In My Shoes

"In My Shoes"is over. You guys have been amazing and it has been an incredible journey with so many stories of hope, faith, and love.  Thank you for being a part of this whether by visiting, commenting, or writing your very own story.  I've treasured it and will keep these stories in my heart and printed for others to read,  forever!

In My Shoes

"In my shoes" is a weekly series that is updated every Thursday. I hope you enjoy the following post and that like me, you will learn more about a different walk of life, which will help you to love better! We love comments or likes and would love to have you follow this series with us. We have some amazing women and amazing topics to share. If you have something YOU would like to write about, please contact me!


Neuroendocrine Cell Hyperplasia. 


These three words haunted me for three years, and truthfully, they still dance around my head every once in awhile.


When our three–month-old daughter, Amelia, turned blue, doctors thought she acquired RSV. They pumped oxygen through her tiny body, and told us our hospital stay would be short.


Eleven days later, we watched our sixth roommate pack up their precious baby, and head home while we stayed. I seethed with jealousy, why couldn’t it be us?


Our daughter’s health changed, but not for the better. As days passed, she required even more oxygen, and more tests.


And the process of ruling diseases out began. With each vile of blood drawn, I held my breath. With each wire attached I willed organs to be healthy.  The tests revealed nothing. 


On day thirteen, we left the hospital, but without celebration. Tubes clung to our perfect baby, and we quickly learned about liquid oxygen, pulse oximeters, and the loneliness of caring for a chronically ill child.

Less than twenty-four hours later—an ambulance ride, another extended hospital stay, more tests.

I remember comparing our daughter to all of the children we encountered at the hospital. I remember becoming preoccupied with death.


During this time, I refused to pray. I believed in God. I believed in miracles, but the words would not come.

Months later, I read the words of Max Lucado.


There is a window in your heart through which you can see God. Once upon a time that window was clear. Your view of God was crisp. Then suddenly, the window cracked. A pebble broke the window. A pebble of pain. And suddenly God was not so easy to see. The view that had been crisp had changed. You were puzzled. God wouldn’t allow something like this to happen, would he?


Would he? I couldn’t fathom an answer.

I celebrated my birthday in that tiny hospital room. A group of friends came with fake smiles, a store bought cake, and encouragement. They whispered a forced version of “Happy Birthday”, and when they left, I found a slip of cardstock paper with a perfectly written verse. 


Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see. Hebrews 11:1.

I reread that folded piece of cardstock over and over, and as time passed I began carrying it places.  I tucked it in my purse. I pushed it into my pocket. I tucked it in the inside pocket of the diaper bag.
I couldn’t pray, but slowly I began to believe, and my faith began to grow, and slowly the answers became clearer.

The doctors guessed our blue-eyed girl would remain on oxygen for five years. They were wrong. After three and a half years, we were “ox” (as our three-year-old called it) free. The tubes and shots and endless doctors visits were gone, and we were left with a healthy baby, and a better understanding of faith.

Written by Amy Sullivan.

In My Shoes

"In my shoes" is a weekly series that is updated every Thursday. I hope you enjoy the following post and that like me, you will learn more about a different walk of life, which will help you to love better! We love comments or likes and would love to have you follow this series with us. We have some amazing women and amazing topics to share. If you have something YOU would like to write about, please contact me!

Lydia Lee Sullivan died on March 2, 2009. She was my best friend. My partner in crime. My laughing buddy. Bryce’s number ONE girl. She was my mom. 


In September of 2008, my family moved from Houston to Helotes. Prior to that…we had lived no farther than 10 minutes from my mom. I saw her everyday and talked to her no less than 10 times a day. Leaving the comfort of living by my mommy was tough. I had always declared that I would “NEVER LEAVE HOUSTON!” no matter what! I loved it there and leaving was not an option. Plus…I just liked being close to my mom. When the opportunity came for our family to move…for some reason I jumped on it. God placed a very evident peace about the move on my heart. I just knew it was time for us to go. 


One month after we moved…my mom was diagnosed with colon cancer. During this time, our brand new baby was in the hospital (you can read all about that on a previous post). I needed my mom so much. I was always able to depend on her. She helped me with EVERYTHING in my life…and honestly…I flat out didn’t know how to make a decision without her. Do not get me wrong… I didn’t always FOLLOW her advice…but I always needed to know what it was. This time I REALLY needed her, but she could not help me. She was in pain. She was bleeding and tired and on pain pills.

I was mad at her for being sick. How dare she get sick when I needed her the MOST! How could she allow this to happen right now? I was in denial. I told her the doctors were probably wrong. I would quietly (at night safe and cozy in our bed) admit to Justin that I knew my mom was going to die soon. I knew it was coming. But I was not going to believe it. More denial. 


My life around me was flourishing. I was meeting new friends that I connected with in a way that I had never connected with friends EVER. My church family was becoming a greater part of my life. My kids were being loved on by our community. My mothers “grasp” was loosening…and neither of us had anything to do with that.


God was preparing both of us for when she would go. He was teaching me that I could survive without her…he was teaching her that I could survive without her. 


I still talked to her 9868374 times a day. Except for on March 2, 2009. 


I had spent the day with my best friend. I shared so much with her that day. I told her of the agony I had to deal with concerning my moms two other children. I told her how sick my mom was. I told her how dependent I had always been on my mom. It felt so great to share with someone…and she just listened. 


That night…I was getting ready to crawl in bed with Justin when my phone rang. I had been trying to reach my mom for hours…I NEVER went to bed without saying goodnight to her. I was so annoyed when the phone finally rang…I mean…where had she been?! It was not her on the other end…it was a man. A stranger. He said he was Dr. blah blah calling me because Lydia Lee Sullivan had died of a heart attack. I didn’t even ask him any questions. I just hung up the phone…walked to my closet and began packing my suitcase. I stood there crying and asked Justin… “what do you wear to your moms funeral?”


The next few days were a blur. I was so so numb. The horrible things that my moms kids (they are from another marriage) said and did during this time are just too embarrassing to write. They did not help me plan the funeral at all. They had plenty of excuses of course. 


How do you pick out a casket for your mom? They are all stupid and ugly. They are all overpriced. I hated them. A cement box to put my mommy in…no thank you!!! A $5,000 hole in the ground for it? No thank you. Flowers? Who wants flowers at a funeral. Not me. Flowers are pretty…funerals are not. Sad music? No. Hate it. 


I cried and cried over the funeral. What would she have wanted? What would she want to wear? Why did they make her look like that? Why was she so puffy looking? Does she wear shoes? Would she like the way she looked? NO! NO! NO!


I begged and begged God to help me with this. And well…He did. He sent me the most amazing comfort…and I had her cremated. I knew that was not what she wanted…but God let me know that it was OK. He let me know that it really didn’t matter at all. He already had her safe and sound and all this other stuff was a big fat waste. 


I was so glad when it was over. I was so done hugging people I had not seen in years…I was done pretending like I had anything in common with half the people that were there. I was done pretending like it was OK for Justin and my dad (they were no longer married) to pay for it all. I wanted to go HOME. 


I wanted to go to the NEW home that I made with my family. Justin and Bryce and Brody…and ME. I wanted to be with the friends that God had put in my life…just at the right time. Home.


Through this my marriage grew and grew and grew. I had to be a grown up and share my life with my spouse…which is what I should have been doing in the first place.  My faith grew even more. I had to learn to listen to the Lord’s whispers…instead of checking with my mom.  I can now hear the Lord speaking to me and can see Him working in my life. I was too distracted before to know or hear.

Do I really feel that my mom died so that I could FULLY accept the Lord 100% into my life? So that my marriage could become the amazing-ness of what it is? So that I could be the mom and friend that I am? Yeah…I really do.  


I miss her more than anything. It has been almost exactly two years. It seems so much longer. She was so funny and sarcastic and silly. It is weird not to have a mom. Mothers Day is weird. Christmas is weird. Lots of things are just weird. I want to hug her and share my life with her. I want to tell her things and laugh with her. I really want to call her. 


I am not sure how you are “supposed” to grieve. My mom is really the first person that I have ever known to die. I made the choice that I would be happy. I woke up one day about 2 weeks after she died and said “ok life…lets move on!” 


It was hard to do that…I thought I should be sad longer…I thought people would think I was weird if I wasn’t crying everyday still. That is just not the truth. I am not some superwoman or a woman blessed with lots of strength. I begged the Lord for strength…and well…once again He provided. 


He provided in the most delightful little package of Braxton Lee McElhannon. He gave us a new life to celebrate. Brax did NOT replace my mom…but he reminded me of Gods great gifts. It reminded me of the BIG picture. Not just the little tiny picture we have here on earth. This is great…but its NOTHING compared to the party to come! 


My heart breaks when my boys have firsts and my mom is not here to share in the delight. I am hurt that she never even got to see the chubbiest baby that we had. I hate that she doesn’t get to hear Brody’s laugh, see Bryce ride his bike and squeeze Braxton’s cheeks. “She is watching over you” does not comfort me at all. I don’t want her to watch OVER me…I want her real life body to stand NEXT to me. But…it cant. I don’t think that will ever get easier. BUT…God has granted me the comfort to know that it is OK. It will be OK. IT IS REALLY OK! 


There is really just so much more to share about the amazing woman that my mom was. There is so much more to the story before her death and of what transpired after. But this is the meat of it…the important parts (well to me anyways). This is the way that I have found comfort in her not being here. This is how I really know that its OK. And I really really know it is….because God says so.  

Written by Misty McElhannon.  

In My Shoes

"In my shoes" is a weekly series that is updated every Thursday. I hope you enjoy the following post and that like me, you will learn more about a different walk of life, which will help you to love better! We love comments or likes and would love to have you follow this series with us. We have some amazing women and amazing topics to share. If you have something YOU would like to write about, please contact me!



Mindy asked me to share my story about spending most of my life not knowing my biological father.  I am currently 31 years old and we have three young children in our home, which means all of my memories are a little foggy lately.  However, when I really think about it, I only have, at most, a handful of memories of my father.  Let me preface  these memories by sharing that the last time I ever saw the man was when I was seven years old.  So here is a quick recap.

I remember visiting him when he lived in San Antonio, but I only remember laughing and  having fun with him while also being scared and asking him if he took his medicine.  He struggled with a severe chemical imbalance that eventually led to extreme paranoid schizophrenia.

I remember seeing my mom crying as I could hear his voice screaming on the other end of the line.

I remember seeing him literally fight with my stepfather (more about him soon) and kick in a large window which caused glass to fly all over my baby sister Nicki.  Praise God she was miraculously unharmed.

I remember flying on an airplane and the stewardess (that’s what they were called back then) reading to me because I was nervous about flying by myself from San Antonio to Philadelphia.

I remember being in court and having to go into the judges chambers and explain, all by myself, with no leading, why I did not feel safe living with my father.

I remember seeing him at McDonalds in Kerrville, TX for what I did not know would be the last time.

Apparently there was much more to the story that I am thankful I cannot remember.  Like when I was an infant and my Dad literally kidnapped me from my mom in Philadelphia.  I was only returned when he pulled over because he was too drunk and/or high to keep driving and he called 911. 

Some of these experience’s help explain why I am the way that I am, both good and bad.  For example, I am extremely independent and if left alone to my own devices, I would probably spend all of my time alone.  Why?  I could guarantee that way no one else could hurt me. 

That same independence has led me on the other hand to be a leader much my life, not always to my liking I might add.  After all if as a kindergartner you can speak with a judge and help determine where you will live, what can't you do?

At the same time I have some serious trust issues which would make sense from some of the chaos that happened while I was a child, despite my families attempts to keep me safe.

There are days when I am fearful that I do not have what it takes to love my family how I desire, after all, this is where I came from.  Other times I wonder if some of the same chemical issues that haunted my father will work their way into my life.  Will the same thing happen to me, will I and my family be destroyed?  Will my grasp of reality slowly drift away and rob from me the very ones I love and cherish the most?  Will my ability to provide for them physically, emotionally, mentally, and spiritually begin to deteriorate before my very eyes?

None of our lives are easy, and we all have different baggage that takes part in shaping who we are and will become.  Those of you who are children of divorce know that there is plenty of blame and hurt to go around, and normally only a minute portion is actually justified.  Such was the case with me.  The amazing part of my story is that from as long as I can remember, I was blessed to have another father in my life, my stepdad.  In reality he is my father and I am his son, but for the sake of confusion I will refer to him as my stepdad in this setting.

You see the Bible says, "The LORD is near the brokenhearted; he delivers those who are discouraged."  If you are a child of divorce then I know you already know what it is like to be brokenhearted and discouraged.  If not, then I am fairly certain your life experience has led you through hurts and pains, just from a different perspective.  As I child I did not know this verse, or truth, or really anything about God.  All I knew is that I was brokenhearted, scared, and confused.  Little did I know that God truly was near, but in a way I would not understand for well over a decade.

You see God put this man in my life.  My stepdad, if you know our family then you probably know him by the name we call him, “Pop”.  All of my life, Pop, has loved me, even though I am not his flesh and blood, as his flesh and blood.  He has taught me what it is to have strong work ethic and good character.  He spend more hours then I can possibly remember investing in me, teaching me, coaching me, and spending time with me.  Even when he would discipline me, all my memories are of him doing so fairly, although I admit I never once thought it to be fair in the moment.  Even some of my most difficult memories, are him protecting me and the rest of our family from the man that biologically had that right.  He is and always has been a real man, a man's man.  Not concerned about how he looks on the outside but who he is and what his life would stand for.

Many years later as a young teenager I would learn about another father who had been near to me all my life and desired to deliver me from discouragement.  It was not for years after that until I began to understand what it meant to be a follower of this Jesus.  Yet, the more I began to know him,  the more I realized this to be true, "He is a father to the fatherless and an advocate for widows. God rules from his holy palace."  It was not until I truly began to know God, my father, that I began to appreciate all he had blessed me with in Pop. 

For most of my childhood,  I had a deep bitterness toward Pop, I blamed him for not knowing my father.  As a teenager this began to come out in ugly ways.  Time would end up revealing truth which allowed me to stop blaming Pop for things that were never his fault and God would allow me to see how he used Pop as his way of being near to me,  the fatherless. 

As I began to know Jesus better, and my desire to follow him grew, it was always easy for me to see God as a father figure.  It was easy because God gave me a representative on earth in Pop that allowed me to see him more clearly.  Pop was and is not perfect, but all of those wonderful attributes of his are Godly attributes that allowed me to view God for who HE truly is.  My Father, My Prince of Peace, My Lord, My Messiah, My Savior, My Friend, and My Rock.

Why do I share all of this with you today?  Well, if you are old enough to read this, you have most likely experienced the hurts and pains of life that leave us brokenhearted.  To be honest, it kinda sucks, this is the reality of the world we live in.  The great news is that there is one who is a father to all the fatherless, if you are willing to admit that you need a daddy.  Knowing Him might not make your circumstances better, it might not take all your fears away, but knowing Him will allow you to persevere.

Therein lies the next question, why should I persevere?  If you cannot guarantee it will get better, what is the point.  Well, as I shared earlier, I never know if today will be the day I begin hearing voices, seeing people who are not really there, or begin losing a grasp on reality in some other way.  What I do know is the world is full of fatherless children, of children who are brokenhearted, and discouraged.  But as long as God gives me breathe and his spirit is leading me that will not be my children.  Just as Pop showed me glimpses of God throughout my life, so do I seek to do with my children. 

Wait, the challenge does not end there.  My Pop has always been known and loved by his children but many others as well.  You see he is that guy that people ask to keep coaching kids sports teams for years after his children are grown.  He instilled in me another teaching of Jesus, to be leader not by right but by service, a servant leader. 

What children has God placed in your life?  How can He use you to be a part of healing their broken hearts?  Are they in your home?  In your neighborhood?  They are all around, what will they remember, what will they know from your influence?  More brokenness, more disappointment? 

My story begins with baggage, hurt, pain, disappointment, confusion, and who knows the same darkness that plagued my father may fall on me some day.  However, that is out of my control.  I am not a victim of my baggage, I am who I am in part because of my baggage.  God has used my baggage in part to reveal to me His grace and mercy, and all I am certain of is that I have today.  Today to show the brokenhearted around me a little glimpse of the grace and mercy I have found in Jesus.  To show those around me the father who will never leave, the father who will never lose his mind, the father who will never cause you to cry in those silent moments, the father who will never, ever break your heart.

Jason Carlettini.

In My Shoes

"In my shoes" is a weekly series that is updated every Thursday. I hope you enjoy the following post and that like me, you will learn more about a different walk of life, which will help you to love better! We love comments or likes and would love to have you follow this series with us. We have some amazing women and amazing topics to share. If you have something YOU would like to write about, please contact me!

Some say that chronic pain is when the pain exceeds 3-6 months from the onset. Others say that chronic pain is pain that has existed for 12 months. Either way, I qualify.

Many people have suffered physical pain much worse than what I am living with. This is my mountain though. This is a walk I am going through and these are some of the things I am learning.

I see others differently now. Many times in my life I have seen someone in a wheel chair, with a limp, or with some other physical ailment that has made me uncomfortable. There have been more times than I care to admit that because I don't want to stare or make anyone uncomfortable so I just look the other way. Granted, not everyone that is in a wheelchair is in pain, but because I have felt so close to that, or that it really could happen to me as well, I no longer feel uncomfortable around people who are different. Now I see a person inside. I don't see the lady walking with a limp, I see the person who was/is just like me and now, for whatever reason, their body isn't working as it "should." I want to know them and I want to know their stories.  I'm so thankful for this new perspective and comfort that I have now with a whole other group of people.


Since I have been in pain, I have felt closer to God and more dependant on God than I ever have before in my life.  And I don't mean this in a "I'm so holy, I am so close to God and I need Him so much because I'm such a good christian kind of way."  It's more like, "God, you're going to have to help me because otherwise, this pain is going to be the end of me."  Or , "God, I can not do this, please, please, please make me better.  Please help me survive this.  Please take away the pain. Please give me joy. Please help me to LIVE."  He hears those cries.  He hears them just as much as songs of praise.  In fact, scripture says that he is close to the brokenhearted.  I know this now more than I ever have before.  Is it an "ok, everything is wonderful, polly anna type of presense??" No way.  It's a comfort.  It's a bare bones type of knowing that He is near.  It's a knowing in the midst of feeling desperate.  And then the sadness passes and He gives me the strength to keep going.

I have good days, sometimes good weeks.  It's amazing how quickly I go back to forgetting how much I need Him.  It's amazing how quickly I go back to thinking I can do things on my own.  It's in moments like these that I wonder if He's telling me the same thing He told Paul when He said, "my grace is sufficient."  I'm sure God can do more through me if I stay in this place of dependancy, but honestly, sometimes I don't even care about that because I just want the pain to go away.  I feel so horrible saying that, but it's true.

Being in pain keeps me at a place where I KNOW that I am powerless.  I KNOW that everything is out of my control.  Having something in my life that there is absolutely nothing I can do about it to make it go away reminds me constantly that life is out of my control. Obviously, we make decisions and contribute greatly to our lives, I'm not saying that, but I am saying that EVERY good thing we are able to do is a gift FROM our father in heaven.  All of it.  And it all can be taken away in a moment.  We are just grass that withers and flowers that fade.  We are mortals simply granted an opportunity and a chance to live life to the fullest for a season.  And it's passing quickly.

Lastly, I understand more than ever than our bodies are a dwelling place for the holy spirit now more than ever.  I have felt this huge disconnect between my body and my soul through all of this.  It's the strangest thing, but it's like no matter how much I will my physical body,  through my spirit to cooperate, it doesn't listen!  It's just the temple that my spirit, and that the spirit of the holy spirit dwell in.  It isn't "me."  Does that makes sense??  I don't know how else to explain it other than my soul still feels whole and complete, while my body feels "broken."  It's weird.

I wasn't planning on posting about this, but I ended up with an empty spot so there it is!  These are some of the things I have learned walking in these shoes.  I'm curious on what my perspective on this will be in 10 years from now!

Looking forward to hearing about post-partum depression, being a doctor's wife, and losing a parent in the next few weeks.  Thanks for joining us!

Love,

Mindy

In My Shoes

"In my shoes" is a weekly series that is updated every Thursday. I hope you enjoy the following post and that like me, you will learn more about a different walk of life, which will help you to love better! We love comments or likes and would love to have you follow this series with us. We have some amazing women and amazing topics to share. If you have something YOU would like to write about, please contact me!


Once upon a time a man and a woman fell in love and got married.  They had a daughter whom they loved, the daughter was the twinkle in her daddy's eye.  Years went by and this little girl was growing up in a very secure, white picket fence kind of home.  One day, as it always seems to go, whammo, things changed. This girl was not so little anymore and the family that she felt all so secure in was crumbling around her. Dad was out of the picture like that and Mom had new friends around, lots and lots of new people, to this little girl, it all happened the very same moment.  The Dad was humiliated and depressed and so he snuck away quietly, not wanting to see or talk to his daughter.  When she would call and write, it often went unanswered and so the girl soon learned what people were already telling her mother, "Be strong, you don't need a man".  This little girl grew up to be quite a wild teen, doing just about anything she wasn't supposed to, including loose her virginity in middle school. After years of throwing caution to the wind, the girl, age 18 by this time, met a boy that would change everything.  This boy was daring, lived on the edge, he was nothing short of dangerous.  Family of this girl threatened to come get the girl, "you shouldn't be living with him" they said, "he'll hurt you" they said. All this time, the girl thought, this boy loved her, why else would he be so jealous and overprotective? When the girl learned she was pregnant, she panicked.  Playing house wasn't so pretend, she quickly came to a realization that it wasn't just her left she was playing with anymore.  She fled the town she lived w/ this boy to never see him again.  She landed softly in the arms of family, the same family who had told her mother to be strong, a man wasn't needed.  The girl, with cheerleaders all around telling her it was ok, had an abortion.  And that would be the first of two children she would decide to never meet, nor would anyone else on Earth.

What I learned later, was that the family lied, they all lied.   Standing on my own two feet, being independent and strong is entering a wide gate, many pass through and fall on their faces as I did.  The world says it’s good, one more thing completely backwards to God and His ways.   They meant well, my family and I have to still tell myself that they meant well on occasion.  I was treated like I was the victim, what a ridiculous idea but it’s exactly how it was. What I needed was for someone to speak truth to me, for a father to not turn his back on his responsibilities and leave his family in complete shambles, for someone, anyone, to tell me I had a father who would provide if I just trusted Him. 

And then, when I least expected it, I met Him, the love of my life.  John 3:16 tells me that God did so love the world so much that he sacrificed his one and only son for me, yes, even me. I read the words of God, Him coming to Earth as a human, a baby even, to conquer sin in his thirties and to die on a cross for me.  This is wildest story I've ever read and to my surprise, I believe it, every single bit of it.  Who would ever believe that the God who created the universe would come as an infant to save the world?  I couldn’t have thought this up on the highest of highs and it’s true, it’s all completely true.

The lies Planned Parenthood told me years and years ago are the same lies they tell today.  When I think about little faces I never met, giggles I'll never hear, it's all about me and what I missed.  When I think about experiences I stole from them, I realize, even without my beliefs that I don't have the right to take that from someone else.  I just don't.  Women's rights?  What if they were both women?  I won't begin to discuss what should happen if a mother could die in childbirth and the hundreds of scenario's where abortion comes up.  For me, I was a coward, a complete coward who didn't know truth nor did I make any attempt to seek it out.  I believed the garbage that was being told to me because it felt good, a little guilt and shame went away with the feeling that I was the victim. 

I was terrified the first time I went, had no clue about regret or fear of anything other than my own personal comfort and safety.  What I discovered was the rooms of these places were like an outpatient surgery rooms, they were clean, sterile, just like any other hospital and like any other hospital, they were busy with patients.  Both times I’ve gone to a clinic, someone went with me.  I think someone has to go because you can’t drive home, you’re drugged up on something to mellow you out, an escape if you will. The recovery rooms were a bunch of recliners you stayed in until you’re stable, whatever that meant or looked like.  No one spoke, nurses whispered like it wasn’t real if they didn’t use a real voice. When I had my second abortion, the doctor was as ugly to me as any one person has ever been but in a subtle kind of way.  He asked why I was having this, didn’t I know what caused this?  I still wonder about that doctor occasionally, wonder if he’s practicing, wonder if he’s heard about God who came as a baby to save him from his sins too.  I wonder if he’s still bitter and ugly or retired, maybe even dead himself, he was an  older man when I met him many years ago.


The physical side of things in recovery is what one might expect.  Cramping for a few days but that goes away fairly quickly, too quickly.  What is left are emotions and feelings of regret, guilt, shame, heartache along with many others.  I’ve never had any kind of official counseling, no one even knows accept my husband and a few close relatives.  I do have any amazing counselor that ministers to me day and night, whenever I may call on Him.


Things that trigger thoughts and memories are seeing an excited or scared pregnant woman, holding a new born baby, watching my own family, reading a bumper sticker, you name it and something very random may trigger it too.  I don’t think about this often, lately I have as I knew this blog was coming and I’ve had some anxiety about putting these thoughts on paper.  Most of the time, I am thankful, very thankful for what God has done and I focus on that.  Not every time I hold a newborn or see a young pregnant woman do I think of this and I’m grateful for that.

When thoughts and memories come up, I take it to Him who does know all.  He knows every hair on my head, every awful thing I’ve done and He loves me in spite of it all.  When I figured out how to accept His Agape love, I figured out how to let go of the guilt, most of it.  Have I forgiven myself?  I’m not sure I even know what that really means.  Has He forgiven me?  Yes, before I ever knew I was pregnant the first time.

How does someone get over having an abortion, or two in my case?  I haven’t. It’s a part of this worldly life I’m in and it’s not something I think anyone gets over.  Do I hope and think those babies are safe in Heaven? Yes, most definitely.
 

Trusting God's word that nothing, absolutely nothing is too big for Him is hard for people to do, it goes completely against what the world would say and the prince of this world loves our doubt.  No sin is beyond Him, no thought of mine is too ugly for Him and no action of mine is too much for Him to absorb.  Sometimes I wonder, do I really believe that?  And then I put my eyes back on the God who created me and loves me, the God who lives in me and died for me and I know, without fully understanding that yes, I believe it completely because He heals me too.


I think one day God will call me to a ministry where I can help girls and women who may be facing a situation like mine.  I hope I’ll be brave enough to speak truth, gently and boldly and be transparent with my past.  I pray He would use me mightily for His purposes, that this in my past would not be wasted but that God would be glorified in all of it.

Written anonymously by my dear friend. 

Love,

In My Shoes...

"In my shoes" is a weekly series that is updated every Thursday. I hope you enjoy the following post and that like me, you will learn more about a different walk of life, which will help you to love better! We love comments or likes and would love to have you follow this series with us. We have some amazing women and amazing topics to share. If you have something YOU would like to write about, please contact me!

Adoption is defined as:  to choose or take as one's own; make one's own by selection or assent

“It is finished.  From this day forward, Matthew will forever be Matthew Josiah Garrison.  And you will forever and always be his mother and father.  He will have full access to all your inheritance under the Texas State Law.”   Those are some of the very best words I have ever heard in my life.  Judge Montemayor spoke those words to my husband, my son and I on January 9, 2009.  The words were not followed  by applause or cheer, although I was cheering in my head, what followed was just my head and heart sinking into the reality.  

Our journey begins back in 2002 when I married my wonderful husband.  Our journey in marriage has been full and fun and unexpected all along the way.  God has taken our family and built it in the most beautiful way I can imagine.  You see, after 5 years and 3 miscarriages, and the sadness and disappointment and frustration all of that entails, God began to reveal what he had been sewing in to our hearts for years.  He was going to allow us to be blessed by adoption.  We would become parents through adoption.  We had always hoped to adopt, we just had no idea what that meant, or when it would happen….or HOW!  Our oldest, Matthew Josiah was adopted at birth.  

Then, 2 years later, on Matthews second birthday, I gave birth to my daughter Anna Faith, and when she was 10 months old, God brought us a sweet  11 month old boy, Knox Manning, from the foster care system who we are in the process of adopting.  

I get asked this a lot, and I can tell you that in no way at all, do I love my adopted children less…I love all three of them differently because they need different things as they are their own little unique personalities.  But the intensity and the heart is the same.  I know that may seem hard to grasp or maybe even a little unbelievable, but it is true.  I have learned that biology does not equal love, because my kids who are adopted affect my heart and my life in just the way my biological daughter does.  Look back again at the definition of adoption…isn’t that what we do with our biological children too?  We choose to take them as our own!  When I hear people ask me, or my friends who have adopted, if our children, “know their real mom?” or if their siblings are their “real brothers and sisters”, it is so off!  You see, that woman is called their birth mother.  She is important and wonderful, but she is not their Mom.  That little girl I gave birth to is their REAL sister, who they love and protect and throw food at and wrestle with.  It doesn’t offend me when people ask questions like this.  It just feels odd, because at the core of who I am, they are my kids.  God sewed them into my heart and our family with the same intensity and feeling and truth as our biological child.  It truly is a miracle.  

God is so unbelievably faithful.  He is so good…and with 147 million Orphans in the world, he is going to move!  We are so grateful to be part of His moving on their behalf.  As I sit on my couch right now writing this, I glance over my computer screen to a photo of my 3 babies.  I have learned so much about Gods heart for us through adopting my 2 boys, and giving birth to my daughter.  You see, Gods love for us was made perfect in Jesus.  It is through the sacrifice of Jesus that God says he adopts us as His children…into His family.  I don’t know that I would understand the tremendous magnitude of that if I had not walked this road with my boys, and my precious daughter.  It is a wonderful, mysterious and precious journey that has Gods beautiful hands all over it.  

For many reasons, many of us function in this world with an “Orphaned Heart” .  I know I did…and still do sometimes!  I am a major work in progress!  What does that really mean, you ask?!  It means  for all those places in my life where I don’t feel like I belong or that I am claimed or loved or wanted…whether it be in friendships, with family, in ministry, whatever…the fruit of those wounds is hypersensitivity, sadness, insecurity, distrust, etc… The fruit of those wounds is an Orphaned Heart.  Through adoption, God placed my 2 boys firmly in my family.  I am their Mom.  In every sense of the word, all I have is theirs and they are mine.  I know that and feel that at the deepest place in my heart.  My love for my 3 kids is so overwhelming at times.  I am just overcome in the deepest place in my Spirit to get this love I have for them IN to them.  I long to tell them WHO they are and how wonderful they are.  I long to tell them that they have a hope and a future.  I long to tell my boys of their adoption story in a way that will make them feel loved and set apart.  I long to tell them that I love them just because they are…because they are alive and breathing…I love them! Before they could smile at me, or play with me or say, “I love you”, I loved them!  God moved them from an inheritance of pain and poverty and hopelessness to an inheritance of love and peace and wholeness.  Through their adoption, everything is transformed.  What is totally amazing is how God has shown me, through my experience with my boys, how deeply He loves me.  How deeply I am HIS!  How his adoption of me, through Jesus, transforms everything!  You see, if the fruit of an Orphan is a heart that is never filled, never whole, never at rest, in contrast the heart of a Child who is walking in their identity is a heart that is filled to overflowing, made whole in His love and can rest in the fact that they are totally claimed by The King of The Universe, Their Creator.  And that transforms us at the very core of who we are.  God has used adoption in the hearts of my kids and my heart to totally change everything.  We are His, and He is ours!  Just as the judge said at Matthews adoption trial, that he has “full access to all our inheritance..” so do we, as Gods children have full access to all of Gods inheritance.  That means we get access to all that God so desires to pour out on us, simply because he loves us.  Our identity is rooted deeply in Him.  We get to be whole, and healthy and free and loving and at peace.  May we walk in the fullness of His love for us, knowing that He has “taken us as His own”, and that being adopted into Gods family transforms everything.

Written by Courtney Garrison.

In My Shoes...

"In my shoes" is a weekly series that is updated every Thursday. I hope you enjoy the following post and that like me, you will learn more about a different walk of life, which will help you to love better! We love comments or likes and would love to have you follow this series with us. We have some amazing women and amazing topics to share. If you have something YOU would like to write about, please contact me!

They used to say if the Marine Corps wanted you to have a wife; they would have issued you one. Now fortunately for me, this attitude is no longer conveyed- in fact, the opposite is true. Families are celebrated in the Marine Corps and are a recognized asset to the strength and foundation that allows the individual marine to do his job well. A common slogan in our community is, “Marine Wife- Toughest Job in the Corps,” and while I’m not sure this phrase is accurate, I do know this lifestyle is unique in the struggles and challenges it presents.

James at his last promotion ceremony.

I am married to a marine, Gunnery Sergeant James Regan. We live on Marine Corps Base Camp Pendleton in southern California- about half-way in between San Diego and Los Angeles. Our residence on the northern part of the base places us in south Orange County. We live in a beautiful community with gorgeous weather and phenomenal beach access. Living on a base is almost like being in a small city- we have our own neighborhoods, elementary school, gas station, grocery store, community center, and various other resources and conveniences. There is a built-in community network and support system, as military families tend to come together in support of one another. We bond over shared experiences specific to marriage, parenting, and life in general since those outside our community are not always able to fully comprehend the complexities of our lifestyle. 

Heather and James- Summer 2010

My husband, James and I met through my college roommate and best friend, Cyndi. I was a student at Texas Lutheran University in Seguin, TX pursuing a major and future career in social work. James was a former marine and was also taking college courses where he lived in San Antonio. We dated for nearly two years before one of the most horrific tragedies in our nation’s history occurred- the terrorist attacks of September 11, 2001.

In the days that followed the attacks, James contemplated a decision that would change our lives forever. “I have to go back,” he told me. “But I can’t go without you,” he had said. Less than two months later, James reenlisted in the United States Marine Corps and was prepared to immediately deploy to support our nation’s efforts to combat terrorism. We were married on November 9, 2001 in a small chapel service on my college campus. James quickly relocated to Camp Pendleton, CA to join the training efforts of his new infantry unit.

I remained in Texas during this time as I had one more semester of college to complete before receiving my Bachelor’s degree. Initially I had planned to join James in California after my graduation, but we soon learned that he would be deploying in June of 2002, so I opted to remain home with family and friends until he returned in December of that year. I managed to visit James over my spring break in March and quickly realized that I didn’t come home alone! When James returned home from his deployment that December, it was our newborn daughter, Haley Marie that welcomed him home with me.

Individual photo of Haley is from July 2010- Third year at Forest Home

Moving half-way across the country with a two-week-old infant was a bit of a challenge, but James and I were so excited to finally be living together as a family after spending our entire first year of marriage apart. This joy was short-lived, as James’s unit was recalled and sent to Kuwait to await the impending invasion on Iraq. Haley was only six weeks old when her father was deployed again for an indefinite period of time. Communication was severely restricted and we went a solid four months without a letter, an email, or a phone call. To say these days were difficult and stressful is an understatement, but I tried to stay busy and positive until James was finally safely home in May of 2003.

Haley and Jack at the homecoming celebration waiting to see Daddy after a 7 month deployment- August 2009

 The next few years brought an additional eight month long combat deployment and a move to Littleton, CO in 2005. We lived in Colorado for three years where I attended graduate school and earned a Master’s degree in social work. In August of 2007, we welcomed (together this time!) a son, Jackson Adam. Our time in Colorado provided respite from the deployment rotations and long training exercises, but the role James was filling was challenging and he worked long hours, often seven days a week. It proved to be a stressful time for our marriage. As always, we persevered and were excited to return to Camp Pendleton, CA in July of 2008. This was the summer that altered the course of my life.

While waiting for our new home to be ready, we stayed with close friends for a few weeks upon our return to California. During this time, we received a military scholarship opportunity to attend family camp through Forest Home Ministries. Donors of the ministry wished to outreach military families and allow them the affordable opportunity to attend camp while bonding as a family and experiencing God’s word. I remember being slightly apprehensive to attend, as I was unsure what to expect and felt intimidated by the religious environment. I was raised to believe in God and was taught basic Christian principles, but at this time our family did not regularly attend church and I felt inferior by my lack of biblical knowledge.

I had heard of the concept of being “saved” by Jesus, but never truly understood what this meant. At camp, I was welcomed by the staff and the other campers in attendance with warmth and enthusiasm. The worship time and messages presented throughout the week completely inspired me to be a better person, wife, and mother as I knew something was lacking in my life. During this week, I learned that what lacked in my life was my relationship with the Lord. On a quiet night while the energies of camp were winding down for the day, I opened my heart, accepted Jesus as my Savior and vowed to give my life to Him.

Returning home from camp, I felt invigorated at the prospect of beginning my life as a true Christian. Haley attended a VBS themed summer camp at a local church. She had so much fun and parents were invited to the upcoming Sunday services in order to watch the children perform the songs they learned in camp. I stayed for the service and had such an amazing and uplifting experience. I thoroughly enjoyed the worship team and was so interested in the pastor’s message. We began attending the services regularly and I immediately recognized a shift in my perspective- instead of feeling like church attendance was a chore or something we were simply too busy for, the services and worship time became the highlight of my week. The time spent there became something I craved. I eventually became more involved in our church by volunteering in the VBS, Children’s Ministry, and MOPS programs.

Sundays soon became special family time that completely united us. Haley and Jack loved their children’s programs and James and I enjoyed attending services and learning together. This time with one another strengthened us as individuals and strongly solidified us as a couple, despite rocky moments during the course of our marriage. I found that my new perspective gave me a new found appreciation for my husband. He became someone I was more consciously grateful for as I viewed him as a gift to me from God. 

James introducing Jack to our congregation during his Child Dedication. Pacific Coast Church, December 2009

The hardships of our lifestyle soon were overlooked and instead, I realized how truly blessed we were to experience stable income, housing, health insurance, and various other benefits in a time of such economic uncertainty in our country. Incorporating a relationship with the Lord into my life allowed EVERYTHING in my life to change, even when nothing really did. A more appreciative attitude and a changed perspective allowed me to focus and realign my priorities. Being confident in God’s plan for me helped me push anxiety and worry aside as I lived a life in which I had no control- the Marine Corps dictates where my husband works and where we live; we haven’t lived near family or our closest friends for the past eight years. I can now look on this time away as an adventure full of purpose with wisdom and knowledge being gained through these experiences. 

I can more fully appreciate the added dimension to my marriage the deployments create, as the homecomings are extraordinary experiences. The anticipation that builds after being geographically separated for seven or eight months at a time is indescribable. It creates a powerful energy that allows us to celebrate one another and our children in a special way where no one is taken for granted. While the adjustment period can sometimes be a little stressful with routines and habits being readjusted once again, we find a new clarity that allows us to remember what is really important.

Heather and Haley- crazy hair day at VBS, August 2010

When I reflect on the moments when I was having my baby by myself or anxiously waiting to hear about my husband’s status as neighbors of mine were learning that their husbands were never returning home, I am overwhelmed as I realize that God as always been with me- giving me the strength and courage to endure even if I wasn’t always aware of His presence. The realities of a war-time climate have resulted in James deploying once again to Iraq in 2008 as well as his current deployment to Afghanistan- we look forward to welcoming him home in May of this year. The deployments remain challenging and as our children grow older, their experiences evolve as they begin to further understand their father’s absence and the dangers he faces. This dynamic presents new parenting challenges to me as I function as a single-parent raising children with concerns no child should ever have to face. I rely on my faith to get me through these times and find comfort and peace by doing so. 

Jack at Build A Bear Workshop listening to a pre-recorded message from James in his "Daddy Bear"- November 2010

I find myself still relatively early in my journey with the Lord. I still have so much to learn and understand. One thing I am sure of, as God has already shown me- I can do anything with Him by my side. "For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” Jeremiah 29:11 (NIV)

Heather Regan

Thank you, Mindy for inviting me to participate in your blog. I’ve enjoyed reading such uplifting and inspirational stories from all who have shared!