The Blizzard of ‘78
January 25–27, 1978, in Frankfort, Kentucky, is hailed by locals as one of the worst snowstorms in our history—snow accumulations and drifts so severe that transportation halted and power lines failed. On January 26, in the heart of that storm, one particular young woman—just three months into the taste of legal adulthood—was expecting her first child.
This young woman carried not only her precious baby within her womb, but also stacks of generational shame. Shame undeservingly placed upon her after an atrocious abuse in childhood. Shame from a mother who, in her own brokenness, once told her, “If only you had kept your mouth shut.” And so this young woman unconsciously carried within her the belief: I cause problems.
She also unknowingly carried the same shame her mother bore—unhealed shame passed not only through genetics but through the harsh words that lashed out at her innocent child in moments of lack. And so the legacy continued: shame begat shame, passed down quietly, invisibly, inevitably.
Until the young woman met a young man and begat more shame. His mother offered money for an abortion and insisted upon it, but the young woman refused—for love of her unborn child. The young man disappeared.
And thus, nearly a month later, after the bulk of the blizzard had begun to dissipate, I came into the world: Michelle Lynn Cornett, on February 24.
The snow quieted.
The world waited.
Somewhere beyond the blizzard, grace was already thawing what fear had frozen.
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I have to tell you: this is probably one of the most difficult things I’ve ever written—solely because my squirrels are going nuts with their need to over-explain, judge, and analyze. But that is a story for another time.
It is here that I invite you to join me in this journey. If you’re reading this, chances are you too have trauma to heal. Grab a journal (there are some in my Faith in Action store), a hoodie or blanket, something warm to drink, and write your own “coming into the world” story.
Not to examine.
Not to analyze.
Not to judge.
Just write it.
Follow along with me through the upcoming posts. And if you feel led, share in the comments anything you feel safe to share. I can’t wait to see where this journey takes us.
Dear Lord Jesus,
I pray that by sharing Your story—Your work within me—lives are changed and Your truth is revealed. And even if it reaches only one person, it will be enough. And even if that one person is me, it will still be enough.
For You are just and worthy of praise.
Amen.
