Hard Things of Faith

                        I woke up this morning intending to do a FB Live video. January has been a month of bringing awareness to  Post-abortive Healing.  I wanted to address a question that I have heard through the years about abortion.  That did not happen.     The sky over the mountain range was beautiful and inviting.  The sun was out and warm, but the wind was strong.  I like to record from different places in the city, but recording would have to be done from an enclosed location due to the wind, so off I went to look for the perfect place.   Once I found a place I liked, I started to gather my thoughts.  I can’t talk about this subject without talking about her. It should not be a surprise by now, but sometimes I am still caught off guard by how much I am moved by her.   Even though I have never seen her.  The child I was once afraid to acknowledge, even to myself, is now a part of my daily life. Though I cannot touch her and I don't know what sh

If you have read the recent posts, 19, Knocked up & no good  , Honor Thy Father , you have been given a small picture of me, my dad, and generational sin. The conclusion to this is about the Lord and his hand upon my life even before I knew him. It's about how he provided the way for me to find healing and forgiveness and love after abuse. I was 16 years old when my father almost drank himself to death. He had stripped the lining of his esophagus and was bleeding internally so severely that they weren't sure if they could save him. They told us that if he lived through the night, he would not live another five years. I went into that hospital chapel that Christmas night, and I prayed to God, whom I did not know, for my father to die. This was a result of all the verbal and emotional abuse that happened in my home. I thought life would be so much better without him. The Lord disagreed; my father made it through the night and lived another 25 years with a cirr

If you read last week’s blog,  19, Knocked up & No Good , you got a snapshot of what life was like at home for me with my verbally and emotionally abusive dad.  I wrote last week's blog as a stand-alone blog about ministering to post-abortive women but…  As I read it and reread it, what stood out to me most was my dad.  My father was so much more than the snapshot I have given you.  Even though our history was tainted by the ugliness of abuse, he and I are so much the same.  We both wanted to be good but didn't know how.  We both desired acceptance, but it had always been just out of reach.   After he died and I healed from the hurt, which you can read about here . The Lord opened my eyes to a whole other side of who my father was.  He had his own story of abuse. I would love to tell you that my dad and I found healing before he died, but we didn’t.  Our last interaction was full of hurt, anger, and self-righteousness. Let me show you a different side of the man who wa