Can all of us Moms just come together and agree to stop comparing ourselves to others?  And to stop putting others down, just to make ourselves feel a bit better?  Agreed?  Goodness, I remember as a child feeling like I could not wait for adulthood, because being an adult meant no cliques, no ‘mean girls’, no comparisons.  I think we all know I was a delusional child.  High school mean girls don’t hold a candle to what grown women are capable of.  Why do we do this?

I can’t help but think it boils down to the big I word: INSECURITY.  Now as I’ve mentioned before, if you look up ‘insecurity’ in Webster’s Dictionary, my awkward middle school picture is under the definition.  I’m somewhat of an expert on the subject.  I get the low self-esteem thing, I get feeling like you don’t measure up, I get feeling like everyone else out there has it all together except you.  What I don’t get is why some take it out on others.  Why some feel the need to take others down a notch or two so they can hold their heads a bit higher.

Moms are great at this.  Go to any social media site where there’s any discussion of motherhood, and a war of epic proportions will break out at any given time.  Stay at home Mom/working Mom, public school/private school, vaccinate/don’t vaccinate, organic food only/whatever you can afford to feed your kids.  I’m not kidding-you name it, it’s been discussed and taken to the point of “I’m better than you because I do this and you don’t…” on any of these forums.  I make a conscious effort to stay far away from these, even using that blessed ‘hide’ feature, in an effort to control my blood pressure.  It isn’t limited to social media of course, pretty much at any given moment a group of women are together, gossip will be in the air.  Isn’t Mommyhood- or even womanhood- hard enough without us turning on each other?

Of course, our present culture does nothing but fuel this fire.  We are constantly bombarded with the ‘Pinterest perfect’ ideal, and when we fall short-which of course we will because that level of perfection doesn’t exist-we feel like we’re not good enough.  We compare ourselves with so and so, and feel like we’ll never have it together like her. She has the perfect figure, perfect home, perfect husband and children, perfect job, you name it-it’s perfect.  Well…here’s the thing, and take me at my word: you’re that person to someone.

I’m convinced that deep down, we ALL feel insecure.  Obviously, some more than others, but it’s there.  I’ve learned through the years that more often than not, the more ‘perfect’ someone appears, the more insecure they are.  That woman who constantly criticizes others and spreads lies so she appears in a good light?  Truckload of insecurity.

Here’s the thing that I find so freeing and refreshing- our security should rest in Christ ALONE.  As Christians, we are HIS.  He is Who we should be worried about pleasing.  When we make that switch, it’s amazing how the burden is lifted.  When we line up with His will, when we know we have followed His Word, it truly doesn’t matter what else goes on.

This isn’t some rally cry for all Moms to hold hands in a circle and sing “Kumbaya”, as nice as that would be.  I just wish every girl/woman/Mom out there could see herself as the Lord does.  If we did, just think how much heartache we would save ourselves.  How much better our world would be.

Comparison is the thief of joy.  Let’s not allow ourselves to be robbed.

 

“If we had no winter, the spring would not be so pleasant; if we did not sometimes taste of adversity, prosperity would not be so welcome.” -Anne Bradstreet

Mothers know all about seasons of life.  How difficult and endless some can feel, only to look back and realize how fleeting it really was.  I know firsthand just how endless some of those seasons feel- my middle child literally screamed for the first nine months of her life.  This Mama came close to snapping.  I’m on the crazy end of the spectrum as it is, and she nearly knocked me out!  It was the longest year of my life.  However, it’s all kind of faded into memories now and I realize it was just a season.

Motherhood is not glamorous.  Homeschooling certainly isn’t glamorous.  I struggle BIG time with looking for the next season to arrive without enjoying the present.  All I’m really doing is allowing satan to steal my joy.  I read a blog just this morning of a fabulous Mom who is an artist, travels the world, has been featured in both fashion and design magazines, and seemingly has the perfect life.  I had to quit reading because I could literally feel myself becoming more and more envious.  It’s all madness, because I have a wonderful life and I don’t have to look far to see how blessed I am.  It’s just amazing how quickly the grass can look greener somewhere else.

I’m just throwing this out there in an effort to keep it real:  I never in a billion years thought I would homeschool.  I am far from the ‘stereotypical’ homeschool Mom.  My kids are not on a set schedule, I don’t make my own bread, we’re not all natural, we vaccinate, we only have 3 kids, I don’t make my own soap, nor do I even own a denim jumper or skirt.  (before anyone gets offended, I’m saying this tongue in cheek- hence the word ‘stereotypical’.  If you have super long hair and wear a denim jumper- more power to you!)  There are many ways I feel like I don’t fit in with most homeschool Moms.  In my mind- up until a couple of years ago- I truly thought once my kids were of age, I’d happily ship them off to the local school and paint the days away.  That’s why it hit me like a ton of bricks upside the head when the Lord made it clear we were to homeschool.  My little ideas of what my days would hold certainly wouldn’t be for this season.

I see other Moms who work outside the home, juggle multiple children along with all the duties of the household, and do it remarkably well.  My hat is off to them.  I don’t know how they do it, I really, really don’t.  If there’s some secret formula out there that I’m just not privy to, for goodness sakes PLEASE pass it along to me!

Confession: I secretly want a housekeeper.  Not so secretly now, I guess.  Honestly, I’d feel too guilty because what stay at home Mom has a housekeeper?  Turns out plenty do.  I have the inner turmoil of teaching my children responsibilities, being a good steward with money, and thinking how much lower my stress level would be if someone else did the dirty work.

If I could change how anxious a dirty house makes me feel, believe me I would.  There’s no way it’s normal to feel the level of anxiety I do just because the house is messy.  My poor family, bless them.  Other people’s homes don’t make me feel that way, so please don’t cross me off your invite list thinking I’m going to show up ready for an inspection.  I don’t know why I stress about it, it’s not like Southern Living is going to knock on my door and ask for a photo shoot.  It’s the rare days where I just say, “bump it, nothing is getting picked up today”, that the surprise guest shows up.  If you’ve never seen an anxiety attack firsthand, show up on my doorstep unannounced.  I promise I’m trying to get better.  I constantly remind myself that one day, when this season has passed and my kids are older, I will miss the mess.

I recently struggled with wanting to be a travel agent on the side.  That’s one of my dream jobs.  I LOVE to travel, and I’m crazy good at planning.  I prayed and prayed about it.  You know when you pray about something already knowing the Lord is saying ‘not now’, but you keep at it thinking He’ll change His mind?  Is that just me?  I simply don’t have the time with the ages my children are now and homeschooling.  It would be detrimental to the family at this point, as much as I hated to admit it.  And believe me, I hated to admit it.

I struggle with not painting like I want.  I’ve turned down numerous opportunities because of time.  Again, hated to admit it.  The Lord, along with my husband, made it clear that it’s just not meant to be for this season.  It was then that the Lord all but verbally reminded me that I will only have my children here with me for a short time, while the other stuff will always be there waiting when the season is right.

I feel like a horrible mother for not being more thankful for the opportunity I have every day to pour into my children.  Please don’t misunderstand, I’m not trying to throw a pity party and say “woe is me, I sacrifice so much!”  I know how I sound, and I hate it.  I know full well what a privilege and blessing it is that I get to stay home with my children, and most days I enjoy it.  Most days.  It’s the not so enjoyable days where satan creeps in and reminds me of the greener grass.  How much better it will be if the next season would just hurry up and get here.

I think the saying goes, “The days may be long, but the years are short.”  Something like that.  My oldest daughter took great delight in announcing the other day that she only had nine more years of school before she finished high school.  Good grief.  This Mama is on enough meds as it is.  Am I the only Mom out there who plays back things that have happened, wondering if that’s what is going to come up in your child’s future therapy sessions?  Yeah, I’m going out on a limb and saying it’s just me.  Like pretty much anytime I yell at my kids, or they see me cry, I’m mentally tallying up therapy fees.  I feel like I have two main goals for my children: 1) to love and serve the Lord with their whole hearts  2) to not be royally screwed up by their Mom.

So today, I choose to be content in this season the Lord has given me.  Some days it feels like the dead of winter, but my winter is someone else’s spring.  And really, I’m just thankful for God’s grace to get me through it all.

 

 

 

No, this isn’t a post about anything related to Valentine’s Day.  We’re barely into the new year, so my mind isn’t even there yet.  And don’t get me started on the umpteen Valentine displays that have been in stores since before Christmas.  Good grief.

This is more of a follow-up of my most recent post.  The one where I ‘spilled my guts’, as my youngest daughter would say.  I truly had no idea if there would be any response-much less a positive one- so I was rather overwhelmed.  The comments, the texts, not to mention my inbox was flooded for several days.  It was such a blessing and encouragement, as well as confirmation from the Lord that putting it all out there was the right thing to do.  Some walked a similar path as I did with eating disorders, many shared their struggles with anxiety and depression, some shared about addiction, and others just a lack of self-worth.

I think it’s safe to say we ALL struggle with something.  Some of us just struggle more than others.  Male, female, young, old-each of us has that something.

One thing I feel the need to clarify, is that my moment of being on my knees before the Lord where I was released of relapses does not mean I no longer struggle.  I by no means want to give anyone the impression that if you just pray hard enough, you’ll be set free.  Of course, the Lord works in different ways, everyone’s path is different.   I wish I could say ever since that time 10 years ago, my self-image has been great and everything has been just peachy.  If only.  I still spent two out of my three pregnancies standing backwards on the scale at the doctor’s office and nearly had a nervous breakdown the day one doctor inadvertently showed me my weight on my chart.  I still struggle with what I feel is a good weight and size.  I’m pretty sure my metabolism is just flat out screwed up from all my years of messing with my body, that it no longer really knows up from down.  I still struggle with turning to food instead of the Lord.  I have to fight the feelings of control in that area, and realize HE is in control.  I struggle with panic attacks.  I take a pill every night to help with anxiety.  HOWEVER, despite all of this, by the grace of God, I’m not who I was.

I said in my previous post- I refuse to discuss numbers, sizes, methods, details of what all I did- out of fear of triggering anyone or planting ideas. But trust me, I was in a dark place.  Bondage.  And only by God’s grace and love, I am now free with 10 years of no relapses.

I know I post a lot of lovey dovey things about my hubby on social media, and with good reason.  That man has walked through the depths of despair with me.  He has seen me at rock bottom.  He knew when he married me he was getting a boatload of crazy, but that first year rocked us both.  I can truly say I don’t know where I would be without him.  We will be married 11 years this year, and I know without a doubt God has used him to make me a better person.  If he was the type of husband who berated his wife over weight gain, or was particular about her figure, I don’t know that I would still be alive.  I’ve been my thinnest and my thickest with him, and I can honestly say he loved me just the same through it all.  He has made it clear that he only loves the Lord more than he loves me, and I know it’s because of his prayers that I’m where I am today.  I’m so thankful for his godly leadership.  He somehow sees me as the most beautiful thing in the world, and some of our worst fights have been over his frustration of me not seeing what he sees and what he knows the Lord sees.  When you’ve felt like damaged goods for so long, it’s hard to shake that feeling even when the best man on earth is telling you otherwise.

Damaged goods.  Many have shared with me their feelings this week, and that seems to be a common theme.  Maybe some didn’t use those exact words, but it’s between the lines.  Deep down, I hated myself.  I felt so unworthy to really even be around others.  Add to it my life plans failing one right after the other, and I was done.  I remember one counselor telling me that I had to learn to love myself before I could really love anyone else.  He even quoted Mark 12:31, that we’re to love our neighbors as ourselves, and said that he sure wouldn’t want to be my neighbor if I’d love him like I was loving myself.

That stuck with me.

I know in our society, the idea of self-love goes too far and becomes totally selfish, where it’s all about what we want and when we want it.  That’s not what I’m talking about.  I’m talking about truly seeing ourselves as who God created us to be.  We are His workmanship.  We are FAR from damaged goods.

I see so many young girls now that I just want to go up and hug and tell them they are beautiful.  Oh, I know they don’t feel it and think they’re not pretty enough, thin enough, etc. etc., but I just want to assure them they ARE enough.  They’re exactly the way God made them.  It breaks my heart what I see some girls do to get attention, to feel loved, to be fulfilled.  I would have saved myself so much heartache if I’d just realized earlier that Jesus is enough.  HE is all we need.  For too long, my security rested in the approval of others, and I can personally testify what a life-changing perspective it was when my security came from the Lord instead.

Some of the responses I received were how surprised people were, because they thought I ‘had it all together’.  This made me literally laugh out loud.  Have mercy. If I have ever, ever given you the impression I am anything less than a hot mess, I apologize!  Everyone has a story.  As my precious Aunt often says, “You never know what’s behind a smile”.  The world could use more people-especially Christians-keeping it real, at least then we’d know how to pray for each other.  Don’t be afraid to tell your story.  Especially when the Lord tells you it’s time.

Lastly, I need to include what to do if you know someone with an eating disorder, or suspect an eating disorder.  I was asked several times about this, and honestly I feel like the last person on earth who should be giving advice.  I feel like I can offer more of what NOT to do.  I would say first and foremost, don’t be offended if the person is in denial.  Also, don’t be fooled if you ask the person and they just say no.  I can’t think of any situation really where the person will say, “Why yes, I do have an eating disorder!”  I learned very quickly what to say and not to say when talking to people.  I learned how to say just enough where I wasn’t lying and how to be very vague as to not give away too much.  My sweet Dad-bless him-quickly caught on, and knew how to ask very, very specific questions in order to get answers from me.  I will say under no circumstances tell someone you suspect of having an eating disorder to ‘just eat’.  That does nothing, because it’s not about food.  It’s all about control.  And let’s get real, they’re not going to answer you with “Oh okay, I hadn’t thought of that, thanks!”  My personal opinion is that only those closest to the person should try to intervene and get help.  And it should be done with a lot of prayer and guidance from the Lord.

I have been very, very blessed with love in my life, and I don’t take that for granted.  My husband, my children (who could not care any less what Mommy weighs), my parents, extended family, friends, I could go on.  But what is even better is if I had none of that, I would still have the love of my Savior.  Even at my most un-loveable, even when I hated myself and thought I wasn’t worthy of living, HE loved me.

If you’re one that’s currently in the depths of despair, feeling utterly un-loveable, know that the Lord-the One Who spoke the entire universe into existence- loves you more than anything.

You are fearfully and wonderfully made.

 

 

Oh boy.  I knew when I started a blog that this post would have to be written.  It wasn’t a matter of if, but when.  I’ve prayed and prayed since I started just when I should spill it, and this New Year’s Day is the appointed time.  It seems appropriate since this marks ten years since I’ve been in recovery.  Not from what you’re thinking- I wasn’t an alcoholic or a drug addict, although I’ve always said that would be easier to admit than this.  It’s far more socially acceptable to say “I was an alcoholic”.  So everyone…Hi, my name is Ashleigh, and I had an eating disorder.  Everyone all together now, “Hi, Ashleigh!”

Statistically, I should not be where I am today.  Statistically, I should be dead, or at the very least, still in intensive therapy.  I’m not going to go into too many details of numbers, methods, etc, in this post, because of potential triggers.  I know them well.  I know how a seemingly innocent mention of things can cause a relapse, and I refuse for anything I write to cause another to stumble.  I guarantee someone reading this is struggling.  I guarantee someone you know has an eating disorder, whether you realize it or not.  I live in backwoods South Carolina, in as rural a place as one can get,  and I know plenty just in my area.  It is a very secretive disease.  Unless you have walked through it, you cannot understand it.  And be OH SO THANKFUL if you don’t have that understanding.  The best description I can use to give someone a glimpse inside, is pure darkness.  The kind that suffocates you.

I was classified as bulimic with anorexic tendencies.  Statistically, the odds of full recovery are next to nothing.  The longer you’re in it, the less chance you have of full recovery.  I struggled since I was 8 years old.  Yes, 8.  The age of my oldest daughter.  Don’t think that hasn’t hit me like a baseball bat.  As long as I can remember, I have struggled with insecurities.  Many environmental circumstances of my childhood played into that, some of which could not be helped.  I’ve said before I’ve always been a perfectionist, and felt the need to make up for what my handicapped sister could not be.  Many things were beyond my control, we never knew when the next hospitalization or surgery would be, etc. etc., and food eventually became the one thing in my life I felt was within my grasp of control.  This mixed in with hearing some around me constantly criticize their weight or the weight of others.  I joked that someone could have the cure for cancer and there would still be the voice of ‘but if only she could get that extra weight off’.  It became unintentionally ingrained in me that thinness was the equivalent of happiness.  I vividly remember being told when I was eight, that if I didn’t watch how much I was eating, I was going to be fat when I grew up and look like another girl who was big.  I’m sure the person who made that comment was in some twisted way trying to help me, and in no way meant to plant seeds of a lifetime struggle.  Just be very careful what children hear you say.  About them and about yourself.  They’re listening, and you never know how much they will take to heart.  I was the poster child of insecurities.  Someone close to me remarked how my teeth looked when I smiled, so every single school picture of me through middle school is this weird little close-mouthed smile.  It’s probably one of those pictures you’ll see when you look up the definition of ‘insecurity’.

In junior high, I discovered my Mom’s stash of diet pills.  I popped those suckers like candy.  Have I mentioned I also have an addictive personality?  If one is good for you, then 5 is great.  I quickly learned how to make it look like I was eating when I wasn’t, and how to get rid of food.  Bless my Mom, I cannot count how many Lifetime movies I watched about some poor girl with an eating disorder.  All it did was feed me ideas.  That’s what I mean when I say triggering.  Why I won’t get into how much I weighed, or what all I did to myself.  Trust me, it can just feed ideas.  I mostly went under the radar with my eating struggles as a teen, I think because to look at me, I didn’t look ‘sick’.  I wasn’t bone skinny.  That’s what is so deceptive about eating disorders, someone can come across healthy and be deathly sick on the inside.

I was never very good at relationships.  I convinced myself in college that I needed to be in one in order to be happy, so I pretty much spent all four of those years in one relationship or another.  Not just random, casual relationships, the kind where you commit to marry the other.  Why oh why I thought that was a good idea is still beyond me.  Out of respect for others involved, I will simply say that if you ever need advice on how to tell someone hey- you don’t want to marry them after all, call off a wedding, give a ring back, return gifts, I’m your girl.  And that’s all I’ll say about that.  Going from having your life planned out to having it all go up in giant, royal flames is a bit jarring.  That would be the point at which I flipped the switch from under the radar eating disorder to ‘that girl needs some help’.

I vividly remember the darkness.  Not even having the will to live.  Not feeling worthy enough to live.  It wasn’t that the wedding plans didn’t pan out- there was no regret in that area- it was just the feeling of failure.  Failing yet again.  My grand plans not working out.  No one ever wakes up one day and says, “I’m going to have a full-blown eating disorder.”  It’s something that just kind of creeps up- you think you have it completely under control- but before you realize it, it controls you.  Oh satan.  He was very close to me then.  I would verbally vow through tears to the Lord that I would do better.  That I would have a ‘good day’.  And more often than not, I would break that promise by mid-day.  Ironically, the one thing in life I thought I could control, was now controlling me full throttle.  Satan had me.  I discovered new methods.  I discovered new pills.  I will never forget blacking out one night, hitting my head as I fell, scaring my parents to death.  Waking up begging them to not call the ambulance.  Promising to do better, to turn a new leaf.  What I failed to realize was I couldn’t do it on my own.

I had a precious therapist named Peggy.  I adored her.  She brought out things in me I had no clue existed.  I remember the first time she wanted me to attend group therapy at the treatment center.  I could not protest loud enough.  There was no way I was going to sit in there with a bunch of skinny little teenagers.  Well dear Peggy didn’t give me much choice, so next thing I knew, I was marching into the building where they lock the doors behind you.  I remember checking to see if the walls were padded.  I have a sick sense of humor.  I received the shock of my life when I realized I was the youngest in that room!  Instead of a bunch of scrawny teenagers, I was sitting with older, professional women who were struggling just like me.  The one thing that stayed with me to this day is when a girl who in no way, shape or form was religious, looked at me across that room and said, “You know what sticks out to me about you Ashleigh?  You have God’s grace written all over you.”  I was speechless.

I wish I could say that after intensive therapy, I got my act together and was on the road to full recovery.  I did have better days, and instead of a daily relapse, it became more like an every 3 days kind of relapse.  During this time, the Lord saw fit to open the door for me to teach overseas.  Seoul, South Korea, to be exact.  A city I didn’t even know how to pronounce, much less ever thought about visiting.  My therapist was not on board.  I ignored her advice, because I did truly feel the Lord leading.  This is already a ridiculously long blog post, so I won’t go into all the details, but my time in that beautiful country was cut short because I had the mother of all relapses.  Due to the massive ways I was screwing up my body, I brought severe migraines on.  My heart was also starting to do crazy things.  Peggy and the Lord were both right.  The stress of another culture did nothing to help my fragile state, but the Lord did tremendously use that time in my life.

So once again, I felt like a failure.  My plans had again burst into flames.  I had to move back in with my parents.  More failed relationships. I felt like I was at rock bottom.  It was at this point I literally said out loud to the Lord, “I am done!  I stink at making plans, so WHATEVER You want Lord!”  I saw more therapists, really attempting to get it together.  I learned the huge difference between Christian and secular counseling.  The secular ones never failed to remind me that I would forever struggle, that I would never be ‘cured’.  Even one of the Christian therapists gave me the “Well, you know what the statistics say” spill.  I knew the grace of God was more powerful.  One reason that the statistics are so against eating disorders is because unlike alcoholism or drug addiction, you cannot live without food.  I’m by no means downplaying those addictions, as they are serious struggles.  It’s just that instead of having the option of staying away from their demon, the person with the eating disorder is forced to find a way to live with it and have a good relationship with it.

I wish I could say marrying the man of my childhood dreams was my cure.  I was better.  I convinced myself I was cured.  I even spelled out my past to him on one of our first dates, just so he would know what kind of crazy he was getting. He didn’t flinch.  We were engaged within 3 weeks and married 3 months later.  I felt like God’s grace was shining down bright and clear.  But marriage is hard.  Finding out 3 months into that marriage you need surgery in order to stand a chance at having children and you’ll be put into medically-induced menopause for 6 months is harder.  To put it mildly, I relapsed.  God bless my husband.  We were two kids trying to adjust to being married, and he’s having to deal with a crazy menopausal wife who is also in the throes of an eating disorder.  It is only by God’s grace we stayed married that first year.

I came to a crossroads in June of 2006.  My fertility was at stake, my life expectancy was at stake.  I wasn’t just living for me anymore, I had a husband who loved me more than anything, and we desperately wanted children.  I knew enough about eating disorders to know that even when it’s not active, damage has been done, and your heart can still give out- along with a myriad of other things.  I knew it was do or die at that point. I cried out on my face before the Lord and begged for grace and mercy.  What was different about that particular moment, I do not know.  But it was.  It is ONLY by God’s grace I have not relapsed since then.  Hallelujah, those chains were cut loose!  Three pregnancies of gaining huge amounts of weight and it not coming off fast enough, and all the stress of the ups and downs of life, and NO relapse.  Now I’m not saying I haven’t struggled with the mirror at all since then.  I have to consciously walk with the Lord every single day and ask for His help in that specific area.  I know the devil is right there waiting to pounce at any moment of weakness.  I’m so utterly blessed to have no real damage from those years of self-destruction.  My only reminder is lack of tooth enamel.  That stuff just doesn’t repair itself.  Considering what I know I could have to deal with, I’ll take it and count my blessings.

Not long ago I was at the doctor’s office, and the nurse actually asked me to just call my weight out to her over the lab area.  (note to any nurses reading this: don’t do that)  To say a million things ran through my mind in that moment would be an understatement.  I debated pitching a fit, flat out telling her no-she could come see for herself, that I didn’t do numbers.  Truthfully I don’t do numbers.  I rarely get on the scale even now, because I know how easy it is for me to start obsessing and for that number to dictate my mood.  A number isn’t worth that.  But I instead silently prayed for the Lord to give me strength, and I opened my eyes to see the number.  It’s just a number.  I called it out to her.  That was it.  No one blinked.  No one gasped.  No big deal.  Except it was huge for me.  Those ladies in the lab that day have no idea how close I was to running laps around the room singing, “Victory in Jesus”.

I’m trusting the Lord every single day to be a good example to my daughters.  Statistically, their chances of an eating disorder are 70% higher (!) just because of dear ol’ Mommy.  Not to mention the crazy media definition of what is beautiful being thrown at them.  Part of me wants to rock in the corner, biting my nails, worrying myself sick.  But thankfully, I know Who holds the future, and I can put my whole trust in Him to take care of things.  When I feel like criticizing myself, I pray instead, because I know how sensitive those little ears are.  I emphasize health, not size.  I daily pray for wisdom to guide those precious children the Lord entrusted to me.

Why in the world would I share this ridiculously long post about something so personal?  Because I know someone out there needs hope.  Someone is being fed the lie that statistics are stacked against you, that there’s no way out of the darkness.  I’m living proof that God’s grace is stronger than anything else the world throws your way.  I’ve done just about everything I could to mess my life up, and yet God saved me.  He gently redirected me over and over and over.  Never giving up on me.  I’m perfectly imperfect, a crazy mess, and yet He loves me just as I am!  There is Hope.

There is Light in the darkness.