Oct 142015
 

Yeah, you put on the white cloak and you sat there at my bedside when the world was completely engulfed in all things dark. You convinced me that I was to suffer and be in pain and feel the sting of the whip crack against my broken flesh because I couldn’t be obedient to Jesus holy name.

Then, one day the truth poked through and I knew it was live or die. I wouldn’t let you win – not this time.

It was a dark and cold February night as I fought for my life in a battle with you, the person who claimed to have the One on your side. You raped me –torn, bloody, raw. To prove that you were a man to be obeyed. You held a knife to me, you choked me, you knocked me out but the real God prevailed and He got me out.

The priest cupped my hands firmly 4 months after that night and her words stuck with me. “Even Satan can read. He is the master manipulator, the father of lies.”


Tears flowed down my cheeks –a release that I had been holding onto, holding in –the pain was killing me. I held the Bible firmly and slept with it under my pillow trying to pray the past away. In search of the true Truth and not the one I was forced to obey.

My notebooks grew thick as I began to study, read and write. It was God in and evil out throughout the day and night. I was on the hunt for the One who protects and does not hurt, the One who saves because He was the sacrifice, the One who forgives those who society won’t redeem, the God who came to earth with skin on to fulfill prophesy of old.

Somewhere along the broken road without even realizing I had done it – I believed, I had accepted Christ into my heart and life was finally looking up, the clouds still lingered and the pain of the past still stung-fresh, but above every dark cloud there was Light and every shadow was cast by the Light and when I realized that there could be no shadow if the Light didn’t exist I knew that I was on the path just right.

And so my notes have grown and my heart has not only found God but it’s a place in which He resides, the weary-drained no longer steals from my soul because the angels with their swords aflame keep the evil one out. When I do see his ugly face my tongue becomes the whip and the lashes that make him flee are scripture on my tongue.

I am saved. I am free. I am redeemed.

In whom we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of sins, according to the riches of his grace;
~Ephesians 1:7 (KJV)~

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Oct 032015
 

The depression weighed heavy on my chest, panic setting in and I wasn’t able to breathe. I held the razor tight in my right hand as it slipped over and over and over across the flesh of my left forearm and wrist. Blood drip-dripping onto the bandage already laid out.

Fog in my brain covering everything, every positive emotion and separating me from God. The words of those who cared bouncing off of me like I had a force field around me that only accepted negativity and bounced away love.

Trapped in my own head. Blaming myself for the miscarriages and a billion other things. Feeling worthless enough to write in my own blood, scrawled across the wall, “God won’t even take me back”. Part of me knew that this suicide attempt wasn’t going to be successful. I knew God wasn’t taking me home. I was enraged at Him. I remember saying “if this is eternal life than I don’t want it!!”


I took rat poison, sleeping pills, medication to prevent nausea and chased it all with a bottle of rye. I meant business. I really wanted to die.

I needed the pain to end and that was the only thing I could focus on. The ONLY THING.

I remember my mom’s words echoing in my head when they found me “am I that bad of a mother…?” No mom, you aren’t…. I am just in that much pain inside and I don’t know how to let it out. I am scared to live, afraid to die and living in a world where the only constant is hurt. I didn’t know how to tell her that though. I didn’t know how to tell myself that either.

A few weeks later I sat there, in my own hell. All I remember is a nurse, Trevor, holding me down and sedating me. I was told the next day that I was ripping my hair out claiming bugs were in me and that I was a murderer for my lost babies.

The Lord of Life is My Shepherd

It was then that I finally got real help. Life began to turn up from there. Medications help, I sought out God and somewhere along the way through therapies and friendship I managed to realize that I was going to be okay –even when I feel anything but. The pain still comes, it overwhelms but it passes and I can be happy the next day. I pull near to God, I still take my meds. I pray that I never fall into that pit again.

I know a lot of people have had suicide attempts or lost someone from suicide. It is NOT your fault. It is NOT their fault either. You cannot rationalize with an irrational and sick mind. People who hurt deep down are experts at hiding that pain and wearing a smile bright, cracking jokes and laughing. We are chameleons who blend right in, and then when we are alone the darkness creeps in.

My family has a long history of suicides, on both sides, and I know firsthand the damage it does to the survivors and how it feels to be the one teetering on the edge. I had no intention of writing about this tonight, but it’s what flowed out. The fall is the time of year in which I have had all of my miscarriages so it is easy for me to get down. I am not depressed or suicidal right now, only thinking back on years past and praising the Lord for the medications and the therapists who have helped me overcome those rough years of my life. Without Him, I wouldn’t be. Had He answered my prayer and called me Home my children wouldn’t have a mother and my mother wouldn’t have a daughter.

If you feel depressed or down or have had these thoughts seek help, you may feel broken, but there is glue to put you back together again! God has this, God has YOU!

Aug 272015
 



Weak as I am the emotions run strong, often ruling with an iron fist that I can’t evade, escape.
Maybe I don’t want to. Held here by the fear of the past even though handing it to God sounds easy.
Who are you? Who am I? What am I supposed to do?
Forgiving those who’ve trespassed against me, and trusting the world are two different things.
All life is bigger, bigger than you, and I said too much.
And that’s me in the corner losing my religion –while growing my faith.
‘Here I am before you, falling in love and seeking Your truth
Knowing that Your perfect grace has brought me to this place
Because of You I freely live, my life to You, oh God, I give
So I stand before you God
I lift my voice because You set me free
So I shout out your name, from the rooftops I proclaim – I am Yours, I am Yours!’
That’s me in the corner. Sorry I am bad. Please don’t go away.
Doubts dart frantically through the broken night’s sky.
Dream. Cheat. You let me down. Six feet underground. I might as well.
Have a little fun. Do all the things you do. Inspire. Carry on. Have you ever?
Breaking things we can’t repair. None of us will take the blame.
Will the running river reflect me as the shadow of death or will the light hidden deep in my soul shine bright?
Paradise.
Old. Grandmotherly, mischievous, the undead. Shadows follow everywhere I go. Feelings of unease, displeased. How do I know?
The Father, Son and Holy Ghost.
Casting demons out and running the Legion over the edge.
Why pick on me? My friends? Please don’t take him even though you can.
The Northern Lights dancing in the darkened evening sky
Domed around me begging me to dance with them in return.
And like every day, God paints the sky just for me.
One with the earth, the heavens and everything between.

May 212015
 

This bit of scripture seems to follow me wherever I go “on the wings of an eagle we will rise”. I first heard it in a song by Steve Bell, called Wings of an Eagle. I heard it standing there in our church as he strummed the guitar and we all listened to this beautiful song, telling us that no matter the situation, we will rise if we simply allow ourselves to soar on the wings of eagles, or through God.

I was in an extremely abusive situation at the time and I was a teen mom –before being a teen mom was “cool”. The tickets were bought for us by another family in the church and for the first time in a long time I felt hope. I felt like I could rise out of the dust of my life and truly hope in the Lord.

The scripture based song has stuck with me, been on all of my playlists and is etched in my memory. I feel like in a lot of ways this scripture saved me from that chaotic mess. I feel like that song re-introduced me to the true Bible and moved me away from a Bible that had been distorted by man for the purpose of abusing me in the name of God.

 

31 but those who hope in the Lord
    will renew their strength.
They will soar on wings like eagles;
    they will run and not grow weary,
    they will walk and not be faint.

Isaiah 40:31 (NIV)


 

May 032015
 

About a month ago, our family was having dinner with some friends at their house. I walked into the kitchen just as the other mom, while winking at me, handed my son a second cookie and whispered, “shhhh. It’s a secret. Don’t tell your mom.” To my delight {and surprise}, my son exclaimed, “Oooooh, but we don’t keep secrets in our house. We do surprises.” In that moment I thought, he gets it and he’s not afraid to say it, thank goodness.

You see, thanks to an excellent Sexual Abuse Prevention workshop that my husband and I attended, called Parenting Safe Children, we have a “no secrets” rule in our house. We have this rule because secrecy is a key ingredient to the sexual abuse of a child. In fact, sexual predators count on the fact that the child will keep a secret. Sometimes they even test the child by asking him to keep small, innocent secrets first to see if he will keep bigger ones later. So, when we teach our children that we don’t keep secrets, even about small and seemingly harmless things like a cookie, we are also instilling in them that they don’t have to keep big and unsafe secrets, like that of someone touching them inappropriately.

This other mom, the one who asked my son to keep the secret, is a friend of mine and I know that she meant no harm by it at all. Nonetheless, the interaction created a great opportunity for me to share with her about our Body Safety Rules {which we also adapted from the workshop}, one of which is that we don’t keep secrets. I shared with her that we have “surprises” instead of secrets because surprises are something that you keep quiet about temporarily; then you share the surprise and people are happy. But secrets are meant to be kept quiet forever and they’re often to protect something that would make people unhappy.

My friend asked me more about the Body Safety Rules – what they are, why we have them, where we keep them, how I talk about them with my kids – and I began to explain that we have Body Safety Rules in effort to keep our kids safe from sexual abuse, to empower our kids, and to communicate to others that our kids are off limits. I told her that we keep the rules posted front and center in our kitchen; that we went over each rule with our kids when we first made the sign and that we discuss them regularly as situations arise. For example, when I’m trying to get a moment of peace, err go to the bathroom by myself and one of them comes barging in, I remind them that because we’re the bosses of our own bodies, we’re allowed to have privacy when using the toilet. And {for the love} Mommy would like some privacy while going to the bathroom. Or when we go to the pediatrician, I remind them, “no one is allowed to touch your private parts {which we call by their correct name}, but because the doctor is checking to make sure you are healthy, he needs to check your whole body, including your private parts and because Mommy is here, it is ok.” We talk about the Body Safety Rules in the context of different every day situations and we also sometimes play “what if” scenarios, like “what would you do if you were playing at someone’s house and they asked you to take your clothes off?” My kids would likely respond, “I would tell them that we play with our clothes on.”

When a child knows his body safety rules and feels empowered to say no to inappropriate touch and to keeping secrets, it communicates to a potential predator that the child is off limits. And when friends or child care providers see the Body Safety Rules hanging in our kitchen…

Click to read the rest of this article! 

Source: Why We Don’t Keep Secrets In Our House {Child Abuse Prevention}

Apr 302015
 

I walked out that door that night with the kids in my arms, fighting for my life. What I didn’t know when that door slammed shut behind me was how many doors would open in front of me. Doors to a world I never knew existed. To the REAL God, to the REAL Christianity. To freedom that I had never had before. To being a mom. To being able to make decisions.

I also didn’t expect all of the overwhelming feelings that came with those new doors. You don’t realize how hard it can be to simply walk through into goodness when the last door was all bad, but I did it and yes I still struggle but I know I am on the right side of the right door this time and I couldn’t be happier, even with my past that tries to creep up and haunt me. Instead, I can use that past to bring God glory.


I had no clue that a story so gory could bring such glory!

But it does. I have talked to men and women from around the world who were brave in hearing my candid story and then opened up for the first time to tell me their stories of hurt and abuse. My heart has broken a thousand times but my soul has said a million prayers because those people have new doors to walk through as well! They can embark on this journey to heal and each day they can follow His Word and utter the words “By His stripes I am healed” and one day? You believe it! Because God isn’t a liar. He didn’t come down here to mock us or make us look like fools. He came to save us, to carry that burden for us so that we can be healed mentally, physically and spiritually. When the soul sees a glimmer of light it can poke in a finger and rip away the dark revealing all that is Light.

I have been struggling with people from the last few years. What impact they will have on my future. I have been praying about a friend who lied and hurt in almost every single way and now she has apologized a few years too late and I forgave her long ago but I don’t trust her and I don’t know if letting her back in is a door I want to open or keep closed.

Another door I found myself opening was one to my own Etsy shop. It is far from refined or fancy because I am just figuring it out, but I am on disability and I am single and I have two kids who are in constant need of necessities and I know Etsy won’t make me rich, it may not make me anything at all, but I have to try because I can’t go out into the work world. I have tried, many a times, and always ended up in the hospital from that Post Traumatic Stress.

I have thought about starting a go fund me account but why would anyone donate to me? What have I offered them to be able to have them reach out and help me? There are so many problems in this world and so many doors slammed shut and I struggle to know what’s real or right, especially when it comes to money. I get very lost as I return back to this person who feels underserving.

So as one door closes another opens and I am often scared to step inside. I often find myself stagnant because of fear and then guilty for being afraid when I simply need to live in trust.

Simply live in trust… not simple for me at all.

Save 50% in my Etsy shop with code NEW50

 

Apr 232015
 

I hide parts of myself away that only God knows about. Pieces from the past that are shameful, that people especially Christians, make me feel like they would just or not understand. The people who are closest to me know this burden I carry but they too are locked like a vault, or at least I hope they are.

It is hard to trust someone after you have been a victim of domestic violence. Even harder when those you should be able to trust in the years afterwards deceive you and try and steal your life away, heck, some of them even succeeded with words of apology on their mouths like it wasn’t something they wanted to do, but something they had to do.

I see these people who I should trust at the grocery or on the streets and I smile and say hello. Almost always using their first names and wondering if they remember mine or if I am just another file on a shelf. They act like they do, but it’s easy to hide names and faces away where you don’t have to remember the injustices you have caused. Maybe my smile tells them they did the right thing.

My file says “slash marks on arms and thighs from self-mutilation”. Like anyone can miss that. In a way that taints me even more and in another way it shows the pain I have endured for everyone to see, at least to those who take a moment to actually look. If only they could have seen how destroyed I was and sometimes still am. If only…

But God, He sees all that this torturous world chooses not to see, He sees me. He knows my pain. My burden. He whispers to me in the dark that He is the light. I call out to Him and He answers me. He washes away my pain and cradles me like a newborn child, settling me and teaching me that it is safe, I am safe, I can sleep.

And like every child I fight it. I fight that safety and try to keep my eyes open just a little longer looking for the next monster to pop out at me. I accept God and His grace but I need constant doses of it because of the thoughts that race. I have stayed up for days, and I mean DAYS simply out of fear. I was wide away for over 30 days back in the summer of 2009. My body was shutting down, I was hallucinating and sick and fainted in a parking lot next to my car and God still lifted me up and carried me through that scary time.

Maybe it is more than simple pieces of me that I try and hide…

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