Always the plan

I have been ghosting all of you the past few months. What started with giving some freedom to someone I thought I could trust . . . ended in a reevaluation of what and who I want to be, and what I want this blog and my non profit A Reason to Stand to become. I have never been surrounded by so many “business” people driven by power and money, than I have the past six months; masked in the form of genuine hearts willing to help.

It has been healing to step back and compare watching others try to take something that didn’t belong to them, and realize that I still had a lot of pain from another time someone came and took from me something that didn’t belong to him. I have felt like my walls went back up, leaving me too afraid to be vulnerable—and in protection mode all over again.

After a month of preterm labor, and now a few weeks engulfed in all my efforts being used up in a desperate fight to no longer be pregnant . . . it is no surprise to me that I sit here at six in the morning, feeling a need to get out of my head what has been on my mind.

Protecting our children.

I am about to give birth to a child that is coming into a different world than the other five have lived. The last time I was here, I didn’t know it, but my world was about to shatter. There have been many moments through the last nine months that I almost felt inadequate to give her a home that she deserved. A pure—un-traumatized—baby why would she want a mother who has been so broken? The dude in my head has had a great time brining me back to the fear that I couldn’t protect my other kids . . . why would this time be any different? He has been truly creative at bringing back inadequacy to a new kind of level.

So I as I have pondered these fears, and worked through some of the trauma I thought had long since passed, I have realized a few things . . .

In this world—though she hopefully won’t experience first hand what her brothers and sisters went through—she will still need to be protected from it.

We live in a world obsessed with two things. Sex and Murder. Glorified at every turn, our children are constantly bombarded with marketing full of images depicting the Hollywood version of these two sins, but what they don’t tell you is how murder really feels for the kids who live it every day.

What they don’t tell you is that both of these choices—affairs and murder—shatter hearts. What they don’t tell you is that these kids effected by losing someone close to them at the hand of another person . . . lose their childhood—their innocence—in a single moment. What Hollywood fails to portray is the years that follow. They want us to think that murder is intriguing, they want our children to think that it is just part of life. Little do they know is how it really feels when it happens to you.

So what does growing up in a world of murder feel like? It feels like panic attacks at school when a Hollywood version book about murder is read out loud to a group of 8^th graders. It feels like anxiety for weeks after a 12 year old plays a shooting game with all of his friends. Haunting nightmares after accidently seeing a commercial during a football game—a commercial about a cereal killer. Little kids scared to go up to their room alone. Kids afraid to go to school after a lock in drill. Tears in the night after someone says a simple phrase when not wanting to do a task at school,
Just shoot me in the head.” Words that in any one else’s world seem so simple—to children of murder—brings about an image that is all too real.

So to those in Hollywood who make light of taking a life . . . I want you to know that murder isn’t just a cool topic that—as my daughter’s eighth grade teacher put it—“keeps their attention because kids like this stuff”. Kids only like this stuff, because we have let it become commonplace in their life. I know for a fact that we wouldn’t let them read books about 10 different ways a sex addict raped someone—so why is it ok to have them read a book about 10 different ways a serial killer murdered people?

Our kids are being told lies. They are playing games that take away their view of the preciousness of every life. They are watching movies that glorify and give power to sex and violence. They are surrounded by images that take away the importance of fidelity and protection of life. Then we wonder why young kids bring guns into schools; we wonder why they do it in a way that they have no empathy for anyone else . . . it is because we have taught them that it is ok . . . and not just ok—we have let them come to believe that it is cool.

Our kids deserve more. They need us to care about what we let the world put into their heads. We need to protect them from the numbing effect of stories and games that fog their view of reality and fantasy. They need us to filter out the world, and teach them right from wrong. They need to learn empathy.

I learned the importance of this by parenting what the world might call “broken children”. But guess what . . . the world is the broken one. God wants us to have empathy. And my unlucky children learned that the day their father was shot in the head. They care about what others are going through and how things feel for them. They care about every emotion I feel—sometimes to an obnoxious level. They cry when their friend’s parents get divorced, because they don’t want them to hurt. They ask for an extra ten bucks when their school is raising money for a student with cancer—not because they know him well—but because they ache for another in pain.

Emapthy is what we have to teach our kids, to care about every life that is around them. Empathy—heart for another person’s needs—is what changes everything. Empathy is what this pure child who hasn’t felt the effect of trauma is going to learn from her siblings who have lived a life full of it.

So little baby. You are coming to a family that some days has felt a little broken . . . but what I finally figured out: this was always the plan. You won’t see them as your broken brothers and sisters—you will see them as brothers and sisters who learned at a young age what it is like to care. They will protect you on a fierce level at every turn, because they will never want you to hurt. They will be your warriors, because they learned a long time ago that life is precious. They will give you their hearts, because they know what it feels like for hearts to be broken. You won’t see them as broken, because it is in their broken past that they learned how to love.

Empathy is love—caring about the life and needs of another person. In a world full of empathy there is no room for the world’s view of what makes us broken. God doesn’t make any mistakes . . . so little baby, I am ready to be your mom. I am worthy to be your mom. This was always the plan. My heart is ready to do it again, and I have faith that this time it will be different. It won’t be perfect—no life is—but what I can promise you is that it will be beautiful. A perfect kind of mess. The world isn’t what we are bringing you into . . . you are coming straight into our hearts—and we can’t wait.

God’s plan is beautiful . . . and I am so glad you choose us. This was always the plan.

Life after losing a child

Alesha Penland sharing hope after the loss of her son Lincoln. I love her perspective on forgiveness and moving forward. Thank you Alesha for being brave today and sharing your heart with me.

A call to all fathers

A few months ago I met a new friend —after speaking at a church—who approached me and asked if I would be interested in sharing my message with a big group of business men. At first I thought, “what would I have to offer a bunch of men?...” and then he proceeded to tell me about a statistic he keeps finding every where he looks. When asked what is most important to them...he finds most business men instantly say, “my family” but after more conversation he learns that most of these same men only spend about 1% of their time with their families. 

The past few days I have been reminded why that statistic is something I am passionate about changing. Fathers...we need YOU. This video and post are about a little car ride and a note in the night that helped me remember a message I can’t hold back any more. 

After a car ride with six thirteen year old girls I spent the next two days struggling with some hard truths. There are a lot of kids with the same story.

This message is to all Fathers. You are valuable and your kids need you.

They  need your strengths and your gifts. They need you to wrestle them and throw the ball to them. They need your time and your love.

They  need you to show them what a real man looks like. If we want our daughters to find a man that treats them right and honors their promises, then we have to show them what that kind of a man looks like.

Love their mothers. Be kind to the woman in their life.

Respect and honor your family. Not by working your life away or running from your problems, but by showing up every day.

With love and honor and virtue. Live your truths. Be the kind of man you want your daughter to want to marry someday.

Yesterday would have been Emmett's 38th birthday. If he were here I know there are many things he would say to all the fathers in his life. And I am sure as he watched his five children celebrate, for the 7th time, without him . . . Emmett wants all Father's to remember this:

We only get one chance to raise them. Don't waste your days making extra dollars or bigger muscles, use your days making extra memories and more smiles. 

Children deserve a father who teaches them how to use grace, we don't need to be perfect, just humble. Children deserve a father who is there for them. Chose choices that keep you safe and go home every night. Children deserve to see their parents as often as possible. Children deserve peace. Do all that you can to give them stability and consistency. 

Be their friend, but also their father. Teach them to love others over themselves. Show them how to find their purpose, tell them every day that being their dad is one of yours. 

Believe in your kids. Encourage them, tell them they are good. Use words to lift them up, but always use actions to help them believe your words. Don't spend your days wishing they were different, I promise you will wish this time back someday. 

Live for them now, so you don't regret the life you didn't get to give them. Don't let the darkness make you loose sight of what is important, no amount of money, or flattery, or praise from the world will make up for the broken hearts who needed you. 

Never put another person, including yourself, above your family. They deserve the best parts of you. Your family will always remember the person you are today, but the man you show up to be tomorrow, they will never forget. Don't die with regrets . . . that is hell. And to live with purpose, that is how you find heaven. 

God gave you this gift of fatherhood, make it count. Take control of what really is important to you, and be that man today. We have enough fatherless children, go home and tell them you love them. 

Now is your time, please, please don't wait. Before it is too late. Make it right. No matter how far you have gone away, turn back and start again. 

No regrets. Love them unconditionally, that is the greatest gift they need right now, not money. The most important gift you can give your children today . . . is YOU. 

Be the man you always wanted to be. I promise you won't regret it. 


What do you want your children's story to be? Today they are writing it. No matter where you have been, I urge you to figure out your crap and go show up as the one they deserve. I know it is possible!!! Fear will tell you it doesn't matter. But it does. Today we act for ourselves, instead of living out of fear. Fear is what takes a father away. Fear they need to make more money to be valuable. Fear they need to be perfect before they can go home and be the father their kids deserve. Fear they aren't enough, stops them from being anything.

To the many children who have felt abandoned, forgotten, or alone. This was not your fault. You are still lovable, and worthy of an amazing life. Forgive the one who didn't give you all you deserved and believe in the future. You didn't choose this story, and you can decide how it ends. Be everything for your children, and the people in your life, that they weren't for you. Turn it into good. You have the power to change their story.

The parts of our stories we can't control, are only a fraction of the ones we are meant to live. You can make a difference, in your story, and in the story of all the people you were born to love.

March 11th

Today was six years since my kids lost their dad. 

Yesterday I stood in front of a group of senators— asking them to remember our babies as they evaluate an amendment to the constitution that would help victims have rights. One thing I know for sure...how hard it is to watch your babies hurt, and have nothing you can do about it. 

Last year these five helped me create this video for a friend who had lost their dad. I always thought I would be able to give my babies a perfect world—but instead they have given me hope that good can still exist after the world let's you fall. 

March 11, 2011 you didn't break them. They are fighters. They have never been victims. To me they were always the strongest survivors.

Our greatest honor

This morning I got my kids off to school. I cleaned up my house for a few minutes, and then went into my office, wrote in my journal, and did ten minutes of sit ups and push ups. I got on my computer to get some work done for my January conference coming up in Arizona—opened up my email to see a few new emails from Bailey stating boldly she finally decided what to do her debate paper about: Why Guns should be Illegal. Accompanied with a graph that showed the percentage of murders by weapon—guns being the greatest source of wrongful deaths.

An all too familiar feeling took over my body. My heart started racing and my breathing felt heavy. I looked around the room—in slow motion—as I could feel my body racing back in time. Images, thoughts, fears, anger, sorrow . . . the usual wave of triggered emotions engulfed me within seconds.

I haven’t sobbed so hard in a long time. First of all . . . for the pride that swelled for my brave daughter as I knew this decision must be part of her healing process, but second for the fears and insecurities that beckoned inside of me. For a few minutes at my desk I felt like a failure—reality of my children’s childhood blaring at me across a screen. Thoughts began beating me down—You didn’t protect them from this. You are a joke of a person. Clearly you haven’t survived anything if your daughter still hurts this much. You let them hurt. You can’t fix this. You are a pathetic loser, and not even a real mom. If you had been a better wife none of this would have happened to them—they wouldn’t have to spend the rest of their life hating guns, and trying to figure out how they can fix this world you ruined for them.

For a minute I let the thoughts have their voice in my head. I felt confused and panicked and alone. I felt trapped, and dark and full of fear. Tears kept on coming as I whirled through the facts that proved all of those thoughts true.

And then all the sudden I realized something—they were all lies. I said a small prayer and begged for angels to come take the darkness from my mind. I closed my eyes and pictured what I know grace to be—a Savior who loves us and holds us through our struggles, a brother who never leaves us alone, a friend who understand ALL of our pain, and a partner who stands by our side—I knew more than anything I needed Him in that moment. And guess what? Within minutes the fog faded, I opened my eyes, and stood up and walked out of my office. Not just feeling ok, but feeling strong. I felt confident and proud of my daughter who was fighting just like me.

Grace in action. He promised us He died for all of our pain . . . but how come in those moments we almost always forget that promise?

Moms. We do so much. We hurt for our babies, we cry for their pain. We plead for their peace. In a small little baby fraction of a way we know how powerful the Savior’s job must be—not just for a few—but for all of us.

I have talked to thousands of moms about the battles they face. This post is dedicated to those moms in this world who never stop fighting.

First I want to start by talking about a few of the fights that I—and other moms—have battled. These phrases are direct quotes from moms who have been there.

Survival mode. (Also known as denial)

No progression. Stuck. Frozen. But not debilitated. Fake it until you make it. When the damn breaks it is hell...cause that pain comes oozing out. Shakes, upset stomach...constant companion. Hard to eat, or to stop eating.  Hard to find joy in anything . . . but try purposefully to remain neutral on bad things as to not upset the fear that is keeping you alive. (I lived in this mode until long after the trial)

“This is reality” mode: when everything you thought would bring happiness is over—or finally yours—but you are still hurting. Closure isn't in your vocabulary. Everything seems harder than in survival mode, because your fog of denial has been lifted—this is reality. Debilitating fears. Panic attacks. Hard time. Constantly overwhelmed. Harder to fake your smiles. Not even surviving . . . just breathing.

Fighter mode: when every life trial that comes feels so overwhelming that you literally have to fight every day for your life. Something goes wrong every day. Feel like you are constantly overcoming something hard and looking to its end for relief . . . only to find that another trial comes to replace it. Feel like the universe is against you. No rest. Sitting at the window looking into the dark. Feeling unsafe wherever you are. Always on guard.

“Too Overwhelmed so I avoid” mode: Even the simplest of task—like the thought of helping a child with homework can shut you down and make you want to scream . . . or run away. Pretending to be in the bathroom for long stretches of time, seeing everyone else’s perfect lives. Wondering why you didn’t get the life you deserved. Kids watched a movie all day. House is destroyed all the time. No order. Just chaos. Kids out of control, won’t listen. Always fighting with siblings. Turn to addictions: working out, shopping, eating, social media . . . just to avoid the overwhelmed feeling of the lists you need to complete. But the more you avoid the lists . . . the more overwhelmed guilt engulfs you. This cycle is one of the craziest, because until you stop it—on purpose—it takes over your life. But you usually can’t even see you are in it, because those avoidance tactics feel so much easier than facing the battles.

Ok, these are just some of the stories I have heard, or felt in my own life, when it comes to parenting through struggles. Some of these woman say they have no reason to be dealing with this stuff—AKA no huge trauma that brought on these struggles—so what we are going to clear up first and foremost is that thought, because even just thinking that your battles aren’t worthy fights causes more guilt that ultimately creates more failures in our homes. The idea that your struggles can’t be as real as someone who has been through a traumatic event is absolutely not true. Each person’s dark fogs are as real for them as they are for anyone else.

So here is the deal . . . we all suck sometimes—some of those sucky parenting moments are “justified” because of the life experiences we have been handed . . . but whether we are aware of why we are triggered—with overwhelm and anxiety—or not . . . it is happening, or will happen at some point along the way.

So this post—though I could spend seventy years writing about the failures that I justified because of the failure I perceived as my life—is to empower us moms to not just fight the battles in survival mode. . . but to fight them with intention. Make a plan against the enemy who wants us to spend this life avoiding—not doing anything “bad”—but forgetting where we are going to make the most impact, or seeing where we already have.

We have the power to undo the damage that Satan does to our minds and our souls. We are not worthless; we are more powerful than we even know. He wants us to forget it every day—don’t let him. We have to fight through the fog.

So let me break this down for a second.

We have to start every day with a plan. Write down a few goals you want to accomplish. Do something every morning to get spiritually centered, because when mommies are off . . . aint no one going to have a good day.

For me this looks like: writing a letter to God, listening to an uplifting talk or inspirational video, uplifting music (my favorite is Paul Cardall’s Pandora station) at least ten minutes of some sort of exercise (even if it is dancing around with your newborn in your arms) and a morning prayer. I know the physical part doesn’t seem like it goes with spiritually centering yourself . . . but it is what engages your body to be able to get centered on where God needs you to be each day . . . here on earth. Healthy food, drinking more water, living within your means, getting out of debt, and cleansing your surroundings are other ways we can show God we are taking care of the vessels He has placed us in to fulfill our mission. (I will cover a few of these in some later posts)

So once you feel connected to God, and to the earth . . . you can better be able to figure out what your day is to look like for Him. Visualize the connection—vertically up to Him and down to this earth. (Horizontal connections keep us in the fog . . . ex: depending on other people’s approval before doing anything, addictions we use to avoid life, waiting around for a new outfit to make you feel pretty enough to find your confidence) And that part about also being connected to the earth—it is where we are and the place we have to be to find our purpose and mission. We can spend all day trying to get close to God, but if we don’t allow ourselves to be content in the path we are on . . . we will continue to avoid the inspiration He tries to send us.

So this is the first step—always—when overcoming the fog. NO other person can take it away, just Christ. That is what grace is—it is His mission alone to carry us through and help us fight our way through our battles. Notice I didn’t say OUT of our battles . . . because if we don’t work through them, they will only come back stronger. We have to feel and allow ourselves to be vulnerable to really heal and overcome the hardships and triggers in our lives.  

Ok, so now we have the first step. With the fog cleared we can find our center, and in our center we can find our mission and purpose each and every day. When we know who we are and why we came here—we are powerful. As mothers, as wives, as friends . . . in all the roles we play. So that is why Satan wants us to forget. Our greatest battle we will ever fight is to keep remembering our truths.

So here is the truth: I want more than anything in the world to be the wife and mother I believe I can be. I want to be patient and loving. I want to teach my kids how to physically and spiritually find their way. I don’t want to let them use any excuses of their past to ever live under their full potential. I want to teach them to be respectful and kind, and how to tell the truth. I want them to be loyal. I want them to know they have good inside of them. I want them to one day see—as I am still fighting to do—that we don’t have to be afraid of guns. I want them to be proud of the men and woman they are going to grow up to be. I want them to always remember me as a mother who took the time to listen, who made the most of every moment and who wasn’t afraid of the dark. I want them to know how to find the light in their lives, and remember the miracles that we have seen. I want them to grow up to be warriors, who never give up or give in. I want to keep my promises, and show them how to do the same. I want to teach them how to stand, because their story has so much good in it. I want them to be proud that the one consistent in their lives is Christ. I hope that each and every day I show them how to live like Him.

We are going to make mistakes moms. We are going to stumble and fall, and some moments are going to hurt. But we aren’t alone. I know from the bottom of my soul we have a Creator who made us to be just the way we are, and sent His Son to live and die for us. Grace is for us too, in those moments when life feels like it is letting us down—again. Your story is beautiful, you just have to fight to remember why.

They won’t remember the perfect pictures, they won’t remember if their socks matched or if your kitchen floor was always mopped and the food was always hot . . . they will remember your smile, your warm embrace when they were scared, your bright eyes that told them they were safe, and your soft hands that wiped their tears. 

We cannot take away all their pain, but we—with the Savior—can show them how to win. The real failure will not have anything to do with the awards we did not recieve, or the sites we did not see . . . it will be if our babies grow up without us because we were so wrapped up in waiting for something more.

You are there. Live in this moment, today. And do it on purpose. No regrets. What they will remember most is the easiest to do, but also the easiest to forget . . .

You are doing a great job. Don’t you dare give up. Put down those phones and laugh like you have never laughed before. Not because everything is finally how you thought it should have been . . . but because it is exactly where you were born to be. Motherhood is the greatest work we will ever do. The world might fail to recognize all the sacrifices you have made, but God has seen EVERY. SINGLE. ONE.



P.S...
(I got on here to write some recipes, requested by a few of you on Instagram Story. Apparently I got a little distracted. I will work on those in the morning, also a post on my mommy store I shared on Instagram Story!! Thank you for always encouraging me in the little things. If you have read my first book, you know that cooking used to be a HUGE trigger for me. It has been fun to get back to finding passion in it again. I will be honored to share those recipes and ideas on here! Thank you so much for asking. 

Sometimes it still hurts

Truth? Life sucks. Hello. It’s Me. Mrs. Nasty. And today, this is my blog.

I have had—what you call—writers block. Not because I don’t have anything to say, but mainly because I have been afraid to say it. Stuck somewhere between a broken girl and a girl who wants more than anything in this world to help others overcome the obstacles in their life. But here is the truth—I have been hurting.

You see, even fighters have rough moments . . . and some days, life just sucks.

I want so badly to help others heal, that a part of me has been ignoring my own pain. I have been giving everything in me to hear other people’s stories and I have purposefully been avoiding my own. Because it is so much easier to help others change and heal from their struggles . . . than it is to go deep within and face what is broken inside. And I have been feeling it aching for a while, but have really been reverting back to what I do best. Hiding.

Let me just start a few months back. The kids and I decided to go—for our second year in a row—to celebrate Emmett’s birthday with his family. A tradition they have done every year of his life, and every year since his death. A place I have spent most of the latter years avoiding. Bear Lake. For those of you who have read my first book, you know that is where Emmett is buried, but what you might not know . . . is that place holds a lot of the good memories as well. And sometimes even the good memories are easier left unremembered.

I have shared so many of the moments of my journey, but there are parts to our story that you do not know. Some I have decided not to share—for now—because of the other people involved . . . but others I have purposefully avoided because . . . they still hurt. But I didn’t realize I had been avoiding them until yesterday.

So anyway. Bear Lake. This year, Jordyn decided to come with us. So the six kids and I set off on a trek to go and be with Emmett’s family. The weekend was amazing, and it was so wonderful to see the family rally around Jordyn as if she had always been apart of them. Each person held close all six of the kids, as though we had never spent years avoiding each other.  I felt a peace—for the first time in five years—in that place. We spent mornings on the beach, and had bonfires. We went to visit Emmett’s grave, and introduced Jordyn. We got to go to church with Emmett’s grandma—something I had done the first time I met her. I even felt prompted to get up and share a very spiritual experience Tytus had shared with me about Emmett. Overall the weekend was a success, and I felt so connected to some of the things that used to once be such a big part of my life, and had more recently become a reminder of so much heartache.

The weekend was full of so much good and light, and love. Not the same type of love I used to feel there, but the type of love that brings about healing from a broken place. So after a weekend like that, I felt so ready to take on the world.  I drove home feeling spiritually strong and full of overcoming and so much strength. I wanted to share it. I wanted to sit down and write and speak of hope and share my message with anyone who could hear it—that we can overcome, and we can heal, and we can change. Relationships can be repaired, and forgiveness is possible.

Then I got home, and this fog waved over me. I felt alone. For days I felt dark, and defeated. I felt insignificant. Not because of anything that did or did not happen there, but because I knew it was time to start writing again. And it scared the crap out of me—because this time I know I was being asked to get REAL real.  

So I have been in hiding ever since . . . until now.

This week was . . . well, not anything like I had planned. A sprained ankle last weekend kept Shawn home from our trip to St. George for my conference—an expectation I had set in my mind that just about took me out. A small melt down in my office, and a 9 hour road trip with six kids alone and I was ready for the conference.

The conference went great; the speakers were inspirational. I cried and laughed all morning with each story told and hope shared. Each person shared something I had needed to remember. Each hug at the door by new friends, and old, made me feel light and uplifted. I heard stories all day of pain I could relate to—and others of pain I knew nothing of. I felt part of a community, full of brave souls who were battling the world. I drove home ready to take that next step . . . to finish what I had started.

And then I got home . . . and this dark fog washed over me. This time in the form of broken dishes, dirty laundry, muddy shoes, lists to do, grocery shopping. A son on crutches two days before trick or treating, and a daughter full of anxiety about going back and forth from her two houses. 

But to top it all off as we were getting ready to put on Halloween costumes yesterday, Bostyn came running in with her baby bunny. Hysterically she screamed that something was wrong, a cry we have come to know well. You see, at our house we don’t just deal with sick dying bunnies and broken plates. We deal with triggers—triggers of a pain no little girl or boy should ever know.

As I held on to her on the way to take the bunny in, I could feel her hand trembling. Her whole body was shaking as she grieved what she knew would be another loss. A part of me wanted to say, “Bostyn . . . come on. Say a prayer, read your scriptures. Everything is going to be ok.”

But in that moment I thought over the years about times when people tried to do that with me. So instead, we just cried together. She held my hand with one hand, and the basket that held her bunny in the other, and we silently sobbed. After we dropped the bunny off we got back in the car. She stared out the window, “Mom . . . is He really there? Is He really going to answer my prayers? Because—I prayed that my bunny would be ok . . . and I don’t think he will be. Why is it that everything I have ever loved in my life just gets taken away. The bunny lady said she could get me a new bunny—one that even looks just like him—for what MOM? So I can love him too, and then he can just leave me? No thank you. Why do I even bother? I gave him my heart . . . and now he is just going to leave me here too?”

And there it was. That fear I knew all too well. That overpowering beckoning to just give up. That voice inside your head, that sounds like all the best ideas . . . that really just holds you back from everything you could and should be. That voice that paralyzes your very being . . . threatens your very existence. 

I have been spending so many months afraid to finish what I started out two years ago to do . . . to share my healing journey. But yesterday my daughter reminded me why I have to keep fighting. To fight through the nasty emails mean people send. To fight through the fog that tells me everything I do is for nothing. To fight through the dark—to find the light.

Because sometimes it still hurts. And that’s ok.

We can’t keep abandoning ourselves when we need ourselves the most. We have to love the one that is hurting . . . and sometimes that “one” . . . is us.

You didn’t chose this pain, and neither did I. But we are not alone. We have each other. So, please be nice. Be nice to yourself. Be nice to those you meet. Be nice to me and please spare me with the emails about how “it has been five years and you just need to get over it”. This is my safe place, and today I get to “air my dirty laundry” because that is the way I know best how to help others find a safe place to do the same. If you are reading this and are offended by anything I do or do not say on this blog, please do everyone a favor and find a different blog to read. For I will no longer be apologizing for being broken, because this is my fight . . . and some days the battles are hard. This is my victory . . . and some days the battles are won!

But if you want real . . . it is about to get real.

If you can relate, and need a safe place . . . I want you to know I am here. Not as an expert who knows a darn thing, but as a broken girl who is fighting too.

 Today we battle together. We know all that we “should” be doing and some days we feel so motivated . . . until we don’t. So when you get stuck, and feel like you are the only one off track to the life you always dreamed . . . this is going to be your safe place. A place to come to heal . . . but also a safe place to some days come to—be broken.

We can decide who we want to become—and then become her (or him). But it will take time.

There are no set calendars on grief, no timelines for pain. Just people trying their best to find their way. Those that are lashing out . . . are the ones in the most pain. Be patient. Be brave. Take a stand today. Against fear. Against victimhood—against not being enough. Against feeling alone. Help others to find their purpose—in their suffering, in their triumphs. Angels will be with you; the light of Christ will bring hope. Live life with intention, to help others feel God’s love for them. Help them to see that their life has been full of grace. Help them turn to the one and only Redeemer who has the power to save and change. Go with faith, hope and a perfect love to share. For that is what He asked of us when He begged us to feed His sheep. He was the only perfect Son, and because of Him we too can change and grow and find purpose to our pain.

He lived a perfect life, full of imperfect moments. And so do we.

Don’t give up. Every moment lived on earth matters. Make them count.

 (Jordyn's hands at Bear Lake)