I have words.

And I haven’t been using them lately.

So I’ve become a violently shaken gallon of Mountain Dew.  The totally carbonated, overly caffeinated kind.

I can and will have exploded.

My mom is going home with hospice care this Friday.

In two days.

Saturday we’ll be holding a living wake for her.  Throwing her a celebration for all her friends and family to love on her, share their gratitude for how amazing she is, and

to say goodbye.

I’ve been keeping my cool about all of this (quietly crying only a few times then pulling myself together appropriately) cause it’s my MO.  My modus operandi.  My go to, make it work, I’m totally here to help you all out cause I can stuff my shit for now act.

An act.

I’m pretending.

I’m covering shit up. With thick, heavy cement.  But this time it ain’t working.  My act is failing me.

Yesterday, while visiting my mom, the nurse told me my mom’s contact person at the nursing home is my oldest step sister.

Now, since my mom has been living in a hospital bed, about two years or so months, I have been repeatedly asking them, telling them, calling them, reminding them that I am her daughter and I need to be the contact person.  Because right now, when my mom falls and gets hurt, when she stops breathing, when she gets an open wound, when they rush her to the hospital – I am not notified.  Not even my stepdad is notified.

My stepsister is called first.  I couldn’t figure out why the hospital couldn’t get this right!

Then it occurred to me, for the first time last night, that it isn’t the hospitals that aren’t following through and changing the contact info.

My stepdad is changing it.  He keeps changing it back to his daughter.

She never lived with my mom.  She was never raised by her or had to ask my mom for lunch money or tampons or even shared a cigarette with my mom.

You know when you have a scar and you tell someone about it, you can describe how you got it, the gory details, describe the environment perfectly, even tell them how, “damn!  that fucking hurt!”, but you can’t actually re-live how painful it was in that moment?  You might be able to remember parts of the pain, you can picture the tears you cried, the way your eyebrows knitted together in response to the pain, you remember those around you and how they looked at your wound with disgust or freaked out themselves, but you don’t actually become those feelings again and again and again when you talk about your scars.  You can’t.

I can’t.

Because it fucking hurts.

When I realized my stepdad kept taking my name off the list and putting his daughter’s on it, all of the sudden my wounds reopened.

All at once I became the pain, the struggle, the fear of losing my mom to someone else’s family, someone else is going to claim her as theirs.

My scars opened up.  I began bleeding out, oozing with puss and gangrene and smelly, ugly pain.

And I was MAD at myself for letting these wounds reappear at this time!  This is NOT the TIME to be resentful or scared or afraid or angry!  THIS IS THE TIME TO BE STRONG and to be STOIC and show that I’ve GROWN and am a better person!

But the pain was so scary.  So scary and invasive and wordless.

On the way home, I called my stepdad.

I started out calmly but my heart raced and words thrust out of me like vomit.

I started screaming at him.

Screaming that she’s MY mom!  And I know it’s hard for him and I’ve been biting my tongue for his sake but it’s hard for me too!

My voice shattered my ears, pierced the phone, I cried because I was so afraid to be left out in the cold as she is leaving us forever and ever and ever to vast invisibility.  I cried as a little girl crying for her mommy.  I cried for him to let me have my mommy back – as if he has anything to do with it.  I blamed him.  And I cried for blaming him and for being so irrational and out of control and incapable of expressing myself in a more calm, proper, effective manner.  For losing my MO.

I cried and screamed and threw my biggest tantrum ever because I can’t let go of my mom and I can’t do it alone and I don’t know how to ask for help.

(now I will say the “I knows” so you all know that I know that everything will be cool like Fonzie again) I know everyone is also hurting.  They are doing everything they can to cope and be supportive and all of my stepdad’s family would give anything to help this transition.  They would give anything to keep my mom, to make the pain go away, to resolve and comfort all this.  We all want to help each other.  It’s hard for us all.  Painfully so.  I know all of this.  Everyone is amazing and wonderful and loving.

But there are wounds that I thought I could ignore or were taken care of or didn’t need to be dealt with anymore.  Or at least until I was alone.  And this was all over.  And I could deal with it in the privacy of my bathroom where I could wail and moan and let go.  And I could keep hiding my anger.  And pretend I’m cool with it all and everything is cool and I trust everyone just like I’m supposed to because we’re family and all that.

TOday, when I buried my face in my stepdad’s shoulder and told him I was so sorry for yelling he said, “It’s okay.  I understand.”  He told my sister (the one who’s home from Pakistan, my rock) that he couldn’t even really make out the words I was saying.  That shows you the state I was in.  And he told my step-sister-in-law (that’s a mouthful) that he figured I was going through the same thing he went threw two weeks ago when everyone was making decisions without him and no one was asking him first.

He’s right.

I couldn’t have said it better myself.  Clearly.  I couldn’t say it at all.  I didn’t know.  He did.  And he didn’t hesitate for a second in forgiving me.

Maybe I’m just kidding myself when I think I’m hiding it all.  And kidding myself that I have to act properly and be stoic and know how to describe what I’m feeling.

My family loves me.  I didn’t really know it before.  But now that’s all I know.

Breathe.

Breathe.

Take deep breaths until it passes.

Breathe through the fear.

I scream inside, wanting to escape my body, but I don’t know why.

Eat some chocolate chips, try to taste food, avoid the pain. But, I don’t taste anything.

Try to figure out what I’m feeling, try to pin it down to a thought or a memory so I can confront it, so I can speak kind words to it and sooth it, love it gently back into a quiet place inside.

But I can’t.  Breathe, deeper, louder, breathe.

God, it’s happening again.  I think this is an anxiety attack.

Another anxiety attack.

Please, God help me through it.

Again.

I know, generally, what’s causing it.  But since it’s so general I can’t calm myself down.  I can’t predict when it will happen.  I can’t comfort myself.

It’s my mama.  My mommy.  Her time is coming near.  That’s all I can say about it now.  I know it’s happening and I see how hard her life has been living in a hospital bed, hooked up to breathing tubes and feeding tubes and sticky heart measuring things, not able to savor a slice of cheese or take a shower by herself or a read a mystery novel or call a friend.

But, she can still listen, she can still give me the best advice when I come to her crying about the stresses of my fancy free life.  She never judges, she never nit-picks, she never cuts me or anyone I’m talking about down.  She just offers wise, solid advice.

What will I do without you, mama?

But she’s at peace.  And that’s a beautiful thing to see after all this time in a hospital bed.  She’s ready and at peace.  And she deserves to go the way she wants to.  And when she wants to.

Breathe.

Breathe.

Breathe.

But I’ve taken a little break from writing.  I’ve had to.  Lots of things to get in order.  My house needs cleaning.  My children need me.  I need them.  My mom needs me.  I need her.  My husband, too.

And now when my computer is sitting on the table, pouting at me, I think, “I’m sorry old friend.  I just can’t do it.  And I can’t think of anything to write, anyway.”  I can’t think of anything to write in that moment, anyway.  When I’m driving in the car or standing in line in the grocery store or falling asleep, then I think of all kinds of witty lines and deep topics.  But once I’m tapping on the keys of this computer it all disappears like a (metaphor.  even metaphors are vacant)

It’s like working out at the gym (there’s my metaphor).  You get on a roll and your body stops fighting you and begins to transform, you feel stronger and faster and happier.  You feel capable.  But once you take a break or someone gets sick and you can’t go for a while, the thought of getting back at it is daunting.  What will I do first?  Run on the tread mill?  Or should I lift?  What exercises should I do?  Maybe I’m too tired to go anyway.

It’s the same with writing.  I take a break and it is too daunting to start up again.  I don’t know what to write about and convince myself it’s going to be crap anyway, something people will get bored reading.  But just like working out, I need it.  I need to write.   I need to sort out my thoughts and feelings and find the words to describe what I’m experiencing or I go crazy.

The other day at the gym, I had a panic attack.  My throat closed up, I couldn’t breathe, my face and chest became flush, a wash of heat came over me and then little tiny bumps popped up all over my skin.   At first I thought I was alergic to something in the air.  Then I thought it was pre-menopausal hot flashes.

But wasn’t.

It happened because I yelled at my sweet son for not putting his shoes on that morning and I was feeling horrible about it.  Because I have been overwhelmed lately.  I say “no” too often.  I only see my flaws.  I do all I can to keep up but still can’t get it all done!  And I’m not writing about it to figure it all out.

Until now.  And even though I still tried to intimidate myself by thinking, “what are you going to write about?” or “You don’t have time to write.” or “You’re boring.”  I didn’t listen.  I didn’t talk myself out of it.  I just did it.

I just started writing.  And it wasn’t so horribly boring, it didn’t take up all my time.  And I feel better.

What is something you’re avoiding?  Next time you have a chance, just do it.  Don’t judge, don’t compare, don’t say you can’t or you don’t have time or it won’t be good enough.  Set aside a few minutes and just do it.   Then come back and tell me about it:)  Because I wanna know!

Homemade cookies and nail polish, along with a message of love, went into each gift bag.

We’ve even begun forming a relationship with a “house mom” from one of the clubs. (A house mom is an older woman who has been around a long time that takes care of the girls, watches over them, etc.) She’s invited us to arrange a clothing drive with the dancers. It’s a way for the girls to give back and join us in service. How cool is that?

The manager of that club told us he’s “with us,” he supports anything we’d like to do. (how cool is THAT?!) So, in June we’ll be decorating their dressing room for 4th of July. Every time the girls walk to their lockers or look in the mirror they’ll be reminded that someone out there loves them and we have faith that God will whisper, sing, shout into their hearts that He is always there for them!

The house mom also told us about three new clubs we hadn’t visited before. Two of them we’ll add onto our list for our next outreach. But one of them we had planned on visiting, for the first time, that night. This particular club was recently in the news because there was a shooting there. Many people advised us not to go there because it was too dangerous. But do you think that scared us? No way, that only made it more clear that we needed to get in that place and share God’s love.

When we arrived at the “dangerous” club, the door man scowled at first. He looked us up and down. I’ll admit, there was a moment when I wanted to turn my stiletto, high heel boots right around and walk myself out of there. But we were filled with the Holy Spirit. Our church prayer team had just laid down the Holy LAW all over us and, you know what? I felt so peaceful and unafraid that nothing was going to turn us away from the women in that club!

I calmly smiled and said, “we’re here to deliver gifts to the girls.”

Suddenly, a child-like smile came across his face, “Really? That’s so nice!,” he said, “come on it!”

He was such a teddy bear after that. We walked right through the metal detectors (yup), handed him an Easter egg full of candy, and into the club we went.

We received so many hugs there. One hug came from a girl who said, “You guys are gonna make me cry. I’m a sentimental person. Thank you!” (Real dangerous) Another hug came from a girl that told a member of our team that she’s going to college, is sober for 8 years, and was working hard to get out. That girl definitely deserved the homemade cookies we brought for the girls.

Not everyone is always so grateful to see us. At one club, we came across a very skeptical, hardened girl who refused to smile. We chatted with her and she was giving us her most irritated, seen-it-all front. But, we were full of God’s love (did I mention that?) He helped us understand how far to push and when to move along. Even though she didn’t budge, we got to see her through God’s eyes and how precious she is beyond her protective shell.

I was once hardened like that and nothing could make me question why I was so angry more than the kindness of a stranger. It made me turn inward. I pray that tough lady will look inside and ask why we were so darn happy.

It’s so super crazy awesome and such a blessing to see how God will use our presence. We never know if it will be to offer a kind word, share a hug, listen to a story, or get the girls involved in service! It was an amazing night.

Side note:

I also used to be hardened toward people who would talk about being moved by God, filled with the (creepy) Holy Spirit, and guided by Jesus (purple Kool-aid drinkers). I thought they were pretty cooky. But, I’ve been given a new life, a new purpose, a new faith in how much God loves each and every one of us. And I want to be clear that we aren’t pushing religion or even the Universe, energy, “God,” whatever you wanna call it, on anyone. We don’t try to change these girls at all. They could work there the rest of their lives and it wouldn’t change the love we have for them. God doesn’t love any of us more once we have it “figured out.” (that’s cause no one does, we’d all be waiting a long time for that!) He loves us completely exactly where we are.

When I was dancing naked for cash, drinking to oblivion, being unfaithful in my previous relationships, God didn’t love me less.

Let me say that again, even at my lowest point in life God didn’t love me less!

He loved me then just as much as He does today, a sober, Jesus following, straight-laced mama. (HOW COOL IS THAT!!)

So, we wouldn’t treat these girls differently if they changed their lives. We love them just as they are. And we don’t change lives anyway, God does that.

If you feel moved, please feel free to continue to pray for God’s love to crush the darkness in these girls’ lives. You can also pray for our continued resources to reach these women and for our relationships to grow. Please pray for these girls to long for God’s love. For our clothing drive to be the first of many ways these girls will give back with us!! And for protection in our families because the enemy doesn’t want us out there, he’s gonna mess with us any way he can.

I’m going crazy.  I know, you’ve heard this before.  But, it’s spring in Minnesota and outside it’s still in the 30s and is ice-raining.  I was going to go see my mom today who is in the ICU again but I couldn’t make the drive because the roads are so bad.  In mid-April.

My mom is getting weaker.  (mind is blank.  I don’t want it to sink it so I stare out the window and let my eyes go blurry.)

I’ve overloaded my schedule.  That used to not bother me.  I didn’t mind spending every free moment working on my memoir or planning for my ministry or sewing aprons.  I used to hate spending my evenings sitting mindless on the couch watching TV with my husband because it felt like a waste of time.  But now I just want to sit and hang out with him and do nothing.    And I keep losing my patience with my kids and I DON’T want to be so short and anxious and angry all the time.

What do I put on hold?  What do I pause for now?

Funny, a friend of mine and I were talking about someone who is pretty confused and immature.  I could totally relate to her and my friend was surprised by that.  He said, “I forget that you used to be messed up, too.”

I love that it seems like I have it figured out but, my goodness, I’m just as messed up as the next person.  Just as confused and anxious and irritated and excited about life and in love  and twisted and turned and erratic and everything under the sun as everyone else.

No “three things” today.  Just that.  Just that rant.  Oh, there’s so much more.  But I need to go eat some popcorn and watch some TV with my kiddos now.

Later when I turned on the computer to write, the letters were going crazy.  Rows of dots were goingandgoingandgoing across my screen.  I had no control over my keypad at all.

My computer was done.  Admittedly, part of me was relieved.  I know absolutely no one can relate to this statement *wink* but I tend to over extend myself.  I’m sewing and reading and writing and blogging and facebooking and emailing and, oh yeah, then there’s the playing and cleaning and husbanding and cooking, all that stuff that needs to get done, too.  So, when the computer was out of the picture for a moment, I didn’t panic.  I didn’t pout or scream or pull a blanket over my head or stretch my face like The Scream.

I’ve made this face before many times.
Edvard Munch, “The Scream”

I prayed about it.  Asked God for guidance.  Trusted that He had a plan and wanted me to just rely on Him and forget about worry.

Then, I turned to my aunt.  (I texted her because she lives out of state and we rely on technology for everything.  Isn’t our George Jetson lifestyle insane and awesome?)

My aunt’s boyfriend had miraculously repaired my iPhone after I’d dropped it in the toilet *ahem* I don’t go anywhere without that thing.  So when I asked her if he could do his magic on my beloved computer with all of my family photos and various word documents hiding inside on little micro-cosmic- mystery boards, she said I should just have my cousin (who lives nearby) replace the keyboard for me.  It was either that or buy a new computer.  But it was that simple!  Woohoo!

Here’s something you may not know about me.  I’m extremely competitive.  As soon as she suggested someone other than her boyfriend could fix the computer, some commoner, I felt a little snarl.  I’ll admit it, I felt some rage.  If he can do it, so can I.  If he can look instructions up on youtube, well I can, too!  I still have my iPhone that can do wondrous and amazing things.  I’ll use that phone like Superman uses a phone booth.  Or a cape.  Or Elmo uses a crayon.  I’m gonna push play all over that phone.

So I did.  I watched a video.  Tore apart my computer.  Ordered a new keyboard.  And waited.

Old Keyboard

Look at all the cool stuff inside this computer. We should be taking these things apart more often. It’s like art!

Then, Saturday night, a beautiful cardboard box arrived in my mail.  Inside was my fancy new keyboard!  And guess what, people, I did it!  This little lassy replaced the keyboard in her own computer!

AND IT WORKS!   Take that, Geek Squad!

I wanna throw up signs and say stuff that rhymes with “Yeah, Stitches!”  and “That’s right mudda Sucku!”  Cause I feel like a computa gansta.

I’m gonna make T-Shirts that say,

“Wild Child Mama Fixed her computer!  And all I got was this silly blog post.”

Celebrate life!!

Confession:
I still sleep with a teddy bear. His name is Mr. Tubby. He’s 34 years old. And no, I’m not talking about my husband. It’s an actual teddy bear. He’s brown like toast. His underarms are worn from a lifetime if hugs. And he has an eye patch over a whole that was once his plastic eye.
I kinda forgot about him but when my kids discovered him in a basement box they embraced him like Andy does Woody from Toy Story. I think they were so excited to see something I loved from my childhood. They loved Mr. tubby the way I once loved him. When I was a kid, I even told my mom i wanted to buried with him.

My kids didn’t give up on reconnecting me with him. No matter how many times I set him aside, dropped him under the bed, left him on the counter, my kids would find him and bring him to me. Especially when I was tired or having a little mental break down. My daughter would run and grab my old, worn, one eyed teddy and place him in my arms. Then all was well.

Now? You can find Mr. Tubby curled up under my arm every night, just like when I was a kid. My son and daughter succeeded in bringing him back to life. It’s like he never left. And I know he’s so happy to be back!

Quote:
“The Teddy Bear is the last toy we part with. He is all that is left of that lost world where solutions seemed possible and a friend who saw no fault and made no reproach, waited forever in the old armchair” – Pam Brown

Question:
Do you still have a cuddle from your childhood you keep nearby? And maybe snuggle now and then?

There he is! Mr. Tubby and my old Cabbage Patch doll!

I realized this week that, in some ways, doing ministry work is even more challenging than a regular 9-5 because it isn’t predictable.  In a secular job, you go to work, complete your tasks, clock out, go home and get paid.  (And if you’re a teacher you do more work at home, but you still get paid the same amount at the end of the week).

In my ministry, I have to rely on prayer for everything.

I’m not compensated when I log hours, (I’m not actually paid in money, but in a growing relationship with God – PRICELESS) I don’t always know what tasks I will have to accomplish, I don’t know who will come my way or where the funds will come from to pay for the care packages we create for our outreaches.  When I was first called to this, I didn’t even know where I was going to find a community to help me along.  So I prayed about it and God provided.

He always provides.

I’m praying again.  To go to Chicago to experience how Anny Donewald, frounder of Eve’s Angels, does her outreach in Chicago strip clubs.

Let me tell you about Anny.

She’s a badass.

Anny is a former industry girl who tirelessly runs ministries (plural) in two major cities: Detroit and Chicago (those are huge cities, am I right?).  She travels every other week between these two metropolises.  She leads bible study groups, speaks in churches around the world, draws women out of dark and lonely places and inspires them to live the life God created for them, and she’s single a mom.  I’m sure she also finds time to breathe somewhere in there.

When I first saw her at the Dallas training I was (I gotta be honest) scared of her.  I knew her.  I mean, I hadn’t ever met her, but I remember the stripper in the club I worked at that looked like her.  Tall, gorgeous blonde who was there to hustle, and you did NOT want to accidentally play her music, talk to her regular or get in her way.

But then I heard her speak.  And every word she said, every time she grabbed a bible verse from the air, every time she looked someone in the eye, I felt her shaking the insecurities out of my soul, I became bolder, stronger, I felt like I could become the woman in Christ – no – the LEADER in Christ I was created to be.

In that moment I thanked God for putting me in her presence.  I knew, somehow, she would teach me how to get closer to God, how to trust in His plan and fearlessly speak His light into darkness.  I knew she would help me become a ministry leader.

When Anny invited me to come to Chicago to go into the strip clubs with her, my body physically moved, I felt a jolt.  I’m normally a pretty timid person and I heard myself say out loud that I would be there. Then I thought, dang, I guess God really wants me to do this, He moved my body and my voice!

So I’m doing everything I can to raise money to get to Chicago.  I’m selling my aprons and I’ve set up a donations page.  I’m even going to give away  a free custom made Wild Child Mama apron to one lucky person (that’s you!) who helps me get there!!

Here’s how you can participate and get in this drawing to win a WCM Apron!

1.  You can contribute by donating HERE.  Just click HERE to go to my donations page.   That gets you TWO entries into the drawing.

2. You can purchase a Wild Child Mama handmade Apron.  This gets you TWO entries as well! All proceeds from sales will go to this trip.  Click HERE to visit my WCMA Facebook page or click on the image in the sidebar.  Just leave me a message on my facebook page and we can decide what kind of apron you want.  (Think Mother’s Day gift!)

3.  Can’t donate or buy an apron?  No problem, “Like” my Wild Child Mama Aprons page on Facebook AND share this blog post on your Facebook page and I’ll enter your name once! Just come back and let me know in the comments below that you shared so I know and can enter you.  click HERE or the  Wild Child Mama Aprons picture in the sidebar.

Once I reach my goal I will select one lucky winner to receive a custom made Wild Child Mama Apron

Above all else, what I would appreciate is your prayer for Beautiful and Loved ministries to flourish, grow, reach the women who just need to know they are loved, that their hearts feel the love of God, that they have the courage and strength to become the women God sees in them, that we are protected when we enter the clubs, that we find favor with the club managers, that we are given the words to speak into their hearts.  Pray for Anny and her team to continue to be moved by the Holy Spirit!  And anything else on your heart.  Thank you!

Thank you so much for your continued support!

That’s Anny in the middle. Love that Tshirt. Tara Ulrich on the far right. She’s the rockstar admin/backbone of XXXChurch!

Fast forward to minute 6 to see Anny tell her story in this 3 part Youtube video.

You can visit youtube.com to see the rest of Anny’s testimony.  Just put in Anny Donewald and it will come up:)

Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.” Joshua 1:9

Confession:

I need to laugh more.

I discovered this at the pharmacy picking up my meds having kidney surgery .  Surgery isn’t funny.

Those pharmacy people are smart (I guess they’re called pharmacists, ha).  They know no one wants to be there.  It’s not exactly a dream destination or a hot date spot.  They don’t have a cool motto like, “What happens in the pharmacy stays in the pharmacy.”

No one goes there for fun.

They know it.

But they kinda make up for it by stocking the funniest greeting cards around.  I mean, they have stuff you just don’t see at Walgreens.  Naughty cards!

I actually laughed out loud. I had to stifle my giggles while waiting for my prescription   And that’s when I realized, I missed my laugh!  I don’t see my laugh nearly enough.  My ol’ buddy, ol’ pal, Laughter, you are the best medicine!

So I Googled some images.  God Bless Awkward Family Photos dot com.
I hope you laugh!

All I need is $17? I’m so gangsta.

It just makes me laugh.

I would let me kids wear a mask, too, just to get them in the picture.

I love this because it’s true.

I’d actually love to have dinner at their house.
And the girl on the upper left seat has the coolest hair ever.

I’m reading your thoughts right now. You are thinking of a number 1 through M.

I wonder if they still wear these outfits. I know they weren’t cheap.

Really? I mean, REALLY?

If this doesn’t make you smile then I don’t know if I can be your friend.

“This is the coolest picture I will ever take.”

You’d hope the photographer would tell you if you had something stuck in your teeth, right?

You’re a stinky, poopy, smelly, doodoo.

Funny Quote:

Question:

What makes you laugh?  Please share a joke or link, anything that makes you giggle out loud.

Quote:

“Your testimony is powerful.  There is a strength in you that the enemy is so scared of, which is why he has done everything he could to destroy you.  But you are a warrior.  You were created for such a time as this.  What the enemy has tried to take you out with, God will use for good.”  From Polly Wright’s memoir Cherished.

Confession:

I never used to believe in the devil.  I thought God loved us and that was it.  I wasn’t afraid of no stinkin’ pitch fork carrying, bad breath, ugly underground dude.

But, the enemy isn’t an ugly red-faced, horned devil that lives below our feet.  He’s actually quite attractive.  He looks like a delicious, big fat blunt just waiting to be smoked.  He looks like “Damn!” number of dollar bills in a wallet after dancing on stage.  He looks like a chiseled stranger with eyes like the ocean, wooing your body to his bed.

I bought it.  I gave that lusty guy everything I had.  And the more times I said yes to him the more damage he did.  He left me broke, alone, and desperate for attention.
So desperate for love and attention.
That sexy motherfucker.
Tried to take all I had.

But somehow, by the grace of God, I won.

Now, I know where to take that joy and loneliness and pain.  The safest place.  The only place I know I will be heard.  And that’s to God.  And when that seductive, mischievous enemy comes around, the one I used to lust over so much, I know I can ask God to put me in check, to help me see if it’s the enemy luring me in or not.  Because that enemy is hard to figure out sometimes, and he’s pretty irresistible.

I’m a divorced, alcoholic, ex-stripper.  I’m a recovering woman, mother, wife, warrior trying to share God’s light in this world.  And my story, God’s story, all the good, bad and sexy ugly, has given me a reason to celebrate life, a passion to reach out to other women, all born of the same God, caught in the enemy’s glittering lights.
Now I embrace the darkest parts of my past.

Question:

Is there anything in your past that, at one time, you would have changed, but now you know it had a purpose and is actually a good thing?

You can click the image to view Polly’s memoir on Amazon. Or visit http://www.wearecherished.com/ to learn more about her ministry and personal story.