#220. He Gives Strength to the Weariest of Souls

Photo by Jeff Rogers Photography

As a child, we never went to church. My parents were born and raised in a coal mining community of West Virginia. They were both the product of poverty and religion gone mad. The foundation of their lives was built on a belief that true “religion” was about who could not get bitten when the rattlesnake was passed their way. Sometimes, I imagine that my parents viewed their entire life as a church service, just waiting to see which one of them would survive the poison.

I am the youngest of three substantially older siblings who were on their way “out the door” as I was “on my way in.” My parents were the owners of a donut shop, which meant they both worked from 5 p.m. until 5 a.m., so my siblings were burdened with the responsibility of caring for me and seeing that I was fed and entertained. I am certain that between my two sisters, this was not a responsibility they were happy about! So, from early on, I was left alone to entertain myself while my parents worked, slept or went out.

For my mother, daily drinking was a true way of life. A diagnosis of diabetes led her to become sober when I was about 12. Funny thing is that with that one decision to make her life “better,” it seemed as if ours became worse. Our house was never one that had a pattern. I lived in total chaos, not knowing what to expect on a daily basis, but that chaos was the only thing that I knew, and the comfort level of the craziness was, at times, the only normalcy I could hold on to. We went from weekly drinking binges to weekly AA meeting splurges, only to find that she was never ever satisfied with any of the outcomes. She was self-consumed. Eventually, I was the only one left at home, left behind to deal with her misery and anger. She had nothing of herself to give and she demanded so much from me.

When it came into my life, I’m not certain, but God gifted me with a keen sense and a creative mind, making it easy for me to be a leader. In the past, like my mother did, I have used that gift to my advantage. Not to glorify God as He intended, but to glorify myself and my behaviors. If I would have allowed God to open my eyes, I would have seen that satan had been invited into my life through the portal of nonchalance and unawareness.

Looking back over my life, I see how God protected me. Many times, in my childhood, I was in vulnerable and dangerous situations. For many years, I didn’t realize that God was my Protector, Provider and Defender. I had no clue until I heard about the Gospel. So, back then, I said it was “luck” that protected me.  I spent so many years running from everything that I knew to be “normal.” 

All of that came to a complete halt when I became an incarcerated convict in the Arkansas Department of Corrections. It was then that I was able to stop running long enough to let God get a firm grasp on me. I had the opportunity to complete a Christian program based on Bible principles in prison. We were trained in scripture so that we could apply it to our lives when were released. The program was designed to be inmate-led. All of the participants in this program lived in one dorm, and there were two female inmates who predominantly taught our classes (character and scripture memorization). This program opened my eyes to the love that God offered me. I felt acceptance from God, acceptance of who I was becoming through His word. 

God took the time that I spent behind bars to mold my soul, to create in me a love that was unfailing, unbelievable and undeniable. He opened my eyes to peace and a firm foundation of trust and calmness. So much for “jailhouse Jesus,” huh? It is real and true and I am a living testimony of His grace. But, as I received the knowledge of God, I never received His grace through salvation before I came from behind the walls. There was great wisdom within the walls. I learned so much and gleaned so much of that knowledge, but I just never accepted Christ as my Savior. Instead, my time in prison was a time of building trust in Him. Since I had never had anyone to lean on in my life, it was difficult for me to develop trust, but I was learning.

Upon my release from prison, I was quickly thrown into the reality of life. The husband that I thought would be there with open arms had since found someone else. My household full of furniture that I thought I would have available to me had been given away months before to anyone who would come and get it. And, any thought of a past life that may have waited on me while I was away was just that, a thought. Visibly there was nothing left of my former life, and as I tell the ladies that I minister to today when I speak to them, “God will remove all hindrances from you when He changes you.” He knew that if anything from my past would have been waiting on me outside the gates, my heart would immediately run back to the place that He had just delivered me out of. Not the life I would have chosen, but with separation and knowledge, I could not have asked for a better blessing. With the hard reality of being alone and still not having committed my life to Christ, I turned back to the bottle. 

My mother passed away in 2000 and my father died in 2007, so loss was not a stranger to me. After I was released from prison in 2011, my sister, whom I had not had time to make amends with, died of a massive heart attack eight months after I was released. The loss of my beloved sister was the final blow to an otherwise broken soul. Then, the only reason that I lived was to drink until I died. Days turned into weeks, and each and every day for three months, I drank myself into unconsciousness. Secluded from life, I wasted everything that I had on the bottle. I would drink until I passed out, wake up again, curse God for keeping me alive, and drink again. I knew that the Master existed, I even led my own mother to Christ hours before she died, having the faith that He existed, but not accepting His love for me personally. Not yet.

It was the love of my dear friend (story #219) who would ask me to go to church for a revival service. It was her love for me that kept bringing her to my doorstep to check on me, often afraid of what she might find. It was her commitment to not letting me die alone that urged her to consistently reach out, as all the others had given up hope. In one moment of strength that, at that time, I saw as weakness, I allowed her to take me to church. In one moment of time, I surrendered to the call of the Master. At that altar, I prayed that He would take my life and He, in His audible voice told me this: “I have heard your prayers and I will answer them. If you take one more drink you will die, but you will not live with Me in Heaven.” Only God knew that I would leave that altar saved unto His Kingdom and delivered completely from the horror of alcohol.

So many things I needed to tell my loved ones. My children, still angry and wounded from my incarceration, were not even speaking to me. I had spent many nights on my knees asking God to change me into the woman that He wanted me to be and that He would reunite me with the boys. Two years of praying and crying, praying and crying. “Please bring about a change in me that is pleasing to my sons,” I would beg. After two years, God granted that request with my older son. He was the hard-headed military son who had originally demanded that I seek help. He is the one who found me after a two-week drunk and had to call the ambulance. He was the one who uttered the words “Mom, the ambulance is here and the whole neighborhood is watching. Now, am I going to have to carry you out like a drunk or are you going to walk out of here like a woman?” Those were some of the last words he said to me before I went to prison. He is the one who asked to see me first when I came home two years later. I can’t explain the conversation that we had at dinner. I can’t remember the words that I used to ask his forgiveness. But I do remember this phrase, “You’re my mom, and I will always love you.”

His brother, on the other hand, wasn’t quite as forgiving. He was not ready to see me, notbecause he was angry or hurt, he just didn’t need me in his life. He had a great career, a wonderful wife-to-be and a fulfilling relationship with God. I had never been there for him, so he went on about life as if I were not involved, and I wasn’t. But each week I would message him, just to tell him that I was thinking of him, that I was praying for him and that I loved him. Three years of prayer and petition and one day, a response. At 4 a.m. on a Monday morning in July 2014, I sent the usual message. “Son, I love you and I pray for you always.” And at 4:17 a.m., the reply, “Mom, it’s time we get together for dinner. Would you let me take you out Friday?” God hears a praying mom. He would take no apology or reasoning. He only wanted to start a relationship with his mother. He wanted nothing of the past and could only focus on our future together and his upcoming marriage in August. To my amazement, he and his bride-to-be handed me an invitation. The wedding was a few weeks away, and they both graciously involved me in some decisions of food and pictures on their big day. As I left my house on the wedding day and during the entire two-hour drive, I could only weep to God, thanking Him and asking Him to allow me to sit in the back so I could watch from a distance. I asked Him to honor one more request, that I just be able to see my son’s face as he took on the responsibility of leading his new household as a Godly husband to his wife. “Just let me sit in the back. Please do not let me get in the way,” I prayed out loud as I drove. But my God saw things differently. As the pictures were finished and the wedding was about to begin, I started to find a seat in the back row. “Mom, where are you going?” I heard. “Honey, I’m going to grab a seat so I can see you.” The next words were priceless…“Mom, you have to sit up front today. That’s where the moms go.” So, my oldest son took me by the arm and escorted me to the front row. So I could see. So I could feel what it was like to be forgiven. So I could be a part of this new life. So my faith in a loving God could be reaffirmed and I could share this story with those who need hope of answered prayers.

Wrecked by Grace . . . The Adult Child of a Demanding Mother. The Adult Child of an Alcoholic. The Adult Child. Convict. Convicted. Transformed. From a family tree of addicts to the aftermath of a life of bad decisions, the season of my life has to equate with fall. From the most hardened love demands of a mother to a love that is tender and forgiving that I have with my Heavenly Father, the leaves of my life have fallen in due time. Bits and pieces of me have been scattered throughout my life. Pieces of the real me. Pieces of joy and pain, laughter and tears. Pieces that seem to have the most majestic colors in the latest season of my life. Not the soft colors of spring, nor the stunning colors of summer. My life reflects the majestic warm colors of autumn, pleasant to gaze upon and sometimes a mere wonder that the leaves survived the harshest heat of past days.

One month after God delivered and saved me, my calling to correctional ministry began. I met a woman from our church who had a ministry team that went inside the Pine Bluff Area Office of the Arkansas Community Correction facility once a month to speak words of hope and testimony to the residents. At that time, the facility was open to all ex-offenders released at least 60 days who had been given permission from their parole office to travel outside the county.

From the moment that I went into the compound, I knew that God had opened a doorway for me to minister. I felt the pull of the Spirit and heard the words “This is the reason that you have lived behind the walls — so that you can be an image of hope to these ladies.” In the coming back, I knew that my life was coming full circle. I knew that God had allowed every bad decision, wrong turn and misguided step to place me in prison. He knew I would have faith enough in Him to tell my story to those who were still battling. I was taken out of the war and now, with God’s help, I am walking back into the battle to lend a hand to others.

I am thankful that I have the opportunity to go back into prisons and tell people that God is for them and not against them. His love reaches far, further than they have ever been. As strong as any addiction or stronghold that has them unable to move, He is more powerful and can give strength to even the weariest of souls.

God’s character is fully merciful and compassionately just. He does not waiver and He cannot be manipulated. That is the best part of the Grace of God. In reality, justice sets us free. Justice is the blend of the strong hand of the Lord because He loves us, the repentance that draws us closer to Him and the ability to forgive ourselves of the past through His strength.

And you shall remember that the Lord your God led you all the way these forty years in the wilderness, to humble you and test you, to know what was in your heart, whether you would keep His commandments or not. So He humbled you, allowed you to hunger, and fed you with manna which you did not know nor did your fathers know, that He might make you know that man shall not live by bread alone; but man lives by every word that proceeds from the mouth of the Lord. — Deuteronomy 8:2-3 NKJV

#219. Fully Grasping the Grace of God

Photo by Briana Rapp

My biological dad was in the Vietnam war when I was born. I found him when I was 21. I had a relationship with him until I was 42, and then he passed away. I am so thankful for the years I had with my dad. 

My little brother’s biological father (my stepdad) started sexually, physically and mentally abusing me when I was five years old. He also abused my mother. He was an alcoholic. He later served time in prison for hitting and killing someone while drinking and driving. When he got out, he was homeless and lived several years on the streets, before he died of cancer. My stepdad’s friend also abused me.

With the abuse, I became numb to the things going on in my life. I learned to build walls of protection around myself at a very young age. Things that no child should have to endure or see, I endured and saw. Most abusers are very controlling. My stepdad was no exception. He had to control everything I did. For example, once while I was riding my bike across a bridge near our home, he told me if I ever went across a bridge again, he would kill me. 

When I was 12, my best friend and I took a Dial-A-Ride car to a park. We fed the ducks and had a wonderful day. We were going to sell pop bottles to get the money for a Dial-A-Ride car back home. But no one would buy the bottles. We had to walk home. When we came to the bridge, I told my friend that I couldn’t walk over the bridge because, if I got caught, my stepdad would kill me. I told her I would meet her on the other side. But she insisted that she go with me under the bridge. So we walked under the bridge together. We had to swim across the water, and the current swept us away. I got rescued and she did not. My friend drowned. This happened in June. 

Beatings from my stepdad were a normal occurrence for my mom and me. My mom, little brother and I had a plan to meet at a certain spot outside of our house when my stepdad began beating us. Whoever could escape, would run to this spot and wait for the others to meet there. In August after my friend died, my stepdad went after my mom. She got out of the house and he went after me. At this point, I was ready for him to kill me. I was done. My little brother was four years old and, and until this point, he had never touched my brother. I had always tried to protect him. For some reason this time my little brother jumped on his back to protect me. He slung my little brother across the room and I remember his head bouncing off the wall. I said, “Run, John, run.” My little brother got out of the house. I told my stepdad to kill me. He didn’t — he did what he needed to do, and then I got loose. That was the first time he touched my brother. I knew it wouldn’t be the last. We went to our babysitter’s house to spend the night. My brother and I stayed at her house for two days. I told my mom I wasn’t going home. I called a family member in Arkansas and got a bus ticket for my brother and me to travel to Arkansas to move in with family. I told my mom she could stay or go with us, but we were leaving. She came with a loaded down pickup truck. We moved to Arkansas and never looked back. 

Moving allowed me to escape my abusers, but it was the beginning of my own destruction. My abusers were drug addicts and alcoholics, and I was determined never to go down that road. By the grace of God I didn’t, but the enemy (the devil) continued to pursue me. I was living in spiritual warfare all the time. 

“For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms. (Ephesians 6:12). 

There is a real army of evil out there. We have the resources to defeat the enemy, but we have to know Jesus and have His power in our lives. 

I had been sexually active since I was five, so I was sexually active after we moved to Arkansas at a young age with much older men. I just wanted someone, anyone, to love me and want me, even if I had to control and manipulate others to get it. When I was 16, my mom announced that she was getting married again and moving three hours away. I rebelled and moved out. I got married at 17 and had a baby at 18. 

I had never heard the Word of God and didn’t know anything about God at this point in my life. But I will say, the whole time that I was going through the horrible abuse in my childhood I knew that there was someone with me. It was only as an adult that I learned that it was the Lord who had been with me. 

My husband and I started going to church when I was around 20 and I was baptized at 21. This was a time of spiritual awakening for me. I had some wonderful Christian women in my life who were trying to disciple me, but no one knew anything of my past — not even the man I married. We were married 12 years and had three babies; then our marriage fell apart. My world was turned upside down. I rebelled completely. I became a serious man hater. Desperate for love, I turned to a same sex relationship with my best friend. We moved in together with our children. That relationship lasted six years. The enemy had convinced me that there was nothing I was doing that wasn’t right in the eyes in God. 

I fell into a very serious gambling addiction during that six years. One bad decision led me to a whole road of destruction. I did some things I’m not proud of. I could have ended up homeless or dead. I went beyond going to casinos and Vegas to also having bookies. I would bet thousands and thousands of dollars at a time on sports (mainly football). If I lost, I didn’t have the money to pay. Quido was my bookie’s name and his brother was Zito. True story — I’m not making this up. Every weekend I bet thousands of dollars on multiple games, and every Wednesday they showed up at the bar where I was bartending and collected what I owed or paid me what they owed me. I was actually good at it. I was winning so much money I was buying my kids any and everything they wanted. We went on extravagant vacations, doing things I should have never done and really thinking I was somebody! Do you see how the enemy works? I had all the money I could ask for, and I was doing it without a man (because I wanted to show everyone I don’t need a man). In my eyes, I was ‘mom of the year’ because my kids had anything they could ask for. 

But, I had no peace; I had no joy. You can be happy but have no Joy. Happiness comes from our flesh, but true Joy comes from the Lord. My oldest son (because he was the one it affected the most) went down a road of drugs and alcohol. Praise God it was short-lived (just a few years) but it happened. This difficult season really brought me closer to God with a deeper prayer life and dependence on the Lord. Several things came out of this. I quit gambling. The other major change was in my relationship.

The lady I was in a relationship with had two children. I had three. She had a grandbaby that we were raising. The Lord just would not leave me alone from the time that baby was born. He let me know that I was not where I was supposed to be. The Holy Spirit just laid this heaviness on me, so I would get back into reading the Bible and start listening to His voice again. When I did, I knew what I needed to do. 

I went home one day and said, “This is what the Lord is telling me. I can’t be with you anymore.” I went through a depression because I was giving up the baby, who was by then was two years old and whom I had really bonded with. I never got to see that child again. It was hard, but the whole time the Lord was with me giving me His love, His mercy, His guidance, His assurance, His grace. He was leading me to where He was taking me. All He was asking for was my obedience, just to listen to His voice. 

When she left, I couldn’t afford the house. I put the house on the market and prayed that God would help me sell it. God really started showing me His faithfulness. I thought, “Wow, I have done all this stuff and He is still there, still faithful and answering my prayers.” 

My brother and his wife invited me to his church and I have been there almost 13 years. I remarried in 2009, and we are serving in the church and walking every day with the Lord. I also do prison ministry. Prior to COVID-19, I went into a women’s prison in Fayetteville, Arkansas, and led a discipleship class once a week. My children are all grown up and doing well. God has restored everything the enemy stole from me. 

The Lord is a gentleman, and He allows us to make our own choices. But our freedom to choose does not free us from the consequences of our choices. The Lord wants us whole and healthy, but we will never be whole and healthy until we understand and receive His grace over our lives. I wasted a lot of years — even as a Christian (hear me now) — with no peace or joy and full of bitterness because I couldn’t grasp God’s grace for what I had done and what other people had done to me. I could grasp it for others but not for me. For years I was on a spiritual rollercoaster trying to hold everything together. I couldn’t figure out why things were so dang hard! I kept pleading the Word of God over myself and other people in my life and nothing was changing. I kept giving it to the Lord and taking it back. Giving it to Him and taking it back. I couldn’t trust myself and I sure couldn’t trust anyone else —even God. Through it all I never quit praying, begging God to help me be able to withstand the storms of life without being shaken. 

The Lord never gave up on me. The Lord took me on a journey that brought me to a place where I have now fully grasped the Grace of God. Over and over He has lovingly poured His Grace out over me and taught me how to do the same for others. He has taught me:

  1. Although humans disappoint or disappear in this life, God never will.
  2. How to shut off all the voices, so I can hear His.
  3. How to have peace during the storm because He will never leave us or forsake us.
  4. My walk with Him is never going to look like someone else’s and someone else’s is never going to look like mine.
  5. He took away allmy fear of being alone and taught me that He is all I need. 

There are so many ways to describe God. I have experienced God’s love, mercy, grace, restoration, and kindness. He is all-powerful and never-changing. Never give up on God because He will never give up on you. 

“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.Then you will call on me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you. You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart. Jeremiah 29:11–13

#218. God Cares About It All!

I have three horses: Angel (see story #70), a mare named Darla, and a big beautiful gelding named Red. Apollo, my neighbor’s horse, also has joined my little herd, since he was all alone after his pasture buddy passed away.  

The morning of July 7, all four horses had been trimmed by my ferrier. They were all happy and healthy, or so it seemed. 

Darla has to wear a grazing muzzle during the day in “grass season,” due to “founder” (high sugar in the grass that could kill her without it, almost like diabetes). When I went to the barn about 7 p.m. to put Darla up for the night, I noticed Red was not with the others. 

I rode over the hill and found Red standing there looking like a swamp monster! He was soaking wet, covered in dirt, and had scuff marks on his head! I had no idea what had happened. My first thought was “something attacked him!” 

I noticed by our other barn, the dirt had been disturbed and the water trough had been knocked over. Then I knew he had been rolling around because of painful colic. As I began to attend to Red, he fell down. I quickly got him back up and called my husband, Mark. He brought me a syringe of Banamine (pain medicine for colic). We took turns walking Red for about four hours. He did have a bowel movement, but that didn’t seem to help him feel any better.

We called the veterinarian. The vet intubated Red with a gallon of mineral oil to check for a blockage. We did everything we could that Tuesday. My husband and I stayed home from work the next two days. We were determined to get him better. We had not eaten and took turns sleeping in short shifts. All our attention was focused on Red. 

We have an old backhoe here on the farm, which had not been used for about three years. The lights on it have not worked at all for at least 10 years! On Thursday morning, Mark said to me, “I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, but I need to jump that backhoe to get it running . . . you know?” 

With a lump in my throat, I said “Yes, I understand,” knowing that Mark would need the backhoe to bury Red. Yet we continued to work with Red the rest of the day, keeping in close contact with the vet. Finally, around 4 p.m. Thursday, I realized the medicine and everything else we had been doing was not working. Red’s breathing was getting very labored. Even though he followed us around the round pen, he never laid down again.

This whole time I had been praying urgently to God to “save my big Red, please!” But, at that point, my prayers changed to, “If it’s time for him to go, even though he is only 16, please don’t let him suffer.” I prayed for God’s strength and guidance on what to do. 

The vet arrived about 4:30 p.m. He listened to Red’s belly and told us he couldn’t hear any “gut sounds.” He diagnosed Red as having a form of “gas colic,” which can be fatal. The vet said there was nothing we had done or could have done to cause or prevent this. He told me it was Red’s time. I knew he was right and didn’t want Red to have to suffer.

As we walked Red to the area where he would be put down, I was trying to be strong, but my pain was so intense! I felt like part of me was dying. I told him what a good boy he was and thanked him. I told him I would see him again one day. 

The vet was wonderful! He said to me, “When I administer this, I’ll take his lead line. Sometimes they go down easy and sometimes hard.” I just nodded. I was praying to God to give me the courage to do this and also to be with him when he passed. Mark said, “Maybe you don’t need to be here for this. Go back to the house.” I said, “No! I have to be here with him!” 

As the vet started the euthanasia, Red buckled and then fell over. As soon as he fell over, I turned away, walked off, and went to my knees. I cried as quietly as I could, I honestly thought my heart was literally breaking to pieces! Then I remembered the song “Ten Thousand Angels Cried.” The lyrics refers to God during Jesus’ crucifixion, “God turned his head away, He couldn’t stand the sight.” Remembering that song gave me the courage to get up and go back over to Red. I stroked his big beautiful face and told him it was okay to go. I told him how I loved him so very much. 

I am glad I could be with Red as he passed away peacefully. After he died, about 7:30 p.m., I went back to the house, because I didn’t want to be there when Mark buried him. When Mark got back to the house, he comforted me a long time as I cried. He said, “Let me tell you about that backhoe.” I said, “I don’t care about the stupid backhoe!” He said, “You will when I tell you this.” 

I listened as Mark told me what happened, “You know I told you I needed to jump the backhoe to get it going right? Well, something told me to just try to start it without jumping it, and when I did, it started right up! And every light on it worked!” 

A few days later when Mark went to move the backhoe from the area of Red’s grave, he had to jump it, and none of the lights worked. So once again, God cares about everything in our lives, even things we consider to be trivial or not worthy of bothering him about in prayer. God cares about it all! This was a reminder to have faith in Him, regardless of what we think we want, but trusting in Him for His plan for us. We know that His ways are not our ways. We can have peace because God loves each of us so very much! 

God was there for us that day; even though I didn’t get the result I wanted. God showed us through a backhoe (of all things) that He cares for us and is always there with us.