Patrick Henry said “I disapprove of what you say but I defend to my death your right to say it.”
He also said “Give me liberty or give me death.”
Freedom of speech.
What good does it do to have a voice if we don’t use it?
Only in America do we still have the inalienable right to voice our opinions without fear of what will happen to us for daring to speak out, or to express in print, our secret thoughts and silent fears.
Only in America.
We must take a stand.
I once knew a minister’s wife who was chastised, at a Christmas party, for admitting in print who she had voted for. Another time she was bullied by a church member, in a public gathering, by one who shouted “I sure hope your writing doesn’t hurt you as a minister’s wife.”
That minister’s wife was me.
Where do we get the idea that we have all of the answers — that we are right on every issue — that we can control what others say — that no one else could be correct?
Back to the bottom line leads me to ask what good does it do to have a voice if we don’t use it?
I’ve been criticized for exposing the physical and sexual abuse that I witnessed and experienced in a church run orphanage but I made a promise at the age of fourteen, that when I got out of there, that I would let everyone know what often goes on behind closed doors because I’ve seen children run away, in the night, not knowing what else to do to protect themselves.
How would you like to be a child with no voice?
Someone has said I’m an activist. That’s what I am. It’s my mission to tell it like I see it if for no other reason than it heals the pain of what I experienced as a child. As I reach out I hope to give others the courage to express themselves out loud and upon the page.
Writing is therapy and a means to give others courage to speak.
I am grateful God gave me a voice and I plan to express myself so long as I can hold a pen, though I must type it really fast while I can still read what I’ve scribbled in the middle of the night.
I sensed, as a child, living on a country road, in a densely wooded area, that I had a story that needed to be told, being born to a mother who was disabled for life, having suffered a brain trauma from a fall, at the age of two. My mother was born in 1906 in an underground sod dugout during the days of the Land Rush before Statehood, in Woods County, near Alva, Oklahoma.
Oh, what a story.
More later.
Contact Sarah at [email protected]