Sunday, January 26, 2014

Why I'm Here

How did a girl of nineteen, mama to two under two, take on another, wounded and broken, as her own?
God’s grace.
How did a family grow, through the pain and the twisted knife of fate, closer together rather than achingly apart?
God’s grace.
How did a woman break free from the bondage of silence and facade to spill out the grace from fingers to keyboard?
God’s grace.
How did she find strength to stand, heart bare and vulnerable and pour out the offering of her story for His glory?
God’s grace.
I spent many years viewing the gift of story as anything but.

The desire to hide the sometimes ugly and scarred truth of my life from people and pretend that everything had been okay, would be okay and was presently okay suffocated my story.

I kept secrets, not stories.

Tending deep, dark, festering secrets is a full time job.

Along with the secrets lived bitterness, regret, rage, anger and unforgiveness.
Until the day I allowed God’s grace to seep through to the crevices of pain and shine Light into the darkness.

God and I wrestle about words, my words, His story ALL the time.
Every blog post, article and manuscript bear the sweat of wrestling with the Word.  Laying heart issues bare in front of people I yearn to please is, to this closet introvert, unbearable.  There are days, like today, that clicking publish will take concerted effort.

God’s grace, meaning unwarranted and unmerited favor, was given to this girl. To be quiet, in this space or any other space God leads me to, would be to hoard grace.  The grace I know is to precious to hoard.  It must be shared.

There are two places in the Bible that speak directly to my heart when I feel conflicted about sharing my story.  One is found in II Corinthians 1.  We are told that one of the reasons for the trials we face in life is so that we can use the comfort we receive to comfort others.
I have been sent a Comforter.  One who wiped my tears, bound up my wounds and erased the slate of sin and shame.  That comfort would be wasted if I hoarded it.

Story is never wasted.

We are told in Revelation that our stories have power.
They triumphed over him by the blood of the Lamb and by the word of their testimony; they did not love their lives so much as to shrink from death. ~Revelation 12:11
The prospect of sharing my story, putting my heart and thoughts out for people to see, is something I shrink from.  In the shrinking, there is no triumph.

For the sake of not hoarding grace, not denying others comfort and for the pleasure of defeating the enemy every time I type or open my mouth, I must speak my story, write my story, share my story..all for His glory.

Sweet mamas, I started this site because I know the road you are walking as teen moms is hard.  Many of you are dealing with the pain of your difficult childhood on top of trying to give your own child a roof over their head.  Many of you carry the shame of a past abortion or a miscarriage you think you caused because, so many sleepless nights, you prayed the baby inside you would disappear. Some of you listen to the voices of those that tell you that your life is ruined because of the choices you've made and so is the life of your baby.  Many of you accept treatment by a boyfriend or husband that you do not deserve because you are terrified of being alone.


My goal in this space is to help you realize that you are not alone.  That your story, even if it doesn't have a happy ending yet, has power to help others and to help you! I have been where you are and I will share more of my story in the weeks to come so that you can realize that today is not how your story ends.  In fact, in many ways, your story is just beginning.

With much love and till tomorrow,

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