When people ask Why?

I thank God for my experiences, for the strength He has given me to face the many trials I have faced and the ability to forgive those who have hurt me. I thank God for all the stepping stones that have led me to be the mom I am. I thank God for my husband who has worked hard along with me and help parent and guide our daughters along this journey. It hasn't been easy, but our unity has helped soften the tough times.

God never intended for me to carry this weight, and the burdens that come with that weight. I confess, I have faced weak moments where I am tired of being "strong", but then I remember God promised to be the strength for me. God meant for me to give all my cares and worries to Him, so that I may live a life of "True freedom" from the gunk that collects and clutters up my heart if I fail to do so.

Watching the fruit of our hard work through our daughter's lives has inspired me and given me hope to press on. We have faced many many criticisms from other parents who believed our parenting was "too firm", "too strict", "unreasonable",and even "old fashioned".
Our girls, and their lives are proof that this is not the case. I never expected my children to jump through hoops when we forbid them from having cell phones until they were in high school, or prevented the younger two from having text messaging on their phones until they graduated high school. We didn't expect them to pat us on the backs in support of the "double dating only" rule, or when we didn't take them down to the DMV to pick up their drivers license the minute they turned 16.
No, we reminded our daughter's how we, as their parents we're accountable to God for our decisions in raising them and the guidance we offered to them. My prayer is our girls will continue to recognize the wisdom they've seen from the guidance we have provided them and feel the hope attached to it for their lives in the future. Our way isn't the "right" way, but our heart to serve God and parent our children the way we believe God intended provides an example for our children and an understanding that we have an obedience to God no matter our age or our position. Our purpose and it's reflection is, was, and will always be to guide them. In the end, it's God whom we will all stand before and give an account.

A Beautiful portrait

My beautiful Mother. 

While looking through pictures to scrapbook my daughter's life, I came across pictures of my family.  I have very few pictures of my mom, and am always seeking to connect any way I can to her.  If anyone has pictures of her, I would love to have copies.  Or, any pictures of my childhood.  The few pictures I have of me were before my mom passed away.  Then there just isn't much of anything.

     As I scrapbook my childrens lives, I've come to discover the downside of having my girls so young in my life as there are so few baby pictures I have of them.  However, I realize now why photographs and scrapbooking is so very important to me.  It's all you have when you lose someone so important, and you want to remember and feel what your worth was to someone such as my mom.

I restored this picture as best I could trying to capture my mother's beauty hidden by water marks on the original copy.  Although I am far from a professional, I sure did enjoy every detail of her beautiful face while touching it up.

Here is the "before" picture.

As always, thank you for visiting and sharing in this journey.



I have purpose

     When I decided to blog exerts of my life, I knew it was going to be a tough journey.  My motive was to paint as clear a picture as possible challenging myself to face it all head on, without fear.  Of course the journal entries of my life take me back in time, and it's not as easy as I thought it would be.   I struggle to paint vivid pictures with each entry, as some of these entries just need to "get out" so I can "get on".

     My mother's day entry has been my most difficult to write.  So many emotions surfaced, and although I recognized a lot of them, some I didn't know I had, and some I had to immediately surrender to God once the entry was finished.  I am committed to see this through even if I'm faced with reliving those hurtful times and places in my life.
I thank God for the strength to face my darkest days.  Thankfully I know how my story unfolds or I don't believe I would ever be able to face such pain.

Family Blessings

I take this time to breath in the smell of briquettes as my husband lights the grill for dinner.  What a wonderful beginning to the aroma that is to follow as the marinated meat permeates our home.  The sun is shining, the temperature is a bit warm, and all of my children have gathered to be with us on this day.  If I could bottle up these moments and place them in pretty snow globes I would have quite a marvelous collection.
For every grieving moment, I have ten fold of wonderful memories with each of my girls as well as my husband.
Today we sat down to watch The Chronicles of Narnia "The voyage of the dawn treader."  A wonderful movie depicting a journey of young children as they grow into adults while they follow the leadership of Aslan who represents Christ.  My favorite of the series to date.  My journey could be summed up with this movie as it's example.
Once the movie is over, dinner begins as do the many jokes we toss back and forth one to another.  My girls are free to express themselves, be themselves, yet represent themselves respectfully while having fun.  I couldn't be more proud, more thankful than I am right now for the beautiful ladies they have become.

I chuckle as I watch Amanda and Jason compete over a cell phone game, recognizing that competitive side in me when it comes to games with Michael.  (A silly yet proud tear fills my eye...j/k)  Their marriage reminds me of my own as I witness their love and silly antics between one another.  I'm so happy Amanda is happy, and happy Michael has a son.  Jason may not be a jack of all trades, yet he is good to my daughter, and a fun son to have in our family.  We love that they love each other, and it shows every time we're around them.

Alexandra brings such laughter and silliness to our family with her quick whit.  She holds her head high with her recent break up from a long time boyfriend.  What an honor to hear her "thank me" when I encourage some of the steps she takes through this painful process.  What a privilege to sense her trust in my words of advice learned from my own heart breaking experience.   There is never a boring moment with her around and I look forward to unfolding life.

Alicia is my reminder of innocence and purity in so many ways.  When she feels frustrated over her innocence, I gently remind her what a wonderful blessing she has that most girls her age have unfortunately lost.  This isn't meant in one specific way, but the innocence from the gunk in this world.  Things our children really don't need to know at this point.  How wonderful to watch her enjoy her childhood, embrace her innocence.  While stubborn at heart, Alicia has yet to defy our rules.  She is most determined to be different from others, and I admire her strength in this.

Since I met Michael, I knew we had a strong and unique bond.  He's been more than my best friend, he has been my gift from God.  Sure, we married very young, but what a blessing it was to grow up with my best friend and my husband.  We talk about everything, hold back nothing, and help hold one another up through every trial.  If I should place him too high on a pedestal, God is sure to smack me back into reality of who my God really is, and he's not my husband.  All the same, I am most thankful for our marriage, the life and love we have built between us.

God is so good, and I am in awe of His Majesty.  He brings me to my knees when I survey the wonderful family I've been blessed with.

Ut oh, I smell something burning  : D   hehe

Mother's day

     No matter the depth of each story I post, I believe there are other's who relate in some form or fashion to my story.  My hope is each reader will not miss the foundational point as you take your precious time to read about my story.

     While most people know how much I love Christmas, no one knows how I wish Mother's day would fall off the calendar.  Many may spend the day reflecting and praising their moms for her love and care, I however, tend to spend the day at war in my mind for how I failed my own mother..........

     Within months of my return to Nebraska, I had fallen in with the wrong crowd and had made some bad decisions by skipping school.  The state stepped in, taking me from my dad, and sent me to live in a foster home.  The thought of living with a "real family" was somewhat of a welcomed one.  A father AND a mother, along with two younger foster siblings was all I had hoped for regardless of the biological attachment I didn't have.    Therefore, to give this family a fair shot and desiring to feel loved and wanted for once in my life, I called Sharon and Charles "mom and dad."  The word "mom" had never been uttered from my lips that I recalled, yet I so longed to fit in with this family.
     Anyone who knew this family knew they were as "country bumpkin" as they come.  Charles was very tall and somewhat heavy with an enormous over bite, with a 'Ronald McDonald' hair and face.  Sharon, while short and extremely heavy, had long brown hair and a beautiful talent of playing the piano and singing.  She was probably as close comparison to my birth mother as I have understood my mom played the piano and sang as well.  Addressing her as "mom" seemed to be the perfect title for Sharon.  Charles was a pastor at a small country church, and they both seemed to carry spiritual convictions that were solid.  I respected them immediately and was happy to be living with them.  My happiness would experience a curve ball within months.   Charles and Sharon surprised me and my boyfriend one night with wine coolers.   The understanding was acceptable since I was fifteen years old yet under their care and their supervision made it acceptable.   Of course, I thought this "very cool" of them too and I drank them all up.  .
     Soon after, confusing flags flew my way when Sharon began speaking to me on rare occasions, or when she did, she communicated with sharp tones and a hostile attitude.  During my brief stay, Charles would confess he had inappropriate feelings toward me.  Sharon must have sensed something was wrong as she exerted hate towards me.  I was confused, heartbroken, and trapped yet again with no way out.
       My heart didn't break over Charles perverted thoughts or his sick attraction to me. Heck, that seemed to come with every pervert I crossed paths with.  Whether at age five by a stranger, age seven by an alcoholic uncle, even age thirteen by a Decon at a Baptist church I attended, or even in the care of what was suppose to be a safe and Religious foster home, there simply was no place sacred or safe.
     My heart broke from Sharon's reaction to this truthful exposure of her husband once all was disclosed it in a counseling session.  She had quite a defense for their behavior when buying me wine coolers, for Charles exposing me to pornography for the first time in my life, and for all his warped and inappropriate attractions as well as behaviors he had towards me.  This woman, whom I called "mom" managed to shift blame towards me as though I assumed some sort of responsibility for all this.

Life would moved on, and I wouldn't face this again until I was mid way through my 20's, married, and had daughters of my own.   The truth of this matter is no one believed me, nor believed a pastor could 'fall from grace' and no one believed he would cause so much pain to so many.  No one came to my defense, nor did anyone "stand up" in my honor.  I was deemed a juvenile delinquent, and all was swept "under the rug" so to speak.
     I lived my early adult life believing I must have played some role in Charles struggles;  I've lived my life making excuses for Charles, for his human perverted flaws;  I've lived my life keeping this story quiet as I bore shame for another man's sin.  Then, eventually I'd come to realize "it's okay", "I'm okay", "I did nothing wrong."   While peace filled up the empty void from this one scar, the ugliest scar yet was about to surface.  How I missed this scar was uncertain to me at the time.  This scar spelled "MOM".   One simple word, a word so difficult for me to ever speak, and the only person I've spoken this name to was Sharon. (despite the fact I called my birth mother mom, I have no memory of that)   My safe escape of sexual abuse was in the arms of my mother's memory and the safety she would have provided.  Now, I have trampled on that memory because I offered up HER title to another woman.  How stupid could I have been?  I knew better than to trust any woman as if any could ever hold a torch to my mother, and here I jumped right into this brutal trap.  A trap so big, so deep, I'm living out it's healing to this day.  "Mother's day" is a poke at my chest as I let my mother down and I don't get a day to make it up to her.

Even though this is a heavy story, I spend so much thought time shoveling positive pie down my throat to make up for the negative truths I've shared.  My greatest scar is one I believe God has kept safe for a time where I would see it, and a time in my life where God would be visible enough to me for me to surrender it to Him.  I am accountable to God alone, not to any man who chooses to pick apart how they think I should be or what they think I should or shouldn't say.  I believe I've dealt with the scars of my childhood pretty well.  What I struggle to deal with to this day are fresh wounds caused by criticisms from others.  You don't have to walk a block, or a mile in my shoes, but for goodness sake, stop criticizing me.  I carry enough burdens to weigh down a village.  And, while I work at surrendering every emotional scar I bear to the Great Healer, my life would be a more pleasant one with a lot more support, and a lot less criticism.  Having experienced a sad childhood is not unique to any other persons pain.  We're all broken in one form or another.  My life is not for you to judge the process of my healing, how I heal, or if I heal.  Your life is equally not for me to do the same.  The difference may be, I'm willing to put my life out there and the pains I've lived.  Our pain is still the same, and, we don't have to pour gasoline on anyone's wounds with criticism.

My wish for this Mother's day isn't a nice meal made by another, or a pretty card in celebration, or even a beautiful present that cost someone hard earned money.  My wish is for another person to experience freedom from pains we've all felt, whatever that may mean to you.
For my mom on this mother's day, I am truly sorry I gave another woman your name. 
John 15:12-19

Sneaky like a mouse

Today I put my thoughts where our country and our world lie in the grand scheme of life.  While we tend to feel victory here in America, the reality of evil still looms our nation's as a whole.  He still walks the earth, an evil so great he will not take a form or a shape for our eyes to focus on.  Night vision goggles cannot detect his movement, nor is there a human sniper trained to wipe out his existence.  We carry on our day to day life oblivious to his presence but he's there, his dark smoldering breath hiding in the shadows....waiting....quietly....to suck you in.

Like a mouse, he comes inside creating damage ever so quietly, so difficult to hear, so difficult to see.  And, as seasons change we may take a moment to shift furniture and discover the damage created by this tiny little creature who has simply multiplied while wreaking havoc on our home.  Evidence of droppings lie scattered beneath furniture, shreds of insulation present the destruction with which they created.  Whose to say how long they've been thriving within our walls?  Whose to say we may ever find their entrance into our home?  We know they're there and we call the exterminator to rid our home of these creatures who have chewed at our walls meant to protect it's residents.

When we become numb to the evil one's schemes, he begins to chew away the insulation of our walls called Character.  When we ignore his presence, he multiplies and his damage is even greater.  His sneaky mouse like self is ever so quiet as he chomps away at our convictions.  He starts with whispers to our mind, with justifications of "simple things, simple thoughts" such as, a particular conversation we had with another individual and may not wish to share with our spouse as it would "only cause unwanted questions";  we curse a crazy driver who cuts us off in traffic, "no one else heard";   we harbor anger within us and justify it's presence;   we proudly take the extra money from the cashier who unknowingly added wrong;   we witness hazard lights flashing on a 'clunker' car along the freeway and zip past the homely person standing at it's hood.  To justify is like a lie that will eat away the lining of our souls.

When we fail to share that conversation with our spouse the effect can create a pattern of secrets, denying a wonderful bond that could potentially occur had we taken the risk by facing that rift;  when we curse the crazy driver, our defenses will grow and grow until one day someone may have pushed us too far;   when we take money that does not belong to us regardless of the error, we're stealing something we have not earned for ourself;   when we drive by a beat up broken down car on the freeway and we know we're capable of helping that person, we elevate who we are in comparison to "who they must be", this effect can create a sense of selfishness by not reaching out to help another;   whenever we find ourselves justifying our actions or our behavior is a perfect time to sit back and softly observe the "mouse" that has snuck into our home.
I personally have been guilty of one or more of these at some point and time in my life.  

The evil one still prowls around seeking to devour our souls by whittling away at our character.  As one man falls, the real evil one snickers while we gloat.  He knows we've ended an 'obvious' target, he also knows he has worked magic in peoples hearts as they've grown cold and calloused while they justify their hate.

May there not be another day we unknowingly become enslaved by the greatest terrorist to roam this earth.  

No place like home

Growing up in the 70's is quite an eyeopener to the "blind trust" people had with one another.  Parents left their children alone in a car all the time, and you were sure to be sent to the car if you misbehaved.  Whose to say if this way was right or wrong, as it's equally obvious we've replaced "blind trust" with "blind fear".  Today, you're a horrible parent for leaving your child alone in a car, and a better parent for not disciplining your child.  

     

     I have the utmost respect for my father as he struggled to finish the job my mother started.  He was newly retired, and he didn't have a clue what he was doing when it came to parenting.  In my humble opinion, he did a horrible job providing emotional care for me, and an even worse job by trusting random people's help with me.  All the same, he did the best he could with the parenting skills he had and didn't have.
     Since I was becoming a young woman, my dad deemed it best I move to California with a woman who offered help with me.  Looking back, my dad didn't have any depth of insight in to who this woman really was, he simply trusted her as she too had served in the Navy.  There wasn't a "google search" back then and I'm sure he didn't required any sort of "references" before he agreed this move would be best for me.   I was on board with this decision as well.  What twelve year old girl wouldn't want to replace Nebraska wheat fields with California beaches?  What was meant to be a one year visit turned into three and half years.

     Soon after my move to California, dad was in a serious car accident that nearly ended his life with a broken neck.  I rarely spoke to him or heard from him during those years.  To my understanding, he spent eight months in a rehabilitation facility where he would learn to walk again.  

     Bev's story was a sad one as well.  She had lost her husband and a son in a car accident, and her two children who survived were grown and out on their own.  Her daughter had disowned her for reasons unknown to me, and her son lived in Idaho.  My heart sure felt sympathy for her and her hard life. 

     Youth camps, pottery classes, tennis lessons, and California touring was her way of offering me a life unlike one I had known.  While the adventures were fun filled, I would soon see how these activities posed as great distractions to her sad story.  Bev's daughter suddenly appeared out of no where to make amends with her mom.  This short lived reunion allowed me an opportunity to learn more of Bev.  Sitting in a room full of people, I overheard Jerry (Bev's daughter) speak about her father. As Jerry talked of the contact she had with her dad, I was left feeling dazed and confused.  What a strange thing to say as her dad was dead, so how was it she was in contact with him? The truth was finally understood when Jerry explained how her dad had divorced her mom and the son in which had supposedly died was in fact Jerry's first husband who had divorced Jerry.  He too, was alive and well.  My mind was spinning to know Bev had lied to me throughout my first year of living with her.  Another year would pass before Bev would confess this horrible lie to me.  I sure didn't spill I had known, I just walked in caution knowing the woman I lived with had serious issues. 

     I felt trapped in many ways.  While Bev was nice enough for the most part, she had a way of manipulating stories to ensure her own safety.  She feared losing me to my dad and convinced me of his poor care and abandonment to me on a regular basis.  Since I rarely spoke to my dad during this time, there was no point in telling him of this fearful revelation as dad was healing from his car accident.

     Then, one day out of the blue, Bev came to me encouraging me to make a visit home.  I believe she was testing my love and loyalty to her as she booked a round trip ticket home with the understanding I'd return in a week.  Once I was back with my dad, I would not return to live with Bev again.  While Bev was devastated and angry, I spent my week long visit discovering more deceptive behavior by her.

     My dad did in fact write me many times while I lived with Bev, sadly I had never received his letters.  She opened and rewrote mail I sent others while preventing my receiving mail from others.  Thus, leaving me with the sense of abandonment she had so convinced me of.  Although Bev's lies became a pinnacle point to my conviction of honesty, I've lived with scars of guilt for abandoning her by not returning to live with her.

As I've processed her warped and twisted behavior over and over in my mind, my heart resolves feeling compassion towards her lonely self.  She undoubtedly loved me and worked hard to care for me, but her lies and deceit scared me more than I've admitted until now. While a heartfelt truth may in fact hurt 'one', Lies will always hurt many more.  In the end, TRUTH will always prevail!  
Regardless of dads parenting skills, whether right or wrong, good or bad, care or neglect....there simply was "no place like home", and I was glad to be back where I belonged.