Christmas: Heaven is Here

I remember a Christmas—I had to have been about eleven—when my single mother took me a side one day and said, “Ash”—she probably really called me by my nickname SMASH—“I have to ask you a favor.” She then proceeded to tell me that this year her Christmas budget was close to nothing. She said, “I need your help, the only thing I was able to purchase for you was a nail polish, and this year I need you to be ok with that.”

I was long past the years of asking Santa for presents, but I had never imagined a Christmas when there was going to be close to nothing under our tree. Being the brave young woman I was, I looked my mother in the eye and said, “Do not buy me another thing, if you have any money left get something for the little girls.” My little sisters were 5 and 7 years younger than me, and I was pretty sure they still had faith in the little jolly man with the red suit.

Christmas morning came, and just as she had promised all I opened was my nail polish. I sat quietly as the others opened their meager gifts.

It was hard to breathe as I chocked back tears. I wasn’t sad about the presents, but it killed me to watch my mother go around trying to smile—I could see it all over her face . . . she felt like she had failed us.

Soon there was a knock. We all scampered to the door of our little duplex and as it swung open we were surprised to see what looked like a little miniature tree standing boldly on our porch. Instead of leaves, this little tree proudly sported little wrapped up dollar bills—tiny ribbons held them tightly to each branch.

Tears filled my eyes as we picked up the little magic plant and carried it into our tiny kitchen. I looked up to see my mother’s face—it was wet from tears—as she watched us count what felt like a million dollars. We felt rich that Christmas—rich in blessings, rich in dollars, and rich in love. Someone loved us enough to know that year . . . we just needed a tiny sprout of hope, not in a little jolly man in a red suit . . . but in Christ. They were His hands that day. Angels that dropped off a tiny reminder in that tiny duplex: we were not forgotten.

Fast forward about five or six years. It is Christmas time again. My mother has remarried a very generous kind man who announced, “Kids”—there were twelve of us between the two of them, probably six of us living at home—“This year we want to do Christmas a little differently, we want to give our presents to a family who needs it. We will give you a budget and assign you partners to shop for each of their children and we will drop everything off at their house on Christmas Eve. Our goal is to make sure they have no idea where it came from. It will be really fun . . . the only catch is: we won’t be buying anything for any of you.”

My mind quickly took me back to the nail polish and the money tree, and the look in my mother’s eye. I shouted with excitement, “Yes!”

I took it to another level—as I often tend to do—and knocked on their door with a fake “research questionnaire for school”. I had to meet the people we were going to be shopping for. These total strangers let me in their house. I surveyed the room. They had no TV, and I didn’t see any sign of a scrap of food.  They had four little kids. They talked very kindly to their children as they filled out my fake questionnaire. As I drove home that night tears fell down my cheeks as I thought about all the fun things I was going to purchase for their family.

Christmas Eve came. The boxes were all lined in our front room, decorated beautifully. We loaded them into our cars. We drove in silence and when we approached their tiny apartment my step dad turned and said, “Ashlee, you are the fastest kid I know. Once we get all the presents loaded on the porch, why don’t you be the one to ring the doorbell and run around the corner.”

The porch was loaded and everyone had piled into the cars. I rang the doorbell and ran as fast as my legs could carry me.  I slammed myself into the car and we sped away. I noticed over the fence from their apartment was a Kmart. I suggested we go over to the parking lot and look over the huge cinderblock fence to see if we could see the family. (Like I said, always trying to take it to the next level.)

My stepbrother hoisted me up so I could barely peek my eyes over the wall. And there on the porch were all the presents . . . along with a mother, weeping so hard she couldn’t even bend over to pick up one box. I could hear her sobs, I could feel of the gratitude she felt, but I also could remember a moment when my own mother had cried those same tears—and I felt joy.

This time we got to be His hands—someone else had the opportunity to remember His love . . . and we got to be apart of it.

I will never forget either of these Christmas’ and the lessons I learned feeling the earthly angels . . . and how powerful it feels to be one.

Heaven is close, there are angels all around us—some we can see, and others we can only feel. This Christmas let us always remember the miracles—we even have the power to create some.  Three wise men followed a star to bring their love to a little baby far away. Most of the time we don’t have to look or travel too far to find someone who needs to be reminded that they are loved—a little glimmer of light can help us remember we are not forgotten.

You are of infinite worth

Had an amazing day today by myself. I was worried about the busyness of life and trying to get inspiration for my conference coming up, but instead was reminded of something I know everyone in my house needs:

To understand their purpose

To connect with God to find their mission

And to learn what their spiritual gifts are

These are three of the reasons we are on this earth. But before we can find the answer to these questions we first have to know our worth and to truly see ourselves as God sees us.

Does your family know they have value? Do you see value in your own life?

These are struggles in all of us. At one time or another in our life we question if we are important, valued, needed, or wanted . . . or worth anything to anyone.

Yet, when someone tries to tell us we are . . . we can't hear it in them as love, until we can find it first in ourselves. And ironically, even when we think we can give it to other, we will fail until we can give it to ourselves. 

So to find love on this earth we have to first find it from heaven. Because the earthly love that gives us a high for a minute--when it comes in the form of another person or thing . . . can easily be taken from us. 

What are your eternal gifts? Do you believe God created you just the way you are on purpose? Do you see that His masterpiece is unique and beautiful (or handsome for you men)? Do you only believe that when things are going your way . . . or even when you make a mistake?

The cool thing about our Heavenly Father is his infinite love. He loves us no matter what. So why can't we?

The truth that the darkness in this world wants you to avoid is that YOU CAN. 

Trauma, fear, anger, hate. Those lies tell you that you will only be lovable when you are void of them. You can only love yourself when those emotions are not present. 

But the truth is: YOU HAVE INFINITE WORTH

and will be loved forever by God. 

Once we embrace that, our mistakes are less scary. Other peoples words hold no weight, and we no longer take personal another person's issue, even when they try to make it ours. The world looks brighter, because we don't have to worry what hard thing comes our way. It won't change that truth. 

Hard things will come. Most days have a version of them. But hold to that truth. You are not alone. You are not forgotten. And you will always be loved. 

God created each of us with a unique purpose and gifts. Where ever you are, and where ever you have been, has been your journey to find strength inside yourself so when you find your worth it can and will be POWERFUL. 

You are a powerful being, with a warrior spirit fighting to remember truths that have been there all along. A unique beautiful gift to the world. 

Bostyn and Bailey at the talent show

The twins performed this weekend in their school talent show. I am so excited that they share their gift of music in such a unique way. They compiled two of their favorite songs into this duet. I love that even with the microphone malfunction they didn't even break. They make me smile.

No Excuses

A few months ago we had a landscape designer draw out a vision of what we wanted our yard to one day be. She drew up a rough draft and printed out a large copy to go over and discuss different options of layout and plant ideas. We spent hours going over all the choices and picking out exactly what plants I wanted and where. Shawn said he had no opinion and let me take the reins and design the yard how I wanted it to look. Down to the smallest bush I had it all planned out in my mind. She printed out a few copies of the final draft and dropped them off at our house.

Weeks went by and we finally had picked out a few landscapers to get us bids. A few of them asked for the plans and we freely passed them out. A landscaper was hired and he began his work. Flowerbeds were framed and the day finally came that the plants were being installed.

I looked outside to admire their work, but to my surprise none of the plants I had picked out in our final design were anywhere to be found. I freaked. I ran outside and started demanding answers. The landscaper reassured me that he had done exactly what the plans had stated he should do. He grabbed the sheet and started showing me line by line how his purchases matched our design plan.

I looked closer at the paper and there was handwriting all over it. Then it dawned on me . . . he was given the wrong set of plans. Somehow he was handed the designer's first copy of her purposed ideas. Nowhere on his paper were the hours of work and choices I had made. Nowhere on his paper was my plan. 

I began demanding he replant everything and start over. I ran inside and grabbed a fresh copy of the final design to show him how I wanted it. He reassured me he was sorry we had given him the wrong copy, but that he was unable to return the purchased plants and would not be able to redo my yard.

Deflated I ran to my room and into my closet. I sobbed . . . about plants. I fell to my knees and cried out, “Just one time . . . I can’t just have this one plan work out how I designed it? Really. It is just plants. Why can’t they be the ones I had spent all that time and thought on how I wanted them? Why can’t I just catch a break? What was so wrong with my plan?”

I called Shawn and let it rip. I told him of the tragedy that had just taken place and the upset I was raging in. He tried to calm my anger and reassured me that it would be amazing. He told me how excited he was to come home and see how great it was going to be.

I hung up the phone and at first I was ticked that he wasn’t just as mad as me, but as I sat there in my frustration an all-too-well-known feeling entered my heart and I was almost embarrassed I had been sobbing about a few plants. Oh Ashlee . . . you and your plans. When are you going to stop basing your happiness on YOUR plan and just enjoy life as it comes?

I looked around my closet, hoping no one had been hiding in there viewing my big baby fit. The coast was clear—it was just me and my bull headedness to wipe away my sulky tears.

Soon I had let it go. My yard was not going to look like it had in my mind—but I could still be happy. I could choose to look at the new plan as a failure and become bitter about a few plants, or I could let go of my plan and enjoy the one that had become.

Life is full of plans. Each big moment that comes is given a set of expectations on what we perceive it to be. Usually without a thought that it might not be perfect, we almost set ourselves up to fail with an unrealistic view of each one of our moments to go exactly according to the plan we have created in our minds.

And its not just the big days . . . it is every day.

I remember one of those days—Bostyn and Bailey’s baptism (May 2013). Their eighth birthday had just passed and they made the decision to be baptized. It was a beautiful Saturday afternoon. The girls looked amazing. We entered the church early to get them ready— they each had a skip to their step. The few family members we invited began to arrive and the chapel filled with love with each embrace.

Soon it was the girls' turn to go into the baptismal room and step into the water. We had determined that Bailey was to go first—since of course . . . she was six minutes older. She walked into the water on one side of the font—Shawn entered from the other—they met in the middle with a smile.

Soon Bailey was dripping wet from head to toe. I hurried her into the bathroom as to get her dressed quickly so we could go out and watch Bostyn take her turn.

In the middle of zipping up Bailey’s dress I heard the water splash and soon the dressing room door slowly opened—it was Bostyn . . . she was soaking wet. My heart sank. I ran over and knelt down, staring into her big blue eyes. I said, “Bostyn . . . did you . . . already go? I . . . how did I miss it? . . . I thought . . . I thought they were going to wait for Bailey and me to come back out and watch you? They didn’t wait for us? We missed it? How . . . I didn’t . . . I didn’t know. I didn’t know I was going to miss it.  I have no excuse. I just . . . I just didn’t know. I am so sorry. I am so sorry.”

Tears began to well up in her eyes. She cried, “Mom . . . how did you miss it . . . you were right there. I thought . . . we thought . . . you were waiting for me too.  I thought you were watching. You missed it Mom. You missed it.” She threw her wet arms around me and sobbed. She whispered, “You missed it, and so did . . . so did . . . you both missed it.”

I had failed.

I didn’t know what to say. I had missed my daughter’s baptism—her mom, and her twin sister hadn’t been there to see. There was nothing I could do to make it right—nothing I could say to fix what had been done. My heart was broken for my little girl. I felt as though I had given her another loss in her life—I hadn’t protected her like she deserved.

My throat burned and I choked back my emotions. Fears of the past flooded my mind—I was filled with that powerless feeling of not being able to control the disappointments and losses my children would have to face, that vulnerable emotion of realizing I couldn’t control my plan. Her sobs were not just a reminder of how I didn’t watch her get baptized—her tears flashed memories through my mind of the past years that had shown me I would not be enough to prevent her from feeling pain. I felt hopeless and powerless—and like one of the worst parents on the face of the earth.

She was hurting—and it was my fault.

The rest of the day I spent internally feeling sorry for Bostyn . . . and myself. A silent internal pity party was raging, while everyone else celebrated a grand day. I was embarrassed I hadn’t been there for her. A day that was supposed to feel so exciting and joyful started to feel like another epic fail. I smiled for all the pictures, and interacted with all the family . . . but a huge pit in my stomach reminded me of the failure I had been for Bostyn.

It wasn’t until later that evening I was taught a great lesson by my eight-year-old daughter— it was then that I saw the true purpose of that day.

All the other kids were tucked in bed. I walked into Bostyn and Bailey’s room to give them one last kiss and wish them sweet dreams. They were both writing in their new journals. Bostyn set hers on the nightstand and gave me a kiss. I said, “Bostyn, I am . . . I am so . . . so sorry I wasn’t there watching you when you got baptized today. I can’t imagine how that felt for you. I love you and I would have never meant to miss this important choice you made. I am so proud of you and all the wonderful decisions you are making in your life. You are an amazing little girl and I am so sorry I let you down today. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I love you so much.”

Quietly she opened up her journal and handed it to me. I began to read.

Me and Bailey got baptized today. Lots of family came to see us get baptized. I got to wear a beautiful dress. Daddy Shawn baptized me. I love him. When I got baptized mom had already left to help Bailey get dressed. She missed it. She didn’t see me get baptized, and neither did Daddy Emmett. They both missed it. I was really sad it happened that way. I didn’t ever think both of them would miss my baptism. I always thought they would be there. I got lots of gifts today. This journal, a necklace, and a bunch of other things. But the greatest gift I received today was the gift of the Holy Ghost.  What really matters is that Jesus knows I made the right choice and He was there. I don’t have anything to be mad about. I got the greatest gift.

How great it is to behold everything you want your children’s life to hold . . . in one precious little paragraph. The dark fog that had engulfed me all day finally dispersed, and tears of joy fell off my cheeks.

Another moment where my greatest teacher was one who had been sent to me . . . to learn.

No excuses. Just love.

Bostyn had a list of things she could have dwelt on that day. She could have made the choice to be angry at me, at Emmett . . . or at God. But instead she saw the light. She saw the beautiful things that surrounded her—and didn’t hold onto the failures that had tried to bring her down. She pushed away the excuses to be bitter—and became better.

My testimony of many truths grew stronger in that moment—the greatest in my daughter and her evident love for her Heavenly Father and her brother Jesus Christ.

What do we believe? What is it that strengthens us when others might fall? Where do we turn when life gets hard? For some of us it is a TV show, or inspirational quotes. Some turn to exercise or spending money. Some turn to virtual realities, others can’t seem to find life in any reality. Some of us turn towards our families—others run away. Some of us turn to addictions—others fight to be free from them. Some of us get angry and loud—others stop interacting altogether. Some of us turn to another person to give us strength—a spouse’s praise . . . or our mother watching us as we make a big life decision.

Sometimes our search for support leaves us feeling isolated and alone. In those moments of feeling desperate we search for light in any form—even many times grabbing onto darkness disguised as hope. We seek for something to hang on to—because inside we do not feel like we can make it on our own.

I am starting to learn that life isn’t about how much light we can borrow from someone or something else—or our false comfort in our own plan—it is about how much light we can gain for ourselves through God’s plan.

Bostyn was at a crossroad. She could have felt alone. She could have easily felt forgotten or picked on. She could have questioned her decision to get baptized and wondered why Heavenly Father had let her down.

The possibilities for excuses were there—they always are.

Every day is going to present us with some sort of crossroad. Each moment will present us with an excuse, a reason to be the exception, or an easier road. It is up to us—which way we choose to go. God has a plan for each of us . . . but has given us the freedom to choose His way, or our own plan. Either way we will have a final destination, but if our goal is to be with Him in the end—we have to choose Him now.

Just like Satan—if we get too caught up in our own plan—our pride will keep us from the true plan of happiness. It wasn’t the goal of the end result that got Satan to fall . . . it was his love for his own plan. (A temptation he tries to use on me often.) His initial goal was just like ours: to get to live with God forever . . . but because of his stubbornness in his own plan, he gave up the end goal all together.

Our end goal has to be what keeps our faith in HIS plan. Without excuse, and without pride we can, and will, make it through anything even stronger. With a Heavenly brother as our greatest advocate when we pray—and one coming to us as a still small voice to answer our prayers—we can make it through everything we are asked to endure. In the name of Jesus Christ, and through the gift of the Holy Ghost, we can have our own communication with our Heavenly Father. We don’t need any other earthly person, or thing—just a willing heart and an open mind—to receive His divine personal revelations.

This course of testing—we call life—works perfectly for us to prove our eternal love for our Eternal Father. At the end of it all He won’t have to wonder where we belong  . . . because we will have shown Him every day.

So those moments—when you want to run to your closet and scream, “Uncle . . . I give up, I can’t take any more. Can’t I just get one break? Can’t I just have it easy this one time? What is so wrong with MY plan?”—those are the defining moments for each of us. The plan was always for us to be tested often to make sure we remembered Him. It is not because we aren’t grateful or we are unworthy—but because He loves us that much. As we show Him we choose His plan—even when presented with an excuse not to—He sees that we love Him. He loves us so much He gives us opportunities to remember Him and rely on his grace. He loves us enough to make sure we are among the crowd gathered at His feet—praising His plan and the ability it gave us to strive to not only be like Him . . . but to be with Him forever.

Our daily trials—our losses and our pains—are not just to keep us humble . . . they are gifts and opportunities for us to show that we choose grace to get us through. Sometimes we don’t turn to Him until our spiritual crutches are taken away. If Bostyn would have had the day she had always planned, with Emmett and me by her side . . . I honestly don’t believe she would have fought to see what the greatest gift was. It wasn’t until she stood at the crossroad—alone—and choose better over bitter that she could see the true purpose of her baptism day. Without someone else telling her how great her decision was, she was blessed to receive that still small voice telling her it was right. It was then that she was able to receive her own inspiration straight from her Father in Heaven.

When the chips are down, and the sky is dark . . . where are you? Are you searching for the love of man to lift you up, or are you seeking for the grace of Jesus Christ to set you free?  

Life is going to try to bring us down. Take it from a little eight-year-old girl who has lost much—some days will be a reminder of the pain of those failures—but we still have things to be grateful for.  Happiness is ours to CHOOSE. Even with a million excuses—we can use our pain to become better. We don’t have to be bitter. We can choose to remember we are not alone. Even when others let us down, there is One who is pleading for us to remember Him.

I am grateful for a daughter, who despite her many excuses to fall . . . has shown me even more reasons to stand.

Maybe you are running to your closet to cry about plants—maybe you just realized no one was watching when you thought that they would . . . You aren’t alone. We have all been there. But those plants . . . they will be beautiful. That life . . . it will be worth it. Don’t give up. Do not let yourself quit because of a few ugly bushes that look like they came straight from the 70’s. Your plan has not failed . . . it is not over—just different.

Not one of us is living our perfect plan, but each of us can—without exception—live the one that was written for us. No excuses—just a lot of life. Make it count. The greatest gifts aren’t those that come with ease—they are the ones that come when we turn to Him—without excuses—but filled with hope in His plan.  

Stories and thoughts for children grieving: 

Standing Strong Together 

Crack the Walls

During the second week of Bostyn’s hospitalization for her eye infection, she was moved to a different floor. I began to notice that no matter what time of day or night—every time I would walk through the hall to go see her, I would hear a baby screaming in a nearby room. After a few days, I decided to go and ask the nurses if there was anything I could do for the crying baby.

At first, the nurse was very resistant to even talk about the crying child on the other side of the door, but after a few minutes of my persistence, she opened up. “You know, that poor little baby is dying. I can’t give you any details about her condition . . . but it has been the saddest thing I have ever had to watch as a nurse. Her parents are mad at God. They don’t understand why they are being punished, and since they know they are losing her, they hardly come to see her anymore. There is only so much time we can spend with her, and so she cries for her parents all day and all night.”

As I walked to Bostyn’s room, I wondered how a parent could get to that point. How could you remove yourself so far from your suffering child’s pain as to let your own emotions become more important than hers? I decided they had to be surrounded by walls or some sort of barrier that somehow prevented them from seeing their child’s needs. Somewhere along their journey, they had built an imaginary protection to shield themselves from the pain of losing her. Walls of fear or hate. Even at a time when their little baby needed them the most, they had allowed their emotions or their pride to keep them from her. It seemed that somewhere inside of themselves, they truly believed they were punishing God for their trial—but the only one suffering was their already terminally ill baby girl.

Each person who has ever lived has had a completely different experience in life. Some have found ways to trust their world, and others have been given every reason to never let anyone in. In my experiences of suffering intense pain—I have learned to build walls: walls of protection to keep myself safe, walls of hate to keep my heart from getting broken again, and walls of fear to keep all the scary parts of the world out.

People begin building walls around themselves anytime a negative experience teaches them to fear or hate the world. Our physical bodies, mental cognition, and emotional capabilities all play into the building of our “walls.” When we find ourselves in a state of crisis, our physical bodies automatically go into “fight or flight” mode. Our mental state is heightened and everything we feel or see is intensified. Every emotion is more powerful, and every pain is more excruciating. In that split second when all of the powers that make up our existence are on overload, our brains work together with our emotions to build walls of protection around us to ensure that the experience is never duplicated. Our physical bodies react to prevent us from ever again taking the same steps that led us to that pivotal moment of extreme stress.

It is during those times—when our emotional, mental, and physical selves come together to build walls to shield us from future pain—that we learn to block things out. We learn to shut things down, or run from the present to ensure the past is not duplicating itself. Our bodies prepare themselves to fight or to take flight.

And that is where our triggers come into play. If we have had an experience that has caused us to build a wall, and something happens that threatens to duplicate that past experience—triggers fire and our subconscious takes us back to the fight or flight mechanism that occurred during the original situation. Sometimes it is obvious when these walls were built, and other times, we have no clue why or when we constructed them in the first place.

As I faced the task of trying to build a new family at the same time as waiting for a murder trial, it seemed as if I was surrounded by an imaginary structure of walls. It was obvious how some of those walls were built, but I don’t know that I will ever know for sure why others were erected.

However, one thing is for sure—for every reason I found to dig my deep hole of despair and build my massive walls, my family gave me a reason to climb out of the hole and break down the walls. It seemed that on all those days our blended-family misunderstandings occurred, they caused us to build new walls. But after every dark day, we began experiencing simple moments of love and hope, and the purity of those emotions helped us break down our newly-constructed walls.

Then just when I thought I had it all figured out, it seemed as if I’d get thrown a curve ball, or learn a new fact about the criminal case that would drill a new hole inside of me and create a new pain. From where I stood . . . my life seemed complete, and yet—I did not feel whole. But despite my walls of protection, Shawn continued to pull me up on the really dark days.

One afternoon, after I had received a difficult phone call from the detectives telling me about a disturbing piece of information they’d found on Emmett’s computer, I was really struggling.  Walls of fear were shooting up all around me, and as the afternoon progressed, I could feel the darkness of the facts I’d been told surround me. Receiving new information about Emmett’s past didn’t change anything—but it still threatened my ability to move forward with faith toward the future.

Shawn came home early from work that day and told us all to load up into the car. The thought crossed my mind to just go get in bed and send everyone else with him, but I got in and buckled my seatbelt. Nobody knew where we were going. The kids laughed and joked as we drove. I was silent in the front seat, still surrounded by my gloom. I could hear the kids begging Shawn to tell them where we were headed, but he held firm and kept our destination a surprise. I remained quiet, rehearsing the past in my mind, trying to figure out where it had all gone wrong in an effort to prevent any future tragedies.  

Soon the car came to a halt as we pulled up to the most beat up bowling alley I’d ever seen. Shawn looked over at me and said, “Here we are! This is what we ALL need today.”

It didn’t look very promising, but we all piled out of the car. Shawn grabbed Ty’s car seat and I plopped Kaleeya onto my hip. Hand in hand, the big kids marched inside, and with delight, they bowled their little hearts out and laughed their heads off. The kids were so excited to be together playing as a family that it was as if that little run down bowling alley were Disneyland.

At one point, I sat on the bench and just watched. The smiles on their faces and the spirit in their giggles began to break down the wall of fear that had been building up around me all day. The earlier phone conversation began to fade from my mind as I watched my family members smile in joy. At that moment, tears rolled down my face, but they were tears of gratitude. I smiled as I saw my crew come together and laugh. I was grateful for a husband who knew how to play, even when everything around me told me to fight . . . or flee. Shawn knew how to smile and help us step away from the heavy parts of our life. He helped me see that even though I was surrounded by walls, we could break them down together.

For every hole that had been drilled into my heart, I had to find a new way to keep it beating—and sometimes the best medicine was love and laughter.

Despite my irrational internal belief that our life together couldn’t really begin until after the trial, Shawn was determined to start new traditions. I remember our first New Year’s Eve together as if it were yesterday. He had all these grand ideas of what the night would be like. He carried each child’s mattress down the stairs and pulled ours off of our bed, then positioned them around the living room floor for a “camp out.” At first, it just seemed like a ridiculous amount of work and a great big mess, but as the night went on—I began to see the wisdom in his plan. We laughed together until midnight as the New Year began.

I remember holding Shawn’s hand under our blanket and actually experiencing a glimpse of being whole. I remember kissing each child on his or her cheek that night, praying with all my heart that the New Year would bring us peace. My only New Year’s Resolution was to not have any more change. I wished for normalcy to come my way, where the only cares I had were what to make for lunch and what movie to see on date night. I hoped for a year of pure, sweet, tender moments that could remind me over and over again of what I was fighting so hard for.

And boy did I fight! I fought every day to find myself. I prayed every hour not to hate. I cried every night for the answers I still yearned to hear. But more and more, I also prayed for the ability to laugh. I yearned for the power to smile. I fought for the desire that once came naturally—to love. I begged God for the sparkle I used to have in my eye to one day shine brighter than it ever had before.  I begged every night to one day feel whole again, and to have the walls that had come to block my view crumble.

Although my fight to obtain these blessings seemed to never cease, I began to see more of the little glimmers of sunshine as they came into view. I tried hard to let the fun parts of life into my heart. I searched for reasons to smile, even when my heart was breaking.

Walls. Each of us has built them—but building them is not the hard part. The challenge comes when we must break them down. A country is built one city at a time; a city is built street by street; a street is built one house at a time; a house is built wall by wall. Just like a house is built with walls to protect what is inside, we too build walls around us: walls of protection, but also walls of fear, and walls of hate. Some of these walls are necessary for us to progress in life, and yet . . . most of them hold us back from where we really want to be.

All the days of our lives, we will either be building or breaking down these imaginary—and yet very real—barriers. It will be a constant cycle of progression. Some days, pieces of the bricks will fall, and on other days, new bricks will form.

Walls are a protective mechanism to help your soul feel safe, but they can also stop you from truly giving and receiving love. Whatever emotion has created the foundation of your walls, love can crack each brick: loving those around you, loving those who have hurt you, and most importantly loving yourself. As those walls get broken down, piece by piece, you will begin to feel the love of those who believe in you. You will begin to see your worth in this world, and you will be able to feel the love that God has for you. Every day of your life, you can have the gift to see your worth.

I have always wondered what it will be like to grow old and look back on my life. What bricks will I have willingly built around myself, and what walls will I have fought my way through? What will I wish I had done differently, and what will I be glad I didn’t forget?

If you were on your deathbed at this very moment, what would you regret? I don’t think that before dying, many people would wish they had spent more time at work. Most would probably not wish they had taken another trip or made more money to buy another car. I doubt our last words would be about not having built a bigger house or about the boat we never had.

I think most of our regrets will be about our relationships. We will remember the times we failed our loved ones, failed to teach them truth, failed to be there when they needed us, failed to show them they played a part in helping us through some of our hard times, and failed to forgive them for any pains they may have caused us. But I think even more, we will regret the times we failed—or refused—to say we were sorry. We will regret the moments others needed us, but we did not let them in, and the times when the walls we’d built around ourselves prevented us from being who we wanted to be. It’s the relationships in our lives that we will look back upon and wish we could do over—not the “stuff” we did or did not have. We will wish we would have let our loved ones in, and not pushed people away.

We build walls to keep ourselves safe. Abuse or neglect create foundations on which many people construct walls so as to never let anyone get close to them ever again. Physical pain and emotional abuse generate barriers that remain with victims as they try to find a way to survive with the shields they have erected to block out the world. With such walls surrounding us—we are not able to live life to the fullest.

Fear doesn’t have to shut you down. When you have those moments when the walls you’ve built seem to shut everyone else out—pray to your God that He can help you break them down. Ask for His hand to guide you to the freedom you seek from your past.

Forgiveness is the answer to broken hearts. Love is the power that can break down your walls of darkness. Maybe love doesn't change your son’s negative behaviors, but at least, he still knows you care. Maybe finding happiness does not mean your husband comes back to life, or leaves his mistress to come home. Maybe your mother never turns from her selfish ways that made her abandon you during a time of need. Maybe forgiveness doesn't save your marriage, but it can save your soul. Maybe hope doesn't save your baby dying in a hospital bed, but at least her last breaths were spent in your arms.

Sometimes our relationships are part of our test. The loss of a loved one, and their pain bring us times of doubt in ourselves and in God. I believe it is all part of our test—to see where our hearts belong. Is our love for God only apparent when our lives are perfect, or is our faith in Him unconditional, and not based upon what we’ve been given or where we are in life?

We don’t have to shut each other out. We don’t have to flee or fight our way out of our pain. There is a gift given to all of us that can break down those walls. Love, hope, and faith are the foundations upon which our lives can be built. Through the grace of God, all wrongs can be made right. All of our relationships can grow, and all of our walls of fear and hate can erode.

Not all days will be bright, but there is light in each one. Before you build a wall to keep the darkness out, make sure it doesn’t block you from the light. Break the bricks that are forming around you, crumble the towers that are keeping everyone out, and crack the walls of fear that stop you from smiling. Yesterday might have taught you to shut out the world, but today is the day to break through those barriers so the light can be seen.