“The moment that changed me forever was the moment my first child was born. I was happy, filled with hope, and thought, ‘Now I understand the whole point of work, of life, of love.’”

– Paul Theroux

This is such a beautiful quote. Unfortunately, it doesn’t come close to describing how I felt during my first pregnancy. Almost two years after having an abortion, I was pregnant again. I hadn’t healed from that experience. My heart was still heavy with grief. The shame and guilt I still struggled with, began to multiply.

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We’ve all been there. Standing in the midst of two points in our lives. Looking for guidance on which way to go. A crossroad. I stood in the middle of one of the biggest crossroads of my life in November 2004. Faced with an unplanned pregnancy and the fear of doing it alone

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I grew up always hearing how pretty I was. As a child, my parents never held back praise and always took the time to tell me I was beautiful. By the time I reached my teen years the compliments continued. Whether it came from my teachers, the boys who liked me, or my peers, I was always told I was pretty. By 16, those words became background noise, with no true meaning.

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A sweet heavenly surprise she was. The thought of having another child terrified us but the possibility of a baby girl made us smile and dream of endless tea parties and giggles, tutus, and everything pink. So, we began to make room for this new life God blessed us with.

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Having another child was not on our agenda. We had Boogey and he was a handful. We poured everything we had into him. Given that my pregnancy with him was (emotionally) one of the hardest things I’ve gone through, we both decided that one child was all we could handle.

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Fires can be deadly however fires are necessary. It’s necessary for survival. It provides warmth, sterilization, light, and can even be used as a distress signal.

Our marriage had been burning for years. Slowly but surely. We ignored it as much as we could but just like any fire, without an effort to extinguish, it will eventually consume everything in its path.

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To start a fire you need three things: fuel, heat and oxygen. You can’t have a fire without all three. Separately, they are all safe and all needed for a different purpose. But when together, they can make a deadly combination.

Our marriage had its own combustible components: Control, unhealthy communication and mistrust; and it all came together to a point of ignition that completely burned our marriage to the ground…or so it seemed

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To start a fire you need three things: fuel, heat and oxygen. You can’t have a fire without all three. Separately, they are all safe and all needed for a different purpose. But when together, they can make a deadly combination.

Our marriage had its own combustible components: Control, unhealthy communication and mistrust; and it all came together to a point of ignition that completely burned our marriage to the ground…or so it seemed

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I still remember the first time I saw him…On the weekends, I would come home to wait tables at a restaurant in Dallas. Papa was in the Air Force and was recently relocated back to Texas. Needing something to do, he got a job at the same restaurant. It was love at 1st sight. We locked eyes and I knew he would be the one I would spend the rest of my life with…doesn’t that sound romantic? Here’s what actually happened…I saw him and I went on about my business. I can say, he had his eyes on me. Soon after, we were introduced; opening the door for him to slowly squeeze his way in.

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I was home one weekend from college, in my room, sitting on the bed, crying. I was tired. I was broken and I was alone. In walks Deshawn. My then 3-year-old nephew. He quietly walks past me and into the bathroom. Seconds later, he emerges with one small piece of tissue paper. He climbs onto the bed and sits right next to me. He reaches up, wipes the tears from my face and holds my hand. He didn’t say a word, he never asked me what was wrong, he just sat there quietly while I cried. Every now and then wiping the tears from my face…

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I was 18 years old. Lying on a hospital bed. Alone. Tears were running down my face when the doctor and nurse walked in. Nothing was really said. No warm or reassuring smiles, nothing. The nurse took my arm and inserted an IV. I can still feel the initial sting from the fluids rushing into my veins. So much so I clinched my eyes closed even tighter as more tears began to run down my face. I didn’t want to look at them. I could still hear the cries of protestors outside the fence that lined the clinic. I could still see the signs even with my eyes closed…but I couldn’t bare to look at the doctor or the nurse…because I was ashamed…

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 I was sixteen. Sitting on the floor of my bedroom closet. Alone. In the dark. It’s hard to explain what led to that moment. All that mattered is I was there. The darkness of the closet was a mere reflection of what I believed to be my life. While the appearance of happiness could be seen at school and in the presence of family, I was anything but. I was struggling to love me. I was struggling with acceptance. I was struggling with what God said vs what the enemy said. At that moment, the enemy was winning…

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