United as One

This past Sunday during our lesson Tytus opened to the weeks chapter and immediately pointed out this picture. He said, “Mom do you think Jesus knew what would be happening in our country when He told the artist to paint this picture for this exact week? There are white sheep all around him, but Jesus is holding the black one.” 

I have been at a loss for words the last few weeks—trying to find my voice in an array of many emotions. Hurting for black mothers who are scared for their babies; hurting for minorities that don’t feel part of a country that was founded on welcoming and bringing all races together. Hurting for other families that have been thrown into the fear and chaos that murder brings. 

I am not an expert, and I have not been where so many of you have been. I have felt like I have no words to try to comfort—or even understand—anyone because I have not lived through racism, or acts of hate because of the color of my skin. 

I don’t have all the answers...but I wanted to share some truths, because I know that it is in truth that—many times—I have felt comfort...even without having all the answers to the “whys”. 

I know that divisions among equals is wrong. There never has been a time where one person—or race—is better than another...that has always been a made up delusion by insecure beings to make themselves feel better or bigger than someone else.  It was always wrong, and it will always be abuse when someone hurts or belittles another person because of a difference between them or their beliefs. It always was, and always will be murder if a life is taken out of hate. 

Just like body size, and eye color...skin color does not give us our worth or make or break who we are. Hitler was wrong. Our ancestors were wrong. Skin color, eye color, hair color...these are just traits that make us unique—beautiful in our own way. We weren’t meant to be just like each other; we weren’t meant to be the same...but we were meant to love each other. 

Jesus has wept for so many of His brothers and sisters who have felt lost and forgotten, targeted, trodden down, abused, and unwanted. He has cried for you, and with you. He loves you. He has counted every tear and I know He will remember all that we do, or fail to do to protect and care for each other. He will remember all we go through at the hands and ignorance of others. There will be a time—if not now—that we will all be held accountable for the actions we do, or fail to do. 

I know that it is His light that can take away the darkness that has racked our country with hate, decades ago and still today. Hate, anger, revenge...those feelings are so real...but they never do bring light. Darkness never has been chased away by more dark. It is the light each day that brings morning. It is the light in our hearts that brings peace. It is the light of Christ that brings healing. 

His gift to see us as God sees us is what we need. To see each other as the worthy, beautiful, valuable souls that each need to be loved, honored, and protected. We are all one...sons and daughters of the same Creator. 

I believe in us—a country...a world...that has been stuck in confusion that is ready to be real. Ready to STAND for what’s right...STAND for truth...STAND for love...And STAND for light. 

We all need to change: to be better than we were, stronger than we are, striving for what we can all be. United. United as neighbors and friends. United as strangers who see way past ourselves and our fears...and see the goodness of every soul. United as cities that see the value of every life and honor the value of every being, race, and culture. United under God—as beings created in His image, and valued in His grace. United in light. United as one. 

Footprints in the Sand

Every day I wear jewelry that has some sort of message. It is kind of my thing. And I just got connected with a woman who has inspired my passion for inspiration...I can wear... even more. And she has even offered to help us inspire each other by donating a portion of any of the sales with code "STAND" used for free shipping to bring A Reason to Stand to communities across the country. Go check out her website!! Anima Jewelry I know you will find a piece of jewelry that connects with your story. This one was mine. "Footprints in the Sand" It makes my heart smile every time I look down and see it on my wrist.

If you haven't read my "Footprints in the Sand" story here you go: Footprints in the Sand

Please send me pics or tag me in your pics on social media. I want to see what jewelry inspired you!! 

The power of Choosing Happy

What makes you happy? Like really deep down makes you happy? And I don’t want you to give me the Sunday school answers that you think I want to hear. And PS . . . I can’t really hear your answers even if you say them out loud. So this question is more for you to ponder.  What makes you HAPPY?

Because if you just stared at this screen and you really don’t know . . . you might be missing something. Are you a happy person? Do you want to be? Did you used to be, and have some how lost your way? 

Then lets start with a few other basic questions. What is holding you back from feeling happiness and seeing joy in your life? Is it another person—or lack of another person? Is it your job? Is your kids, or kids you wished you had? Is it the car that you drive—or hope to some day? Are you waiting for a new house to take away your messes? Are you waiting for a first date, to tell you of your worth? Are you waiting for your kids to grow up so you can start enjoying them? Are you waiting to lose some weight so you can start looking at yourself in the mirror? Are you stuck wanting something different, so you can smile again? How long have you been waiting . . . and how long are you going to be willing to wait? If your prize doesn’t come at all—will you die wishing you had found your happiness? 

Ok, imagine for a second a life with none of those things standing in the way—as your excuse—of your happiness. What does it look like? Just you and your smile. Content. Calm. Present. Look at that—you showed up . . . for yourself. Not for anyone else—just for you. 

Happiness is a choice. It is a decision we make every single day. And if you aren’t happy now, chances are . . . you aren’t going to find it no matter what. Do you like you? Do you see your worth and value when no one is around to tell you? Are you waiting for yourself to change before you start being your own friend?

Life is going to be full of changes, some for the better . . . and some unimaginably hard. If we can learn to smile right now—in the hard days, and the good—we will smile again. Because if happiness is a choice . . . it can always be part of our life. 

Happiness isn’t living a perfectly bright day. Happiness is choosing to find the perfect little light . . . in an imperfect life.

You deserve to smile today, and tomorrow . . . and every day you take a breath. Because you a miracle. You are rare, and precious, and your smile brings light. Choose happy. Not because it is easy, but because you deserve to shine. The world is waiting for your glow. Beam on. 

(As I sat down and these words came to my screen, I couldn't stop thinking about this moment at Emmett's funeral when someone told the kids to smile for a picture. At first I just felt annoyed. My eyes burned from the day. My heart was broken from the pain. My mind was cloudy from the betrayal and the trauma. But those five babies in my arms, gave me hope that someday I would find joy again . . . and that—in that moment—made me happy. )

Feels a lot like fear

As a fellow widow the author C.S. Lewis once said, “No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear.”

Though there are so many of us who have had to grieve the loss of a loved one, I don’t think many would say they have mastered such a skill.

It’s funny how when you go through something hard everyone seems to dub you as the expert in that subject. And there comes a few split seconds that you actually start to believe that you have it all under control—until you don’t . . . and reality slaps your insignificance back into your face.

I came into this summer prepared that we could possibly lose a part of our family. Emmett’s dad had been battling cancer for a while—not long after his only child was murdered it showed up. More recently doctors had begun to warn us that time was getting limited.

I remember walking into his house—for the millionth time—the day before he died. I could feel it in the air. I had spent hours with him that week, but this time had to be quick as we were driving out of town to go to my grandpas 90^th birthday party in Utah.

I choked up. Just like the days before he could sense in me something that was similar to fear. He told me not to be scared. He told me that he would see me again—and for a man who had never known religion, I smiled to know he was thinking of a life after this one. He asked to see Teage, and as I watched his oldest grandson lay by his side I knew in my heart it would be the last time we would see him.

We got the call early the next morning. Papi was gone.

I was expecting him to go, but what I was not expecting was the wave of grief that would surround me all summer long. Grief does feel a lot like fear, but the hardest part about grief is it doesn’t just help you mourn the loss of that moment—it takes you back to every time you have lost before.

So I did what I do best—I marched. I planned a funeral again. I spoke and sang with my girls. And then I spent the next four weeks cleaning out their house.

And that is where my fear really took over. Every day cleaning out the memories of three people I had never planned on losing. Ten years ago—8 months pregnant with Teage—we planned the funeral of Danise, Papi’s wife, after cancer took her suddenly. I didn’t know if Papi would ever smile again after she was gone. They were soul mates those two.

But then he did. And he tried so hard to be the dad and grandpa we all needed. He welled with pride in everything Emmett did—especially our family.

And then he and I lost Emmett. I didn’t know how to tell him, after watching him be alone after all those years. It was rough. That moment fractured many parts of all the relationships I thought were so stable. But unlike so many, he never disappeared. I know it wasn’t easy coming to our house after that, but he did. He usually wore his sunglasses, and I could always see a tear beneath the dark lenses—but he was there. Football games, birthday parties, Christmas—and he never once complained of anything he had lost. He took in Jordyn and Shawn and celebrated them as part of his family. He never distinguished his biological “family” from the rest of us.

Most of the time he came alone—surrounded by my family, and Shawn’s—but he always smiled through it all. 

He even came and sat behind me almost every day at the murder trial. Not because he wanted to be there . . . but because he didn’t want me to be alone. (I will write another post soon about the notes we found that Papi had taken during the trial).

So as I spent most of the summer at their house I had a lot of time to think, to pray, to ponder . . . and many days to fight a feeling that felt a lot like fear. Fear of losing. Fear of loving. Fear of letting go. Fear of not knowing what tomorrow is going to look like.  All the fear I thought I had overcome over the last six years—many days—came flooding around me.

Those split seconds I had spent—just months before—hoping I was some sort of an expert by now, were replaced by many days leaving me wondering if I would ever know anything ever again. I had no desire to blog. I felt pretty unworthy to share anything about finding strength or how to overcome, because frankly I didn’t feel like I was.

And then the coolest thing happened. I was totally and utterly rejected. 

Late one night I received an email from a woman—I had a contract with to go speak next Spring—informing me that we would have to cancel my trip . . . due to my religion. They didn’t want a Mormon girl to come talk about Christ. At first I became defensive. Christ? Isn’t mine the same one that all the other Christian’s believe in? What would make me less worthy to share what His grace has done for me? I was confused, embarrassed, and dumb founded . . . but mainly I was hurt.

That night I cried like a baby girl. I felt alone. I was rejected and left wondering—for the millionth time—if I was enough. The darkness of the grief from the summer came to a head, and a feeling—that felt a lot like fear—took over every ounce of me.

I spent the night praying for peace from what seemed—in the moment—to be another life rejection. Evidence—if we want to go back to my last post—of what I feared I was. A loser? Not worthy? Defiantly not enough.

The next morning I walked out to Tytus sitting on the couch, awake way to early for how late we had stayed up the night before. I am pretty sure he could tell I was a hot mess. I sat down by him and he put his head on me, patted my leg and said, “Jesus made me a good one. ” Thinking he was talking about his Pokemon, the dog, or some other cool thing I asked on, “A good what buddy?” He replied, “A good mom, best I have seen.” I got a little chocked up, “Oh yeah . . . what about me this summer makes you glad I am your mom? I feel like I have hardly even seen you guys as you have spent most of it in Papi’s pool while I cleaned out his house with Roxann. I have been so busy we have only done like two things on our entire summer list. So what makes you think you know I am a good one?” He replied, “I know because . . . everything you do is for us. And Jesus.”

And there it was. I talk a lot about that little glimmer of light—some of us call it grace—when Christ sends us that perfect little moment to help us remember our truths—we can see so clearly. Just because I had spent a lot of the summer hurting, and people thousands of miles away had decided I was not what they were looking for . . . I had done a lot for Him. I was enough for the ones it really counted for.

Never losing anyone—and living a “perfect” plan is not how Christ sends us that love. Going hundreds of miles away to share my heart to a room full of strangers is not where I will find it. Because—just like Christ—we are going to have our own Garden of Gethsemane moments; we are going to have to bear our own crosses—moment after moment.  We are going to have to learn to stand . . . again and again and again.

Some summers are going to be filled with sunscreen and sand. Others are going to be filled with hard work and some feelings that feel a lot like fear. I miss Papi. I know without a doubt he is with his wife and his son and there is so much more to death then we all know.

But what I do know is that no matter what our religion—even those like Papi who never will have one—Jesus loves us all. He doesn’t see us in religion, skin color, or even how we handle those feelings that feel a lot like fear. And I don’t either.

So though this summer was very rarely days that I had planned, I am grateful for the light that showed me through the hard stuff again.

If you are standing at one of those crossroads wondering—for the millionth time—as we all will do, if you are enough . . . I hope today you let that little glimmer of light remind you that you always were.

No broken contract, no imperfect day, no stranger will ever be able to tear us down if we keep searching for our worth in the places that count.

The world is just going to get darker. Keep your head up. Shine like you don’t know how dark it really is. And on those days that feel very similar to fear—don’t lose your faith. Not in yourself, or God, or the world. And especially not in His plan. He has your back . . . just be prepared of how unprepared you might be. “Life is a trip” Papi used to say. And it’s true. Mike. Thanks for being one of my dads. I am grateful for the million times I got to see you then, and the million times I will get to see you again.

Love you the most Big Papi. I know you know now what you only hoped for before. You were enough. He loves you . . . and so do we.

As promised to many who loved Mike and didn't get to the funeral. Here is the audio of my talk and his sisters song, and all the others who shared. Also... a video of the girls song! Thank you Bergen for recording these. I never would have thought to, but they have meant a lot today. 

A few thoughts I wanted to share weeks ago, but didn't post...

Don't be afraid to stand alone

The kids and I watched this little video while we were waiting at the bus stop this morning. It caught my eye with the title. And its message touched us, so I had to share. 

I know we aren't all the same religion or believe in the same things, but I do believe that all of us at some time will have to "stand alone" to stand for what we know is right. I talked about it a few months ago in my video What I wished I knew in Middle school. 

Whatever religion, whatever your level of faith, whatever you believe in . . . don't be afraid to stand alone. And always remember that in those moments when you feel the most alone on earth, heaven is even closer. Stand tall, for the right, and fight for yourself. Even if no one else sees, your Father in Heaven does. 

The Moment you Stand

It's crazy how God puts people in your life. A few months ago Ashley Hess thought she was just reading a story about a stranger on a blog, but that night had a song come to her mind. We became instant friends. Now she has finished it and is ready to perform this Saturday at A Reason to Stand in St. George, Utah. I cannot wait for everyone to hear and feel the spirit that these powerful words, powerful voice, and powerful feeling of hope this song carries with it. 

This is just the first verse. I cannot wait to share the whole song! It will be available in iTunes once she gets it recorded! 

He already has

Sometimes my heart hurts. It used to be because of my own pain and embracing my own reality. Now my heart hurts for those I have to watch walk paths I have had to walk—spouses who have experienced infidelity or friends who have had to go through the death of a loved one. So many times in the last few years I have wished I could just do it all again—in their place—instead of watching them have to suffer. I see them struggle, and genuinely wish I could save them and take away the hurt.

So tonight I just wanted to share how grateful I am that we have a Savior; that—though we cannot take away another's pain—we know that they can make it through. For it is not our strength that will ease another's burdens and help them find their journey to healing . . . it is Christ.

And every path He leads us down to be His hands, or to see with His eyes, is a gift we get to be apart of. And He has given us each other to physically stand in His place at times. Tonight I am grateful for that miracle. That the Savior of the world will save us all . . . from each other, from the darkness, and even save us from ourselves at times. He is there. ALWAYS. All we have to do is reach out our hand and He will help us take that first step to standing.

So many hurting in a broken world. We cannot save everyone. But Christ can . . . and He already has.

We watched this video tonight as a family...

DEAR TRAUMA

Choosing Happy

Here is the documentary "Choosing Happy" that I got to be a part of that aired today during the sessions of General Conference. Hope everyone is having a beautiful fall weekend. 

But I deserve butterflies

Well this week I planned on using all the wonderful powerhouse mom stories I have received to celebrate mothers day. But when this came to me today I had to share it. I am humbled by all the amazing stories that have been shared and feel the strength from each of you who have been willing to be a light in this dark world. Keep shining. And Happy Mother's Day to all the amazing woman who make a difference in the lives of children all over the world. 

Ashlee

But I deserve butterflies 

by: an anonymous husband

It started out how these things always do. At first it really was just a coincidence that we just kept running into each other. And like the storybooks say . . . she gave me an excitement each time my eye caught hers. Butterflies. 

Soon I started to get dressed for her. My workouts at the gym began to be motivated by the next time I would see her. I looked for her. I purposefully went out of my way to make sure we would just happen to run into each other—but I always acted surprised. 

I knew it was wrong—but I didn’t want it to stop. It really was just innocent .  . . at first.

Temptation was on my doorstep . . . but all I could see was the excitement I felt. All I could feel was the butterflies. Selfishness centered me around myself. I knew what I wanted and nothing was going to stop me until I got it. 

I have four kids—sweet wonderful kids. I am not always the best dad, but I try. But it even began to be hard spending time with them. My wife and I were struggling. Who isn’t right? I had always loved her, but started to even question that. We always had some huge struggle we were fighting about, and I began to dread going home. 

So it felt natural to look around. Each day it went a little further, and this girl made it easy. Our conversations became longer, and the happenstance running into each other began to be planned. We had so much in common, especially in our failing marriages. 

The first time she text me my heart skipped a beat. Butterflies. 

I felt new when I saw her, like I was young again. She validated everything my wife had grown to ignore. She encouraged me. It felt like she saw the real me—someone I had long forgotten. 

Soon we decided we would meet up somewhere more private. It was getting hard really getting to know each other with so many other people around. That morning she text me the Hotel name and the room number. I couldn’t focus on anything else. 

My wife text me at lunch, angry that I had forgotten to give our son his lunch money when I dropped them off at the school. Her text was the last validation I needed to get in my car and head to the hotel. I was done being alone in my marriage. I was done being yelled at and treated badly. I deserved to be loved—and that night I would be. 

I felt no remorse as I text her back my excuse of why I would be home late. She would have no clue. I usually got home way later than planned. But tonight I was finally going to do something for me. Not for my office, or my kids, or my baseball buddies, not for my ungrateful wife. Finally I didn’t have to ask her permission. I was just going to do what I wanted to do and what felt good for me. 

My car felt cold as I buckled up my seatbelt. I looked out all the windows to make sure no one was watching. I looked in the back seat. My son’s lunch money sat alone on the cushion. See I was a good dad. I did give him the money, he just forgot . . . she just wanted something to be angry with me about, because that is what she does. She doesn’t care about me or need me. She doesn’t even care about my happiness. I am worthless to her. I deserve to have butterflies and someone who wants me around. 

That surge of anger fueled my drive. I got to the hotel and parked around the back. I looked around again as I retrieved my workout bag out of the trunk. I was alone in the parking lot; no one to suspect anything. 

As I walked in the hotel I felt proud that I was finally free. I didn’t have to feel guilty either, because I deserved this. 

The elevator seemed to take forever as I stared up at the numbers on the wall. Soon it opened and I stepped inside. The minute the door shut I finally felt safe that no one I knew would see me and stop me from my freedom. 

Then it happened. 

A new song came on. One I knew too well. “Butterfly kisses”. I had sung it many times to my daughter when she couldn’t sleep in the night. She had even asked me, just a year ago, if I would dance with her—to it—at her wedding some day. To which I had promised I would. 

Each verse that played was a memory. Every floor I passed—every second—as the elevator took me up higher . . . my heart sunk lower. 

Then the song started singing about the little girl’s wedding day. I closed my eyes as tears fell down my cheeks. I pictured my own little girl walking arm-in-arm with me towards her dream man. 

Who would I want that man to be? Like me? Lost and alone? Broken and searching for someone else to love him? Just ten years later standing in an elevator about to destroy his family?

I fell to the ground as I pictured someone hurting my little girl. And that is when I saw her—my bride. On our wedding day. I could see her perfect curls falling in her eyes. I could see—like it was yesterday—that look she had when she couldn’t take them off me. I could see our smiles and feel our hands held so tight as we promised to be true forever. 

The elevator door opened. 

I pried myself off the ground and stood up. A sign pointed the way for our room. The arrow seemed to jump out, begging me to follow. Time stopped. Everything seemed to be going in slow motion. For that moment I could see so clearly. Every choice I was making, every moment I had spent that got me here . . . and every moment that would inevitably follow. 

This was it. That moment. Would I follow the arrow to those butterflies I thought I deserved? Would I choose me? Or would I be the man I would want my daughter to walk down the isle to? Because if I was him . . . then my wife was her. 

I was frozen. 

Soon the elevator door began to close. I reached out my hand to stop it and like someone was in there with me I could hear a shout, “Let it close”. 

The door closed. All the strength I had, seemed to be sucked out of me as I silently battled. 

But I won. 

I didn’t go into that hotel room that night. Instead I pushed a button that took me back down to my car. I buckled my seatbelt and I cried the whole way home. 

To say it was an easy road—walking into a house full of beauty I didn’t feel worthy of—would be a lie. It took a long time to find myself again. The battle didn’t end in that elevator that night, but it was the moment when I took my stand. 

Men—if we want them to find a man worthy of them . . . we have to show them what they deserve. We have to love their mothers. Even when it is hard. We have to take care of them, and cherish them. We have to understand their struggles, not for ourselves . . . but for them. 

To my future son in law, 

Treat her like the queen she deserves to be. Fight. It won’t always come as natural as the day you fell in love, but with a lot patience and faith and a little bit of sacrifice, you can be the man of her dreams. You just have to choose it over and over again. 

Woman. Wives. Mothers. We might not always see you, we might get kind of dumb sometimes or blinded. But please don’t give up on us. 

When I took a stand in that elevator that night I made a promise that I would overcome. And I will stand—broken, and imperfect, and sometimes very stupid—but I will not fall.

Sunday is Mother’s Day, almost one year exactly from the moment I chose the mother of my children on a night when I almost forgot her. And I pray every day that I can be the man she always wanted—for the rest of her life. I will fight to give her the butterflies she deserves.

Not only for her . . . but for my daughter. 

For the first time in my life I can see that love is watching someone else receive all I have. The real butterflies worth fighting for—the ones we all deserve—are the ones we give. 

Related articles: Stand Tall you aren't alone

The Longest Run . . . overcoming after rape

15 years ago, March 3^rd, my life was changed forever.  I was raped.  I became a different person.  So much so that my family and friends didn’t even know who I was anymore.  I was too ashamed to share what happened.  I remember lying in bed crying at night, every night.  I remember very distinctly the prayer I would utter ‘Please, God, if you are there….if you are listening…..please let tonight be my last breath.  I don’t want to live another day.’

Each morning I’d wake and the tears would come again because I would have to breathe again. 

The pain was more than I could bear.  I felt like I was ruined.  I felt like I’d never be ‘enough’ for someone (a husband).  I felt like that night my life was forever ruined and I’d be better off dead.

My journey to who I am today was long.  And hard.  And there were many defining moments.  I met my best friend who helped me through the initial feelings.  I could have easily scared him off, after all my first words to Jason were ‘we can be friends, but never NEVER anything more.  I don’t date.’  Somehow, the man saw through my wall.  And for a long time we were just friends.  I thought I was doing well.  We eventually got married and started a family.

For many years, I got really good at pretending to be happy.  I put on a brave face.  In my head, I told myself as long as I never EVER went back to St. George I would be okay.  I would pretend nothing happened.  But each year, March was always bad.  Real bad.  Especially the 3^rd – 6^th.  All those emotions I once felt would come rushing back.  The panic, the hurt, the guilt, the shame, the fear, the anger, the tears.  It would all come flooding in and I’d be a total wreck, sometimes unable to even get out of bed.

Then, somehow I did.  Until I got the news.  I found out my husband’s job was going to take me back to live in St. George.  At this point in my life I had 2 young girls, and it had been 6 years since I was last in the city so full of terrible memories. 

We moved to St. George and I basically lost it.  I got to the point that I wouldn’t get out of bed.  If I did, I’d begin to have a massive panic attack.  I was a terrible mother.  I couldn’t function.  I ate my feelings away.  Jason asked me to get help.

This was the first time I began counseling.  And this counseling was the first time I started to live again.  It was also the first time that I finally shared more openly about my past.  During my therapy I was adamant that I could work on finding happiness again, but I told my counselor that I would never, NEVER forgive the men who raped me.  It was at that moment that my counselor encouraged to do something I felt was un-doable.  We talked a lot about the ‘un-doable’ things, and what makes them un-doable.  One that stuck out was run a marathon.

Never, had I ran a race.  Ever.  But I started training for a marathon.  My runs were therapeutic.  I typically ran alone because it was a moment I could have to just allow myself to feel.  Some runs I’d cry, like full on sobbing, ugly cry.  I remember many times stopping and sitting on the curb and just bawling.  Other times I’d feel powerful and strong.  Sometimes I’d be running and start cursing and screaming.  Yes, there were probably people who thought I was literally insane.  Maybe I was.  But I needed to let out everything I had bottled in for so long.

Slowly, I started making progress.  I started seeing so many who had been there for me, despite the person I’d become.  I started seeing how the anger I was holding on to was ruining me. 

I remember running the marathon in 2007.  I remember how it was the first year in like 30 years that it rained.  And boy did it rain.  But it’s funny, because looking back I feel like the rain was the last moment I needed to wash away all those feelings I had.  During that run, I dedicated each mile to someone that had made a difference or had helped pull me through the darkest time of my life.  I wrote letters to each person, thanking them.  It was my way of gaining back the strength. 

I finished the race that day, but it was never about the time.  It was just about finishing.  I learned that I was so much stronger than I ever knew.  That race really summed up my life to that point.  It began with excitement, like the excitement I had when I went off to school.  It started with energy.  Then slowly it got hard.  And just after Veyo hill, it was pouring hail.  The uphill was hard.  SO hard.  I cried.  I wanted to quit the race, just like I wanted to quit life after the hardest moment of my life. 

But I made a choice.  I put one foot in front of the other.  I continued.  Many tears were spilled on the last half of that course.  And when I was about 6 miles out, I remember wondering if this was worth the effort anymore.  (Much like I wondered if the work to move forward with my life was worth it.)  I remember about that point that I looked up and saw my dad.  He had known I was struggling on the course.  My family all knew I wanted to quit.  I had called and told them I’d go as far as I possibly could, but to prepare for me not to finish.  So in that moment, when I looked up and saw my dad who had easily walked over 5 miles to get to me, I cried.  My dad held me up as I cried.  I will never forget that moment in my life.  I learned that despite feeling so alone for so long, the truth was I was never really alone.  Not only was my dad there for me, but so was God.  I knew I still had a long ways to go in being okay with who I was, but in that moment on that day I knew that life was worth living again.  I finally knew I was strong enough to live again.

I learned that day that I could do hard things.  I could forgive the worst of offenses because forgiving isn’t about accepting what someone has done, forgiving is about allowing yourself to heal.  I learned how anger and grudges can change a person into someone they don’t recognize.  And finally, finally I had found a way to move forward and forgive.  Does that mean I’m okay with being raped?  No.  Rape should not happen.  No means no.  Period.  But, I can tell you that before being raped I never knew how strong I was.  I never knew what I was capable of.  I never knew the person I could be. 

In my journey to forgiveness, I found a reason to stand again.  And that reason was me.  I realized that I was worth the effort.  I realized that my worth was not linked in any way to what happened to me.  I realized that God had been there all along, loving me for who I was, even when I couldn’t love myself.  The God I felt had deserted me, or been embarrassed of me, had actually been standing next to me holding me up the entire time.

After the marathon in 2007 I thought I was “fixed.”  But what I didn’t realize is the work that still needed to be done.  I didn’t realize the feelings I still had in my own self worth.  I still had ‘deserve-level’ issues to deal with, and to be honest my journey will always be in progress.  I have to work each and every day, it’s a choice I make.  And it started long ago.  I chose to live.  And some days that choice was easy, other days I had to fight my inner self.  But looking at where I am today, 15 years later, I am so grateful I made the choice to live.  I chose to share my story for many years on my blog because I want others to know that it’s okay to fall down sometimes, just make the choice to stand back up.  

Hard happens to all of us, every single person!  But don’t let that hard keep you down.  Life is worth living, even when it doesn’t seem that way.  The sun will come up again, just find a way to keep standing.  And more than anything know that you are surrounded by God’s love.  Nothing you will ever do, nothing that will ever happen to you will taint the love He has for you.  So stand, and show the world how strong you are!

by Alisha Bowling 

http://www.inprogressforgood.blogspot.com/

Related posts: Overcoming Betrayal Trauma