Shh! Why I Overshare.

The other day I wrote about being sexually abused as a child. And while the outpouring of support from most friends and family were amazing, I couldn't stop thinking about the topic. Not thinking about it in regards to my personal experience (although of course I am but I'm doing better than I was) but thinking about in regards to actually discussing the topic at all. Because it is such a taboo subject. 

Had I said "My mother went back to my abuser" it wouldn't have been nearly as scandalous as "My mother went back to my sexual abuser." And because I suffer from anxiety, I second guess myself forever in regards to everything. Maybe I shouldn't have shared this one. Maybe I should have worded it different. Maybe I should take the post down. But that's the problem with these types of things. People really truly believe we shouldn't talk about it. They ask why I have to "overshare" and talk about my problems with the whole world. People I work with, go to church with, people I know from my childrens schools. Is this really what I want them reading about me and my family? And my honest answer is no. No I don't want everyone in the world to know my business. It's embarrassing. It gives me stress hives. But it's something I feel called to do. Maybe that sounds prideful or pompous, I don't know. But every time I go back and forth about publishing something that I know will rock the boat, I always ask myself; Would this have helped me in any way as a survivor of abuse. And if the answer is 'Yes' or even a soft 'Possibly' then I share. 

I truly feel that because these topics aren't discussed in polite company so to speak, survivors are never able to fully heal. Because the truth is, it shouldn't be embarrassing to me. It shouldn't freak me out. I didn't do anything bad. I had something bad happen to me. And I'm still trying to heal from that almost 30 years later. And part of the reason is because for 30 years, society made me feel that these are secrets best kept to myself. That nobody wanted or needed to hear about this typs of stuff. That it was in the past and I should let it go. I was made to feel quilty for talking about something that was done to me. And that's not okay. Society doesn't get to dictate how a survivor can "politely" heal. 

Healing is gritty and scary and hard. Nobody should ever be made to feel less of a person for not being polite in their process. 

So okay, maybe it makes you feel uncomfortable. Maybe you don't think it's professional. Maybe you think I'm being dramatic. And that's okay. If that's how you feel, I truly understand. Probably more than you yourself understand. But if I can help or comfort just one person, even the tiniest bit by talking about these things, then I will continue to do so. No matter how uncomfortable it makes you or how embarrassed it makes me.

So let me share this last little tidbit on why I talk about the things I do.

Statistically, 1 in 5 girls and 1 in 20 boys are victims of child sexual abuse. 

I have over 300 Facebook friends. And all of my posts on this album are public and can be and have been shared by people with 100's of their own friends. I'll let you do the math on the chances that if you aren't a victim yourself, you know one. 

So yeah. I'm going to keep "oversharing."

Not Today

"My mother went back to my sexual abuser."

Those words have the ability to strike people speechless. And saying those words out loud never fails to make my stomach clench and my heart stutter. 

I was 6 years old the day that the cops showed up at our door and I thought the nightmare was at an end. I was 7 years old the day I came home from my new school 100's of miles away from that house of horror and my nightmare was sitting on our couch. And for about 6 months my little world was once again filled with tummy aches and whispers and downcast eyes. She had promised. "He's not going to do that anymore, you don't have to worry." And she was half right. He didn't do it again. But oh how I worried. So much. Every night. Every day. Every time he looked at me. 

And I didn't just worry about being abused again. Oh no. You see, I was a child who needed to be loved. I was a child who had been conditioned to please. So while I was scared to death that he was going to touch me again, I also worried because I felt so much guilt for all of the "inconvenience" I had created. We had to move to another state. We had to live in a home for single mothers. My mother had to work multiple jobs just to put government issued cheese and peanut butter on our table. She had to leave us all the time with sitters who were not nice. And when he came back, he was sure to let me know how much hassle I had caused him. The arrest. The jail. His reputation. I felt horrible.  I felt embarrassed.  But above all, I felt guilt. Guilt for my mom, him, my brothers. I did this. I caused this. I wasn't the one who told, no I knew better than that. But once those cops showed up I thought it was safe. I knew lies were bad so I told the truth. I showed them and told them where he hurt me. I thought I was doing the right thing! But it didn't matter. Somehow, it didn't matter. He was let go and he got to come back to us. And the new life that we had started far away was once again, focused around him. 

And even at 7, I was old enough to be mad. Even with all of those other feelings, I was seething mad inside. Mad at everyone and everything. Why did he come back? How'd he find us? Who told him? Mom? Why did she tell him? Why did she let him come back? I was too young at the time to understand the psychological reasons for why she did what she did. To understand abused women and the hold their abusers have on them. Too young to understand her demons. At 7, and for the next 20+ years really, all I knew was that I had started to feel safe and happy and my mom took that away. 

My heart had forgiven him long ago. I learned that evil doesn't need a reason. I learned that some people can never be explained and that to try and understand those people would just lead to more pain and heartache. So eventually, after years and years of prayer, I was able to forgive him. Not for him but for me. But apparently, forgiving her was harder than I thought. Because you see, I love my momma. We've spent years building a relationship as adults. I am proud of the woman she has become today. Of the grandma she is to her grandchildren. But the 7 year old deep down inside me has yet to forgive her completely apparently. And I only discovered this when she told me how angry she got the other day over a woman bringing her childs abuser to a ball game that her child was at. The look of anger and disbelief and absolute disgust on my mothers face while telling me this story was exactly the face that people give me when I share that my mother went back to the man who abused me. It is the exact face and reaction that is completely right and normal when someone hears such an absolutely atrocious thing. 

And yet... and yet she did it too. Almost 3 decades ago. And by doing so caused as much, if not more confusion and trauma to that little girl than the actual abuse did. My mother chose the man who hurt me, over me. And that hurts me now more than anything. Even knowing the reasoning. Even knowing why. It still hurts. And it probably always will. But I am choosing to move on as much as I can. I choose to push that aside and remind myself that the mother I have today is not the same mother I had then. I don't know that I will ever fully forgive or trust my mother like I truly want to. But I'll keep trying. Because I am an adult. But I am also an adult who is a survivor of abuse. I am also an adult who suffers from PTSD, depression, and anxiety. 

So when I hear these stories of these little ones whose parents are choosing themselves over their child, be it an abusive partner, a drug, or even their own need to make their ex suffer, I have to fight an internal battle. I have to work through my own demons and pain. I have to forgive all over again. And to be honest, I hate it. I hate being the bigger person. I hate forgiving those who hurt me. I hate being loving and Christ like towards those who are hurting others, especially children. But I must. Because if I don't, the darkness and the demons will win. So I work through it, just as I will this time. Eventually.  But I'm not going to be happy about it. I'm not going to be graceful about it. I'm not going to be kind and loving and worried about saving other people's feelings more than my own. At least not yet. Maybe one day. But today, I need to be selfish. I need to say how I feel. I need to share my pain so that I can heal. And if that is too much for some, then I do apologize. To an extent. But I won't ask your forgiveness. Not today. Today on behalf of that little 7 year old girl inside of me who will always be a part of me, and on behalf of all of the little ones today who are going through their own nightmares, today I want you to feel the guilt. I want those who are choosing themselves over their children, to be ashamed. I want those adults who are more concerned with their own happiness and their own fix, drug or human, than they are their own child's mental and/or physical health, to know that I see you. Your choices are not invisible to the world. I want you to know that the choices you are making today, can and will hurt your children for the rest of their lives. I will pray that your children forgive you one day. And I will pray that God has more mercy on you than you deserve. But again, not today. I just don't have it in me.

Choose Happiness

The four year anniversary of my pulmonary embolism was yesterday. And reflecting back on it and other things in the last two days has really made me think. So as I always do, I write. So here's the thing about me. I choose to be happy. I choose to smile. To enjoy my day to day life. Even the mundane, annoying, stressful things. I try my best to be positive in all situations. Sure I still get crabby and down. My depression is still a very real thing that I am almost in a constant battle with, although most would never know if I didn't choose to speak of it. And it's something I will struggle with my entire life. But I look for the silver linings and try to set the example for others. Even though my positivity actually makes some people mad. But some people are just like that. They thrive on it. They have to point out the bad and talk about your failures. Not to you of course, but to other people. Maybe to make themselves feel better? To excuse their own negativity? I don't know the reasons why. But I do know what I'm going to do about it. I'm going to smile. And I'm going to keep smiling. If my own happiness and positivity makes someone bitter, that's on them. I'm not going to let them steal my joy. I almost lost my life 4 years ago. More importantly, I almost lost the chance to grow old with my husband and watch my children grow up. So I refuse to let negativity rule my life. I will go through life happy and content in all things. Life has given me many reasons to break down and give up. But it's also given me so very many reasons to smile. So when need be, I will be my own cheerleader. I will choose to try and make the best of any situation. And I will live my life with my chin up and head in the clouds. I will dance in the aisle when the quiet gets too loud. I will be silly in serious situations just to make someone smile. Even if that someone is me. When things aren't working right and every thing is going wrong, I will point out whatever good I can find, no matter how insignificant it may seem. I will try and be the light in any situation. I will loudly stand up and right whatever wrong I can. When others are sitting back resting on their laurels, I will be building bridges for us all to use to get to the next step. Life is just too short to be boring or grumpy. And it's definitely too short not to spread happiness. Some may call it being naive or fake or that I'm trying to be liked too much or whatever. But that's okay. If the worst thing someone can say about me is that I am "too happy" then so be it. Because I am a good person and really do want everyone to be as happy as they choose to be too. And if tearing me down is what you need to do to feel higher than I will let you. Because I know my truth. I know that your bitterness will not change the way my loved ones feel about me. And at the end of the day, when I go to asleep, I will say my prayers of thanksgiving for another day with my friends and family and will say an extra prayer that you one day find whatever it is you need to bring fulfillment and happiness to your life. Because that's the difference between me and you. Whereas you would love deep down to see me fall, I would like nothing better than to see you rise! And when you do win at whatever you want in life, I will be one of the first to congratulate you and I promise that nothing will be fake about my smile.

Right and Wrong

When I was a teenager I was told that there was an unforgivable sin. And I became terrified. Because I had already been through and done so much that I was afraid I had committed the sin without even knowing it. I had yelled at God, blamed Him, cursed Him. And I spent years trying to determine what the sin was that was so terrible. And I think I figured it out. And it wasn't what I expected. From my research and from my own personal prayers, I believe that the only unforgivable sin in life is to refuse to see and hear. Because if you think about it, if a man commits a crime, even the most heinous crime against the most innocent of society, by God's grace, he can still be forgiven. Even though our own personal nature tells us that that person doesn't deserve forgiveness. They can receive it. Just as any of us can even though none of us truly deserve forgiveness. But, if a man is told of God's word and still refuses to follow Him, he is lost. There are some of us who are so dedicated to not following Him, that we refuse to even consider  the smallest of possibilities that we are in the wrong. Some of us even believe in a "higher power" but because of whatever reasons, we have decided at some point that it's just not for us. If you ask most people in America if they believe in God, they'll tell you without hesitation that they do. But if you ask them if they follow His teachings, most of us wouldn't be able to tell you what those teachings are. But we're convinced that we are going to Heaven because God is this good, forgiving guy who loves us and we are decent people who don't deserve hell. But we are so very wrong. No matter how good of a person you are, if you don't follow Him, you're lost. 

And how true this is for us in every day life as well. When we set our hearts on something we know is wrong but do it anyways. Even when taking God out of the equation, which is never a good idea, when we know that what we are doing or what we are contemplating is morally wrong, and we do it anyways, we are without hope. We convince ourselves we'll be fine. We put our own happiness ahead of what is right. We're told from society that life is too short to be anything but happy. That it's healthy to put ourselves first. But God didn't promise us happiness. He has specifically told us not to put ourselves first. He has told us time and again to show His love to others. And we can't do that by only taking care of our own wants and needs. He promised us forgiveness. He promised us an eternity with Him. This world and our life here, is temporary. It very well could be the saddest, most horrible life anyone's ever gone through. But He has promised us that it will be worth it. We will all face tragedies and heartbreak. Some of us will face things too terrible to even speak of. But He will redeem that pain. He will make it right. If we follow Him. If we make the decision to do so. It's not easy. It's almost never easy to do what it right. It can sometimes be the hardest thing we've ever done, but it will be worth it. But we have to acknowledge the truth. We not only have to hear His words but we have to follow Him. It's one of the saddest things in the world to me when I see a loved one who is hurting and running hand in hand with anger and fear and they don't even know it. They think they are fine and that if they just keep going, they'll be happy. But in reality they are in denial and heading down the darkest path they can possibly go down.
And I am helpless to stop them.

All I can do is pray. 

And love them. 

As He so desperately does.

As He asks me to do.

The Best In People

Seeing the best in people. It's a wonderful trait. To see what makes even the worst of us, good. In any little way. To see that small glimmer of greatness in even the darkest of souls. It's a trait that many should strive to have. Because there is something good in all of us. It's just that sometimes, it takes a very special person to see it. 

And while I do think that I have this trait to a certain extent, I know I have the opposite. I see the bad. Because just like we all have goodness in us, we all have some not so nice things too. And I am usually very good at seeing these dark spots. Even sometimes when the person doesn't even know they have them. My gut doesn't lie. Maybe it's because I saw so much dark so early in life? Maybe because I'm so familiar with my own ugliness? Whatever the reason, I'm glad I have this ability. Sometimes it's not a great feeling to almost immediately sense someones worst quality. Or to everyday see the blemish in the heart of someone you love. But still, I'm grateful. Because, I see you. I see your dirt. Your ugliness. 

I. See. You. All of you. The good and the bad. And you know what? I love you anyways. Because I choose to love you. I might not always like you but I promise to always love you. We don't have to be perfect to be a good person. We all have secrets we'd never want the world to see. We all have something about us that we want to stay hidden away forever. And that's okay. As long as we are striving to be better. As long as we don't ever give into that darkness. As long as we keep striving for the light! But in the meantime, I love you. All of you. Even if you can't love yourself right now. Even if I don't love myself right now. I love you. In all of your light. And in all of your dark. 

The Encounter

I've always wondered how I'd react if I were to ever come face to face with him. We live within 30 minutes of each other. It's a small community. I know it's bound to happen eventually. In the last decade or so I've gone over every possibility. Scenarios where I leave him crying in a ball of shame. Where I slap him. When I do worse than slap him... Where I just run away. Where I let him know that I am not afraid of him and that even though he tried, he didn't break me. Where I tell him that I have forgiven him... Scenario after scenario of all the ways I would handle it. And in one breath, one brief moment, I realized that all of those possibilities were wrong. The second I looked up from picking out a new mascara and saw the man at the end of the aisle, I froze. In that split second a thousand thoughts went through my head. I knew almost instantly it wasn't really him but that he just looked strikingly similar. But although my mind knew it, my body didn't and refused to believe the truth. My breath caught instantly and I broke out in a cold sweat while my eyes filled with tears. All in less time than it took for the man to glance away. The first thoughts I can remember clearly thinking were that my kids were safe at home and that Nick was right in the other aisle and wouldn't let anything happen to me. Then the shame set in. Shame that I had froze. Shame that I didn't think of protecting myself on my own but that I wanted my husband there to save me. Shame that I reacted like I was a scared little 4 year old girl again wanting to run from the bogeyman but knowing that there was no where she could hide. After what seemed like minutes but really only took seconds, the man walked away and I closed my eyes and tried to collect myself. Tried to remember how to breathe. How to pray. How to do anything else but cry. So I stayed there. In the makeup aisle.  On one knee with my eyes closed. Looking like an absolute lunatic no doubt. But eventually I stood up and walked away to find Nick waiting on me who was thinking I was just taking a long time playing with make up as I usually do. I smiled at him and we continued shopping. I have no idea what we spoke about for the next 30 minutes or so but I know I was trying desperately to keep it together. And that Nick questioned me multiple times if I was okay. And finally after leaving the store and after safely locking ourselves in the truck, I told him what had happened. And just while telling him, I teared up again and my entire body broke out in goose bumps. Even though I knew that it wasn't even really him! Again, my body refused to believe I was out of danger. I find it so hard to accept that something that happened so long ago, can still physically and mentally hurt me. But it does. And probably always will. Through all the counseling and tears, I've learned that it's okay that it still hurts. That it's normal to still be scared. But sometimes, I really hate it. And him. I hate what he took from me. What he did. The pain and fear and self loathing that was given to me at such a young age. I do, I really hate him sometimes. Which I don't want to do. I don't want him to have that much power over me still. I don't want to have a panic attack in the middle of the grocery store. I don't want to be constantly on guard. I don't want the nightmares that torture me. It's not fair. It's not fair my husband has to worry because I haven't spoken more than a few words in days and he knows there's nothing he can do. Or that I'm short with my children because my mind is in a panic. It's just not fair. And most of the time, I'm okay. But sometimes, when my guard is down, I have to face the ugliness again. And those around me who love me do too. And I guess, that's okay. I have to remember that I am loved and that others don't mind sharing my burden. That Nick will gladly take every cold shoulder and silent day if it means I cry even one less tear. That my kids will love me no matter what, even if I yell at them to clean their room instead of just telling them they need to clean up. I still hate that I sometimes crack. And I will one day learn to embrace those cracks and be grateful for everything they've taught me. Just maybe not today...and you know what?
That's okay too.

9/11; 15 Years

15 years ago I was helping take care of a sweet older lady named Helen. I arrived a little early for my day shift to find Helen and one of her other caretakers in tears watching the television. It took me a moment to understand what I was seeing. No sooner had I sat down and started tearing up myself, we watched the second plane fly into the second tower. I remember vividly the small scream that escaped from Helen followed by heavy sobbing. I and the other caretaker sat there in stunned silence. We all three knew then that this was not just a tragedy but an actual attack.  For myself, it was the first time I'd really ever thought about an attack on our own soil. For Helen, it was a grisly reminder of her younger days listening to the news about Pearl Harbor being attacked. We as Americans have a sense of safety that few other countries in the world have. We feel a certain invincibility because we've heard our entire lives that we are the greatest country in the world. So when something happens it's a very rude awakening. And we ban together. We fly our flags high and unite as one. Now, 15 years later we are back to not only feeling that sense of invincibility but now we have this strange cockiness. We haven't just lowered our flags, we are burning them. We've divided over issues that while they are very much real, are not what defines us. Instead of working together to overcome our problems like we did so strongly after 9/11, we point fingers and fight between ourselves. We blame the other person and refuse to even attempt to see the others viewpoint. We have a problem and instead of working together to fix it, we expect the other person to give in to our demands. We have to stop. We have to remember that we are all neighbors. That we are blessed to be in a country that while has its faults and still needs a lot of work, is still one of the greatest in the world. Our problems exist. They are real. But what we are doing now is not how the problems are going to be fixed. Until we start working together, we are just going to create more problems. We should never forget who we are. The lives that have been lost and sacrificed so that we have the right to disagree. And above all, we must remember that every day is a gift. That tomorrow isn't promised. So we should say I love you often. Hug your kids every chance you get. Call your grandma. Kiss your spouse. Because we are all just one breath away from never having that chance again in this world. 

Have You Ever?

Have you ever looked at a strangers face and wondered if you had the same nose? Or eyebrows? Eyes, dimples, jawline? 

Have you ever stalked pictures of someone's kids on Facebook to see if you could see any sort of resemblance to yourself? Or tried to see your own children's smiles in their smiles? And when you see a slight similarity, do you doubt yourself and tell yourself it's just wish full thinking? 

Have you ever imagined a reunion full of happy tears and of being hugged so tightly, the missing pieces inside you get filled so completely you can't breathe? Have you ever imagined a reunion full of resentment and disappointment and being turned away from the one person you have spent your entire life hanging your hopes and dreams on?

Have you ever played the What If game so many times you have an entire lifetime of pretend memories made up and locked in a box deep down in your soul that you take out once in awhile and dust off just to cry over them again?

Have you ever wished for something so hard with your entire being but been too afraid of rejection or another dead-end that you just give up? That you just tell yourself it will never happen so why bother? But even while telling yourself to get over it, you know you never will stop hoping for a miracle.

Have you ever had to forgive someone who doesn't even know you exist? Have you ever had to forgive a loved one for actions and mistakes made before you were even born?

Have you ever? No? Good! You should get down on your knees and thank God for that. Because it's a special kind of hell on earth and I wouldn't wish it on anyone. 

David Glowczewski

A little over a year ago I posted about my friend Matt, my friend Jennifer's baby brother. His death was the worst thing that had ever happened to his family and something that no pain could ever match. But I was so very wrong. Because less then two years later I once again had to hold my best friend in my arms and try to find words to comfort her as she laid to rest her oldest brother. And the words have failed me all week. All there has been is tears. Tears for my friend David. For his sister's Jennifer and Tara. His parents Larry Joe and Fran. His beloved wife Debbie and their 6 children. Tears because I can't understand the pain of losing a child or one of my siblings. And I can't even begin to imagine the pain of losing two. Or of losing my husband. But for whatever reason, He called them both home early. It's not something I can understand. And will probably never understand while still on this earth. But we know that one day all will be made clear to us. But in the meantime, we're hurt. We're angry. We feel forsaken. Betrayed by a God that we trust and love. And that's okay. He can handle our anger. He's got mighty shoulders and can take our tears. In fact, He wants to comfort us and will one day wipe our every tear. We just have to hold on. And have faith.
And as Tay said today, we should remember David with a smile and a laugh. Because that's what he would have wanted. He wouldn't want us to think of him and be sad. He'd want us to mourn for him, because that's how we heal. But then he'd want us to smile for him. To crack a joke and share a laugh. Cause he was full of love and laughter. And believed everyone else should be too. Some of my fondest memories are of hanging out with David. Whether it was going back and forth to Salem to pick up Kendra. Or babysitting Brad and Brit while David worked. Or more often than not, just hanging out at David's house cause me and Stubby were broke and her mom was mad at her so we couldn't beg for more gas money from her to cruise town :) And hanging with him was always one of my favorite things to do. It was like I had the surrogate big brother that I always wanted. And it was always fun, even if all we did was watch TV and talk and laugh. Plus he'd always give me a book or two that he had just finished reading and knew I'd like. :) He was just a great man. From a great family. And my heart hurts for all of you left behind. I love you all, more than you could possibly understand. You all gave me so much happiness and I will forever be grateful to you. For allowing me to be a part of your amazingly loving, funny, beautiful, sweet, caring, ornery, family. I can't make the pain go away for you, although I wish I could. I can't answer the why's. But I can assure you that as joyful as David was while with us, he is more happy and joyful than we can even begin to imagine right now. He and Bud are both celebrating their reunion and awaiting our arrivals. And want you to be happy. They wouldn't want you to be sad for too long. Because they are so very happy right now. And are watching over you. And let's be honest, probably making fun of all of you :) Please be happy again. Please don't let your joy go away. It would break their hearts. I know it will be hard. But they'll give you the strength you need to smile again. Even when you don't feel like it, smile. For them.

PTSD in Adult Survivors of Sexual Abuse

Most people know that I was abused as a child. I've never kept it a secret. It's not my sin. I didn't choose it so why should I be embarrassed about it? And I truly believe that because these things aren't spoken about, it helps to let the abuse and stigma around abuse to continue and keeps the healing from coming for the victims. Yes, I was severely sexually abused for many years by a family member and have suffered from depression, anxiety and PTSD for decades. But I survived. In the only way I could.

I came across this article a few days ago and wanted to post about it but had some other things going on. But you guys, this article is spot on. It is a long, in depth read but if you have a friend or family member and statistically you do, probably more than 1 actually, that has been abused. Or if you are a survivor yourself. It is so worth the read. You will understand so much more about us and how we've survived. My husband has struggled by my side for 15 years trying to navigate the minefield that is PTSD. He has seen more of the ugly side of me than anyone else has ever seen. And it's been hard on our marriage at times. But he's stuck by me through every nightmare, angry lash outs, and crying spells over the most trivial of things. And that is my biggest regret. That he has to hurt for what was done to me. He hurts for me because I hurt. Although I know he wouldn't trade it for the world, it's not fair to him.

But anyways, here is a very small excerpt from the article. Kind of shows the many sides of survivors personalities. We may act fine and extroverted but in reality it's a facade that we put in place to keep others from digging too deep into our psyche and seeing the ugliness.

 "Survivors with PTSD may avoid any intimate connection, often resulting in feelings of detachment or estrangement from others....Survivors often have highly developed social skills and may seem to be extremely extroverted, but their dealings with others may preclude vulnerability"

Please take 10 minutes if you can and read it. And maybe the next time one of your friends or family members acts out in a certain way, you just might understand a little better. Or the next time your friend has to take an anxiety pill over something trivial (to you) you might understand why the trivial things are so much harder for us. When something sad happens, you might understand a little better why we can't function for days when most are over it within a few hours.

Just read it, for me. Please.http://www.naasca.org/2011-Articles/081411-PTSDinAdultSurvivors.htm

Nick

This picture may not look particularly special to anyone else but to someone like me, this is absolutely breathtaking. Because while some kids had imaginary friends, I had an imaginary daddy. One who played with me and loved me and protected me. And as I became a teenager and my imagination faded, so did my hope. Because I knew in my heart of hearts, that it would never get better. That I would never be better. That I would never amount to anything good. And now, as an adult watching my husband with our children, I know how truly wrong I was. I realize that it does get better. That I am better. That the sad little girl who cried over a daddy that didn't exist and the depressed teenager who had thoughts of suicide, were gone. I put them to rest. I became the woman those poor girls could never even imagine becoming. The woman that those girls needed but didn't have. And I did it with this man's help. Would I have been able to do it on my own? Probably. But it was so much more bearable to have someone who believed in me when even I didn't believe in me, to help. So when these moments happen, when my husband lays on the floor playing with our kids. When he changed our babies diapers. When he rocked them to sleep. When he reads the bedtime stories. When he helps with their homework. When he's sitting with them at the dinner table trading movie quotes and knock knock jokes. In those moments, I close my eyes and send a silent, thankful prayer up that God answered my prayers from so long ago. I asked Him to send a daddy down to save me. And He did. He just did it on His own time and in His own way, as He always does. Because I wanted a daddy growing up. And still do if I'm being completely honest. But what I need more than that is a daddy who loves his children and their mother with every ounce of his being.
So God sent me Nick.

He will wipe my tears.

My heart hurts so much for so many people right now. I never know what to say when things like these things happen. The question "Why do bad things happen to good people" is one that has bothered me for years. I believe that there is an answer. I just don't know that I'm smart enough to figure it out. And maybe there really isn't a good answer. Or maybe the answer isn't one we will ever understand in this life. I do know that God's plan for us will be made clear to us (Eph 1:9) one day, it's just so hard to have patience in the now. When sickness is rampant. When fear and pain become a way of life for so many. When loved ones are taken too early. It's hard. It's frightening. It's unfair. At these times all I can do is trust in my Lord. And sometimes it is so hard to do that. When I see a parent have to say a final goodbye to their child. A good man in agony. Sometimes I scream at Him. I blame Him and become so angry. But I know He's okay with me doing that. I know He understands my pain and anger and confusion. He remembers all of my troubles and tears (Psalms 56:8). So I cast everything on Him. Knowing he can take it. Knowing He wants to take it for me. He wants to carry my burdens. I heard once that maybe God lets us hit rock bottom so that at our lowest the only choice we have is to give it all to Him. And I kind of like that. We are all going to fall. Bad things do happen to good people. This world is full of evil and our only hope is through Him (Jer 17:7). If we believe and trust in Him then one day we will all rejoice together and the pains of today will be forgotten. We just have to have patience in our Lord. No matter how hard or unfair that may seem. For those of you hurting today, the only thing I can say is I love you and am praying for you. I wish I could do more or comfort you somehow or fix everything for you, but all I can do is pour my heart out to the Lord for you. I don't know what else to do. Revelations 21:4 He will wipe away every tear from their eyes; and there will no longer be any death; there will no longer be any mourning, or crying, or pain; the first things have passed away."

Yes. I am Pro-Life!

One of my most favorite photos of all times. A baby in utero, 10 weeks after conception. So beautiful! It always brings such a sense of awe and wonder to me when I see it. (Not sure who it belongs to so if you know please let me know so I can give proper credit) But not going to lie, it also makes me pretty angry. And I know this will probably make a lot of my friends mad but something has to be said. I am pretty open minded about a lot of things. But not this. Because did you know that at the moment of fertilization, a baby has it's own unique set of human DNA? Or that the sex of the baby has already been determined? That the heart starts beating 18 days from conception (before most of us even know we are pregnant) or that brain waves are detectable at 6 weeks? That at 7 weeks babies suck their thumbs? What about that by 9 weeks from fertilization, all the structures necessary for pain sensation are functioning? Which means that during an abortion, the baby feels everything. Don't believe me? Google an ultrasound video of an abortion. The Silent Scream is one that comes to mind. Watch it and watch the baby try to get away from the vacuum or forceps. Watch that baby literally be ripped apart and die, scared and in agony and still tell me that abortion is okay. And now people have the audacity to say that it's not selling body parts, that it's not the dissection of an innocent baby, but that it's "research." Why on earth would you need to research tissue from something that's not even human? If it's not a human, so doesn't have a right to life, than there is no good reason it needs to be "donated" for research to benefit humans. It has human body parts because it is a HUMAN! But abortion is a womans right you may say. Well I have yet to hear a valid argument on why the baby has no rights. It's sad. It's appalling. And we are so scared of offending people that we stay silent. Meanwhile millions of babies are being slaughtered. Because we stay silent. It's time for us to speak up for those who can't speak for themselves. A lion is killed and the world weeps. I can say as loudly as I can that black lives matter but I forget to mention that more black babies are aborted than born. And don't even get me started on the evil, racist woman that started PP. You can say that all lives matter but not speak up for those most innocent of lives. But we need to remember to be very careful when dealing with women who have had abortions. These women are not our enemy. We have been told our whole lives that not only is it okay to have an abortion but that it's our right. This is not a war on women. It is a war on the organizations and society's that teach that this is okay. We can not convince anyone of anything by calling them names and threatening them. Speak the truth but speak in love. One day not only they will have to answer for their actions but we will have to answer as to why we set back and said nothing while evil prospered. Or why we were the reason someone tturned away from the Pro-Life movement. Do not answer evil with evil. Only love can overcome evil.

A Little Old Pitcher

It doesn't look like much to any one else. Just an old 1970's basin and pitcher set. But to me it's so much more. There was one just like this in our home growing up with my grandpa. Yes it was missing the bowl and the handle was broken off but it was always somewhere in our home, usually on my grandpa's dresser. It was too wide to fit in the place of honor along with the rest of his treasures in his cabinet. So it floated about here and there throughout the years. I didn't think much about it growing up but now that he, along with our childhood home is gone, it means a lot. I don't know where the original ended up (I'm sure in a dump somewhere) and while this is just a duplicate everytime I look at it I will remember my grandpa and the happy memories of my childhood with him. Thank you dear for getting this for me. Not only will I remember my grandpa when I look at this I will remember why I love you so much and how much you really love me. Who knew that a little old pitcher and basin set found in a dusty flea market could mean so much!

You can vaguely see ours in the above picture of me and my grandpa. It's on top of the TV turned so that you see the white side.

A Thank You

Yesterday I briefly spoke to a family member and the conversation stayed with me all day. I kept racking my brain for something to say to her to reassure her that everything was going to be okay. And while I was thinking and worrying about her it finally dawned on me that I was being just like her. That I was just like her. And it made me so very happy!
I always want to make things right. I want to fix wrongs. I want to make people do the right thing. I cry too much over things and people I can't control. It hurts my soul to see my friends or family in pain. Or to see those I care about constantly make bad decisions. It makes me feel angry and heartbroken to see someone I love hurt by others and not be able to do anything about it. I lay awake too many nights worrying about what I can do to fix everything for everybody.  And it just about kills me that I can't. And as troublesome as that is sometimes I am so grateful that I am like that. That I'm someone who cares. Rather than someone who only cares about themselves. I will never be someone who puts my own needs ahead of others. And that's okay. I have a big heart. And I pray that one day I have an impact on someone's life like she's had on mine. Even if I never know.

Most people know or have read previous posts about my childhood so they know it wasn't always pretty. But there were definitely some beautiful parts! And one of the most beautiful things from back then was my Aunt Sheila. She was my role model of what a mom and wife was supposed to be. And she was a pretty great one! To me, she was just about perfect. She was <usually> soft spoken. Always had an easy laugh. Her smile to this day remains one of my favorites in the whole world. She had a lot of fun. And she loved her family so very much. I learned how to be a great mom from her without ever realizing it. I was an odd child. Difficult and different to say the least. But she loved me anyways. She would let me play with her old Barbie's. She would let me come over to her house when I begged my mom to let me go with my brother whenever he went over to play with our cousin. Even though there were only boys to play with. And she would make them play with me. Although most of the time I prefered to just stay wherever she was. And she never seemed to mind tripping over me every time she turned around. She would let me admire and touch all of her wonderful Christmas decorations that seemed so magical to me. She would let me sit at the kitchen table and just listen to the grown ups talk for hours when the others would shoo me out of the room because lets face it, I was annoying. And every once in awhile she would glance at me across the room and catch me watching her laughing and she would give me a quick wink. And my heart would quietly explode with love for this woman that I would never know how to express. I didn't get the fairy tale life with all of the perfect family members or home. But I did get the cool aunt from all of my storybooks. The one that the heroine of the story always worshipped and wanted to be just like! 

And then I grew up. I left to find myself. We stayed in touch but I retreated from literally all of my family for awhile. Although no matter how long I could go without contacting her or how many times,  the moment I called I was welcomed in like I had never left. Things changed for all of us. Many times. In ways that we never would have guessed. But that's life I guess. It has a funny way of taking everything you know and shaking it all up and throwing you back out to see what side you land on. Always when you're least expecting it, it seems.

I've never been great at saying the things I needed to say. The things I want to say. And that's why I write. To express the things I can not say.  So this is me saying thank you for being you. For being a bright spot in a child's otherwise dark world. For caring too much. And I am proud to get to say that even a small part of myself, takes after you. And yesterday,  when I laughed and yelled "Love ya" this is what I meant. Which honestly, basically comes down to, is exactly what I said. I love you Aunt Sheila. 

Broken But Beautiful!

I didn't ask to be broken. But I was. A long time ago someone shattered me into a million little pieces. My entire life was forever altered before I could even tie my shoe. But I survived. I learned how to glue the pieces back together, one by one. Always knowing that no matter how well I glued, I was never going to be "normal." As I grew older I learned not only how to glue my pieces together but how to build armor around myself for extra protection. For although I may be glued, I would never be as strong as someone who has never been broken. A word, a news story, a sound. Any little thing can trigger something dark inside me that can send me into a swirling descent of self loathing and despair. Months can go by without a trigger. I can see 100's of stories and be okay. But for whatever reason, sometimes I crack. And that's okay. I never asked to be hurt. This is not my fault. I am strong. I have learned to forgive but forgetting is a little different. I never consciously think about certain things. But again, sometimes I crack. Sometimes those broken pieces come unglued. And the loudness and darkness leaks out and I become my own worst enemy. Until I figure out how to piece it back closed. 

Somebody who's never dealt with anxiety and depression usually don't understand. They'll say the past is the past and you can't change it. There's no point worrying about it. It is what it is. You need to move on. But what they will never understand is that we have moved on. We have accepted it. It's just that whatever was done was so horrible it can never be completely forgotten. The fact that we make it our 20's, 30's, 40's, and so on without eating a bullet shows how strong we are. Many of us never purposefully try to end our lives. But we do other things to try and destroy our demons. Many times unfortunately just making more. Drugs, alcohol, sex. We find escapes. Not the best way. But for awhile, it works. And then, God willing, we overcome those things as well. A little worse for the wear, but we survived. And we're good. For awhile. And the next time there's a trigger and the flashbacks start and our inner voice gets dark and ugly and starts to scream, we pray to be normal. We pray that the screaming would just FOR THE LOVE OF GOD STOP!!! And as our pain falls down our face and we go toe to toe with our demon, we pray that maybe this time will be the last. That this time, we'll kill it. Knowing it won't. Knowing that demons never stay dead. They just retreat and gather their forces for their next attack. But that's okay. Because when they retreat, we get to too. We go to our corner and take a deep breath and start gluing again. It's a lifetime battle. But what many people don't understand is that although I hate my demon and want to kill it, I'm also comfortable with it. It's been my constant companion my whole life. It hurts me over and over again but it also pats me on the back afterwards and tells me I fought a good fight. It's a sick relationship for sure, but it's what we know. And we should never ever be made to feel ashamed of that. Again, THIS IS NOT OUR FAULT! We all have things in our past that hurt. But sometimes the hurt is so deep that the wounds never completely heal and the scars never go away.

Recently I had one of these battles. I sometimes can tell when they're coming. I can wake up and just know that it's going to be "one of those days." And the weight of the world sits on me and it takes every ounce of willpower to get out of bed. Sometimes it comes as a surprise. Like this time was. I was just going through life, enjoying the day when I happened to glance a picture that reached down deep inside me and grabbed hold. I thought I was going to be okay. I thought I was good. After all, it was just a picture. But within hours I was shut down. The noise inside was so loud that it drowned out everything around me. And I turned into someone I don't like to be. I became quiet, and withdrawn. Short with my friends and family. I just wanted to be left alone! So I did. I retreated. I couldn't handle the responsibility of being happy and friendly and loving to those around me because I was sinking and my entire being was concentrating on surviving. It doesn't happen often anymore. Sometimes I can take a little white pill or do any other numerous things and I can silence the demon before it gets going too much. But it didn't work this time. So all I could do was fight. I had to retreat into myself, take a deep breath and figure out what I needed to do to feel safe. Luckily this time it wasn't so bad. I was able to talk myself through it. I was grateful for the feel of my husband laying next to me, solid and warm. When normally I can't stand to be touched when I'm struggling. When in fact, even on good, normal days I'm not a snuggler because to be held is to show that you are in need (that's part of where that armour comes into play). I was able to get though it after a night of no sleep and lots of tears. I survived. I know there is something self destructive in me. I know I'm a little more fragile than others. I know these things and I've accepted them. But I don't want to be judged for it. And while my first instinct when someone says something hurtful like "Just let it go" is one of self loathing because seriously why can't I just let it go!?!? My second instinct, is one of annoyance and anger. Because how dare you try to tell someone, a victim, how they need to survive? One of the worst things for me personally is when well meaning christians tell me that I wouldn't need to take a pill if I was truly secure in my relationship with God because if I really trusted in Him I wouldn't have depression or anxiety. Aside from the fact that science can clearly show that depression is not just "in your head" or that studies have shown that children exposed to violence have similar brain activity as combat soldiers, specifically the anterior insula and the amygdala which are used to detect danger. And that children from abusive homes are more likely, understandably, to battle depression through out their lives compared to children from normal homes. But aside from all of that, the fact that my strength does come from His help. That I would have ended it a long time ago had it not been for His help. That when I am at my darkest and am gloved up and in the ring, that He is the only one there with me. The one encouraging me and assuring me that I can and will win. That between me and Him that ugly thing doesn't have a chance. He is the one telling me its okay to be weak. To ask for help. He is the one more sorry than anyone else for what I survived. For He hates evil more than anything. That is what makes me angrier than anything. Don't you dare tell me that I am wrong for using whatever I have at my disposal to fight my battle. Just don't. Because I believe that He did give doctors and scientists the needed skills and knowledge to do what they do to help others. Including a pill that quiets the part of my brain that never shuts up and that you never hear. 

When we ask for help, it's not us being weak. It's us being stronger than you will ever hopefully have to be. I pray that you never have to know the strength it takes to wake up every morning when the easiest thing in the world to do would be to give up. And I pray that the next time you see someone struggling, you try to understand and love them instead of trying to "cure" them or tell them what they should or should not be doing. Just be quiet. Offer a shoulder if they need it and let them fight. If you are one of the lucky few who they bother to even share with, be grateful. It's not something we share easily and it means they care about you and trust you. Don't tarnish that. Know you can't "fix" them. Know that they aren't even wanting you to fix them. They just want you to assure them that you love them and that you won't leave their side until the battle is done. Because we can do it on our own.  We have for a long time. It's just nice to have someone there after it's over. I'm blessed beyond words that God put a man in my life that knows this. That accepts it. Even though his very nature is to fix anything broken. He knows he can't do it for me. He knows when to leave me be or when to hold me tight. He doesn't take it personally. He admires me for my strength. He loves me in my weakness. He gets it. He gets me. And every once in awhile after the battle is done, he helps me sweep up the pieces and hands me the glue so that I can get back to repairing myself. Because that's what I do. Who I am. 

I am broken but still beautiful! 

Flag Controversy

So with the recent flag debate and everyone putting their two cents in, I figured I might as well to. And I'm sure I will make a lot of people mad with this but I ask you to just read with an open mind. Try to see the other side of things. The recent news has gotten everyone up in arms about it and to be honest, it's gotten ignorant. And I've seen so many posts saying something like "If this flag offends you then you need to learn some history". Well I've researched a lot of history. And the fact of the matter is, the flag in question is a symbol of hate and racism for many, many people. Yes, you may call it southern pride and it very well may be for you. But the original design was created for the simple reason to represent states who committed treason and who felt that the whites should have more rights than blacks. Don't believe me? The designer himself, William Thompson, described the flag with these words "As a people, we are fighting to maintain the Heaven-ordained supremacy of the white man over the inferior or colored race" and "Such a flag…would soon take rank among the proudest ensigns of the nations, and be hailed by the civilized world as THE WHITE MAN'S FLAG." It's right there in the history books people. The flag was designed as a symbol of racism. I don't understand how people can argue the logic. Not to mention that the Confederate battle flag was never even the official flag of the Confederate! So what are we proud of? What are we fighting for? A symbol of, at it's best, treason against the United States of America and at it's worst, complete and utter racism? Why? You can not claim to be a proud, patriotic American while you honor the flag of the largest treasonous uprising against this country in history. Period. No matter what you think the flag stood for at one time, the truth is it has been perverted and changed into a symbol of hate for many. For so many who look at this they do not see pride. They see a reminder of what their ancestors were put through. And while we tell people "slavery is in the past, we need to move past it" it's kind of hard to do when you have symbols like this shoved in your face. The swastika was once a symbol of good fortune and well being. But try telling people today that it's okay, its a symbol of my proud German ancestry. No one in their right minds would dream of doing such a thing. Let alone have one flying from the back of their truck. But you do have a point about it being "Southern heritage", I'll give you that. So it most definitely should be in a history museum where it belongs to remind us to never let our past mistakes repeat themselves.
And if you claim to be a Christian and are still arguing the case that we should allow this flag to continue, please think about this. If you continue to fly this flag or defend it, what kind of example of God's love are you setting? It's putting anger and resentment and fear into the hearts of our brothers and sisters. It's causing strife amongst us. It's a flag. Are we idolizing it so much that we would put it ahead of people? What do we honestly lose by getting rid of it? Our pride? Well, we are told pride is not good. We know that. We are to humble ourselves. Are we being humble or prideful? Philippians tells us "Do nothing from rivalry or conceit, but in humility count others more significant than yourselves." Why are we causing rivalry over a symbol of this world? Are we putting ourselves ahead of others? 

And Romans says "Love one another with brotherly affection. Outdo one another in showing honor." Are we showing affection and honor to our brothers and sisters? 

Continuing in Romans, and what I personally feel plays the biggest part for myself is "Therefore let us not pass judgment on one another any longer, but rather decide never to put a stumbling block or hindrance in the way of a brother... I know and am persuaded in the Lord Jesus that nothing is unclean in itself, but it is unclean for anyone who thinks it unclean. For if your brother is grieved by what you eat, you are no longer walking in love. By what you eat, do not destroy the one for whom Christ died." Straight up, we are causing stumbling blocks for others. It hurts them. It grieves them. Christ died for them just as He died for all of us. We have no right to hinder His children that way. 

I hope people take what I've just written in the love I meant it for. I don't mean to cause more strife. I just really believe we are fighting an ignorant fight when there are so very many things that are more important to fight for.

I Will Never Give Up

Little known fact about me. I really despise attention. It makes me uncomfortable. And I internally scream when I'm singled out. I've been this way forever. As a child, some of my family can tell you that I always stood with my head down and my arm wrapped around myself and I did my best to be invisible. Not because I was shy in the normal sense. But because I didn't want anyone to notice me and then by noticing me, possibly hurt me. I know it hurt some of my family deeply (love you Aunt Sheila) and some never even noticed or cared. As a teenager I tried to compensate for my utter lack of self confidence by putting on this tough girl attitude and by pretending to be someone that I wasn't. No I didn't do lots of horrible things but I might have pretended to do more than I did just to look tough so others couldn't hurt me. As an adult I've learned to compensate for my lack of confidence by simply pretending I am confident. I smile. A lot. I do genuinely like to smile. I genuinely want to be happy. I put myself out there to meet others. I bring attention to myself in order that the attention on me is of my doing and is in my control. I'm not 100% sure that "faking it till I make it" is the healthiest way of going about it, but for the most part it works, for me. And throughout my life, when it gets to be too much, I retreat. I lose myself inside. Rather it's through books, the internet or sleep or whatever I can find. I run away. Which I know is really not healthy. But it's allowed me to survive this far. Children of abuse learn coping mechanisms that sometimes seem backwards and to not make much sense to others. But we learn to do what we can to survive. To retreat enough to stay safe until the coast is clear and then we come back out and set to work building ourselves back up. As my husband calls it, my tower of building blocks. The foundation was cracked and shattered a long time ago and can never be completely fixed. But it can be patched. And glued. And taped. And made sturdy. Even if not 100% it can still be mended enough to start to build atop it. And every block placed on top that makes me, me has to be placed just so. Because the slightest shift can send it crashing down. But I keep at it. Even when they shift and fall. Even when I have to take a break and go back to blocks I placed years ago to repair a new crack. Or go all the way back down to the bottom to reset a block that I thought I had glued back together already, just to have to climb all the way back to the top again just to keep building more. And then back down, then up, and so on and so on. Forever. It's literally a never ending process. I'm not gonna lie. It's exhausting. And I want to give up. Sometimes you feel that no matter how hard you try, you're never going to have a solid tower. And you dang sure are never going to have a tower as nice as "normal" peoples towers. But what choice do we have but to keep on? I know not everyone likes me. I know some people talk about me behind my back. And it honestly does hurt. I've been misjudged my whole life. And I try really hard to be nice to everybody and to be a likeable person. Because I really do not ever want to be a crack in someone's tower. I want to help others glue their own blocks together. And when those same people I just helped, turn around and kick me? It hurts. I'm human, of course it hurts. It hurts when I go out of my way to include people or make them feel special and they never return the same courtesy. But I try to turn the other cheek and move on. And the next time that person needs help with their block? Well, I'll be the first one to volunteer to help. Even though I know it will be detrimental to myself in the end. I can't not help. I don't have it in me. So even though I know someone may despise me and talk negatively about me, or worse, are just indifferent to me, I'm going to be there for them. Because I can't do anything else. And I'm honestly okay with that. But sometimes I wish it wasn't so hard. I wish I could be normal. Somedays I get angry and resentful. "How come I got such a crappy hand in life?" "How come I can't be like normal people and only worry about myself?" But I know my life is truly not bad. I know so many have much worse things to deal with. I know that there are people dying and cold and hungry and scared and utterly without hope. And that humbles me. I have a good life. I am a good person. I have a beautiful roof over my head and (too much) food in my belly. And I have a husband and children who love me. What more could I possibly need? Yes I had a not nice childhood. Yes I have a father who doesn't want me. I have hangups from a life time of issues. Like I kind of despise my birthday because 1; the attention makes me feel like I'm being selfish and all "look at me, look at me". And 2; I know that the people that should call me won't, even though I never miss theirs. Seriously thank God for good friends, otherwise it would be unbearable. And Father's Day is always a little bittersweet to me. Again, thank God for Nick so I have someone to celebrate. Yes I have every reason to be a horrible selfish person. But I'm not. I'm me. Not perfect by any means. But not bad. And getting better. But sometimes I stumble. And feel like I don't want to try anymore, that it's just too hard. But eventually I hear that little voice in the back of my head that tells me to stand back up. To not give up. That I was made for more than this. That He isn't done with me yet. And maybe my job is to tell my story. Maybe it is simply to go forth and help as many people as I can. Maybe it's to be a voice for those who aren't brave enough yet to speak their own story. Or maybe not. But whatever it is, I'm not going to stop building my tower until it's complete. Until it's high enough that others can see it and use it to help get a foothold for their own tower. And I won't stop until I can reach the top and grab hold of His hand and no longer have to toil and worry and stress over this life.
And until He lifts me up and wipes that last tear from my eye, I will never give up.

A Mother's Prayer

Oh my sweet baby girl. Today is your 13th birthday and while you seem to be pretty nonchalant about the whole thing, I am a great big bundle of emotions right now. 4,748 days ago, you made me a mother. The title that makes me happier than anything ever has. A title that I never thought I'd be given. I've never claimed to be perfect. I know I've messed up plenty and will again and again. But you've never once held it against me. You've loved me unconditionally and I thank you for that. I know I've missed things. Taken things for granted. Not appreciated things. And yet you still think I'm the greatest mom in the world. I know every mother thinks they are messing their children up at least once a day. And I'm sure I have given and will give you plenty of things to talk about one day on a psychiatrists couch. But I want you to know that the day you were born was the best day of my life (shh, don't tell your father). And every day I am grateful for you. You are not the little girl I pictured. You make me question my sanity frequently. You march to the beat of your own drum for sure. To paraphrase Dr. Seuss, you weren't born to fit in but to stand out. And you do it wonderfully. You add color to this world and to my life. I could not imagine a life without you. You are what made us a family. And I'm so glad God gave us you. And my prayer for you is this.
I pray that you always seek God in everything you do. He loves you more than anyone else ever has or ever will. Yes even more than me. He knew you before you were born and called you by name. Many people will hurt and disappoint you. But if your faith and trust is in Him, He will never leave you or forsake you.
I pray that you continue to have a helping and caring heart. We are all just trying to get by in this world and everybody at one point or another will need a helping hand. I pray that you actively look for those in need and reach out to them. Nobody ever became poor by giving. And you'll find that the more you help others, you are the one being helped.
I pray for your health and safety. Oh Lord, do I pray He keeps you safe. I pray that you eat more veggies and less burgers. That you drink a ton of water. That you exercise at least 20 minutes every single day. That you look both ways before crossing the street. That you remember how to defend yourself and escape from bad guys. That you're careful around sharp objects. That you never fail to wear your seatbelt and stay at or below the speed limit. Oh Lord, please keep my baby girl safe and healthy. But if you do get sick or hurt. I pray that you have inner peace in knowing that even though our earthly bodies will one day waste away, our spirits will live forever in His kingdom.
I pray that your life has more happiness and laughter than it does heartache. But I do pray for some heartache (but just a little). Because through heartache we learn how to truly heal and we find an inner strength and determination in ourselves that is awesome to behold. You really have no idea how strong you can be until you have no other choice.
I pray that you find something in your life that gives you great joy. And you use that joy to lead others. That you let your light shine so brightly that you help guide others to their own lights. One of my favorite quotes from one of my favorite authors C.S. Lewis is "Don't shine so that others can see you. Shine so that through you, others can see Him!"
I pray that you never lose your love of reading. How great is it that we can read something written hundreds of years ago and the words still hold true today? How wonderful is it that through reading we know that others have felt the same emotions and thoughts as we have? That we can connect with people from across the world and throughout generations all because of the written word? Gives me chills!
I pray you never ever stop learning new things. That you always keep a curious mind. Find out how things work. Take them apart and put them back together. Pour over that problem until it makes sense to you. And if you can't figure out how or why on your own, find someone that does know and pester them until they show you. There is always going to be people better and smarter than us. But that's how we learn. We ask questions. We tinker. Don't be afraid to ask questions. And if one person won't give you the answer you need, find someone that will. The answer is always there somewhere. We just gotta dig it out.
I pray that you have good friends. Not necessarily a lot of them. But a few really good ones. Ones that though may not always agree with you, are always there for you. Even when they're mad at you. Even when they're busy. Even when they're miles away. And I pray that you are that friend as well to them.
I pray that you one day meet a man that only loves God more than he loves you. That he falls to his knees in prayer before he falls to his knee for your hand. That he respects you. That he adores you. That he rubs your feet when they're cold. Who kisses you with both tenderness and passion and who never stops looking at you like you hung the moon. And I pray that you do the same for him. That when you are both tired and cranky, when you're trying to learn how to build a household together and most months have more month than money, that neither of you lose sight of your love and commitment to not only each other but to God. That when you get angry with each other that you turn to prayer and the bible instead of harsh words.
And I pray that if and when you decide that you're both ready for children, that God blesses you with a child as colorful, and crazy, and fun, and loving, and smart, and perfect as He did me.
Amen.

Malachi 3:3

A favorite old story I've always loved...


"Malachi 3:3 says: 'He will sit as a refiner and purifier of silver.'

This verse puzzled a group in a Bible study and they wondered what this statement meant about the character and nature of God.

One of them offered to find out the process of refining silver and get back to the group at their next Bible Study.

That week, the woman called a silversmith and made an appointment to watch him at work. She didn't mention anything about the reason for her interest beyond her curiosity about the process of refining Silver.

As she watched the silversmith, he held a piece of silver over the fire and let it heat up. He explained that in refining silver, one needed to hold the silver in the middle of the fire where the flames were hottest as to burn away all the impurities.

The woman thought about God holding us in such a hot spot; then she thought again about the verse that says: 'He sits as a refiner and purifier of silver.' She asked the silversmith if it was true that he had to sit there in front of the fire the whole time the silver was being refined.

The man answered that yes, he not only had to sit there holding the silver, but he had to keep his eyes on the silver the entire time it was in the fire. If the silver was left a moment too long in the flames, it would be destroyed.

The woman was silent for a moment. Then she asked the silversmith, 'How do you know when the silver is fully refined?'

He smiled at her and answered, 'Oh, that's easy -- when I see my image in it.'