At a young age, I only knew a life of being abandoned, molested, and raped. Murder and death followed me like a plague. At the age of thirty-nine I was awakened by a phone call, “Wanda, the doctor said, we worked and worked on your mom; but she is dead. You need to come to the hospital and sign some papers. My heart was crushed, I was sick at my stomach; “Why did they just let her bleed to death, not once, but twice?” Why, why as the question kept running through my mind?
My family wanted me to sue… God wanted me to write!
God came to me in a dream to write a book. First, I was excited! Then I said, “Oh Lord! I can’t write a book. I don’t have enough sense to speak a correct sentence. I’ve never read a book.” … I sounded like Moses talking to God with all the excuses of why I couldn’t.