23 years ago...

It's been 23 years, and although most days it never crosses my mind, there are times that I'm taken back to that day, and it seems surreal.

Picture this: A bright, sunny April day in 1990. My high school- the place I knew so well and felt so safe. A friend I'd known my whole life waiting in the parking lot that afternoon. What could possibly go wrong?

What went wrong is this. That "friend" I had known forever raped me in that parking lot that bright sunny day. In an instant, I found myself in a situation that I never would have imagined. Not then. Not there. Not him. But the truth is that rape, sexual assault- whatever you want to call it- is no respecter of persons. It doesn't matter if you're a "good girl" or "bad girl". It doesn't matter how much money you have or don't have. It doesn't matter if you're a teacher's pet and straight A student. It doesn't matter if there is a building full of people just inside those doors. The only thing that mattered was that I was there, and he had a plan to harm me. And so it was.

I never told my story then. I wanted to hide it. Heck, I wanted to hide my entire self. I was embarassed, afraid that everyone would believe about me all of those horrible things he had said to me in those 20 minutes of hell. I wanted to run. And run I did.

Six weeks later, I walked across the stage to graduate from that high school, smile on my face, pretending that everything was just fine. Two months after that, I walked onto the campus of EKU, my new home, the place I "ran" to in order to get away from it all, lying to myself that I'd move on and forget all about it.

That didn't happen.

It's a long story, and I won't go into all of the details here now, but suffice it to say that I lived for years with shame and humiliation a part of my daily routine. They ate me alive. In the end, I wound up depressed, ready for it all to end. And finally, 8 years later, I heard a story of healing and redemption that changed me.

Another survivor told her story of rape, of depression, of shame, and of ultimate healing. And I knew that if she could have that, then so could I. And so my journey began. Y'all, I'm not the same person anymore. As I said in the beginning, most days I never give a thought to that day. Most days I feel as confident as can be, full of life, full of purpose, full of joy.

But when April rolls around and the days get longer and warmer, there is a gnawing in the pit of my stomach, a reminder that this day feels so much like that one. And those memories come back to haunt me again. Oh, I don't get sad or depressed again. I'm done with that. I don't feel like a victim anymore. NOT EVEN CLOSE. But I do remember because we humans, we are wired to remember. And that's okay.

Those memories cannot hurt me, and in fact, I believe that they help me. What's that, you say? Yes, I think they help me. You see, I am a better person because of the pain I endured that day. I'm strong. I'm secure. I'm healed. I'm redeemed. I know who I am in Christ, and that day is a part of that story for me. And so it's okay to remember and be a little down about it for a short time. I'm not that 17 year old girl anymore. I'm 40, and I'm okay.

This week I read a story of another 17 year old girl who committed suicide after being gang raped, then harassed about it. My heart breaks for her. I wish I had known her before, could have walked beside her, taken her hand and said "It's going to be all right. This does not have to defeat you. It doesn't even have to define you". But I didn't know her. However, if statistics are right, there are plenty others that we do know who are suffering now with that shame, their self esteem eaten away bit by bit as they start to believe the lies told them during those moments of abuse. It doesn't have to be that way. I will do whatever I can to make sure it's not that way for those girls.

I can't heal people. I can't change their stories. I can't tell anyone it will never happen to them. I can't take away the scars-physical or emotional. But I can relate. And I can cry with her. And I can tell her that her worth is not found in the words or actions of a monster. I can show her how the Lord renewed my life, restored me to a girl I actually love which I never thought possible at one time.

And so I share....and share.... and share some more.

Until all those other girls know they are not alone...


PS: If you are one of those girls (or guys) struggling, hiding your story or rape, afraid to tell the truth, please please please get help. Don't wait a minute longer. If you want to share your story with me, email me at hollybird@hotmail.com. I'll help you find the help you need to heal. It's not easy. You don't have to do it alone.

Wrestling and Waiting

I'm really REALLY not the wrestling type of gal. Ok, fine. I admit that when I was a little girl, I watched with my brother and my cousin every Saturday. I dodged the pillows that my cousin threw every time a chair was thrown, and I had the theme music for the "Fabulous Ones" memorized. Any of y'all out there remember Stan Lane and Steve Kern? To a 10 year old girl, it didn't matter that they were horrible actors. They were cute and shirtless. But I digress...

I've grown up, and I've LONG since outgrown my wrestling phase. So when a client's grandmother actually spoke to me in a Stone Cold Steve Austin voice today, I laughed out loud y'all. Forget professionalism. I was done. In my mind, all I could think of was a YouTube video I'd seen recently of "Stone Cold ET" (seriously, google it if you want a good laugh), and I was preparing myself for the inevitable. So when she said, in a raspy, threatening voice nonetheless, "And that's the bottom line", I swear I had to push mute on my phone. I'm 40 years old. You can talk to me in real adult words and everything. It's amazing really.

But here's the truth. I have a tendency to resort back to my childhood ways at times too. We all do, don't we? It's so darn easy to get to the "I-want-it-my-way-right-now" mentality. We live in a fast paced, instant-gratification society. We are used to getting what we want when we want it. We don't want to wait for anything. Just turn your TV on for a few minutes of commercials if you don't believe me ("It's my money, and I want it now!" rings through my head even as I type this).

But God is not about the instant gratification. Slowly (painfully slow even!), He is teaching me that there is beauty in the wait. There is learning. There is peace. There is healing. There is growth. There is questioning. There is stretching too. Some of it hurts, but all of it is necessary for me. And it's okay. It's more than okay actually. It's perfectly wonderful because He is in the wait too. Trust me. I've been waiting on God for a long time for something. I'm still waiting today. I've waited before on other things, so I know that His timing really is best, and I'm good with this wait. Yes, I get impatient at times, but over all, I'm content, and content is a very good place to be.

So, if you are waiting too, be comforted. You are not alone. You will not wait forever. God is always faithful to answer. And there is beauty in the wait.

And that's the bottom line!

No awards here...

I'm pretty sure it's safe to assume that I won't be getting any "Mother of the Year" awards for 2013. Seriously, it's only April 2nd, and I've already lost that nomination. If it weren't the fact that my daughter's hair has breakage (a no-no for African hair, I suppose akin to a white girl cutting her own 'bangs" with scissors), I'm absolutely positive that getting your son fired = no trophies for you! Apparently, when they took my gallbladder out last week, they also took my ability to READ because when I offered to look at his schedule for work for him, I COMPLETELY MISSED the fact that he was scheduled for yesterday. No show, no call= immediate termination. Hey, I get it. Rules are there for a reason. No hard feelings; I just hate that my actions led to his termination. (we've already discussed responsibility stuff here, so we'll skip that!) See what I mean? NO TROPHY FOR ME!

Jeff and I have been reading the bible chronilogically, and we are currently in the book of Judges. Let me set the stage: The Israelites, freed from slavery in Egypt, have completed their 40 years of wondering through the wilderness. God has given them the Promised Land, as He said He would. They have divided up land among the tribes and are settling into their new lives. And then I read over and over "The people did evil in the Lord's sight"... The Israelites messed up, y'all. Even though they had witnessed miracle after miracle for the past 40+ years, they still messed up. And when they saw their ways were wrong, they repented, were forgiven and restored.

The same God that restored them and forgave them... He is still alive! So, it's okay if I screw up sometimes. No, I don't think my honest mistake in reading Bryan's schedule warrants the wrath of God, but you get my point, right? We have hope. I HAVE HOPE! I'm not destined to always screw it up. He redeems.

Truth is that I'll probably never be nominated for Mother of the Year. Truth is I never really want to be nominated. I don't need those accolades. I simply want to glorify my Heavenly Father in my parenting, my role as a wife, my role as a friend, daughter, sister, nurse, etc etc. And when I screw up- 'cause LORD KNOWS I will again!- I can get right back up, hold my head high, and move on. Beacuse my Daddy in Heaven loves me. Always.

And that, my friends, is all the trophy I need.

I've come undone

And He said, “Father, why are they screaming?

Why are the faces of some of them beaming?

Why are they casting their lots for my robe?

This crown of thorns hurts me more than it shows.

Father please, can’t you do something?

I know that You must hear my cry.

I thought I could handle a cross of this size.

Father, remind me why.

Why does everyone want me to die?

Oh, when will I understand why?”

My precious son, I hear them screaming.

I’m watching the face of the enemy beaming.

But soon I will clothe you in robes of my own.

Jesus, this hurts me much more than you know,

but this dark hour, I must do nothing,

though I’ve heard your unbearable cry.

The power in your blood destroys all of the lies;

soon you’ll see past their unmerciful eyes.

Look, there below, see the child

trembling by her father’s side.

Now I can tell you why...

she is why you must die. 

(Excerpt from "Why?" By Nicole Nordeman)

These words were sang in our church yesterday. The beginning of the song is beautiful too, and I freely admit I had a tear in my eye from the start. But when it got to the part I included here, I was undone. The visual image of my Jesus in agony, feeling for the first time ever His separation from the Father, literally broke my heart. The response of His Father in Heaven, watching as His only Son died, full of love, full of Grace....I have no words for that. 

What breaks my heart most though is the knowledge that I have taken for granted this love, this sacrifice. How have I lived 40 years, knowing this story inside and out and never been brought to sobs until now? How have I become so callous to His extravagant love for me? Have I become so casual that I have cheapened His grace?

This weekend we spent time organizing. I was Overcome with grief, embarrassed, humiliated at the excess that I saw in my home. Our coat closet is bursting with no less than 8 coats THAT HAVE NEVER BEEN WORN THIS SEASON! How can I call myself a follower of Jesus yet allow people around me go cold this whole winter while I have coats I haven't even put on? It was that closet full of coats that came to mind as I listened to that song in church yesterday. If I don't put into action the grace and mercy afforded me on the Cross, then I'm not worthy to call myself by His name. 

The truth is that Jesus came to save, to heal, to clothe, to give sight, to feed, to visit, to love, to touch. And I am called to follow after Him. 

Oh God,  change my heart. Don't let me cheapen your gift. Break me for the things that broke you. Teach me your compassion. Help me see with your eyes. Help me to give selflessly like you gave. I'm yours. 

I don't want to wake up in September and find that I can think about the Cross without emotion. I don't want to find that my heart has become deadened to His gift of Grace. 

Oh God, keep me seeking. Keep me wanting. Keep me asking. Keep me crying. Keep me humble. Keep me passionate. Keep me. 

My Easter gift to my kids...

It's here. Holy Week. The Passover. Easter. 

Those words alone have nothing special about them, just consonants and vowels  that we use in our language. Oh, but those words have infinite, life-changing meaning when you grasp the Grace by which they have been formed. Too often, however, these things are lost amidst the flurry of pastel eggs, fake grass, and an oversized bunny who brings candy to our kids. We trade the cross for new dresses and ties, the crown of thorns for a bonnet. 

Please don't read this and label me a "bunny hater"; I'm not. It's just that I'm tired of the bunny getting center stage while Jesus gets one hour on Sunday morning.  How did this happen?  And what's more, why do we let it continue? I want more than this for my kids. I want them to grasp what Easter really is, to dwell in the transformation brought about by the ressurection of the Saviour. So, here is my gift to my kids this year for Easter. 

Bryan, what a year you've had. At 17, you've lived more life than most 60 year olds. You've learned to endure, to see the light at the end of the tunnel. When I think of Easter and you, I think of Christ's gift of Grace. This season, you've seen firsthand what darkness looks like. You've wrestled the demon of self doubt and depression, fought the voice that told you to end it all and be done with life.  And by His grace, you've won. Hear this, Bryan, if you never hear another thing I tell you: BY HIS STRIPES YOU ARE HEALED. He paid the price on Calvary, defeating sin and everything we deal with. Your depression was cured on that cross by His Mercy and Grace. When the darkness faded and Christ arose, He knew you'd endure this season, and He made a way for your healing and redemption. It's done, my son. And He did it for you. You've already won because the Christ who conquered death dwells within you. That is the beauty of Easter, revealed in your life today. Celebrate it. Tell it. Shout it. 

Your music is your gift, your expression. So let it out. Make a joyful noise to the Lord, and celebrate the victory He has given you. And never stop. Yes, you heard me. Never stop celebrating the rebirth that has happened within you. On those days when the darkness and sadness start to creep back in, say "No" in the name of Jesus. You have that authority because of Easter. No basket full of fake grass and sugar can equal this gift!

Ellie, when I think of you, I think of redemption. Your life is a living picture of Easter. There you were in Ethiopia- dirty, sick, lonely, frightened... And we came for you. But Ellie, my sweet girl, it gets even better. Because Jesus came for you long before we did! That's what Easter is! The Christ- perfect, Holy, Chosen, loving- came to us- dirty, broken, afraid, lonely. He has redeemed you with His love, His blood, His Grace. There isn't a chocolate bunny on earth that can match up to that gift! There isn't a frilly dress on the planet that will ever be as beautiful as Christ glorified in your life. So, dance and sing and celebrate that Ellie. Sing until you have no voice, declaring the love of your Saviour. Shout from the innermost recesses of your heart that He has healed you and redeemed you. He has given you beauty for ashes, Ellie. You are living proof that God redeems. 

These are the things I want my kids to know for Easter. Bunnies, dresses, baskets and eggs cannot heal. They cannot save. They cannot change a life. They cannot redeem. Only Jesus can. Only Jesus does. And that's enough for me. 

Confessions of a People Pleaser

I don't like despise letting people down. Oh, hear me out on this; I do it so much more than I really would like to admit. But I don't like it still. There is a gnawing within me to please those in my life. Some of that I think is good. I want to please my husband, not in a sick kind of way, but to honor him as the sweetest gift God ever gave me. I want to please my kids- not to make them happy because I don't spend too much time thinking about that (I want them to be content, a whole different thing, and that's another blog!). I want to please them because i love them, and I love blessing them. I want to please family and friends for much the same reason. I love the people in my life. So, when they hurt, I hurt. And when I know that I'm the cause of that hurt, well.. that just stinks.

But get this. Pleasing people isn't always good. Oftentimes, I've found that my quest to please some person around me has ended with me not pleasing my God. And I'm not okay with that.

In the past three months, I've struggled with knowing that God was telling me to step back from some things in order to allow more time to focus on the first ministry He has called me to- my family. I didn't really want to listen. After all, I like the things that I've been involved with, and why should I have to give up something in order to do more of what I'm already doing? blah blah blah. I'm embarrassed to admit that I was so brazen to think that I knew better than God what I needed.

And just as I was ignoring God's voice, we were hit with a situation with our daughter that tore my heart. While she was okay, we were made aware of things from her past that were ugly and heart-wrenching and called for some follow up from us even all these years later. I was angry that my little girl had to even give a second thought to the trauma she had endured early in life, and I let myself cry out to God that it just wasn't fair. In His quiet, steady, constant way, God reminded me that one of His gifts to me was to walk this road alongside her, guiding her, supporting her, mothering her. He was reminding me of what He'd been trying to say for so long- that I needed to focus more at home.


But I still didn't listen.

Then, in December, I came down with the flu. I was sick y'all. More sick than I've been in years. I spent the next week secluding myself in our basement, hoping and praying that I wouldn't pass it along to the rest of my family. I spent days mindlessly watching daytime television (this should be outlawed, by the way!), in a fog of cough meds and funk. I cried as I had to watch Ellie's Christmas program via Facetime (thank you Lord for technology), and I cried as I missed spending time with my son. But God met me there, and He gently reminded me once more that the people I was missing time with so much were the very ones He had been calling me to give more of myself to.

But I still didn't listen.

I recovered, got ready for Christmas, went on with life. On the last day that I was to work before Christmas vacation, I was preparing to leave when I bent over to pick up a simple bottle of lotion. The next thing I knew, I felt a "pop", then I could not move. I had messed up my back, and I was completely helpless. It took Jeff's help to sit, stand, move, everything. And so it was that, after a trip to the ER to determine that I had no disc damage, I found myself once more alone in the house, unable to do much except pray. And it was then that I finally surrendered.

I finally admitted to God that I was tired. As much as I was enjoying the things that I was involved with, I had to admit that I was behind in grading Bryan's home school work because I simply was rushing from one thing to another too much. Instead of doing one or two things really well I was doing more things only half-heartedly. And that included being a mom. I'd become bitter towards my kids and their activities, seeing things as an inconvenience rather than a ministry. I yelled too much, expected too much, griped too much. They weren't seeing Jesus in me; they were seeing a monster of a mom many days.

And so, I said "yes" to God. I knew exactly what needed to be cut out first, and it was so hard to write that message out to let those involved know. It was even harder to hear that I had let them down. I don't like letting people down; it's not my nature to just not care when others don't have a high opinion of me. It hurts to hear people tell me that they haven't gotten what they wanted or expected from me. But the truth is that God hasn't been getting what He expects and wants from me, and my kids haven't gotten that either, and my husband hasn't either. And well, those things have to be first.


My prayer as a mom is that my kids see that I'm a follower of Jesus first and foremost. I want them to see that I'm wiling to be obedient even when it's not convenient or comfortable for them. I want them to say one day when I'm gone "My mom loved Jesus, and she loved her family, in that order". I want my friends and co-workers to see that obedience as well. And they haven't in the past 6 months because I've been running from what God has told me to do.

  So, here's to 2013- a year of being more concerned with not letting God down than those around me. Here's to a year of serving my family wholeheartedly, cheerfully, joyfully. Here's to a year of spreading Hope and Grace instead of bitterness and resentment. Here's to a year of saying "no" when needed so that I can say "yes" without reservation when I'm supposed to. Here's to a year of authentic faith- unwavered by what others' opinions of me might be, standing firm in knowing that my Jesus loves me. Here's to a year of "boasting in the hope of the glory of God" (romans 5).

Christmas thoughts...

Where is the last place you went that you really didn't want to go? Work? Home? The grocery? Wal-mart? A dental visit? A meeting? The DMV? The mall?

Certainly there are places that we don't prefer to go. But yet we find joy nonetheless after having been there. Our work brings provision. Our homes bring healing and community. A meeting hopefully brings resolution. A visit to the dentist or doctor brings wellness and prevention. A trip to the mall can lead to smiles from those who receive the gifts we purchase.

But when was the last time you went into a place where you KNEW you'd be ridiculed, persecuted, tortured and eventually killed?

THIS is the age old story of Christmas- that Jesus, the God of all, came to a place that was unlikely (A Bethlehem stable), to people that were unworthy (Shepherds), in a way that was  unheard of (A virgin birth).

Oh, but this is STILL the story of Christmas today. You see, Jesus STILL comes to unlikely places-bars, jails, brothels, slums, the White House, government, MY house, YOUR house, schools, churches, street corners, everywhere.

He STILL comes to the unworthy-thieves, murderers, addicts, prostitutes, husbands, wives, sons, daughters, pastors, politicians, attorneys, doctors, janitors, coaches, rich, poor, you, me.

And He STILL comes in an unlikely way- entering the hearts of ALL who surrender to His will, follow His leading and desire His Lordship.

Folks, this is huge. This is Christmas, not the presents we fret over or the trees and decorations. It's not the songs or the traditions. It's not snow covered yards and snowmen, not Charlie Brown or Rudolph. Christmas is Jesus, in the flesh, come down for me and you. This propels me not only in December but each and every day of every year to live a life of Hope.

Jesus IS hope.

Hope has come to me.

Hope has come to you.

Hope has come.

Merry Christmas!