|) Angry With God (|

I remember being asked this question for the first time, "Haven't you ever been angry with God in all of this?" It came completely unexpected, yet I knew my answer right away: "No. I have never been angry with God."

After battling through this migraine day in and day out, among other things over the past year, most questions I have been asked once, twice, three times, and probably a couple more. By now most questions are the same and most answers are as well. I could be asked the same things a thousand times, and never fails to surprise me. Each time it touches my heart when someone asks me something. When they take the time to come up to me, to listen, or offer advice, opinions, thoughts, it means the world to know they care so much. It could be the tenth time I have heard it, but my heart soars with thanksgiving every time. And you never know when something new could come along the path. ;) I never get tired of it.

I had answered the question so quickly, and afterwards I sat dumbfounded as the words began to hit me. Angry with God? It was so foreign. I know it sounds crazy, but that thought had never before crossed my mind! It was kind of odd to think about. It wasn't even in my choices! For never having thought about it I had known the answer so quickly. In everything that has happened anger has very rarely risen up, and anger with God? Never once. Brokenness? Yes. Grief? Yes. Confusion? Yes. Misunderstanding? Yes. Even joy, peace, and comfort, have all been apart of my recent life. Anger? My response was easy, no, I have never been.

As the day went on I couldn't get that question out of my mind. Anger with God…It seemed to make so much sense I suppose. Why shouldn't I be angry with God? I mean surely, in most everybody's eyes; I had reason enough to be angry? More than enough! So, why not be angry with God? I have had my life turned totally upside down, put on hold. I have been in constant pain and trials, at a time when most people my age are living life to the fullest—full of adventure, dreams, ambitions. So many things I held close have been ripped from my grasp. People say, “Don't let yourself hold you back” …But that's just it. They are. I'm physically incapable of reaching dreams I have had since a little girl. But it's not just me anymore; I could blame God. It is God who is holding me back. He has taken so much away from me. He's broken my life. I struggle with shame and disgrace. I see the looks all the time. People don't understand why I can't do things. Why I'm not stronger, better, more capable? Why can't I do it? Why can't I dance! Why is it so hard for me to keep up in school? Why can't I hang out with my friends as much as I use to? Why can't you try harder? I could say, I know. I know who is to blame, God. All of this is God. It's His doing. He's making me live in pain. He's ripping my dreams away. It's all Him. Angry with God! It all makes so much sense all of the sudden. A new question, a new answer, a new way of viewing my life. 
I could be angry with God. 

Could be....I could be. I could choose that, and it would be easy to do.

But I won't. I will not be angry with God. 

Why? When I first began to realize that this migraine was a serious thing, that it probably was not planning on leaving any time soon, I just took the information and kept on going. I was like, "Okay God, I will take what You give me." I prayed for God to take it all away. I went to doctors, but I really wasn't hugely concerned at first. It wasn't until after about the fifth month that I really started to change. It was becoming harder and harder, treatments and medications hurt more and more, and I began to be hindered over and over again. It slowly but surely began to bring me to my knees. It began to break me, and I really began to cry. I really began to cry out to the Lord. I begged Him to bring healing. I begged Him to bring relief and restoration. But I begged Him most to show me. My perspective has never been anger, because my perspective has always had reason to it. Anger comes when you feel like you're losing control, but I knew I never had control. My questioning has never been "Lord, I don't deserve this," even though many people have told me that. It's been, "Lord, You give, and Father, You take away, but everything You do, is for my good. My good, for Your glory. So I ask You to teach me, to grow me, to show me what it is You desire for me to learn." There is always something to learn. Always something to grow from. Always a purpose. 

I cling to the verses in Isaiah, that His ways and His thoughts are higher, and that is where I choose to put my focus. I have chosen to give Him every area of my life. Through a lot of this He has shown me many areas I hadn't truly given Him, and I continue to give it back to Him. I continually chose to give Him everything, including my hopes and my dreams. And as surprising as it may sound, I really do often feel joy, peace, and comfort, because I can look back and see even in the past 14 months how much God has grown me and taught me, one tiny step at a time. This journey has always been Lord's.

When I injured my foot last March I had to learn how to move and walk all over again, yet I believe God was showing me, among other things, a very important visual. God is teaching me how to walk again. It is not, "I want to do this," it is, "what can I do here?"

God has control, and I am to bloom where I am planted.

*Hope* ~ Chronic Illness

And He said to me, "My grace us sufficient for you, for My [strength] is made //perfect// in weakness.

~ 2 Corinthians 12:9

And not only that, but we also glory in tribulations, knowing that tribulation produces perseverance; and perseverance, character; and character, *hope*. Now hope does not disappoint because the love of GOD has been poured out into our hearts by the Holy Spirit who was given to us.

~Romans 5:4-5

I have written this post a thousand and one times, yet I have never found my words adequate. What I would like to share with you is my journey this past year. My hope is to offer all praise and glory to God, and offer encouragement to others who are struggling as well.

As fall has now found it's way to the world around me, I have been filled with both excitement and awe. Autumn is my favorite season. Yet as the date of October, 10th looms closer and closer, my feelings are beginning to become mixed. Will this date be different from the last time? Will it suddenly bring healing as quickly as it brought pain? Or will this day be just as the day before? I suppose now would be a good time to tell you my story.
The Lord started writing a new chapter in my life last year on October 10th, 2014. It has been a very long, endless, chapter, however if He is writing it than no matter the length I have faith in the ending. It was Friday during fall break when my sister and I were busy cleaning the house in preparation for out of town company. Everyone was excited. This was the day my brother was premiering as the star in a near by production. Our family was going to be there to bring him all the support we could. I was in my room as the clock rolled around to noon, and I suddenly found myself feeling unwell. I didn't feel sick, my head just started hurting, quite a bit. My energy level quickly fell as the pain set in. I went to the kitchen to make myself a cup of peppermint tea, hoping that would help. As the cup emptied I found my head untouched. I sat for a few minutes more and then I went back to cleaning. Later that night as the show came to an end I mentioned to Mom how I had been having, what I thought was, a migraine since noon. The next morning I would wake up with it there, the next day would be the same, and the next. Little did I know then this migraine would stay for every second, of every day, for at least the following year. Today as I near the mark of 12 months my heart is grieved at the pain, but thankful, hopeful, and trusting in the future.

Before October of 2014, I only ever remember having one run in with a headache, that being the previous spring. It was miserable, but it only lasted a week, and was quickly gone with allergy medicine. When what we thought was another headache, appeared again we quickly tried allergy medicine, but to no avail. This would spur us into endless other attempts to find relief. We went to a doctor, and another, before being officially diagnosed with a migraine, later a "chronic", "daily" one. My year has held endless attempts to fix what we don't know has gone wrong. I have been on over 50 medications, given blood for the first, second, third, fourth, and fifth time. Each holding a story of it's own. Just for a laugh I'll tell you the first time I gave blood I hyperventilated and was crying so bad I scared every patient in the room giving blood, and they had to close the door to the waiting room trying to keep me from scaring other people. As my Dad, who sat out there, watched people quickly and swiftly get up and leave. I was a little freaked out... The third time was a miracle. I passed out. While in "dreamland" my Mom watched me turn white as a sheet, start choking because I couldn't breath, and watched my blood pressure drop to 60 over 40. Which means I was in the danger zone and freaked everyone around me out again! God is good, HE is so good, and He is so faithful. Now that I am sure I have scared the wits out of anyone who has never given blood, I promise it is survivable and not as scary as I have made it out to be. Just drink water and maybe have something on your stomach. :D Outside of the medications and blood, I have been at the hands of over 20 doctors, a national doctor's conference, tried nearly every herbal and home remedy out there, seen chiropractors, had multiple tests done, including a MRI, MRA, and MRV, (I honestly don't know what those letters stand for...) been in the hospital, been injected with more things than I could count, and yet we still continue to try new things all the time. We are still looking and finding things to be done, ideas to try, and we are still fervently, fervently, praying. I could not describe to you how thankful I am that there still some things to be done, to be tried. Even though many doctor's have turned me away drawing a blank slate, I have some amazing ones now who are still trying. {Hope} That is what I am thankful for.

[Life is not about waiting for the rain to pass...it's about learning to dance in the rain.]

I have had to miss many things this year. I have missed many events, many times with family and friends, holiday traditions, dances, and productions. Grieving my heart the most, I have had to miss many times of worshiping God alongside others. I have had my passion for dancing for God's glory fall through the cracks at my feet. If I could describe what it is like to have a love for something, for a gift the Lord has blessed me with, and then be unable to do it, I would try. But no matter how little I am able to give in that area, I will give everything I can. Everything I have, everything I will be, is the Lord's. If I am disabled in the arms of my Savior, my King, my Father, there is no place I would rather be. His will is what I follow, not my own. If He is writing this story, my fears vanish before the pen. He is my hope, my strength, my help in ever present times of trouble.

I could never say thank you enough for every person who has given me verses, cards, hugs, smiles, and most especially your prayers. You have made such an impact in my life and you have given me tremendous strength. I also want to thank my family, especially Mama, Daddy, my oldest brother, and my grandmother. I would never be able to tell you how much what you say and do means to me. My mother has been beside me at every single appointment, every minute in the hospital, every injection, and every medication. She has prayed scripture over me, read God's word to me, held my hand, sacrificed hours upon hours, and loved me at every moment. Every single person in my family has made huge, huge, sacrifices on my behalf and they have faithfully been there every step of the way. They have been the ones to hold my arms up when I my strength falters. I am so thankful for everyone who has ministered to me and given their time and prayers on my behalf.      

My goal everyday, every minute, of this illness is to give the glory to God. My desire is that when people look at my life, they will see Him. When others look at my heart, they see His. I want my heart to look like His heart. May my words never fail to give Him all of the glory and honor. My God is so good. - You are a good, good Father. Your love never fails. - I also want to share my story to encourage those who find themselves, in a similar situation, or just in need of the reminder that God is with you. He will carry you through this by faith. He does love you. He will give you strength. No matter how hard it gets, how bad it hurts, keep persevering. Keep fighting the good fight. The Lord will use you every step of the way if you allow Him. Dedicate all of you to Him. He is with you always. He is for you, not against you. He loves you, and He has a plan. Be Courageous. Trust. Hope. Have Faith.

"Never be afraid to trust an unknown future to a known God."

~ Corrie Ten Boom

God of Miracles

My God is a God of miracles.

After reading the last few posts I have written, you are well acquainted with a good portion of my past history, struggles, and joys. Before I go any further however I want to dwell on the the power of the Lord. I hope this will encourage you today in whatever trails, or whatever bliss you face.

As a child my faith was new and I believed anything anyone would tell or show me. Sometimes I miss that naive, vulnerable, faith, sometimes I see the benefit in grown wisdom. Thus I strive to put into action both.

Faith like a child: 

"Then he said, 'I tell you the truth, unless you turn from your sins and become like little children, you will never enter into the Kingdom of Heaven." (Matthew 18:3)

Wisdom like the aged: 

"Is not wisdom found among the aged? Does not long life bring understanding?" (Job 12:12)

Throughout the days I have been present on this earth I have experienced countless works of the Lord. Living by faith, I continually see His hand in movement, and with knowledge I can discern the truths behind His hand.

The first time I remember really seeing a work of His was at the age of four. I had just been blessed with a beautiful baby sister, and my aunt was due in a few more months. As my birthday grew closer my excitement rose. I prayed that her little baby would be born on my birthday. That may sound like an incredible unimportant prayer, but I have learned nothing is too big, nor too small for the Lord. This was a request from my heart. I remember my parents getting the call on August 2nd, that my aunt was in labor. I started praying hard. Looking back I wonder at that prayer. The incredibility of little four year old me knowing the depth to even pray, begs the evidence of a greater Creator. I prayed fervently that this little baby would be born the next day on my birthday. Thirteen years later, David Pate Anglin, and I will celebrate our birthday together. Each year I remember that prayer. Each year I am blessed at the immense reminder that my God does answer prayers.

A Christmas miracle was the next work that stands out in my mind. Christmas is for many the best time of the year. Children count down the weeks until the celebration of Jesus' birth. The day of unwrapping gifts, singing carols, and reading the Christmas story. For those without money however, it is not a day that is looked forward to. It is a day dreaded for parents wanting to give their children everything, but having nothing. That is where we found ourselves in the winter of 2005.

My dad had found himself out of work for a while. He tried to pick up remolding jobs where he could, but his unemployment was going on three years. Financial problems were always looming during that time, and this year seemed worse then before. My parents made sure we were taken care of materially, as much as they could, and spiritually, with our walks with the Lord. At the age I was then I was concerned only with school, toys, and of course Christmas! I paid no attention to the disappearing food, or how the smell of fresh baked bread no longer filled our home.

The first time reality crashed in, was when the house my dad had been working at was broken into and all of his tools were stolen. This loss cost us over $1,500. It was a devastating hit. We trusted the Lord and prayed His will would be done, but I know this was a curve ball my parents would have rather missed. A few days later however a check came in the mail covering nearly all of Dad's losses. We had told no one, but God knew and He had seen to our provision.

As weeks until Christmas turned to mere days we still faced a dwindling pantry. In fact it was completely empty. What changed everything happened on a regular school day. Being young, I had an attention span of, well nothing. I was easily side tracked and as Mom kept instructing, I began to pay more and more attention to what was going on outside the schoolroom rather than within. Our schoolroom window overlooked the street and I began to notice a red truck driving by slowly. The truck did this several more times, and I was now not the only one whose focus was on the truck instead of Mom. My two older brothers and little sister were now watching it as well. My mother finally followed suite. We all crowded around the window to watch it drive by a few more times then proceed to pull into our driveway. Mom quickly called Dad who was home that day. We all followed Dad and Mom outside to offer a bombard of welcomes to this new stranger.

Out of the shiny, red, pick-up truck came a smiling, large, middle-aged, man with a white beard. He was in no costume but he looked uncannily like Santa Clause. He asked what our address was, and must have liked what we said, for he motioned us to the back of his truck, lifted off the cover, and there covering his entire bed were overflowing groceries! God had sent us an angel. We all began to unload and search through this plunder. He had bought exactly the same brands we used to get. He brought us Krispy Kreme doughnuts, just like my recently passed great-grandfather had brought with every visit. Yet the most amazing thing was when he pulled a huge barrel of wheat berries out. They were the exact same kind my mother used to make her bread. To understand the severity of what this meant, you must know that the only way to get this wheat was to order it online. This man had pre-ordered it for us. He told us God had told Him to give all of these things to us. My mom and dad began telling him the difficulties we had been having, and what this meant to us. As tears streamed down my mother's face we all thanked him. He would forever become known as our "Santa Clause."

Looking back I am brought to tears at not only the miracle of God's power, but the willingness of this man to listen to the Lord's voice, despite the oddity of it. Ever since that day I have been learning to pray boldly and believed with all my heart. Not that God is some fairy godmother who grants all wishes, but that He is my Father and He truly does love and love to care for His children. He cares for His sheep. He sent His son as the greatest miracle 2,000 years ago. God has offered to us the bread of life in which we will never grow hungry. I notice His hand often now and I try to listen to His voice, despite how absurd or unusual what He may ask seems to me. I know that He cares, that He loves us, and that His ways our higher then our own. He may allow us to walk through many difficult trails but He will never, ever, leave us nor forsake us.

Give Me // Your // Eyes ~ Anorexia

This is the hardest post I have ever written. I did not want to write it. In fact, I never wanted to write it because I never wanted it to happen, but it did and now, with the strength and grace of God, I am. 

We had never been so overjoyed then when my mother was healed. I don't think I could ever thank God enough that He chose to deliver her back to full, abundant, health. I have a wonderful relationship with her now and I love her very, very much. She is my role model. However, it did take a long time to get to where we are now. I always loved her, and I always will, but when she was first healed we butt heads and clashed all the time. I had been the caretaker of our little family for five years. When she came home she took over her rightful position. I was no longer needed to fill that position anymore. I was 14 and I had found out who I was and where I belonged. I was the cook, the cleaner, the encourager, the mother, the keeper of our little family beside my dad. In the blink of an eye, I was no longer that person, my mom was once again. I struggled deeply. I had to restart those years I had spent "finding myself." I was forced day after day to learn to become something I thought I was not. 

I threw off the life I had lived those five years, happy to forget the trial, but now I wanted to know who I was. Who was I? I had a mission for years, every day I woke up with armor on sword drawn, but there was no battle to fight anymore. When I looked at myself I only found flaws. I wanted validation. I wanted a place, confirmation that I was enough. "Love me!" My heart screamed, "Tell me I'm enough please," but it would be years before I would realize who had been telling me that all along. I no longer knew who I was in my family, with my friends, or even by myself. I looked for validation in the eyes of others and knew I came up lacking. I was not enough. I was not pretty enough. I wanted people to like me, but I only became disappointed. Why should they?  

I threw myself into dance. The one thing I thought had not and would never change in my life. I danced, but the more I threw myself, the more I fell short. I was not skilled enough. I was not talented enough. I was not thin enough. Three months before I did not even know what the word "fat" was, but now I knew it all too well. It raced around my head on repeat. The lengthy, bottomless pit, adolescent I had been, had filled out, a litlle too much in my mind.

At first, I tried to do things properly, to eat healthier, exercise more. I tried, but after a while I just became frustrated, it was not quick enough. Dress code in ballet changed and my image became the center of attention. It was the only thing at the barre that I saw when I looked in the mirror. It became of the utmost importance to me. I did what you probably could have guessed was coming. I stopped eating. At first, it was just one day a week, then I added one less meal, then one more, until I was swallowed up in a vicious cycle. As a disease does it spread and it took over. Day and night it controlled my thoughts. I did not want to admit I had a problem, but I did, and I did know it.

My desire to become accepted by others became a desire to become accepted by myself. I looked in the mirror and I hated who I saw. I got thinner and thinner, and yet still I saw something that needed to be changed. I got the compliments I had yearned for. People looked at me and envied me. The more looks, the more compliments, the more it fed my fire. This is what they had wanted to see, wasn't it? I had finally become who I wanted in the eyes of others, but I still did not meet my own approval. I pushed on. I no longer had real thoughts. I lost all except, "thinner = beauty = do not eat." It had consumed me from the very second I choose to skip that first meal. I lived to die. My skin changed color, my hair started falling out, my nails were brittle and chipping off, I was always cold, and I had no strength. Worst in all of this, my dream to become a better dancer, my desire to glorify God, wasted away because I no longer had the energy or strength to pursue it. I knew if I continued this dream would die, and I was terrified another would die as well, my dream to grow up and have a family. This is who I had chosen to become.



As I walked along the edge of this cliff, I could hear God calling my name. I would be lying if I said it was easy, but I did want so desperately to be free. This, the first real thought I had: Freedom. I turned back. I ran as fast as I could into the arms of Someone who would never change. Someone who saw who I was then, who saw who I was now, and loved me. He loved me every step of the way.

I wanted this nightmare to stop. I wanted to be rid of everything that had happened. Spring and Summer passed easily, and I remained unbound. As the fall semester loomed in front of me, my past did as well. I had been scarred, mentally and physically. When I walked into that dance room I would face not only the person looking back in the mirror but every other person in there. Judgment overwhelmed me. I could feel their thoughts penetrating me. I could feel them judging me, and I didn't want it. Betrayal quickly came. Betrayal to the thoughts that were true. It was an addiction, an addiction to be thin and "beautiful." Each day I fought with the words of God and the words in my mind taunting me. I wanted to be rid of myself. I quickly started my journey to the cliff's edge again. It was not drastic starvation I resorted to the time. I had other means. My confidence grew bigger, the smaller I got. Little did I know it was confidence built upon sand. What would happen if I lost my means of obtaining "thin"? I pushed on. Holding off until summer came, when I could once again grasp freedom, when I could once again run home to my Father, if only until Fall...
No more.
This cycle had to stop. I had to chose to stop it. The choice was mine. Here I had flesh or Father weighing in the balance. I had to choose to say no. And that's the truth, I had to choose to say no. As the Lord had placed Adam and Eve in the garden with a choice, so had He placed me, you, and every other human being on the planet with a choice. I had to say no. I will not say it was a quick victory. It wasn't. It has been a slow quiet journey to triumph. Some days easy, other days hard, but I knew Truth, I had tasted freedom. I did not want to be defined by this earthly struggle. I did not want to keep this act up. I hated it. As Paul wrote, "I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate, I do." (Romans 7:15) I had had enough, it had to stop. When I stood before the Lord's throne, I did not want this to be my accomplishment. I did not want this to be my life's story. That I spent all my days fighting for the world's trophy. When I stood before the Lord I did not want to say to Him this was the definition of my life, that I had chased and idolized what others thought of me, that I believed the word's of the devil over His own, that I spent the entirety of my days fighting for something that fades with the earth. To tell Him that He was not the focus of my entire life. That I had made no investment into eternity. What I was fighting for would disappear with the wind, is that what I wanted? To stand upon His heavenly court before Him and open my white clenched hands only to watch in shame and horror as sand shifted through my fingers to the floor. My life had to be worth more than this. I wanted Him to be the focus of my days, not myself. I wanted to believe Him because He was truth, He always would be.

No more do I live in a constant circle centered on myself. I have made wrong choices in the past, but that is what it is, past. I am no longer fighting against anorexia. I am clothed in the armour of the Lord and I share my testimony only to bring His name glory. He is the one who brought me away from the cliff and He is the one in whom I choose to believe now.

I am not proud of the years that have been swallowed running from the One Truth. Every day, even now, I struggle. The choice is mine. I have to choose to see myself the way God created me. I am enough because He is enough. He has made me enough. I do not need to look for it anywhere else. I do not need to be accepted, praised, complimented, by anyone. My validation is in Him. He has and continues, to show me what true beauty is. I am beautiful. I am fearfully and wonderfully made. There is nothing I could do to change that. No circumstance can change who I am. He has created every day of my life. Every breath I have taken, every breath I will take. He has made me beautiful, in Him. I am broken, I am scarred, but... I am not defined by my past, I am refined by His.  

//Father give me Your eyes so I can see//

I have chosen to see the beauty in God's creation. All of it.

A Road Less Traveled ~ Cancer & Depression

" 'For My thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways My ways, ' declares the Lord. 'As the heavens are higher than the earth so are My ways higher than your ways and My thoughts than your thoughts.' " ~Isaiah 55:8-9

We moved to North Carolina in the summer of 2006. We settled nicely into our new home, church, town, and my new faith in my eternal heavenly Daddy. We made friends and life was going well. We thought for sure that this would be where God would keep us for a very long time, however this would not be His plan...
We had been living in this new routine for almost a year. My dad had helped the church grow in many ways, my mom was leading a huge women's ministry, and my siblings and I were all growing close to our new friends. Like a sheep in wolves clothing so did they end up to us. The longer we were there, the more light was shed into the shadows. We soon found out that the pastor was doing many things which were not Biblically correct. My parents tried to help and guide him back, but he wanted only to follow his desires. He became deceitfully hateful. He began verbally attacking my mother saying the most spiteful and vicious things one could imagine. He tormented her and cut her down. He then proceeded to do the same to my dad. We had to leave yet another church and move again into yet another house. To nine year old me though, it could all fall under an adventure... Right?

Overnight our family crushed into our biggest trial yet. Mom suddenly went into severe major depression. All I could do was watch as she sunk into the deepest pit ever.

I was enrolled into dance. As I continued to dance, my mother continued to get worse. We found another church, but this time my father would not be the pastor. Dad found a job as a patient advocate at Duke Hospital. The years went by. Mother was in the hospital over and over again, she had treatment after treatment. She still schooled us from home, taking care of us the best she could, but there was no life in her. To be honest I quickly forgot who my mother had been before. My memories of who she once was slipped away. Her frail body was still with me but her spirit seemed gone. She would never be the same again. Who she was now was a cold block of stone, and if the Lord answered our desperate prayers, she would forever be changed. Changed for the worse, or for the better. She tried many ways to get out of this black hole, but despite our prayers God did not heal her.
I grew up quickly during that time, though I never like to admit it to my mom.

In August of 2011, right after my birthday, and on top of her depression, she was diagnosed with breast cancer. I was terrified our family would fall apart. That would we not be able to withstand the damage. That we would break, that my parents marriage would fall apart. I was terrified that this would be the end of any happily ever after I held on to. I lay beside my little sister many nights listening and comforting her as she cried, but holding back my own tears, I tried to be strong. 
My mother eventually had to leave us for ten weeks to try and get better. It was one of the hardest ten weeks of her life, and all I could do was pray. His ways are higher then our ways. Five years piles up quickly, but this was not just five years of pain and sorrow, it was five years of prayer. And with her gone fighting, fighting for us, for her life, we only prayed harder. Weeks later, all praise to the Lord, He answered our prayers, and I met my new mother. She was completely healed of any depression. After a five-year battle she had been set free, and after many surgeries following the next year she would be rid of her cancer as well.  A miracle. Truly a miracle from the Lord bestowed upon us.

  The easy part was supposed to be next. The stroll in the park, no longer fighting, no uphill climb. I thought this would be our victory party, and it was for a little while. You must understand however that the woman who came home to us was a stranger. I knew her not. I had grown to live with the sick woman before, and had taken on the role of “Mother”. That woman had died and my father seemed to have remarried. No longer was I taking care of our little family, dethroned if you must. She marched in vibrant, full of life, ready and wanting to re-live the past five years. Wanting to re-teach me all the lessons I knew, but she had not taught. She took my place, rightfully so, but that child that had grown up quicker then most was asked to become a child again. ...so I did.

Adoption

Who am I? If I told you all of my life's story at once, it would be difficult to comprehend. My years have been jam packed. So I will tell it slowly over the course of this blog, starting nearly at the beginning...

I grew up in a loving Christian home. With my Dad being a Pastor I knew what being a Christian was from the beginning, or at least so I thought...

{Little Baby Us}

I was born in Bristol, Tennessee, and I lived there for the first seven years of my life. It was at the age of seven that my parents decided it was best to move my three siblings and I to Burlington, North Carolina. I was terribly excited. My Dad was becoming the co-pastor of a large church there. This was not the first time he had pastored a church, but hopefully this would be where the Lord would keep us. As much as I was excited, I was also absolutely not. My little brain could see entirely no reason why this move was necessary. Everything I had come to know was in Tennessee; my house, my church, dance, my grandparents, close friends, literally everything. I was scared and it seemed as though I had no where to turn.

It came down to the last couple of weeks before we were to move. I lay in my bed like every other normal night, but this night would not be the same. Though I hardly dared to admit it to myself I knew something was going on, something that was out of my control. I could not fall asleep. I was filled with an overpowering fear. I thought I was going to die due to this effect, and what if I did? What then? My mind was racing. This matter could not wait until morning. Something had to be done this instant, before I had a heart attack and died. Questions swarmed through my mind, questions about God, and questions about how much trouble I would get in for getting up. I told myself this was worth it. I got out of bed and walked down the hall towards the den where voices drifted quietly through the doorway. I stood in the doorway unarmed and completely vulnerable. I was immediately met with the most dreadful eyes. They had heard me coming. I was scared out of my skin for a moment, but my parents invited me in and asked why I was up. It was as if they knew this night was the night I needed their reception the most. I told them I had some questions I was wondering about. I told them my thoughts, and they talked long and hard answering each and every question I had. They talked about the things Jesus had done for me, and why they were so important. I had a weight on me that was absolutely incomparable, it made me literally fear for my life. That night it was lifted, and I knew my life was eternal. That night I asked Jesus to forever be in my heart, to be my Lord and Savior. It was Him who I would follow all the days of my life. I was baptized by my daddy one week before we moved.

I have never been happier in my entire life.

It Is Well With My Soul

I felt the thought cross my mind, little did I know then how heavily the Lord would lay it upon my heart.
My dad had just finished his first day at a new job and it did not go too wonderfully. Stressful is what only could describe the entire day. He came home looking as if he had run a marathon and then some. He was exhausted, but we had church homegroup that night at our house as usual. He had to find strength to push through. The weight he came home carrying was quickly loaded onto the rest of us. The hour before homegroup was as if we were walking on a needle wide tightrope. I immediately got put in charge of music. My favorite task. My brother, who is our group worship leader, was not able to be there, so I combed through youtube looking for easy, but soul provoking, songs. I made my list of four, but still I did not feel like it was adequate enough. Something tugged at me to keep looking. The perfect song was out there, I just needed to find it.

Ten minutes before the clock struck seven, I ran across "It Is Well," a hymn penned by Horatio Spafford. I had heard it many times before, every time leaving me completely speechless, and unable to move in awe. Words crossed the screen telling of Spafford's life and how this song came to be. I had never heard of his life, but it immediately impacted mine. I knew right then and there this was the song, and his story needed to be shared that night. I doubt I have ever been as nervous to sing songs as I was then. My nerves were a ball of emotions, my breathing shallow and quick. Why? I could not tell you. I only hoped that this was what the Lord wanted me to share.

As we sang the words, "It is well with my soul," I became awestruck, and moved to tears. The words filled my heart, my soul. As the last note drew out my dad's voice filled the room. It was not the strong, steady one I had come to recognize. It was one broken and renewed. He prayed, voice breaking, head bowed, tears rolling down his cheek. I, like many others, cannot ever recall my dad crying before, yet there he was. At such a hard time in his life he had felt the Lord's reminder to him, His ways are higher. Faith. Trust. Relief washed over me. I looked around and saw the tears in the eyes of others as they shared what this song meant to them. These were people who had been weathered by the immense struggles and hardships in their life. Still they persist on. It is well, was the reminder that daily met us in the Lord, yet was so easily forgotten in the world.
I felt it then. The idea to write. Everyone's struggle is facing them, but perhaps by the testimony of God's work in my life someone else would come to know, whatever their lot, it is well.

As the week went on, God continued to bring to mind that He has made my soul well. It never left my mind. My parents brought it up, I would find the words on Pinterest and Facebook, one of my favorite artists covered the beautiful song and it showed up in my email. Loud and clear. Everywhere I looked the Lord was plastering it in front of my face until, finally I found myself sitting down to write.
May my testimony of the Lord's goodness, of His love, and of His faithfulness, be a living reminder that no matter what,
It Is Well With My Soul.