My Journey to Becoming a Mother

"I prayed for this child, and the Lord has granted me what I asked of him. 28 So now I give him to the Lord. For his whole life he will be given over to the Lord.” And he worshiped the Lord there." 1 Samuel 1:27-28

To continue on the subject of mothers, I want to talk about our journey to parenthood.

Last night, Brooke & I were going through my book shelf. Our cable on the TV & internet is acting up and this gave us an ample opportunity to connect to something other than a screen. She grabbed an old journel of mine from when I was her age & started reading it. I, thumbed through the rows of books, and stumbled across a Pregnancy Journal. I stopped & wondered what it was doing in the bookshelf. Surely we had it stored with her precious & important belongings in her memory "box" (which actually isn't a box anymore, it's TWO Rubbermaid containers now haha). I picked it up & sat down. It was then, I was hit in the gut. This wasn't Brooke's book, it was for our angel baby that I miscarried in June 2005.

All of the raw emotions that I felt when it happened came rushing back to me. I haven't looked at it or even tried thinking about it since 2005. I neatly tucked all of the reminders & obviously my emotions away on that book shelf. When I got to the 1st page, I felt the tears falling down my cheek. There was all of the positive pregnancy tests in plastic bags & cards congratulating our happy news. Then, I found my hospital bracelet when I was admitted during the miscarriage, and the discharge paperwork & cards wishing us their deepest sympathy & condolences. I pushed them back in as far as I could but uncontrollably they rolled as well as the gasp of air that I was holding in my lungs. Reliving those very painful times hurt deep down in my soul. My poor husband & daughter both sitting there in front of me didn't know what was wrong with me. Looks of confusement & fear in their eyes. I hadn't planned on explaining to Brooke what happened until she was old enough to understand. She came & crawled into my lap and asked what was wrong with me. About that same time, she saw the ultrasound and asked me if I was looking at pictures of her in my tummy.
"Is it time to tell her now, Lord?"

I only had a few seconds to react & like verbial word vomit, it came. I explained that before we were so very blessed to have her, we also had another baby in mommy's tummy, but that God wasn't ready for 'it' to come to this life yet. I watched her reaction & the look on her face trying to determine how much more I would have to explain. Like a champ, she popped off my lap & said, "COOL! So I have an angel baby brother or sister in heaven watching me now?!" I nodded & off to her Grandpa's room she went to share the exciting news with him.

I have longed to be a mother for as long as I can remember. When I was 5,6,7, and older, I would go to the nusery at church and beg whoever was in there, to let me take care of the babies instead of going to class. Remember the Alana story in the Home? Mother instincts even then. If there was one thing I would proclaim to wanting to be growing up, it was always to be an awesome mother.

Jr & I started trying for our own children when shortly after we were married in 2001. I always assumed that it basically happens when you are ready for it to. Boy was I wrong!!! After trying on our own for a couple of years & with no luck, I went to my family physician who referred me to an OBGYN who was a fertility specialist. Growing appointments left & right, ultra sounds, bloodwork, tests from us both & then the analysis. I was infertile due to PCOS, Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome. Basically my ovaries were covered in cysts & my female reproductive system didn't operate like a normal woman's. With it comes being insulin resistant, weight gain & other mild nightmares you can Google. So what do we do now was the next question. Diets to help me lose some weight, fertility treatments including pills, charting my cycles (which were forced, not natural cycles) shots, monthly ultra sounds to watch my eggs grow or not grow in most cases. You can only take Clomid (if I remember correctly) 6 times within an 18 month span and this was number 5 for us! It increases your chances for ovarian & uterine cancer, so that is why they limit how long you can do it.Each day was a struggle but each month was a test of whether or not we would pass. Forever it seemed, we failed. Then one morning, I woke up feeling 'different'. I was convinced that with another pregnancy test, we would be wasting money & be faced with more heartache ... a negative. I waited a few days & took the test. Before I knew it, my eyes grew wide as I saw the positive. A POSITIVE?! This had to be wrong. I walked, well ran rather, straight to Jr. He was just as confused & skeptical as I was. To the drug store I went for more tests, of different brands & variaties, which all showed the same positive test result. If there was such a thing as Cloud 10, we were on it! Immediate planning & excitement of picking out clothes, names, nursery decor, baby books were in immediate accord. Our prayers were answered and there wasn't anything that could take away our happiness. It never crossed our minds that we would endure a loss. That was until the end of May, 1st of June when the worse thing possible happened. I woke up one Saturday morning, to blood. Lots & lots of blood in our bed. Immediately, I knew that our precious baby was gone. Again, I felt an immediate difference in my body. Jr rushed me to the hospital, the whole process of being checked in, getting a room, the doctors & nurses seem like a blur to me. I don't remember much because the entire time I was in prayer begging God not to take away our baby. Reminding Him that we had wanted this child for so long and promises that we were going to be great parents, nothing like mine. All of this, resulted in me taking another pregnancy test in the hospital bathroom, blood tests, and the doctor not so gently breaking the news to us: "You're no longer pregnant. You've lost the baby because ..." That's when I checked out. I didn't want to hear why my body couldn't be a home to our child for 9 months. I fell into my husband's arms in tears. After about a day, I was discharged and that's when my demons started visiting me. Demons being depression, self doubt, guilt, hurt and anger. I barely spoke to Jr, when I did it was in the midst of crying. I shut down, he shut down. We pushed everyone away. I started reading about miscarriages & how it affected couples. That night I had a long talk with Jr about my fears of what I read. It said that the couples go through immense grief and that it could lead to divorce, pushing each other away and other things. He assured me that we were going to be fine and that if anything it would pull us closer together. False promise, untentional, but still not true nonetheless. We tried to stay pulled together. I returned to work after a week of cooperating from the D&C. Each day, we were in survival mode. Get up, go to work, come home, sleep, & repeat. The doctor told us that we could start trying again after about a month, we declined. It was too risky for our emotions. After about a month, what we said wouldn't happen (us pushing each other away), happened. We rarely spoke to each other and then we rarely saw each other. That was a huge red flag because we were always together when we weren't working. He spent ALLLLLL of his free time playing softball, every tournament, every team he could fill in for, hanging with his friends, all during the week, all weekend long. He didn't care if I was even there or not. Prior to the miscarriage, he always wanted me there. He quit telling me when he was playing, where he was going, how late he would be and I was crushed. I'm not really a traditional person persay, so I didn't sit at home crying about it. I went & did my own thing. I made friends with a girl from Cochran and she knew the pain of going through a miscarriage, so she invited me down to her home all the time. Her & her husband were big drinkers, so that kept my emotions occupied. I would forget how much I was hurting to have lost my baby & what looked to be, my husband too. He didn't even really care either that I was gone all the time. I left work, made the drive down 16, stayed until 10-11PM & came home to crawl in bed and go to sleep. He was already in bed most nights. The weekends came, he stayed at the ballpark, I stayed in Cochran. We were existing. That was about it. One day, I had a huge melt down & my friend (who I know now wasn't a true friend), encouraged me to do what she thought was best for me and my problems at home. She told me I needed to respect myself, get out while I had the opportunity, that the miscarriage was God's way of showing me an out before we had children involved & mixed up into a bad marriage. Jr & I have had our problems, lots of them prior to this, trust me. Never once did I ever seriously think about leaving him. We always fought through them & were fine. This time, however, things were so different. Everything seemed foreign to me. I felt doomed and that we would never get through the pain of losing something we tried so hard for. That night, I came straight home from work. I sat on the bed and with the most serious, calm voice, I could muster I said, "I can't do this anymore. I want out. I'm leaving you. I don't know where I'm going to go, I'm sure I can stay on my mom's couch until I figure it all out. Renate (my adopted mom who was an attorney), will take care of the divorce I'm sure." That was it. In my mind, out of my mouth. I never once looked up from the bed after that. It was quiet. He said nothing.

"Maybe, he wanted this too? Maybe he was scared to make the 1st move." I thought.

Prior to the miscarriage, I had never seen Jr cry. This was the 2nd time. He sat there and sobbed. He didn't say no, he didn't ask me to stay. He just let the tears flow. I felt myself caving, and I told myself before all of this that I had to stay strong & firm. It was my decision, I would be happier, right? I went to get off the bed and the leave the situation, to start packing and making arrangements. He grabbed my arm & pulled me close. He just held me and cried. We had let this obstacle almost kill our whole marriage within a matter of months. Everything we had been through with each other, our promise to each other in God's name, everything was about to end because I wanted to give up. I was done & I thought because of his actions as well, that he was done too. That couldn't of been further from the truth.

I didn't leave that night & I thank God for giving me the patience & hope in my marriage that I didn't see He was giving me at that time. We agreed to work on us and to do whatever it took to save our beautiful union. What had been a rocky first five years, was slowly turning for the better. A couple of months passed and one October night I started my cycle on my own! This was beyond a miracle, because I only did that once a year on my own without the Prometrium helping me jumpstart it. We only had a day or so to make a decision. Did we want to try the very last round of Clomid (fertility meds) and see what happened? Were we ready for the emotional roller coaster all over again? We agreed that we were going to take the chance. This time, however, I did things a bit differently. I didn't schedule a midcycle ultrasound, I didn't even call the dr to start the whole process. I decided to take the meds in blind faith that it would happen for us. About a month passed & I woke up feeling odd. The familarness that came with the 1st pregnancy. I didn't say a word to Jr, I got up & went to work. I remember saying something to a coworker about it & her coldhearted response was that I didn't need to get my hopes up because I knew what happened last time. (OUCH!) Irregardless, I went home excited. Jr was laying down wood flooring in the hallway that evening and I told him that I thought maybe I was. He literally had to push me out of the door to go get a test. I was so anxious & nervous. I didn't think I could bear the heartache not this time. I got home & sat around for about an hour before I finally made that trip to the bathroom. Five minutes passed & I almost fainted. Another positive! Dejavu! Back to the drugstore for tests & the rest is history.

I struggled during my pregnancy but it could of been way worse. We were both paranoid even more so during the 1st trimester. When the 2nd trimester came, we sighed relief. A day before my birthday we went for the gender reveal ultrasound. On the way to the appoinment, I said a prayer to God, "I know it's a little late to be asking for this favor, but if you could let us have a babygirl, I would appreciate it!" My prayer was answered quickly & we found out that we were having a sweet baby girl!!!! :) A day after my birthday, we had a scare that rocked us. All day at work I started mildly cramping & was in a lot of pain. I barely made it home before the pain intensified so bad that I couldn't walk. Fear & panic were creeping into our lives again. Not again. Lord, please, not again! I called my OBGYN and he instructed me to go to the ER immediately. Jr drove like a bat out of heck the entire way. I was admitted right away, several tests, ultrasound, nurses calming me down and then the answer. The baby was fine, I had a cyst rupture & everything was going to be ok. I was more than relieved. Shortly after that, I found out I also had gestational diabetes. I tried controlling it with diet, I was more strict than I should of been. Didn't work. I ended up having to control it with 2 lovely shots per day of insulin. We made it though, through 9 months. The big morning had arrived and off to the hospital we went. More drama though, we got there & they stuck the heart rate monitor thing on my stomach and the nurse couldn't find Brooke's heart rate. She left me in there by myself (without Jr) for about 30 minutes. I was hooked up to all kinds of stuff & there I laid panicking that I would be delivering a stillborn. Another nurse came in & saw me in tears. She asked me if I was ok & I explained that the other nurse couldn't find Brooke's rate. She was very patient & found it within a few minutes. My sweet baby was ok. Onto the labor part, I went! 12 hours in & after finally convincing myself that I was about to have to actually push this baby out, the dr told me that he was going to do a C Section because I had quit progressing at a 7 and was there for several hours. Brooke's heart rate was dropping quickly & they needed to get her out. PLEASE LORD DO NOT TAKE HER FROM ME! This had been so much work to get pregnant & then experience all the problems, I wasn't going to be able to wrap my head around it if she was taken from me. In a blink of an eye, I was rolled in and at 0525PM July 13th, 2006 the most beautiful 7lb 15 oz baby I had ever laid eyes on, was brought into this world. Healthy & screaming with cries! A blessing to my ears.

God brought me through some pretty big obstacles. Isn't it ironic that the one thing I wanted more than anything, a child to love & raise in normalcy & happiness was such a big job? I will tell you this, I appreciate the experience of being Brooke's mother than much more & have not for one second taken it for granted. I savor each & every moment that I possibly can even now, seven years later. She is my miracle baby, my hero, and forever I will admire her bubbly, sweet, & smart spirit. Thank you Lord for making me her mom, for allowing me to endure the hard times to appreciate the good times, for Your never ending love!!!
We have since tried for a 2nd child. We went through all the fertility treatments that we possibly could & 4 years later, I'm not pregnant. I stopped actively trying about 3 years ago. God knows what He is doing. I'm trusting His plan. Our next step was either Folistim shots or IVF. We talked about it and I prayed about it. We decided that we wouln't take that next route & instead enjoy each waking second with Brooke. I did keep another blog of that journey & you are more than welcome to check it out if interested: http://ourcolemanfamilyblog.blogspot.com

Motherhood

“Can a woman forget her nursing child, that she should have no compassion on the son of her womb? Even these may forget, yet I will not forget you." - Isaiah 49:15

My mother is a frail woman. She has endured a lifetime of hurt & pain, her story ironically is almost identical to mine. Some of that pain was from her own poor decisions, some were things that happened to her that was our of her control. Either way, it has shaped her into the humbly weak person she is today. I do not say that out of disrespect, because no matter what, I do love her. I miss the mother that I had imagined was my hero when I was a kid. The neglect that I see now as an adult, wasn't neglect at all to me as a child. It was bad luck and watching her just get up everyday if it was just to sit in front of the tv zoned out or take a nap or two, was courage to me. She wasn't vindictive, angry, she didn't yell or get mad much and that to us meant she was an awesome all around mom. I can remember just one time as a kid, prior to turning into Satan's spawn as a teen, that she actually ever got really mad and that was when she opened the door to the basement just in time to see me let my 2 year old brother tumble down the entire stair well in a cardboard box. Hey, we thought we were sledding and to us it was fun, even the bruises and bumps along the way!

In my 30 years, I've learned that mothers come in all forms, sizes, and women. Not just the one who gave birth to me.

The day I was put into the children's home I wasn't truly given a notice. It was less than a week before my sweet 16 birthday (What a grand present, eh?) A big suit case had been packed for me. My mother put it in the back of the van before I ever saw it and then greeted me with half tears in her soft eyes. For the last 3 weeks after getting out of the hospital, instead of going back to school, I was getting up every morning and riding with her over to a dress shop owned by one of her friends, an older woman whose son my mother use to date. The store was in a historical home across from the old East Macon Methodist Church. It wasn't in the best neighborhood, a decline throughout the decades I'm sure. I would spend my days trying on dresses, helping prepare lunch, sitting on the big wrap around porch smoking cigarettes (Yes! Smoking freely at 15 years old!) and just watching the neighborhood action. Drug deals going down, little old ladies selling things, cops patrolling, highway traffic on the Coliseum Drive, whatever kept me entertained. I think my mother was just there for moral support. She couldn't of been on a salary. The dress shop at most got MAYBE 2 people a day coming into it & none of them ever walked out with a dress. My mother & Ms. Marion would sit in the kitchen, drinking coffee, smoking, and talking about everything under the sun. Soap operas could be heard from another room that just had a tv in it and that was it. No chair, nothing. When I got bored enough, I would sit on the floor and watch Guiding Light. She had a display of beanie babies in a glass case, more than you could count (I tried), hair accessories galore and all the dresses you could imagine! I think I tried on every one I could out of pure boredom. Marion's three grandchildren lost their mother, her daughter, at a very young age. I'm not sure where their father was but I know Marion couldn't raise them, neither could any of her other siblings. They all three, both very sweet kids, lived in the Masonic Home. I heard them talking about it & on some weekends I would have the pleasure of hanging out with them when they were allowed a weekend visist with their grandma. Never in a million years did I think that I would be living with them in just a short amount of time. That morning we headed out the usual routine, my mother NEVER drove on the interstate but took every back road in Macon. It's because of that, I can maneuver around town fairly easy these days without getting lost. On this particular trip however, she didn't turn down Emory to head to Coliseum. She went straight. I thought perhaps we were going to NuWay to grab lunch because it was a little bit later in the day than normal. She went right past it and turned left onto Nottingham Drive. My eye brow raised and before I could question her, she spoke softly, "You know I love you right? I can't take care of you anymore, you are out of control and it's because of what has happened to you. I don't know what else to do. I know you're not a bad kid, so go in there and prove them wrong, prove them wrong, Christen! Show them how smart you are!" Before I could respond, the answer in a form of a big building and cottages came into view and the sign "Masonic Children's Home of Georgia" was in front of me. The air in my lungs escaped me. I didn't have time to react. "Just move", I kept telling myself. One foot in front of another, suit case in tow.

The Masonic Home is a gorgeous building, very old but brilliant with massive paintings, antique like furniture, and extremely quiet almost like a library. I sat on the expensive looking couch facing the front door as my mother went into the opposite direction & into an office with a secretary. The door closed and for half a second I considered running. It was then I heard a clicking noise coming from the hallway. I leaned back out of curiousity and saw a precious blue eyed, messy brown hair girl, peering back at me. She was sitting at an old school desk that faced another office whose door was also shut. She kept waving and giggling. I have loved children since I was a child, even! Immediately, the interaction grew and we formed an instant bond. Her name, Alana. The office door next to her snapped open & a petite woman walked out with a frown on her face. "What is all this noise Alana?" Alana shrugged her shoulders and that's when the lady's eyes met mine. "Well, it looks like you were not in this matter alone. This child is in trouble and this is her punishment. She is to be quiet. Please do not encourage her." She turned around and met another woman who exchanged a conversation of exactly Alana had done that day. She was suspended for punching a boy! After both ladies walked off, Alana whispered to me that she punched him because he tried to kiss her, she just didn't tell anyone that part. I asked her how old she was and she smiled all snaggly toothed & boasted, "5 and I'm in kindergarten!" What could a five year old possibly do to end up in a place like this, I thought?! It was that day that I adopted Alana as my own child and became her stand in mother. I learned quickly that she wasn't liked by many other kids because she was a bit on the annoying side. She was completely ADHD and I don't blame her for being restless. She had been abandoned, both her & her 7 year old super smart & sweet brother. He kept his nose in a book at all times. He was complete opposite of his outspoken little firecracker of a sister, he was very reserved & shy. There were nights when they couldn't calm Alana down to go to bed because she was either angry with outbursts or crying uncontrollably or both. Her house parent would call my house parent & I was sent out of my senior girls cottage to her younger girls apartment to calm her down. I'd pick her up, hug her, wipe the tears from her eyes, brush my fingers through her hair, tell her a bedtime story and get her tucked in for the night. I was her mother even at my own young teen age. She even called me Mama. Because of her ADHD, she really struggled with school and was even more rambunctious during mandatory study hall each night after supper. After a few months, I exempted out of mandatory study hall & only was required to do my homework in my room because I was making all A's ... which I knew I was very capable of, the lack of my grades in years prior was due to my instability, lazy, no push from adults, depression, etc. Once I was given structure, discipline, and stability, I soared just like my mother said the day she dropped me off. Which makes me question why she couldn't of done it for me at our home instead of shipping me off?? I can answer those questions now that I see the bigger picture as an adult myself, I had no clue when I was 16. The house parents saw how mature I was and how good I was with Alana, so the education director of the home, asked my houseparent if I could be her mentor & tutor. I didn't even blink an eye, that very day I was down in study hall teaching my little doll all the things she was struggling with. Within a couple of weeks, Alana's grades had improved and she wasn't nearly acting up as much as she use to. It just took a little patience & what some have called my gift with children to help her.

About a year later, Alana & Dustin got good news. Their mother was coming to sign them out & take them back home for good. While I was happy for her, I was also distraught. Worried that it wasn't for the best and because I knew how to help her soothe herself at night when she was in tears, I could calm her down long enough to study, I knew the tricks and all things Alana. She helped me cope more than I probably helped her because she gave me a purpose everyday. It was a Friday afternoon that we were alotted a visit with our parents for the weekend. Her mother was packing all of her belongings in their car. My mother pulled up and I gave Alana one last hug & kiss. I made her promise that she would be a good girl & to soar as high as she possibly could with success. Her mother gave me a cold glare, grabbed her hand and walked away. I got in my mother's car & as she pulled away, Alana started chasing the car, screaming & crying. I was a wreck. I still think about her to this day & wondered how she turned out. I wonder what kind of life she endured after that ... was it easy & filled with happiness? Or was she tossed around in a sea of trouble as she grew to be a woman. If my calculations are correct, she would be 20 now, on the verge of being 21. I've tried looking her & her brother up throughout the years and nothing has become of it. Maybe one day, we'll be reunited again. If not in this lifetime, perhaps our next.

While there are so many other stories to share in the Home, they will come in due time. I want to continue with the subject of motherhood.

When I was 17, my best friend's mother agreed that it would be best to sign me out of the home and to take me in theirs. See, she too was placed in an orphanage scenario as a child and could relate. My mother agreed finally after my pleading and signed over her rights. While she wasn't the easiest parent, she was by far the most involved. She made sure that we did our homework, chores, was at school & work everyday. She was strict ... super strict. Now that I'm a parent, I completely understand why! While we were rambuncious teenage girls without a care in the world, Ms. Renate also was those same girls in her prime, and had our best intentions at heart. I still thank her to this day for taking me in when my own family wouldn't. Did I mention that she, herself, had 4 children of her own, 1 grandchild at the time, hosted a forgein exchange student in her home for a year all while being a SINGLE PARENT?!?! AND opening her doors & her life to me! She is the definition of amazing and I learned alot while in her care.

Fast forward to present day. In 2000, I was introduced to the sweetest most loving woman I have ever met next to my great grandmother, Mama Wright. Her name is Angela Coleman and she is my mother in law. In a world of mother in law clichés, I by far got the best! I cannot say one single bad word about her. She has the kindest spirit and I don't think in 13 years I have ever heard her cuss, speak ill of anyone, or even complain. She is a CNA at a nursing home & works night shift and I'm telling you, if I ever had to be put in one when I'm old, I pray I have someone with her heart. She genuinely cares about her patients and doesn't neglect them. She has only called in about 2 times in the last 13 years that I know of & that's when her mother died and when she was with my father in law when was put in the hospital & diagnosed with lung cancer. Most importantly, she has been the best grandmother to my daughter than I could ever ask for. For what my own mother lacks in that department, Angel has made up for it & then some! She took me under her wing and has made me feel not just like an in law, but like her own daughter. She tells me all the time that she loves me like I was her own, and more than her words, her actions prove it. I am blessed beyond measure to have her in my life & will forever be grateful for her generousity, for her shoulder that I've literally cried on, for her non judgements, & for her unconditional love.

See, God saw that I desperately needed a mother in my life. It has been a huge void for me to fill. He didn't just give me one, He has blessed me with so many more. I was able to step into an innocent 5 year old's life and be her temporary mother & I also was given a temporary mother in return. I've been blessed with an outstanding mother in law, house parents who made me feel comfortable upon my arrival at the home, a coworker who I didn't have time to introduce but I lovingly called her 'Maw' (may she rest in peace) who taught me the tricks & trades of trucking, oh the adventures we shared!, and many other influential women whose genuine love has made me into the mother that I am today. The more & more I write, the more I want to share! My very own miracle baby being top on the list! That story is coming soon, I promise!

Gratitude

"Give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you." 1 Thessalonians 5:18

My intention is not to confuse anyone, but I'm going to be a little off time sequence with this post. I'll later return with stories of the hospital & group home. My heart is leaning more towards talking about the subject of gratitude.

When my father was in the picture, financially we were beyond stable. Borderline brats, almost. Entitled at times, even. Since my father was honorably discharged from the army after his encounter with the missle, we were still privy to all things base driven. We grocery shopped on the base, we bought our school clothes on base, went to the dr & pharmacy, everything was done there. We went weekly and more than just once per week during the summer months. My brother & I scanned all the toys in the toy section, begging & pleading for another one to add to our huge pile and over flowing toy boxes. Without fail, my parents gave in and we had something new to play with for a few days before getting bored & begging again for the next time killer on our future trip. We wore nice clothes, had nice shoes, ate well. Something we definitely took for granted even as children.

When my parents split the second time, we felt the brunt of true poverty. My mother still collected the $800.00 check each month, but feeding 1 adult & 3 children, pay bills, clothes, dr bills, mortage, etc was beyond tight. Over night, we went from being entitled little 'royalites' to impoverished hungry beggers.

According to welfare services, my mother's monthly alottment was too much and she was not eligible for assistance for food. That's a crazy thought! $800 is surely enough for food, but not for all other expenses that weren't taken into consideration. She leaned on the church to help with food. The Mormon church has a wonderful welfare program that is more than fare for those who are truly in a bind like we were. Once per month we were delivered church brand can food, 2-3 gallons of milk (which were then put in the freezer to keep from spoiling. Have you ever had milk that was in the process of being defrosted? Not good!), powered milk (worse than frozen milk!), 3-4 loaves of bread (that also went into the freezer) and other tolietries and items that we needed. It wasn't much, but we were grateful. It was the difference in starving or having a light meal on our stomaches.

Food wasn't our only worry, my mother couldn't afford to pay for the tags on our van once May came. My father, still in prison, wasn't around to help money wise and I'm not so sure he would have helped even if he was a free man. So it sat under our carport, undriven. We were bound unless we could somehow be fit into our grandparents schedule or finding enough change to call a taxi. Having no form of transportation almost felt like we were in prison.

Along with that, daily house hold repairs took a backseat. We went for an eternity without hot water because the hot water heater broke. My mother would boil water on our stovetop and within a couple of hours, fill the tub up. We would have to quickly jump in, bathe off and then usher the next person in to use it. Dirty water and all. We didn't think about that though, we were just grateful that we had a warm bath to jump into if only for a few minutes. If you got to be the first person to use it that day, you were extremely grateful.

It was one thing after another, the air conditioner broke & being in the middle of the summer heat in Georgia was almost like enduring hell on earth. Many days & nights spent under cold showers and box fans to cool off. Shortly after losing air conditioning, we lost all electricity because my mother just couldn't afford to pay the bill. Our small amount of cold food went into two 50 quart coolers. We literally dug out the (frozen milk), butter and cheese out of the ice or if we didn't have money for ice, the icy cold water that once was ice. We ate alot of peanut butter sandwiches. Anything processed basically, that didn't need to be heat up because no power or didn't involve a refridgerator. Oil lamps, candles and flash lights became our best friends when the sun went down. I spent alot of time reading & writing a lot before it got dark. A battery powered radio kept us entertained and that made me happy because I didn't just love music, I lived it.

When school was coming back into session after the 1st divorce, I remember my mother telling us she had no clue how she was going to afford to get us clothes, book bags, or shoes. We told her it was ok & that we understood. Just having clothes to put on my back, was enough for me. I don't know where the money came from or how she was able to, but I remember the day before our orientation (mine being the 1st day of high school), she surprised my brother & I with two shirts, two pair of jeans and a new book bag each. You would have thought we won the lottery! It was completely unexpected. I remember dropping to my knees and thanking the Lord for what some might consider nothing, but to us it was a small fortune. I was so embarrassed thinking that I had to start high school in raggedy clothes and with a tattered book bag.

There are times, when to this day that I sometimes take my blessings for granted. These stories come trickling back to my mind and I am quickly reminded of how fast it can all be taken away. When I think about it back then, I am appreciative of flicking on a light switch and having power, turning on the hot water and it blaring back with heat, jumping into my car without hesitation to go somewhere, putting on a new shirt without any holes in it, eating a warm meal, & grabbing a cold drink out of the fridge.

It's these very reasons, I think where my compassion was born inside of me for other people. It's why I want to do for those who can't, especially children. For years, I've talked about doing something, anything, for the less fortunate. I just haven't stopped long enough (shame on me) to put my plan into action. I worked with a lady at my old job who went through breast cancer twice and still had a project she lovingly called "Sunshine Baskets". She was so grateful that God helped the cancer go into remission the 1st time, she in return needed to do something for other people who were down on their luck. Whether they lost a loved one, going through a divorce, loss their job, or whatever else was pressing them, she made a basket with little bits of happiness in it. She did this for a few years until the Lord took her home Thanksgiving day in 2011. She never slowed down once. She was constantly in search of finding families who needed her pick me ups. I truly admire that about her. I aspire to be that compassionate & giving, because I know how it feels to have nothing except for the prayer in my heart & breath in my lungs.

My goal this year is to put my plan into action finally. Start giving, because I am my happiest when I'm in the service of others.

Never Alone

"The Lord himself goes before you and will be with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged.” Deuteronomy 31:8

This post is going to be tougher to write than yesterday's.

I was about five years old when I can first remember my parents arguing. I had a special hiding spot that I would go to with my blanket in tow until the yelling would subside. It was like a small closet but it was about 3 feet high in the wall and could fit about 2 kids in it. Probably about 1/2 of a child if you took into consideration my mother's sewing baskets, blankets, and other odds & ends piled in it. Nevertheless, I would squeeze in, sucking my fingers (I ironically wasn't a thumb sucker, just on three of my fingers lol), and praying that it would end. My blanket comforted me, it wrapped around me, was soft and I just felt safe with it. I called her Rosie because she was pink and there were two small roses on the side of the pockets. Yes I referred to my blanket as a 'she' and actually she wasn't a blanket at all. She was my older sister's jacket that she had grown out of. The siding of my green blanket, that my father threw away so I would quit sucking my fingers, was made out of the same soft, silky material that Rosie was completely made of. So when I found the jacket in my sisters closet unused, I naturally adopted it as my new replacement. Looking back now, I can see that Rosie was like God, there to comfort me when my world was being shattered a little bit each day. Silliness I know, but nothing is impossible when it comes to God, even if He uses a tattered jacket to comfort a scared child.

My parents didn't just argue, they had full blown fights. They didn't just have these full blown fights every once in a while, they had them from the time the sun rose until it set, not every other day, even. EVERY SINGLE DAY. I can't even begin to fathom where they found the energy to fight like they did. This went on from the time I was a baby until they completely separated when I was 15. Fifteen gruesome years of torture, witnessing physical abuse, mental, verbal and emotional abuse. Because of the length of time and because I wasn't really around other kids families, to me this was normal. Every parent had knock out, drag out fights. I did know this though, it made me very sad. No child should be witness to those kind of scenarios. My mother endured it and as a child I admired her thinking that she was strong but now as a parent myself, I quetion her judgement. She never left because she was strong, it was because financially she couldn't provide for us. She had no job, never had, and was so mentally gone herself, she couldn't hold one down herself if she wanted to. She used my father as a paycheck and he used her as a punching bag.

To this day, I can't touch a Yoohoo. I remember her packing us up, my older sister, my baby brother, & I and we lived in a hotel for a while. We lived on Yoohoo and Poptarts. I don't remember eating anything else. I think there was a small store in the lobby and this was all she could afford to get us. She tried to take us away from all the darkness, but a few weeks later when the little bit of money she had dried up, she went back to my father. Things would be quiet for a few days and then as expected, the quarreling commenced.

Halloween day when I was 12 years old, I watched my mother going to our bed rooms and grabbing clothes,tossing it into the backseat of her 84 Monte Carlo. She loaded every square inch of it with clothes, quietly sneaking outside to the carport so my father wouldn't hear her. My father was completely blind,in a literal sense (as well). He lost all of his eye sight in the Vietnam War when a missle blew up in front of him & his friend. He couldn't see what she was doing. His other senses were very keen, so to be extremely quiet was an art she had to learn fast. She dressed my brother & I in our costumes and out the door when we went as soon as the sun started tipping behind the vast trees in front of our home. We said Goodbye to my father & she warned us to not say a word about the backseat as we rolled our way through the side door. Three of us kids, climbed into the neighboring front seat and off to my grandmother's we went, where we stayed for several months until their divorce was final. As you read earlier, I mentioned that the abuse went on until I was 15, that's because when I was 14, she remarried him. Why? Financial stability and false promises of change. Those two years apart, even with the child support coming in, was hard on my mother. As my sister approached 18 quickly, part of my mother's check would be cut because my father wouldn't have to pay for her portion anymore. My mother couldn't raise three kids on less than $800.00 per month. She took the bait and moved him back in with us, agreeing to rent the downstairs apartment to him as a part of her income. Once in moved back in, it was within 2 months they were remarried. My sister, my brother & I sat on the front porch that June morning, all boycotting the trip to the Atlanta Temple where they were to be married. We each declined their invitation to go. We knew, even as young as we were, that nothing but trouble was headed our way and frustrated we couldn't understand why Mama didn't see it either.

Within a few weeks of being newly weds (again), the arguing and abuse was full fledge. I was at an age of rebellion and my mouth was my weapon of choice. I stayed in trouble and even put myself in trouble's way to avoid my other siblings getting the beat downs that I took even for them. It was my grandfather's birthday, January 18th 1999 when my life was met with an alteration that rocked my family. I was on the phone with a boyfriend at the time, Clint. I was telling him about the abuse that I was going through & had gone through for several years. I had never told a soul about the sexual abuse (I hate that word!), that night was the 1st time ever. I believe now that it was all part of a plan, the concidence of my father picking up the phone in the middle of that conversation. He was quiet and I remember hearing a click about the same time I heard the phone being slammed down in the other room. Before I could hang the phone on the receiver, my father in his 6"2' 250 lbs was standing over me, with a look of rage in his eyes. It was pure darkness and evilness that I had never seen before. He was screaming and before I knew it, was on top of my bed beating me and literally throwing punches onto my small 115 lb body. I tried to shield him, but each blow hit my head, my mouth, my chest. My small dog, a chihuahua, came to my defense when no one else could and literally attacked his face, which gave me the time to run for my life. My mother, panicked, hit the emergency alarm on our home security system & got on the phone with my grandparents who lived around the corner, pleading for their aid. I screamed that I wished I was dead, he responded with that he could make that happen. Down the stairs to the basement he went, threats of killing me filling the house. I grabbed a bottle of my sister's favorite perfume (she was soooo mad) and ran to the foyer where the basement door was. I busted the glass bottle on the marble floor, hoping to make him slide on the oil and deferring him from his plan of harming me. I ran and hid ironically in the same small closet that I did when I was a child. A few minutes that felt like a lifetime passed and I heard muffling voices being raised. My little brother opened the door & ushered me out, pointing towards the hallway. My grandfather had arrived on the scene and was demanding to know what was going on. My father stood midway up the stairs with a machete in his hand and what my grandfather described as a dark look in my father's eyes. He said it didn't look like he was even there ... gone. Since my mother hit the alarm system, the police were notified and were at our home around the time I was walking out the front door with my precious dog in tow. They thought they were responding to a break in, they weren't prepared for a domestic dispute and attempted murder. I never moved an inch in the backseat of our mini van. My brother walked out the door and crawled in beside me, hugging me. I later learned that it was his statement that sent my father to prison that night. A child's testimony of watching his sister being beaten and having her life threatened, is what sent him away. Watching him being toted off in handcuffs with a solemn look on his face is still etched in my mind and probably will be for the rest of my life. I've since seen him one time & that was at his father's funeral a few years ago. He has aged more so than he probably should have. He has been living in the home that he grew up in as a child after they moved here from East Tennessee. From what I hear he has been in several other marriages & relationships. Still angry & lonely. He can never hurt me again, I find peace in that. My grandparents insisted that I come stay with them that night. I didn't want to leave my brother and declined. I was then told it wasn't a choice & away I went. It wasn't an easy trip just a few miles up the road. My grandfather scolded me the entire way there. He knew that I was unruly and had a stubborn & careless mouth on me. He told me that I should of kept it shut & none of that would of escalated and happen to me. He had no idea & still doesn't know that it wasn't me being a teenager that got me in trouble, it was my confession, the hardest part of my life that I was finally exposing to a friend. I went to the back bedroom and the fussing continued for about an hour. I was so lost and hopeless. Here I was, beaten, battered, cuts on my face, swelling in my arms and I was being yelled at. I cried until I couldn't cry anymore, telling him that I was sorry and that I would be a better daughter. The lights went out, the moonlight beamed through the sheer curtains. It was then I know now that God was holding me. His promise is firm, He will never leave us.

It was shortly after that I tried to commit suicide. My mother sent me to a hospital for 2 weeks. A month later, I tried again. This time, I was packed up and sent without warning whatsoever to a group home, where I spent 2 years of my life away from my friends & family. The support system that I needed didn't even exist after such a tragic event and a lifetime of abuse, especially the 'secret abuse'. I was sent to find peace among strangers. This part will come another day in my writing. I can't say my tenure there was all bad, it was a blessing in disguise.

Anchoring Soul

"This hope is a strong and trustworthy anchor for our souls. It leads us through the curtain into God’s inner sanctuary." Hebrews 6:19

I haven't always been the hopeful type of person. Actually the only hope I ever wished for was for a long hard day at work to be over, for the Georgia Bulldogs to win against Alabama in a championship game,and for a little peace and quiet every once in a while. However, I never thought that I was someone who was spiritually washed up. If my relationship with God had a pulse, it would be almost nonexistent. I was within moments of just being flat line. Don't get me wrong, I did pray to Him occasionally and that was only when I was in dire need of something. I went to church every Sunday & Wednesday until I was 17 but that was only because I was made to go by adults. I knew that He was my God and that He sent His son to die for me, that he created all the wonders that surrounded me, but all of this was because I was told all of this by Sunday school teachers not because I believed it for myself. Status quo speaking, I was a mediocre Christian. Even that however, is giving me too much credit.

For a long time I believed because my heart & my intentions were good, I was good in God's eyes. What a naieve thought and assumption! I know that His love for me is unconditional and I just realized that only but a few days ago with help from a book. A book for crying out loud! Not a near death experience, not losing my job, not losing a family member, or anything so miraculous that I could even tell you about. It was a book, one that I feel God led me to. I even said standing in the aisle at Walmart with a grumpy husband who watched me run my fingers across the binders of each book, promising that I had no intention of buying anything, I just wanted to take a 'look'. Then I saw the bright gold cover and written smally on the bottom read "A True Story of Brokeness, Heaven & Life Again." Brokeness. The word may have been there in front of me in a size 10 font, but my heart saw it as a size 72! I knew I was broken, that the pieces of my soul were shattered and that the pain, like a small creek ran rapid through my veins. It was right there in a Walmart book aisle, that I stopped long enough to realize this. I grabbed the book and smiled sheepishly at my sweet husband who at that point was rolling his eyes and motioning for me to throw in the buggy so we could go. With a small voice I said to him, "I think this is a sign from God. I think He led me to this book." That's all I said but looking back now those words seem HUGE. My husband's response, "Maybe so, get it and you'll see." The name of that book is "Waking up in Heaven" by Crystal McVea. I encourage you to read it, irregardless of where you are in your own personal expericence with God.

This is my story. This is a beginning accord of my journey that led me to where I am now, this very day, in my faith & hope in our Savior. I feel like the blinds have been lifted off of my eyes and all of the wonder & curiosity of walking in the path of righteousness with my Lord is fully raised. I am excited, anxious and desiring more & more to build a relationship with my Heavenly Father. I can only describe it right now as getting the 1st taste ever of your favorite food and once you've eaten it all, you can't wait until the next time you get to have it again.

Since I was knee high to grasshopper & was old enough to hold a pencil, I loved to write. It started with my diary as a child, newspaper publications of poetry in elementary school, writing camps, heck I was even excited when we were assigned book reports for homework because it gave me an opportunity to put pen to paper. My desire to get my ideas and thoughts out to the world has always appealled to me. I've been in sort of a damper in the past several years & I haven't wrote as much because of several reasons; 1)Time, I have none 2)Thoughts, I didn't think they were important enough 3)Block, anything non fiction both poetry or short stories, I couldn't produce a single thought to render anything worth reading. I've started probably 5 blogs in the last 5 years, all resulting in me deleting them because what I thought was good at the time, seemed stupid a few days later. The only one I truly put my heart into is my family blog documenting my struggles TTC (trying to conceive). Now in that blog, you could probably say that it is filled with hope & faith and it was. Was. Just as soon as my prayers for years pass didn't come true, I became hopeless and threw the towel in.

I have so much that I want to share. Even it's only sharing with myself. Jr, my husband, has always encouraged me to write & share my life story. When I couldn't find a single thing to write about even when I was on my bed, frustrated, pen in hand and couldn't think of a single worthy thought, Jr would tell me write about my life story. MY life story? Of course, it is filled with tremendous heart ache, hard learned lessons, and pain but nothing I felt anyone would care to read. Surely what I had to say wouldn't help someone else. My story is probably like almost every other broken kid that came from a dysfunctional family, or what I like to refer to as the 'broken record cycle". It wasn't until I read Crystal's book did I see the bigger picture in sharing my story too! Broken record or not, it's that moment when you hear or read someone else's account of things that you've been through and how they overcame & how they relate that is so thrilling and inspiring! I finally have a solid purpose in writing! Excitement is something I've defintely lacked when it came putting my thoughts down here lately.

In the days, months & years to come, I HOPE to inspire you with my stories & lessons. My prayer is that this is not another blog that I will abandon, because self conscious of & delete. I have a nagging feeling in my heart though, that this may be life changing for me and that it will be around for decades to come.