear, I couldn’t shun her, I couldn’t hurt her like that. For me, writing has never been about getting rich or famous. I don’t expect to ever be a New York Times bestselling author, or have Hollywood knocking at my door to make a movie. Writing is an opportunity, every novel a mission. Rachel was the first of many people whose real-life stories touched mine. Those whose pain and hardships, joy and beauty drew me out of myself and into their world; to see through their eyes what life was like. This is why I write, to tell the stories of those no one sees, no one hears, and no one understands. I have often told people I don’t feel worthy to speak out for someone until I’m willing to feel their pain. So, when I write a book I don’t search for a popular topic, I seek out people, their story, the truth. |
On this journey I have been humbled by the honor of meeting some of the most amazing people! I’ve held the hand of the forgotten widow, I’ve played Legos with homeless children, I’ve heard the pain in the Sexual Assault victim's story, and I’ve marveled in gratitude at the lives suicide couldn’t take. I’ve shaken hands with the life that could have been lost to abortion, and I’ve wept over the life that was. I’ve voiced the orphan’s plea for a family and rejoiced to see their dream come true! I’ve seen the devastation caused by divorce, alcoholism, and child abuse. Yet I’ve also seen the healing work of love on a heart wounded by neglect, abandonment, and rejection.
I’ve had a cop look me in the eyes and tell me in choked up words that he’d lay down his life for mine. I’ve heard the suspect's venomous rage as a lifetime of bitterness spilled out. I’ve heard the quivering voice of a frightened mother calling for help and teared up at her innocent daughter’s trust. I’ve rejoiced with a once incarcerated man’s freedom when his parole ended. I’ve cradled the little girl whose body held her physically captive but couldn’t touch her joy! I’ve seen through the eyes of the blind man and wept over the child whose life lasted for only a moment. These people have changed me and shown me that the purpose of our life isn’t to build up treasures for ourselves, but to give our lives away to love. |
This is why I write. This is their story.
So shall My word be that goes forth from my mouth; It shall not return to Me void but it shall accomplish what I please, And it shall prosper in the thing for which I sent it.
Isaiah 55:11
Isaiah 55:11