When the rainbow is NOT enuf

You are worth it. 

You are valued. 

You are beautiful. 

You are awesome. 

You are seen. 
Your pain is not in vain. 

You are clean. 
You would be missed. 

You do have a purpose. 

You are awesome. 
You are a princess, a child of a king.

You are good at what you do. 

You do know better. 

You are making a difference.
You are the difference. 

You rock.
You would be missed. 

You love. 

You are loved. 

You are worth it. 

You are clean. 

You are clean.
You are clean. 

You are. 

Because He is. 

  

 ^{Matthew 26:39}

Going a little farther, he fell with his face to the ground and prayed, “My Father, if it is possible, may this cup be taken from me. Yet not as I will, but as you will.”

Darkness happens. I recently read a prayer request from a friend for a family that lost a loved one from suicide. “Committed suicide.” When I read the words they had a choking effect on me. I could hardly breathe….  We all have a time where we feel sadness or darkness, but for some people… people like me… the darkness is harder to swallow. It’s a battle most people suffer through in silence.  I wish I could have hugged this young lady and told her the things I tell myself. God does see you. You are not alone. You are awesome.      

  

How do you think God sees you? Write it down. And when you’re not feeling it, and perhaps want to quit… read it.

You’ll eventually believe it.

 Dear God,

I pray at this moment for those in the pit of despair and depression. At this moment they may not know what to believe or who to believe in. give them the feeling they need to have faith in you.

Amen

-mdt

Even a "Ho" needs a superhero

There was a preacher who once said that when you want to put your past behind you, you have to call it what it was. I used to be a whore. Or "ho" for short. At least that is what was said in whispered giggles as I walked by on my college campus, or among groups of fraternity men trading stories of female conquests.

Some women liked to call it being sexually free. I used to say it was my way of 'dating like a man'. That was much sexier than admitting that I used sex to get as close to men as I could...  desperately hoping I could keep them. Desperately hoping to experience the true love I used to read about in my mother's racy romance novels. 

I was young, naive and broken.

It started at age 13. I had weird short hair. I was skinny and knock-kneed. My mother tried to tell me my dark skin and long neck were beautiful. But boys my age were only into big breasts and backsides... things I didn't have.  I just wanted to get my first kiss. So I let an 18 year old boy I barely knew come into my aunt's home for sex. He was heavy. It was quick. On a floor. He did not want to kiss me. I only got his first name. I sobbed and cried when he left.

I kept trying. Trying to use sex like it was cupid's arrow. An attempt as ridiculous as cupid himself.  I'm still not sure why I needed their love. In fact, I'm still trying to figure that out. There were no discussions about what sex or love really looked like. My mother tried to teach me, but her actions spoke louder than her words. 

Broken.

Luke 7:37-38 There was a sinful woman in that town. She knew that Jesus was eating at the Pharisee’s house. So the woman brought some expensive perfume in an alabaster jar. 38 She stood at Jesus’ feet, crying. Then she began to wash his feet with her tears. She dried his feet with her hair. She kissed his feet many times and rubbed them with the perfume.

I long for a moment when I can lay at Jesus' feet and wash them with my tears and perhaps wash away all of my shame and hurt. I feel like I have spent the last decade of my life longing for his forgiveness, but being afraid of how the other people in the room would judge me when I walked in.

"Look at that hoe. What is she doing here? Did you hear what she did back in the day? Who she did? Once a hoe always a hoe. Does her husband know?"

At this moment... as I write these words... tears are beginning to fall. I see these words as steps into the door of my savior's forgiveness. I know there will be stares. I know there will be whispers. But my superhero is waiting.

And maybe, if I take the walk, some young woman, wearing that scarlet letter, will learn to forgive herself and accept the forgiveness Jesus already has for her.

Luke 7:48-50 Then Jesus said to her, “Your sins are forgiven.”⁴⁹ The other guests began to say among themselves, “Who is this who even forgives sins?” ⁵⁰ Jesus said to the woman, “Your faith has saved you; go in peace.”

Healing.

Dear Father, 

Thank You for making me clean. Thank you for saving me... even me. I pray now for the young women who need to know that your grace doesn't skip over them because of their past. My sins were dark and disgusting. Embarrassing. Life-threatening. But through faith, You saved me.

Thank you.

Amen. 

I can’t do standard alarm clocks.

I can’t do standard alarm clocks.

You know the ones that scream out with that buzz that shocks you out of bed or rushes you to the snooze button?

For so many years I would have to be able to wake up fast and alert and ready. And armed.

Now that I can wake up on my own terms, I make sure all of my alarms work as silent and gentle nudgers.

U2’s, Beautiful day.

Wind chimes.

Xylophones.

I didn't figure out the reason until my husband explained what used to happen when he  would wake me up. It was always abrupt. There was always panic. There was always fear. 

Melody. Melody!

There was a time when that call was very different.

The first time, my mother didn't call my name. I just woke up to shrieks and yelling and thudding.

I remember jumping to my feet from the living room.

I didn't have my own bedroom then.

My little sister was just under one years old. I can’t remember if she was crying in her crib or not.

When I walked into the room I saw my stepfather on top of my mother punching her… over and over again.

Choking her. Yelling at her.

I did the only thing I could think to do at 9 years old.

I grabbed my little sister’s baby carrier and slammed it against my stepfather’s back.

Maybe I could hear my sister crying then? Maybe it was me.

Thinking back... I doubt I actually hurt my stepfather that day… even if I thought I did at that time. 

I was a skinny, knock-kneed fourth grader.

But I snapped him out of it. And stood between him and my mother.

Desperate to be her savior.

From then on, I was a light sleeper. If there was an incident I was going to be there to protect my mother.

Or sometimes there was no sleeping. Those were the nights that I knew ahead of time that something could go wrong.

Now many years later… many years after those terrifying screams that I still don’t know came from me or my mother... 

Years later... I sleep much better.

Because God gave me a  husband who let me stop fighting.

Even when I prayed that God would let me hold on to men who never knew my value. 

I never knew I needed him. This man who would help me sleep soundly and wake without worry.

But God knew. So I never had to ask.  

Matthew 11:28

 “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.

Lord, thank You for rest. I know you had my husband in mind for me. And even as I prayed juvenile prayers over loves lost over the years, you knew the man I would need to meet, so I could finally stop fighting.  
Amen.