Good evening everyone! I told you that today (or tonight...) I would share my story or my testimony with all of you. As I go into this I just want to put out the warning that there will be some touchy subjects, some heavy subjects throughout and I don't want to make anyone uncomfortable or to stir up anything negative in anyone else because of that. I want to be open with you all and to share with you, but I don't want to cause anyone to stumble. Also, I don't know how long this will be but I will try to keep it somewhat short because I know that long posts can get tiring to read. This is the first time I have posted my story or anything quite this similar, so give me some grace as it will not be anywhere near a perfect draft or where I would like it to be. Here goes...

I was born in upstate New York, specifically Johnson City. I was basically born in church. My mom took me there all the time, same with my sisters when they were born. My grandpa was our pastor pretty much my whole life. My grandma was involved in various ministries, which is expected when one is the spouse of a pastor. We moved out to south central Nebraska when I was five years old. Just a couple years prior my grandparents had moved out there as well. My mom was a Children's Ministry Leader when I was a kid. 

I grew up doing everything in the church. I did Bible Quizzing, went through the whole Caravans program, went to Church Camp every summer, did all of the lock-ins and special events. I was at church whenever the doors were open. I took part in every musical I could. I was in Sunday School every Sunday morning. I was what many called the perfect church kid. I knew all the answers and according to most everyone I didn't do anything wrong, or at least I shouldn't because I was the granddaughter of the pastor and daughter of a children's ministry leader. I didn't think anything of this when I was young. I went along with it.

I accepted Christ when I was 8 years old at Church Camp. I thought God was the greatest and I was on fire for Him. Nothing swayed me and I thought I was set. Once I got to about 5th grade I started to really see another side of the church. I started seeing and experiencing the 'church politics'. I didn't entirely understand it then but I knew it wasn't good. I started becoming disillusioned with the church and I questioned things much more. In 6th grade I started joining the youth group for as many things as I could because I couldn't stand the children's program and the politics that were involved with it. At this point I started doing Teen Bible Quizzing, which is ten times better than Children's Quizzing!

NE Teen Bible Quizzing. Look at how tiny I was!! (I'm way over on the left)

Things at home had never been the greatest, although they weren't terrible. I was used to yelling and fighting about money and other things at night after my sisters went to bed. I thought it was normal and didn't think much of it. We had always had financial issues. Sometimes the issues were small and I didn't notice too much, while other times it was tough enough that we may be without our car for a few weeks or struggling to pull together money to get the basic groceries. Life wasn't easy but I knew people who had it worse. Things started to get worse between my parents in 6th grade. I saw and felt the change. Arguments grew more frequent and often times louder. My fathers anger issues started showing more. He no longer went to church with us, not even for holidays or special occasions. 

The end of 6th grade is when things really started getting hard. At this point my mom was now the Youth Pastor, which put more pressure on me to act and talk a certain way. I had lost my best friend from grade school when I went from the public school to homeschooling after 5th grade, but didn't think much of it as I ended up making a new best friend. This best friend was a year older than me, but our families were pretty close. One Wednesday right after school got out my mom and the other youth pastor got a call and had to leave during our free hour before youth group. I didn't think anything of it and the other teens didn't either. An adult was put in charge and we went on with what we were doing. Later that night I found out what that call was about. My best friend's mom had walked in on him molesting his two younger brothers. I remember that I didn't entirely understand, but I do remember crying as I was told that he would be going to juvy.  This was my first real experience with things really taking a downward turn. 

Abby, Me, My Mom, Amber, Katie and Jamie. We were all good friends at the time!

Middle school proceeded to throw its challenges at me. I had to close friends and that was it. The pressure to be the perfect church kid continued to grow. The people at the church who were the ones who should have been encouraging me, praying for me and helping me through everything were the ones who really tore me down more than anyone else. I remember hearing multiple times from multiple people that no one wanted to hear anything about my thoughts, opinions or feelings. Especially if any of them happened to contradict what and who they thought I should be as the church kid and youth pastor's daughter. I started to dislike coming to church. At the same time things at home got worse. My fathers anger started to come out in more physical ways. Outside of yelling on a regular basis over little things, he started to throw things when he was mad. It started out with small things like remotes and plastic dishes/silverware and grew to pieces of furniture such as chairs. This left holes in walls and sometimes other furniture. He even kicked in a few cabinet doors in the kitchen. I started to be afraid of him. I was afraid to be anywhere by myself with him. I was afraid to be out and about on the first floor of the house when he got home from work or when he was awake and about. I learned to retreat to my room or make plans to be gone. Babysitting become not only a job and something to enjoy, but also a refuge. 

Home was a place I didn't want to be. By the end of middle school things at home were getting pretty bad and I was starting to lean towards a slight hatred of youth group. Mind you I never said anything about church to anyone except the other youth pastor after she left the beginning of my 8th grade year. When your family are the leaders in ministry at the church you keep a lot of things to yourself. By the end of 8th grade I had a mask that I wore day in and day out. I was always smiling and things were always great. I learned to shut my emotions off and not let them dictate anything. No one saw behind the mask. Summer of 2007 was the last somewhat normal summer of my life, at least for a while, but it was also the beginning of a climax in my life. The picture above with my mom in it is one of the last ones I have on my Facebook of her walking.

In August 2007 my mom had an accident of sorts at work. She worked at an assisted living facility overnight and they had cats for the residents. She stepped on one by accident and it bit her. This caused a disorder that was diagnosed a few weeks later. She ended up being diagnosed with RSD/CRPS or Reflex Sympathetic Dystrophy/Chronic Regional Pain Syndrome. She ended up in a wheelchair and there is no chance that she will walk again. This diagnosis threw a wrench in an already bad situation. What little bit of involvement my father had in our lives was now gone. He went to work and then came home to sit in his room. My mom was laying in bed in pain without the ability to help take care of anyone or anything, not even herself. At 14 years old I was suddenly in charge of taking care of my mom and my sisters. I cooked, cleaned, ran errands, planned out rides when need be, helped my sisters with their school, did my own school, worked basically full time, and many other things. I was stressed but it kept me busy so my mind wasn't thinking about things. It eventually hit too hard and I started to think that people would be better off without me. I didn't think anyone cared nor would they miss me. I was ready to end it all. I had it planned out twice, but thanks to my best friend at the time I couldn't bring myself to do it. It was a struggle to accept the fact that if I was gone that people would be affected. I had a hard time believing that throughout freshman year. 

Volleyball during my Sophmore Year of high school

I met my current bestfriend, Mike, the summer before my sophmore year. Little did I know, but he would become my rock and my one constant (besides God) in the coming years. Sophmore year started out like all of freshman year had gone. My mom's doctors and lawyers appointments and life being dictated by judges. It was only the beginning. Home life was really bad at this point. Bad to the point that I was rarely home and when I was I hid out in my room with my nose in a book in an attempt to block everything out. The end of my sophmore year my father filed for divorce. A four and a half year fight would begin that April. Custody battles started within a couple weeks and a temporary custody schedule was made. We all lived in the same house through that summer which made things hard. When fall came my mom, my sisters and I moved across town to our own place in less than eight hours. We were thrust back into the public school system. I got sick with Swine Flu and came close to hospitalization by the third time I caught it. My immune system was shot and I was still struggling with some of the depression issues that started freshman year. Throw in being forced by a judge to go to my father's place every other weekend and one night a week... I was a mess. I was so afraid to go over there. I subconsciously worked myself up to the point of physical sickness every weekend I was supposed to go. 

Church musical my sophmore year of high school

This was pushed aside until one weekend when it all came crashing down and my mom realized something was wrong. Often times things got so bad when we were leaving to go to his place that my mom, my sisters and I were all in tears and yelling at each other because we were frustrated and hated the situation. One Friday it fell apart for me. I suddenly had an anxiety attack while in the shower after school, although I didn't know that's what it was at the time. I barely finished it before falling to the floor in my bathroom with my towel over me. I was shaking and shivering, my body hurt everywhere, I was sobbing so hard I couldn't breathe well, I was physically making myself sick, and I felt like I was watching everything happen from outside my own body. My mom came down to get me and found me barely coherent on the bathroom floor. I remember her ending up in tears right there telling me how she wished that she didn't have to make me go. I also remember the doctors appointment the next week that ended with me being put on anxiety medication. I felt like I had hit rock bottom. I was on meds, still struggling with depression, hated going to church, had all of four close friends, and my family was a hot mess. Not to mention we got evicted at the end of my freshman year as well. 

French class trip to Paris, France

Senior year came along and I thought I was doing better. It was a lie. I had started to believe in the me that everyone else saw. The me that was always smiling and always saying things were great. I wanted to believe in it because I didn't want to focus on the disorderly life I was living. I had my first taste of alcohol the beginning of my senior year. Not enough to get drunk but just enough to help numb things a bit. I also started self harming during senior year as well. Not with anything that would be noticeable. I wasn't that stupid. I took erasers to my wrist, basically using friction to burn through my skin. The marks looked more like a burn from my straightner, thus they were easy to brush off. By this point I had the mask on so much and my emotions turned off so often that I was just wanting to feel something. I wanted to be reminded that I was alive, that I was still able to feel something because I felt so numb. I usually only harmed when I hit low nights where the depression, suicidal thoughts, anxiety, and all the other issues hit all at one time and I was so numb and felt so lifeless that I needed the pain. 

Hanging at a graduation party with my mom and great grandad

I had rededicated my life to Christ the summer before Senior year but wasn't doing a great job at following. I was a mess. I was watching my father pull all kinds of nonsense in front of lawyers and judges. I listened to him threaten to have me sent to juvy amongst other things. I watched as the people at church didn't really pay any attention. I watched as I let different guys come extremely close to crossing lines they shouldn't have. I was craving attention and these guys gave it. I never let the guys I knew get far enough, but if I didn't know them and wouldn't see them I let them say whatever they wanted. The things that were said and talked about shouldn't have even been though of let alone discussed. I was a mess but I was crying out to God in the midst of it all. I was asking to be renewed but I didn't feel like anything was happening.

I went off to college at Olivet Nazarene University in August 2011. I was still struggling with depression, anxiety and self harm. I didn't deal with it as frequently but it was still an issue. After almost failing out at the end of my first semester I finally kicked my butt into gear. That seemed to be the wake up call I needed. I started to see things turn around and I found myself reaching out to God more than ever before. I was praying and seeking Him. I was trusting Him. I knew that in the midst of it all God had been there and He was still there. I don't remember the exact moment it happened, but it was about the time that I got word that I was going to have to petition to stay at ONU that I recommitted to Christ. I knew it wouldn't be easy, but I knew it would be worth it. Through out the last two and a half years I have watched God change my life in incredible ways. It has been a year and a half since I have self harmed in any way. I rarely have anxiety attacks or any terrible moments of depression. I have seen God do some wonderful things in regards to family structure and just my relationships in general. I have watched Him reshape my idea of what a healthy relationship looks like.

Some of the amazing roommates and friends that have helped me so much these last three years at Olivet

After years of struggling through one big downward spiral I came out of it on top. Nothing is perfect nor will it ever be, but looking back I can see how God worked even in the darkness. I see Him in the people that came into my life. I can see His hand in the different circumstances. I can see His presence in so many little things throughout those years. I have no doubt that even when my eyes weren't focused on Him that He was guiding my path. He was protecting me in the midst of my lowest, most dangerous moments. He used it all to bring my eyes back to Him and I am so grateful that He did. His grace and mercy are so overwhelming and I don't deserve them in the least. He has blessed me so much over the last several years and I cannot even begin to express my thankfulness that He never gave up even when He had every right.

I haven't had contact with my father in three years and I still have my moments, but I lean on God in those moments in ways that I didn't before. I am still working on accepting God as my Father due to the negative view I have of fatherly figures due to my earthly father, but i'm getting there. God has blessed me with an amazing church family that has helped me to grow more in my faith, as well as other areas. I have been blessed with the opportunity to be at a great school with amazing roommates and friends. I have been blessed to gain another wonderful district church family that is incredibly supportive and so encouraging. I am reminded daily that even though I didn't lean on God and trust Him the way I should have throughout high school, He is still there and He still loves me regardless of what my past looks like. He is the ultimate Saviour and Healer! I am daily learning how to serve Him better and how to live more and more like Him.

What is your story? How has God worked in your life?

(P.S. The pictures don't particularly have anything to do with the story but they kind of fit the timeline. They also show that even though someone is dealing with depression, anxiety and/or self harm they can and do still live normal lives. You often can't tell that something is wrong, so don't write someone off as not being affected by these things because they very well could be.)

A Father To The Fatherless

Image courtesy of daughtersneedafather.org

 Normally it doesn't matter what my past looks like with the exception of times when people who want to or need to talk about something and I can share a relevant experience to help. I don't make it a habit to share it on a regular basis, but I accept that it is a part of who I am and how I go about life. The things in my past have helped to bring me to where I am and turn me into the person that I am. I have been lucky to come out on the better side of things. However, it still isn't always easy to talk about it.

Out of nowhere I was asked about my father on two different days this week, back to back. Two slightly different questions both of which ended up receiving the same answer. Both of which meant that I had to talk about the fact that I have not had any contact with my father in almost three years. Not that is a surprise at all to me with his history. He never was really interested in being involved in my life and the older I got the less interested he was. Throw in financial issues, long-term medical conditions, a divorce, lawyers, judges, and a whole slew of family history and it was one hot mess. 

He stopped being interested when I was in mid to upper elementary school. I learned quickly that I was better off to avoid interacting with him the majority of the time. His anger issues didn't make talking to him easy, helpful or beneficial. Often I just talked to my mom and asked for her permission for things. By the time I hit middle school I knew when to avoid him and how to go about doing so. I spent many days and evenings away from home in an attempt to not have to interact with him. By the time high school rolled around I spent so little time at home that my lack of time there caused him to get angry with me. After my mom's diagnosis with a rare nerve disorder and then their divorce, I barely interacted with him except for a rare occasion on one of his weekends or Tuesday nights. By the time I was just about two months away from leaving for college he told me that he could care less if I showed up for visitation or even made contact with him. So for my sanity I didn't. I walked away and have kept my distance out of safety for myself mentally, emotionally and spiritually. I tried contact once and it was never returned. The one time he attempted contact it was merely in an attempt to get revenge on my mom. I decided then that it was better for me at this point in time to not have contact.

This has made things hard for me with regards to my faith. I listened to so many people refer to God as Father. They talked about all of the qualities He had of a father figure. All these good things that fathers supposedly had. However, I didn't grow up experiencing those things so I found it hard to believe that God could possibly be all of those things. That He could possible be the perfect Father. I kept making excuses for why I couldn't accept that fact, none of which involved the whole experience with my earthly father. I didn't want to admit that the reason I struggled accepting it was because I hadn't experienced anything good with my father. I struggled with it for a long time. One of the times that really made me rethink it all and process it in a new light was the message that Reggie Dabbs gave at NYC 2011. I was reminded that God is so much bigger and so much better than any earthly father, even the good ones. He didn't want me to experience what I did because of my earthly father, He didn't want me to be hurt by him. But it happened and He has come to bring me through it and to show me what the Father is truly like. 

It has been a heck of a ride and it hasn't been an easy one. Do I still have days where I struggle accepting God as being the Father? Yeah, I do. Do I still have a hard time referring to Him as Father? Absolutely. Do I always remember and fully believe all of the aspects that make Him the most perfect Father? No. I am not always good at remembering the reasons why He would think that I am worthy to be His daughter. I still struggle every now and then to accept that He truly is the perfect Father, especially on bad days. There are many days where it is still hard for me to refer to Him as Father, because that word conjures up so many not so great memories. It is a struggle often and in many forms, but I am constantly trying. I am constantly asking Him to help me to come to fully acknowledge and accept that He is the perfect, never failing Father. That He is the Father that will never leave, never forsake and never extort. He forgives me when I fall short of His will for me. He blesses me a thousand times more than I could ever ask. He gives me grace that I have not earned nor do I deserve. His love for me still amazes me on a daily basis. I may not have been blessed with a good earthly father, but I have a Heavenly Father who far surpasses him in every way.

"A father to the fatherless, a defender of widows, is God in his holy dwelling. God sets the lonely in families, he leads out the prisoners with singing." -Psalm 68: 5-6a

 

Daughter to Father

I dream of another you

The one who would never 

Leave me alone to pick up the peices

A daddy to hold me, that's what I needed

 

Daughter to Father,

Tell me the truth, 

Did you ever love me?

These lyrics by Lindsay Lohan pretty accurately describe most of my feelings towards my 'father'.

There are many more things that I feel towards him, but these are some of the basics that really just hit me on holidays, especially the holiday that everyone is celebrating today.

I find myself wondering why he didn't care enough to be a part of my life.

Yes, he did live in the house but he would go to work, come home and eat dinner, then go to his room and shut the door.

By the time I hit middle school I was in many cases afraid of this guy called my 'father'.

I learned that the best way to survive the outburst of anger and the throwing of random items was to hide in my room.

I'd tuck myself away with a book and some music, then forget about everything and everyone else.

It become a mode of survival that became a habit.

All of the things I remember about my 'father' are negative.

I do not have happy memories that make me smile and laugh when looking back.

I have memories that make me glad that I am far away and have no connection.

I do not have memories of him coming to or supporting my sports events or theatre performances.

I do not have memories of him teaching me to dance or wiping away tears.

I do not have any of the happy memories that most girls have.

How do I know?

Because I have listened to my friends at school talking about theirs and sharing stories.

I find myself retreating or walking away when those conversations start.

I do not want to have to share the memories I have and explain the kind of person he was.

The looks of sympathy along with the comments are not helpful nor do they make me feel better.

Often times I find myself becoming angry when I think about him and the things he has done.

Sometimes I get so angry that I end up curled up in the ball on the floor with tears running down my face.

Many of these times I end up asking God questions about all of it.

Why did I have to have a father like him?

What did I do wrong?

Why didn't he love me?

Was there something wrong with me?

What made him think that what he did was okay?

Those are just a few of the questions that I end up asking God in those moments of anger.

I end up crying so hard that I physically hurt when I am done.

I have ended up going so far that I have caused myself a panic attack.

To say the least they are moments that I wish I could forget.

Sometimes I wish that I had had a father who actually cared about me and wanted to be a part of my life.

Yet at the same time I know that the lack of a caring father I have learned many lessons.

Some of these lessons have been good while others were not so good.

I have found myself searching for the things he didn't give me in other places and people.

A lot of my close friends were close friends as I have grown up have been guys.

I have looked to many of them to give me the things that a father should give his daughter.

They should not have had to provide that but I was in need and looked for it in them anyways.

The thing that I have learned in the last couple years is that there is someone who can provide it all.

God can provide all of the things my father didn't and so much more.

He is a better father than any earthly father can ever be.

He is my Heavenly Father and His attributes far outweigh those of an earthly father.

He is my Comforter on the bad days.

He is my Provider when I my supply is running low.

He is my Joy on the good days.

He is my Peace in the midst of turmoil.

He is everything that I need in any circumstance I find myself in.

And best of all, He loves me unconditionally.

There is nothing that I am in need of because I am a child of the Heavenly Father.

While I know all of this and am beyond thankful for it, I still find it hard to call God my Father.

It is something that I am trying to work up to.

For me there are a lot of negative connotations associated with the name father, therefore it is hard to try and put positive connotations with it to refer to God.

My past makes it hard but I am getting there.

It has been a hard journey but hopefully it will get easier one day.

I am broken but He is healing me.

Daughter to Father,

I know You will always love me.

Perfect Imperfection

So for those of you who do not know the story behind the above picture, here's a quick recap for ya:

I went hiking with some girls from my floor last year and a handful of guys from our brother floor. We went to Perry Farms and we were going along fine, but as only I can do, I managed to cut open my leg. I don't know exactly what happened or where I cut it because I just kinda looked down and was like "Oh hey! My leg is bleeding!" My RA then proceeded to tell me to go find the other RA who had the First Aid kit. After bandaging myself up, getting through with our hiking trip, and going to Walmart for guaze, ointment, and an ACE bandage, I cleaned it up and realized that it was a fairly straight and smooth cut. It is roughly a foot or so in length.

So this is an old picture and not a new one, but you can imagine that it left a nice scar up my left calf.

The scar has slowly faded in some spots, but for the most part is still highly visible.

I have been told by people in my immediate family and some other people that I am close with that because of this scar I am now imperfect and that I need to find a guy who likes imperfections.

Talk about a blow to your self-esteem right there.

I took that hard and for a while tried to cover it up whenever possible to avoid the stares and questions.

This went on for a short while until I realized that it didn't matter what people thought.

It is still hard though for me to realize that the right guy won't care if I have a scar running the length of my calf.

It's still something that I am kinda self-conscious about even though I have no reason to be.

It was an accident and something unavoidable.

Yet due to comments by other people I feel like it is something that detracts from my outward appearance.
It shouldn't make an impact, but it inadvertently does.
It is a physical blemish that cannot be erased.
It is a mark on my skin that has a story behind it.
It is a stigma that gets looks and unnecessary comments.
It is not what most would call beautiful yet it is a part of me.

 This is just one of many scars that I have physically, which is only part of a long list that includes inward scars.
Some of these have been accidental and due to things that were not in any way my fault.
Some of these were self-inflicted, as much as I hate to admit it.
I have more scars than a lot of people, but not nearly as many as some.
The causes for them vary all the way across the spectrum.
I have scars that I actually have no clue where they came from.
I have scars that I can tell you exactly what I was feeling, where I was, who I was with, and what time of day it was when it happened.
I have scars on my feet, ankles, legs, and knees from various sports, activities, and stupid stunts i've done.
I have scars on my arms and hands from the same things.
I have scars that are not noticeable unless I point them out, but then I have ones like the one on my leg that are blatantly obvious.
I also have scars on my hand and wrist that, although sort of obvious, I purposely try to hide and not draw attention to.
Why do I try not to draw attention to these scars?
I try to avoid drawing attention to them because they were not caused in any way by an accident.
They are there due to acts that were done on purpose.
They are physical signs of pain, hurt, and rejection I was feeling.
They are signs of weakness that I couldn't hold in anymore but didn't know how else to express.
They are marks that show my moments of succumbing to temptation.
These scars cannot be erased either.
They are permanent marks that are evidence of my weak, human state.
They are evidence of times that I gave up hope.
They are signs of utter despair and depression.

There is also another side that they display.
They show where God has brought me from.
They show me, as well as others, what I have overcome and survived.
They are signs of strength, courage, and determination.
They are reminders to myself that even in weakness I am strong through Jesus.
Though the world may judge me because of them, God loves me despite them.
Although many tears flowed when they were caused and many since then, there is joy because I am no longer caught by the lies that told me to cause them in the first place.
Though there is still pain in my life, I no longer have any desire to express it this way.
They are signs that I have hope in my Lord Jesus Christ.

I could go on and on with a list of scars that I have inwardly.
Brought upon by heartache, pain, sorrow, hurt, lies, anger, bitterness, broken promises, rejection, confusion, and so much, much more.
These scars cut deep and they resonate within me.
They are being healed by the Great Healer.
However, there are times when those scars bring back memories and emotions that physically upset me.
They tear me apart inside at times.
One comment or remark, a song, a quote, a magazine article, or a post on Tumblr.
These have all caused those memories and emotions to surface.
I am falling apart inside because of them, but I give them to God.
He is working to help me get past them and to heal them.
There are good things that can come from them, even if it may not seem so.

Though society, including friends and family, may view all of my scars as imperfections, God doesn't.
I feel like God was most likely just sad when He saw what was causing the scars.
I feel like that deeply hurt Him.
Yet He sees them not as imperfections detracting from my beauty, but rather as merely marks of my past that show how far He has brought me.
He sees me as beautiful in Him regardless of the scars.
Whether outward or inward, accidental or on purpose.
They are not imperfections in the eyes of the Father.
God looks at the heart not at the physical body or outward appearance.
So my scars are not anything to be ashamed of as long as I have asked for help and for forgiveness for those that were caused intentionally.
God has already healed me on numerous levels and He is working continuously.
I may not be blemish free and I will never be perfect.
But I am perfectly imperfect through His love and I have no problem with that.
I rejoice in my victory through God!

What If It's A Father I Need

A lot of you may now what this week was, but many may not.

This week was Suicide Awareness Week.

TWLOHA, or better known as To Write Love On Her Arms, has been spreading work of Suicide Awareness all week and they do so all throughout the year as well.

TWLOHA's goal is to have people write the word 'love' on their wrists in whatever language(s) they want.

This spreads the word because often people will ask why it is written on your wrist.

You then are given the chance to talk with someone about TWLOHA and suicide awareness.

This is something I take part in whenever possible.

I have a direct reason to based on friends and family who have committed suicide and then my own past.

This will probably be shocking to many of you, maybe not so much some or at least a few of you who may read this, but I myself came close to calling it quits.

Freshmen year of high school I was so stressed and overworked and I didn't know how to handle things or if people even cared at all, so I didn't think anyone would miss me if I ended it all.

Thankfully I had an awesome best friend at the time who helped me out.

He reminded me that even if no once else would have cared that I was gone, he would.

Just knowing that made the thought of ending it all seem pointless.

Had it not been for him who knows where I would be, let alone if I would even be here.

So a HUGE thank you goes out to Stephen and everything he helped me through that year!!

Now for more news.
We had chapel this morning here at my university.
Our chaplain had a student share her testimony as part of the service.
Sadly I could relate to quite a few parts of her story and it actually got me thinking about my past.
She mentioned that she has learned how to trust God as her Father even though her earthly fathers failed her.
It got me thinking and I realized that I still have not accepted that God really, truly is the only Father I need.
And He is my Heavenly Father.
My earthly father may have failed me many of times, but He will not.
It is hard to accept that fact and believe it when I do not know what it's like to have a father I can trust.
A father that I can believe in and trust my life with.
I'm trying to come to terms with this, but it isn't as easy as everyone likes to make it seem.
It is hard to let go of the past and the pain & hurt that comes with it.
He wants me to fully let go of that hurt, that pain, and that anger so that I can fully trust Him.
I just don't know how to go about doing so.
I don't feel like I can just let go of something like that.
It's a part of my past that has made me who I am today and He wants me to let go of it.
I know that if I let go of it then I can truly find my identity in Him and the healing that only He can bring.
I just wish I knew how best to go about it.
I've tried to let it go before but every time I try something comes along and brings it up again.
It seems like it is this chip in my shoulder that I can't get rid of even though I want to.
God wants me to give it all to him and to call Him my Father.
I just need to teach myself how best to go about doing that.
I am trying, however, and will continue to do so until I figure it out.