Forgiveness is the path to Freedom

I am currently in the Midwest visiting my family… I forgot how crazy they can be, but I also forgot how much I love them and miss them dearly. I had one of the most vulnerable conversation with one of my sisters yesterday. She and I have not been as close as we once were and I feel like she has always kept me at arms length.

Yesterday she took a chance in bearing her soul to me, something she would normally do with our older sister. However, she expressed that our older sister and her didn’t seem to be on the same level of understanding when it comes to issues regarding our deceased father. So, she took a chance and shared with me, she was shocked (as well as I) in discovering I feel the same about the whole situation as she.

She doesn’t miss our father, he was mean, abusive, and an alcoholic all of our lives, the bad times strongly outweigh the good times. Our oldest sister is from his second marriage, so she was only there on weekends, she never had to live through the trenches as hell as we did. She got the good times, we got the bad and ugly – even the times of wishing you were dead, that is how bad it got sometimes. I also confided in my sister something no one in my family knows, that through all, despite how angry and hostile I was, how I had to learn how to forgive him after he died and let go of my anger and resentment (which took me years). I realized how much anger and resentment I held against my mother for allowing it to happen, for never divorcing him and for how every time she left after a fight she left my sister and I there alone to deal with him. I explained to my sister that it was much easier to forgive my dad, because he was the alcoholic and though I do not see it as a disease like most, I see it as a choice (he chose alcohol over his children, up until his death) my sister views him the same way (I guess you would have had to live it, to understand it the way we do). My mom however, she was suppose to be strong one, the one to take care of us. Instead my sister and I became survivors and learned to care for ourselves and each other. My sister is 9 years older than me and she moved out when I was 8 because she got pregnant. I was not naive to believe I would be cared for, I knew I was on my own.

Forgiveness is such a hard concept. I was a Christian when my dad died seven years ago, but it took me a couple years to fully forgive him and my mom. I did not go through the normal stages of grief. I mostly dealt with the anger (there was no denial, no bargaining, no depression) – just anger and then eventually acceptance. I think it was because I accepted long ago my dad would die young, that he would die choosing alcohol over me, like he had done time and time again. There was anger, there was hostility and rage, but then there was the calming acceptance, which enabled forgiveness to consume me like a river. My sister is still stuck in-between the anger and rage.

For the first time, my sister allowed me to speak truth, love, and forgiveness into her life. WE unfortunately were unable to finish, because we were driving and arrived back at her house and she has two small children to attend to. But she was more than happy to continue our conversation this evening because she is filled with questions. I look forward to share the truth and love of forgiveness and the gospel to her. She has never been receptive to anything I had to say of this nature.

If your the praying kind, I could use your prayers!


I feel like I have spent my whole life waiting

Always waiting for something to happen or waiting on someone to show up

waiting for empty promises that are never fulfilled

waiting and hoping that I won’t be disappointed yet again

Disappointment was something I grew into use during my childhood, bitter disappointment was the daily norm.

Eventually, I evolved into no longer becoming bitter, and my disappointment turned into the ever expectation of always waiting.

I was waiting for mom and dad to stop screaming

Always waiting for dad to sleep off his never ending hangover so he could feed us

I remember waiting for mom to come home and realizing after a few months that might not ever happen

I spent my awkward teenage years waiting for someone to notice me, to see the abuse and the neglect and give me the affection I so desperately craved.

I could hardly wait until I could be a grownup all on my own and not have to constantly wait on someone else to follow through on what they should do

And now, into my adult years – I feel like I am still waiting…

But not in the way that I ever expected I would

Because now, I am more hopeful in humanity and shocked when I am disappointed, so waiting is an easy task

The waiting has turned into more of an anticipation.

Anticipating on the waiting for the man I am destined to marry to show up in my life

Yet, there is nothing more than radio silence…

I am hopeful in the waiting…

Longing for the joy that I know that will spring up from the well of patiently waiting within

Waiting has taken on a new meaning in my life – it is no longer disappointing or bitter

Waiting is not full of anger or resentment

Waiting is joyous

Waiting is a patient calm stilled within my soul

Waiting is apart of who I am

So I’ll be here waiting



I fear that I have lost my depth and any ability to have a conversation of any meaning or value of substance now days. I believe that any original thought that I once had is now gone and that college just sucked the life from within me.

The worse part is that my inner self of wounder or curiosity has seem to vanish.These were qualities that I most loved about myself, my  sense of adventure. Now, I find myself secluding myself and hiding away from the woes of life. Seems drastic? Possibly, I do tend to be an extreme person, however, I absolutely mean every single word.

I often find myself completely lost in conversations and with much difficultly to put forth the effort to connect, I just walk away without a word.

It’s like I have become empty, but no, its worse, I am hallow – some might see as the same, but it is not. I say this from experience. I have been empty, my life as a teenager was quite empty and lonely, I only knew of anger and hatred, it was all consuming and often very confusing. Since then I have become full of life and joy, love and peace, I know not of anger or hatred because I choose better. Having experience the fullness of life, one cannot become empty again (maybe that is naive, but that is what I wholeheartedly believe with all my being).

To be hallow, is to have everything within you be sucked away, you feel like you are missing something, but cannot quite remember because it has now been lost… no not lost, taken from you.

The difference between empty and hallow, is that you can become empty, but you are left hallow – you see, there is a big difference.

I don’t miss you, because I shine

I once heard from somewhere by someone that we all are mere shadows of who we once were. I, however, happen to disagree with this sentiment, because, I am better than who I use to be.

I do not miss who I was 10 year ago, I am so grateful I am not who I was back then. I don’t miss the hatred, the anger, or hostility. I definitely do not miss the drugs, nor the toxic relationships or environments that I surrounded myself with.

I don’t miss the old me, she’s a complete stranger to me now. Rather than clingly to some sentiment that someone from somewhere said, instead, I say that I am a beaming light in comparison to whom I once was. The old me couldn’t even hold a candlestick to the me I am today, because I shine that much brighter!

I mean if you got a light inside you, you got to let it shine for all the world to see!

The Memories of You

I’ve been thinking a lot lately, which is often a dangerous and vulnerable place to put myself in. I often find that I fool myself into believing, to remembering the good times.

Truthfully, the good times… were few and very far between. But yet, they were there and I am overcome with the flood of memories…

The night you saved my life, stood by my side and held my hand into the wee hours of the night. The time I called you and sobbed because the misery of it all was just too much and be spoke me back down to the reality of my own sanity.

The way you would look at me, as if I would always be the only one you would ever look at again. The distant smile that never quite reached your eyes because you were always left as the cruel cold casualty of this life.

The fact that no matter what, no matter where we were, what we were doing, I never felt alone as long as I had your hand in mine.

But reality… reality always finds a way to keep us ground to sanity, and I find myself remembering…

I remember the cruelty of your harsh words, I remember the times that you pushed and shoved when you did not get your way. I remember the smile with no life behind your eyes that always prerequisite the first blow.

I remember when the astray and stray knives went flying all around. I remember placing my hands to my ears as I dropped to my knees screaming for it all to end.

I remember how volatile and destructive our relationship really was. I remember that, in the end, I left because you never really loved me anyways.

I remembered that the only way to save myself was to walk away, and because of that, I have no regrets.

The memories of you, are as strong as they use to be. And with time they fade into the sea of lost memories. Gratefully, I can almost no longer see your face, your so fuzzy, it’s as if you never existed. Just a painful figment of my looming imagination. Thankfully, I’ll take it, because you were my greatest escape. There is no perhaps in clouded thoughts and memories of you, there is no wondering.

I did the best thing for me. I followed my feet to freedom. I followed them to freedom from you!

Two Hundred And Seventy

Its been roughly 270 days since my last post, it has been just that long since I have even logged into WordPress. I have noticed every time I come on more and more of the blogs I love to read have abandoned their sites. Its almost sad – I mean does there become a time where we are just too old for blogging, or too busy, or too whatever? I mean I am not one to talk, this is my first post of 2016 and I barely wrote any in 2015, and I even now reminded with reminders that I have 26 drafts of un-posted words and thoughts. I guess for me I have lost words, I have lost anything of importance to say – which is tragic, because I have always loved blogging and the community that goes along with it. But to have the community, you have to build up a following, to build up a following you have to actually blog on a regular basis. I pretty much failed at that. But as I said, I feel like I have nothing of importance to say, and I always have been a believer in if you have nothing of value to contribute, then don’t contribute empty words and phrases just for the sake of doing so. Its always been a pretty good motto that I have lived by, I have never seen a reason to violate its sanctity.

Granted for the last 1 and a half my life has been consumed with full time work and school, as well as struggling to hold onto and maintain any shred of my friendships and relationships in the process of my hectic life and schedule. So blogging really became buried in the back of my mind overtaken by items of more importance and priority. I know its not much of an excuse, but there it is – its truth, my truth.

I feel like I should have more to say after all this time, but I don’t – I did however finally start writing that book during one of my breaks from school. But I go t as far as the first two chapters and lost interest.

Well, I am gonna take a look at that overwhelming 26 drafts and see if I can salvage any to post later on or at least delete some, or half, or all – will see!


Awoken from a slumber of amnesia

It’s been four months since my last post – four months since I have been on this site at all actually. A lot can happen in four months. It’s difficult for me to divulge into these last 120 days or so but here goes nothing. I have had a tough time, and adding on top of my full time work and recently moving from part time school to full time school as well, and throw in the emotional mess of a roller coaster I have been, you can imagine why I haven’t been here.

You see, since I was 15 I have had these gruesome nightmares, but they seemed to only come in at bits an pieces and they images were as graphic as a horror film. To make matters worse, it involved me as a young child, and I had never know if they were pieces of my memory, my imagination or signs that I was loosing it. I only talked about once before, when I was 16 and my family was brought in and it was denied, and I thought “great, just great! I am crazy” I would have left that room believing so, if it wasn’t the horrified look I caught in my sisters eyes, the look of her worst fear, that I had somehow discovered/remember the truth. I ran out of that room terrified. The voices calling me a liar, trying to convince everyone I was crazy, the silent denial to the public yet confirmation to me of my sister made it all too much to bear. The voice of her echoing in my head from childhood – “don’t tell, don’t ever tell anyone – they will deny it, and I will too. Just grin and bear it, like me, like the rest of us. You have too”

Child abuse is the cruelest, and yet it is so prevalent. And often times the victims remain silent, because despite the horrific cruelty of it all – they can’t turn on their abusers. I mean how can they – when their abusers are the ones who are suppose to care for them, love them, raise them? After that day, I remained silent, but a huge part of me died along with that silence. Something inside me was forever altered, and it can’t be done. Yes, I have moved on, yes I have found some inner healing, I have forgiven my parents, no I will never fully disclosed what happen to anyone, not out of fear or shame or embarrassment. But out of honor to my parents regardless if they deserve it or not, because I have received so much grace and mercy that I have not deserved. I also will never disclose the details due to the fact they are still hazy, and I may never fully recover the memories (which I am okay with) and honestly, don’t want to recover them. The parts I do remember are so graphic and horrific I wonder how I survived and am terrified to ever discover the rest of the memories, because what if they worse than what I already know? Can that even be possible? I remember my dad tried to put me up for adoption several times as a child, came pretty close once except for my sister intervened. I remember when I got older I wished that he did, but now I am glad he didn’t, despite everything – it made me who I am today.

All I know, is my life was forever alter twice – the incident of the abuse and the memory of it. But it will not hold me captive! This blog is my own personal dedication to move on, to let go, to forgive, but not forget and to declare I will not be like my parents. I have nothing to fear in this life.

Thanks for being my sounding board and listening. Even as I send this out to the void less existence known as the Internet – someone has to read it, learn from it, grow from it, and change because of it. In the end that’s all that really matters. That’s my hope in humanity – that we can help one another in changing, learning and growing, and become that we were created to be. To point one another back to our Savior, Jesus Christ – He is the life changer of our hearts and souls, because of Him I can walk out a life that is forgiven and that forgives.

Peace out Brothers and Sisters!