On Waiting.......

This morning, swinging on the Creek Road porch, looking at the tree my daddy planted over 50 years ago, my Chan asked me a question. 

"Nanny, have you heard about that tree that you can plant in the ground and the first year you plant it, it doesn't grow? And then the second year it doesn't grow either. Not the third year or the fourth or even the fifth. And then in the sixth year it starts growing and it grows and grows after that into a big beautiful tree. Have you heard about that?"

"No, I don't believe that I have, Chan. But it reminds me of something that happened here on this porch about nine years ago. It was April and I was sitting in the swing waiting to see a hummingbird. I had put my feeder out and hoped it wouldn't be long before they found it. I would sit and watch and I know this sounds silly, but I would ask God to please let this be the day I see one. You see my daddy, your great granddaddy, loved hummingbirds. He was in nursing home, had been sick a long time with a disease that makes him forget everything and I didn't know how to help him.  I don't know why I was so desperate to see the hummingbird, I guess it just would have reminded me of when he was himself and would sit for hours watching these fascinating little birds. I know that they brought him joy. 

Well I watched and watched and prayed and prayed and nothing. Most everyone else I knew who fed the hummers had already seen them at their feeders. I just couldn't understand it. Day by day went by with no sightings. Well about two months later, on June the 8th, your grandaddy went to live with Jesus. I was very sad, but relieved too that he was finally himself again, with no pain, and with a complete mind. The day after he left here, I was on my porch crying a little. You do that when someone you love a whole lot dies. I stared at the hummingbird feeder and was feeling kind of sad and mad at the same time. I hadn't asked God for much. Just to let me see one little hummingbird. I had been watching and asking for two months now. And not one came.

I didn't think I was really seeing it at first. It fluttered at the feeder for a few seconds and then flew right up to the screen where I was sitting and looked at me, it's emerald wings fluttering swiftly. My breath caught in my chest. It had a red throat and was the prettiest hummingbird I had ever seen. It stayed suspended in front of me for just a bit and then flew back to the feeder, drank for a few seconds, and then flew away. I think I was still holding my breath when I realized what had just taken place. God had sent me the hummingbird at just the right time to let me know that my daddy was ok."

I told Chan that I'll bet that most people would have gotten tired and given up while waiting for that tree. Maybe they would have been ok with it not growing in the second year, even the third. They would have said, "ok, I'm gonna give it another year." But then by the fourth and fifth years, they would give up. They would say, "this tree is never going to grow. It's been five years now! I'm just going to dig it up and forget it." But they never get the time to dig it up and they forget about watching for it to grow. And then... then in the sixth year, they look at that tree and it is bigger and fuller. They watch and see it grow and grow and they can't believe that it is finally happening. 

God didn't send the hummingbird when I asked Him to. 

I didn't understand.

I thought He didn't hear me.

I thought He didn't care. 

I was tired of waiting.

I almost gave up.

It was when I was at my saddest, with the most questions, when He finally sent it.

And I believed.

If He had sent it when I asked, I may not have believed it was Him. 

His timing is always perfect.

His ways are higher than ours.

He wants us to trust Him with all of our hearts.

 

It may not always look like we expect it to but....

Just wait.

The tree will grow.

The hummingbirds will come. 

He has made a promise.

In His timing.  

The One At The Waterfront

I hesitated telling this story. I am a firm believer that if you continuously shout what good you are doing in this life, that warm fuzzy feeling and the applause of others might be all you ever get.
However I also believe that stories need to be shared, because we are in fact, all in this together.

I have befriended a homeless man in my hometown. He lives on the benches at the waterfront. He tells me that he has somewhere to go when it is cold or raining, but I'm not sure. He is always alone.
I first saw him when my husband and I were having lunch on a beautiful Spring day at the waterfront. Bojangles chicken. And sweet tea. I noticed him lying there, a filled trash bag beside him with all that he owned in it....another one filled and used as his pillow.  Now, I love my fried chicken and I've been known to get doubles of that dirty rice, but as we ate, I felt my appetite kinda dwindling, highly unusual for me. When he sat up and begin looking over at us from a distance, I knew that I would be taking chicken and dirty rice home that day.
"I wonder if he is hungry."
My husband didn't say a word as I got up and started walking.
"You hungry?"
He said it fast, nodding his head. "Yeah. Yeah I am."
"What would you like?"
Again, fast. "Chicken. Bojangles chicken. And some french fries. And sweet tea. Large".
He smiled and I smiled.
"Be right back."

I've seen him a lot since that day, six months ago. He is always alone. He had a bicycle for a while, with a basket to carry his life. Sometimes when I stop, he has food already. There are others caring for him. On those occasions, I just hand him money for his next meal. He rarely says thank you, he just smiles. He's a fairly young man. Somewhat mentally challenged. Sometimes he knows exactly what he wants. "Big Mac, large fries and sweet tea." Fast. When he knows what he wants, he always says it fast. Other times, he thinks. For several minutes. He has never asked for a seafood dinner. He has never asked for money. It's always something simple. He knows our truck now. And Eli. He knows Eli.

I took the boys with me one day. I wanted them to meet him. He already had food that day so I introduced him to my grand boys and handed him a little money. He smiled. As we were leaving, my youngest turned around and suddenly asked, "Hey. Do you know Jesus?"
My friend smiled at Chandler and said, "Yes.   I've known Him all my life."

Sometimes when I ride by, and he is there, and I look over and he has food, I don't stop.
Sometimes I wonder what he does with the money.
Sometimes he isn't there.

Tonight we rode by the waterfront. He was there, on the bench. He raised up when he saw the truck, Eli in the back. I was in a bit of a hurry to get home, so I was kinda hoping he was eating. He wasn't. I didn't see his bicycle. Just the trash bags.

I went over, said hello and reached out the money to him. He didn't take it. He didn't say anything. He just looked at me. His eyes were sad and questioning.

"Are you hungry?"

"Yes ma'm."

"What would you like?"

Fast. "Wendy's cheeseburger with ketchup, mustard and pickles. French fries. Large. And can I have a Frosty? Vanilla? A medium one?"

"Be right back."


I've never been hungry. He didn't take the money. Most would have taken the money.

Tonight I saw hungry.  And it broke my heart.

Dear Lord, he has known you all his life. Thank you for taking care of him. Open my eyes.
It could have been me. Me, on the outside. Help me to always remember that.

We are all in this.......together.

The Past Six Months Of My Life

It's January 1st, 2017.
In July 2016, I sold my childhood home to my daughter and her family. Three generations now in the home on Creek Road. I could try to tell you how much that home meant to me, how that porch was my haven, my safe place, how I always wanted to get back to it when I was gone for long, the memories of my childhood there, of raising my children there, the traditions we made, how I always said I wanted to die in that house........I could try to tell you but I could never make any of you understand.
We moved in with my mama, my husband and I did. We bought this little house on Maple Street about 15 years ago for my mama and daddy to live in. My daddy never really did enjoy living here, his mind was nearly gone to Alzheimer's. After Daddy died, Mama lived alone, bravely, for nearly eight years. She's at a point where she needs help now.
Selling the house to my daughter, moving in with my mama was absolutely the right decision. Knowing that my grandboys will be raised in the same house that I was raised in, the one I raised my children in, brings a peace and joy that I can't explain. They have already made it their own. Lots of renovations and additions...it is beautiful.

One night, probably in September, during the renovations, I went there all alone. The house was empty, no family, no furniture, original bare oak floors, no ceilings, just wooden beams from 50 years ago, no electricity, the only light was from the full moon that night, shining in every bare window....so quiet. I walked through every room. The tiny back bedroom I shared with my sister, the room where I played as a child and where I dreamed and planned as a teenager.  I stood in the hallway and remembered so vividly, hearing my daddy get up early in the mornings to go to work, the sound of him stirring his coffee, me sometimes meeting him in the kitchen to say goodbye to him. The living room, so bare, so quiet, so many memories. And the kitchen. The place where I discovered that I had a love for cooking, it was never a chore, I always loved it....it was my therapy.
And that porch. The swing was still there. I don't know how long I sat there, swinging, sobbing, asking Him for peace, knowing it was right, knowing I had to leave, trying to say goodbye.
I walked through the house one final time and I prayed in every room. I prayed that peace and joy and love and protection would fill this home for my daughter, my son-in-law, my grandboys.
I felt it as I walked out. That peace. That knowing. It was hard. But it was right.

When I go there now, it is different, yet the same. I don't cry anymore when I leave.

These past six months have been teaching me something. I have grieved. Not just for the house. For a lot of things. Things of life. Of changes. Of uncertainty. A sadness of knowing......
I have not been myself. I have felt a little lost. I have been in a place I have never been before... emotionally, physically, spiritually.......
But.
I am learning.
He is teaching.
Of that I am sure.
I am hopeful.

My phrase for 2017 is "Live What Matters".
The next chapter.
Intentional.
Fully engaged.
Let all that is within me.......

Just When

Just when I wake up hoping the day will bring something good and I end up going to bed that night with no new hope, just more worries,

Just when the pain is almost more than I can bear and it has lasted for days and I have tried to push through it the best I can,

Just when the surprise bills come all at the same time and the ones you love need things and there is always the need for money, money, money,

Just when the news tells of yet another child who has been violated, another family who has been killed, another bomb that has gone off,

Just when I read the comments on social media, the hate, the intolerance, the need to get even, the sarcastic darts thrown at our fellow humans,

Just when I embrace the mood, I’ve had enough, I want to scream at someone,

Just when I look up at the sky and wonder if there really is a God who sees us, who loves us, who cares,

Just when I've cried all that I can cry and now I sit and just stare because that’s all my numb mind can do at this point,

It’s then…just when I am at the point of giving in to that feeling of despair and hopelessness, that I see a person right in my own hometown who sleeps on a bench every night with all that he owns in a trash bag close beside him and I thank Him for my home and my bed and my things…

It’s then that I read about the many who suffer through unimaginable pain with no help in sight, no reason to hope, no relief from the worsening pain and I thank Him for medication and doctors and heating pads and comfort….

It’s then that I realize that I shop at Whole Foods, I drink expensive coffee at coffee shops, I grill a ribeye whenever I want to, I buy raw honey from a local health food store to sweeten my organic whole bean coffee, I take off on a trip whenever the mood strikes me, I buy my dog the best dogfood and I close my eyes and feel a sense of guilt and I know He wouldn't want me to because there is no condemnation from Him and I cry and tell Him that I thank Him and I love Him……

It’s then that He reminds me that we live in a hurting, broken world and that He didn't intend any of this for us, that as much as we can’t understand here, He has a plan and always has and promises that we will see that one day and He allows me to see that always always through the bad there is good…..always……

Just when I am on my porch in my swing and it is silent and the overthinking brain that He created in me is doubting and wondering and trying to figure it all out, it’s then that He sends me the cardinal. And she flies close up to me and stares at me. And I look out at the field of buttercups down the lane and I see them softly fluttering and I close my eyes and feel His wind whispering to me….that lifting of the lump in my chest, replaced by the light feeling of nothingness…..and I feel myself smile and it is that knowing in my heart that I’ve tried to explain to others but can’t put into words, the knowing that all is well and He is here and will always be….

Walk This Road With Me Will You? Chapter 10

It has been over 4 months since my last blog. I have been waiting for my son to send me his story.  I have been saying to him: "I need your story. I told everyone it was next."
To which he would reply:  "I know. I'm working on it.  Mama, I don't really like one-sided conversation. I just wish all of the people who will read this could be sitting with me in person so they could talk back with me and I could try to answer their questions."
I do get that. But we both realize that it can't happen like that with everyone. So it has to be written.
He tells me that he is starting his own blog. Because I am a firm believer that we should share our stories, I am happy about that.
Here is his first chapter......

 "Let me start by saying this: I would so much rather have a conversation with each of you than write an essay of my life for you to read. I’m better at dialogue than I am script. When I first started writing this, I was overwhelmed by the task of saying everything perfectly. I wanted to make sure everyone who read my story understood all of it, completely. Now, four months later, I realize that’s not going to happen. My story is mine, and all I have to do is tell it. 

God, I thank you for being real in my life. Thank you for loving me enough to pursue me and speak truth to me. I ask that You would be in every word I write. Let Your Holy Spirit move right now, as I tell about how You’ve revealed Yourself to me. Your Word tells us that we overcome by the blood of The Lamb, and the word of our testimony (Revelation 12:11). I pray that You would release deliverance, healing, revelation and truth through the word of my testimony.

I don’t remember a time when I didn’t believe in God. I mean, I heard about Jesus before I heard about almost anything else. There are pros and cons to that I guess. There’s a part of me that wants to remember that moment when I first acknowledged the existence of a Savior. On the other hand, I’m unbelievably thankful that I was born into a family who focused on Faith. It should be said that I wouldn’t change a thing.

I remember very clearly the dreams I had as a child. I used to try to imagine myself as a grown-up, and everything my little mind thought that would look like.Those pictures would make me happy. I saw myself married to a woman I was in love with. I saw a bunch of kids running around, my kids. I saw myself sitting at a piano on an empty stage, eyes closed, singing about the greatness of God. 

I also remember when those vivid dreams started to fade. It wasn’t all at once. It was over a long, toilsome, cloudy period of time. I was fourteen when I first acknowledged my same-sex attraction to my mother. I didn’t have to say anything, mind you, she already knew. She still listened to me try to explain it though, something I myself didn’t even understand. She cried with me as I expressed how much I didn’t want it. She was wonderful. I wouldn’t find out how deeply it affected her until much later. 

There are a lot of important truths I am now aware of that I was clueless to back then. To walk you through every question, every prayer, every tear, every fear, every decision, every relationship, every stance, every fleeting idea of truth would be pointlessly difficult. However, I will tell you what I have constantly been in pursuit of: truth. I wanted to know what was true. Don’t get me wrong, I knew parts of the truth. The parts about Jesus, salvation, grace, eternity - I was fairly clear on those things. What I was uncertain of was how to reconcile my seemingly unchangeable sexuality with my Faith. In a span of 15 years, I read countless books, watched several documentaries, and sought council from family, friends, pastors, and strangers. All in pursuit of truth. During those 15 years, the seasons of victory and clarity were overwhelmingly shadowed by seasons of confusion and defeat. It was as if I came to an impassable wall. I was stuck. 

Here’s the thing about coming to a wall and staying there: you start settling. You’re eventually forced to start making decisions out of defeat, and that is exactly what I did. I looked around at the only options I thought were available to me and I began making my decisions based on what I saw. Convincing arguments that were biblically unsound began sounding more and more appealing. I started viewing the issue as more of a social matter (I wanted it to be socially logical), rather than that of a spiritual one (I no longer needed it to line up with God’s Word). This road assisted in leading me to Spiritual death.

There was another factor that was an even bigger contributor to my Spiritual decay.That was the absence of The Holy Spirit in my life. This is the most important part of my story. For in the resolution of this problem, everything else in my life made sense. Like I said, I grew up in church and had a relationship with Jesus Christ. But because of misguidance and misrepresentation of The Holy Spirit I had seen as a child, I unknowingly shut out the existence of the true Spirit of God, and the power that is available through Him in our lives.

I was raised in a charismatic church. I have so many incredible memories and love so many people from that church. However, I saw things that didn’t make sense. I heard people speak in tongues without any explanation as to the purpose. I watched them shout, and run, and participate in other emotionally charged things, but I didn’t see how those things helped anyone outside the walls of the church. I didn’t see a point to any of it. I didn’t see how that was helping other people at all. So, I decided to figure out what was “real”. I started isolating everything that resembled what I had been told “The Holy Ghost” was, and labeled it all nonsense. I began despising anything that looked similar to the way I was raised. I developed a very comfortable and logical faith in a very  practical and understanding God, a God who adjusted himself to the needs of our ever-changing society. I was lost and confused, with no foundation to rely on. I had removed the stability of the Word of God, and rejected the power of His Spirit in my life. 

Then something unbelievable happened. In November 2011, some good friends of mine invited me to attend what I thought was a crazy Pentecostal conference. They could see that I was searching for answers. They could tell that something wasn’t right with me. So they invited me and prayed for me. I declined the first several invitations. I actually ridiculed most of them for being involved with it. You know what they did? They continued to pray for me. Then, in March 2012, I decided to go. I went with caution and hesitancy. I went with my questions. I went with my answers. I went with my problems, struggles, and issues. It was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. The realness of God hit me in the face. The power of His Holy Spirit was awakened in my life for the first time. There’s no way for me to explain every detail of that night. I listened to godly people talk about things I had heard before. I sat in skepticism for the majority of the teaching. I even contemplated walking out after a few minutes. But I stayed; I listened. At the end of the teaching, I glued myself to my chair as other people, friends of mine, made their way to the front to experience the presence of God. I wanted to leave. Instead, I asked God to show me truth - show me what was real. And He did. He revealed Himself to me in a way that I had never experienced. Something inside me knew He was asking me to step out in faith and believe. When I opened myself up to Him, He showed up in a very real way. The rest of the week was filled with so many biblical truths about who God is, who we are, and how our identity is found in Him alone.  

What I learned has literally been life-changing. 

I am a follower of Jesus Christ. I believe in the salvation that is offered through His sacrifice (Romans 5:8-9). I will continually work to make Jesus the Lord of my life. I have been born of the Holy Spirit of God. I believe that the Spirit that raised Christ from the dead is the same Spirit that lives in me; His power is available to me (Romans 8:11). The Word of God is truth. I believe that it reveals the heart of God. I believe that faith comes when we hear it. (Romans 10:17) 

This is who I am. This is my identity. Everything else in my life must line up with this. That is the decision I have made. Do I still have questions? Yes. Do I know what’s best for everyone? No. I am only telling you my story. And my story isn’t over. 
If anything, it’s just beginning."

Walk This Road With Me, Will You? Chap.9

Almost 6 weeks since my surgery. I feel mostly healed up from that. Going on 3 months since I have had a shot for the arthritis. Tonight my joint pain is a 2. I want to be able to tell you that it has been a 2 the whole time. It has not. I have been struggling for the past couple of weeks. Gosh I hate to tell you that. I so wish I could say that my joint pain has miraculously gone or stayed minimal. But I have to be honest.  One day it is my shoulder. The next day, my wrists. Then it is my hip. Then my feet. Always my fingers. The pain has been up to an 8, maybe 9. It is so much worse at night. It steals my sleep. I am on no medication. I did take a pain pill one night, it got so bad. I don't like to do that. I do not want to depend on medication to ease my pain. That may sound crazy to some folks but I just don't.  I believe that medication is good and I do not find fault with those who need it but I have never wanted to take medication on a long-term basis. It's just me. I don't know why.
I've been talking to God a lot lately. Pain forces you to do that. I asked Him why I was having this pain. Why now? He had been so good to me over the past couple of months. I believed that He had answered my prayers ( and the many prayers of others)  concerning healing. I had thanked Him daily for His healing, thanked Him even while I was hurting. But now it seemed that the pain was getting worse instead of better. A few nights ago my shoulder was aching so bad that I couldn't sleep. I decided that I would just have to get up and take a pain pill (I had some leftover from my surgery).  I had done that a few nights earlier and I remembered how after about 20 minutes,  I got that loopy feeling and the pain began to ease and I finally went to sleep. So I was on the verge of doing that again this time. I needed relief.  I decided to pray first. I told God that I needed for the pain to ease so that I could go to sleep. I was aware that He knew how I felt about medicine. I asked Him if He would be my medicine that night. I told him that I believed with all my heart that He could ease my pain. I told Him that I would wait for Him to work, just like I had waited for the pain pill. I closed my eyes and started thanking Him over and over for all of the good things He had done for me lately. And after about 20 minutes, I realized that the pain in my shoulder had eased off. And I went to sleep.
Have you ever picked up a Bible and opened it, hoping that the very first verse you read would "speak to you"? I used to do that a lot. It never seemed to work for me. I would always get an off the wall verse that seemed to mean nothing to my circumstance. So I stopped doing that.  The other morning I was on my porch, in my swing, both wrists hurting, questioning the pain, getting ready to read my Bible. I opened it up and my eyes fell immediately on this verse:  "But He said to me, 'My Grace is sufficient for you, for my Power is made perfect in weakness.' Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weakness, so that Christ's Power can work through me." Ok.   Wow.    I thought about that for a while.  So that Christ's Power can work through me. Could it be that God was using my pain to ultimately make me who He created me to be? To get and keep my attention? To keep me focused on Him because He knows that I may not stay focused if I didn't need him?  That morning in my swing I truly felt that He was speaking to me. I made the decision to trust Him with this pain.
I used to believe in coincidence. In fact I pretty much believed that every situation that was amazing or weird was probably coincidence. I couldn't for the life of me believe that it could actually be a God thing. That seemed too far-fetched. My logical mind just couldn't accept that. I don't know how in the world I even stayed in church, believing in God. My mind was so non-spiritual at the time.
I can tell you that I have had a complete change of heart lately. Now I don't believe there is such a thing as coincidence. He has been with me. He has healed my body. He has eased my pain. He has been my medication. He has stepped in for my loved ones. He has answered some questions. He has spoken to me. He has given me peace. In spite of the pain. I simply cannot figure out how to thank Him enough for that.

This next part of my story is the hardest for me to write. It is from my standpoint but it is not about me. Looking back,  I never thought I would be able to share this part of my story. Never. My daughter shared her story recently and my son is about to do the same. Let me just say that I am beyond proud of both of them. It is not easy. We choose to share because we know that there are many like us who have gone through the same things and had the same questions. We do not pretend to have all of the answers, by far. This is just what we have honestly gone through and what we know that we need to share. We would be humbled if it helps just one.

I remember it like it was yesterday. He was playing with his toys in the kitchen floor. His daddy was at work. His sister was at school. I had just washed my hair and it was up in a towel. I heard his sweet little 3 -year- old voice ask,
"Mama? You know what I want to be when I go to school?"
"What do you want to be baby?"
"I want to be a girl."
And it felt like the floor just opened up and swallowed me whole.

That's when the begging began. Every night I begged God to let it not be true. Not that I couldn't or wouldn't love a gay son or that I would be embarrassed or ashamed, not at all. That wasn't it. It was the hurt it would cause him. I had seen it. Someone else I loved very much had gone through the same thing. I saw the judgement from others.  I saw the hate and disgust.  I couldn't reconcile it with my faith.  I didn't understand it. I was afraid for my little boy. I didn't want him to be hated. So I begged. We put him in sports. He loved to sit right beside me all the time and I made him go sit with his daddy. I prayed and I prayed and I begged and I begged. And I tried to believe. I watched from a distance, him never knowing what I was praying for. I watched him pray too, his little hand on his Bible every night, me not knowing (until much later)  that he was praying the same thing too. It was in his teenage years that we began to talk about it together. Being a Christian, I knew what I should tell him. "Run from it. Don't give in. The feelings will change. God will change you." And I did tell him that early on. I really believed that it would happen. He did too. Ricky has always had a deep love for Christ. I saw that in him very early on. I even used to joke and say that he was even more spiritual than me. It was the truth.  He always had a hunger for God. The homosexuality wasn't too much if an issue when he was younger because he really thought God would answer his prayers. And the prayers of his mother. It wasn't until he left and went away to college that he came to the realization that maybe this wasn't going to change. God seemed to be turning a deaf ear to our prayers. He kept trying. He dated a precious, beautiful girl for two years, hoping that she would be the one who could change his feelings. I remember that he would call me with his questions and look to me to give him solid answers. I couldn't. I didn't have any. By this time I had read not only the Bible, but many other books and watched documentaries and talked with other gay people. Most would tell me that they didn't believe that God was displeased with them being gay. That it wasn't a sin. How could He be when He had made them this way? That they did not choose to be attracted to the same sex. Why in the world would they choose it? I discovered that it was considered harmful to try and change your sexual identity. Many had committed suicide from the pressure of it all. I could not let that happen to my son. So when he would ask me for advice I would tell him the only thing I knew to tell him. "Just be whole. I want you whole. You will know what that looks like for you. Pursue wholeness." It was the best thing I could think of to say to him, always hoping that it was the right thing. I stopped begging God. I had spent too many years doing that. I continued to question Him. About this. Always about this. And about religion and what it all meant. It's funny, you would think that I would have just given up on God and the church but I didn't. I never even considered that. I just always knew that there were answers to my many questions and I just thought I may have to wait until Heaven so that I could ask Him myself. Still I kept searching. Forever searching......

Will you keep praying for me? Will you keep walking with me? My son shares his story in his own words in the next chapter. Stay with us........

Walk This Road With Me, Will You? Chap.8

I am posting my daughter's written story tonight on this blog. It is one of heartache and triumph. As I look back on all that she went through, there's a certain amount of guilt on my part as a mother. I missed it. I had no clue. I thought it was just normal girl adolescent behavior. I was absorbed with other things. She didn't know how to tell me and I didn't think to ask. I regret that.  It was not intentional. I have asked her forgiveness. She is such a sweet and gracious person, she says that I have nothing to ask forgiveness for. But I know that I do. Not only do I need to ask for forgiveness, I myself need to forgive someone. And that person is me. I am finding that forgiving ourselves is the hardest thing to do. But I am working on it. And He is helping me. 

Mothers pay attention to your children. Talk to them. Look for clues. Make them feel that they can tell you anything.  They need to know that they are your most prized possession. They need proper discipline just as much as they need to feel unconditional love from you at all times. Above all pray for them. They are gifts to you and they are worth it.

This is my sweet Amber's story in her own words. It takes courage to tell it. It will help someone else. I am beyond proud of her.

 

"My favorite thing to do when I was a little girl was to sing. I sang all the time. I sang at home into a pretend microphone, I sang at church, I sang on the tables at Hardee’s after church.  If I was awake, I was singing.

I remember being a happy little girl, full of joy. I loved everyone and I even liked myself. I was a straight A student  who dreamed of being a teacher, if being a singer didn’t work out.

I don’t know when but somewhere during my middle school years my happiness began to fade. I’m sure that part of it was due to the fact that I was being touched inappropriately by an older boy. I didn’t feel that I could tell anyone about this so I didn’t. The secret made me feel guilty, ashamed, worthless and ugly. I’m sure that hormones played a part in it as well, but I look back now and realize that it was something much deeper. I was overweight, wore glasses (which were huge by the way), and had a curly perm. Well, this scenario was a field day for bullies and I began to be teased relentlessly, everyday. My grades plummeted and I became sullen and moody. My dreams of being a singer vanished. My self-worth was at an all-time low.  

I managed to struggle through high school and then college, constantly feeling that I never measured up. I was clinically depressed at this point and had no clue what that meant. I just lived life the best way I knew how.

When I was 20 years old, I met my husband Dale. He was the first guy I was ever truly interested in. We became friends, then began dating, and got engaged 3 months later. I remember being so mean to him.  My mom would ask me if I loved him and I would sob and say “Yes, yes I do! I don’t know why I treat him so bad!”  I knew that I treated him terribly but I literally could not help it. It was weird but I just didn’t feel like myself and I didn’t have a clue what to do about it. I looked in the mirror and saw a young woman who was angry, irritable, and on edge--- and I hated her.

A defining moment came for me in October, 2000. I actually don’t remember much about the day. I know that I had been watching a show on TV called “Beverly Hills 90210” and on it a girl had shoplifted. I can remember going to the mall. I remember being in Maurice’s trying on clothes. I remember putting the shirt in my purse. I remember feeling numb but at the same time it was a feeling of excitement. I had the money to pay for this shirt, but I chose to steal it. I remember the salesperson stopping me. I remember the policeman and the handcuffs. I remember my Daddy coming to the police station with a bewildered look on his face. I remember seeing my mama fall back on her bed with a look of utter disbelief when we told her.  She got on the phone and called the office of a psychiatrist that she knew. I heard her calmly say, “I need to make an appointment for my daughter, something is wrong.”  She called our pastor and a few close friends to pray. I remember the visits to the psychiatrist’s office, the counseling, the medication. I remember the court dates, the newspaper, the community service hours, the embarrassment.  At church, I was told that I could not teach Children’s Church or sing in the choir for a while. I was told that I should not take the medication because there was really no such thing as depression, that it was oppression, which meant that it was something of a spiritual nature. I remember that confusing me at the time and not getting an explanation for what that meant. I just remember feeling very unworthy and guilty. The thing that kept me going was the love, understanding, and support of those who knew me and the medication which was slowly balancing those chemicals in my brain.

I felt the depression lift. Things were looking up. I married Dale in May of 2001.

While I was beginning to feel like myself, little did I realize that there was another culprit who was replacing depression as my enemy and that was anxiety and panic.

 I was convinced that something bad was going to happen. One night we were at home watching a movie with some friends and my heart started feeling like it was beating out of my chest. I couldn’t catch my breath. My chest would tighten and pain would shoot down my arm.  I literally felt like I was dying. I told Dale to take me to the emergency room where I had a cardiac workup that was normal. I was referred to a cardiologist who did every test imaginable and told me that my heart was completely healthy. The diagnosis was “panic attack.” This knowledge didn’t change the fact that these attacks were real and were occurring more and more. Although Dale was understanding and supportive, I felt very alone and isolated at this point in my life.  

I was a stay at home mom for my now TWO sweet boys and I didn’t have much outside contact. I never felt that I was a bad mom (my boys were my LIFE) but I was just obsessed with the thought that something bad was going to happen. I have to say here that I DID like to watch scary movies and shows about unsolved crime and medical mysteries. I didn’t know how much of this was impacting my anxiety. I can remember watching “The Texas Chain Saw Massacre” one night and later could not get the images out of my head. It got so bad that I can even remember thinking about getting a knife and stabbing it into my brain to make it stop. I knew that I needed help. I returned to the doctor’s to get help and one doctor actually told me that if Christians would just pray more, medication wouldn’t have to be prescribed so much. You cannot imagine how much guilt and shame this caused me. You see, I DID pray. Dale and I would always pray when the attacks came. I went to another doctor who put me on anxiety medication. The panic attacks actually got worse. I was a mess and I didn’t know what to do. I stopped watching horror movies and crime stories. I read books and listened to CD’s about how to overcome anxiety but nothing seemed to be working.

There was one particular week in early 2009 where I was having panic attacks every single night. These were different and lasted longer than the other ones had. I remember one night in particular. I was having a bad panic attack and Dale was praying for me and trying to talk me out of it. I began to think, “He doesn’t deserve this. My boys don’t deserve this. They deserve so much better than me. With every new thought the panic would get worse. I remember lying there and thinking that I was going to die. It even progressed to thoughts like, “ What if I just do something bad to Dale? What if I hurt the boys?” I felt that my mind was literally unraveling.  I was exhausted. And I knew that I could not keep going like this. I felt like I had reached the end of my rope. I cannot verbalize the desperation that I felt sitting on my bed that night.

It was at this moment something happened.  I began calling on the name of Jesus. I remember whispering over and over again, “Jesus help me! Jesus you have to help me! Jesus! Jesus!”

And suddenly it was over.  It was gone. The voices fell silent and I felt peace. I layed my head down for the first time in hours and went to sleep. And I slept soundly the rest of the night. And every night after that.  That was three years ago. It was my last panic attack to this day.

I’ve always loved and followed Jesus even through the “monsters” that I was dealing with.  I am convinced that when I called His name that awful night three years ago, He heard me. There is power in Jesus’s name. I do know that God has a plan and a purpose for all of us, and His plan is to give us a future and a hope. He breaks through the lies of the enemy and He gives us back our identity. I know. He gave me back my song. He gave me back my self-worth.  Because now I don’t measure myself based on what I do. It’s all about who He is and what He did. My purpose is to exalt Him, and lift His name. For years I didn’t feel like I was even worthy enough to lift my hands to praise Him. So I didn’t. I couldn’t. Now I know that it has nothing to do with me, but it has all to do with Him. I now lift my hands to Him because like Psalm 40 says, “ He turned to me and heard my cry. He lifted me out of the pit and gave me a firm place to stand.”

I don’t want you to think that I no longer struggle, I do. Those “monsters still try to creep in at times, but I know who I am in Christ. I am His creation and He is stronger than any “monster” that comes my way."   

I thank my daughter for her story. She has helped me along this journey more than she knows. My faith was encouraged when she told me what happened that night three years ago. And that was huge for my questioning mind. I thank God everyday that he rescued her. I cannot thank Him enough. 

I want you to know that although we are telling our stories, none of this is about us.  Everyone has a story. As I have said before, the whole purpose of telling our story is for the sake of others. I am convinced that someone needs to hear what others have to say.  

Next you will hear some of my son's story.

Keep walking with us.........