From Pain to Glory

This morning I was able to spend some much needed quiet time in the Word. I have struggled lately with being able to silence my mind long enough to hear what the Lord has so desperately been trying to tell me, but today He grabbed my heart and held it close. He revealed a lot to me about suffering and purpose.  

     The month of July was challenging to say the least. The physical and emotional toll it took on me was more than draining and I often found myself drowning in my own suffering. I was paralyzed by fear and discouragement. It felt like every time I took a step forward I was always pushed backwards down a staircase. The vomiting was debilitating, the passing out was terrifying, the pump was painful, and my spirit was crushed. I didn’t understand why such a beautiful journey to creating life had to be such a nightmare, to be honest I still don’t fully understand sometimes. I tried so hard to be strong, often hiding my real feelings through humor, but the truth is I barely could get out of bed in the morning without shedding tears. Every new day was almost a painful reminder that this wasn’t just a bad dream but my current reality. This sadness soon turned into anger as I battled to make sense of why I had to be the one to go through this, why I had to be the one to walk the hard road. I am constantly surrounded by women experiencing all the joys of pregnancy. They feel great, they love every minute, and their bodies carry their babies with such ease. What was wrong with me? What did I do to deserve this? Then the Lord led me to John chapter 9:

As he went along, he saw a man blind from birth. His disciples asked him, “Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?”

“Neither this man nor his parents sinned,” said Jesus, “but this happened so that the works of God might be displayed in him. As long as it is day, we must do the works of him who sent me. Night is coming, when no one can work. While I am in the world, I am the light of the world.”

After saying this, he spit on the ground, made some mud with the saliva, and put it on the man’s eyes.  “Go,” he told him, “wash in the Pool of Siloam.”  So the man went and washed, and came home seeing.

If this man had not endured the suffering of blindness the Lord wouldn’t have been able to use him to perform His miracle and reveal Himself to others. I’m sure this man spent a lot of time questioning why he had been born this way and asking why he deserved this ‘punishment.’ Yet his suffering had a purpose and so does mine. In this earthy life it can be easy to feel entitled to living a good life because society tells us we can do anything we set our minds to, we determine the life we have and good things come to those who work hard. But in reality we don’t deserve anything in this life; we had to be redeemed from our own sins through God’s sacrifice of His only Son. Everything on Earth is temporary. We should be striving for eternal gifts. I was humbled when I finally realized that I am merely a vessel for the Lord’s purpose even if it means suffering.

Today the book of Romans chapter 8 encouraged me in exactly this thought:

18“For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us.”

And later in the chapter:

28”And we know that all things work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose.”

      I don’t know where this journey will take me next, of course I pray it doesn’t include any more hospitals and ambulances, but I take comfort in knowing God will use it for His will and He can use me to reveal a miracle to others. I’m sure I will still have days when I feel down and wonder ‘why me’ but today I feel humbled that He chose me to do His work. May my suffering show others what a loving and powerful God I serve, may it point them to the gift of Salvation and everlasting life. Let my pain be to His glory!

<3 JT

A Letter to the Mother in Waiting

Dear mother in waiting,

            I have once walked the journey of waiting. Waiting for the right time. Waiting for God’s timing. Waiting for my period to show up. Waiting for the test results. Waiting to finally be MOM.

I realize every journey is different and many have walked more difficult, lengthier paths than mine, but I want you to know you are not forgotten. I remember you.

Some of you have had to say goodbye to your sweet babies before you ever got the chance to say hello. I grieve with you.  

Some of you have only known negative tests. I share your disappointment.   

Some of you have endured financial and physical burdens in the attempt to conceive with no results or no explanation. I see your frustration and stress.

Some of you feel jealousy and sadness with the announcement of yet another pregnancy. I validate your feelings.

Some of you hear ‘well meaning’ remarks that hurt you. I stand up for you.

Some of you are losing hope and feel like giving up. I pray for you.

No matter where you are in the journey of waiting, please know I am with you. When you feel invisible in a society that doesn’t understand what you are going through, please know I SEE you.

You are all beautiful and truly strong women for all you are and all you have been through.

Mother in waiting, you are loved.

 

Sincerely,

A former mother in waiting

 

JT<3

 

I am a survivor

Set Me Free
I’m not mad at what you’ve done,
I’m angered that you’ve won.
I’ve watched passively,
As you’ve slowly consumed me.
Silently dying each day inside,
While the black and blue I continue to hide.
Wearing a fake smile during the day,
And wishing each night to run away.
I bow my head concealed within the dark,
Praying that God will protect me from another mark.
I hate the girl I’ve become,
Feeling no emotion, being simply numb.
Your condescending words I no longer hear,
Seeing no bruises as I avoid every mirror.
Now you’ve left me bleeding on the floor,
While I struggle towards the door.
Just as I reach for the knob,
I collapse releasing a final sob.
Suddenly appears a happier place,
As a brilliant light shines upon my face.
God has finally brought me home,
After I lived years feeling all alone.
It took you killing me,
To finally set me free.

My name is Jenni, and I am a dating violence survivor.
It all started my sophomore year of high school; I was merely 15 years old. I was a high achieving student while still playing sports and leading clubs. Homecoming was quickly approaching and I was still dateless, but I had my eye on a certain guy. He sat behind me in biology, and his eyes always drew me in. To me, he was the Prince Charming I had been waiting for, finally sent to me in the form of a high school football player. My dream came true when he finally asked me to the dance. Shortly after, we began dating and the nightmare set in. Things were great for the first month, then everything seemed to fall apart, even though I couldn’t see it then.

There are always warning signs of a relationship becoming violent, but it is so difficult to see when you are in it. The abuse began with controlling behavior, as it often does. He dictated what I was allowed wear: I had to look good enough to be with him in public but I couldn’t attract the attention of any other guys. Every other day he would yell at me simply because of the outfit I chose to wear. He used offensive language calling me a whore, slut, bitch, and hoe. I stopped spending time with my own friends and family. I had to constantly be in his sights. I always had to answer my phone whenever he would call. He slowly isolated me from anyone that could have helped me, from anyone that would see exactly what he was doing to me. It got to the point that I couldn’t even recognize who the girl in the mirror was looking back at me. Therefore, I simply avoided any mirror in the hopes that I wouldn’t have to face these problems.

Things escalated, and escalated fast. Now instead of emotional abusing me with his words, he would push. I remember a time that I didn’t want to go where he wanted so he shoved me into a brick wall. His force was so strong that my back was cut open. I didn’t even feel the blood or the pain until a friend came up to me and said, “Oh my gosh, Jenni you are bleeding.” I laughed it off and quickly covered it with a Band-aid. I could feel the angry stare of my boyfriend on the back of my neck. But I knew better than to say anything. As the months went on, the cuts and bruises became more frequent. The weather grew warmer but my sleeves had to get longer. It would be 80 degrees outside but I had to wear a hoodie and jeans just cover the black and blue.

He became more and more comfortable with physically taking out his anger on me. The empty hallways were his scene of choice, and the metal lockers were the enemy that pierced my back with every forceful shove. The abuse was getting more public and more aggressive. One day I watched as he practiced for football with a few of his friends. He fumbled the ball and we laughed at his butterfingers. Suddenly I felt the pressure of all 185 pounds of him crashing against me. My feet fell from under me as he slammed me onto the field. My neck jerked my head hard against the ground, everything went dark. When I regained consciousness, the first thing I saw was him standing over me. His friends stood in shock and asked over and over again if I was alright. I wouldn’t take my eyes off of his. He finally spoke saying, “She’s fine. Get up, now.” I struggled to stand. The spinning feeling from the hit on my head caused me to throw up on the field. He grabbed my hand and led me into the school. I laid on the floor of the gym while he glared down on me, shaking his head as if out of shame for a wrong I had done. That was the first time that I prayed that God would have just let me die. I was in so deep; I was convinced that I would drown before I made it out alive.

Summer came, but there was no shining sun for me. Even the happiest place on Earth, as known as Disneyland, became a place of fear and pain. That summer we flew to California to visit colleges with some other students. The trip included a free day at Disneyland. I remember waking up that morning and saying to myself, today is going to be different. Unfortunately, it wasn’t. It was the Buzz Light-year ride that completely sent him over the edge. How dare I score more points on a silly shooting ride, right? He got so anger at my teasing remarks about being out-shot by a girl, that he came up behind me, wrapping his arm tightly around my neck. I tried to pull him off but he was too strong. I tried to scream but I had no voice. I watched as people turned their heads the other way and continued to walk. I started choking and crying, this only caused him to tighten his grip. I closed my eyes and prayed, “God take me now. Please just let me die.” Just as I was about to pass out, he released me. I fell to the ground gasping for air. He walked past me and waited for me to gather the strength to lift myself to my feet. I couldn’t even look at him for the rest of the night. Sometimes I still have nightmares of being choked. They feel so real that they wake me up.

It took over a year of bruises, cuts, and much more before I finally left. I feared that leaving him would spark more violence. But at that point, I figured I would end up dead if I stayed. It wasn’t easy, and there were times I doubted my choice. But now I can stand before you and say I am alive. My life is in my hands now. Death didn’t release me, I did. The journey to where I am now was tough; I had to rediscover who I was all over again. I no longer avoid the mirrors. I no longer fear being smacked around. I am no longer the victim. I am a survivor. And I am finally set free.

Why me?

The last few years have brought a lot of trials, but in retrospect I have been encountering trials all my life. While in the middle of the fire I often cried out to God, ‘why me?!’

Why must I go through the pain of losing a child?

Why must I go through the battle of illness?

Why….

Why….

Why….

Yet with the start of the New Year I took some time to reflect (and cry) about many of these trials and for the first time I saw their purpose. Throughout the years I have been able to use my struggles to minister to others going through the same thing.

I spent most of college working with women and young girls dealing with abuse; had I not experienced the control and violence first hand I would not have had the compassion or courage to share their journey.

More recently I have spent a great deal of time comforting mothers whose babies are in Heaven with my angel. For so long I felt like our child’s death was beyond senseless but I realize more now than ever that his life was not in vain.

While fighting what seemed like an impossible battle against infection, I made friends with those fighting illnesses of their own. We were able to find strength in each other and celebrate the little things that others could never understand.

God used every single one of these trials, and many more, to show Himself to the world. He used ME as an instrument of His love. How awesome is that?!

So as I wallowed in my own self-pity, I was reminded of a verse in the Bible:

“Also I heard the voice of the Lord, saying, Whom shall I send, and who will go for us? Then said I, Here am I; send me.”

~Isaiah 6:8

I’m sure the Lord has more trials coming for me and though they may be difficult, painful, devastating….instead of saying ‘why me?’ I will say "Here am I; send me.' 

<3 JT

Time Heals All Wounds?

They say time heals all wounds….I’m not sure I agree. With time the pain lessens, life keeps going but the wound still exists in the form of a scar. One week from today our sweet angel baby will celebrate his first birthday in Heaven. Though time has kept ticking away, though this year has brought us the miracle of our daughter, though the chaos of life has drown out the initial grief in the moments of silence I hurt.

This upcoming celebration of life has proved to be more painful than last year’s. I have had the great joy of watching Jasmine grow, learn and come into her personality which makes me yearn to know the child I never met.

Who would he look like?

Whose personality would he take after?

Would he be walking? Talking?

The list goes on and on……

People assume that having another child in some way will replace the other. This could not be more untrue. From the moment of conception our first child was entirely different than our sweet Jasmine. I guess that is what pains me the most, not having the opportunity to know our son or daughter.  My heart just aches.

When a woman has a miscarriage she loses more than a pregnancy. She loses all the hopes and dreams she had for her baby. She loses a future she was so eager to start. She loses memories she’ll never get to have. She loses a part of herself. A part she will never get back.

As January 13^th approaches I will praise the Lord for the blessing of two children: one in Heaven and one in my arms. I will praise Him for His provision. I will praise Him for giving me the time He did with my angel baby. Though I will weep, I will praise Him.

Time may not heal all wounds but it does keep going (sometimes much to my dismay), and with every second I am given I will keep the memory of my Jellybean alive.

“It has been said, 'time heals all wounds.' I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens. But it is never gone.”
― Rose Kennedy


<3 JT

“I Will Carry You” Selah http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pxZhEcTzn6Q