As a small child, I attended church with my grandmother on occasion. Each summer I attended her church’s Vacation Bible School program. Through the children’s lessons in the basement of the church and VBS, I was taught Bible stories and learned about different people of the Bible and things they did. It meant a lot to me. I would pray every night until I’d fall asleep and I’d be upset with myself in the morning for not finishing my prayers.

I was 11 years old when my grandmother started having weird things happen to her. We were on vacation at the beach and my grandmother went to sit on the bed but her judgment was way off and she sat and landed beside the bed. She laughed and laughed about how clumsy that was. The next day, my brother and I wanted ice cream. She put on her shoes and walked us several blocks down the street. Complaining her feet were killing her we tried to walk quickly and get back to the hotel. When we got back, my grandmother noticed she had accidentally worn my aunts shoes. They were the same shoes but three sizes smaller than her own. How she even got her feet in them without realizing it still confuses me. Little things were happening that were off. The one morning my mother and grandmother were speaking and she said, “Maybe I have a brain tumor or something.” Obviously concerned because of the recent and sudden scatterbrained things her mom had been doing, my mother had insisted my grandmother get it checked out.

When we returned from our beach trip, my grandmother made a doctors appointment and shared her concerns about what has been transpiring. She was sent for a MRI. Our worst fears were confirmed. There was a brain tumor in the very center of her brain. A biopsy was scheduled and the results came back that the tumor was malignant. Surgery wasn’t an option because of the location of the tumor. She was sent for radiation treatments and chemotherapy.

I remember being there when my mom was helping her wash her hair and it all just starting coming out in handfuls. My beautiful grandmother, who always had her hair, makeup, and nails done, was falling apart right in front of our eyes.

For months and months my mom was back and forth between home and my grandmothers. I would lay in my bed at night and pray and pray for my grandmother and my mom. Even as a child I couldn’t imagine the pain my mom must be going through seeing her mom like this. That broke my heart. I knew that God could take it all away and heal her.

My grandmother continued to get worse and my mom spent more time by her side. She would come home very late at night but was afraid to leave her mom. One night, no sooner did my mother get home and in bed, the phone rang. My grandmother passed shortly after my mother left.

Mom was obviously devastated and cried a lot. She tried to cry by herself but I always could feel her pain. I remember one day in particular that she pulled up at home and I looked out the window and she was sitting in her car crying her heart out. It broke me in pieces. I was sad. I was confused. And I was angry. At God. Why would He do this? My grandmother was an amazing woman. She was a dedicated and hardworking single mom of 4. She always attended church. She helped care for all her grandchildren and was always there for anyone who needed anything. She didn’t drink or smoke and was overall pretty healthy before this. Just WHY?!

I stopped praying. I didn’t go to church (not like I had anyone offer to take me anymore anyway). I became bitter and resentful of God and the fact that He let my grandmother die. Over the next 12 years, without God, my life progressively got worse. I was on my own now. Without God I had to try to handle everything alone.

I grew up in a home with both of my parents and my younger brother. Isn’t that the picture perfect family? Mom, dad, girl, and boy? Maybe from an outsiders perspective. We had a nice home. We always had food and clothing. Our basic needs were met. We were missing something crucial though. Love. Love was something you assumed, or hoped, you were because it was never spoken or expressed. I formed my own, incorrect, definition of what love is.

Before Christ, I knew love as painful. Conditional. Impossible. I knew myself as a worthless, inconvenient, failure who would never measure up to what I was supposed to be. I spent the majority of my life trying to be what I thought would make me acceptable and loved. I craved love and acceptance but could never find it. I always questioned my worth and allowed people to treat me in ways I shouldn’t have because that’s what was familiar to me.

I grew up with one side of my family being racist. More than that, they totally rejected anything that didn’t fit their idea of who to be. The sports I played, instruments I played, friends I had, ideas I had, etc. Anything that didn’t align with who I was told and expected to be was a complete disgrace.

When I was 22 years old, I was struggling. In the few years leading up to that I had slowly started to follow the desires of my own heart and stop striving for the acceptance at home that I knew I wasn’t going to achieve. I had been dating a man that I met through a mutual friend for two years at that point. He was black. I didn’t tell my family because I knew if I did I’d be disowned. I still lived at home and wasn’t stable enough to be thrown out on my own. I didn’t want to hide someone I loved, just to be accepted anymore. I knew the consequences but one day I decided to be honest about everything instead of live a secret life.

I wrote a letter telling of my boyfriend. As I thought, I was condemned, shamed, and rejected. A few weeks later I found out I was pregnant. Although we intentionally got pregnant, it wasn’t planned out or thought through at all. When I revealed that I was with child, I was told to get rid of my boyfriend and the baby or never speak to that side of my family again. Needless to say, I didn’t speak to them at all for three years.

I was broken. I was kicked out of my house and not allowed there when this parent was home. My childhood best friend, who had a husband and family of her own, allowed me to move into her unfinished basement. Throughout my pregnancy, I lived back and forth between her house and my parents house.

The bad became worse and worse. My parents decided to divorce. I was happy about that. I had dreamed of and wished for it my entire childhood. I never took into consideration the effect it would have on my mother. Married for 22 years, the divorce hit her hard. She hit rock bottom. My brother, just turning 21 and having newfound freedom and reign, became out of control and spiraled into his lowest point too. We were all at our lowest. In our own chaotic messes, we turned against each other instead of uniting.

My family, friends, and boyfriend had all abandoned me soon after becoming pregnant. I was alone. More alone than I had ever been in my life. I was isolated in a cold, unfinished basement. Every morning I’d wake up to a layer of black dust covering my bed. It was coming from the ceiling/floor above me. At one point I had gotten pretty sick. It was the middle of winter. There was no heat where I was staying and I’m sure the dust wasn’t good to be breathing in either. I had green mucus filling my nose and throat. I lost my voice. I had to text my mom and ask her to make an appointment with the doctor for me since I had no voice.

One day, I was in the shower, looking down at my growing belly. I was about halfway through my pregnancy. I felt so alone and so hopeless. The only thing keeping me from giving up completely was my sweet little baby. I knew I couldn’t do it alone. I wanted to make sure my baby was loved and adored and never ever had to feel like I did. I had already turned to everyone I could think of and was rejected. I cried out to God for the first time since I was a child. “I’m sorry for not caring about you before and I know I need help and You are all I have left. Please God help me.” In the shower of that cold, lonely basement, God saved me. He redeemed me from all the wrong I’d done and all the wrong that had been done to me. He pulled me out of the pit of despair I was living in. He reached the depths of my heart and offered me another chance. That day, I officially had a family and a Father who loved me unconditionally even though He knew how flawed I was and how often I fell short.

The rest of my pregnancy I spent my time in the Bible, learning how to be a good mom, and doing what I could to meet the needs of other moms. When my son was born, I continued to learn and grow with God but also started to teach him too. The first book ever read to him was “The Beginners Bible”. I loved it as a kid and read the entire thing and wanted to make sure he had all the things he needs to have a relationship with God. I wish I had stayed connected with God through the hardships as a child but I didn’t have a strong enough foundation to understand what was going on. That caused so much trouble and hurt in my life. I don’t look back with regret but I look back with gratitude. In the darkest of places, God still protected me. I had put myself in some dangerous situations as a lost child.

I can truly say, God has shown Himself to me many times in my life and whether I’m at the top or the bottom or in between, He is right there with me. I’m honored to have a story to share and I trust that God will use it to further His kingdom.

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Psalm 23 – The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want. He makes me to lie down in green pastures; He leads me beside the still waters. He restores my soul; He leads me in the paths of righteousness For His name’s sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow if death, I will fear no evil; For You are with me; Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me. You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies; You anoint my head with oil; My cup runs over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me All the days of my life; And I will dwell in the house of the LORD Forever. (NKJV)

Romans 8:28 – And we know that all things work together for good to those who love God, to those who are the called according to His purpose. (NKJV)