Happy through the story

I have done a lot of soul searching the past few weeks. Asking myself questions to which I didn’t know if I wanted the answer. Why am I the way that I am; why do I do things the way that I do? Am I happy? What would I have to change to become the person I want to be? What in my life needs to be different for me to be happy? Questions keep rolling through my mind—challenging me to be better, hoping to make sense of the parts of me—and others—that are harder to love. Some of the answers have been simple. Fear has been at the core of them all. Beliefs racked with this fear . . . motivating frustrations and destructive patterns.

So here are some of the beliefs I have been reframing:

1. Everyone but me feels joy all the time

We have this expectation in our mind that if our days are not filled with joy . . . we are not truly happy. If bumps in the road come along—we feel as if life is not truly worth living. We have a standard set for what happiness looks like, and if that standard is not met in ourselves—or in those around us—we are miserable.

2.  Everybody but me has it all figured out

As our lives feel as though they fall apart daily, we look out to others for a standard at where normal should be. We compare our imperfect lives, to other’s perfectly portayed Instagram/Facebook realities. Only—while we are at home feeling everything but joy—we do not see what is going down on the other end of those perfectly posed pictures.

3. When I become _____________ . . . I will be happy

It is worthy to have goals—finish lines of something worth achieving. But the more we live, the more we will realize that the goals are not what is going to bring us to a state of happiness. Happiness is what is found along the way—realizing that the journey is what makes us who we will become.

4. If we were normal . . . we wouldn’t have issues

Normal: the standard for which we all measure our lives—ironically a made up scenario of perfection in others—a status at which we believe we will never achieve. “Normal” is a dream we sometimes dream . . . a quiet, simple life with no hiccups or battles—a version of our life without the messes to clean up . . . but full of constant joy.

So what really needs to change for us to be happy? Is it everyone else? Is it our story? . . . Or is it just us?

If happiness is a choice, how come it feels so hard to choose?—maybe because if it was easy, everyone would do it.

We have to find those beliefs that are holding us back. As simple as they sound in our head, they may be the reason we are not living to our full potential. We don’t have to wait any longer. The choice of happiness is in our hands.

I want to be happy. I want to find the little glimmers of joy in my days. I want to make a difference for others—even those that seem a little harder to love. Because that is what Christ did. He loved. He forgave . . . and He lived. His life wasn’t perfect, but He was.

Our lives are not perfect, and unfortunately neither are we. We are not going to achieve perfection . . . not ever. But we can feel joy. We were created to find it—in the little imperfect glimmers of light on this path we call life.

Day 11

Being humbled by your seven year old...how it helped me last night remember a truth I had been forgetting. We can be grateful for what we DO have.

Adjustments

Death eventually sneaks into everyone's lives, and tends to catch people off guard as they find themselves saying goodbye to a loved one. Family and friends are forced to adjust to a new way of life as they learn to survive without the person they love. My husband Patrick and I found ourselves in this very situation just a few years ago, and we have been working on adjusting ever since. 

On a hot summer day, my husband and I were happily enjoying a night out, just the two of us. We left Preslee, our 18 month old daughter, with family and were enjoying our time away at the movies. As we were walking out of the theatre, we received an unexpected phone call, a police officer calling to tell us to rush to the local hospital where our daughter was being airlifted to. Upon arrival, a doctor informed us our daughter had fallen into a canal and had been miraculously found by a farmer over a mile downstream. Hours later, Preslee was air lifted to SLC, UT, where seven days later she passed away in our arms.

My husband and I had no choice but to adjust as we returned home to an empty house. We packed away most of Preslee's belongings, and shut the door to her bedroom.  The emptiness was a painful reminder of what was missing. We adjusted to the abundant tears, heartache, and depression that often presents itself after losing a loved one, and we adjusted to the many stares, avoidance, and even abandonment by friends who struggled knowing how to interact with us.

Patrick and I have continued to adjust to the changes that overcame both of us, as a big piece of ourselves was buried along with our daughter. The life we had grown accustomed to, up until that point in our marriage, suddenly disappeared and we were forced to make adjustments to keep our marriage together.

But even though the past few years have been extremely difficult, positive adjustments have also been made. We were able to experience an outpouring of love, kindness, and service, which taught us to put aside our pride and let others help us, when we found ourselves at an all time low. We adjusted as people shared our daughter's story, and strangers from all over the world left words of encouragement on our family blog. We were astounded when we learned complete strangers were continually praying for our family.
Humbling? Incredibly so.

We've adjusted our view on life, as we've learned to focus on what is truly important. We now look at life with an "eternal perspective," and have learned we are capable of accomplishing hard things. We’ve come to learn that people are truly amazing, and many have inspired us to follow their example, as we try to focus on putting others before ourselves.

And though we’ve struggled over the past five years, we find ourselves continually adjusting our relationship with our Savior, Jesus Christ. Not long before the accident, I prayed my relationship with our Savior would be strengthened... never dreaming my prayer would be answered in the way that it was. I've learned that Jesus Christ is real, and He lives. I now understand that when I seek him, He will carry a large portion of my burdens. It is He, who took the majority of my load, and carried enough weight to make it bearable for me to stand.

I can't help but think back seven years ago, when Preslee was placed into our arms for the very first time, and we adjusted to becoming parents. I’ve come to realize that was, without a doubt, the most important adjustment we ever made. Little did we know our daughter would teach us more than anyone else ever will.

Even though most of the adjustments we have made over the past few years have been extremely difficult, I think it’s safe to say we would both do it again in heartbeat. Alongside grief, gratitude has developed and we are grateful for growth, and the different path we now walk. Though we miss Preslee terribly, we’re grateful that this life isn’t the end. We now work hard as parents to teach our three little boys who their older sister is, and marvel over the fact, they truly do have a relationship with their sister. We will continue to adjust until our family is reunited, and for that knowledge alone, we have a reason to stand.

 Ashley Sullenger is a writer and a mother of four children. She currently lives in Salt Lake City, Utah and writes at Sullengers.com, a blog that reminds people that we can do hard things. You can also find her on Instagram and Facebook.

Related post: Moving Forward

He Never Leaves Us

It is often said that we find our greatest strengths in our lowest moments. I would have to agree with that. When I was three years old my father passed away from health complications. Throughout elementary and middle school I was teased for it. I wouldn’t necessarily say I was bullied, I just didn’t click anywhere very well.

When I started high school, I was pretty well like any other teenager. I was just trying to find my place. I clicked with a group of kids that were more the “wild” crowd. I went to parties here and there on occasion. I tested rebellion a little bit, but I tried to live two lives; the spiritual and the adventurous.

When I was sixteen years old, all of that changed. One night, after going to a local dance, I was invited to a party by a friend of a friend. When I got to the “party” it was just me and three guys. I remember feeling a sense of dread as I sat up a canyon not ten miles from my house, knowing that I was no longer safe. I always believed that bad things only happened in cities, not small rural towns like where I lived.

I couldn’t fight them, and I had nowhere to run. I tried praying in my head to be saved but no answer ever came. That night was the first time since my dad died that I felt my life spinning out of control. The difference was that my dad had no more control than I did. That night someone used his need for control to completely remove mine.

I never reported what happened, I didn’t think anyone would believe me. Over the next year I let go of my life in an effort to control my life. I dove head first into a life of prescription medication and alcohol. When I went to parties, I did everything I could to drown out the pain. I would use pills and alcohol I bought from others to start and end each day, most of the time completely alone.

When I didn’t have my substances available or my fears and emotions were too strong, I would do what I could to cause myself physical pain. I wanted to be released from the prison inside my head. To avoid the terror of being alone at night. To stop jumping every time I was in a crowded place. I felt trapped. I didn’t feel like Heavenly Father loved me. How could He love me and let that happen?

Just about a year later, I had to rely on my Savior more than ever. When I found out I was pregnant, I was terrified. I had spent the last year of my life recklessly, and now an innocent life would have to suffer for it. I knew my baby deserved so much more but how could I give him that? I made the choice to place my baby for adoption.

I had always understood that if you were living in sin, the Holy Ghost would remove himself from you. I assumed that was the same with the Savior. However, I learned more about what the atonement truly meant in those months of my pregnancy than ever before. I felt like the woman in the temple, taken in adultery. I did not deserve my Savior’s love but there He was kneeling beside me.

The day of placement was nothing short of miserable. On that day I placed complete faith in my Heavenly Father and my Savior, and handed my perfect baby boy to the individuals that I knew he was meant to be with. When he was Heavenly Father’s gift to save me from my own destruction, he was always meant to be their son.

Fast forward seven years. I was finally back in a place where I felt I was on “good terms” with my Heavenly Father. I got married at nineteen, and my husband was baptized six months later. Three years after that we were sealed in the temple. Shortly after, we were blessed with our fourth child. I felt that my life was complete.

One evening, while my husband was at work, I realized that he had left his phone home. Whether it was curiosity, or intuition, I don’t know, but I felt the urge to go through his messages. Inside I found a conversation with another woman. My heart stopped. I felt the same confused whirlwind of emotions that I had the night my attack. How could he do this me? I brought his phone to his work and told him that he would have thirty minutes to tell me everything or lose his family forever.

I called my bishop and met with him for an hour while my parents watched my kids. He followed me home, and he and my step­dad gave me a blessing. My mom helped me put my kids to bed, and after my parents left, I fell to my knees on my living room floor and prayed. I prayed for it all to go away, for it all to be a bad dream. I got up and paced the room, then fell to my knees again. This time I prayed for clarity of mind to hear my husband out. I prayed for control on my emotions. I prayed for strength that my Savior would hold me up when I knew the information I was going to receive was so much more than what I had found in those text messages.

When my husband got home, I waited for my anger to take control, it never did. As he confessed years worth of affairs and his addictions, instead of feeling angry, I felt compassion. The more he confessed, the more I felt my Savior surrounding me. I felt Him holding me up, offering me peace in this turmoil.

Through all of these experiences, I have learned that we emphasize too much of the atonement being about sin, and not enough of it being about our Savior’s love and grace. Trials come, either by our own doing, by the hands of others, by the nature of mortality, trials come. However, the Savior never leaves us. Often we forget He is standing by us and we lose our way. Whether we forget because life blinds us from remembering He’s there, we are trapped in the depths of mental/emotional issues, or we avoid Him because of guilt, He never leaves us.

As it says in John 14:18, “I will not leave you comfortless; I will come to you”, He does not leave us. He is always there to offer His love, support and strength. It is something that has already been given to us, we just have to remember where to turn. 

My name is Shanna Spuhler. Through the good times and the bad I have known God is there, and with that faith . . . I will stand. 

 hepromisedhedbethere.com

New Beginnings—remembering the past, looking to the future, and living for right now

At the New Year we reflect upon the last 365 days, and forward to that many to come. It is a celebration of a new beginning. Whatever we did in the past is behind us, and we stand at a new chapter—unwritten.

We set ideals; we write stories in our minds of what the New Year will bring. As we commit to our goals—many of which will never be met—we anticipate that our obtaining them will bring us the happiness that last year lacked.

We hope with anticipation that this year will be void of last year’s problems. We secretly wish that we will catch our big break—and it will be some else’s turn to have problems.

Will there really be a year full of love, happiness, peace, and joy; and completely void of hardships and pain?

As I have reflected over this past year I have posed that question to myself on many levels, and today I think I found the answer. NO.

Here is the real question that needs answered. Is there ever even a DAY that is void of problems, struggles, or pain? And to that the answer is the same. NO. Every day brings about some form of challenge. Every single day—these past 365 days—has been hard in some way.

So what am I going to do now? Pretend that next year is going to be smooth if I lose 10 pounds and stop chewing my nails? No way. I have spent the last thirty-three New Years pretending that the hard times had passed—and every time a new challenge has been presented I am completely shocked and disappointed. I feel as though I have failed—or worse—someone else has failed me.

So this year, as I make goals for what I want next year to bring, I am going to start out with a realistic view.

Life is going to be hard. It is going to be full of days filled with disappointments, and struggles. My kids are going to mess up, and argue, and scratch the paint on my car. My husband and I are going to disagree, and sometimes—even fight. We are going to miss date nights for ballet recitals, and snuggle time for cleaning up barf. Some days we are going to be spread so thin, we are going to wonder how to juggle it all. The laundry is never going to end, and the cars are never going to stay cleaned. I am going to question myself. Some days I am going to suck as a mom—some moments I am going to be the worst wife. I am going to fail . . . every . . . single . . . day.

But as I write my goals for this year I am going to remember all the good that came through the pain last year. I am going to remember all the prayers that we said as we knelt together for answers through our struggles. I am going to remember the moments when we smiled, even through the bumps in the road. I am going to remember all the times we laughed; and the perfect moments filled with light.

This year—as I plan for tomorrow—I am going to be grateful that this is my life. I am going to remind myself of all the blessings I have seen every single day. I am going to be grateful that God had a plan much greater than mine—that has brought me so much heartache, but also brought me to a point that I had to search for Him.

The New Year is a fresh start from the past. It may not change some of the things that are hard—and that’s ok—because it has been those bumps that have brought me here. It has been those struggles that have strengthened me through the pain. It has been that pain that has pushed me to find faith in things much greater than myself. It has been that faith that has taught me I am right where I belong.  

 Happy New Years!!

We have had a week full of adventures. Going to be blogging about them in the next few days!! Stay tuned. 

A letter to "Stepdads"

Dear Husband,

Today I sat at the final basketball game of the season for our oldest son. In the seat to the right of me was my mother-in-law. To the left was my other mother-in-law . . . your mom. They both cheered loud for our son and watched you coach his team.

I had a moment today. As I watched you out on the court—coaching and cheering on our son—I thought about the road that got us here. It has been four years since you came into our life. Today I realized something I may have been taking for granted all these years: You chose to be here.

I sometimes forget the feeling of sitting at the funeral—just a few years back—and aching that my five kids would not have a dad to help raise them. I forget how my body hurt just thinking about all the moments that we would do alone. I cried many tears for the fact that my sons would never have a dad to teach them how to play ball, or give them advice about girls. I thought about all the dances and first dates the girls would leave for without a dad to tell them they looked beautiful.

I knew one day I would remarry—I hoped they would one day have a stepdad—but I just knew it would never be the same.

And then there you were. It felt like I was in a dream—at first—having you love me. Most of the time I felt unworthy of love, but—no matter how hard I tried to push you away—you loved me anyway. You made my kids feel special and you were always trying to be there for them. It wasn’t always easy for you—I could see how hard it was some days to all the sudden have to balance six kids. I know it was a sacrifice in many ways for you to give the other five some of the energy and love you used to be able to give to just one.

Some days I forget you could have looked at us as used baggage. You could have seen the trauma and imperfections, you could have seen how broken we were—but you didn’t.  You chose to see so much more—even more than I could see—you saw us.  I sometimes forget that you were not always here with me. I forget that you had a life without me; but I also forget that you fell in love with all of us—and chose to marry the whole package. I forget that your options were endless—and you still choose us.

Our family isn’t normal. We haven’t always been together—like other families have. Sometimes that is hard, and it makes us think maybe all the work isn’t worth the fight. But sweet husband—today I see you. The you that works hard to love the kids he didn’t get to help create. I see you—the man who fathers by choice instead of obligation. I see you—the man who chose to be a dad, to five children who had lost hope in having one.

Being a “stepdad” probably wasn’t ever part of your plan. That’s the crazy part about life—our plans are going to fail. But thank you for taking your failed plan and finding us in ours . . . and becoming a father.

Those moments I just knew life was never going to be the same—I was right—life has never been the same since my babies lost their father . . . and it never will be. But today as I looked out at a basketball game and watched a “stepdad” coach a little boy— I remembered you were always meant to be his father.

We aren’t always going to understand the WHY’s of this life . . . but the joy that I felt today helped me understand the HOW’s. God had a plan for us . . . and He gave us YOU.

Anyone can become a father—thousands of them are made every single day—but not everyone would choose to step in and become a dad. That kind of a parent takes an extra special person—one like you.

Love,

Your wife

~The kids today after the game with Shawn's mom and dad, and Emmett's mom, dad, and stepdad~

Surrounded

As I was walking through my quiet house to lock up and check on kids one last time for the night, I stopped at this picture and felt this overwhelming amount of love. Some blessings come in small packages... Not mine. This big family is so much more than anything I could have created on my own. I am so grateful for a Heavenly Father who had a greater plan in mind. He knew I wouldn't be able to stand on my own, so He surrounded me with all these tender spirits to give me a reason and a purpose to anyway. #areasontostand #themomentswestand

The Voice to Change

Besides little notes in my journal about powerful moments in my life, I spent most of my time pretending hard things had not happened—or internally dwelling on the fact that they did. One night during the trial I got this overwhelming feeling I needed to write. I sat down at my laptop and words began to pour out of me.

Heartache, pain, fear, hate—all of the emotions that had been trapped felt clear as they escaped from their hideouts. As I typed, I pictured who would ever read the words I could now see on the screen—NO ONE. EVER. Maybe my kids when they were grown and parents of their own children; maybe at a distant time when their own personal struggles left them feeling a need to know about their past.

I pictured handing them a stack of papers—possibly made into a nice covered book—and looking into their eyes and saying, “Now you will remember why it still hurts.”

I was so full of bitterness and pain it was woven into every page I typed. Each story was filled with the hate I had been carrying for the three people in them. Each letter on the screen was racked with fear. In those moments of writing I could not see the silver linings. I could not see the angels. I couldn’t even remember the happy times—all I could write was the pain.

It only lasted a few nights. Many pages filled with my hate, and the stories of the past. Soon it became too much and I decided that writing words on a computer screen was not going to make a difference in anyone’s life . . . especially my own.

I made a vow with myself to never visit those memories again and my computer remained closed.

Sitting across from Keith Morrison with cameras and bright lights in my face . . . is where I broke that vow. We talked for hours. Every emotion—I had been working so diligently to hide—came streaming out with every story I told. He asked me questions about that night, about my family, about the trial, but the ones I remember most were the questions he asked about my pain. I had held it in so long, and so robotically during the trial, it almost hurt coming out—but nothing had ever felt so good.

My throat burned every time a question was asked. For the first time since that night, I felt like I truly had a voice—and someone cared how it felt . . . for me. I could not stop the tears from flowing. No rules were put on how I could feel; no one was watching to use my insecurities against me. I was free to speak.

I remember looking across the room to a man I had seen many times on TV and thinking . . . What am I doing here? After all those promises to keep these stories quiet? After all those nights of collaborating with myself . . . truly believing that my healing would come as everyone just forgot about our struggle? Why . . . why am I doing this?

But I just kept talking—and it actually felt good.

Even the tears didn’t hurt as much as they too were excited to fall out.  It didn’t make sense in my mind, but my heart felt free.

I thought that would be the one and only time, but it turned out my healing through sharing our story . . . had just begun.

On Jan 6, 2014 I woke up with a perfect knowledge of what I was supposed to do. I had spent the weekend wrestling this overwhelming feeling that I was to start a blog and truly document the past for my children.

On Friday the confirmation first came to me in the temple. The feeling that kept repeating in my head was: I need you to be a voice for some of my children who aren’t listening. I first thought that meant I needed to begin writing in the book I had started during the trial. Then the thought repeated with more urgency, and as clear as day the idea of the blog was imprinted in my mind.

I didn’t say a word to Shawn about it. Saturday I was an emotional wreck battling my prompting. I was moody and angry, and kept avoiding everyone. Sunday was no different. By Sunday night Shawn finally pulled me into our room and said, “Ash . . . what is going on with you? You have not been yourself this whole weekend. Pretty much since the temple on Friday you have seemed so angry. Are you upset about something? How can I help you through whatever you are going through? Do you need to go for a drive? Do you want to take a hot bath? Can I give you a blessing?” His questions wanted answered, but I didn’t dare tell him of the journey I felt I should do.

We put the kids to bed and walked back into our room so Shawn could give me a blessing. In the quiet of our house Shawn laid his hands upon my head and spoke my name. An amazing spirit filled our room. In the middle of the blessing he stopped. The pause was longer than normal and I could tell he was trying hard to say the things he felt Heavenly Father wanted me to hear. As he spoke he repeated almost word for word what I had felt in the temple a few nights before. He said, “Ashlee . . . Heavenly Father has a plan for you. He wants you to be a voice for some of His children who aren’t listening. He wants you to find peace from this pain. He wants you to find the hope you have been fighting silently for. He wants you to be free from the past, but to embrace the story. Heavenly Father needs you . . . He needs you to stand up and share His message through your healing. There is no need to fear—He will guide you. Just have faith and follow Him and you will be blessed with the healing you seek. Ashlee, this was always the plan. You are where you were made to be. You will be blessed in your faith. As you stand tall, you will feel whole. And I leave these things with you, in the name of Jesus Christ Amen.”

Shawn’s hands were still on my head. We both sat there in the silence. He finally spoke, “Hey  . . . Ash . . . Do you have any idea what all of that is about?” I replied through my tears, “Actually, yes. I am afraid I know exactly what I am supposed to do.” Shawn took his hands off of my head and walked around until we were face to face. He said, “Well, if I were you . . . I would do it . . . like now.”

In my final effort to fight for my desired silence I shared with him the last of my fears, “Shawn . . . I can’t . . . I . . . I don’t want to do it. I told you the day I met you I couldn’t wait to just have all of this behind us and not talk about it ever again . . . and now I feel like I am supposed to just start writing—on a blog—that just anyone could get on and read. I don’t know if I am ready to do this . . . I don’t want to do what I feel like I am supposed to do. It is . . . going to be so hard and humiliating all over again. And . . . I . . . don’t know how to be vulnerable, and write about something that hurt so bad. I don’t even know how to talk about it without crying, how would I even start?”

He grabbed my hands and brought his eyes closer to mine. He whispered, “Ashlee. I understand you feel scared. I have watched it all over your face this entire weekend, but what if it is part of your healing journey? What if it helps someone else? I wish I could say there was an easy way out, but I don’t think you have a choice. You can spend the rest of your life angry and bitter like you have been this whole weekend—fighting another plan—or you can just do what you know you have to do. Either way I will support you, but you have to decide what is more important. Maybe it won’t be easy, but maybe it really will be what makes you feel whole.”

I went to bed, still filled with turmoil on what I knew I should do and what I wanted to do.  I hardly slept at all that night. My mind was filled with doubt. Doubt in another part of the “plan” I never planned. Doubt in the promise that delving into the past would help me let it go. Doubt that bringing to surface my greatest pain could bring me peace. Doubt in my ability to spell, punctuate, and communicate properly in any form of the English language. Doubt that I would be able to remember anything worth passing down to my posterity. But even more than all of my fears, doubt that I would fail what seemed to be a mission from my creator.

When morning finally came I rolled out of bed and fell to my knees. I prayed with all my heart, “I believe in grace. I believe that we each came to earth with a mission and a purpose. I have seen your hand in every day I have lived. I have literally seen angels on earth. So, I believe in hope. I believe in miracles. And if this is the plan you have for me, as scary as it may seem . . . I will do it. Not for me—heaven knows I don’t want to—not necessarily for anyone who happens to stumble across this blog I am about to make . . .but for You. Heavenly Father, I have a family who one day will need to read these words. They are too young to understand now, but someday they will be so thankful for this. So I do this for them. I will not fear. I will pray every time I write that the words will be the voice you need them to be. Heavenly Father, I am still filled with so much anger and hate . . . I don’t know what else to write about. So if this is supposed to be—help me remember the good. Help me remember the angels. Help me remember the times when I had something to learn, and something to change. Help me to forgive, and repent, and let this be a journal that is real. Help my children someday to be able to use it through their own struggles. I see that this has to be. Help me to overcome this fear. I will be a humble servant in writing truths . . . please help me to learn them as I write. It’s a scary place we live in. So much of the past has caused me to doubt the future. This earth has so much evil, so much wrong every day . . . help me to see the good. I know I can’t change the world . . . but Father, please help me change myself.”

And a blog was born. It needed a name. My first thoughts all had to do with the pain and the hard times. Then I reflected on my prayer. I was going to remember the good—the times we had every reason to fall, but we didn’t . . . the times we wanted to give up—but carried on. The times we were carried by a power greater than our own. The Moments We Stand.

I typed it in and goose bumps covered my arms. It was perfect. I wasn’t sure where I would begin so I just started typing.

 In life, we are all constantly at crossroads. Some of these crossroads are life-changing, and others don’t seem to make a difference either way. These moments come to us sometimes many times a day. Which way to choose . . . what choice to make. Do I take back this lipstick that had dropped behind my purse at the store and now I’m loading all my groceries in the car and I am in a hurry and need to leave? Do I wait at the cross walk with the little boy who looks lost . . . even though I’m already running late to take my daughter to her piano lesson? It is a moment for a young high school girl when she has to decide if she will walk past the young boy who just got his binder torn out of his hands and his stuff thrown about the hallway . . . or if she will stop and help him pick it up and be late for her next class. It is the moment when a young man sits in a dressing room contemplating walking out of the store with the T-shirt he just put on under his clothes . . . or if he takes it off and saves his money to buy it when he can afford it. A young pregnant mother sits at a crossroad at the abortion clinic. . . contemplating whether or not she keeps this unborn child or walks out of there today as if nothing ever happened. Crossroads are always in our lives. They are sometimes small . . . and other times very large and heavy. They come to young and old, poor and rich, happy and depressed. We cannot always control when or how they come. The only part we have control over, is the outcome. The outcome of any crossroad can be very dark . . . or it can bring so much joy for generations to come. We will not always know the ripple effect that our decisions can have on others around us, but sometimes, our decisions will change another person’s life forever.

My name is Ashlee. I am a victim of murder. Through a series of events and by two shots of a gun, I was made a widow at the age of 28, with my youngest child just six weeks old. I am a victim of infidelity. I have felt unlovable. I have felt rejected. I have had days in my life when I wasn’t sure if I would ever take a breath again, let alone be able to raise my five children by myself. I have lived in fear. I have felt much heartache. I have felt truly broken to my core. I have carried some heavy burdens . . . not only of my own, but burdens put upon my shoulders by the death of my husband. I have felt alone. I have felt humiliated. I have been humbled to my knees. I have searched my soul to find my worth in this world, and in the life that was left for me. My world has been totally shattered. I have faced realities I never knew were possible, and found strength within myself to keep up the fight and live every day as if it was on purpose. I have been carried by Angels . . . both earthly beings and those unseen. I have found that being a “victim” doesn’t mean we have an excuse to stop living. Being a victim means finding a reason for seeking a higher road. I have picked up the pieces left and carried on. I am a mother. I am a survivor.

In one way or another, we are all victims. There are times in our lives when we are forced to question who we are at our core. When we are presented with a path . . . we can go this way or we can choose that way. For some, this moment comes when the one person whom we love the most decides we are not enough. This person leaves us—at a most vulnerable moment—alone to search within ourselves for who we really are. We are left trying to find who it is that was left behind. Sometimes the person we love dies. Sometimes it is merely an internal battle we are facing . . . all alone inside our minds. Whatever the situation and wherever you have been . . . you have been hurt. You have felt alone. You have been abandoned, either by your parents, your lover, your friends, complete strangers, or even yourself. We have all been at that crossroad where all we have left is ourselves. 

Sometimes these moments of lows have brought you to your knees and caused you to reflect and ponder your relationship with God . . . and other times they have made you question if He is even there, or if He knows you are alone. Whatever that moment has been for you, it is personal and real. It has defined and refined who you are, who you think you were, and who you want to become.

This is my story . . . the defining moments that have truly brought me to my knees, the times when I’ve questioned to my core my very existence, and the experiences I’ve had that have shown me who I really am and who my Heavenly Father still needs me to become. The night of my husband’s death was my darkest hour, but also the very moment when I saw firsthand that my Heavenly Father sent Angels on errands for me. He carried me. It was the hour when all my fears and all the pain of this world collided together and He was there . . . putting back together all the pieces, one step at a time.

I clicked publish. I felt this rush of love surround me. There was a calm and peace I had never in my life felt before.

The first time a stranger posted a comment on the blog I panicked. It took me a few hours to talk myself out of shutting the whole thing down. I had promised faith—so I carried on.

I was getting emails from strangers reaching out to share their own stories. People were stopping me in public with tears in their eyes telling me how much my words had touched them.  News stations were calling and asking for interviews for me to share my story.

I had a hard time even reading the comments, not just the mean things people said—also the kind words. I felt inadequate to be the receiver of praise for something I had almost refused to do, but for the first time in a long time—I knew I was right where I belonged. I felt a connection to a plan that was created long before me.

I watched so many miracles take place around me in those first few months. Hearts were softened; bad decisions made right. I met a lot of new friends—all with a story of their own.

After years of spending hours and hours with therapist, and living in fear of being who I was . . . another miracle happened. I started finding me.

The nights I would pour my heart out at my computer—with tears falling onto the keys—I wrote our story. And in it—I wasn’t just the victim without a voice, or the naive wife who was blindsided on a cold March night—I was standing. I wasn’t the worthless soul I had come to believe was my destiny. I wasn’t broken—I was learning how to mend. I didn’t just look back and remember all the things I had done wrong or was wronged by another—I was blessed to see it all. The words that fell from my fingertips were stories of hope and love and becoming. The memories were of the miracles and the gifts through the storm. All of the sudden the bad didn’t hurt as much as the blessings felt good. The pain wasn’t as lonely as I remembered the tender mercies.  The darkness didn’t feel so heavy as I pictured us being pulled out by the light.

The purpose of the pain showed me where I belonged. I wasn’t alone in the dark of the night typing on a tiny screen—and the perfect view I now saw of my life showed me I had never been.

Every time I went to type about hate—I remembered the blessings instead. The darkness that had overpowered my view would lift so I could see. I had a purpose—and a mission to change what I had become.

Our missions are all unique. I wish I could just tell everyone—struggling to find out who they are—to write. I wish that finding our purpose was something someone else could do for us—but it is not. When we truly find where we are supposed to be, it is when we block out all the sound around us. We listen to the still small voice inside—beckoning us to remember the plan.  Sometimes on our knees in our closet, other times alone in our car . . . without the noise. There are voices everywhere— telling us who we should be—people and things, promises of healing, price tags of happiness . . . endless noise that in the end will only leave us feeling inadequate and defeated by opinions and images of others who seem to have it all figured out.

So we can keep asking our friends on Facebook who we are supposed to be and what will make us fill the voids that hold us back inside—or we can step back and reach up. To feel whole we will not need the help of anyone else but God and the grace of Jesus Christ. He will send messengers to help us remember truths, but our connection to Him can help us remember His plan for us.

Our plans will be filled with shadows and valleys, but we can’t forget that even the darkest of nights turn to day—sometimes we just have to be patient while we wait for the timing of the sun.

You will find brighter days.

We were all sent here with a purpose. If it has been, it was always meant to. Our mission is to find where God needs us to be . . . not to change the world—but ourselves.

Jan 6th, 2014 first post on the blog:
Stand Tall: You are Not Alone

See parts of my interview on Dateline NBC:
Dateline episode