A Reason to Stand: FEARless (quarantine event)

The day I started my blog I thought I was going to be writing a story of hate about a broken girl, in a mess of a life, raising hurting broken children. Instead that day I was given a gift—to see that life, those kids, that girl in a new way. Instead of seeing the pain, I remembered moments where a little glimmer of light carried us through. 

A little glimmer of light is all a broken girl needs to be brave. 

Sometimes it takes a miracle to see a glimmer of light when you are—or feel—stuck in the dark. My life—just like yours—has been full of these moments. I call them grace—a gift I used to think would be given when I lived a perfect plan—but have come to see as a gift that lifts us when it feels impossible. These moments—of grace—have shown me what it feels like to have hope. In the world, in God, in others...and in myself. 

Brave isn’t a word to describe someone living a perfect plan. It is a word to describe someone who holds onto those glimmers of light through the darkness and lives life anyway. Brave is someone who is hurting and shows up for someone else. Brave is being scared to death you aren’t enough, but trusting that you have a Creator who believes you are. That’s grace—a Savior show sees us just as we are and loves us anyway. 

Grace. Watch for it. It comes quietly. It doesn’t always change the pain—or take away what is scary, but it always bring peace, if even just for a glimmer of a second.  A light at the end of the tunnel promising that there is a reason to make it through. It brings hope and light regardless of where or who we are. Hope in grace is the decision to trust in God’s plan, and to know that even this darkness will one day end. 

I know it will. 

Tonight would have been A Reason to Stand in Brigham City. Since we can’t meet in real life...we are coming to you. Follow this link to find a virtual event with so many amazing people sharing stories and tools of FEARless warriors. Please leave comments for our presenters—as speaking to a phone is so different than standing on a stage and getting the energy and direction you feel from the audience.  That is the part we all miss as we have struggled to speak from our hearts to people we don’t get to walk up and hug after.

Happy quarantine online conference. You aren’t alone. You are enough. You are brave. You are a warrior! FEARless. 

Please share with friends and family that could benefit from hearing these messages.

We miss you and so appreciate your support and the support you are giving each other through this hard time. Stay safe and healthy, and most of all look for those little glimmers of light.

Here is the YouTube link to the conference playlist:  https://bit.ly/2S23dBb

Live with Carol Tuttle

All of you should know by now I am a big fan of Carol Tuttle and her parenting book and dressing your truth concept. We have a fun little chat the other day I wanted to share with you. Energy types and how they play a role in who we are as parents, children, and grown children learning to heal.

Here is a free video course on starting with the basics of energy types: http://www.liveyourtruth.com/259-12.html


Here are links for some of Carol's most popular products: Dressing Your Truth - ‪https://www.liveyourtruth.com/259.html‬ The Carol Tuttle Healing Center - ‪https://www.liveyourtruth.com/259-7.html The Child Whisperer - ‪https://www.liveyourtruth.com/259-2.html

7 week do over

7 weeks. Just sounds like a random number right? Ya. It probably is for most people. A seven week old baby. For me this milestone has been one I have been scared to face. 

A few nights this week I dreamed it all again—he was seven weeks old exactly. Too young to do anything on his own, too small to even sleep through the whole night. It was just him and me in the quiet house...waiting for an answer I promised him we would find. It was his crying I remember the most that night. The rest of it with the detectives is still a blur. Somehow my memories are more clear in my dreams, but lately it has been a six week old baby that has made some of them so clear. 

8 years. I have spent doing everything in my power to forget that moment. Therapy, thousands of dollars. Time. Energy. Pleading to be able to let go of this feeling of helplessness and abandonment. Sharing my heart through my healing in ways that I didn’t want to . . . all with a promise that it would help me heal. And I thought I had. Then the last two years I have had to relive some of the feelings I thought had long since past. This pregnancy and these first six weeks of her life have been—as I wrote in my book about the moment in my closet—a “do over” I didn’t know how badly I needed.


This week as I have stared into the face of a baby getting closer and closer to seven weeks old . . . I have watched her innocent eyes as mine have filled many times with tears. I am here again. A seven week old baby in my arms. This time to heal.

These silent fears that I have carried, I am here again...to feel them, so I can let them go.

So here is to letting ourselves feel the pain, remembering the story, moving forward and walking away stronger. This “do over” has been my chance to come face to face with the fears of things that took me down that dark lonely road. Not all seven week old babies will lose their father. Not all post pregnancy bodies will be cheated on. Not all men are the same. Not all rough days will end in murder. PTSD is a real thing. Triggers you never thought would mean anything all the sudden become moments that try to take the air out of your lungs. Through these PTSD moments I have remembered things I had forgotten about that seven week old baby. He was my life line during that time, but the one thing I had given him for seven weeks, that was his lifeline, was taken away. The day after the funeral my milk dried up and I could not feed him any more. I didn't know it then, but these last few weeks as I have struggled with mastitis and cracking, and so so so much pain nursing . . . my fight  to keep going has been more than wanting to keep nursing. I felt like I had failed Tytus, not just in losing the milk, but in letting him lose so much. What is crazy, looking back, is how much I let myself believe that any of these hard trials in this story were all my fault. It has been so empowering to reflect upon them again and have these quiet moments to say goodbye to the guilt of things I could not control, the pain of things that still hurt, and remember the strength of a girl who made it through them all. 

I am so thankful for a Father in Heaven who answers our prayers. He knows me. He knows my needs. He heard my prayer that dark night. I asked him for a do over. Since that prayer, I have been in many of the situations I would have had to face had Emmett not died. Realities I said I would have done standing by his side. The second time around instead Heavenly Father told me I was worth more. I was worth more than being forgotten and used. I was worth more than having someone sneak behind my back. I was worth respect, but before I could find it in another person . . . I had to stand up for it in myself. 

Maybe I would have stayed, that gun made the choice for me. Maybe I would have had to stop nursing, maybe I would have been in a different kind of fog for a long time, had I just found out about the affair without the murder. 

We don't know what could have been in all the WHY's to our stories. Life isn't really something we can plan or try to figure out why things didn't turn out different, but this much I do know . . . we cannot do it alone. You have a Heavenly Father  and a Savior who know you. They hear you. I can promise you, the darkness that you find yourself stuck in, or the moments that try to bring you back to it . . . He is the light to change that part of your story. When you feel alone, or trapped in a place you didn't choose, turn to Him. When you feel too angry to forgive, or too hurt to let it go . . . it is through His grace that you can and will find that peace. There is no story too dark for Him to not come and bring it light. 

When the pain comes . . . those are our moments to feel, work through, and ultimately let go. Grace in action. "Do overs" sometimes aren't possible in the way that we think we want them, but they are real. Don't do WHY, it only leads to more unnecessary pain. Do life. It is pretty amazing. 

This seven week old baby just wanted to say hello. And yes I promised you her birth story, and I will carry that through, but right now we have been busy showing her what living is all about. TIME. LOVE. and family. 

Hope you guys are having an amazing summer. When nap time is a thing and all these kids are back in school I will do more with this blog. Until then please follow me on Facebook or Instagram "The Moments We Stand". I will be posting more there! 

Silence didn't break us

March 11^th.  It is hard to believe it has been eight years. At moments it feels like it was thirty seconds ago, and others feel like it could have been a few hundred life times that have passed.

The fog always seems to try to find its way back into our hearts—I wonder if that will just always be a thing around March—yesterday I had more than one child struggle with the memories of this time of year. Memories can bring a lot of pain, anniversaries of trauma . . . those seem to be pretty instilled in the person that experienced them. It is hard to endure in your own mind . . . but nearly impossible to comprehend watching it in your child.

Since the moment I sat on my couch eight years ago—and was told many stories by detectives who had just left a crime scene, I have had more than a dozen people say to me how lucky I was that Emmett was killed, that I didn’t have to go through divorce and having him not want me as a choice.  And though I know they have meant well—and many of them only knew him from different murder mystery shows about our story (those never really portray the “body” as a human being)—I  have never once looked at that day as lucky. It was a moment that has tried to break me—and the five little people I was asked to protect—for the last eight years. I know if you asked them, they haven’t felt lucky, but blessed—we have been blessed. Blessed to have each other; blessed to see who are real friends are; blessed to see grace in our lives; blessed to fight for a relationship with our Savior; blessed to comprehend just how precious every moment of our lives really are; blessed to smile again; blessed to laugh; blessed to see each other, and share this journey together.

For them, I like to make this day about the love they had—in an imperfect man who died in a horrific way—and the love they get to carry with them through out their life . . . from each other.  So to my little warriors, on this day that is so hard . . . I want you to know you are my best friends. You did not deserve the pain you have had to face—but you absolutely deserve every blessing that has come as you have fought through it. Thank you for choosing me, believing in me, and holding me up on the days when I couldn’t stand. You are five of the bravest people I know, and by the amazing lives you are living . . . you are showing not only your Heavenly Father, but your father in heaven, just how brave you can be. Just like us—the parents who you hear cheer you on every day—I know they are too, and they couldn’t be more proud.

March 11, 2011: Silence Breaks

The Circle of Life

While looking through an old filing cabinet to try to locate some documents I came across a paper I had written back in my early college days. It is a very long paper, one I have not seen in years—probably haven’t even read since long before I was a mom. (One of these days I just might post the whole thing on here.)

It is titled, “Educational Autobiography”, and it was written for a class I took in the education department at Utah State in a phase when I thought I wanted to be a schoolteacher. I don’t know if it is the pregnancy hormones, or reading stories from the past—written by a former me, but I cried the entire length of the paper. Thinking about all the years I have lived—moments in my childhood that shaped me into who I am today—good and bad memories of growing up and figuring out how to find joy in the circle of life.

I wanted to share with you guys the first and last page of this autobiography:

My life has blessed me with many lessons. There were times, thought, that those blessings felt more like curses. Through trials and even heartache I was taught at a very young age to ask myself, “What role did you play?” Did you better the situation, or did you weaken yourself or someone else? Change is going to come, inevitably and unpredictably. As with all things change can feel like a blessing or a curse. It can be your fault, or it can be something that you did not choose. I have learned that taking responsibility for what you can and letting go of what is not yours to take is one of the most important things to find true happiness. I have finally learned the difference between a blessing and a curse. What is the difference? I look back now and see that it wasn’t so much the situation, as it was my attitude about the life I was living—finding a mission and a purpose for not only the decisions I make, but my role in the lives of others. It is finding strength in our weakest moments. Asking everyday: What part did I play?

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There are times in life’s journey when one feels like everything is lost. It is in these moments that we must take our lives and serve others. It is not about what others do for us that will help us realize who we are. There will be hard times and times to change. As long as this change is good, we must let it happen. A curse is a blessing, with just a different point of view. The choice is up to us; what will we be in the lives of others? I know that what once seemed like a curse, is now a lesson that I will never forget. I am grateful for all the curses and I am thankful that they were all just blessings in disguise. Joy can only come once you find happiness and happiness has to come from within yourself. So now I ask myself, “What role will I play?” The answer is, “Whatever I decide.” Learn from the past, plan for the future, but live in the now. It is in our weakest moments that we will find our greatest strengths.

It is funny. Some days I get myself believing that I was just so naïve, the girl I used to be. Happy, content, supportive—these were all “weak” things I did, before I knew better. Then this other message I battle tells me that NOW I am just broken, used up, and worthless. It is interesting how the adversary wants us to see all the moments of our lives as weak. It was enlightening to read an autobiography written by such a strong girl—who had no idea what was coming—and remember the strength, not naivety, she possessed. Today it really helped me find a different perspective on some of the dark thoughts I have been fighting now.

It has been a journey balancing out the fears of the past, and the strength that was always inside. The past few months, I have seen myself come to some of those crossroads again. Pregnancy has been a big trigger to some of those insecurities—bringing about fears that I was just naïve before. Memories of the last time I was pregnant, and the chaos that happened just a few months after his birth. Looking at my changing body in the mirror—and for the first time having fears and insecurities come up in gaining weight during pregnancy. New battles I have never had to fight in the past. This little voice in my head that stares at my growing belly and tells me that I was just stupid last time, and if I “get fat” again my world will crash in on me.

GET FAT  . . . that wasn’t even in my vocabulary the other times I have had a baby—now it is a fear I have had to fight every day.

They say that infidelity changes the way you view yourself and the world around you, nobody ever warned me that those fears would even try to use the greatest gift—of growing a human life—against me.

So here is to all the ladies, and men, who battle the daemons that tell you that you are not enough, that you are just a forgotten piece of the circle of life. Don’t stop fighting. It is funny, no matter how many people look us in the eyes—or words we read on screens—tell us of our worth . . . we cannot feel it until we believe it ourselves.

We have highs and lows—days of totally confidence, and others when we can’t remember who we are—that are all part of the circle of life.  So the real battle isn’t just finding our worth . . . it is coming to believe our truths.

So wherever you are on that wheel today, just know you aren’t alone. None of us have it all figured out. We ALL get to overcome fears, and find our strengths all over again. You aren’t doing anything wrong, if you sometimes find yourself back at the beginning. The circle of life will bring us back to the start a few times, but each time that wheel turns . . . we will gain a new perspective.

It is in our weakest moments that we—truly—will find our greatest strengths.

The box that saved my life

This morning I sat in bed and thought about a moment of service that changed my life.  A box to "people of Japan". If you have read my first book, you know this story . . . but I wanted to share it with you again today in a new way.  #lighttheworld

The Beautiful Broken Road

Thirteen years ago today I started out on a journey—and I had a plan. As most plans do . . . mine has failed me many times.  You see, on Saturday it will have been six years since that same husband—I married thirteen years ago today—was murdered for sleeping with another man’s wife.

Some stories we don’t get to choose, that’s one thing I know for sure; but through mine, I have learned so much more than just heartache and pain. I have learned that I have a Father who lives in Heaven. I have learned that angels are real. I have learned that miracles and blessings come—not in the ways we had planned, but in moments when we least expect them. I have been taught how to apply grace—not by pleading for a do over, but by learning how to remember the light that pulled me through the darkness.

I have learned that even in a room full of people, I could feel utterly alone. I have seen that feeling disappear by one heart felt prayer. I have learned that time doesn’t always heal everything, but it gives us a chance to look back and remember the light that was there all along.

I have learned that death really is the ultimate teacher; the loss that can be used to teach us how to see what life is really all about.

I have learned what it is like to have fear take control of every aspect of my being, but through it I have been taught how to fight. I have found that some people won’t care how things feel for anyone but themselves . . . and some days I have been one of them.

I have hated. I have tried to control. I have doubted the world in every way. Some moments I have wondered if I will ever have the ability to love and trust—men, woman . . . husbands, other people’s husbands, other people’s wives, my own mind, and the entire human race.  And then . . . I have seen good people in the world that have proven all my fears wrong—husbands that respect their wives; wives that honor their husbands—people who actually care about each other and fight for all the good through the storms. I have found people who use words of love instead of weapons of hate—helping me find the beauty that is still all around me.

I have had my heart broken by people who should have been protecting me—but I have also had complete strangers, who don’t even know me, show so much unconditional love—little angels sent to help me on my broken path.

One of those angels has been a new husband who—along side me—has struggled and fought to build a new life. We have six imperfect kids who I wouldn’t trade for anything. Every day we learn a lot, we grow, we mess up—but we show up . . . to a life that has planned us.

I have learned that moments in our past do not determine our future. Beliefs that we have carried within us—about who we think we are—do not have to hold us back. I have found truths inside of me—hidden long ago by darkness—of who I really am . . . who God created me to be.

I have found many reasons to stand tall, despite all the proof that I shouldn’t.

But it hasn’t been easy.

So today, I just want you to know . . . you too have a Father in Heaven who loves you—despite all the evidence the world gives you to doubt your truths, I hope you can find them anyway.

Stand up to doubt, fear, anger, hate, remorse, and guilt. Those are the lies. Where ever you have been, and who ever you have chosen to be in the past . . . does not determine your future. You have been broken, hurt, and some nights you have felt forgotten—but I promise He has seen it all. You are enough for that loving God to keep sending back His Son time and time again. He has not given up on you.  Grace—the pure love of Christ, the only true source of healing—is real . . . and there is not one of us exempt from being worthy of His power.

Broken roads can lead to beautiful souls who can finally see Him in a way they never did before. It is not for nothing. Every time we turn to Him . . . we learn something new—about ourselves, about the world, and about His love.

This journey we call life, it wasn’t meant to be easy. It is the low moments when we learn to fight for it the hardest. We don’t have to have all the answers—and some days we might not understand why. There is so much that I do not comprehend . . . but today I know some things I did not thirteen years ago. I have been forever changed because through those broken roads . . . I am learning grace.

Six years ago, I thought I would feel peace when I could finally understand WHY. Thank you Father, for showing me how. You told me that night—six years ago—I would one day be able to stand . . . I thought that meant I would learn to be strong on my own—little did I know that was the furthest thing from the truth. I didn’t learn to do anything because of my own strength . . . He was holding me up every step of the way.

And that is what has made my broken road . . . beautiful. It was never once me who was strong . . . it was Him.