True Healing

**After a long conversation with a new friend, I have felt the desire to share some of the things we opened up to each other about. So after getting her permission to do so, this post was created.

This week I got a chance to talk to a new friend, who had attended the conference, this past weekend. The conversation soon turned to this, “So what about those of us who God doesn’t love—or people like me who don’t even believe there is a God . . . anymore—how are we supposed to heal. You guys stood on the stage telling everyone how your faith in Him got you through, I am calling bull shit. He has his favorites . . . and I am not one of them. So how am I supposed to make it through this hell? How are the rest of us—the forgotten ones—supposed to heal?”

Her words caught me off guard. I had never thought that maybe God had favorites—and I can promise her, looking back on my life I would never consider myself one of them if He did. I didn’t even know how to respond. I asked for clarification, “ So tell me again what you are asking? You don’t believe in God . . . but you are afraid you are not one of His favorites?”

She responded with a stern voice, “Ya. If He loved me, I wouldn’t be here right now. He would have made things right by now. I wouldn’t be ten years down the road still fighting to make it every day. So how do I heal, without Him?”

I took a deep breath, and with a love for my new friend and my faith in our Father responded, “You don’t. We all want an easy answer, and can’t look past needing to know all the whys. There is no easy fix for the messes we find ourselves in. There isn’t always an answer to the why’s that we ask over and over . . . but that God you don’t believe in—but are dying to know that He still believes in you—He is the answer. You need Him. You need His Son. You need grace, and love . . . but first you have to remember your faith. He loves you. He loves me, and the best part is . . . He has the capacity to love us all. You are a parent, you know that your heart is big enough to love each of them, hurt for each of them, but genuinely work to protect each one of them. He feels that way about you. No matter how many days you spend mad at a Being you say does not exist . . . He is spending those same days loving you right where you are. So, you ask me how you can heal without Him. I want you to know—deep in my soul, I know—you cannot.”

It was very silent; when my friend finally spoke I had begun to think I might have lost her with my sincere honesty. The next few minutes she talked about a Being—her Creator—that was greater than us all. She shared her journey with me. It was full of trauma, pain, abuse, neglect, and death. Her life story—full of darkness and secrets and pain—and she shared with  me her journey to believe that she had always been—and always would be—forgotten.

We talked for some time and shared our hearts with each other.

Today I got a message that my new friend had said her first prayer in 10 years. “And I felt His love for me.”

She was willing to let me share this story with you guys, and she wants you to know . . . God is there. He is real. We need His Son, and with His grace we have the power to heal even the darkest of moments in our lives.  You are one of His favorites, not because of anything you have done, or haven’t done . . . but because of who you are and who you were created to be. His child. A child of God.





My favorite talk on this subject. His grace is sufficient by Brad Wilcox.

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.

Day 16

Becoming a victim of Trauma: what I wished I would have known. Challenge: Pray for comfort when you feel alone in a room full of people...pray for peace when you feel alone—all by yourself.

Shelter for a King

The past few weeks I have had a couple experiences that have made me realize there are a lot of people in this world who need us.

For a long time I believed that I needed other people . . . to make me feel good about myself, to fix me when I was hurting, to tell me I was of worth so I could feel it inside. I thought life was about waiting around for angels.

For a long time I believed that I had been robbed: of life, of love, of family—of the past, of the future, of worth, of value. Only in those moments I never once realized . . . I had no idea what it was like to have nothing.

A few nights ago I heard a story about a woman who worked at a homeless shelter who noticed a new lady walking in the soup kitchen door with no shoes on. She ran into her office and searched high and low to find the shoeless woman a voucher so she could send her to a store to purchase some shoes. When she walked out to deliver it, she noticed that the woman's feet were now covered. Confused she looked around the room to find that one of the shelters usual dinner guests was now barefoot. She hurried over to the woman walking around with no shoes and questioned what had happened. The hungry, barefoot woman exclaimed, "Well . . . I noticed she didn't have any shoes, and I have two pairs." The very humbled shelter director walked into her office in tears wondering how on earth she had never seen things that way. In her closet at home sat twenty pairs of shoes, but she had never once taken them from off her feet to protect the naked feet of another. 

It is stories like this that motivate us to want to help someone else, but it is moments where we get to help that we gain a testimony of the impact we can have another person's life and the blessings it can bring to our own.

I have been battling impressions for a few weeks on how to share some stories that have changed my life. So today these impressions win. I am going to share some tender moments, not to bring attention to the people in them, but to help bring to light the others in the story who need you. 

Each week our family does some sort of activity together. Some days we watch a few motivational videos; others we play at the park.  Sometimes we read the scriptures and study a bible story, or attend a dance recital or basketball game.

The last few years we have been trying to incorporate situations where the kids can develop empathy and learn to serve someone else—babysitting for a friend; cleaning our church building; or making dinner for a family in need.

This month we decided to try something new. We signed our whole family up to serve dinner at a soup kitchen at a men’s shelter. Honestly, I originally called the shelter because I was looking for an eye opening moment for my children, wake them up to life outside of our bubble. Help them gain some appreciation for all that they had. Help them to be more accepting of each other, and the sacrifices that are made for them every single day.

I knew it was going to be an eye opening experience for our very sheltered children, but I didn’t realize the impact it was going to have on all of us.

We had talked about it for weeks, but once Sunday night came everything seemed to try to keep us from getting there. Determined to carry out our commitment, we loaded our family in the car and headed to the shelter.

We entered the building, unsure of what exactly we had signed up for. To get to the kitchen we had to walk down halls lined with men from all walks of life.  The kids kept their heads down and walked silently in a row. Once we got to the kitchen, we washed up and were given our assignments. The four big kids would be dishing up the food, and Shawn and I were assigned to help the two youngest serve the trays to all the men who had come for dinner.

The meal looked like Thanksgiving—including a giant tray of Jell-O. All of which had come in as donations. The kids each took a job and did their best to get their assigned food onto the tray. Sometimes they spilled gravy all over the rolls, sometimes the turkey fell in the Jello, but each time I went back for another tray they were laughing—grinning from ear to ear. Talking to the other volunteer that had come to serve that day. She was telling them stories of the men she had met there, and about all she had learned from serving them.

Every tray we delivered was greeted with a, “Wow. Thank you so very much.” One gentleman said to Tytus, “I have been coming here a while now . . . and every time I have had to stand in line for a long time to get this tray. What a treat to have a kind little boy serve me. Eating like a king today. ”

My heart stopped for a minute, as I stared into this humble man's eyes. A king? All Tytus had done was say hello and bring him a tray of food. I looked around the room. It was full of kings, grateful for a meal . . . but even more excited to see a smile. 

The workers said that it is rare to have more than two volunteers to help dish up the food every night, let alone be able to serve these men individually.

After the last man was served their food, Kaleeya and Tytus went around taking orders for drinks. We only had two options—water and tea—but the sparkle in their eyes as they pushed the button and filled those cups was that of pure love. 

Those cups were not the only ones being filled in that room. There were eight of us who went to the shelter that night, thinking we were going to fill up trays and cups for hungry men. I think we were the ones there to be filled. 

By the end of the night our kids didn’t want to leave. They asked if we could stay just a few more hours.

Up on the ceiling above us was a sign, “You can’t save a man by telling him of his sins. He knows them already. Tell him there is a pardon and love waiting for him . . . Make him understand you believe in him, and never give up.” Fanny J. Crosby

Sometimes it is easy to forget that we are all children of God. We almost get entitled—thinking maybe because of our faith we are loved just a little bit more. But if we really study the books that our faiths are built on, we will find that God loves the sinners, the hypocrites, and the imperfect—so all of us.

I always pictured that I would need to go over seas to feed the world and teach my children how to serve them, but turns out there are many who are poor—in body and in spirit—right in our own back yard. The simple act of seeing someone sitting alone at a table, and brining them food can help them feel remembered—like they are eating like a King.

On the way out I took a picture of another sign. It was small and taped on the wall in the back kitchen, “Go make the invisible God visible.”

My heart has been full thinking of that shelter these past few weeks. Remembering times in my life when I was the poor being helped.  Knocks at my own door with trays of food, arms to hold babies, and hearts to bring peace. 

I wish I could go back and spend a little more time in appreciation for all that was done for me. I wish I would have known that many of those hands holding my babies were probably hurting too. 

Sometimes God sends others to help save us—from pain, from fear, from starvation. And other times we get to share our love—and be saved in a different way. We don't have to have it all figured out to be able to help another. In both experiences I have felt closer to God, because it is Him who is blessing us with the light. 

Even the broken, can comfort the lonely. Even the imperfect can show perfect love. 

I am so grateful we live in a world that still has people who care—for every mouth and every heart is numbered in heaven.

We can #lighttheworld. It doesn’t cost anything to bring light to another, and we don’t have to give it up to share it. It multiplies inside the more we give it away.

This holiday season . . . let us remember the One. The one who washed the feet of those who served Him, and let them do the same for Him.

We are all in this together—children of God.

I have the goal to travel around this country sharing hope . . . with victims, with the broken, with the hurting. I always thought that maybe words were my only mission to do that. And then I saw there are some people who don't even have food to eat and shoes on their feet. So these communities that I visit. I want to do more than tell stories and share hope . . . I want to give it. 

Every single person you meet has a story. For some, life has failed them . . . others have failed at life. But we are all God's children and it is up to us to help them find Him. It is amazing to see that in those moments . . . so do we.

These experiences have made me ask some questions to myself. How many pairs of shoes do you have? How many meals do you take for granted? How many times do you withhold a smile, to someone looking for a sign their life is worth living?

I know individually we can't save the world—that is like thinking we can fill the ocean all on our own—but we can put in our two drops to try. We can make a difference. I need your help. Get out in your community. Send money to organizations who are seeking to save. It is our job alone to share our light with everyone we meet. 

Someday we will all stand before God. He won't be proud of how many shoes we collected at the end of our life . . . but how many we took off of our feet to give to one of His children.

Be the light. This holiday season, and forever. 

December 2016:
I am going to be teaming up with some local organizations and Mormon.org for their #lighttheworld campaign. Please join us. If you have any way you can help, us or others, just find a way to bring light the world. No matter your religion, your skin color, your socioeconomic status, your faith—or lack of faith—you can make a difference. 

We are going to be collecting donations for the local shelters and families in need and having a little Christmas devotional. Please stop by and come say hello. I will announce the location next week along with all the details. If you know of a family who could use anything specific please contact me directly themomentswestand@gmail.com so I can get that organized. If your family wants to sponsor a family or if you want to make a donation and will not be able to come meet up with us please feel free to contact me. 

Thank you all in advance. We have all been blessed with so much. As we clean out our closets this week, and make purchases through the next month for strangers in need I know we will have angels assist us to direct us where to go, who to feed, and what feet to cover. Those shoes taking up dust in your closets . . . could change someone's life. 

Happy Thanksgiving. I am thankful for all of you. 
Ashlee

The Gift of Happiness

If there is one thing I have learned in my life it is that everyone experiences trials and though no two people experience the exact same trial, similarities in the struggles we face build strength, courage, and hope! I know firsthand what it is like to lose a parent at a young age and it is hard! I grew up in a very loving home with parents who taught me correct principles to pattern my life after. My family was very close and we definitely knew how to have fun! My parents were awesome and my father was the best dad you could imagine. He worked hard to provide for our family, but when he was home he was fully vested in our lives. We played board games together, went four-wheeling, boating, skiing, hunting, sledding, and he always supported us in our sports and just plain having fun. 

On March 28, 1990 my father was headed home from work to attend my oldest brother’s basketball game when he stopped to meet a couple that was interested in leasing a building his company had built. While meeting with the couple, the original owner of the building unexpectedly showed up and brutally murdered my father. The man was chased down and taken into custody, but nothing could undo what he had just done to my Dad. My dad was shot multiple times and though we were told he fought harder than anyone to stay alive (I imagine for the chance to say goodbye to all of us), by the time he was identified and our family was contacted, he had passed away.

I was 12.

Just 10 days before turning 13 my Dad was gone. Gone from my family and gone from the estimated 4,000 people who loved him and flew in from all over to attend his viewing and funeral. My dad, the rock, the invincible, the favorite of everyone, was no longer alive. How could I go on?!

No young woman should be left without a father knowing that he will not get to take her on Daddy-Daughter dates anymore, dance goofy with her at church parties, embarrass her in front of her future dates, go to all of her High School Basketball games, congratulate her at her award ceremonies, attend her graduation, hug her at her wedding, become buds with her new husband, meet and play with all her children, and grow old together with her beloved mother. So why am I so happy then? And why do I know that there is more to life than dwelling on the things that happen “to” us instead of the things that allow us to stand?! 

I’ll tell you why. It is because I believe in the Savior, Jesus Christ, and His atoning sacrifice. I know that He has felt my pain and truly knows what I am going through. He is the light and life of this world and my faith in Him has brought healing, forgiveness, understanding and renewed strength to live my life in a way that I can bring hope and light to others. (I thank my amazing Mom for this strong conviction. She is a stalwart example of what a woman of Faith should be. She is my hero!)

Anyone who knows me, knows that I am always smiling, always laughing, and always looking for ways to make other people happy. I often get asked if I ever feel down or if anything ever goes wrong in my life because I am always cheery and upbeat. I have been happily married for 20 years, have six amazing children, and l usually make friends with everyone I meet. People assume that I do not experience pain, because I choose to be happy. What they do not know is that my father’s death was only the first of many trials to come. I have definitely had my fair share of the tears and I have wept multiple times while praying to Heavenly Father for strength. 

When I got married, I struggled for years with infertility even though we wanted children right away. When I was finally blessed with children, I suffered severe post-partum depression and later lost four children to miscarriage. I cannot even begin to tell you how many days my pillow was wet with tears. The heartache and anxiety was almost too much to bear at times and though I never felt tempted to end my life, for the first time ever, I finally understood why someone would.  I never thought my pain was going to go away. I felt like I was in a dark tunnel and I could not see the light at the end. I was sure I would be depressed forever and never feel happy again. How could this happen to someone like me? Someone who is always happy? Maybe if I prayed more it would go away or maybe if I studied my scriptures more it would go away. Well, guess what? It didn’t go away when I did those things and I did not understand why. I plead with the Lord to take it all away from me, because I was starting to forget what it felt like to be happy! 

Thank heavens for the Savior and for His grace. My depression and anxiety DID go away and though the battle was hard and long fought, the Savior never left my side. I am sure He did not want me to endure such grief and hopelessness, but He allowed me to go through it so that I would be able to help others in the future.

I firmly believe everyone has some sort of trial or trauma in their life even though we may think their life is perfect. Those who seem the happiest are usually those who have experienced the deepest pain. Recognizing that there is opposition in all things is key. Once we experience the heartache and pain, we learn to truly appreciate the comfort and peace. 

I am grateful for my trials because without them, I never would have understood how blessed I am to be happy.  I thank Heavenly Father every day for the happiness I feel in my life, because I remember all of the feelings of loss and pain. I am not bitter that I have had to face these trials, because these moments have shaped me into the woman of faith I am today.

My name is Mindi. I am strong, I am faithful, I am courageous…and I CHOOSE to stand!

To learn more about Mindi you can find her blogging at http://barkersparadise.blogspot.com or come meet her in St. George at A Reason to Stand on October 22nd.