31 Letters To My Mother {Day 2} daughters and forgiveness

Dear Mom,

The house is quiet right now, everyone is tucked in, warm and peaceful in their beds. All except Kel who went back to work to paint a banner of a Tiger that also looks like Clark Kent / Superman.  Life is funny, eh?

I love the evening quiet, it’s such an ordeal to get Noelle down to sleep each night.  She pops up again and again with ridiculous requests.  Tonight I grimaced as I realized how often I did the exact same thing to you and Dad.

I remember creeping down the stairs to the basement and sit on the top steps for a while watching you both.  I’d sit there in my care bear PJs for long stretches before nagging you to come up stairs and turn over the tape in my fire engine red boom box.

I wanted to avoid bed as long as possible back then.  Now, as the mama I can’t wait to crawl between my sheets and drift off.  Oh irony, thy name is motherhood, at least sometimes.

Noelle’s a lot like me, you know, full of energy and short on focus. She keeps me on my toes from the moment she wakes up until I realize that she’s finally drifted off to sleep.

I love her, but she seems to sweetly demand all of me.  All of my grace, patience, attention and energy.  But God, I love her Mom. Through parenting her, I’ve found grace for you. Hindsight can be mean like that.

I yelled at her today, grabbed her arm harder than necessary.  I was drained and exhausted and before I realized what I was doing, I’d handed her the brunt of it.

Only moments later I scooped her up and apologized, receiving a bounty of grace from her deep brown eyes and forgiveness from her lips.  Grace, childlike and sweet.  For now, available to me readily for the price of an embrace and an apology.

It won’t always be like this, will it?  She will make me work harder for forgiveness, maybe she will be angry with me, blame me for her inner struggles.

I think I’ll drift off tonight imagining our moment of reconciliation, in some far off land where you’re both whole and alive. We could scoop each other up as we weep, apologize and release our mother / daughter shortcomings.

I think we could both float away after that embrace like that.

Love you, miss you,


Beautiful Scars- And Then The Morning Comes

I’m in awe of the strength and stories of the women who have submitted pieces for the beautiful scars series and Jennifer Little is no exception.  I’m humbled and honored to be a part of sharing her story with you and to be a small piece of her healing.  There is no story that God won’t redeem, but this one is especially dear to my heart.


And Then The Morning Comes

It’s easy for me to say I was molested for the first time as a nine-year old. It’s not, however, easy to sift through and relive all those years (27 to be exact), since I was visited in the darkness. That was when the safety of my pale pink bedroom shattered into millions of tiny pieces that would later cut deep like glass.

When I first began writing this, I fooled myself into thinking I could whip up an account that has, by the way, blossomed into one of hope and love and forgiveness. The truth is, though, there is no way for me to share the light without first revisiting the dark—the secret, the fear, the loneliness and wild anger. It’s been a long time since I’ve been there, thank God.

Thank you, God. It’s been a long time since I’ve been there.

One might think my childhood was a dark stain on my life. After all, the secret of sexual abuse is so devastating, it can set children up for a future of rejection and failure in every possible way. But I know my parents and step-parents loved me as much as they were able, and there were plenty of happy times and fun memories. Continue reading