All I Ever Wanted

It came. The day I had dreaded for almost two years—my turn to take the stand. I don’t remember how I got there that day. Besides Rob, I don’t remember who was sitting in the courtroom watching me. All I remember was gasping for air. When they called my name I had to physically peel myself off my bench and force my body to walk up there. Each step literally felt like I was carrying a thousand pound weight—the weight of my reality. Once those words left my mouth . . . the stories I told were real. All those months pretending like it didn’t happen—over.  

As soon as I found my seat—after holding my hand to the square and promising to tell the whole truth and nothing but it—I was asked to turn around and identify who was in the picture being projected behind me.

The first thought that went through my mind was that this was a trap—they had blown up a picture of Emmett’s body lying on the cold ground, and wanted to show the jury how that image affected me.  The fight or flight mechanism began to send off sirens in my mind.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and felt brave as I glanced toward the picture. And there it was—as tall as the ceiling—one of my favorite pictures ever taken of Emmett and me. Almost in a sigh of relief that it was a picture of his smile—and not his blood—my heart started pounding. My mind slammed me back to the very second that picture had been taken. Emmett had passed the bar. I was barely pregnant with Tytus. Life as I knew it was close to perfect. We were getting ready to go on a date with his mom and step dad in celebration of his success as a new attorney.

I remember thinking as I kissed my kids goodbye and drove to the restaurant that night—This is all I ever wanted.

Tears began to fall as I slammed my mind back into reality—the one where I was sitting on the stand—not as Emmett’s wife—as a victim in a murder trial. I could not hold it together. I don’t remember what they asked me as I tried to get a hold of my emotions. I do remember with each question asked I fought more and more to even find my voice.

The lump only grew larger as the questions rolled on. Like a robot I answered every one— but inside I was beginning another series of grieving the life that had been taken from me. I wanted to scream it from every corner of that courtroom. I wanted to yell and share my pain with anyone who could hear my voice. I wanted to tell Rob everything his gun had done to me. I wanted to let my hurt show.  

But all I was asked were facts—where and when, times and places. The only real emotion that was involved was the ones I was being forced to hide. Rob didn’t look up. Nobody asked how it felt—and in my mind I was sure nobody even cared.

When my time on the stand was over I felt like a puppy that had just gotten beaten up. All the stories of our pain were on the verge of seeping through my skin. Somehow I had built up the day in my mind—when I would take that stand—as a day of ultimate healing. I had envisioned telling the courtroom everything I had ever felt, and in my vision they all cried with me—they all felt for me.

Like a deflated balloon I took my seat. Months of rehearsing silently—felt like a wasted life.

By the time I reached my car that afternoon my deflation had turned into fierce anger. The minute my door slammed my heart gaped open and my empty car heard all the emotions that had not had a voice that day.

It started out as a gentle plea I sang to myself. Quietly I began to speak under my breath, “Nobody cares about you Ashlee. They don’t care that you have spent almost two years as a broken shell of yourself. They don’t care that every time you go to cook a meal for your family you can hardly breath thinking of the past. Nobody cares that you have spent countless hours wiping tears in the night and praying on floors that bad guys won’t come in with a gun. Rob didn’t care about you when he put that gun in his pocket. Kandi didn’t think of you as she was held in his arms. Nobody gives a shit that you thought you were living your dreams.”

By this time I was pulling out of the courthouse parking lot and onto the open roads. The angry under my breath voice gave way to shouts of pain. I screamed at the top of my lungs. Some of the screams were at the gun. Some were at the man. A few even sent Kandi’s way, but most of my anger was at the man in the picture who had abandoned me that night. I spoke louder than I ever had before to a man who wasn’t there. “Emmett . . . that was all I ever wanted. That girl in that picture—she adored you. She had set goals in her life, and she had watched them fall before her feet . . . and she deserved them . . . because she fought every day to make the right choices. She spent her entire life protecting herself so she could be worthy of such blessings. She went to college so she could be smart enough to teach her family. She woke up every morning to be the best gosh damn mother and wife—and she had everything she ever wanted. WHY WASN’T THAT ENOUGH FOR YOU? WHY? She spent her life living to make you happy. She would have gone to the ends of the earth to make you smile. Why weren’t you home fighting for HER? Why wasn’t she the one worth dying for? All I ever wanted was to be normal, to have a normal life. I gave you everything. That girl in that picture thought she had it all. She truly believed that anyone cared. But truth is . . . nobody does. Rob didn’t care about me as he planned your fate. Kandi didn’t give a hell who I was as she pranced around in your arms . . . and YOU . . . If I was enough for you, you wouldn’t have left me that night. You wouldn’t have shared something special with HER, but even more than that . . . you wouldn’t have made me believe I had all I ever wanted. All I ever wanted was you, and our family . . . and to be enough for you. The only dream I had was to be all you ever wanted . . . to be the girl worth dying for.”

I haven’t had many grand dreams in my life. I never thought I would run for mayor, or be the first woman president. I never wanted to invent something, or fly to the moon. Honestly, I never set many goals outside of my home, because I had everything I had ever wanted right in my arms. I never hoped to have a huge career or even work at all. My dream was to be an amazing wife. I always hoped to be an incredible mother—I never wanted to miss a second.

It was hard to embrace the blatant belief that was now mine . . . I was not enough. I truly believed that day that I had lost the only goals I had worked my life to achieve. If I wasn’t even enough for the man I had given my life to—I had failed at everything.

I wasn’t enough for Rob. He knew my name, even wrote me a letter. I wasn’t enough for Kandi—she had sent me presents and cards when Tytus was born, she had shook my hand and said my name. I wasn’t even enough for Emmett. He didn’t die proving to the world how amazing his wife was. He didn’t even die fighting for me. He was shot fighting for someone else.

There hadn’t yet been a day in my life—and there hasn’t been any since—when that lie was drilled any harder into my mind. In that drive home from the courthouse I was consumed with what appeared to be my inadequacy of being—every dream I had ever lost, the evidence of my apparent fail. In an all time low I could not see one ounce of the worth of my soul. I could barely see the worth of my existence. I looked upon my past as if the lies that had broken me defined who I would become.

As I pulled off my exit I knew I had to pull it together. The dark fog had grown so thick around me I could barely spark the desire, but I knew I had to snap out of the fears that were driving me home. I uttered a tender prayer. As I spoke, I burst into tears, this time with the real emotions that had driven my anger. I whispered, “Dear Heavenly Father  . . . I feel so alone. I . . . I  . . . wasn’t enough. Nobody cares what I went through. Nobody knows how I feel. I am alone . . . I can’t feel anything through this pain. I am suffocating. I am . . . I can’t, I can’t breath . . . and nobody cares. I wasn’t enough for him . . . I am not enough for them. I wasn’t enough for anyone. All I ever wanted was for him to adore me. I just wanted to . . . I had it, I had all I ever wanted . . . why wasn’t I enough for him? Why wasn’t my plan enough for YOU?”

I continued to drive, but for once in silence. My car pulled into the driveway and I turned off the ignition and shut the door behind me. I sat quietly in the empty garage. I sighed a few times, hoping to catch my breath. My head fell onto my chair. I pushed the seat back until I could no longer see out the window. The garage light shut off and soon I found myself in the darkness.

Hot tears streamed down onto my neck. Everything inside me hurt. The overwhelming feeling of inadequacy steamed out of each tear that trailed down my face. 

I uttered one last plea, “Why wasn’t I enough for You . . . ?”

The most overwhelming feeling of love and peace flooded into my pitch-black car. In my mind a few words echoed inside of me, “Ashlee . . . maybe you were not enough for any of them . . . but you are enough for ME. I have not left you alone, and I will stand by you forever.”

Life is going to be filled with thousands of moments, and most of them we will have to do a lot of standing on our own . . . but we are never alone.

Maybe we aren’t enough for anyone else, and maybe we have lost all we ever wanted—but that doesn’t take away our worth. We were created to be strong—but even when we aren’t—we are enough for Him. My tears have burned many streams down my face, a gun shattered many holes in my family. I did not know how to see myself when so many others had helped me prove the fear of not being enough to seem so true. But that day even when reality reminded me I wasn’t the one worth dying for—I was blessed to remember someone already had.

All we ever want in this life is to be loved for who we are. Maybe nobody will ever tell you any of the reasons you are worth living for; maybe nobody will ever die fighting for you . . . but Jesus Christ did. He is the reason we are enough—because for all the days we find ourselves standing alone . . . we will look back and see He was with us all along. If all we ever wanted was for someone to believe we are worth dying for, truth is  . . . He did.

Fear with Faith

Tonight after I tucked all the kids in bed Bostyn came running out into the hall. She grabbed on to my hand and pulled me back into the twins' room. She was a little bit shaky and said, “Mom . . . today at school we watched a video about electricity and how if the power lines are down and you get too close to them it can kill you. Bailey and I are sort of freaking out about it and we can’t go to sleep.”

I sat down on their bed and tucked them back into their covers. I wasn’t sure what to say but within seconds these words came to my mind. I said, “Girls . . . I don’t think Heavenly Father gives us knowledge so we can fear. I believe that knowledge is given to us to keep us safe. Heavenly Father wants you to know about the dangers of power lines . . . not so you can be in fear all night—and not so you can be paralyzed in fear when an emergency happens and a power line is down—He wants you to have this knowledge so you can have faith—faith in yourself that if that tragedy were to come up in your life . . . you would know just what to do. I believe that Satan wants us to obtain knowledge so we can fear. He wants you to stay awake all night fearing your new knowledge. He wants you to be so worried that you don’t sleep all night long; then tomorrow you are so tired you don’t enjoy any part of your day . . . and Halloween is no fun at all. He wants you to panic for the rest of your life so much that when one day you come to a fallen power line you are so scared you don’t know how to use your knowledge to keep yourself safe.  I know that this knowledge about the dangers of power lines feels new and unknown—but I think that Heavenly Father sent it to you as a tool to store in the back of your mind for safe keeping. Your new knowledge isn’t to be used right now, because the only use for it right now does not come from God, it is fear. God wants us to use our faith to store that message of safety so one day if we need to bring it out . . . it will be our faith—not our fear—that will help us remember how to keep ourselves safe.”

I have no idea where those words came from inside of me—because I don’t believe they did. The power in my testimony to my daughters tonight about power lines spoke a million words to my own heart. There are so many moments in the past few years that I have taken knowledge and turned it into fear. Even in the little every day information given to me by another person—I have developed a skill to put my fear into motion from the tiniest of “facts”.

Since Emmett’s death especially, I have spent days—sometimes months—thinking that knowledge would bring me faith enough to find the peace I was seeking. Knowledge in itself is a worthy cause, but when that knowledge is coupled with fear . . . the aftermath can be devastating—sometimes just as powerful as the event in which you wanted to obtain more knowledge about in the first place.

The trial for me was that knowledge. I craved the facts; I needed them to live. I never stopped searching for them—and any day that I would take a break from my search . . . the facts would find me. It was as if we were on a hunt for each other—the facts and me—each of us just a step behind one another. Sometimes it was as simple as a nurse in the ER, after getting stitches in Tytus’ finger, pulling me to the side of the building to tell me of some facts she overheard on the night of the murder. Other times it was a random phone call from an unknown caller giving me a tip. Information poured in constantly—but when it didn’t, I searched for it.

Every eye staring my way in the grocery store, was a potential bearer of the truth that I craved; every pretty girl a threat to the marriage I no longer had . . . and worse a trigger of fear in the marriage I was trying to build. I was like a sponge that was drying up, but nothing seemed to make things right inside. No amount of evidence called in by detectives brought me one ounce of the peace I still longed for.

I wanted to know why Rob took a gun.  I wanted to know what was said that night. I craved to see the note that was written to me, that sat on Rob’s front seat as he shot a series of bullets into my husband. I longed to hear the emails. I desired with all my heart to know of the details of the life Emmett was living, while I was rocking his screaming infant in my arms. I wanted to know why Kandi and Emmett were there that night . . . but mainly I wanted to know why I wasn’t enough. I secretly hoped that the trial would be scattered with proof of all the evidence of why Emmett was not choosing me. That way I could piece together in my mind all that I did wrong—so I could change whatever parts of me had not been good enough for him. I hoped that the trial would give me all the parts of my life I did not know—and that knowledge would save me from ever living any of it again.

Each time the trial date was changed, it was like another million pound load was placed upon my shoulders. I waited like a baby bird left alone in his nest. My mouth gapping wide open, thinking of little more than what awaited me. Craving the facts to piece together the broken pieces inside of me.

One day I got a call much different than any I had received. Mediation. Rob had agreed to try to mediate the case. Mediate—like a no fault divorce? You take your truck, I will take ours . . . and we will call it fair . . .? I wanted to throw up, but I agreed. My desire to have the trial over out weighed my need for every nasty detail.

The days leading up to mediation were heavy.  I could not wait to put a face to his mug shot. To me, he was a mystical creature—maybe like a big green hulk—that had come and destroyed my world. I wondered if he even had a heart—maybe he would look like the tin man, who could feel nothing inside.

I hallucinated almost hourly what the mediation would hold. In my mind, I pictured us ending the day in the same room—me screaming and yelling at Rob all of the things I had been through because of his decision. I hoped my words would be given the floor—regardless of anyone’s feelings. I longed to stand in front of the whole room and show them that this “victim” had a voice.

The day of the mediation came. I awoke to an excitement I had never felt before. I was nervous, but even more I was ready to have my voice heard. I had asked my step dad to accompany me to the courthouse. By the time we reached the parking lot I was shaking. The excitement to explode my emotions was like a bomb waiting to go off. My nerves had set in full force. I wasn’t ready to face Rob, but I could not wait.

We were shown our room. Emmett’s parents were both waiting inside with our attorneys. Rob was in a room down the hall. We waited for what seemed like four years before the mediator came to our room. He began to speak. He said something along the lines of, “Well, I appreciate all of you being here today . . . we hope to come to some sort of resolve by the end of the day. I will be going back and forth between the two rooms in hope that we can come to some sort of bargain that we can mediate this case out on. Once I meet with Rob and his attorneys, I will come back in here and discuss with the victims what they are willing to settle with . . . and we will just go back and forth until we reach an agreement.”

My heart dropped. Isn’t this the day when I am no longer just a victim? Isn’t this my time to let it all out . . . and piece together all that was broken by this man?

I couldn’t stop it. I said, “Sir . . . I appreciate you being here and trying to work with all of us. This case . . . is probably just another day on the job for you, but . . . it is a hard one for us. I need you to know something—we . . . we aren’t just victims. I know that your job is to just listen to facts of the case and settle on words . . . but what about us? We are not just victims. I have a picture with me of five of the little “victims” of this case. Is there a time today when you get to see that, or hear about them? They each have names and stories of how this murder affected their lives. So though I am so grateful that you are here to listen to the facts . . . I just . . . I need you to know that this case is not just about facts and victims. It is about people with names, and testimonies of truths that came after the gun. So please, today as you speak with Rob about the hours that lead up to that gun fire . . . please don’t forget us and everything that has happened to us after it—please don’t forget that we are more than just victims in a crime movie . . . we are people and this has been our real life.”

All eyes were on me. Though I didn’t get to tell my stories, it felt good to have a voice. Rob didn’t end up settling on anything that day. I didn’t even get to see his face . . . but for once since he had pulled that trigger I felt like my voice was heard. Maybe not in the way I had anticipated it would be—but that day I showed myself that I did not have to live in fear. I was not a victim. I was a person. Though I still waited silently to find the answers I craved at the trial, I was not afraid of the person who was inside of me.

Fear. It is like an epidemic. Once it settles in us—it is nearly impossible to set it free.

I feared more in those eighteen months—that I waited to break free from the victimhood Rob’s gun had imprisoned me in—than I have in the rest of my entire life combined. Fear robbed me of life. Just like Rob had robbed his victims of the life they once knew, and Emmett of the breath he once took—fear stole my soul from my body every single day.

In one way or another we have all been imprisoned by fear. It drives us to say and do things out of anger. It passively waits silently for us to allow its power to overwhelm our minds. Sometimes in the dark of the night about a truth we have learned—or sometimes in the light of the day about a truth we long to hear.

Just like I testified to my little girls tonight about the power of God, I have whispered to my own heart many times as I was trapped in the plaguing power of fear—He is there. He does not want fear to destroy us. We cannot be exempt from the power of fear, but we can turn it over to God. We can testify to our broken souls that it is through Him we can find faith.

So on those dark nights when fear is caving in—PRAY. Ask Christ to send his grace. Pray for reassurance that the knowledge of this world can strengthen your faith. We will not fear when we are blessed with faith—faith in God; faith in this world; faith in our future . . . and even more—faith in ourselves.

Faith that even when the scores cannot be settled in a day of words; faith that we cannot control the power lines in our lives—but that we can stand tall where ever we are. Faith did not carry me through the mediation day until I realized that I had no need to fear. That moment when I told a room full of people that I wanted to be seen as more than a victim—that was the second I finally did. I saw my strength, for the first time the way God had seen me all along. And I was standing.

Patterns in our soles

This week Kaleeya, Tytus and I were at the pool. The big kids were at school. We were having fun playing in the water and enjoying some one on one time. The pool was empty for a while until another little family showed up. The parents had two young girls and an uncle and grandma with them.  Their kids and mine started to talk to each other. The family was visiting from another state and the girls were six and four. The dad and uncle were in the water with the kids, while the mom and grandma stayed in the shade.  Kaleeya and Tytus got out a few toys to share and they began to play some games together.

Soon Tytus was getting cold and wanted me to come sit on the lounge chairs with him. I left Kaleeya in the shallow end to play with the two sisters. I watched from my chair with Tytus snuggled up close to me.

At one point Kaleeya came over and whispered into my ear, “That dad is very kind.” Then she headed back to into the water. For a second I almost took her comment personal—as if she had just told me that I was not nice. So I became intent with my watching to try to figure out what made him so great.

As I watched, I began to see what made this dad so kind. He was a doormat! His daughters were very bossy and ungrateful for everything he did. He was hopping around like a circus clown trying to make them happy. He was bending over backwards and doing anything they demanded and everything they wanted. “Kind” was an understatement for the patience this man had with his very demanding and degrading daughters.

I could tell Kaleeya was getting sick of being told what to do, and was not impressed with the bossy duo.  Soon she found her way onto my lap. Not long after she sat down, Tytus decided he would take his turn in the ringer—he headed over to play with the girls. I knew he could hold his own, but I started to get a little nervous for him to go into the game of ingratitude that was taking over the pool. This time Kaleeya and I watched from our seat.

I noticed that every time one of the girls would began to get upset, the mom or the grandma would yell something at the dad, saying things like, “Just let her do it!”, “She is talking to you!”, “Listen to her!” As if the dad had no voice, he would just do exactly what the four year old, his mother in law, or his wife was getting mad at him for.

My mind raced back to all the lessons in college psychology classes and books I have read—learning about patterns in a family’s background. I started to overanalyze this young family and the example the grandma and mom had obviously been to these young girls. They had taught them to nitpick and never be grateful for all of the things this father was obviously trying so hard to do for them. It was like the more he tried to show his love—the worse he was treated. I had the diagnosis all mapped out in my mind of all the things they were doing wrong in this scenario. I wanted to sit them down and share my knowledge on how to help their family break the patterns they had passed down from generation to generation, and show them why they needed to change.

Soon the youngest sister was throwing a fit and yelling at Tytus, her uncle, and her dad. She was telling them that they were not passing the ball in the direction that she wanted it passed in their game. The dad and uncle began to apologize to the little four year old, and threw the ball around the circle in the other direction. Soon the ball came to Tytus. He tilted his head to the side, glanced at the four year old, looked over in the opposite direction and threw the ball as hard as he could in the direction she had demanded it could not go.

At first I was proud of my little guy for standing his own with this snotty little ungrateful girl—she had a pattern in her family that obviously needed to be changed. He was showing her exactly what she needed to see. She didn’t rule the world! Not everyone was going to roll over and allow her to be the queen! Somebody was going to have to show her how to break the patterns her mom and grandma had passed down. 

And then it hit me like a ton of bricks—Tytus’ response was learned from the patterns of the bull headed stubburness that were potent in my own family.

My thoughts turned from this imperfect group of people—to my own imperfect crew. I began to think of the many patterns that had streamed through the generations, past and present, and the role that these patterns had played in our own lives.

I sat on that lounge chair with Kaleeya on my lap thinking back over the patterns of my past. Some of my strengths were the qualities that pulled me through some very hard times, but other times those same strengths have been my weaknesses.

I pictured my strong internal drive to have everything pulled together. I have to admit I am a bit of a control freak—but I am not alone in this intense behavior. I come from a long line of control freaks. We like to make sure we know exactly what is going on with each of the eggs in our baskets. We like things to be done the way we like them. We have an opinion about the little things others are doing, and have a tendency to think our way is the easy one.  We like to see ourselves as pretty with it, and on top of things.

So obviously we also have a bad case of denial as well—because when you like to have control over everything—you usually don’t feel like you have control over anything.

One problem with thinking you are the glue that holds everything together—when your world crumbles . . . you will spend a lot of time trying to figure out what it was that you did wrong. It is hard to give up the power, even when things happen out of your control.

I remember at those beginning stages of my marriage to Shawn being plagued with this strength and  weakness of wanting power. I truly believed that if Shawn’s attention wasn’t fully on me, or the things that I thought he should be focusing on—he didn’t love me.  If he didn’t do the thing I suggested he do, he didn’t value me as a person. If he didn't ask my opinion . . . then he didn't care about me as a partner. If he was spending his Saturday washing all of our cars, when I had the expectation that we all went to the park—he must not love me enough to know what I wanted. I felt that he should value my opinion—because in my mind, my ideas were the best. He should read my mind, because if he loved me . . . I wouldn't have to ask. If he cared enough about me, he would just know what he was supposed to do. And since I was so good at pretending that I had it all put together, he should value my very wise opinion. 

Then Shawn had this pattern of believing that if he didn’t give Jordyn his unconditional, undivided attention when she was at our house—she wouldn’t know that she was loved.

At this point in our marriage, we were still far from realizing this pattern of “chase” we would play, and we were too overwhelmed with all that lay ahead to even know where to begin to address it—so we spent a lot of time darting around it and avoiding each other because of it.

In turn, the control freak inside of me began to lose it. I remember one afternoon, after receiving another one of our many “the trial has been postponed again” calls, I was taking Tytus into the doctor for a well check appointment. My pattern of wanting control was at an all time high. The trial date—that had been written in permant marker on my calendar, was not going to happen again; Shawn had spent a whole weekend ignoring me to caress his need to make Jordyn feel like his number one, so he didn’t fear her feeling unloved; and Tytus was having problems with his emotional health and allergic reactions.

My control barometer was in the red zone. I sat in the doctor’s office waiting for our turn, the whole time on the verge of tears. Soon the nurse called us back. We sat quietly in the check up room

—my face was on fire from holding back all of my emotions. Just like many in my family who had gone before me, I tried hard to sweep my emotions under the rug to keep up my perfect front. 

The doctor finally walked into the room. He asked a few questions about Tytus, and did the usual checks. We discussed a few things that we could try for the little guy's reactions and the doctor was about to leave the room. As he reached for the door he turned around, “Ashlee . . . are you . . . are you ok?”

With that permission to share . . . the storm began, I could not keep my tears in any longer, “I  . . . I just can’t do it anymore. They called and changed the date of the trial again, and everything is just so hard . . . I just . . . I think they picked the wrong girl for all of this; I am not strong, not even a little bit. I can’t keep doing this. I feel like I am going crazy. I miss my normal life, where I could just be a mom . . . and do the normal things I once thought I was good at . . . and I just can’t take much more. I try to look like I am strong . . . but I need some help. I don’t know who to ask, or where to turn . . . it is like everyone thinks I am just fine now that I got married . . . like all the sudden I am not broken . . . and I just don’t know how to let go of all the control that I have lost, and I don’t know what I have control over. Everything is just . . . everywhere . . . and I don’t have control over any of it. I couldn’t control Emmett dying, or if he loved me. I can’t control if the trial will ever end . . . or begin for that matter. I am trying to be a wife and mother, but I am just so fractured . . . and I . . . I . . .  I am losing it.”

I am sure he wasn’t expecting all of that when he asked if I was ok. He looked startled and resumed his position in his little rotating seat in front of us—this time I was the patient. “Ashlee, you are doing an amazing job. I know so many people who have been watching you through everything and they tell me about how strong you are, and what a great mom you have been. I can’t imagine all of the stress that is constantly on you through all of this, and the wait . . . I can bet is excruciating. Would it be ok if we had an appointment just for you to see if maybe we can do something to help you through some of this stress?”

Wall of pride . . . NO way, you can’t possibly take medication . . . you have made it this far on your own, you don’t need this. You need to be strong, you need to fight through it. You have control of yourself. You don’t need help. Medication is for the weak, who need help. You are strong . . . you don’t need help . . . you have got this.  The thoughts in my mind tried to talk me out of it, but the peace in my heart knew that he was right. I was going to lose it, and it was ok to get some help.

Within a few days he had prescribed some anti anxiety pills. I only had to stay on them for a few months, but I don’t know what I would have done without them. That pattern of bull headed “I can do anything on my own” attitude maybe got me through a lot of hard things, but it also hurt me. So many times that I needed help, my stubbornness held me back from getting it.

Even as we speak, I have had a sore tooth all summer long. Instead of just going to the dentist and letting them fix it, I have tried to tough it out. Where has that gotten me—absolutely nowhere! My tooth is still killing me, and I didn’t gain anything from waiting, except a summer full of toothaches.

Why are we so set in our ways? Why do so many of the enticements our ancestors struggled with, do we carry on in ourselves? How many times do we get frustrated with our loved ones for a characteristic they portray—when we ourselves do the same thing?

I laughed the other day at the park when Tytus was ticked off about me letting Kaleeya ride her bike around the whole pond. He dragged his feet and whined the whole way because he wanted to run up and down the hill instead of ride around the trail like we had planned. Where did he get such a stubborn control freak arrogance? . . . well he got it from me!  So I am learning to laugh when my kids do something that I probably did a million times to my own mother. They come in their own package, but some of the things our children do that we see as weak—are just some of the strengths we have passed on. Someday those strengths may pull them through something hard; and other times these weaknesses may hold them back.

Every family has patterns that have been set and carried on for years.  Some of these traits are priceless treasures and amazing characteristics, but many are dark emotionally driven fears. What patterns has your family passed down, that are not worth carrying on? I made a list last night of all the patterns I don’t want in my family anymore. Some I saw in my husband or our children—but most of them I found within myself.

Every family is unique and different. Some families are excellent sweepers. Everything is swept under a rug, where they feel it is safe and will never be revealed. Some families are fakers, they pretend everything is perfect on the outside, and then behind closed doors everything explodes. Some families struggle with addictions. Some families struggle with arrogance and pride. Some become doormats and let others walk all over them. Some families have histories of affairs, or gambling or pornography addictions. Some families are sleeve wearers—they tell everyone everything that is going on in their life and in their mind; and then others hold everything inside.

Now I am making the human race sound like a bunch of sheep—like we are all just followers. I know that not all people follow the patterns of their heritage’s past . . . but I believe that is because somewhere the patterns were broken. I think we all have weaknesses that can be passed or carried on in our beliefs and behaviors, but many have learned to overcome or break these patterns.

Our history is not our destiny.

Just because your dad, your grandpa, and your great grandpa died of an alcohol addiction—it doesn’t mean you will. I believe we have a choice. If alcoholism is in your blood—don’t take a sip. If you have already been sucked in by that addiction—get help out. Maybe your mother beat you every day of your childhood—that doesn’t mean you have to become the same kind of abusive parent. Maybe your dad was a yeller—and you hate that you have followed his lead.  You can stop that pattern in yourself! We are never destined for anything. We may feel that the weaknesses passed on from our parents tempt us to join them—but the only way they win . . . is if we lose.

We can chose to follow in footsteps, or we can pattern our own course.

Every trail that has ever been tread had to begin with one person. Some have called these pioneers—the first to adventure from the normal life they once knew, creating a new path. Being a pioneer doesn’t always take a wagon and some oxen. Being the pioneer of your life can mean breaking patterns that were once followed blindly.

Stop chasing the patterns of crazy that came from generations back. You will never have all the control of the things around you, and you will not always feel like the #1. You may never feel like you have it all pulled together, but you can find hope in yourself as you center your desires on making yourself the best you can be. You may not be able to change anyone else, but you can always make a difference inside of yourself. Sometimes that means asking for help, and other times it means figuring it out on your own. Fighting to change a pattern doesn’t always have to be done alone, but sometimes it is when you make shifts on your own that you will find a true change of heart.

One thing is for sure—patterns of behavior were not all intended to be carried on. They may be the tool that is holding you back from the life you want to have. Just like the walls of the past that get triggered to be built, patterns of the past can be broken and changed.

Examine who you want to become, and what behaviors or patterns are keeping you from those goals. And then make a change. Seek for a power much greater than your own to help you find the answers to change the parts of you that are holding YOU back. It is inside of ourselves that we will find the answers to our role in the world. 

“If you really want to understand the social world, if you really want to understand yourself and others, and, beyond that, if you really want to overcome many of the obstacles that prevent you from living your fullest, richest life, you need to understand the influence of the subliminal world that is hidden within each of us.” (pg.189)
Decide Now: The Good Life or The Best Life 

Maybe your walls were built with the patterns from the examples before you, but you can be the pioneer to a new pattern of life. Our heritage of weakness doesn’t have to be what we become. Turn to God to make those weaknesses become strong. He has promised that his grace can heal even our weaknesses, and they can become our strengths.

Believe in Him as your soles find new paths from the ones you once followed before.  Take His hand, and let Him help you remember the worth of your soul . . . for you are great in the sight of God, and even your path matters to Him.

Walk away

Kandi Hall . . . I had met her many times. She had held my baby and apparently been on dates with my son. She had willingly and with perfect knowledge defiled my family. She had slept with my husband. My anger toward her was boiling. There wasn't a day that went by that I didn't stew about what I would say to her if given the chance. Every time I was driving in the car, I would internally rehearse the conversation I would have with her. I knew our paths would cross eventually. It was inevitable. We lived in a fairly small town, and our houses were only a few miles apart. I had many friends tell me they saw her here or there, or that they were in line behind her at the grocery store. It was going to happen . . . and I was going to be prepared. 



Well, that day inevitably came. I craved it like a lion craves its prey. I dreaded it, and yet I needed it to be. I felt it coming every day for a week. Everywhere I went, I could feel her getting closer. I searched stores for her and checked the driver of every car I passed.

Tiffanie called that week and said she was on her way to our house, and that Shawn and I needed to make hotel reservations so she could come and spend time with the kids. In other words, she was kind enough to realize that we needed some newlywed alone time.

It was fun having a weekend to get away and not think about parenting, or any of the daily tasks that occupied so much of our time together . . . or the trial. It was like a two-day-long date, which made up for the months we had hardly been alone for a second.

While on our getaway, Shawn and I were out for lunch, watching the big Boise State football game at THE RAM. We hadn’t been there long and hadn’t even gotten our food yet. I was looking around for a bathroom, and as I turned to look in the other direction . . . there she was. She was walking into the restaurant with a friend. She looked exactly the same as she did the last time I had seen her at Emmett’s office, and she was smiling as if nothing in her life had ever gone wrong.

I flipped around and almost screamed at Shawn, “She’s here!” He looked over his shoulder and let out a few swear words. Both of us huddled down in our chair in shock. I started shaking and hyperventilating. My whole body went cold and limp. I couldn’t breathe. Once again, it felt just like the detectives were sitting on my leather couch telling me the whole story of my husband’s murder. Her, him . . . the affair. My chest stopped working and my heart tried to stop beating.

Shawn rubbed my back as my panic attack took over. I was so light-headed, I thought I was going to pass out. How was this real? As much as I had craved the chance to give her a piece of my mind, how was I going to spew it out if I couldn’t even breathe?

Shawn put his arm around my shoulder and whispered into my ear. Over and over again he said, “It is going to be okay, Ash. Breathe . . . everything is okay. I am right here. I promise I will protect you. Breathe. Please take a breath. Be calm, Ashlee. I am right here. You are okay. Nothing is going to happen to you. Breathe.”

With the help of Shawn’s words, I calmed down enough to take a full breath. I leaned into him and said, “Shawn, I have been waiting for this. I will be right back.” I got up to go confront her and Shawn grabbed my arm. “Ash . . . this isn’t the time. Your anger at Kandi is not going to change anything, and your going over there in this restaurant is NOT going to end well. Please, let’s just leave and forget that we even saw her.”

I looked him in the eyes, my body still shaking. “Shawn,” I replied, “I have been waiting for this opportunity every single day. I have rehearsed in my mind exactly what I’d say. I have been given this chance, and I am not about to let it pass. She has to hear what she has put me through. She needs to hear about the pain my children have endured. She needs to know exactly what I think about her, and about what her selfishness has done to my family. She just got seated across from us in this restaurant, and I’m going to take that as a sign that she needs to hear about all the emotions and pain in my heart. I am not leaving here until every word of it is said today.”

His eyes didn’t leave mine. “Ashlee. I love you. I can’t imagine what you are going through, but I don’t think you should do this. However, I am here for you and I support you.”

I was still trembling, uncertain about what I should do. “Shawn, I am going to go into the bathroom, but I promise you, I’m coming back out and I’m going to let her have it. She deserves this, and I deserve to give it to her.”

I went into the bathroom without her having seen me. I ran into the stall, hoping to let my tears out so I wouldn’t break down in front of Kandi. But no tears came. All I felt was anger. I prayed for the words to say, the words that had been storming around in my mind since the day of the murder. I whispered out loud the pleas of my heart. “Heavenly Father, I know that I need to forgive this woman who has wronged me, and yet . . . my entire body is shaking because of all the hate I feel for her. Because of her, Emmett stepped out on me. Because of her, Father, I was made a widow. Because of her, I have had many sleepless nights, sometimes because of the taps on my shoulder from my children paralyzed by their own fears. Because of this woman, I have felt immeasurable pain and heartache; and because of her . . . Emmett got shot. And today she is here before me, and she needs to be held accountable for all the pain I hold in my heart. This is my chance. This is a gift I’ve been given to let her know of all the wrongs she has done to my family and me. Please give me the words to say and the power to address everything she needs to hear. Please let me have this chance to put her in her place. I need this moment to help me heal. I have craved it every day. She needs to hear the words that have built mountains inside of my heart. Please let me have this moment today.”

In the silence of my bathroom stall, I didn’t receive the peace I thought would come about my proposed plan of action. The only feeling that came to my heart was, “Ashlee BE STILL. She didn’t care then, and anything you say now won’t change a thing. She will not be affected by your pain.”

I almost stomped my foot in rebellion. “No . . . please. I need this! I need to scream and slam things on the table. I need to tell everyone in this restaurant of the heartache she has caused my family. Please. I am going to go out there, and I need to let this out, so I can let it go.”

Nothing. Silence.

I had made up my mind, and regardless of the impressions I’d received . . . I knew I would regret it if I just walked away from her.

So, I marched myself out of the stall. I was not going to let this chance pass me by. This woman had to hear from me about the mess she had made, and I wasn’t about to spare anyone’s feelings, including Shawn’s.

I walked over to her table and our eyes locked. Her friends began to laugh. Kandi had a look of fear on her face, but there was also a defiant look of "you can’t hurt me!" She didn’t say a word. We just continued to stare at each other.

Chills covered me; Shawn said he could see my heart beating in every vein of my body. I have never felt so much fear, sadness, anger, hatred, and pure disgust in my entire life as I felt as I stared at the woman who had not only slept with my husband, but whose husband had shot bullets into the head and heart of my children’s father.

Just staring. A minute went by. Shaking, staring. Just as I felt in the bathroom, I realized that this woman didn't care about me. I felt hopeless as I stared into her eyes and saw nothing in return. Still staring . . . waiting for the words I thought she might say; hoping to release all the pain I held . . . waiting for her words.

Nothing. Silence.

I threw my hands up in the air, and without a word I turned back toward my table. Shawn—patiently waiting and hoping that I would finally take a breath—had our food all boxed up and ready to go. He grabbed the bags and motioned for me to follow him. I did not take my eyes off of Kandi the entire way out of the restaurant. I walked away with all those words I had scripted out in my mind still stored in my heart.

Forgiveness was walking away.

All the words in the world weren’t going to change the past. My forcing her to see my pain was not going to release it from inside of me. I was just going to add one more thing to the list of things I still had to overcome. The last thing I needed was to add something I needed to repent of to my list.

Regret. I knew I had done the right thing, but where were all those words supposed to go? For the next two hours, Shawn drove us around as I screamed out everything I had wanted to say at the top of my lungs. Everything that woman deserved to hear . . . but which wasn’t worth my spouting off in hatred.



Forgiveness for me was walking away. Forgiveness wasn’t going to come to me by making a scene in a restaurant full of people. And though in that moment, it is what I wanted to do almost more than anything, I would have regretted it.

Forgiveness doesn’t come to our hearts through angry words, but it would start to come to me as my Heavenly Father blessed my heart with peace for doing the right thing in that moment when I wanted to carry out my own will. It came through trusting that God had the power to heal my soul. It wasn’t Kandi’s words that would help me find peace; it wasn’t the screaming and yelling I craved to do that would help me let it go. God had the gift to bless me with power from the Heavens in a vulnerable moment when I felt like crumbling and screaming and making sure that woman knew what was in my heart.

I grew a little taller that day, knowing that I had the power . . . not her. She would no longer control my thoughts. I was going to live with a purpose . . . and that was no longer going to be spent searching the town for her. The power I had been giving her had only brought me more heartache. She didn’t own any part of me. That power was going to be for me. That energy was going to be used for good. 



Being able to forgive doesn’t come just from hearing the words “I’m sorry.” Kandi Hall will probably never say those words to me. It is not through her actions that I can forgive her for the pain she has caused in my life. Being able to forgive is a gift from God that we can only receive from Him. As we seek to follow His counsel and rely on His timing, we can feel peace no matter how or by whom we have been wronged. Forgiving is a process and not something we check off a list. We will find a need for its power over and over again. It is not a magic pill or a one-time event. But each time we do it in our Heavenly Father’s timing, we will gain a testimony of its power and feel its healing in every aspect of our lives.

Sometimes forgiving is confronting our fears at the Walgreens parking lot; then other times, it is walking away from something we want more than anything else in the world.

I never knew how much strength I really had inside of me until that moment I walked away. I saw myself as a warrior laying down my weapons of war. I have never lacked knowing exactly what to say when confronted or put on the spot. My weakness has always been knowing when the heck to shut my mouth.

Warriors don’t always fight battles with guns and bombs, or even harsh words. Each one of us has a warrior inside of us. We put on our armor as we leave our homes every day. We know that we may be confronted with a temptation. For some of us, that temptation may be as simple as spouting off our mouths anytime we have an opinion. For others, the temptation might be to remain the shy girl in the corner who never makes a friend, and never sticks up for herself. Some of us are tempted to bully others and put people down; others are tempted to laugh when someone else is the brunt of a joke.

We have all been in these situations. Sometimes we are the top dog, and other times we are the one being shoved in the locker. Wherever you find yourself today, you are not alone. You have mountains to climb in your pain, but also waters to tread in your river of learning to forgive. We all do.

If you are barely keeping your head above water, and waiting for the other person to throw you a life raft . . . stop. There is a life raft already keeping you afloat. You do not need anyone else to help you find peace. Jesus Christ’s atonement is as real for the sinner as it is for the abused. It is our life raft. Whether or not the person who has wronged you ever comes to you with an open heart to ask for forgiveness, you CAN let it go. You do not need their life raft to keep your head above water, and you do not need their “I am sorry” to heal your heart.

In the New Testament (John 8) we read the story about the woman taken in adultery who is brought before Jesus by the scribes and Pharisees. The Savior says to them, “He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her.” Jesus doesn’t look up, but continues drawing in the sand. As the accusers all depart, the woman is left alone on the ground waiting for Jesus to condemn her. He finally turns to her and says, “Where are those thine accusers? Hath no man condemned thee?” The woman looks to him and replies, “No man, Lord.” Then Jesus simply says to her, “Go . . . and sin no more.”

We are all sinners waiting for Christ to forgive us for our sins so that we can let go of them and become better people. And yet, we have also at times been among the accusers, waiting for permission to cast the first stone, unable to forgive those who have wronged us. However, many of us are waiting for someone to come and show us how to let go of our fear, and to trust, love and forgive the sinner. In this parable, Christ didn’t say go and harbor all of your pain and never forget that you messed up. Furthermore, He didn’t send off the accusers with the idea that they should throw stones at this woman every time they saw her. He didn’t ask them to stand above her. He simply reminded them that they, like her, were also imperfect.

That day at the restaurant, the words I had planned to speak would not have been kind, and all my eyes could see was hatred . . . but I chose to walk away.

As we go about this life, sometimes we will be the woman taken in sin. We will be the one waiting with tears in our eyes for someone to still be able to see our worth. We will mess up, and at one time or another, we may lose sight of our goals. Our mistakes may even make waves in the lives of others, or they may just cause us to struggle without impacting anyone.

We will snap at our partners. We will get frustrated with our two-year-olds. We may fight with our fathers, or sneak behind our mothers’ backs. We will say unkind words, we will think degrading thoughts. We may even lie, steal and cheat at times to get what we want.

Whatever it is in your past that has humbled you to your knees, look to the Savior’s encouraging words for hope that even you, in spite of your imperfections, can change the course of your life. “Go and sin no more.” Even if you tripped over your shoes today, tomorrow is a new day. Take one step forward and be a little bit better tomorrow. Today, you may have slid down the mountain of your life, but tomorrow, you can still try to keep working your way up to the top.

It may be words that help you forgive those who have wronged you, or it may be silence that reminds you that you have the power to forgive. Even in the moments when you don’t want to stand tall . . . do it anyway. Sometimes standing tall takes courage, and other times it only takes humility. Walk away.

Go and Sin No More