Let The Truth Unfurl

The Truth has always been.
It was a beauty to be discovered, a treasure to be obtained, and a breath to be taken in and exhaled out.
Truth has always been.
Truth was my ambition, it was my goal, and my mission
Truth has always been.
It was the fire under my feet, the wind beneath my wings, and the gentle push in my back
Truth has always been.
Truth is the heavy ache in my belly that there is something more; it the gnawing thought in my mind that something is missing; it the urge in my soul that I cannot be free without it
Truth still is.
It is the meaning of my search, the light on my path, the compass to my journey
Truth still is.
Truth is the catalyst to my healing, for I can not heal from secrets, lies, and ignorance.
Truth still is.
Truth is the painful yet healing cut of a sterile scalpel
Truth will always be.
Truth will be the light at the end of the day and the brightness that dispels the darkness
Truth will be the essence, the base, and the reason
Truth will always be.
It will be that open door, those trusted keys, and that gaping window
Truth will always be.
Truth will be that treasure to be sought and cherished; unfurling in the lives of all who will hear and take heed.
Truth will forever be.

The Power of 3: Past, Present, Future

 I've heard it said that things happen in threes. They are usually similar events occurring in close succession. There were three catalysts that inspired... no propelled me into searching for my biological parents. I'd participated in my first (and possibly last) mud run. During the run and all of it's obstacles, I injured my tailbone. Nine months after the race, it had not healed. I went to an orthopedist to discover that I'd possibly fractured it. I also found out that as a young woman in my early thirties, I had severe arthritis. My legs were incredibly weak. I have a fitness career, so I was in great shape. However my joints were degenerating. I knew at that point that my condition was hereditary. I had no answers. On a sidenote that's totally related: It was the first time that I'd been to a doctor's office that had a space for adoptees to check for the lack of a medical history. I took a picture of it and sent it to my husband.
 The second and closely occurring push came when a dear friend's estranged father died. What was so heartbreaking is that she had not seen him since she was five, and he died without them ever reconnecting. All that I could see was loss.There were things that they'd never get to say to one another. There were lost experiences, time, and opportunities to ask questions. The truth is that those things had been lost while he was alive. He wasn't there when she was in the first grade. Her father missed her plays. He didn't teach her how to drive. Only one parent sat proudly at her high school graduation. He'd missed her life while he was alive. It was a painful reality. I didn't want to miss any opportunities in grasping the chance to know who and where I came from. It wasn't about making up for lost time. I just began to feel time slipping away. My friend's experience helped me to realize and to live in the NOW.
 Thirdly, and dearly, my two oldest children knew that I was adopted as an infant. They were intrigued. They began to press me for answers about our heritage. My children had a deep yearning to know the truth. Their truth. I could no longer stand as their only history. We all wanted to be linked. Branches on a tree. This was our past and my children are the future. It was time to search...