ďYou Cannot Find Peace Until You Find All The PiecesĒ is the story of what Marie did to save her life from complete ruin.
Marie Maiden's Author Page
ABOUT THE BOOK -
This book titled “You Cannot Find Peace Until You Find All The Pieces” chronicles a search for my father, a man I desired to meet face-to-face. The searched lasted eighteen years. It led me to discover my ancestry, which provided the documentation that I needed to finally locate my father. I was able to find the plantation where my dead ancestors lived as slaves and brothers and sisters whom I didn’t know existed before I found my living father.
This work also chronicles the role of God in my life and how my belief in Jesus Christ has transformed me and given me the strength to overcome a less than desirable childhood. Prior to this personal transformation, I held on to many regrets from my childhood. The most consequential of these was a teenage pregnancy and my life as a teen mother.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR -
Ms. Marie Maiden is the youngest of five children. She was born in Washington, DC on May 24, 1964, her parents separated when she was very young. She was raised by her mother and grandmother. During the teenaged years of her life certain decisions were made for her life that created problems for her that she never imagined or intended. The book “You Cannot Find Peace Until You Find All The Pieces” is the story of what Marie did to save her life from complete ruin.
No One To Watch Over Me
Somebody once told me that girls who grow up without a father would grow up desperate for male companionship. That person said that fatherless girls attach themselves too easily and too quickly to men because they are in search of a fatherís love that they never got.
I disagree. I never wanted a substitute for my fatherís love. I always wanted to find my actual father. I knew that a fatherís love couldnít be that easily replaced. There was no point in searching for my fatherís love from a husband or a boyfriend. That would not be fair. Even when someone told me what kind of a man my father was, I still wanted to be a part of his life. I still wanted to be the apple of his eye. My father was supposed to be the first man in my life. My father was supposed to teach me how to be a responsible woman. Instead, I had to do that on my own.
My father never stopped over to see me after work. He never shared a meal with me, or sent anyone to our house to give me a piece of bread. Often times, I didnít have any food to eat. I thank God for the neighbors that I had who helped to care for me. I often ate at a friendís house. I didnít even have money for bus transportation to get to school on a regular basis. It was a struggle for my mother to raise me. A fatherís guidance and financial support would have been helpful.
I never had a dad to protect me from danger as I grew up, or to stand up for me and chase the predators away. The little girl in me wanted desperately to experience the love between a father and a daughter. I donít remember ever writing him a Fatherís Day card or feeling the warmth of his arms around me. I donít remember much about him at all; to me he was a fuzzy image that seemed to creep into my dreams. Although he was not there, he was everywhere; I could not escape the idea of him, his image, or his absence.