unanswered prayers.

 I pray for my child every night. While I am rocking her to sleep I sing to her and pray over her. I pray that she will never know the struggles I have faced. I pray that God shows her the one she is to give her heart to and removes all of the other distractions. I pray that she will find salvation at a young age and surrender her life to Christ. My parents prayed that same prayer for me. It clearly didn't work.  Which leads me to my biggest issue with prayer. 

When I was a little girl my cousin was diagnosed with leukemia. This was the first time I ever prayed for anything. I prayed for him every night before I went to bed. I prayed for him every morning when I woke up. I loved him. I remember very clearly where I was when my mom told me that he had gone to be with Jesus. I fell to the floor and cried. I tear up even now remembering how my little heart broke hearing that he lost his very long, very painful, battle with cancer. He was my hero. He is my hero. I still miss him. He was the strongest little boy I have ever known. 

After that, after my prayers went unanswered, I didn't pray again. I wouldn't pray again. I didn't pray for anything until just a few years ago. It took me a very long time to come to terms with what it meant to pray for something, or to pray for someone. Why didn't God answer that prayer? Why did He let other kids with cancer recover and not my cousin? Did I not pray the right way? Was I not a good enough Christian to pray for healing? I just believed that God didn't love me like He loved other people. He only answered their prayers. 

When my Dad was diagnosed with cancer all of the same childhood fears came back. God doesn't heal people with cancer. My dad is going to die just like my cousin did. I forgot all of my faith in that moment and was convinced that the worst would happen. 

I now believe that God doesn't work like that. God does not sit in heaven and randomly pick people that will recover and those that will die. I believe that what will be is just what will be. Some will live and some will die. It is the way of life. 

I believe that my relationship with God is necessary to deal with the results of life, not to change the way life happens. 

I still pray for the desires of my heart, but it is not in a way of expectation but more in a way of connection. I want to maintain an open line of communication with my Heavenly Father because it gives me a sense of peace in my daily life. I still have so much to learn about prayer, but until then I just call out to Him. I give Him my worries, my fears, my struggles, my pain, my stress, my disappointments, my successes, my thanks, my love, and my faith. 

fibromyalgia is a four letter word.

Pain... Pain is my four letter word. I have been in pain for fifteen years now. Every single day, every waking moment, pain. Some days are bearable and some days are excruciating. I even have days where I really do start to wonder how I am supposed to continue living like this. I have a disease known as Fibromyalgia. I hate this disease. It seems like it is just a name they gave to a disease for the people they couldn't find something 'real' in. I have done a lot of research on this evil disease over the past fifteen years. I have had so many unsolicited opinions from people about this disease, I have seen multiple doctors, specialists, and natural healers in regards to this disease. Yet here I am close to tears, on a heating pad, writing about the pain I am still in.

I have tried all of the drugs that the commercials talk about. I have even tried every pain killer under the sun. They do nothing. Drugs just have zero effect on my pain. I have tried the herbal supplements. What it came down to for me, is acceptance. I accept that I will be in pain tomorrow so it is no longer a surprise when I wake up that way. I accept that I can't stand for long periods of time, so I don't put myself in those situations. I accept that it feels like a hot knife going through butter when someone touches me. Yes, just touches me. It hurts. Don't do it. To me, a simple poke of a finger feels like your finger just stabbed all the way to my bone. It will feel like your finger is still lodged in my skin for at least ninety seconds after you remove your finger. If we are friends that hug, please don’t stop giving me hugs, I need those; people just need hugs sometimes, even when they hurt.

The question I always get - "well then how (or why) do you get tattooed??" Here is my answer, as masochistic as it may sound; because I choose it. The pain that I feel every day of my life is not my choice. It just happened to me. The tattoo pain is a pain that I have asked for, a pain that I can control, a pain that in some strange way makes me forget about my other pain. I needed to have those moments where I was in different pain. It kept me sane. I have since learned other ways to do this, but for a long time it was my only way to cope.

This disease was my number one reason for being suicidal for almost nine years. Pain took a severe emotional toll on me. I have to be mentally stronger than the pain so that I don't let it take over me. Knowing that I was in this much pain today, and tomorrow would only be more pain, made it very difficult for me to desire any more tomorrows.

This is just the normal every day pain. A flare up is a different story. Even now, with my beautiful child and amazing fiancé, I'd be lying if I said that suicide didn't cross my mind during a flare up. The pain is so bad during a flare up that it hurts to even have clothes touching me. Putting on jeans is completely out of the question. I wish I had the right words to accurately describe this pain, but it truly is indescribable. The pain starts in my legs and slowly works its way to the rest of my body. I will notice it is starting because my pants will start to feel like they are burning me. If there are any seams on the pants they will feel like they are burning holes into my skin. By the end of the day this burning feeling spreads to my entire body. I usually make a very hot bath, the kind that turns your skin red; because that is the only way I can find an ounce of relief. I have a lot of very soft blankets for when I can't stay in the tub any longer. I can't just use a sheet because they feel like sand paper rubbing on an open wound. Flare ups are said to be caused by stress, I have found that to be pretty accurate. Surrendering my life to Christ has been the biggest stress reliever, therefore the best treatment I have found so far for this disease.

It doesn't just affect my skin; it affects all different parts of my body and in different ways. I spent a few days in the hospital one year because my legs stopped working. They just wouldn't work. I couldn't stand. After I was evaluated by every -ologist in the hospital, it was once again dumped into the catch all pile they call fibromyalgia. I am aware that I have some bitterness about this disease, but it is just so incredibly frustrating.

I was in a support group when I lived in Florida with a few different people suffering from auto immune diseases. It was educational, but also very heart breaking. People like to compare things, like to say 'well at least you don't have -insert horrible thing here." Just my personal opinion here, but every single person's bad day is worse than your bad day because it is actually happening to them.

It is hard to not complain. I get tired of hearing myself say things like, my neck hurts, my back hurts, my legs are burning, my head hurts, my skin is crawling, don't touch me, can we sit, I need to lie down. It is my reality though. I am so thankful to have a man that loves me through the bad days. I am blessed to have the mother that I do because she has been my saving grace through this entire battle. I am also grateful that I finally came to a place in my faith where I learned to surrender.

The only treatments that have been remotely effective have been chiropractors, massage, acupuncture, and light exercise.  When I would have a flare up I would get injections into my hips but the surrounding muscle started to atrophy so we stopped doing those.

Even with all of these treatments the pain has never been gone, not even for a moment. Sometimes I day dream about what it would be like to be without pain for just one minute. Sixty seconds. Then I snap out of it and realize that life is calling, and the laundry isn't going to fold itself.

do all of these need a title?

To say I was mad at my mom for this was an understatement. I felt betrayed, abandoned, and unloved. How could she just leave me here? 

My roommate was a schizophrenic with an eating disorder. I wasn't allowed to have my shoelaces in case I wanted to try and hurt myself, or someone else. My roommate couldn't have her bed sheets for the same reason. Mine had to be picked up every morning and held in the office. I pretty much slept with one eye open, when I did sleep. 

We would go to a classroom and have school, then we had group therapy and ended the day with one on one sessions. There were all different types of teens in this place. Some had drug problems, others had mental health issues and there were a few like me, angry. 

I met a boy named Sam while I was there. He was addicted to cocaine and heroin. He was 15. We hit it off and he became my rehab boyfriend. He is the reason that this place did nothing to actually help me. It was just a joke. We made fun of everything about the process. We would sneak out of our rooms after lights out and talk for hours. He taught me how to cheek the meds they gave us and he would snort them. I was too scared to ever try that. 

I finally got to leave after a few weeks, but Sam and I stayed in touch through letters. Three months later I got a letter from his mother that he died of a heroin overdose. It is because of Sam that I never touched a single drug besides marijuana. 

After I got home things were very tense with my family. They took me out of my high school and put me in a special school in Dothan where I was one of a handful of students. My dad would drive me there and back every day. These car rides were some of the most miserable of my life. He was so incredibly disappointed in me, he could barely look at me. I was so angry at him, I could barely look at him. 

After I finished my junior year my dad took a job as a pastor in Foley, Alabama. We were moving. My senior year of high school I was being ripped away from all that I knew and sent to live with people I didn't know in order to start my new school on time. 

Angry doesn't even describe how I felt about this decision. 

we aren't going to the beach?

I was fifteen when I started drinking pretty heavily. I can't even remember how I got my hands on that much alcohol. This was also the year when I found out that the recurring nightmare from my childhood was not just a bad dream, but a reality. I can't say with certainty that two are aligned, but I can assume. I would hide multiple bottles of vodka in my closet in a cardboard box.

The day before I turned sixteen I stole my sister’s car and my friends and I went for a joyride. We got into a five car accident. It wasn't my fault, so the police let us leave (hours later) I parked my sister's car back where it was supposed to be. I remember thinking that maybe they would think it got hit where it was parked. It was at the bottom of a driveway where no cars could pass.

I remember leaving and going to my friend's house that night, I believe to celebrate my birthday, and my parents coming there to "collect" me. I was grounded for four months and I think my sister hated me for at least a year for that one.

I was 16 and a junior in high school now and still finding trouble at every turn. It was almost spring break when my life turned upside down. I had been dating (that's what we will call it) an older guy and he wanted to come pick me up. I was grounded, as per usual, but I really wanted to go, so I went. I just walked downstairs and right out the front door. He was waiting for me outside and away we went. I'm not sure how long I was gone, but I had quite a bit to drink. I walked in the door to see my mom on the couch waiting for me, my dad was out of town.

We are leaving. Get in the car.

When I woke up we were in Panama City, but it wasn't to go to the beach.
She was checking me into rehab.

because I am forgiven.

Forgiveness. If only it were as easy to do as it is to write. I have written about some of the things I have been through in my life, but none that have affected me as negatively as this one.

It is my first memory. It has been the nightmare that haunted me my entire life. It is why I cried. It is why I was angry. It is the reason I turned away from God. He didn't protect me. He didn't send an angel that day.

She is the one who took my innocence. She took it before I was even old enough to say the word.

I love music. It soothes my soul when I am hurting. It gives me a release when I sing along to the lyrics that were clearly written just for me.

I made the change to listening to only Christian music a few months ago. It has been such a positive change in my life and in my relationship with Christ. I heard a song that changed the way I would feel about her.

The song is called Forgiveness by Mathew West. It spoke to me so clearly about how important it was to forgive. So I did. I forgave her. I was only able to forgive because I am forgiven. The peace that one action has given to my heart is indescribable.

"Forgiveness"

It’s the hardest thing to give away
And the last thing on your mind today
It always goes to those that don’t deserve

It’s the opposite of how you feel
When the pain they caused is just too real
It takes everything you have just to say the word…

Forgiveness, Forgiveness

It flies in the face of all your pride
It moves away the mad inside
It’s always anger’s own worst enemy
Even when the jury and the judge
Say you gotta right to hold a grudge
It’s the whisper in your ear saying ‘Set It Free’

Forgiveness, Forgiveness

Show me how to love the unlovable
Show me how to reach the unreachable
Help me now to do the impossible

Forgiveness, Forgiveness

It’ll clear the bitterness away
It can even set a prisoner free
There is no end to what it’s power can do
So, let it go and be amazed
By what you see through eyes of grace
The prisoner that it really frees is you

I want to finally set it free
So show me how to see what Your mercy sees
Help me now to give what You gave to me

Forgiveness, Forgiveness

coincidence? I think not.

He didn't hit me every day. I think that was probably my biggest misconception about domestic violence. I also thought that they would just tell you on the first day, "hey girl, when I get mad I will punch you in the face." Clearly, that is not reality. I dated him for a while before he ever even raised his voice at me.

He had a little girl that spent a lot of time with us. I loved her. She was almost a year old when I met him. She is the reason I stayed as long as I did.

Due to all of my health problems I had very little self-worth. I saw myself as a burden to anyone around me. He fed off of these insecurities. He knew I felt that way so whenever I would try to leave, he would remind me:

-No one will ever love you.
-You are broken.
-You are worthless.
-No one wants you.

I was convinced that he was the only person that would want to take care of me. If I left him I would be alone forever. I also couldn't leave his little girl. She needed me.

It started with screaming. He would yell at me. I would yell back at him. The fights were over all kinds of things, but mostly his jealousy. If someone even smiled at me he would lose it. I am not a relationship expert, but in every single one of mine, when they are jealous, they are the ones cheating. When I found out that he was cheating on me I told him I was leaving. I would leave Florida and go to New Orleans where my parents lived. This was unacceptable to him. This was the first time he got physical.

I went into the bedroom and started packing my suitcase. He came in the room and grabbed me by my hair and dragged me into the living room, probably about fifteen feet. I was horrified. Did he really just do that? I never thought having my hair pulled would be so painful, but when it is pulling a six foot, 150 pound woman behind it, it hurts. My hair ripped out in a massive chunk. I just sat on the floor crying. I don't even remember what happened next.

The next morning we acted like it never happened. We drank our coffee together and went into work. It wasn't long before it happened again. And again. I started locking myself in the laundry room to hide from him.

One night I called my friend in Louisiana and begged for her to come get me. I couldn't live like this. She drove fourteen hours straight and picked me up while he was at work. I don't think I was gone for a week before he drove the fourteen hours to my parents’ house and got me.

There were a lot of lies I would tell myself during this time. It was my fault. If I would only love him better, he wouldn't treat me like this. He was the only person that would ever love me, so I needed to make this work.

His house was at the end of a long street that led out to the highway. I tried to leave him a few times by walking down this road. He would just get in his car and catch up to me and convince me to come back home. He needed me. He was sorry. His little girl needed me. She loved me. Don't leave her. So I went back.

As cheaters often do, he cheated again. This time was the last straw for me. I was leaving. I was in a tank top and boxer shorts. I went into the bedroom again to pack my things and change clothes. I was crying because I was just so hurt that he could betray me again like that. After all I put up with to be with him and I still wasn't enough. He begged me to talk to him. He would explain, just don't leave. He was crying too now. I went into the bathroom to splash some water on my face and he followed. He sat me down on the toilet seat and stood in front of me begging me to listen. He slapped me. I stopped crying and just looked up at him. He slapped me again. He slapped me so hard the next time that it threw me into the tub and the shower curtain and rod fell into the tub with me. I used the rod to get him off of me and I made it out into the living room. It is actually hard to see through crying eyes and swollen cheeks. I was searching for a phone and keys. I had to leave.

He made it into the living room and was angry now. He must have grabbed the gun from the bedroom while I was searching for the keys. The next thing I remember was him straddling me on the couch shoving the gun down my throat.

He was screaming that I was making him like this. I did this to him. If he couldn't have me, no one else would.

I had found the keys, they were in my hand.  I knew my only option was to fight back. I punched him in the face with the keys. I must have hit him hard enough because he fell backwards off of me. I threw the keys at him and ran out the front door.

I looked down that long road with blood dripping down my face and arms and remembered every failed attempt at making it down that street successfully. He would find me. He would bring me back. I just couldn't do it one more time. I ran into the next door neighbor’s back yard and hid in their bushes. I will never forget the painful sting of every ant that bit me under those bushes, but I wasn't moving. I watched him run out to his truck. He started driving up and down the road. This felt like an eternity, but it was probably only about twenty minutes. I texted my friend and asked her if she could come get me. She couldn't get all the way to where I was, but if I could make it closer to her, she'd pick me up. She was about a fifteen minute drive across town.

I did the only thing I could think of at the time. I called him. He started screaming at me, I could see him from where I was hiding. I told him I was sorry. This was all my fault. I'm coming home. I told him I was walking back and just to meet me at home. It was working. He pulled back into the driveway and walked into the house. I started walking.

He was asking where I was. How did I get so far? He was looking for me. Why did I make him do that to me? He just wants to love me.

A car drove up when I was about halfway down the street. He rolled his window down and asked if I needed a ride. I panicked and looked at him and put my finger to my lips pleading with him to be quiet. It was too late. He heard him through the phone. He started yelling, demanding to know who I was talking to, where was I?! I had a decision to make in that moment. I could get in the car with a stranger that might kill me, or I could go back to a man that had already threatened to. I got in the car.

I have heard stories about God sending you angels in times of need, but had never really experienced it. This man was an angel. He had made a wrong turn out of a bar and ended up on that street. He asked where I wanted to go. I just told him to drive out to the highway as fast as he could. We made it. I was free.  He just listened as I told him where to take me to meet my friend. We were at a stop light when he looked over to me and asked if we needed to go to a hospital. No. Just get me out of here. He told me that he understood. He had spent time in a battered women's shelter with his mother.  If that wasn't God, then that was the biggest coincidence ever. I chose to belive it was God.