Entering the Next Chapter

I remember staring at the ultrasound pictures trying to see if she had my nose. I wanted to see in what way she resembled me. When she was little I would stare into her big brown eyes and wonder who she would grow up to be. Once she laughed so hard she snorted a little... just like her mommy. We use terms such as "carbon copy", "mini me", and "Faith Jr."  Over the last eleven years we have expanded from one baby girl to three. Each one so different from each other and yet so much like us in their own ways. Abbie has my goofy sense of humor. Our Elizabeth is strong willed and fiercely independent. Last but definitely not least, Charlie is affectionate and a social butterfly. Each one is so precious and fits perfectly into our family. When I would look at my daughters I would think of how each one is like me, but tonight I realized that while they take on the good characteristics they might also take on the tough ones.  While there are a lot of traits th

This morning my husband asked me if I had ever been to a "black funeral". At first, I was confused by the question. I began to quietly ponder on what might be different between funerals I had been to before with my family and a funeral with his family.  A week ago my husband had lost a beloved cousin, Glenn Strong, to violence. The news was shocking and devastating. I saw my news feed fill up with the outcry of his family and friends. Part of me thinks the violence aspect caused even more pain and confusion than other situations. As the week progressed, I watched as my strong loving husband went from shock to brokenness masked only by keeping busy. Even in the midst of everything he remained strong and steadfast for his girls. My heart ached in empathy for him and his family and I felt completely helpless and unable to comfort. The only thing I could do was to follow his lead and stand by him to support and love him.  So this morning we were planning the events of the day

The plane arrived at its gate with no delay. All the passengers quickly and quietly boarded the plane, placed their bags in the overhead compartment, and buckled themselves into their seats. I looked out the window looking at the fluffy white clouds. The clouds seemed so soft and the blue sky extended into the horizon. Looking about the plane I could see people playing on their devices, chatting, and even napping. Then I heard the voice of the pilot saying, "We are going to be flying into some turbulence. Please remain seated and buckle up." The stewardesses walked back to their seats, checking each row they passed. The skies still looked peaceful, but I knew that I didn't have a good view of the upcoming storm. As we continued to fly the sky became dark and the clouds became thick and grey. The once bustling and energized passengers were  now silent and stiff. It was just a matter of time before we would feel the turbulence.  There are times in life when you can see the

Exposing the Secret       Growing up I lived a life filled with fear and shame. For eight years I hid my deep dark secret from my parents, siblings, friends, and teachers. My secret came with self-hate. The self-hate began to fester and infect other areas of my life, leading me to fall into a deep depression. I sought relief from pain through drinking, promiscuity, and self-mutilation. What was my secret? I could not read.       Dyslexia is a disability that impacts a large portion of young students. Robin Boda, the Director of Education at Hope Education, describes dyslexia by saying that “it is a brain difference, neurological brain difference. Often going hand in hand with that, are gifts and strengths” (Boda). Yale’s MDAI, Multicultural Dyslexia Awareness Initiative, posted “20% of the population is struggling with this hidden disability” ( MDAI). Goldish, author of Everything You Need to Know About Dyslexia , wrote “It is further estimated that 10 to 15 percent of scho

Motherhood I am a white woman with three daughters.  What do I have to teach them?  I have to teach them to love God. I have to teach them to respect authority. I have to teach them to love themselves. I have to teach them to be kind. I have to teach them to work hard.  I am a white woman with three black daughters. What do I have to teach them?  I have to teach them to love God. I have to teach them to respect authority, because if they don't they can become victims. I have to teach them to love themselves, even when people judge them.  I have to teach them to be kind, even when someone makes ignorant remarks to them. I have to teach them to work hard, harder than others to get the same pay and respect. I also have to teach them how to not live in fear, even when so much injustice is happening to people who look like them.  I am...  I am heartbroken. Heart broken when I see the footage of people being treated so wrong by the people who are supposed to pr

Junior Year 2002-2003: Senora Boulanger’s very presence in the classroom demands attention. She is exuberant. Her energy and love for the Spanish language and culture intrigue me and make me wish I had that kind of passion for learning. She makes learning fun and exciting, but for some reason I can’t retain the information. The only thing she seems to love more than the language and culture is teaching. She is always willing to take her time to speak to her students about class or even their lives. It is my junior year that Senora Boulanger forever changes my life. Walking up to a teacher’s desk usually evokes fear and anxiety. As I step closer I feel as if the walls are closing in on me. But with senora Boulanger it is never like that. She has the room where we all go to during homeroom and talk to her. One time when I am speaking to her I mention that I can’t really read or comprehend. Finding the words is difficult because I don’t really understand why I am so stupid. A

As I lay in bed waiting to fall asleep, I play my favorite game on the phone. In all my efforts to pass the level I end up killing all of my lives. I have to decide whether to wait ten minutes to gain a new life or to turn off the phone and just go to bed. I know that there is no way I will be able to sleep if I don't beat the level for once and for all, so I decide to wait it out. I begin looking through the phone to find something that will keep me busy until I get a new life. I go and look at the beautiful pictures of my family. Pictures that truly grasp all the love my family brings me. Then something reaches into my chest, wraps it's fist around my heart, and stop it with a deep pain. I suddenly forget how to breathe and become light headed. The picture is of a naked woman's large breasts. My head is filled with so many thoughts that I am unable to collect them all. What the hell? Not again. I thought we were doing so well. What is wrong with me? Why does he hav

Last night I cried myself to sleep. I allowed myself to feel defeated. I allowed myself to be defined by my inabilities instead of my abilities.  Flash back to earlier in the day....  The house is quieter than most days. Only the gentle patter of one child's footsteps could be heard. As Charlie played quietly I decided that it was the perfect time to work on school work. I cleaned off the table and stacked my books neatly in the upper left corner. My colored pens sat neatly on top of my purple spiral bound notebook. My computer set up on the classes website with a tab open to the e-textbook. I felt prepared and empowered to get work done.  I spent the next several hours reading the chapter and taking notes in different colors to help me understand the material better. General information written in blue ink, vocabulary words in purple ink, and notes from the teacher's video links in pink ink. When Charlie would run into the room to get attention, I pulled her up on my lap

Before I tell you why I long to be a submissive wife, let me start with a little background about me and my view of submission. My view point has changed drastically over the years and I am sure that it will continue to be tweaked and changed until my last breaths. It is also something that I struggle with greatly day to day even hour to hour. A little about me... I am strong willed, very strong willed at times. Growing up I was even more so. As a child I remember my constant interest in fighting for justice and for whatever cause I picked up at that time. I remember my Papa teaching me about recycling and then I became obsessed with collecting information on it and telling everyone around me what they were doing wrong. If I thought a teacher was wrong I would try to form sit ins in my classroom to defend my rights. I took a couple years of auto mechanics class, just so I would never be in need of assistance from anyone (especially a man). If I liked a boy I would often declare it

With Earth Day coming up in just a little over a week, it got me thinking about recycling. Merriam-Webster defines recycle as, "to make something new from (something that has been used before)." God recycles.  God has taken something old, broken, and used, and turned it into something new... me.  I am a Recycled Christian.  When accepting Christ, the Son of God, we are made into a new creation. 2 Corinthians 5:17 "Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come: The old has gone, the new is here!"  What wonderful news for us. We are no longer bound to our old destructive broken sinful selves. God has taken us and remolded us.  I often like to say that I am barely even a reflection of my old self. Yes, I still have the same bright red hair and the same smile but other than my physical appearance I am in no way the same person I was even ten years ago.  Ten years ago to this day I was a lost and immature girl. I lashed out and hurt my friends,

I don't fit in the box you place me in. For a long time I placed myself in the very same boxes and even in other boxes, but I have broken out of them. I don't fit in the box you place me in. I am not just a statistic or a generalized definition of any of my characteristics or quirks. I don't fit in the box you place me in. The boxes are beginning to feel to constrictive and sometimes they even cause me pain. I don't fit in the box you place me in. This last weekend I saw the boxes my husband gets placed into. His response made me so proud. When we were at the bank signing up for a joint savings account the woman helping us was very kind. She applauded our parenting and the good behavior of our three daughters, at the same time she was shocked that we were married. We have the same last name, are at the same address, have our three children with us, and had wedding rings on. She asked us our marriage status, which would be general protocol. Her completely shock

but God...  Those are some powerful words. They are preceded by heavy words of our inabilities and of hopelessness. Then they are followed by uplifting words about God's abilities and God love for us.  but God... I have had many "but God.." moments that have shaped the person that I am today.  I was a slave to mental illness. I could not go even a couple minutes without thoughts of hurting or killing myself. I tried to self medicate with alcohol. I was consumed by self hate and fear to the point of being hospitalized over and over again. But God broke the chains of bondage. He gave me purpose and a new identity. He sought me out in my darkest moments and held me. He gave me hope.  I was a young mother unaware of what motherhood really meant. I was neglectful of her basic needs for a safe and clean home to the point that I almost had her taken away from me. But God protected her body and her spirit. He gave me the abilities to care for her and to becom