December

Well, my plan to write a post of gratitude for each day in November kind of bit the dust. I forgot the industry I work in and that spare time hits the fan in mid-November. Truthfully, I didn't think anyone was reading. Then a couple people asked what happened and why I wasn't writing. Thank you guys for noticing and for caring. 

I felt compelled to write today because it's the week of Christmas and I'm in a terrible mood. This Christmas seems harder than most, maybe just because I'm in it, but in my current state it feels like the Christmases inside of a bar watching my mom wobble on a round stool or trying to figure out how to make a Christmas dinner for three kids with $36 in food stamps was a breeze. Why? Life is stabilizing and things are good. 

I think I'll be spending Christmas Eve and Christmas Day alone. If so, that will be by choice- I was invited to Christmas by multiple people. My first thought was sitting in a room full of people who are family, and invading that space. When my family did have Christmas way back when, there was always an uncle or aunt who brought along a weird girlfriend or boyfriend we didn't know. Nobody spoke of the tension. You either buy that person an impersonal gift out of obligation because you don't know them, or they sit and watch you do an exchange with your family. The thought of being that person felt lonelier than taking care of the pile of laundry I still haven't hung up in my closet so I opted to do the latter. 

The thought of Christmas seems extraordinarily lonely for some reason. Is it the idea that "since now life is fixed, why are holidays still so broken?" Is it working in a tense place where for weeks I have seen the behind-the-scenes stress of people preparing a holiday that looks perfect from the outside? Is it the approaching anniversary of being pinned down on a bed and told that nobody would believe me if I said what was happening to me? I can't say. Maybe it's everything. Maybe it's something else. 

Somebody told me the old song-and-dance about how holidays are "just another day." I know this was to make me feel better. It pissed me off. Special days are important to me. It doesn't matter if I've been conditioned to think that or not. I've spent most birthdays and holidays alone and they're deeply meaningful to me to try to make good. I think people who say that special days don't matter either have always had the luxury of them being special, or it's a self-protective statement from someone who's perpetually felt a deep, aching aloneness where there should be a feeling of unity and belonging. 

I got into this mode I get into. I'm alone, nobody cares, I don't matter, no one around me understands. And then for some reason, there was a voice of conviction. 

A while back, I was talking to a friend who said, "Angela, how self-absorbed are you to think you're the only one like you?"  Maybe it was just his echo in my mind. I was talking to him about feeling like my only options for a partner were a caring, boring person or a trainwreck with passion. I thought about the last year of my life, the people I met... Was I really the only person who knew aloneness? I certainly was not. And this year, I learned I am loved. 

How self-absorbed and entitled am I to feel alone? How many people did I turn down in favor of being alone because the old tapes in my head told me I'm unworthy to join other people, that I would be invading some kind of a sacred space? What about my children? I see them tomorrow. Maybe not exactly the way I want, but how can I look at them and think that I am truly alone? They don't want the version of a mother that I thought I would be or that I promised myself I would be- they just want to know they matter and nobody can do that the way their mother can. I know because I had parents that gave up. They let go without a fight and that's what this feeling inside of me truly is. It's not the people around me. They're loving me. They're inviting and including me. They're proving themselves safe. As an adult I can now say that three important people in my life- my parents and the man I thought I would spend the rest of my life with- did not truly love me, did not protect me and did not fight for me- so what? That's three people. Three people with important roles, who didn't do their job, but in that, a sea of others flooded in with understanding and a love free of obligation. I never want my kids to have to make that choice or that realization with me, but I am grateful I can make it for myself since I can't change where I came from. They are three people that actually matter, and I won't let anyone who came before them allow me to forget that. 

I'm thankful. 

I'm thankful for the truth of who I am and the truth of the people around me. Memories sometimes get in the way. You apply traits to people who don't live in your world anymore. You give scars a name or try to shield yourself from new ones. It's not real. One day you reach a point where you can look someone in the eye and know that there is no sinister other side to them, and that is when you're very free. I have more people like this than I can count and I am so very grateful. 

November 16: Thankful for Understanding

In difficult times, the worst parts are uncertainty and feeling alone. 

It's hard to see the end and it's hard to feel like anyone understands what you're experiencing. Everyone's experiences and the way they handle things are unique but rarely are we in a situation that someone else hasn't experienced and rarely are we in a situation someone else hasn't lived through or at least seen through until the end. 

I hate that anyone has experienced the same kind of heartbreak I've felt but in those moments we could help one another. The people who have made it through become your mentors and encourages, and you become a reminder of where they used to be and what they overcame. Eventually you can become that for someone else. The people who are experiencing the same difficulty at the same time, become your teammates. Two broken people don't make a whole person but when you've got someone beside you, the darkness is less daunting. You may not believe in yourself as much as you need to but you can see from the outside that they're capable of overcoming. And they see this in you.

Today I'm thankful for my mentors and those who walked alongside me 

November 15: Thankful for Woodland Hills

Today I'm thankful for my church and the people in it. I've been back in Minneapolis almost three months and intentionally avoiding going there because that's the boys' and my home church and the idea of going there without them sounded painful. But I drove there and went there anyway. The inside has been remodeled and is so pretty. The church has a large congregation and it was pretty full. I found a seat during worship and was singing for a good few minutes before I realized that I was sitting next to this couple, Dan and Cheryl Wuerch, who the boys and I lived with.

I had lived with a guy friend of mine who insisted he was just trying to help the boys and me, but as soon as he found out I had a boyfriend he kicked me out. My ex loved Woodland Hills and visited that church every time he would fly in to Minnesota because that's where his friend Matt would go. Cheryl responded to our need for housing- a day before I was supposed to move out. Not only did Dan and Cheryl have a huge house, they raised an adult child with autism and Cheryl is a sign language interpreter (Felix is non-verbal, and Cheryl helped us all learn basic sign language to communicate with him). The whole thing was a huge blessing. Cheryl was also pretty much my only confidant during a lot of the relationship issues. I am so thankful today that out of a room of about 1,000 people I sat right next to them without realizing it. 

We talked after the service and they told me that they never come to the 11am service but felt that they needed to today. It was definitely a divine appointment. Being able to tell them I had a full-time job and had made so many positive changes. Sometimes in the day to day you don't think you've changed, and some people will try to bring you down and tell you you're "the same old person you've always been," but talking to them showed me how much I had changed since meeting them. 

We went to services there as a family. I volunteered in the children's ministry. It was part of our routine. We were one of the sponsored families at Christmas time and people were so generous to us. I spent every Thursday night there in a support group where I bonded with so many amazingly strong women. They have a special child care area for kids with special needs and Felix always loved going to church there. They were so gentle with Lars when he would struggle emotionally. Mills has been going there since before he was even born. My life as a Christian was really molded there. Our life as a family. 

It felt so good to be back at Woodland Hills. The sermon was on Romans 8:28 and about dealing with difficult people in a loving way. It was so timely. I left feeling so full. I have cried so many times before in that parking lot and it was never good, but I was crying tears of joy today. 

November 14: Thankful for Hardship

Today I'm thankful for what I have learned through hardship. 

I'm thankful that I know not to trust someone based on their words or even their actions when everything is going the way they want. I can only trust someone based on watching them on a hard day. 

I'm thankful that sometimes parents don't love their kids, but it doesn't matter because nobody's worth is truly defined by whether or not their parents love them.

I'm thankful to have seen people easily deceived or deeply in denial because it's forced me to check myself and ask how many times I've done that. 

I'm thankful that I got really good at failing and mastered it because now I can move on to learning how to succeed and master that. 

I'm thankful to know that there's lots of company at the bottom, that sloughs itself off as you climb out of a pit, via jealousy or self-conviction or a mentality of "misery loves company." Quality company comes from people who know where you've been or at the very least see you as capable of more and believe in you. They're not threatened by you improving yourself and they want to see you win. 

I'm thankful that addiction is genetic and I've tried almost every drug imaginable but by the grace of God I'm not grappling an addiction. 

I'm thankful that adulthood brought clarity that I was sold a lot of lies as a kid. Being depressed isn't cool, romance won't save you from yourself, your worth isn't wrapped up in how many people want to bang you and life gets way easier as soon as you stop trying to get everyone to like you. 

November 13: Thankful for Paris

I am thankful for Paris. 

I've been talking about Paris all week and when I heard the tragic news about the terrorist attacks there, I found it bizarre that I had been bringing up the city so often.

When I was in Europe, I was leaving Amsterdam to get to the train. The plan was to take the train from there to Brussels and then fly to Chicago. To be honest I was completely over being in Europe at that point. I was running late and told my cab driver to step on it. In Amsterdam there are several traffic lanes- the tram, public traffic, cabs- and there are walkways in between where people will walk or ride their bikes. A guy was darting across the street and my cab driver hit him. He tumbled over the top of the Mercedes I was in. He survived, with a broken leg and a concussion, thank God, but I did miss my train and flight that day. The airline told me I could spend the night in Paris or spend the night in Brussels. The airport was in Brussels and I didn't want to risk missing another flight. I regret many things on that trip but I was talking just this week about how I regretted not going to Paris. Back then I had no concern for my safety- nobody really had the fear that we all have now. I left Europe a month or so before September 11th, 2001. 

This is the second major terrorist attack on France, after the Charlie Hebdo attack. It's seeming less romantic and more frightening lately. I still want to go. 

I'm thankful my friend Amber left Paris on Tuesday. I'm thankful that people still care when bad things happen to people they don't know. I'm thankful that I've had the luxury of taking for granted my own perceived safety. I'm thankful that people reach out to help strangers. I'm thankful that people rebuild after tragedy. I'm thankful that sometimes people who are victims have a voice and supporters and are loud and demand something good come out of something bad. I'm thankful I'm in a crowded shopping mall as I write this, and nobody around me is trying to kill anybody. 

November 12: Thankful for Old Photographs

I had a long day at work and wasn't quite sure what I would write about today for my gratitude post. I checked my email and saw that my friend KP (Kristina Perkins) is once again doing her photo project, exhibit and benefit "You Are Beautiful Minneapolis." The proceeds benefit the Sexual Violence Center- which is coincidentally where I had just returned home from when I got the email. 

She now has a website exclusively dedicated to the benefit, in addition to her street and lifestyle photography site. You can see it here:

http://www.youarebeautifulbenefit.com

When KP came over to the house it was about 7 in the morning. I was getting the boys ready for school and onto the bus. I had been in my own apartment only a month or so. She used a film camera and took some photos of us. After I got the big kids on the bus, Baby Mills showed KP the top bunk of the bunk beds and wanted to play with her and show her all his toys. After a while, KP left and some time later I saw a few of the photos she took. 

(Photos courtesy of Kristina Perkins, kpcreates.com)

I remember seeing the photo of the kids and I eating breakfast and thinking that I looked very tired and haggard which was how I felt a lot of the time. Going about my day and even now, memories echoed through my mind, especially about my worth as a person: "if you leave me nobody will ever love you," "you're all used up," "you've got three kids from two different dads; you're nothing but a baby mama." I worked at a makeup store at the time and I think I spent a lot of time hiding behind the makeup or the job and using it to feel like I could be pretty or worth something. Seeing myself without all of that certainly felt vulnerable.

But I remember waking up that morning and being at peace. I was in my own place, we had food to eat and the boys had woken up so peacefully. The boys weren't disturbed or disrupted by KP being there taking photos of us eating breakfast. It was such a nice morning. My favorite part of the day was getting up and eating breakfast together as a family before the big boys went off to school. That apartment was great too, even though it was small. It was a few blocks off of Central and Lowry Avenues and was walking distance to a pastilleria where we would sometimes go and buy warm churros for 50 cents each. It seems forever ago but was not long at all, only about 2 and a half years. It just felt in that apartment like things were going to be all right. 

Even back then though, it was undeniable that something major was going on. Getting the photos back I saw how I looked and was a little taken aback. People had mentioned the weight I had lost but a lot of them said I looked great. One person even said, "now that you're single again I guess you have a reason to look good." That was probably one of the most hurtful things I've ever been told. 

However, today when I looked at the photos from last year's benefit, I scrolled to a photo I don't think I had seen before. It was a dark-haired little boy that looked just like my son Lars. I mean, REMARKABLY like Lars. But it couldn't have been him because he was standing next to an older, frail-looking man with sunken cheeks and gangly arms. I zoomed in on the photo and realized something: that little boy was indeed Lars, and that frail old guy, was ME.

How does someone not recognize a picture, OF THEMSELVES?

I cannot believe that it took 5 minutes for me to recognize myself in a photo. That photo alone made me want to be part of the project again this year. I'm healthy now and I want people to see that. I don't know what motivated KP to choose the Sexual Violence Center of all places to be the beneficiary of her exhibition- there are a lot of worthy charities and organizations in Minneapolis- but I am thankful it's there, I'm thankful it's being supported by people like KP who care, and I'm thankful that she unknowingly at the time was date-stamping with photographs, exactly what I looked like on the outside and how it reflected what was going on inside. I'm thankful for change and growth. I am healthy now. 

November 11: Thankful for the Passage of Time

I think I might just feel the most free in my car. I've already written about driving or cars a few times now I think. I'm stuck in bed again today and still sick. I wish I could have gone to work or at least driven to the laundromat to do my laundry. To me, driving means freedom. I can go where I want, I can get away if I am unsafe, I can do for myself. This story is about driving.

The beginning of the downward spiral happened when he didn't answer my texts. Then he didn't answer my calls. I was worried something had happened to him. I called the coffee shop where he said he was going and they hadn't seen him either. It was late on a Friday night and I started to panic. My first thought was that he was struck by a drunk driver. 

I checked our bank account to see where he had been last and at what time. There I saw two check card transactions for places in a town 30 minutes away from where he said he would be. A few minutes later he called. He said his phone died and he was at the coffee shop. 

Right away I knew who the girl was. She was from that town.

It had never happened to me before. And the confrontation was indeed the spiral. I never wondered what I did to deserve it. I wasn't even jealous or angry, just confused, and later, scared. 

I was in my new apartment and got a call from my dream job. They asked if I could do some freelance shifts and I immediately agreed. They told me at the end of the phone call, that it was in that same town. 

I worked there for over a year, full time. I spent a lot of time listening to Christian radio and praying out loud. Some days I was asking God to get him the help I thought he needed or to fix him so we could be a family again. Then I started asking God to help me get over him or forget about him. Then one day I got really pissed off. 

"Oh God, You're so awesome," I thought, "of ALL the places I could be going to work, You send me down the same stretch of highway he drove down the night she was in the passenger's seat of our car! You send me to the same town every day. That's just GREAT. I drive past 6 other locations to get here, but none of THOSE are the one You have for me! It's THIS one! How great and merciful You are to twist the knife! So glad You're in control and my life is in Your sadistic hands. Can't wait to go to work! Maybe I'll run into her! Thanks SO much for the provision and the great job in the WORST possible place and with the WORST possible commute and a collective HOUR each day to think about all of this. TERRIFIC. You know what? He strung me along and watched me suffer too. The only difference between him and You, is he could touch me. Where are You right now? You're watching all this and doing nothing."

This wasn't the only time I felt this way. I was conflicted. On one hand I read you're not supposed to mock God. On the other hand I had a lot of people tell me that God knew how I was feeling and He could take it, I could be real with Him. I really don't know to this day which one is the right one or even if it matters. 

But I do know that I loved my job, my coworkers, my company and clients. It was at this time that work was my solace and the place where I felt purposeful and confident. I don't know which day it was, but I know it was the middle of winter. I pulled into the parking lot and turned off my car, and all of the sudden I realized it was the first day that I didn't think of him or that night that was the beginning of the end. I was thinking about going to work. 

Pretty soon, that stretch of highway wasn't the road he used to do whatever it was he did that night. It was the road I drove to get to work. And that city wasn't where some girl lived. It was where I worked. It wasn't his anymore, it was mine and it had relevance to my life and what I was doing in the present.

Today I'm thankful for the passage of time. For this example and so many other reasons. Pain really sucks, and when we are in it, it feels like it will never go away. But when it's gone, it's almost like it is better than if it was never there. It wasn't my goal to take something back for myself- I just wanted it fixed in the way I pictured or wanted to not feel anything for it any longer. God had a different plan and I'm glad He did.

November 10: Thankful for the Luxury of Being Sick

Today was not what I expected. Unlike a lot of people, I love my job. I'll write more about my job later (in fact it's on my list of things I want to write about this month), but having to go home sick today reminded me of how truly grateful I am to have it, and to have the life I have now.

My job is a needed distraction for me and one of the only things I feel genuinely good at. I sometimes don't feel like a good friend, mom or person in general but I know I'm a good makeup artist. At least, I think I am. I know I work really hard and I love what I do. I know that if I were to become independently wealthy one day I would still be a makeup artist. 

This same time last year I found myself working full-time at a drug store. It was the same job I had when I was 16. Now, there is nothing wrong with working in a drug store- any job is a dignified one as far as I'm concerned. Not to mention, I had a great boss and wonderful coworkers. Yes, my pride took a hit because I was used to flying all over the country doing makeup for publication or working for the most recognizable and profitable cosmetic brand in the world. But I was happy to have this drug store job because it provided for my kids. Barely.

I grossed $900 per month and my rent was $850. I worked 12-hour shifts 3-4 days per week so that the days I had my kids would be completely dedicated to them. I was exhausted all the time but trying the best I could with what I had. Being sick was not an option despite working directly in the path where customers traveled from the entryway to the pharmacy to pick up their prescriptions, because THEY were sick. There were days where I would be standing behind the counter with that familiar lower back-ache that you get when you know you have the flu, trying to talk myself out of it. "Do not get sick, do not get sick, do not get sick." In the slow times I would listen to the sad songs on the Muzak and think of how much my life sucked, or look at the Christmas gifts we had just put out and wonder how I was going to provide presents for my boys. One day I was racing to work so I wouldn't be late and got a speeding ticket, which wiped out an entire day's pay. Every day felt like I was drowning. 

Today I came to my job where I feel like I have a springboard for the future. I can always find something to do and I feel supported as well as purposeful. It came on suddenly- one moment I was fine and the next I was sick. I was trying to push through it and happened to tell my boss I didn't feel well. She said, "then why are you here? You should go home." 

And I realized that I could do that. If I went home sick I would not be facing financial ruin. This doesn't seem like a big deal for some people but for too many people it's a reality. The only reason I got through that season of my life is because of help from my church. I was working a full-time job, I have an education, but I was working a low-wage job and could not get by if I was sick or unavailable to work for even a few hours. 

I think everyone wants someone to care for them when they're not feeling well. I was sort of lamenting not having someone like this in my life while I was picking up soup, orange juice and medicine. Then I thought again, about how I had a car to pick it up, money to pay for it and place to return home to rest. I'm still not feeling well but I am thankful for the luxury of being able to be ill. I'm thankful I can leave work, get medicine and rest. 

November 9: Thankful for Alice

I'm thankful for Alice today.

I literally just saw her 30 minutes ago. I knew as I was driving to meet her for coffee that she would be the subject of my thankfulness post today. 

I met Alice almost a decade ago at a photo shootout hosted by a new studio. I almost didn't take the gig. To give you an idea of how long ago this was, this is how it all happened: I was still in school to become a makeup artist. I had done some alternative modeling and so I was building my portfolio with connections I had made during that time (I still have that completed portfolio somewhere and it is really bad). I got contacted by a photographer I had never met before. He told me there would be a few designers and a wardrobe stylist there, several photographers and a dozen or so models, I would get a ton of completed images back to use however I wanted. Would I be willing to work for free? "No," I said adamantly, "I need to be paid. I will not pack up my makeup case and get on the bus and do all this work for anything less than $60!" I think this is really funny now but he did indeed agree to pay me 60 whole dollars for an entire day's worth of work. It turned out to be immensely valuable to me for an entirely different reason than money. 

When I walked in, a beautiful tall blonde woman with the best bangs I've ever seen, came up to me and said, "Hi I'm the wardrobe stylist. My name is Alice, like 'Alice in Wonderland.'" I was immediately drawn to her. She had such a positive energy and was so passionate about what she did. I don't know what she saw in me because I'm sure my makeup artistry skills back then were pretty bad, but out of all the people I've met in my industry who promised to call me or keep in touch, Alice kept her word and eventually contacted me again. We worked together several times on various projects. Here is one from the day Alice introduced me to my favorite local photographer:

(Alice in 2009 with makeup by me. Photo by Brandon Werth)

Alice was getting new headshots one day for her styling business and had asked me to do her makeup. We met at her condo and as I was admiring her decorating, she came out of her bedroom wearing a cute little dress. She pulled it up a little and put an injection into her leg. It was then that she told me she had Multiple Sclerosis (MS).

I didn't know what MS was. I assumed it must not be a big deal because Alice had so much energy and was so motivated. Later I learned that a few months prior to meeting her, Alice woke up one morning and could not feel her legs. This lack of sensation lasted for weeks and cost her a job where she had had many successes. Instead of allowing it to bring her down, she dragged herself out of bed by her hands, did her hair and makeup, and got dressed. It was that moment, she said, that she looked in the mirror and felt beautiful. And because she felt beautiful, she said, she didn't feel sick. She decided to start a business called I've Got Your Style, helping other women to feel confident and like their best selves. 

(Alice and me backstage at an event in Minneapolis circa 2010)

Alice got busier. I started seeing her or her work on the cover of a magazine here or there, or on TV. Just when my life was falling apart, I got a call from Alice- someone who certainly at that point had no obligation to get in touch with me. She had been traveling all over the place, working with important people and I'm sure there were better makeup artists she could have thought to contact. We did a private makeup and styling lesson for a wealthy woman and her friends. Her husband had hired us to help his wife feel beautiful and have some time with her friends after having their newborn baby. It was bittersweet for me- I was inside of a huge, gorgeous home with a happy family and a husband who was thoughtfully caring for his wife, while I myself had just lost nearly everything and everyone that mattered to me. As long as I was busy, I wasn't allowing myself to think about how I felt. But when Alice and I packed up to leave and got into her car, I realized that my cell phone had been shut off. That collided with the reality that life wasn't what it had been just a few weeks prior.

Alice called the phone company and paid my bill. She told me that I needed to know this was not the end, things would get better, and that I just had to knock on every door I could think of- something good will eventually happen if you just knock on every door and see everything as a potential opportunity, she said. Then she opened her wallet and gave me all the cash she had on-hand. It was not enough money to solve all my problems but it was not a small amount either. I didn't want to take it but she told me that she knew if the roles were reversed I would do the same for her. At the time I don't know if I would have- I was a selfish person, I never felt I had enough, and I was so worried all the time that I didn't allow myself much opportunity to be thankful for what I did have or try to help others. Taking her money I felt guilt and shame, but also relief. I never forgot what she did for me and in turn, for my boys. Sometimes I would think about wanting to pay her back but didn't have the means. I wondered if she, along with so many others who helped me, felt like I was using or taking advantage of them. 

A couple of weeks ago I was waiting to get on an elevator and there she was. She was walking with a cane. Our eyes lit up, I hugged her and she hugged me. We caught up with each other and made plans to have coffee in the future. As we talked I was reminded of how hopeful and positive she's always been. She is fundraising online for a specialized dietary treatment in the hopes she can walk again unassisted and continue to heal and be healthy.

On my way to meet her today, I realized I finally had the money to give back to her. She didn't want to take it but I was so thankful to finally be in a place where I could. I told her if she didn't want to take it as repayment, to think of it as my contribution to her fundraiser. The reason people hesitate to ask for help sometimes- at least I know this was the case for me- is because it makes you feel judged. Being able to pay back someone who helped me (and never made me feel like a loser or a failure during a time when I felt so helpless) was a blessing to me as well as I hope it was a blessing for her. It reminded me of so many other people who came alongside me during the hardest time in my life. I can never fully repay people for what they've done for me.

A few minutes after I left the coffee shop I got a text from Alice. She didn't even keep all the money to herself. After she opened the envelope I gave her, she shared some of the money with a man holding a sign on the street corner. 

Today I am thankful for friendship. I am thankful for people who remain hopeful and insist upon getting joy out of life no matter what the circumstances. I'm thankful for my dignity being restored and for being able to give back to someone who was kind to me. One day I hope I can do this for everyone who saw me hurting and reached out to help.

You can view Alice's fundraiser here: https://www.gofundme.com/bzyxrevc

November 8: Thankful for a Bracelet

(This post contains triggers)

This blog wasn't intended specifically to focus on miracles or things in the past that I've held onto, but yesterday when I wrote about Daniel and my tattoo, I began remembering other things that have happened as well. 

The best things like these are the ones I can pass along. Because of my tattoo I not only feel that part of my life was restored, I also know I can share my faith and hopefully inspire others with the story behind it. If this were the only gift of its kind I know I would feel grateful and blessed beyond measure. But it's not.

The next few days will be dedicated to these moments. 

After leaving someone that I thought I would spend the rest of my life with, I joined a support group at my church. I started going because I wanted to know how to help him, but I learned eventually that it was myself I needed to help. One Thursday night it was my turn to share. I had been through several court hearings at this point, and was learning the true ugliness of our situation. I learned that it's the court's job to be objective based on what they see in front of them, and what's obvious to me isn't always obvious to them. I learned that friends I knew and trusted were not loyal and were deceived as I had once been. This process really compounded an idea that had been formed inside my relationship- that my perception of the world was wrong, I couldn't trust anyone and nobody believed me. While describing this I began to cry. 

A woman who had only come one or two times before, came over and put her hand on my shoulder. She had shared the week prior that her husband had raped her so violently she suffered permanent genital mutilation and sometimes even uncontrollable bleeding. She had three children with him (all girls) who had grown into adults. One of them was the mother of her two grandbabies and had lived with them when the last act of violence occurred. The doctor who examined this woman said she could have died and encouraged her to press charges, even offering to testify in court against her husband. But her daughters didn't believe her, and the daughter who lived with her moved out with her children and even invited this woman's rapist husband to live with them. She had pledged her loyalty to her father and it appeared on the outside, and I'm sure felt on the inside, that this woman was being punished for finally saying she could take no more abuse. No amount of reasoning would work, no medical record or court order would change the mind of any of her daughters. But the woman believed herself. And I'm thankful she believed me.

She took off a bracelet that was on her wrist. "Angela," she said, "Today is the one year anniversary that I left my husband. When my friend gave me this bracelet I had just gotten out of the hospital. I want you to have it, and I want you to know that God sees you and knows your heart. He knows the truth. He is faithful and He is trustworthy and He is for you, not against you." The woman slid the bracelet onto my wrist, smiled and said, "... and yes, it will turn your skin green."

Inscribed on the bracelet was from Psalm 107: "Give thanks to the Lord, for His love is everlasting." 

I wore the bracelet for two and a half years. When I left that night I was thinking a lot less of God and a lot more about how grateful I was that someone believed me. I felt at first like I didn't deserve the bracelet or the sentiment behind it. I went back to my partner a few times, as I've learned that people sometimes do. Sometimes when I would leave to go to his house I would take off the bracelet and put it on my nightstand. I would come home and feel guilty putting it back on. Maybe she gave this bracelet to the wrong person. I would beat myself up that it was a huge slap in the face to her and everyone in that room that night that I went to be with him. Maybe I was stupid, maybe I deserved it, maybe I asked for it, maybe this was all I was good for, maybe it wasn't as bad as I was making it all out to be, just like he said. How dare I put this bracelet back on. And then I would think of what she said: "God sees you and knows your heart. He knows the truth." Even in these moments where I was falling, going back to what was familiar or who I thought was the best I could ever hope for, even when I was doing the wrong things and thinking the wrong things, even when I was weakening my own credibility and strengthening that of someone who hurt me, this woman's words echoed in my mind. 

If God saw me and knew my heart even when my actions were wrong, if He knew the truth even when I could not or would not see it myself, if His love was everlasting, unconditional and was not contingent on how much I would degrade myself for Him, then I had SOMETHING to keep me from accepting that this was all there was for me. 

Someone who had been through so much worse, took the time to tell me that it wasn't a contest of who went through the most trauma. She saw a hurting person and reached out to help despite knowing that nobody in the room experienced the same horror she did. I don't know where she is now, but I'm thankful for her, thankful for her gift and thankful for each time I looked down at that bracelet to read the inscription. 

I gave the bracelet to another woman, 6 months or so ago, in a different group and with a similar story to ours. Her first reaction was that she didn't think she deserved it, and that I had been through so much more. I'm thankful I could pass it along and I hope that one day it can be passed to another person who is hurting and questioning what they are worthy of or deserving of. 

November 7: Thankful for a Transformation

I heard someone say once, "there are people who are in our lives for a reason, for a season, or for a lifetime." Today I am thankful for a person that changed the way I look at myself in the mirror, in the most literal of ways. 

I once had a tattoo on my chest that said, "ich leide für Sie," German for "I suffer for you." It was a symbol of my devotion and my willingness to endure whatever it took to prove my love. That was tested to the fullest degree, and I discovered a few things about myself. The first was that I hated and did not respect myself. The second was that I was breaking myself for a love that did not exist. The third was that someone who loves you will never ask you to break yourself for them. For some these are lessons learned early, for some these are lessons never learned. I had to learn them the hard way but I am thankful to have learned them. 

One day while I was driving I found myself praying out loud. I said "Lord, I know I had an idol in my life. I know that you've forgiven me and you've freed me. But there is still this thing on my chest. If there's a way for to cover it or to change it into something that glorifies You, please show me. I am listening and waiting."

I was headed for a morning prayer group and put in my prayer request. Two people in the group gave me the name of the same tattoo artist. Then a half an hour later, someone else texted me the name of the same person, not knowing I had been thinking about this- they just knew I had tattoos and might like this particular artist. 

His name was Daniel and he was also a believer. I told him the story behind the existing tattoo and how I wanted to do something about it. We agreed to pray about what this new thing should be and reconvene at a time in the near future. That week was powerful. Daniel said he kept seeing the number four wherever he went. I kept seeing butterflies. A friend wrote to me and told me out of nowhere that in the Victorian love language, azaleas meant "take care of yourself for me." It all seemed to come together so seamlessly. 

People used to ask me about the tattoo on my chest and I would feel embarrassment or shame. Sometimes I would even lie about what it meant. Now I have a tattoo that is also a testimony, and when people ask about it I can share my story with them. I am thankful for this chance to share my faith and the miracle that took place to make it happen. 

I'm thankful for the person- someone who showed me that there are men with integrity- who helped this transformation happen. While he was tattooing over the words he was praying out loud, and said "Angela, God wants you to know you don't have to suffer for anyone ever again, because Jesus suffered for you when He died for you."   

I'm thankful that we are never in a fixed state, we always have the power to make changes and to break away from what enslaves us. I've made many transformations that people cannot see, but I am thankful for this one that is with me wherever I go. 

November 6: Thankful for Mills

It's Day Three of my thankfulness entries about my kids. I'm sure I'll write more about them as the days go on but today is dedicated to my baby boy, Mills. 

Dear Mills,

Where do I begin? I remember the day I watched your brother Lars helping your oldest brother Felix, and I said it was too bad he would never be a big brother. A week later is when we found out about you. I looked in the mirror and touched my belly which was still flat. I said, "it's going to be ok, baby."

The pregnancy with you was the one where I decided I would do things my way. I always wanted a natural birth (meaning a birth without drugs or heavy medical intervention). With your brothers, I was young and did not stand up for myself or demand the type of birth I wanted. You were born with the assistance of a midwife, in a birthing pool in Stillwater. This single experience changed the entire way that I look at life and I have you to thank for this. 

My pregnancy with you taught me to advocate for myself. Labor with you taught me that when I think I cannot possibly bear another moment of pain, there is an ending and that ending is unimaginably beautiful to the point where all the pain that preceded it is instantly washed away. In the times of life where I feel I can't go on, I remember our journey together that day. The one where I went from peaceful to uncomfortable to frightened to determined, and you showed up in your perfect timing, greater than any conceivable prayer for that moment. In your birth, we were fully lucid and fully joyful.

Mills, you are happy and healthy. You're creative like both of your parents, you are unique beyond either of us. Your daddy and I used to say that you are the best of both of us and I believe that is true. When I can't think of a good thing about him, I see the way you're obsessed with dinosaurs and know everything about them ("that's a dilophosaurus, mama")- that's just like when your father finds a new interest. I see myself as a child in you- curious and bright and wanting to love everyone. You have my face when you're concentrating, your daddy's when you're giggling, you are witty and endlessly optimistic like yourself. And you love yourself. As you've said many times, "I'm chubby because I'm a big boy and my belly is full."

You've shown me how to fight, and along with your brothers, motivated me to become a better person. You've taught me what love is and what it is not. I wish it was also the love for myself and not only the desire to protect you that propelled me to become the best version of myself but in the times I don't love myself enough, the love I feel for you and your brothers is what keeps me going. 

I am unspeakably thankful for you. There are things one day I'll hope you understand and there are things I hope you never fully grasp, but what I can tell you is that the biggest blessings can come from the most tragic places. You are a miracle and you are the brightest of silver linings. 

Love,

Mama

November 5: Thankful for Lars

Dear Lars, 

Where do I begin? Well, I'm thankful for you. This is a place of thankfulness after all. But there's so much more I feel for you.

Of my children, did you know you're the only one that wasn't a surprise? We planned for you and we sought out knowing you. When you were born you looked exactly as I had dreamed when I was pregnant- perfect, with a full head of black hair. 

And of my children, you're the most like me. You're sensitive and goofy, you so deeply want to be loved. I remember sitting on the couch crying about one thing or another, and at 3 years old or so, you brought me a cup of water from the bathroom sink, patted my shoulder and said "it ok mama." So many times- too many times- you've had to be the man of the house. Of all the things I'm grateful for, this not one of them. I resent the fracturing of your innocence and wish you got the luxury of being oblivious to adult matters- divorce, poverty, depression, struggle. When I think of you I think of how you were robbed, of how badly I want to return what was stolen from us. But that's not what I'm grateful for. 

I'm grateful that you've taken the big brother role because you're older brother has a disability. I'm thankful for the day we were walking when you were only two years old. You looked at the sky and you said, "it's a beautiful day, mama," not caring that I was broke or that we were taking the bus to the welfare office. I'm thankful for every Thomas train track we built together. I'm thankful for every time you've made me laugh, even the times you weren't trying to be funny but were just so smart beyond your years that what you were saying sounded like it couldn't have really come from your mouth. I'm thankful for the quiet moments, when you're honest and vulnerable and you trust me with your innermost thoughts. 

Oh Lars, I'm so thankful for you. There's so much I wish I could have protected you from, so much more I wish I could have been, so much more I wish I'd done or known. But I'm thankful you know those things because you're strong and kind. Your love is so pure despite observing compromised forms of love throughout your short life. 

I'm thankful for the chance to rediscover you each time I get to be near you. I'm thankful for your heart. I'm thankful that I'm far from the perfect mother or even the mother I want to be, but that you and your brothers are the perfect children to me. 

Love,

Mama 

November 4: Thankful for Felix

The next three days of entries are dedicated to my children. I could dedicate every day to writing about how I am grateful for them, and the different ways in which I find myself thankful. But today, I'll start with the little boy who first called me "mama."

Dear Felix,

I am thankful for you. When I found out I was going to be your mother I was not ready. My love for you made me ready. This may never be within the scope of your thought life but if it ever is, know that just because you were not planned doesn't mean you were not wanted. You chose me, and I chose you. 

Before I met you, life was about easy ways out. I remember letting the door close behind me at the abortion clinic after walking through a small crowd of men holding signs. One man walked up to me and quietly said, "you don't have to do this." I looked at him and replied, "yes I do. You don't understand." Your daddy was walking behind me and told me he would support whatever decision I made. He had to sit in the waiting room and couldn't come back into the clinic area with me.

During the ultrasound the screen was turned away. I asked the technician if you looked like a baby or looked like a blob. She asked if I wanted to see, turned the monitor and that is where I saw you for the first time. You were indeed already a baby. I was much further along that I thought. Instantly, I fell for you. I asked her to print the very first picture of you and walked out of the same steel door I had entered minutes prior.

I walked up to your daddy and said, "you can stay or you can go. But I'm having a baby." I showed him your picture and he held it a long time. He told me later how relieved he was.

I was afraid. But I was in love. With you and with your dad. When you were born I called you the other half of my soul. I adored you more and more each day and my heart was full. You got blonder and chubbier. I watched you roll over, I watched you learn to walk. I listened to you sit on the couch and say "mama," then clap for yourself. 

You taught me to love in unimaginable ways. When you stopped wanting to play with me. When you began to line up your toys and organize them by size and color instead of use your imagination. When you stopped eating any food that was not dry or crunchy. When you looked distressed the day the DVD player wouldn't play your favorite SpongeBob episode. The day the veil of denial was stripped away and you sat in your high chair, I will never forget: I said "Felix look at mama. Felix, look at me. Look over here. Look a mama." I turned your chin and watched your eyes dart to the corner of the room. Felix, I will not lie and tell you my heart didn't shatter. Not because you were any different than you should be or because you disappointed me in any way. It shattered because selfishly I had a preconceived notion of how you were going to be and what our life would be like together. Autism is what you have, and in many ways it shapes what you do. But you were the same precious miracle before that you were after your diagnosis. You are amazing. You are loved. 

And you are now an adolescent. I wonder how much you understand but I'm thankful that when I ask you for a hug you respond by leaning into me. I'm thankful for the day I watched you eat a green bean, after months of nutrition therapy. I'm thankful that before you lost all your speech, you told me you loved me once. I'm thankful that you're tall and look like your daddy. I'm thankful for your laugh. I'm thankful that you are adaptable and healthy and gentle. I'm thankful that you're clever enough to pretend you don't know where your shoes are when you don't want to leave, but know exactly how to climb to the top of the fridge in the middle of the night to get the snacks on top. I'm thankful that you don't care what people think of you and you're innocently encapsulated from peer pressure. I'm thankful that you notice when I change my hair and come up and touch it before walking away. I'm thankful that your love is pure and that you can size up who you like an who you don't in a single instant. I love every part of you. And I'm thankful for you. 

Love,

Mama

November 3: Thankful for a Clear Conscience

Growing up I remember my daddy telling me if I ever got into a fight, that there was no such thing as fighting fair. Pull hair, hit below the belt, sucker punch, poke someone in the eyes. The purpose of a fight isn't to be polite or play by rules, he said. Its to survive being attacked by another person.

That stayed with me for a long time and ingrained itself in my psyche. My daddy was trying to protect me and empower me to stand up for myself if someone tried to victimize me. I imagine it was and is probably very hard to be a father and raise a daughter. I don't know if he would have given the same advice if he had a son, but I know he wasn't a fool and he knew he couldn't always be there if I was in danger. 

Maybe the tides are turning with how the next generation is raised to react to conflict. Many people flag themselves as victims, or retaliate under the anonymity of the Internet, or use that same platform to publicly shame the ones who hurt them. Maybe they internalize it until they're bullied into thinking suicide is a viable solution. There are a lot of ways we all try to cope with having wrong done to us. But one thing changed the way I see the world. 

I heard a conversation between a cop and a drug dealer. The dealer said, "what you make in a month, I make in a day." The officer responded by saying, "when I go home from work I don't have to watch my back." It took a long time between hearing that statement and letting it actually apply to my life. Seeking my own justice, or the easy way, or trying to seek revenge on someone who wronged me, almost always ended the same way. From the lessons of my daddy, when someone wrongs you, all bets are off and your morals can sit on the bench- it's your time to take an eye for an eye or a tooth for a tooth. But the problem with that is the score is never settled. 

I started living my life based on what I knew was right instead of what I thought I had the right to do. And now, my life is much better. I watch the people that do me wrong and allow them to show their true colors- and they always do. There are multiple passages in the Bible that say "may my enemies fall into the trap they set for me." If you're quiet, if you're honest, if you hold your ground peacefully, and if you live in a way where you can stand by what you do (even if people don't agree, approve or understand) you never have to prove that they're bad and you're good. 

I'm thankful for my daddy for telling me to stand up for myself. I'm thankful to that police officer for saying something when they didn't even know they were being watched or overheard, for perfectly illustrating how to walk it out the right way.

November 2: Thankful for Impermanence

Today I am thankful for impermanence. 

Perhaps it is western culture, or American culture, that sees things as sad if they don't last forever. How many times have any one of us thought, "if I could just get rich, life would be better," or read a story to our child that ended with "... and they all lived happily ever after?" Largely, happiness is seen as a destination rather than a choice. Very few people see life as a roller coaster or an ocean with both stillness and turbulent waves. I tend to forget that that is what it truly is, especially in the best and worst of times. 

Impermanence also scares us. It does so because it tells us we can't control what is going to happen. One of my children could die and I might not be able to stop it. I could lose my house in a fire. Perhaps I could be wrongfully accused of a crime or be a victim of a crime myself. I could fall in love and maybe that person will break my heart. A friend could betray me, no matter how good I tried to be to them.

I am grateful for impermanence because it allows for endless variables. And if we believe in a merciful Creator, we can have faith that nothing in the future can truly harm us to an irreparable degree, and it's power is limited to a small blip in time. A woman in her 70's talked to me in a store the other day. "Savor every moment," she said, "it all goes by so fast. Pretty soon you will be me, and your babies will be in their 40's." 

Impermanence allows us to hold on when things feel hopeless. Sometimes all we have to keep us going is the notion that our situation cannot last forever. The injustice we feel. This month's pressing financial demands. The flu. The 8th grade school year. Funeral plans. The mouse infestation. Gas prices. The cold season. Head lice. Even cancer doesn't last forever. 

Active labor during childbirth is the best example for me. When I was in so much pain I felt like I couldn't bear it (right after I told my midwife, "give me an epidural or a c-section or shoot me in the head...") I got a gentle reminder that eventually the pain would end. The pain meant I was that much closer to meeting my son. I would be leaving with a baby. When I am in pain I don't always get the luxury of knowing when it will end or if the pain will get worse, or what my "baby" is in the end. But I can look back on my life and reflect that the times I thought would never end, eventually did. 

Impermanence allows me to appreciate the fragility of my own being. I'm a makeup artist and had had a particularly busy day. When I went home I was exhausted, laying in bed and felt a sharp pain shoot through the inside of my right arm. It took that to realize that my entire livelihood depends on the use of my hands. And my eyes. And my ability to stand. I might not be able to do all those things, or any of those things, one day. But I can today, and I'm thankful for that. 

Day 1: Thankful for The Emerald Fox and Janis

When I first got the idea to write with gratitude for every day in November, I made a list (just so I don't get stuck). I might change it as the month goes on, but I am truly overwhelmed with gratitude for so many things and people and memories, my heart swells full to the point I can't bear to let any sadness inside. This first isn't just about material things- it's the people and the circumstances I am thankful for as well.

I know I'll write much more about the events surrounding this major event in my life, or rather, a series of miraculous events all strung together. I can't quite explain how when I feel like I'm falling, a miracle happens. This is how I know that God must exist- not because I get whatever I want, but because in the midst of a life of trouble, He always shows me He's there.

In late October of 2013, I posted on Facebook: "Can someone pick me up from my house immediately?" Many people knew what was going on- and knew even before I did, long before the veil finally came off of my eyes. 

The police were on their way. They had been to the house 4 times or so over the course of that year, each time leaving without taking any action. I discovered later that this happens often. It's rarely because the police don't care; more often it's because there's nothing the police can do. That day I became a single mother of three boys and left the person I called my soulmate. The following days, weeks, and months were extremely difficult. I lost or forfeited everything in my life, including what was going right, because the life I chose became too frightening and turbulent to hang on to the good that existed.

My friend contacted me and told me that I could borrow her company van indefinitely. The van was a 1999 Mercury Villager, affectionately nicknamed The Emerald Fox because of her dark green color. I had not had my own car in 4 years, did not have a job to support myself because my love and I had been business partners, and I had no money- everything I made was immediately deposited into his checking account. 

The Emerald Fox empowered me when I felt the most powerless. I could drive to a new job and go to the grocery store. We could go to church and I could drive to court hearings. I eventually bought The Emerald Fox, for one dollar.

She squealed whenever I turned her on and the backseats were riddled with spent juice boxes, kid toys and petrified French fry stubs. Every Wednesday night I would eat onion rings in an Arby's parking lot by myself, listening to cassette tapes as a street lamp sprayed light across the hood of The Emerald Fox. We had many special moments together. She was big and ugly but to me she was beautiful. I told people she was the sexiest mom-van in the world and I called her my Mercedes. If someone backed into me in a parking lot or tapped me at a stop light, I always had the same response: "don't worry about it; she's a tough old gal." 

One day I was pulling into church with the kids when a man in the parking lot said all of my rear lights were out. I brought The Emerald Fox to a mechanic and discovered she needed over $1,000 in repairs (about the same as her Blue Book value). All three of her serpentine belts were cracked, the radiator leaked, the passenger side window wouldn't roll down, the air conditioning didn't work, and the brake pads were worn down to about 15 percent, and of course there was an electrical problem that caused the lights to go out. I could afford none of it, but decided to at least fix the brake lights so it was safe to drive until The Emerald Fox fell apart completely. 

Two days after Christmas, a traumatic event occurred. I will spare the details as I am currently in legal proceedings, but what I can tell you is that I went back to what was familiar, and you can probably make some close guesses at the result. It revealed to me that I had hit a rock bottom in my life. I called a friend in California and said, "can I come over?" Her house was 2,600 miles from mine. To shed some light on the depth of what occurred, I can tell you this: When I left I didn't even pack a bag. I left everything behind- my children (who I knew would be safe), my apartment, my dog, my job, and all of my belongings.

"I'm saying a special prayer for your van," she said. 

"Thank you," I replied, "this piece of sh*t needs it."

The Emerald Fox was 7,000 miles overdue for an oil change and her insurance had recently lapsed. Somehow I felt in my heart that she was going to make it, and she did. The seemingly-endless plains of Minnesota, Iowa and Nebraska, the spiraling mountain roads of Colorado, a blizzard in New Mexico, the golden desert of Arizona and finally, southern California. A place that I didn't know at the time would be my home for the next 8 months. 

In July, I stopped at the gas station. Something told me not to fill my gas tank because I didn't know when the van was going to finally bite the dust. As I drove to the home of my mentor Vicki and her husband Pastor Bob, I noticed a quiet whirring noise each time I hit the brakes. I knew it was the rotors. "Great," I boiled inside of the Emerald Fox (remember, her A/C didn't work and only one window rolled down) but finally reached my destination. 

During my visit, I told my Vicki about the car. "You know," I said, "this van was a total blessing. But I know it's on it's way out and I don't know what to do. I've been going to church and hearing all these testimonies about families being reunited and relationships being restored. I'll be ready to go home to my kids soon and I know The Emerald Fox isn't gonna make it back to Minnesota. I hate to be so ungrateful because so many great changes have happened in my life since I've been here. But I can't help but wonder sometimes, where is my miracle?"

Just then I spilled something on my dress. I went out to the van to get a change of clothes. When I pushed the lock button, the "doink-doink" noise I was used to hearing, didn't happen. "Awesome," I thought, "first it's the rotors and now the keychain lock is not working. This car is falling apart right before my eyes." 

I don't know why I did what I did next. I stopped walking back into the house and thought, "What if it's not the keychain lock? What if it's the VAN?" I put the key in the ignition and it didn't even click. When people talk about "the supernatural peace of God," I had it in that moment. I knew The Emerald Fox was dead, and I laughed. I don't know why in so many other situations in life I try so hard to control the outcome of things but in this moment I said, "OK, God." I took the key out of the ignition and told Vicki the van was dead. I cannot explain why this didn't make me upset.

Vicki suggested jumping the car but I told her I knew it was dead. I remember the preacher Graham Cooke's saying and told her, "I'm being positioned for an upgrade." We prayed. We tried to jump the van. The dashboard wouldn't even light up.  

I went to church and told some friends, "my car died today... I don't know how I'm going to get to work. I just know it's gonna be ok. I just have this feeling!" I was so thankful about the circumstances of the death of The Emerald Fox and couldn't stop raving about my car being dead: "It died in front of Bob and Vicki's house! Isn't that great? I mean I could have been in the middle of the desert or on my way to work. But it happened on my day off and I reached my destination." 

A friend, Shana, chimed in: "The rescue mission just got a Mercedes donated. I bet you could get a deal or make payments or something. It's in great condition." I thought to myself, there's no way I would ever be able to afford whatever they would be asking for it. But I started to daydream-how funny would it be to have an actual Mercedes, after calling a Mercury Villager "my Mercedes" so many times? 

A couple days later, after bumming a few rides to work, my initial optimism and confidence about the situation was starting to wane. I felt reluctant to ask the rescue mission to buy the car- I had a modest savings account but nowhere near their asking-price and every dollar I had needed to be saved to get me back to Minnesota when the time came. Even if I offered them all of my money, I wouldn't be able to pay for gas to get home. 

I asked Vicki for a ride to Sunday service. The first person I saw when I walked in was Pastor Bob, who threw his arms around me and said, "after church you need to call the director of the rescue mission! Oh Angela, I'm so happy for you!" I didn't know what to think- what does this all mean? 

I got in touch with the program director of the rescue mission. She told me that Pastor Bob had spoken with her and she was aware of my situation. She offered to sell me the Mercedes for a fraction of my savings. I bought it the next day, and had enough money to transfer the title, get a smog test and pay for registration. 

Sitting in the car for the first time, I broke down crying. Thank You God, thank You God. It was about provision and the kindness of other people, about a community coming together to help me, about the power of piecing my life back together and people wanting to help because they saw me putting all my effort into changing for the better. It didn't matter what someone I used to love may have said about me or told me I was- people saw me, and they believed in me.

The original owner of the car was a doctor from San Diego. There was not a scratch on it, the interior was in near-perfect condition. Two days prior I was on Craigslist looking at beater cars that 5 times what I paid for the car I was sitting in. It had so many buttons I didn't know what they all did (and I still don't). God could have provided a Daewoo or a Pinto or a Greyhound bus ticket. But I was sitting in a Mercedes E320 and it was mine. It wasn't just provision. It was luxurious provision, greater than I could have expected and wasn't even sure I deserved. 

Of course, the first thing I did was drove to my favorite taco place to get homemade horchata and quesadillas. I truly believe God can speak through anyone and anything. The Pagan sex shop owner who provided The Emerald Fox. The Christian homeless shelter director who provided a Mercedes. And whether anyone believes it or not, I know God can even speak through Judas Priest. Hahaha. 

When I turned on the radio for the first time, I knew the lyrics would be my anthem on the long journey home:

"If you think I'll sit around

As the world goes by

You're thinking like a fool

Cause it's a case of do or die

Out there is a fortune

Waiting to be had

You think I'll let it go, you're mad

You got another thing coming." 

My children are my fortune- my greatest treasure- and I knew the pain of being without them. It was through this car that I could keep working, keep saving, and keep fighting. I drove out of Burbank, California early one morning with my best friend who flew out to help me drive home. I can't tell you how many times we heard that same song play on the radio (at least once through every state). And I'm grateful to be home.