Real Stories from the People of Denton County

#DENTONING Real Stories from the People of Denton County

#DENTONING

This book was written for the express purpose of conveying the love and mercy of Jesus Christ. The statements in this book are substan- tially true; however, names and minor details have been changed to protect people and situations from accusation or incrimination.

Cover photographs by Jessica Brinkley and Kendall Cromwell.

Published by GCP. V1.1

Printed in the United States of America

We dedicate this book to all the creative and curious people of Denton County. May we discover a cause that unites us and inspires future generations of Dentonites.

The book you are about to read is a compilation of authentic life stories. The facts are true, and the events are real. These storytellers have dealt with crisis, tragedy, abuse and neglect and have shared their most private moments, mess-ups and hang-ups in order for others to learn and grow from them. In order to protect the identities of those involved in their pasts, the names and details of some storytellers have been withheld or changed.

11 Introduction

The term “dentoning” is a catch phrase and popular hashtag to express people enjoying, discovering and exploring all that our great North Texas city and county offer. Whether it’s lounging under a tree on the courthouse lawn, jogging on one of many city park trails or taking in the eclectic arts and jazz scene — Denton is special. It’s a hub of hodgepodge creativity and a smorgasbord of cultural diversity. Although Denton is one of the fastest-growing cities in Texas, it attempts to keep and cultivate its unique community flavor — part university town, part business region and part family epicenter. You never know what you might see or savor. Some of these outlandish things can only be adequately expressed by the popular T-shirt and bumper sticker slogan: “Only in Denton.” While Denton and Denton County have many odd and unique things we value, the greatest is its beautiful patchwork of people. Imagine yourself relaxing in the Square with a latte and several new friends as they tell their stories — of heartache and joy, questions and surprising discoveries. This book is a collection of stories from ordinary people whose lives took an extraordinary turn right here in Denton.

13 Stand in the Gap The Story of Richard Written by Jason Smith

The hot, dry desert air filled our lungs as the blazing sun beat down on us. Iraq is notorious for reaching temperatures as high as 130 degrees. This day was no exception. At midday, I feared heatstroke more than enemy bullets. Our armored vehicle, known as a Stryker, rolled over the dusty terrain. As I sat in the hull of the vehicle, the only sound I could hear was the loud whirring of the engine. A soldier sat in the driver’s compartment, steering the 19-ton vehicle. The other seven of us sat against the armored walls in the main hull, facing each other. Suddenly, I felt the massive vehicle rumble to a stop. I looked up to see Pvt. Johnson opening the combat hatch, an M4 assault rifle in his hands. “This is where the incident took place. Let’s take a look!” ordered Sgt. Lansing. The rear ramp dropped down, and all seven of us quickly shuffled out the door, assault rifles raised to combat position. Lansing led the squad up to a man-made stone wall near the road. We managed to climb over the wall and then ascended a rock hill from which we could view the aftermath of the raid. Near an embankment, we spotted a civilian’s body lifeless in the dirt. I watched in disbelief as

15 #DENTONING

Johnson picked up more than 50 casings from the ammunition surrounding the corpse. Bullets riddled this man’s body. I shook my head at the disturbing sight. How can they have such hate for one another? What do they believe killing each other will solve?



During high school, I developed a fascination with modern warfare. I’m the type of person who wants to know all the facts up front about what is real and what is not. Because of this tendency, I tend to get entirely engrossed in whatever activity I’m involved in or subject I’m studying. My interest in warfare was first piqued when, in one of my history classes, our teacher discussed the Vietnam War and the tragic consequences that resulted. I wanted to go deeper. So, on my own time, I researched the various causes, battles and tactics used in the Vietnam War. I learned about what it was like to be in the Special Forces. These men were the real deal. They were sent in behind enemy lines when no one else would go. They used advanced military tactics and state-of-the-art weapons and technology to accomplish their dangerous missions. I could do this! I wanted to be that soldier who was willing to go where no one else was willing or able. With this goal, I resolved to enlist as soon as I graduated high school.

16 Stand in the Gap

Reality threw cold water on all my burning aspirations, however, when I learned that I was colorblind and thus disqualified from many jobs in the military — including Special Forces. I still filled out the enlistment application. In the meantime, I decided to find a job delivering pizzas. “You know, Richard, there are still tons of things you can do besides the military,” Jessica, my girlfriend, told me. Her attempt at consolation didn’t help much. Joining the military was all I could see myself doing. Not long after this, everything seemed to go wrong. I got in a car accident while on the job, and my supervisor fired me. Jessica broke up with me. I was stuck living in my mom’s house with nowhere else to go. “Richard, you can’t just sleep on our couch forever,” my mom said one morning before she left for work. “When I come home, we’re going to talk about what you need to do — you’re not going to stay here forever.” Anger and bitterness grew inside me. What did I do to deserve this? Nothing is going as I hoped it would! Later that day, however, my luck seemed to change. I received a call from an Army recruiter who said that my enlistment had been provisionally approved. I could still join. Amazingly, right after I signed the contract and enlisted, my boss called, giving me my job back. A little bit later, I ran into Jessica, and we got back together. Everything seemed to be back on track.

17 #DENTONING



“Davis, get down here!” I looked over my shoulder to see three soldiers huddled under a tarp, shielding themselves from the scorching desert sun. Sgt. Lansing squatted in front of them and beckoned me. I stood to my feet and jogged over to join the others, lightly kicking up dust behind me. “Dehydration?” I asked, pulling my 50-pound pack off my shoulders and dropping it in front of me. “Maybe,” said Lansing. “Murdock just collapsed.” Two months after signing on with the Army, I’d learned that despite my colorblindness, I could still become a medic. When I considered that this could lead to a long-term career in the medical field, I decided it was a great opportunity. Though joining Special Forces didn’t pan out as I’d hoped, eight months after enlisting, I started a job as a medic for an infantry unit deployed to Iraq. Essentially, I was responsible for making sure that 33 young men survived during our initial 18-month tour in the Middle East. I took my job very seriously. A medic often needs to be the first one to arrive by a wounded soldier’s side. After immediate triage is completed and the wound is dressed, the next step is to move the wounded soldier out of harm’s way. Beyond this, medics carry out many other basic duties. One is keeping soldiers in their unit well-hydrated in the

18 Stand in the Gap

115-degree — or higher — temperatures that are all too common in the Middle East. Murdock finally came to, and I gave him some water. “I want each of you drinking three liters of water and two of those 20-ounce Gatorades every day,” I told the soldiers. “This heat is nothing to fool around with.” Later that day, Murdock stood up and walked, much to my satisfaction. Our unit walked toward Baghdad, carrying backpacks of clean water and clothing. As we approached the city, a pungent odor wafted in the air. We soon saw the source of the stench. The people brought their garbage just outside the city to a dump, where they burned it. The fires scattered around the piles amplified the terrible smell. After entering Baghdad, we found an open square in the city to set up a station for families to come with their children to get what they needed. Many smiled and acknowledged us. Several days later, I sat in the hull of a Stryker, a heavily armored eight-wheeled fighting vehicle designed to withstand armor-piercing bullets. We were patrolling the northern border of Baghdad. Ironically, our mission that day was not to infiltrate any buildings housing enemy insurgents or find any hidden explosives, known as IEDs (improvised explosive devices). It wasn’t even to bring food and clean water to civilians in the city, although we’d done all those things. Instead, this day we’d been given the mission of breaking up two warring parties. Ironically, although we

19 #DENTONING were the foreigners on their land, the Sunni and Shiite Muslims often showed far more hostility toward one another than to us American soldiers. A skirmish between the two Islamic groups broke out in front of us. I watched helplessly as Sunnis riddled a Shiite soldier with bullets. “This is insane,” I told Murdock that night, as we sat around a fire. The temperatures drop a surprising amount at night in the desert. “At least not everyone here hates us,” Murdock muttered. He looked up at me from the canned food he was eating. “We’ve even met some who seem glad we’re here and want to help. But some people really do hate us and want us to leave.” “Yeah,” I agreed. The fire crackled and popped in front of us. “But then there are the people who simply hate anyone who believes anything differently from them.” I paused, looking up at the twinkling stars in the vast blackness above us. “It makes me think that the worst weapon out there isn’t nuclear warheads or WMDs. It’s religion. These guys are so convinced that they’ve got the right religious beliefs that they’re willing to mercilessly kill their own neighbors over it.” Murdock looked up at the infinite array of stars. “So, Davis, you don’t think there’s a God somewhere out there?” “I didn’t say anything about God. I think that God is probably the best explanation for all the beauty and design to this universe. In some ways, I think God’s existence is

20 Stand in the Gap obvious when I look around the world.” I looked at Murdock and continued. “But I’ll tell you one thing. Seeing what we saw today — the hate. The bloodlust. All that tells me is that God doesn’t give a hoot about what happens to us.”



“Doc, I’ve got this terrible pain. Right here.” The patient pointed to his forehead and grimaced. “First of all, I’m not a doc,” I responded impatiently. “I’m a medic, and I’m examining you to see if you need to see the doc.” “I do, though,” the man said, wincing as if he were nearly to the point of tears. “This feels awful.” I forced myself not to let out a sigh or send him immediately out the door. I’d been working in Fort Sill, Oklahoma, for six months. I worked in the emergency room, which meant that I dealt with those who thought they needed urgent care. Many came and rightly needed to see a doctor or undergo an operation. But it seemed that most didn’t. Maybe I’ve lost my passion for health care. My original plan was to gain medical experience at this clinic before going to school to become a physician’s assistant. If my life’s purpose was to care for the health of others, why wouldn’t I love doing that? At first, I enjoyed the respite from combat. It gave me an opportunity to continue working as a medic while

21 #DENTONING finishing my time in the Army, away from all the hate and hostility I witnessed in Iraq. But to be honest, I somewhat missed being a medic and infantryman in Iraq, where the men actually needed me. Over there, it was a matter of life and death every day. At the clinic, I encountered innumerable people who, to me, seemed bent on manipulating the system so they could receive free health care for even the most minor issue. I looked up at the patient in front of me. “I’ll see if the doc can prescribe you something to relieve the pain.” I forced a smile and stood up to leave the exam room. “Wait, that’s it?” The man looked puzzled. “Well, sure. You’ve clearly got a headache, so I think that should ease the pain.” This man was the last patient I actually examined. As the lead of my shift, I was in charge of five other medics. I decided from that point on to delegate everything. People with minor complaints seeking to be examined before those who actually did need medical attention frustrated me to no end. Once again, I thought, humanity was letting me down. The other medics had good bedside manners, so I figured everyone was better off if I simply delegated the work involving interaction with patients. About a month later, I visited my mom. She lived only two hours south of Fort Sill. On the way home, I stopped at an auto place to pick up a part for my car. As soon as I walked in, I spotted Jessica. I hadn’t spoken to her in

22 Stand in the Gap almost a year. Our relationship had undergone several ups and downs, with all of our problems somehow related to communication. We greeted each other, and I offered to buy her lunch. As we munched on our sandwiches at a local diner, I was struck again by Jessica’s beauty, inside and out. “Have you applied to PA school?” she asked. “No. But I don’t think I will anymore.” “Really?” Jessica looked amazed. “I thought this was your passion. Don’t you like working in the medical field?” “I do, or at least, I did. And, yes, I dreamed about being a physician’s assistant. But … things have definitely changed. I guess I no longer have the necessary compassion for it. And besides that, it seems that I’ve been caught in another military loophole that might prevent me from even getting accepted if I wanted to go to PA school.” Jessica’s eyes found the floor. Her gaze had been intently fixed on me, but she seemed to need time to process what she heard. After several seconds, she looked back at me. “I’ve really missed you, Richard.” Her expression was tender and her voice soft. “When you were in Iraq, it wasn’t easy to have such poor communication and never know how much danger you were in. But now you’re back. And yet, for a while, even when we were trying to date, you still seemed so distant.” She paused. “So, what are you saying, Jessica?” I asked tentatively.

23 #DENTONING

“I’m saying that I think it would be good if we just tried to be friends.” “Okay, yeah, being friends is probably the best thing for us,” I heard myself saying. “But I mean true friends, friends who actually see each other and look out for each other. I’m saying let’s try to forget our history and start from scratch.” I smiled and slowly nodded. “Okay.” “Are you in?” I laughed. “Should we shake hands now or something?” Jessica laughed and came around the table to throw her arms around me for a bear hug.



Our plan to “just be friends” lasted for maybe three weeks. Then we found ourselves back in a dating relationship. Things seemed to be going well for us. Jessica and I had broken up and gotten back together so many times, I’d nearly lost count, but this time we both seemed to think we could last. Around December of that year, Jessica started attending a church called The Bridge in Denton, Texas. She invited me to come along one Sunday. I figured it couldn’t do any harm. At this point, I considered myself an agnostic. It’s not so much that I didn’t believe in a deity somewhere in the furthest reaches of the universe, but I’d seen enough evil on Earth to believe that God, if he did

24 Stand in the Gap exist, was not interested in taking care of us. I had attended church occasionally when I was younger, but it really was to make my parents happy and not because I truly believed any of what I was being taught in Sunday school. Isn’t it odd, I told myself, that this God of the Bible had failed to give every other culture in the world the right religious book? Is it really loving of God to make only one way to get to heaven? These thoughts ran through my head as I stepped into the church, wondering if the people who went there really believed what I considered “religious nonsense.” All the people at The Bridge Church seemed friendly enough, and I actually enjoyed the singing, even if, for me, the lyrics put a little too much emphasis on Jesus and his death. Then the church’s pastor, whose name I later learned was Duane, preached a sermon. Surprisingly, I found myself agreeing with a lot of what Pastor Duane said. He talked about Jesus’ teaching on loving our neighbor — even our enemies. If only everyone in the world actually lived that way. No sooner had that thought entered my mind than Pastor Duane said, “Only one person has truly done this. Listen to what Romans 5:7-8 says: ‘Very rarely will anyone die for a righteous person, though for a good person someone might possibly dare to die.’ ” I thought of all the men in my company who gave their lives for everyone they loved back home.

25 #DENTONING

Pastor Duane continued, “ ‘But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.’ See, Christ didn’t just love those whom he knew deserved it. He loved those least deserving. He loved us! And he died for us even while we were running from him.” The thought of Christ loving and dying for those who disregarded him stirred me, but just for a moment. Then another thought popped into my mind. Why does he need to bring Jesus’ death into his sermon like that? It was good while he left that part out. Yes, we should love even our enemies. That’s what this world needs to do. But we don’t need to bring in Jesus and the cross and all that other stuff! Despite my fundamental disagreements with Pastor Duane on the relevance of Jesus, I thoroughly enjoyed listening to him speak. It also impressed me to hear that The Bridge Church was very active in the community and in caring for the less fortunate in Denton and the surrounding area. “So, you’ve attended several services by now,” Jessica said one evening, as we strolled through a park together. “What do you think of it?” “There’s a lot to like,” I admitted. “I especially enjoy the moral principles that the church stands for.” I paused, searching for the right words so as not to offend Jessica. She’d considered herself a full-fledged follower of Jesus for a long time. “I guess I just disagree on the theology.” “What do you mean?”

26 Stand in the Gap

I shrugged. “I think where I differ goes right down to the foundational view of reality. Look, I’ve seen what religion does to people. I’ve seen Sunni Muslims kill Shiite Muslims without a second thought about whether their disagreements should lead to taking someone’s life. When some people get a certain view of God stuck in their head, they believe it so deeply that they’re even willing to kill someone for disagreeing. To me, that’s just —” “Madness?” offered Jessica. I looked down at her and nodded. “Exactly.” “So, wait a second,” Jessica began, trying not to sound defensive. “You think that believing in God always leads to killing people?” I opened my mouth to answer, but then I paused, trying to make up my mind to answer. “I think it definitely can. I’ve seen it firsthand.” “Well, don’t you think it’s unfair to throw every religion in the same bucket?” “Maybe,” I conceded. “But I don’t think that Christians have the right God, either. When you look around the world, you see a lot of death and destruction everywhere. It looks to me like God isn’t in too much of a hurry to help us out. Maybe he doesn’t even know we’re here.” “Look, I don’t have all the answers, but I think it might be a good idea for you to meet with Pastor Duane. He’d love to sit down with you.” I told Jessica that I’d think about it. Not long after this, The Bridge Church held a

27 #DENTONING conference with speakers on various topics related to the church, theology and practical ways for the church to reach the city. One speaker addressed the importance of reaching our neighbor with the gospel while we meet their physical needs. This talk brought many questions to my mind, so I decided to meet with Pastor Duane to discuss it. Jessica was right. Pastor Duane seemed more than happy to meet with me. The following Sunday morning, he greeted me with a smile and invited me to come by his office later in the week. I agreed. I walked into his office a few days later, unsure of what I’d say. He offered me a soft drink, then the two of us sat down. Pastor Duane asked me what I thought of the conference, and I told him that I had some questions about it. He looked interested, so I decided to be candid. “Look, Pastor Duane,” I began, “I’ve really enjoyed your sermons — for the most part. But to be honest, I don’t believe what you believe. I do really like the community outreach and what your church does for those less fortunate. So, I’d like to keep coming to The Bridge, but you need to know that I’m not going to believe what you’re teaching.” A grin began to form on Pastor Duane’s face. “Okay, that’s cool.” I looked at him in surprise. “Really?” “Yeah, of course. You’re free to disagree where you disagree. But it might help if you tell me a little more of what you mean.”

28 Stand in the Gap

He looked very curious as to what I’d say next. “I just think there are too many people in the world who claim that they know who God is and what he is like. And, in my mind, to think that God sent only one group of people the true story and that you now have it — it seems a little hard to believe.” Pastor Duane looked at me attentively while I spoke. “So, Richard, do you believe that everyone has the right God?” “Maybe,” I responded. “After all, who’s to say who has the right answer?” “I like to call your view the ‘all roads lead to heaven’ belief. To be honest, I can see why you find this view attractive. According to this view, nobody’s wrong, and we don’t need to declare war against each other.” “Exactly,” I said. “I’ve seen what happens when religion takes people’s thinking. People kill over their commitment to one religion being right.” “Very true,” he remarked. “Which is one reason that we at The Bridge hate religion. What we care about is having a relationship with the living God.” That last statement caught me a little off-guard. Can a pastor of a church really say he “hates religion”? The thought of a church being anything but religious had never occurred to me. Our conversation came to a close, and as I headed out the door, Pastor Duane thanked me for being willing to share where I stood and what I believed in an honest yet courteous manner. At least we both agreed that the road

29 #DENTONING to peaceful living is not war, but dialogue between people who hold different perspectives.



The longer I attended The Bridge Church with Jessica, the more I realized how compelling the message of Christianity was. The idea that good works weren’t about earning our way into heaven, but rather, that God came to Earth as Jesus to bring us into a vital relationship with him gripped me. I participated in activities and community outreach events with The Bridge, and I began to witness firsthand what it meant to love your neighbor as yourself, something Jesus told his followers to do. To think that these people were doing all they did first and foremost out of their love for Jesus stirred something inside me. I realized that, despite my eagerness to be involved with outreach that confronted the social ills of the community, I also sensed an inner void. I knew in my gut that the inner joy that seemed to compel these folks to love others was completely absent in my case. Over time, my heart began to open up to the idea that Christianity might actually be true, that Jesus really is the savior they believed him to be and that, after all the horrors I’d witnessed overseas, I might be wrong about what God is like. I thought about this for a while, and my heart began to agree with what the pastor said.

30 Stand in the Gap

In the subsequent days, I didn’t have a sudden emotional upsurge or some transcendent experience of feeling like I was walking on clouds. But I did sense that Christ was the answer to all the questions that had bothered me for so long. Why didn’t God do anything about the evil, death and destruction in our world? He did, I realized, and he came as a man to fully experience our evil against himself, to die the death that we deserved and to accomplish through his resurrection the beginning of the end of all the destruction we now see. God did love us. I became convinced of this. God had seemed so distant before because I could only fathom how difficult it would be for me to reach up to him. But then I saw that the gospel is about God going the distance, through Jesus, and coming down to our level.



Jessica and I married and had children. I took an interest in helping the kids at church understand what Christianity is all about. One evening, Jessica and I were watching Toy Story 3. There’s a scene in that movie where all the toys are thrown into a dump and are being pulled by a massive conveyer belt toward an incinerator, along with a giant mound of trash. At first, the toys attempt to climb out, but it’s no use. One of the toys asks, “What do we do?”

31 #DENTONING

Then, as if accepting their fate as melted plastic, the toys all link arms, as if to say, “There’s nothing we can do, but let’s hold on to each other as we go out.” Then, out of nowhere, a giant mechanical claw lifts them up out of the trash and to safety. Immediately, I thought of how this was a perfect picture of Christ’s rescue of us. We, like those helpless toys, have run out of options to save ourselves. All we can do, without Jesus, is brace for our final end. “We’ve got to show this scene to the kids at church!” I said, partly to myself. “Are you kidding me?” said Jessica. “That was awful.” “No, don’t you see? The claw is Jesus! We’re the toys.” It may have sounded a little odd to her at first, but she appreciated the fact that I wanted to show the kids that Christianity isn’t about saving ourselves or whether we fail in our attempts at reaching God. It’s about God reaching down to us. I couldn’t help but realize how Pastor Duane had modeled this God-like love to me. He didn’t pressure me into accepting everything he believed. Neither did Jessica, for that matter. They welcomed and accepted me. Rather than forcing me into the deep end of the swimming pool, they allowed me to wade in, just one little step at a time. I’d swim when I was ready. I also realized that the moral principles Pastor Duane brought into his sermons worked so well because they assumed that God is the one in control of the whole show, not us.

32 Stand in the Gap



A couple years later, Jessica and I had the incredible opportunity to travel to England on a mission trip. While we were there, I met two boys who were both relatively mature for their ages. I started mentoring them and kept in touch with them even after we returned home. It was an opportunity for me to help them reach their full potential. After returning to the States, Jessica and I faced some difficult financial times, but God helped us stay above water. We turned to him time and time again. When I was out of work, God provided. When I started a new business, God gave me wisdom and the necessary means to keep the business afloat. One Sunday morning, a Christian businessman from Australia spoke at The Bridge on how he used his financial resources to support missionaries and why this was such an important responsibility for many folks in our church to take on. “Everybody wants to go on mission trips and help people,” he said. “But nobody wants to pay for them.” This man helped me see that God had gifted me with a mind that understands and loves to operate businesses. The financial resources that came from running businesses could be used to fund mission trips and provide for career missionaries. I realized, by God’s mercy and power, I could “stand in the economic gap” for missionaries, as the speaker put it.



33 #DENTONING



Throughout my time as a follower of Jesus and a member of The Bridge Church, I’ve been humbled by the way I’ve seen God use those who put their confidence not in their wealth, career or connections — as it is so easy to do — but rather in God. Although I still consider myself a new follower of Jesus, I’ve already seen how God desires to use me in great and astounding ways. I used to have the “all roads lead to heaven” perspective, as Pastor Duane put it. I thought, There’s no way I’m not getting into heaven, if there is one. After all, I’m a good person. Sure, I’ve made my share of mistakes, but on the whole I don’t deserve punishment. But through people like Jessica and Pastor Duane, I’ve realized that merely being a good person is worthless apart from knowing Jesus. I used to believe that religion was a man-made ideology meant to help people get through life, and that it often had terrible consequences, as I witnessed in the Army. I went from believing there’s no way to have a relationship with God to realizing that there’s no way to live fully without having a relationship with God. As I’ve come to know Jesus and what he did for me, I’ve learned, bit by bit, to take my eyes off myself and to look to Jesus as my provider, my protector and my perfection. Jesus transformed me from the inside out. The ironic thing is, now that I’m a Christian, I still believe that “religion” is a bad thing.

34 Stand in the Gap

I just don’t believe that Christianity is a religion. It truly is all about a saving relationship with Jesus Christ, the God who comes to rescue us when we’re on the brink of destruction. Jesus stood in the gap for me when I was distant from God. Now, I have the privilege to stand in the gap for others who, like me, are seeking to find true purpose in life.

#DENTONING

36 Turning Over the Keys The Story of Abigail Written by Rosemarie Fitzsimmons

Stupid, stupid, stupid! The empty driveway mocked me through the kitchen window. This cannot be happening again. Anger surged within me, but the sound of giggles and little feet running into the room forced me to talk myself back under control. Take care of the children first. I picked up the phone and dialed Rhonda. “Hey, girl, any chance you can pick up the boys and get them to school?” “Sure, Abbie. What’s wrong with your car — or should I ask?” “Nope. Usual story. He fooled me again.” “Aw, I’m so sorry.” Rhonda knew better than to expect details. She could tell the story as well as I did. “I thought maybe this time it would work.” “So did I.” I sighed. “He went six whole days.” I never should have handed over those keys. Rhonda offered to pick up the boys after school as well. I stewed over the previous day’s moment of weakness, chastising myself for not listening to my intuition. He’d given me the traditional lines: “Come on, baby, I thought

37 #DENTONING we were good,” and, “I’m clean — no going back. You can trust me this time, I promise.” But I couldn’t. I knew I couldn’t. I knew the car provided access to drugs and alcohol and whatever woman he had on the side that week. Every time I handed over the keys, I gave him permission to walk all over me again. Yet, I gave him the keys. Something pitiful in his apology made me weak every time. And now there’s no telling when he’ll be back. Days? Weeks? I helped the boys prepare for school, then bundled the baby to take her to Mom’s. I’d catch the bus to work. He’d been so sweet after the divorce, but honestly, I hadn’t been fooled. I no longer believed his lies and excuses. He’s a broken man, and he’ll never change. So why, oh, why did I marry him again?



I transformed from a happy, headstrong girl into a hesitant, shame-filled loner literally overnight, in the back of a Greyhound bus traveling from Texas to New Jersey with my family. Our trip had started as a great adventure. Mama and Aunt Sadie took the seats in front of me, each with one of my two younger cousins. I, being all of 9 years old and the “responsible” one, sat alone behind them. A nice young man named Cole had been riding with us almost since the beginning of the trip. He and Mama

38 Turning Over the Keys chatted a bit throughout the day. He told Mama he was 22. Practically an old man to me. “You going all the way to New York?” Aunt Sadie had to turn around nearly backward to talk to him. She balanced a box of crayons on her lap, exchanging one at a time with my cousin, who colored beside her. “Yes, ma’am.” Cole pulled out a photo of a beautiful woman. “Gonna see my girl.” Such a respectful boy. I probably chatted with him a little more than I should have. When he made me giggle, I held a hand to cover my overbite grin so he wouldn’t make fun of me the way kids at school did. Mama passed back a sandwich, offering him one as well. “No, thank you, ma’am.” He dug into a black bag. “I brought my own.” As night fell, the passengers became quiet. In the dim light from the yellow bulbs along the overhead rack, I watched Mama and Aunt Sadie nod off, each holding a hand across a sleeping child. I settled against the window, listening drowsily to the hum of the wheels. Cole slid into the seat, and I felt his coat coming down over me … over us. Through my surprise, shock, fear or whatever was going on in my head, I could not make myself speak or cry out as he forced himself on me. What’s happening? Why is he doing this? When we woke up in the morning, he was gone, but he left behind a broken girl with a shameful secret.

39 #DENTONING



“Abigail, what’s wrong with you? We always take the bus to Aaron’s.” Mom sat against the lid of her overstuffed suitcase until the latch clicked. “I’m not going to listen to another word. Now get your things.” With a heavy sigh, I picked up my bag. The trip from Denton to Cousin Aaron’s home in Alabama took nearly 10 hours. We’d probably arrive after dark. Fine, but I’m sitting way up front. For two years, every time I tried to tell Mom about what happened on that bus, fear and humiliation rose up and swallowed my words. I couldn’t tell Poppy, either, because I was his little girl, and I didn’t want that to change. I didn’t want to hear them say it was my fault, somehow, or that I could have prevented it. I couldn’t bear to see disappointment in their eyes. Cousin Aaron and Mom were as close as siblings, and our visit turned out to be wonderful, as always — although for some reason, he’d given up his cable so we couldn’t watch television. The usual throng of aunts, uncles, cousins and some of my older siblings who’d moved away arrived, and we spent two weeks listening to stories and enjoying good Southern cooking. I saw something different in Cousin Aaron’s face that year that I couldn’t identify. A light seemed to shine through him. I thought about it all the way home, from my seat near the front of the bus. I wish I could light up like that.

40 Turning Over the Keys

Back in Texas, I couldn’t wait to go down the street to see Millie. We’d been best friends since first grade, and we told each other everything. Well, almost everything. She didn’t know about the bus ride, either. I stepped outside and started down the sidewalk when I heard someone shout my name. Across the street stood Brian, a nice-looking 17-year-old who lived two blocks away. He had no business calling my name, but I waved and smiled. The next day, he crossed the street to walk with me, and he said all the right things. “I can’t go out with you,” I told him. “I’m too young.” “Age ain’t nothing but a number.” He winked. “How old are you?” His wink made me blush, and I covered my smile. “I’ll be 12 in two weeks.” Brian seemed unfazed. “Why, that’s practically grown- up.” “I can’t, Brian.” We’d reached my friend’s house, so I turned up the walk. “I’m not allowed to date yet.” For two weeks, Brian met me every time I stepped outside. Eventually, I looked forward to seeing him there. He always said nice things, and he never teased me about my teeth. We eased into a relationship that consisted mostly of walking and talking for a while. We kept our friendship secret because my parents would never have approved. Brian quietly, patiently and masterfully pushed us over the physical line before I really knew what had happened. The same feelings of regret and

41 #DENTONING shame I’d experienced on the bus smothered me and made me feel dirty. He seemed pleased, though, telling me he loved me, and he came back for more. I wanted to stop, but I feared I couldn’t say no after letting him in the first time. The filthiness of it stuck to me, weighing me down until I could barely breathe. What’s the difference between Cole and Brian? The only answer I could find without talking to Mom — which I’d never do — was that Brian loved me. It wasn’t exactly what I’d imagined love would be, but I tried to console my guilt-ridden heart with some muddy reasoning. He says he loves me. I please him with sex. Sex must be love. However, the shame continued to consume me from the inside until I couldn’t stand it. I despised the girl I’d become so much that I couldn’t even look at her in the mirror. I decided to do the world a favor by killing myself. I pulled some pills from the medicine cabinet and downed a handful. “Abigail!” I woke to see Mom over me, sobbing and nearly hysterical, shaking me like crazy. She’d called the doctor, who told her not to let me sleep. “He said if I can’t keep you awake, you’ll have to go in to get your stomach pumped.” She shook me until I thought my brain would fall out. Later, we sat on my bed and talked, dancing around the topic of why I’d do such a thing. Mom rocked me,

42 Turning Over the Keys telling me how loved I was. I tried to believe her. Lulled by Mom’s comforting presence, I mustered the courage to tell her what happened on that bus, where the ugliness had begun. She didn’t believe me. Today, I think she did believe, but the shock and frustration of hearing such a story probably made her feel helpless. “No, that didn’t happen. You would have called out to me.” She stood to leave but paused in the doorway. “I would have helped you. I could have done something.” That evening, I met Brian at the park. While we swayed on the swings, I told him about the incident on the bus and about Mom’s reaction. He stopped his swing with the toe of his shoe. “I believe you, Abbie. If I’d been there, I would have punched his lights out.” Brian comforted me in the only way he knew how, leaving me again feeling dirty. Once the door to promiscuity opened, other doors opened as well — cigarettes, marijuana, alcohol, other boys. I fell into one vice after another like a pinball being smacked around, until I had no idea who I was anymore. Boys made me feel desirable — until we had sex. Sex made me feel nasty. I became trapped in a cycle, first thinking that a boy’s affections would make me feel better, and then giving in to his sweet talk and demands, after which I’d be discarded like a dirty rag. Sadly, I confess that I didn’t take precautions to prevent pregnancy. Part of me

43 #DENTONING actually wanted to have a child, believing that it would somehow improve my miserable life. Even sex with Brian made me feel horrible, but at least he kept coming back. We split often, usually over his wandering after another girl, but he’d get his fill and then come back with an apology, swearing that he loved only me. In desperation, I believed him. For about four years, I lived in this cycle. I dealt with it by letting my mind and heart become numb to the filthiness. I turned to food for solace and started gaining weight. Add to that an overbite that someone could put their fingers between, and the stage was set for some serious depression. I rebelled against Mom, but she couldn’t help me. Nor could I find help at church. I attended youth group with Brian at his church, but some of the behaviors there topped even mine. I couldn’t believe how much sex and alcohol abuse I witnessed on church grounds and especially when we went on youth retreats. If anything, as I watched young girls give themselves over to the sweet- talking boys, I realized how sad some of their situations were. I decided church wasn’t the answer, either. In my junior year of high school, I finally wised up to the fact that sleeping around wasn’t the key to love or happiness. I turned away from boys, and my grades improved. For a brief time, I allowed myself to dream about my future. A television ad at the time promoted volunteering for the Peace Corps. I could picture myself planting food for

44 Turning Over the Keys hungry people or gathering bamboo sticks to build houses for the homeless. I still remember the Peace Corps’ motto: “The toughest job you’ll ever love.” That’s the job for me. I want to help people. Hard to do, though, considering I needed so much help.



“Don’t marry that boy, Abigail. He’s bad news.” Mom pleaded with me for six months to walk away from Brian, but I refused to listen. I’d never be able to make her understand why it mattered that Brian was the only one who kept returning to me. My brain and heart had been numb as long as I could remember, and I didn’t care what happened to me. I married Brian because my grandma warned me that God says I can’t shack up with a man who wasn’t my husband, and I took her words seriously. If anyone understood God, Grandma did. She used to read Bible stories to me when I was younger. She talked to me about Jesus, and I know she prayed for me. However, on those rare occasions when I did think of God, I didn’t think he could possibly care about someone as soiled as I was. At any rate, I told Brian that we may as well make it legal, as he wasn’t going to stop and God didn’t approve of sex outside of marriage. One month after our wedding, I caught him in our bed with another woman. I wouldn’t have believed I could fall further into depression, but I did.

45 #DENTONING

What have I done? This man does not love me! He left the apartment, and I went to Mom’s. When he banged on her door, I came out to talk to him, but my heart had iced over. In my anger, I used some rather unladylike words. He punched me in the face. I tried to be strong and kept away from him for almost a month, but Brian was a relentless man. “I can’t live without you, Abbie.” He stood at the front door, his head down. “You know, I’m not your punching bag.” “I know, baby. I’m so sorry. I swear.” His dark eyes widened like a child’s. “You know I didn’t mean it. I love you, baby.” I took him back. Because he keeps returning, he must love me. Soon after we moved back home, Brian suffered a devastating loss when his father, with whom he’d been quite close, passed away from cancer. Overwhelmed by sadness and anger, Brian pushed me away and lost his job. I could only watch him crumble as he tried to drink away his sadness, and, when alcohol didn’t work, turn to drugs. Brian’s mom said something curious about his dad later. She stated that she had been unhappy with her husband’s wandering eye. When she looked at me, I perceived the sadness in her eyes. I also discovered that my father had a wandering eye, as did many men within our community. It wasn’t until I confronted this truth later that I had the arsenal to come against it in my family.

46 Turning Over the Keys

After that, Brian started taking the car and disappearing for days, returning remorseful, expecting me to take him back. I did. Every time. Desperate to keep him, I decided that having a baby would make everything better. However, I couldn’t get pregnant. My friend Rhonda and I were in the same boat, so we commiserated and bonded closely during that time. Brian and I tried for years, enduring doctor visits, charts and tests, temperature readings, education, sperm counts and hour after hour of listening to people explain what they thought was wrong with us. Brian gave up first. After four years of marriage, he left for another woman. “Abbie, it doesn’t look like we’re going to have kids. I met this woman, Janine, who already has them. Ready- made family. I’m going to stay with her.” I later learned that Janine also supplied Brian’s drug money. “Fine, go!” I shouted over my fear and heartbreak. “But don’t come crawling to me when she’s through with you, because there’s no way I’m taking you back!” I ate my way to 200 pounds. The doctor told me I was knocking at the door of high blood pressure and diabetes. Searching for direction, I attended a business school and found an administrative job in law enforcement. From my desk, I saw people from all walks of life and pain beyond anything I’d experienced. I witnessed the corrosive effects of drugs and alcohol on families. For some addicts,

47 #DENTONING family provided their only hope, and many times I saw that hope turn away. When Brian returned with his promises and sweet talk, I took him back.



“Glory, glory! Praise the Lord! Can I get an ‘amen’?” The old Pentecostal church thundered with music and praise. I hesitated at the door, but Mom nudged me forward. Brian looked as nervous as a cat, but he followed me to a seat. We were only there because Cousin Aaron was preaching. Well, and because of the light that still shone in his face. When he’d visited our house earlier that week, I felt pulled by that light. He was nothing like the Aaron I’d known as a very young girl. “It’s Jesus that’s in me now.” He pulled me into a bear hug and spun me around the kitchen. “I have joy and peace, and I’m no longer burdened by my past, because I have Jesus!” I wanted what he had. I’d become an emotional, exhausted wreck. If attending Cousin Aaron’s three-day revival in a loud Pentecostal church could help me find any sort of rest, I’d be a fool not to check it out. Something that felt like electricity sparked in the air. Everything I heard seemed to be directed right at me. I’d attended church services my entire life, but never had I experienced anything other than rote prayers, rituals, rules and obligations to an all-powerful God. Cousin Aaron

48 Turning Over the Keys talked about love and forgiveness, and he even suggested that I could have a relationship with God. Something that lasted past Sunday. Something that stayed with me always. Love that stays with me always? Is that possible? I felt in my heart that I wanted to be part of that. When one of the preachers stood at the front of the church and invited us to step forward for prayer, I stood right away. People around me prayed in words I didn’t understand, and their prayers frightened me. They frightened Brian, too, apparently, because he stood and took off out of that church, running down the street. Cousin Aaron and one of the pastors followed him, but I kept moving forward to the altar. Perhaps if Cousin Aaron hadn’t been part of the event I might have run, too. But I trusted Aaron, and I couldn’t deny the change that had come over him. No, I’m not leaving. I want that, and I want all that comes with it. As I knelt for prayer and felt a hand on my head, I still had questions. What is this they’re doing? I need to understand. Jesus, do you really love me? And then I just knew. Yes, he does. I joined in the prayer, asking the Lord to forgive me for how I’d lived my life. I asked him for a relationship like the one he had with Cousin Aaron. A few people away, Mom gave her life to Christ as well. I walked away from that revival a new woman. A

49 #DENTONING barren woman, wounded, frightened and still married to an alcoholic, drug-addicted man with a wandering eye, but one with a glimmer of hope in her heart. Cousin Aaron came by the house about once a month after the revival — “to help my Texas family get saved,” he’d say. We didn’t even know what that meant, but we loved his visits. Brian, although still somewhat wary, listened to Aaron talk about getting baptized and living “a God kind of marriage.” Nothing he heard changed his ways, but he listened, which was the best I could hope for at the time. I nagged him about going to church and giving himself to Christ, but he certainly wasn’t ready to hear that. I developed a hunger to know God. Somehow, the more I read and learned about the Lord, the more I learned about myself. For instance, I realized that I had let myself be defined by Brian’s actions. In doing so, I’d put saving my relationship with Brian first, even ahead of God. However, as I listened to Cousin Aaron’s opinions about living up to God’s standards, I began to wonder if I was just exchanging one type of bondage for another. He told me to lose the makeup and all jewelry except my wedding ring, and to wear only skirts and dresses. No Christmas tree in the house. No non-Christian music. So, if I wear pants as part of my uniform, I’m not saved? Is it really going to make a difference to God if I wear a dress? I later concluded that Aaron’s enthusiasm took some

50 Turning Over the Keys of God’s instructions to the extreme, but at the time, I tried hard to fit into the mold, believing that with everything I gave up, God would give me more blessings. I clung to the concept, regarding it as a magic formula. Living this way exhausted me. I felt as if I could never do enough for God, and still nothing changed in my family. I almost slid backward during this confusing time, but the memory of my revival experience and the love I’d felt kept me pushing forward. When I heard about the power of prayer, I doubted that God cared enough about me to answer my prayers. I said as much to Aaron when he came to town. Boy, did he set me straight. “God is listening, Abigail. He’s always listening.” Aaron took my hand across the small kitchen table. “Tell him the desire of your heart.” That he would fix my marriage? Make Brian quit drinking? Erase my past? Heal my heart? “It’s hard. There’s just so much.” A thought shot through my mind, and I looked up, startled. Aaron grinned. “Let’s start there, shall we?” “God, Father in heaven …” I faltered. Why would he answer me? “All I want … all I’ve ever wanted … is for someone to love. Someone who will love me back. Dear Lord, please let me have a child.” Aaron bowed his head, and he prayed as well, with such passion and fervor I wondered if he remembered I was there. But then he stopped. “The Lord is telling you to drink a cup of water.”

51 #DENTONING

I raised one eyebrow. I had no clue what he was doing, but I went to the sink, filled a cup and drank it down. “Now how do you feel?” The question surprised me. My answer surprised me more. “I have butterflies in my stomach.” “Okay, then.” Aaron put his hands together. “God says you’re going to get pregnant.” I laughed, feeling a bit like Sarah in the story of Abraham we’d read that week in church, except that she doubted God because she was too old to have a child. I had no reason to doubt. “I’ll believe you, Aaron, but you should know — we’re flying on your faith here, not mine.” For some reason, I started fasting and turned it into a lifestyle change. I walked more than 30 minutes, four days a week and ate better. I lost 60 pounds, improved my blood pressure readings and felt good about myself for the first time in years. When I went out, men whistled at me, which made me prideful. With a start, I realized that I enjoyed that attention. By the next spring, my body started feeling uncomfortable, and I jumped to the worst conclusion. I described my symptoms to a co-worker and confided that I thought I’d contracted a horrible disease. She laughed and purchased a home pregnancy test. Reluctantly, I took the test the following morning. I stared at that stick, unable to believe my eyes. As joy washed over me, I looked through my tears to the heavens. Maybe God does love me.

52 Turning Over the Keys

Across town, Rhonda had just learned she was finally pregnant as well. Prayer became like a weapon to me. I prayed for my husband, for my family and even for the people I met at work, both those in trouble and the ones who loved them. Sometimes I prayed silently. Other times, particularly when I saw that hopeless look in a mother’s eyes, I pulled her aside and prayed aloud. Brian changed overnight. He told anyone who would listen about the baby. “I’m going to be a daddy! I have to clean up my act because now I have responsibilities.” I’d roll my eyes. Am I not one of your responsibilities? However, I enjoyed seeing him come alive. Throughout my pregnancy, Brian tried to take care of me. When he was around, he doted on me. He kept steady work for a while, tending people’s yards and gardens. I swear he would have mowed lawns every day to keep me supplied with pizza. The problem came when he wasn’t around. After a brief respite, he returned to his drinking and his drugs. And he returned to Janine as well. God blessed me with Jonah, a healthy baby boy who quickly became my whole world. Rhonda gave birth to a little girl. The surge of emotion I felt when I laid eyes on Jonah for the first time has stayed with me through the years, and every day I thank the Lord for him, as well as his little brother, Elijah, and their baby sister, Faith. Oh, yes, God answers prayer.

 

53 #DENTONING



I rushed to a room in the center where summer camp leaders had summoned me. “What happened to you?” I walked to Elijah and swept him up in a hug. “Oh, your head! How’d you get this big bump?” “I got in a fight.” He had a hard look in his eyes that I hadn’t seen before. “Some kids were saying bad things about Daddy.” “What kids?” I didn’t want to know. “I never met them. They said Daddy comes to their house by himself.” My heart broke for Elijah, as I knew my husband was spending the night there. I didn’t want to lie and say that everything would be okay, because it wouldn’t, but I also didn’t want him to have to face reality so soon. We talked around the real issue as I gave him some options to take instead of fighting. But I knew the time had come to act. The moment I became a mother, the self-absorbed child in me grew up. My children needed me and counted on me. I could look at life, and Brian, differently. I didn’t want to be without him because I’d glimpsed the man behind the drugs and alcohol and knew who he could be, but I realized that, if I had to, I could live without him. And I realized that I had to, for the sake of my sanity. Having recently lost my grandmother, I’d been dwelling on how short life really is, and how we had to make the time count.

54 Turning Over the Keys

So I divorced Brian, and, for a while, he made it easy by going to Janine’s. As the sole breadwinner for my family, I exhausted myself trying to meet everyone’s needs. I disliked my job, but I was grateful for it because I knew that many people were out of work. I still attended Brian’s church, which hinted at God’s love but didn’t fill the hole in my heart. God, there’s got to be more. One night I dreamt I was walking down a long road in my uniform, tired, as usual. At the end of the road stood a large heap of logs and kindling piled up in preparation for a bonfire. I walked around the stack of wood to find a woman kneeling in prayer. She turned and stood, smiling at me as she took my hand. I woke up without finding out who she was. She stayed on my mind for quite some time. Brian left Janine and begged me to take him back. “I love you, baby. It’s always been you, I swear.” I’d hear about yard work he’d completed around town. People really liked his work. Perhaps he’s trying to change. Still, I put him off for three years, thinking perhaps I could marry someone who would treat me properly. Then Aaron told me I couldn’t remarry. “What are you talking about?” “It’s in the book of Luke.” He pulled out his Bible. “The man who marries a divorced woman commits adultery.” “Show me that!” The words practically jumped off the page. I wasn’t

55 #DENTONING familiar enough with the Bible or its teachings to understand that God had other things to say about divorce, and I didn’t understand the mistake of taking passages out of context. Not knowing better, I took those words as a directive. I felt stuck. My only choices, according to Aaron, were to remarry Brian or to live alone, and I didn’t want to grow old alone. Reluctantly, I remarried him. I wish I could say he had changed, but he hadn’t. We picked up where we’d left off, only this time, I had a different perspective of love as something God gives us even when we don’t deserve it. I learned this listening to a Christian teacher Joyce Meyer, whose story was much worse than mine, yet still she lived in love. It was evident in every word she said. When I listened to her, I felt hopeful and hungry to know more. I concluded that I had to love Brian, even when he disappointed me. I also decided I had to find a new church. I wanted a multicultural church where my children could be mentored by godly leaders who lived according to a good moral compass. I wanted my children to see God’s ways in contrast to the drug-and-sex culture they witnessed in middle school. Then I received a flier for a church called The Bridge. I usually just chucked those things into the trash, but I read it and something caught my eye. Perhaps we’ll visit and see how it goes.

56 Turning Over the Keys



That one visit changed my life. Not only were many cultures and races represented at The Bridge, but I felt the overwhelming love of the people as soon as I walked in. A warm, cheerful woman walked up to me and hugged me as if I were a long-lost friend. She made me cry. Could they really love me like that? Then the next week, another person hugged me. And the next. It didn’t stop. Then I met the pastor’s wife. She smiled and offered her hand. She was the woman from my dream! This church hadn’t even started when I dreamt about her. From the moment I met her, I decided we were staying at The Bridge. My children thrived there, especially Elijah. I could tell he was receiving the guidance that Brian couldn’t give him. I found love and joy, not to mention people who helped me read and understand the Bible in context. It gave me the tools I’d need in my marriage — and for the life-and-death struggles that lay ahead.



Cancer. Mom looked so frail in her hospital bed. I held her hand, trying to reassure her that she’d be okay as the shock of her diagnosis ripped a hole in my heart. The doctors couldn’t say whether she’d beat it, but we were going to try.

57 #DENTONING

Despite my rebellious years, Mom and I had become best friends when I married. I relied on her so much, and I know she relied on me. I couldn’t imagine the world without her in it. She’d need my help. Poppy couldn’t take care of her — he didn’t know how. Mom had taken care of him all their married life. I caressed my belly, equally surprised to have just learned that another little life grew there. Funny thing. I’d wanted a fourth child and even prayed to the Lord to hurry it up. With Mom sick, though, I doubted I could handle the pregnancy. Fortunately, the boys and Faith were old enough to help out. The stress of being pregnant while dealing with Mom and with Brian’s continued addictions took a heavy toll. I didn’t take care of myself. I ate poorly and slept poorly, and I developed gestational diabetes, which required me to give myself insulin. Depression settled back into my heart. I retired from my job. Not only did I need to care for Mom, but I’d checked out the costs of child care and calculated there was no way I could have managed that on my salary. Mom had always watched my children, but I couldn’t count on that this time. I did dream one night that she’d been healed. I saw her laughing and dancing, as plain as day. Which may be why her death came as such a shock. In January, the doctors performed surgery, and her health declined rapidly until she passed away April 3. I felt as if part of me died with her. Because of all the stress, my doctor induced labor at 34 weeks. In my grief, I could

58 Turning Over the Keys hardly celebrate Esther’s birth, but I did thank God that, despite being premature, my baby was quite healthy. I allowed depression to take over. Only my children kept me moving forward. They needed me, so I rose from the bed each morning and cared for them. I lived minute to minute by not thinking. Rhonda tried many times to get me to talk, telling me that it would help me deal with the grief, but I kept everything inside. She refused to let go. Some days she’d call to force me to at least say I was up and moving. Other days she’d text me, “Talk to me, or don’t talk to me. Just let me know you’re okay.” Finally, nine months later, I called her. “Okay, you want me to talk? I’ll talk.” I poured out a waterfall of grief and regret, wondering aloud what I could have done to prevent Mom from dying and second-guessing every decision I made during her illness. “I should have been there for her. I could have quit my job sooner!” While I talked and sobbed, Rhonda just listened, and gradually, I felt the weight of guilt lift off my shoulders. I remembered the dream I’d had, where Mom had been healed, and I realized, she is healed. She’s in heaven, laughing and dancing, just as I saw her. I thanked God for showing me this and for sending Rhonda to pester me and bring me back into the world of the living. I believe she saved my life.



59 #DENTONING

“This is for you, Brian. What do you think?” A smile spread across my husband’s face as he looked first at the used van and then back to me. I’d purchased it just for him to haul equipment, and I’d filled the garage with landscaping tools. “You always said you wanted your own business.” I laughed as he hugged me. “It’s time to put your words into action.” “I will, Abbie.” He wiped a tear from his eye. “I’ll make you proud. I promise.” Most people take their retirement pay over time, to ensure that there will be money coming in during their old age. I drew out the lump sum and paid off all my bills except the house and car payment, then used the rest to finance Brian’s company. He’d always enjoyed landscaping, and he had a knack for it. I thought perhaps if I showed more faith in him, then he might have more faith in himself. He did, and I again briefly glimpsed the man he could be, until drugs lured him back under. Investing in Brian cost me every bit of security I’d worked for over the years. He gave away the van and lost nearly all the equipment. The business went under, and we fell behind on the mortgage. Eventually, I lost our home and our car, and I found myself back in the lowest of low places. I couldn’t blame God for this one. I’d made another poor decision. One that would have put us on the streets if Poppy hadn’t become ill at the same time. One thing was for sure: If Poppy’s Alzheimer’s hadn’t advanced to the

60 Turning Over the Keys point where he couldn’t live alone safely, I never would have moved back to that house in a poor part of town. By that time, I’d separated from Brian. I simply couldn’t take any more disappointment. None of his other women would take him, either, apparently, because he came knocking on the door after living on the streets didn’t work out. Poppy had a three-bedroom house. The boys slept in one, Poppy in another and the girls and I in the third, all in the same bed. I relented to let Brian come in off the streets as well. The years we lived there, I learned to rely on God for everything. I couldn’t get a job with Esther and Poppy to care for, but God ensured that we had enough to eat and pay the bills. Nothing more. We stretched Poppy’s small retirement stipend and Social Security, which helped, but I thanked God for providing our meals through the local food bank and the kindness of others. How do I know it was God? I prayed specifically, and he answered. Once I prayed, Lord, if I could just have some wieners and potatoes, oh, and some whole-wheat bread, I’d be so grateful. Then a woman from The Bridge visited me. “Abigail, I dreamed about you.” She handed me a large brown bag. “God showed me a fridge filled with old, spoiled food, and I knew right away I had to buy you some fresh stuff.” I looked in the bag and cried. She had bought me wieners, potatoes and whole-wheat bread.

61 #DENTONING

Only God knew that prayer. Other people came to me regularly, mainly from The Bridge, and handed me money, saying they felt led by God to do so. It would always be just what we needed. I believe that God used that time in my life to show me that I could trust him. I came to understand that God loves us more than we could possibly imagine. I continued to pray for Brian, that God would badger him the way Rhonda badgered me until I reached out for help. Don’t let him rest, Lord. Show him your love. I also prayed that God would help me forgive Brian for all he’d done over the years. I need your help with this, Lord, so I don’t carry the anger any longer. We don’t have to get back together. I don’t want to make anyone love me who doesn’t want to. But you know I want to grow old with somebody, and yet I have this broken man in my life. I’m going to leave it in your hands, God. Little did I know, but Elijah had been praying similar prayers, as he’d become bitter over his father’s lifestyle as well. When my son gave his life to the Lord, he handed the situation to God to handle, determined to forgive his father and to “be a light in my dad’s dark place.” While Brian and I lived as friends, I saw changes slowly taking place. He wasn’t angry as much, he could laugh with me and he stayed around longer. I think not seeing him as my husband took some of the pressure off me to make him change. I could deal with him if he’d been drinking or getting

62 Turning Over the Keys high. As long as he wasn’t stumbling and falling-down drunk, I could take it, and he knew better than to come home in that condition. After my sweet Poppy passed away and I dealt with my grief, I knew it was time for a major change. I sat Brian down and gave him an ultimatum. “Brian, Poppy’s gone, and now nothing ties me to this place. The kids are almost all adults and can handle their own lives. I’m open to God sending me anywhere. Wherever we head to, one thing I know …” I leaned in close to look him in the eye. “If you plan to go with us, man of God, you have to line up.” He stared right back and said, “I want my family.” He stood taller. “No drinking. No drugs. No other women, from this minute on.” Something shone in his eyes I’d never seen. Oh, my, this is real! I fought to keep my expectations low, but this time Brian actually changed. I heard him the next morning in the driveway, telling his druggie friends, “I don’t do that anymore.” He said the same to the boys who came to take him drinking. And as far as I could tell, he never went back to Janine or any other woman. He stayed right here with me. Elijah brought up the subject of Jesus again, and this time, the man not only listened, but heard him. We went to the local water park that June, and Brian was re-baptized. Watching him give his life to Christ left me feeling a joy I could never describe, and it stays with me today.

63 #DENTONING

We still struggled, particularly in the areas of communication and trust, but when issues arose, we prayed about them together. We learned that love, real love, allows for mistakes and expects grace. We made it our habit to go to The Bridge every Sunday. Today, I’m a hugger, too. If someone doesn’t feel the love, I’m going to keep hugging until he or she does. I lose myself in worship and thanking God because I’m so keenly aware of what he has done for me. I never imagined that God could love me this much, but then I look at all he’s turned around. When I look at Brian, I’m filled with gratitude for what he gave up for me. I thank him wholeheartedly every chance I get, for loving me and loving his children enough to put that life behind him. I don’t worry about him returning to that lifestyle because I believe that he will make the right choices now. So, we focus on the future. I believe I’m finally healthy enough to give in to that yearning to help others that I’ve felt for so long. When I see that familiar pain in other women’s eyes, my heart goes out to them, and I think, perhaps, I can help. Elijah was first in our family to graduate college. Jonah is more hands-on than academic. My boys, in refusing to become victims of poverty and addiction, have changed this family’s direction for the next generation.



64 Turning Over the Keys

My hand trembled as I handed Brian the car keys. Alarms sounded in my head, and my body shook. I want to trust him, Lord. Help me! I watched Brian drive away, praising God that he had found a night job nearby, but unable to shake my fear. Then I remembered that fear isn’t from God, so I turned the keys to my life over to Jesus. In the morning, the car sat in the driveway, as it has every morning since. I’m filled with joy whenever I spend time with Brian. We love going out together, talking, laughing and just enjoying one another’s company. And we have a lot of fun at a yearly barbecue with friends and family. I am so grateful for the way he seeks God and good things now, whether through personal Bible study or at The Bridge with friends. My love for Brian is deep and shared.

#DENTONING

66 All-Inclusive The Story of Hannah Written by Alexine Garcia

Crash! Laughter. I woke up and saw the clock blinking 2:20 in red numbers. Plates clattered, chairs scraped, loud music played. More laughter. Mommy must be home. I climbed over my brother and off the couch. We usually stayed up waiting for her when she went to the bars. I peeked around the corner into the kitchen. She stood at the stove frying eggs, and her friends sat at the table with bottles and cans in front of them. “Hey, Hannah. What are you doing over there?” one of her friends asked. I quickly hid behind the wall. I peeked my head back out, and Mommy looked over. “You want an egg, too?” she asked. I walked into the kitchen, relieved. “Sure.” I sat down on the floor and looked up at Mommy’s friends. One woman scooped me up and sat me on her lap. A long trail of explicit words flowed from another friend’s lips. “Language!” Mommy yelled. “Not in front of the kids. How many times do I need to tell you?” They all laughed.

67 #DENTONING

“All right, all right,” her friend said. But a moment later, he cursed again. “Listen,” Mommy said. “Every time you cuss, you gotta give Hannah a dollar.” At the end of the night, dawn really, I tucked a wad of sweaty one-dollar bills under my bed. I had to wake up in another hour for school. Mommy and her friends went to the bars two or three times a week. Then Mommy brought them to the house to continue partying. School night or not, Mommy didn’t care much.



At Daddy’s house, we ate pizza in front of the TV. He helped us with our homework. Then he tucked us into bed, and we slept through the night. We did normal family things. No chaos or partying here. My brother, Ben, and I got to see Daddy twice a month for weekend visits while we were in elementary school. On Saturdays, Daddy would make us breakfast and take us out to the park or the movies, like a family. Mommy had initially left Daddy because he drank too much. But after meeting her first boyfriend, he stopped drinking. Daddy hugged both of us in the front yard when he dropped us off. My stomach sank the moment I walked in the door. Mommy sat on the couch watching TV, filing her nails. I dropped my bags on the rug and collapsed onto the floor crying.

68 All-Inclusive

“What’s the matter, honey?” she asked, leaning over, trying to look at my face. “I want to go back to Daddy’s,” I said, sobbing. She scoffed and went back to filing her nails. “You’ll see him in two weeks.” “I want to see him now.” “Go to your room if you’re going to cry about it.”

Ben and I spent a lot of time together after school. We often left the house and wandered through the shops near our neighborhood. Sometimes, we would explore the old drainage pipes near our house. We walked through miles and miles of dark pipes with a flashlight. We thought of it as an adventure. But really, the tunnels smelled like old sewage. Mommy didn’t bother to fix us dinner, so we ate chips and candy most nights. One afternoon, the sun beat down hard on our necks as we walked home from school. When we reached the house, I quickly grew bored of coloring in my room. I got up and looked for Ben. I found him crouched over in the garage. “What are you doing?” I asked. He turned and looked at me over his shoulder, and I could see the devilish look in his eyes. Fear and excitement surged through me like a shock of electricity. I ran to his side and saw that he was hunched over a long candle lighter and a tennis ball. The ball reeked of starter fluid. Panic replaced my excitement as Ben clicked the lighter.

69 #DENTONING

Before I could convince him to stop, the ball burst into flames, and we both fell backward. The ball rolled across the old dingy carpet, leaving a trail of flames. I grabbed a bucket of water and poured it over the fire. We both looked at each other. Ben’s eyes opened wide, and his mouth hung slack. Then we erupted into laughter. Later that evening, Mommy didn’t find it funny. But it didn’t stop her from leaving for her nightly barhopping. On some nights, like that particular one, Mom did not bring all her friends home. Instead, we’d hear the locks turning as one friend would help her through the front door. Then Ben and I would guide her to her room. We’d take off her shoes and jewelry and lay her in the bed. Some nights, she’d cooperate. She’d mumble and laugh as we removed her high heels. Then she’d drift off to sleep smiling. Other nights, she acted unruly. She’d scream and kick the whole way down the hall to her bedroom. Obscenities flowed from her mouth like discordant music. This night, she burst through the front door with one of her buddies. It’s only midnight. She’s early. “Just stay home with your kids tonight,” her friend said. “No! I’m not done partying. I already told you, I want to stay out.” “Yeah, well, I’m leaving.” Mom slammed the door and picked up the phone. She called someone else and headed back out the door half an

70 All-Inclusive hour later. I ran to the window and watched the sports car drive away. Why doesn’t she want to be with us?



Throughout elementary school, Ben acted like a better parent than our mom. He helped me get ready and made me toast before I left for school the next morning. As the sun crept over the horizon, I waited for the bus to pick us up and take me to second grade. I was thankful for the cool breeze so early in the morning, but I knew the hot Texas sun would swallow it up before long. I don’t recall exactly how I first learned about God, but I liked talking to him. Good morning, God. I didn’t just pray. I carried on a conversation with God. I hope you are having a good day so far. I don’t really need anything. I just wanted to talk to you. I hope I have a good day. I didn’t ask him for much. I didn’t have a clue at the time that my life was different than anybody else’s. I figured we had a pretty normal family. Other kids in school have divorced parents, too. Kids at school never laid a hand on me. They didn’t cuss at me, either. But their words stung like a hot iron on my soul. Bucky the Beaver. Ugly. Fat. Loser. Geek. They called me a full range of mean names. Even though Mom spent very little time sober, I knew that, in her own way, she loved me. She’d press her cool

71 #DENTONING hands to my face and smile right at me. “Do you know that you’re my beautiful girl?” Then she’d squeeze me close and kiss me on the forehead. I wanted to believe her. But how could I when the kids at school called me ugly? Mom never took us to church. It just didn’t interest her. But Ben’s friend invited him to his church, and a bus started picking us up every Sunday. I dreaded the first service we attended. I sat in the long pew glancing down at my watch. But when the pastor stepped up to the pulpit, his words intrigued me. A young man with a friendly smile and a tone of sincerity in his voice stood in front of us and spoke about God’s love. He told us about faith in a way that we could relate. The only message I’d heard from a pulpit before this had sounded so scary — that we all sinned, which meant we belonged engulfed by the fiery flames of hell. This man didn’t mention hell once. Still, I didn’t feel at home at this church. As I sat in the pews and looked around, I couldn’t help but feel a distance between myself and these people. All these people deserve to be here. Ben and I are just visitors — outsiders. We continued going until the church got a new pastor who decided that the church spent too much money on the gas for bus rides. So that ended our trips.



When Mom first brought her new boyfriend, Jason, home, I liked him. He looked so young and handsome. He

72 All-Inclusive spoke to Ben and me like he actually cared about us. But then some time passed, and he got cozy in our home. Mom fought with him, just like she did with all her previous boyfriends. Once again, we’d wake to the sounds of banging and yelling. When Jason and Mom fought, his anger filled the room like a storm. My life looped back and forth between uncomfortable events. Mom and Jason dated on and off for several years. Chaos at home remained the norm. At school, the work bored me. In sixth grade, I finally found some friends who didn’t think of me as just some fat, buck-toothed geek. They called me by my name. We understood each other. We all came from broken homes. Still, we were outsiders, mocked by the cool kids. But it helped to be surrounded by friends. We’d leave school in the middle of the day and smoke cigarettes in one girl’s backyard. Sometimes a friend would bring bottles of liquor that his mom bought for us. I drank my first swig back in the second grade, so it didn’t surprise me when I saw bottles emerge from his backpack. I thought back to the way the alcohol had burned in my throat. I can handle it now that I’m older. I liked the buzz. Being me didn’t hurt so much under the influence. The ache in the middle of my chest went away. My grades went downhill fast. It didn’t bother me much. But all of a sudden, Mom decided to act like an adult. At that point, she and Jason had been broken up for

73 #DENTONING several months. If he called, she’d have one of us answer the phone. She decided that she would stop drinking. I liked the idea of it, because she stayed home more often. She’d relax in front of the TV after work instead of going out. We’d eat dinner together. I sat in my bed one night well past midnight, reading a magazine and listening to music. Mom creaked the door open and popped her head in. “What are you doing? It’s so late. Lights out, young lady.” I looked at her, too shocked to say anything. You never cared when we were helping you to bed at 2 a.m. One Friday night, I got dressed and waited for one of my friends to pick me up. I plopped down on the couch and checked my lipstick in my compact mirror. “What time are you coming home?” Mom asked. “What?” I laughed at the absurdity of her question. She repeated it, staring at me, with her arms crossed in front of her chest. “Mom, we survived just fine parenting ourselves before you stopped getting drunk. I’m happy for you and all, but cut it out.” My friend honked her horn from the driveway, and I got up to leave. Mom was too shocked to say anything. But it didn’t matter much, because over the next few months, she bounced back to drinking. She’d clean up for a month or so and head back to the bottle the minute something went wrong. One day, she came into the living room with her purse on her shoulder and keys in hand. I could tell by her

74 All-Inclusive bloodshot eyes that she’d been crying. I figured she and Jason got into another fight. “You busy?” she asked. I let out a long sigh. I didn’t feel like going anywhere with her, especially if she had been drinking. But I could see that she needed the company. “I guess not,” I said. “C’mon. Let’s go for a ride.” We drove down the freeway for several minutes. “Where are we going?” I asked. “I just needed to get out. And I need to talk to you.” “What’s up?” Her bottom lip quivered as she tried to get her words out. “Jason is gone.” “What do you mean, gone?” “He took his own life.” The news jabbed me right in the gut. My head went dizzy, and my lips started to feel numb. “What? Really?” “Yeah.” She burst into tears. Between sobs, she explained that they’d had an argument. He’d tried to convince her to get back with him. She told him that she couldn’t be with him and be sober, that he was a bad influence. He told her that he couldn’t go on living without her. She didn’t know he meant it literally. And she said she didn’t care. The next day, he used the car exhaust to suffocate himself. Mom cried day after day. I suspect the majority of her tears spilled from her guilty conscience. She told me she never meant to hurt Jason. She never thought he’d take his

75 #DENTONING own life. She also didn’t think he’d cared that much for her. About a month later, she sat Ben and me down in the living room. “I need to talk to both of you. I have important things to say, so I want you to listen up.” I figured she’d tell us about some new rules and curfews, like usual. “I want you to know that I’ve set my heart on staying sober. I really want to stick to this 12-step program. I also want you to know that I am sorry for all the pain I caused you. I’m sorry for all the times I left you home alone all night. I’m sorry for the people and the drugs I brought into the house. I hope you can forgive me.” She mentioned specific times she knew she’d done wrong by us. “Do you guys have anything you want to tell me?” We looked at each other. I could tell Ben wanted me to talk first. I figured we wouldn’t get this chance again. “Mom,” I said, “you’ve been a pretty lousy parent. Do you remember when I had a black eye?” She nodded. “You thought I got it at school, but the night before, when Ben and I helped you into bed like we always did, you punched me right in the face because you didn’t want to be home. You always wanted to be with your drunk friends instead of us. And now you want to try and be a mom. It’s just weird.” Tears ran down her face, and she dabbed at them with a soggy tissue.

76 All-Inclusive

Ben and I took turns bringing up her failures. We told her about all the times we’d felt alone or disappointed. She cried into her wad of tissue and shook her head. “I’m so sorry,” she said between sobs. My heart softened. I hugged her as she continued to cry, and Ben rubbed her back. Since Jason’s death, she’d stayed sober. She finished the 12-step program, and she made new friends.

Meanwhile, Dad converted to Buddhism. He’d grown up in a strict Lutheran home and didn’t agree with what his parents had taught him. Buddhism, he explained, gave him a sense of meaning. He met Sherry, who had the same beliefs, and fell in love. They married in a temple in a rough part of town. I laughed inside as we pulled up to the temple. The old house hadn’t been painted in decades, and most of the shutters hung crooked around the windows. When we walked into the renovated living room, splashes of Tibetan colors and gold decor surrounded us. Metallic statues, relics and prayer flags adorned the home. Right away, I noticed all the bare feet. I wrinkled my nose at the sight of so many toes. Apparently, the custom included removing shoes. Reluctantly, I took off mine. Sherry looked beautiful in a maroon sari covered in gold embroidery. Dad wore a suit. At least they stared into each other’s eyes lovingly.

77 #DENTONING



Mom and her new boyfriend, Kevin, didn’t have that same look in their eyes. They met in a support group and quickly fell for each other. Mom overcame alcohol, but getting over men proved to be more difficult. Both she and Kevin had speckled pasts and sobriety in common. They didn’t fight all night like the men in Mom’s past. Kevin thought himself to be a good Catholic. He attended church every Sunday, and Mom quickly joined him. By the time I started high school, I fit in well with all the older kids. I battled with depression and asked Mom to take me to a counselor. I ended up going to a therapist who prescribed drugs and did little else. Though I didn’t want to end up an alcoholic like Mom, drinking made me popular with my friends. I got gutsy when it came to partying. One night, I swallowed one shot after another until I blacked out. I only cared about having fun and numbing the constant pain. I opened my eyes one morning next to my so-called friend, Doug. Our bodies lay half-dressed, and shame quickly filled me. I crawled out of bed and put my clothes on. A friend dropped me off in front of my house. Mom stood in the doorway and yelled at me, “What in the world are you doing?” Stunned, I stood petrified, fumbling for an excuse. “Don’t even bother opening your mouth. Get in the car. You’re coming to church with us.” We sat in the middle of Mass, alcohol still surging

78 All-Inclusive through my veins. I leaned over and spoke to Mom. “Can we go home now?” She jabbed me with her elbow and whispered, “Quiet down.” “Mom, this is boring.” I rolled my eyes. I fought hard not to sway in my seat, but the drunken dizziness had a firm grip on me. Mom regretted this form of punishment, but we stuck it out for the whole Mass. Back at home, as the liquor wore off, the shame of what happened the night before ate at me. How could I let this happen? I steadied myself against the walls all the way to my room and sat at the edge of the bed with my pill bottles in my hand. I swallowed a handful of sleeping pills and half a bottle of antidepressants. I fell back onto my bed and waited. I hoped for a dark, never-ending sleep to take over. Then Mom came into the room to scold me. I sat up and tried to listen to her, but the room began to spin. Mom watched me with disgust in her eyes and lost her patience with me. “I’ll come back when you’re sober.” I woke up an hour later with a terrible stomachache. I writhed in my bed in pain and disappointment. I went back to school the following day. I couldn’t stand to look at Doug. He had taken something from me that I hadn’t intended to give him. I didn’t even bother trying to confront him about it. I stopped drinking that weekend. I didn’t want to be in any situation in which I couldn’t control my body. I embraced the loner lifestyle again. I’d grown used to it when I was younger, so it didn’t

79 #DENTONING bother me much. I accepted the fact that I didn’t belong in any group. Besides, I told myself, these friends only liked me because I drank with them. Mom dragged me to church with her and Kevin every week after that. However, it all came to an end when the priest made some political comment that Mom didn’t like. It pleased me to think I never had to go back. Mom and Kevin married, and we all moved in together. I had high hopes that things would work out for Mom. But Kevin creeped me out. He had an eerie way about him that I could never get used to. One morning, I got out of the shower and wrapped myself in a towel. I tried to dash down the hall to my room, but Kevin’s huge dog stood in my way. “Get her, boy. Get her!” Kevin said from his bedroom doorway. I stood flat against the wall trying to get around the dog. “Take her towel, boy! C’mon, get it.” I glared at him and shoved his dog out of the way. He played the whole thing off like a joke. The moment they married, Kevin decided that Ben needed to move on with his life. Ben may have been 18, but in my opinion, he didn’t have the maturity he needed to live on his own. It also made me sad to live in a house without Ben. He’d been my parent for the longest time. Then I met Sam at work. I didn’t take an interest in him at first, but he showed me attention, and I latched on.

80 All-Inclusive

As he got comfortable with me, his true self floated to the surface. He acted clingy and jealous. He often said things like, “If you don’t do this for me, you don’t really love me.” He wanted me to do things that made me uncomfortable. I had learned enough from Mom’s bad relationships and my past experience to see the signs. I nervously dialed his number one afternoon. I knew better than to tell him that he had a few screws loose. Instead, I explained to him that our relationship had come at a bad time for me and that I needed space. By then, I knew every manipulative trick he pulled. “I’m going to sit in the middle of the street if you leave me. You can’t do this to me,” he said. I let out a long sigh. “If you want to sit in the middle of the road, that is your problem. But it won’t be my fault. I just can’t be with you anymore.” He called nearly every day for several weeks. Sometimes, when I couldn’t stand the repetitive calls, I answered. But for the most part, I ignored him, and he eventually gave up. Then one Friday, Mom left for the evening. I woke up the next day and found Kevin eating breakfast alone. I left for work and didn’t think too much of it. That evening, Kevin came to my room. “Have you seen your mom?” he asked. “No.” “Has she called you?” “No. I haven’t heard from her.”

81 #DENTONING

“Okay, then. If you do, tell her to come home. Tell her I’m worried.” My heart sank into my stomach. I didn’t want to deal with this all over again. I heard the front door click, and I watched through the window as Kevin drove away. He probably went to look for her. An hour later, Mom called. “Get an overnight bag together. We’re leaving Kevin.” “Mom! What in the world is going on?” “Kevin is no good for me, sweetie. You know that. We’re going to stay in a hotel room for a few weeks until we can get our own place. Don’t let Kevin know what’s going on. I’ll pick you up.” An hour later, I sat in the back seat of Mom’s car. Her new boyfriend sat in the front seat. “This isn’t cool, Mom,” I growled. She shot me a look, and I knew better than to say anything else. The three of us lived in a hotel room together for the next two weeks. I didn’t bother to tell Mom how angry I felt. I figured it would do no good. At least being on summer break meant that I didn’t have to deal with this during school. I picked up extra hours at work and avoided our temporary “home” as much as possible. We found an apartment, and I started my senior year of school. I graduated with no idea what to do with my life. What next? Mom lost her job and moved out to the country, so I moved into Dad’s house. There, I felt stable for the first time in my life.

82 All-Inclusive



I chose graphic design as my major in college. I had no idea how much work the program would require. All my time went to drawing and redrawing artwork. My teacher required us to create 10 different pieces of artwork for each assignment. I slept only two to three hours each night before waking up and returning to school every day. One evening, I got into my car after spending the day at school. Every inch of my body ached with exhaustion. I just wanted to get home, so I started the car and drove out of the parking lot. As I sped down the freeway, my eyes threatened to close at any moment. I hadn’t prayed in years, but my instincts took over, and I cried out to God. Please, God, help me stay awake and make it home. My body resisted. Part of me didn’t care if I made it home or not. The battle between prayer and fatigue continued for the whole trip. When I pulled into my driveway, relief washed over me. Thank you, God. I crashed onto my bed and slept until the next morning. When I woke, a new vigor propelled me. God wants me alive for a reason. I took on each day with a smile. When Christmas rolled around, I embraced the holiday with fresh enthusiasm. I let out a long sigh and smiled as I watched my family unwrap gifts by the tree. I changed majors to human resources. Surprisingly, the workload wasn’t nearly as fierce. I made A’s my first

83 #DENTONING semester, and my accounting professor invited me to a pizza party for all the outstanding students. I didn’t know anyone, but I couldn’t turn down pizza. While I chatted with my professor, a student wandered into the room looking lost. He walked over to us. “What’s going on in here? I just came in for coffee after my final. I wasn’t expecting a party,” he said with a chuckle. “Well, we thought we would reward all the students with good grades. You’re welcome to join us,” my professor answered. “Thanks. I think I will grab a slice.” He sat down with us, and I got the chance to meet him. His name was Dale, and he was an accounting major. I found out later that he asked someone at the party for my information. He called me and invited me out to eat with him and his friends. When I entered the restaurant, his friends greeted me and introduced themselves. It turned out that they all knew each other from their church. I couldn’t believe how warm and welcoming they acted. I hadn’t had that much fun with a group of people for as long as I could remember. When Dale invited me to visit his church, The Bridge, I gladly accepted the invitation. The people at his church welcomed me with handshakes and smiles. As I attended services on a regular basis, people of all ages and races surrounded me. We sang along with the band together in a friendly, inclusive atmosphere.

84 All-Inclusive

One evening, Dale sent me a text with a YouTube video attached: “Thought you might like this.” The man in the video looked young and had long dreadlocks. “When you are in love with Christ, you display him,” the man said. He explained that the book of Ephesians in the Bible says to be imitators of Jesus and walk in love as he did. I kept watching, fascinated. How can I even do that? “God gives his love freely. He doesn’t make us earn it,” he said. I found myself completely enthralled by the video. The man said that God didn’t work in mysterious ways. We didn’t need to wonder about God because everything about our faith is written in the Bible. He spoke about amazing miracles of healing that he had prayed for in people’s lives. By that point, tears were flowing down my face. I want this life-changing faith, God. I want to see miracles in my life. I want to know you fully. Then the man in the video read a couple of verses from the book of 1 Peter: “In all this you greatly rejoice, though now for a little while you may have had to suffer grief in all kinds of trials. These have come so that the proven genuineness of your faith — of greater worth than gold, which perishes even though refined by fire — may result in praise, glory and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed” (1 Peter 1:6-7). Hearing that verse brought me so much comfort because I had so much trouble understanding how I could have faith in God while dealing with so much heartache.

85 #DENTONING

But this man explained that our trials can increase our faith in God if we put our trust in him. Toward the end of the video, he said, “If you have not given your life to Christ, come to the altar now. But this is only for hungry, desperate, can’t-live-another-day-without-Jesus people.” That’s me, God. I need your forgiveness. A lot of my trials come from my bad choices, and I need your forgiveness. I am so tired of living for myself. Living for society. God, this is for you. I obviously can’t do this on my own. I have already tried. I am powerless without you. My life is yours. I want to be who you want me to be. All at once, a wave of relief and comfort washed over me. A physical feeling of peace filled the air. That night, I lay in bed and wept with happiness. Life is going to be different now. I peacefully drifted off to sleep. I once again spent time talking to God like I had back in the second grade. After inviting Jesus to live in my heart, I sensed him telling me things in my heart. One evening, I flipped through the thin pages of my Bible, wondering what I should read. Read John. The following Sunday, a warmth came over me as the pastor asked us to open to the book of John. You are awesome, God. A month later, I stood in front of the congregation wearing dark clothes. I figured it would be like dressing for my funeral since I was dying to my old self.

86 All-Inclusive

“I am ready to live my life for God. I am ready to die to my own way of thinking. He forgave me for all my sins.” The pastor took me by the shoulders and said, “I baptize you in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit.” When I came up from the water, my joy bubbled over, and I laughed and laughed. I looked out at the audience and saw Dad smiling and clapping. He’d joined me for the church service that day to make sure I wasn’t joining some sort of crazy cult. But I could see by the smile on his face that his doubts had dissipated. But as the weeks passed, I faced doubts of my own. How can you have forgiven all that I have done? I prayed one evening. How can you possibly save me from all that stuff that happened in my childhood? I needed answers, so I talked to a counselor at church. “Well, you asked God to forgive you for all your sins, right?” “Yes, I did that.” “You confessed that he is your savior, right?” “Yes,” I answered. “Well, then, what makes you think you aren’t saved?” I sat silently, trying to find an answer. I had none. I left smiling.



I understand now that I don’t need to doubt my faith in Christ. I don’t even need to feel like I am forgiven. I put

87 #DENTONING my trust in God, and I trust that he is a father who doesn’t break promises. Dale’s friends became my friends, too. As I hung out with them over dinner, I learned what it meant to be truly accepted. These people liked me not because I was cool or in shape or had nice teeth. They were probably aware of my flaws and shortcomings, since we spent so much time together. But our faith united us. We all believed in the same God, and he showed us his love through each other. “Pass the ketchup,” Sandy said. Fred told a joke at the end of the table, and everyone around him burst into laughter. Our table was packed with so many friends that I couldn’t hear the joke. Living this new life of faith has made me feel so much more alive. The day that I gave my life over to Christ, my pain and depression left. It stunned me to think that God forgave me, but not because I deserved it. As much as these friends cared about me, their love was a mere shadow of God’s love. That truth choked me up every time I thought about it. I couldn’t understand why he would choose to forgive me. I came to know that it’s because his love isn’t conditional. He loves me despite who I used to be in the past. My biggest goal is to share this with girls who may have grown up feeling a lack of love. I want young girls to know that, even if they don’t feel like they deserve to be loved, God loves them unconditionally. His love is all-inclusive.

88 All-Inclusive

His love is perfect. Because of this love, God can take even the most terrible situations and transform them into a life of hope.

#DENTONING

90 Reset The Story of Matthew and Lilly Written by Ameerah Collins

Lilly I woke in the middle of the night. A booming voice beat against my ear. “I need money!” He clenched my shoulder. “Don’t you have any?” I blinked rapidly. Mac’s bloodshot eyes came into focus. I rolled my eyes. He looked a sight, plastered and hyped up on drugs. Go figure. “No. Get away from me.” I pulled out of his grasp and zeroed in on my newborn beside me. She began to stir. “You’re going to wake Alanna if you don’t shut up.” “Then give me something.” He reached for my purse and rummaged through it. He found $20. “I thought you ain’t have nothing, huh? You lied to me, Lilly.” He thrust the bill into my face. “Didn’t you?” “No!” I screamed. No use in staying quiet. Alanna bawled. I tried to scramble into a sitting position, but he lunged on top of me. My face screwed up in disgust as the rank odor of liquor and weed hit my nostrils. “What is wrong with you? Get off —” His hands clamped around my throat and squeezed. “You think I’m stupid? You think I don’t know you’re lying?”

91 #DENTONING

I gasped, wheezing and writhing beneath his weight. “Get off … you’re killing me … stop.” Alanna’s cries echoed through the room. I clawed at his arms. I beat against his chest and face. I shook my head frantically, trying to twist out of his grip. Nothing worked to release his hold. My eyes fastened on my baby. Oh, my gosh. He won’t stop till I pass out. Who knows what will happen to my baby if he picks her up. What if he takes her out? She’s so upset. He doesn’t know how to calm her. Determined, I slid my knee up to his torso. Power thrummed through me, and I kicked his gut. In a quick whoosh, he staggered across the room and slammed against the wall. Coughing, I leapt off the bed. My eyes darted to Alanna. If I scoop her up and run, he may hurt her, too. I have to lure him away. Mac groaned and scrambled to rise on trembling legs. His eyes landed on me and his glower deepened. Not a second later, I ran. “Lilly!” he screamed after me. “Get back here! Lilly!”



Matthew Grandma held my hand and helped me board the bus. My shiny dress shoes clicked the metal steps as she gently pushed me ahead. “Go on, my little preacher man,” she said. I grinned at her nickname for me, plopped onto a seat and slid against the window. As she did every other Sunday, Grandma shipped me off to church.

92 Reset

After I turned 9, Grandma passed and took much of the happiness in my life with her. “Mom!” My wet feet pattered down the hall. My fist gripped the towel tied around my waist as I skidded to a halt outside of Mom’s bedroom door. I bumped it open and hopped toward my mother, who was sitting at her bedside with Neil, my stepdad. “Where’s my underwear?” Neil leapt up and rounded on me. I barely inched back before he yanked my dripping hair and dragged me to the bathroom. I sobbed and screamed as he threw me onto the tiled floor. My towel slipped off, and I scooted away until my back pressed into the cold bathtub. “Didn’t I tell you not to burst in our room, boy?” Neil’s face scrunched up like a beast. He cursed and dived for the wooden scrub brush hanging on the faucet. I yelped as he flung it against my skin. “No, no, no!” I sobbed and curled into a ball. Pain blasted my backside. I cried for Mom, but she never came. Neil’s arm slashed up and down, slamming me with burning stings.

After another bathroom beating, Neil prowled after my sister Leah. “Where is she?” He stormed out of the bathroom. “NO!” I screamed, struggling to stand on my slippery feet. “No. No. No!” On a rampage, he ignored my cries. “Leah! There you are. Get over here!” Her cries filled the bathroom as I heard him beat my

93 #DENTONING sister until the wooden brush snapped in half. He tossed it aside. Swiftly, he undid the leather belt looped around his waist. Slash! Slash! Slash! He finished. The metal clank of his buckle hit the floor, and we flinched at the sound. He left us there, huddled together and sobbing. Neil continued to cover our bodies with red and purple bruises until Mom left him.



She married Josh when I turned 10. Josh reminded me of a big kid. He and Mom argued sometimes, but he treated me better than Neil did. He worked at a local cemetery and drove a bus for my school district. Sometimes, he let me skip school and ride around town with him. We’d bombard Mom for tip money from the restaurant she worked at, then play at the arcade. Afterward, we’d play football in the park. A year later, Mom and Josh separated. Lydia, my oldest and married sister, picked me up from school. “Hey, kid.” She pulled a piece of scrap paper from her purse and handed it to me. “I saw your real dad at the club I work at. He gave me his number. I told him you’d call him.” “I thought Mom said he jumped out of a motel window and killed himself.” She shrugged, but I didn’t miss her low groan. “Yeah … Mom lied, Matt.”

94 Reset

The first time I saw my father, I called him “Dad.” I’d never called anyone that before. Mom let him move in with us during the Christmas season. He took me to the movies. He bought me a cheap watch that meant the world to me. We used up a bunch of coins at a family entertainment center with loads of arcade games and kiddy rides. A few days later, I rose from bed, and Dad was gone again. Why did he return only to leave again so quickly? Why give me a memory? After Dad left, Mom and Josh reunited. They still fussed. Leah stood in the middle of their argument once. Josh pushed her aside and told her to stay out of it. Leah called Lydia and told her what happened. Lydia and her husband rushed over, and a fight broke out between Josh and my sister’s husband. In a spasm of rage, Lydia’s husband kicked my stepdad in the head, and Josh went down. His head slammed onto the corner of the table. I cried out as blood fountained from his head. No, no, no. Not Josh. Not him. Not my friend. Mom slumped to her knees. Her hands hovered over his still form. This isn’t happening. As my world began to crack, my eyes fixed on Josh’s blood. Everything moved so fast. We rushed him to the hospital, but he didn’t wake up. We moved into the hospital to be closer to my stepfather, and Mom pulled me out of school. I often walked the halls with an armful of newspapers tucked to

95 #DENTONING my chest. The staff offered me a few coins or dollar bills for a paper. A cloudy sadness filled my days as I strolled around campus, trying to drag my mind from endless unanswered questions and heartbreaking feelings. Will he wake up? Will Josh be okay? Will he still love me? Still be my friend? Nurses and doctors brushed past me with the usual, “What’s up, Matt?” or, “Hey, Matty boy. Still watching over your stepdad?” Always, I thought. I’ll never leave him. Six months passed, and Josh rose from his coma. The insurance ran out, and the hospital transferred him to a county hospital. That hospital didn’t let us live there, but Mom still took me to see him every day. My big buddy learned to speak again in therapy. I just knew that after waiting so long, he’d be okay. But the one evening I left him alone, he aspirated on his feeding tube and died. Oh, how I cried for him.



My third stepfather, Mason, regarded me with a dangerous gleam in his dark eyes. It promised the worst sort of pain. One look sent me quaking in alarm. I glared at him under my eyelids at the dinner table. Due to a missing jaw, crumbs of food flew from his mouth as he chomped and gnawed at every piece that hit his tongue. He beat Mom regularly and didn’t spare me. I couldn’t understand why she let him get away with it.

96 Reset

“Mom,” I whispered to her one evening. “Why are you with this guy?” “What?” She gazed up at me. I winced at the black and blue circles around her eyes. “He puts bruises all over your body. I’m sick of it. You don’t deserve this.” Mom shook her head. “If I wouldn’t have said anything, he wouldn’t have done it.” “Look at me.” I shook her. “That man is nuts. You have to leave him.” “I can’t. I don’t know how.” She sobbed those final words. “It’s okay. I’ll help you. We’ll start over without him.” I hugged Mom and reassured her that everything would be okay. At 13, I recognized that she needed someone to take control. Even for her son, Mom couldn’t make decisions on her own. Twice, we stayed at a shelter for battered women. During my one-week Boy Scout trip away, Mom returned to Mason. No way did I want to go back to that abusive situation, so I ran to my cousin’s house. A couple nights later, the police knocked on the door. Cousin Natalie and her husband, Remy, answered. I hid in the attic, peeking through the crack as the cops darted their eyes around the foyer. “We’re looking for a Matthew King,” one officer said. “His mother has reported him as a runaway, and she believes he’s here. Let me remind you that Matthew is an

97 #DENTONING underage kid. If he’s staying here without his mother’s permission, it is possible you can face legal charges.” I spent the night in juvenile detention so Remy and Nat wouldn’t get in trouble. My uncle contacted Mom and encouraged her to let me stay with my cousins. I stayed in Nat’s safe house through the spring break of seventh grade. Remy and Nat treated me like their own son, even taking me on vacation with them. On and off, Mom left Mason and then returned to him. Sometimes, she dragged me along for the ride. Leah had since moved out. It drove me nuts seeing that crazy man skate in and out of our lives. We moved in with my great-grandmother to get away from him once. Lydia and her family happened to be there, too. “Mason’s coming by to give me some money,” Mom said. “Money?” I scoffed. “He’s trying to weasel his way back in.” I watched her fret with her fingers. Her eyes darted to the clock. Is she anticipating seeing him? Seething with rage, I pushed from the table and stomped down the hall. I prayed to God that Mom didn’t think letting that demon of a man back in for the umpteenth time would result in a happy ending. No way is that cretin snaking his way back in. I’ll kill him. I paced outside of the bathroom, knowing that Lydia put a handgun in there during one of her visits. The doorbell rang, and I paused. My fingers twitched at my

98 Reset sides when I heard Mom run toward the door. Is she seriously racing to see him? Within seconds, I grabbed the gun and met Mom at the front door. I was bursting with fury and contempt. A wave of fearlessness blazed through my blood. Mom swung open the door. My arm flew up. I pointed the muzzle at his head. And pulled the trigger.



Lilly Mamaw and Papaw babysat me often. I slapped a big grin on my face each time I hurried to their doorstep and readied for another sleepover. Mom and Dad boarded my kid sisters and me on the Wednesday and Sunday church bus for service. Sometimes we attended my grandmother’s church when we spent the night. At her church, folks greeted Mamaw with big smiles and hugs. I knew why. She’d helped start and develop the church years earlier. They called her a “founding member.” The people there really loved God. I could tell by the way they rocked to the upbeat music and waved their hands. When I turned 10, Papaw died from cancer, and my world began to spin. Mamaw’s house didn’t feel the same anymore. The hurt over his death birthed a rebel inside of me. I gave my teachers lip. I argued with my parents. The driver

99 #DENTONING kicked me off the school bus once for mouthing off. It felt better to flee a hard situation than face it head-on. So I started running away from home. My very own reset button. With the wind tearing through my hair and my back to the house that no longer felt like home, I believed a fresh start could catapult me to a new world. A place where grown-ups didn’t bother me with their rules, regulations and relentless pestering. By middle school, I was skipping class regularly and filtering in and out of juvie.



The cops picked me up one night. I hadn’t showered in a week. The generic deodorant did nothing to mask my musk. I curled within myself as the staff laughed at the officer making fun of my stench. The other kids heard, too. I knew, because they guffawed as I trudged to my cell. I couldn’t look in their taunting eyes. Unlike me, those kids had drug possession, fighting and stealing slapped on their records. I was just a runaway child. I guess my parents didn’t know what measures to take next, so they home-schooled me. I still argued with my parents. Still ran away. Still felt lost. At 15, I met Mac — a guy in his early 20s. On a whim, I ran away with him for a couple weeks before Dad found me. Disgusted, my father pressed charges against Mac for

100 Reset indecency with a child. Though we had a consensual relationship, the courts sent him to jail and me to juvie. “What is wrong with you?” Dad yelled at me when I returned home from my time away. “Sleeping with an older man and embarrassing your family! You’re our oldest daughter, and the poorest example to your younger sisters. You insist on doing everything backward! Why?” “I don’t know!” I cried. “I just do. Okay?” “No.” Dad’s heated stare intensified. “Not okay, Lilly. Not okay at all!” “Do you want your sisters to follow in your footsteps, Lilly?” Mom asked. “No,” I grumbled. Honestly, I didn’t. “Of course not. And they’re not going —” “Then why are you setting them up for failure? Don’t you know they’re watching you?” “They’re not watching me, Mom,” I screamed. “They’ll be fine. All right? Don’t worry. Your precious daughters won’t turn out like their horrible sister. Just leave me alone!” I hightailed it to my bedroom. I couldn’t deal with their rejection. I knew I’d brought the bad times upon myself, but why did they verbally tear into me every time I screwed up? Didn’t they see my erratic emotions? Couldn’t they tell I craved something more? Resentment surged through me, and I didn’t know how to deal with the wave of negativity invading every crevice of my heart and mind. God, I can’t do anything right. I’m a hot mess.

101 #DENTONING

Not long after my last bit of trouble, Mom and Dad suggested I move in with Mamaw. When I returned home, they sat my sisters and me down and announced their divorce. “Why didn’t you guys tell us about your problems?” I cornered my father. I watched him fiddle with his tools. He looked at me. Silent. “Hello? Dad? What’s up?” “My marriage is between your mother and me, Lilly,” he murmured. “The divorce isn’t just between you two. It affects us, too. What about us?” “We tried to work it out, honey.” He shrugged. “We couldn’t. Let it be.” “I don’t understand. Don’t you guys still love one another? What straw broke the camel’s back for divorce to be the end-all solution?” He slammed a tool down. I flinched at the heavy clink. “What can I say, Lilly?” He rubbed his forehead. “Your mom and I have dealt with your rebellion for years now. We never agreed on disciplinary actions or the most effective solutions in regard to parenting you. Raising children is difficult, and when you don’t agree on certain things, it has its effects.” My jaw dropped. I stood quietly as he continued. “The running away, all the trouble, the stints in juvie — it took a toll on our marriage. That’s why we decided to move you in with your grandma. We needed time to figure ourselves out.” Queasy with guilt, I turned around and walked away.

102 Reset

I’m responsible for the divorce. I’m the burden. I’m to blame. It’s all my fault. No one wanted me after the divorce. I argued with Mom. Dad despised my attitude. I never made Mamaw’s curfew. Homeless at 16, I lived out of my car. I drove to a nearby college town and parked in a 24-hour store’s lot. Enraged and blotchy faced, I clunked my seat back and huddled against the center console. Red and blue flashing lights lit up my car, and I crouched deeper in my seat. The cops sped by with no worries of little old me. Surprise, surprise. That’s right, I reminded myself. Nobody notices another youngster here.



Matthew The gun jammed. A smug smile crept across Mason’s jawless face. My arms buckled. I staggered back, clutching the gun. With every step, my hands trembled beneath Mason’s horrific glare. A roar of pure hate roiled within me. I turned on my heels and fled the monster’s wrath. Mom moved in with Mason — shocker — and I stayed with my cousin.

“I want you back with me at Mason’s,” Mom said. She sat across from me at a burger place.

103 #DENTONING

“We talked about this. It’s better if I live here. It’s too much … crap at home.” She sobbed into her hands. “It’s never for good, Mom. You and I both know. Everyone knows.” “Oh, I get it.” She sniffed. “You don’t love me anymore. I’m a burden to you.” My heart ached for her. I hated to see Mom cry. She seemed so lost without me. I can’t leave her like this. If something bad happens to her, I’ll never forgive myself. “Okay, Mom.” I pushed back from the table. Mason picked me up, and I never went back to my cousin’s.



As a little boy, I asked Jesus into my heart. Grandma taught me the importance of showing God my love by living my life for him. I didn’t know what it all meant, but even after she died, I continued going to church. Throughout all the turmoil and the abuse, I tried to stay as close to God as possible. I prayed and read my Bible often. For that, my family dubbed me the black sheep. I didn’t care much for drugs and alcohol, but because my sisters and brother made it available, I tried it. Plastered and high, my heart sometimes thumped wildly against my chest. I feared that I would die and bust hell wide open.

104 Reset

When those feelings came, I prayed, God, please don’t let me die. I promise I’ll stop everything. When the pain subsided and my regular heartbeat returned, I always reneged on my promise to God. I feared God hated my behavior and wished to send me straight to hell, but the high and my family’s acceptance felt so good.



At 16, when I met Chanel and her 6-month-old baby, Alec, I considered them a good reason to escape my abusive stepfather. I also intended to leave behind the drugs and alcohol. In settling down, I looked for a way out from the hurt, pain and abuse. With Chanel, I could be the man I believed God wanted me to be. We married at 18. By the time we turned 19, we had three children to raise. I made good money, and we kept a four-bedroom house. We attended the church where Chanel’s aunt served as a leader. Life seemed good. Due to Grandma’s influence, I felt a need to become more involved in church. I figured if I earned my way into heaven for doing good deeds in the name of Jesus, then God would forgive me for all the past junk. Part of me still wanted to be Grandma’s little preacher man. In so many words, she’d told me, “You’re unique. Different from the rest. Live up to it.” I wanted to prove her right. As long as I do something constructive in the church, nothing else matters. He’s my judge and my creator. I have to make up for my past sins. If God deems me a willing

105 #DENTONING worker for Christ, then he will love me and accept me. He won’t cut me off. My wife didn’t care to become active in church. When the leaders gave me additional responsibilities, Chanel didn’t support my position. I’m not sure if she regarded it as a joke or a waste of time or something she didn’t feel compelled to do. She usually sat with her arms crossed each time she heard me talking to people about God. I didn’t understand her. Who wouldn’t want to labor for God? Didn’t she know he could so easily send her to hell, just like that? Mom and my siblings didn’t understand my desire to be an overall better man. “So, you think you’re better than us because you have a two-story home?” “Because you graduated and have a good job, you’re too good to hang with us?” “Oh, you don’t smoke and drink now? You don’t hit the bars anymore? Whatever.” No. Not true at all. I mainly wanted to offer my children a different childhood than my own, and I wanted God to approve of me as a valuable creation. I desperately needed to press a reset button on my life and make everything good. Yet, half the time I didn’t know how to behave like the Christian family man my mind conjured up. Thus, my palm hovered over that reset button. Never really pushing it. Never really starting over. Never really leaving my past behind. My stepfathers and birth dad definitely didn’t show

106 Reset me how to be that man. My cousins and my uncle taught me that a real man did everything in his power to keep his children safe. Surviving my stepdads, I learned to protect my children from monsters like them.



Chanel and I grew apart through the years. Our arguments became recurring nightmares. “I’m going out with friends.” I swiped my keys off the counter. “Wait!” She dashed out of the kitchen and halted before me. “Where are you going?” Not this again. “Only out to eat. I need a breather. Okay?” “A breather? What do you mean, you need a breather? No. That’s not going to work for me. I want you to stay here with your family. You always go out. You do realize you’re a married man, right? You may still be in your 20s, but you can’t hang with your friends when you feel like it.” “Well, I’m not staying in the house just to bicker with you all night, either.” “What’s so great about going out with your friends? Are you meeting someone?” She paused, then appeared to have an epiphany. “I know you don’t have many male friends, Matt. You don’t trust men, and I get it. So who are these friends? Are they women?” “They’re friends, Chanel. Just friends.” I sidestepped her and crossed the threshold. I made it to the car and

107 #DENTONING turned the engine over as she hopped atop the hood. “What in the — are you nuts?” “You’re not going out!” Her fists pounded my windshield. “Get off of the car, Chanel. You’re being ridiculous! Let me drive!” “No! Not until you come inside.” She jutted her chin out — that stubborn chin. “This is exactly why I want to leave all the time. This is why! You’re why!” She won. I exited my car, and we yelled at each other until I slammed the front door behind us. “You’re crazy.” I felt my scowl as her words hit me deep. “You can mention divorce all you want. Until our kids are old enough, we are not divorcing. The thought of them growing up in the same atmosphere I did ticks me off. I won’t allow anyone to abuse my kids. I won’t let you bring in some sick man and let him mess over my children! I won’t!”



Chanel and I stayed together until my daughter Aria reached her junior year of high school. At one point, we moved the family to another state for a new start. My birth father lived there, and I wanted to build a father-son relationship. But it didn’t work out. We returned home. On the verge of hitting 40, my wife decided to relive her youthful days.

108 Reset

“What do you think about an open relationship?” she asked. “I think it’s against God and not something I want.” “Oh, c’mon, Matt.” She laughed. “Don’t you want to have a little fun before we get old? We could go clubbing. Maybe have threesomes. Spice up our life a bit.” “Chanel!” I shrieked. “I don’t want that mess in my life!” She groaned. “Well, if you don’t want to have fun with me, I’ll do it on my own.” I didn’t want my marriage to end. Sure, our fallouts took a toll on us, but we’d made it to our 20th anniversary. No other family member had maintained such a long marriage. That made me proud. I prayed to God, Lord, can we just go through this little phase, and once we go through it, that’s the end of it? You’ll bring us back to normal and everything will be okay. Right? I agreed to the open marriage, the loose living and the partying. Queasy with guilt and shame, I felt broken before God. I thought we could breeze past this phase in our marriage and move on, but our union crumbled to pieces. As a husband, I failed my wife. I should have bucked harder against her desire to welcome such things into our marriage. We lost ourselves and couldn’t find our way back. After our last bad argument, she threw my stuff out of the house and told me to get out. I left for a week. When I returned, a new guy had taken my place. God, how did I fall this far? I’m supposed to be a

109 #DENTONING

Christian, yet look what I’ve done. What kind of man am I? You’ll never forgive me for this. I’m going to hell. Nothing can bring me back from these sins.



Lilly My boyfriend, Ian, introduced me to cocaine after I turned 17. Crazily enough, I never wanted to try drugs. Yet, when I snorted that fine white powder, it hooked me. Meth caught my attention next. Drugs offered a new kind of crazy to my life. I lost a good job because of them. After three years with Ian, I caught him cheating on me. I stopped doing drugs after we broke up. I decided to get my life in order. Desperate to do right, I moved in with Mamaw. I told her, “Mamaw, I can’t feel anything.” “What do you mean, sweetheart?” she asked. “I’m either really happy or really sad. And it’s scary.” I shuddered. “I can’t feel anything toward people. My compassion is gone. I feel so consumed with bitterness, I can’t undo this hurt. I can’t return to the happy little girl I used to be. I have a barrier up, and I can’t break through it.” Mamaw and I attended church every Sunday. The joyous atmosphere pulled me in. I remembered my connection with God as a 14-year-old girl. One Sunday, I felt his overwhelming presence, and I cried out to God in a

110 Reset language I didn’t speak. I didn’t understand why he gave me that gift. Maybe to show me his realness. As I continued to attend church, I found my way back to him. “You know the people our church sent to Israel?” Mamaw asked. “Sure,” I said. “The missionaries sent to spread the message of Jesus, right?” She nodded. “I’m going to visit them there soon. I want you to come with me.” Israel and its timeless beauty awed me. I marveled at the golden architecture when the sun reached its highest peak. Peace filled me when the moon rose and those same golden stones glowed a fiery red. I swam in the Dead Sea and visited the places I’d read about in the Bible. Wow. Jesus walked on this soil. He breathed this air. He slept here. I spent most of my time in downtown Jerusalem by the old city. The church owned a 24/7 prayer house — a place for people to gather and pray — and I took the night shift. Soldiers patrolled the area, walking with machine guns and assault rifles. It made sense. Months before my visit, someone had bombed the Gaza street bus. Saddened by the turmoil in Israel, my heart became full for the people there. When I thought my heart harbored no compassion, God showed me that he could bring it back if I opened my heart to him. He inspired me to write a song for Israel’s people. The lyrics compared Jerusalem to a rose in the desert. It claimed that the Lord would bring life out of something

111 #DENTONING once considered dead. Just like I considered my heart dead, God brought it back to life. I sang the song at the prayer house. Before I left, the pastor’s daughter approached me. “You have such an amazing gift, Lilly,” she said. “I hope the church sends you back here. I think you’d be the perfect person to lead songs and help people uplift God in a musical way. Your singing has touched so many lives.” In Israel, learning about God’s love, I felt useful and accepted. Reset. Whole.



When I returned to the States, somehow I lost my connection to God. I tried to keep him close and change my behavior from how I was before the Israel trip. After I moved out of Mamaw’s house and resumed dating, I didn’t want to begin a relationship with a non-Christian man. One guy smoked pot, and we broke up because I didn’t care to jump back into my old ways. “You’re a control freak,” he told me. Whatever. Another guy lied to me about a previous relationship. We dated for several months, and I married him before I discovered that his last relationship had never ended. Needless to say, I divorced him as quickly as possible. I jumped from relationship to relationship, searching for a love I couldn’t find. I ran into Mac, the same guy who dated me when I

112 Reset was a minor. We moved in together, and I gave birth to my first daughter, Alanna. Mac’s verbal abuse turned into physical abuse as he began to drink more. One time, I rose in the middle of the night to my boyfriend screaming about money. We bickered until Alanna woke up crying. I tried to scramble out of bed, but he made a lunge for me. His hands clamped around my throat and gave a deathly squeeze. After an intense struggle, I finally escaped his grasp. Coughing, I leapt off the bed. My eyes darted to Alanna. If I scoop her up and run, he may hurt her, too. I have to lure him away. Mac groaned and his glower deepened. Not a second later, I ran. “Lilly!” he screamed after me. “Get back here! Lilly!” Outside, I dialed 911. Mac staggered out and drunkenly staggered toward me. “What are you doing, calling the police?” He snatched the phone and smashed it to the ground. “You know I love you. I’d never hurt you!” The cops hauled him off to jail. Mac and I had fought like that a few times before, but I knew I couldn’t allow it to continue. Not with Alanna depending on me. I didn’t know how I’d ever meet a decent Christian man, but I wanted a good one for Alanna’s sake.



113 #DENTONING

Matthew I found Lilly on a dating site. I smiled as I read the post. “Don’t contact me if you’re only looking to date. I want a serious, exclusive, monogamous relationship with a Christian man. A real Christian man who wants to get married. I want a relationship founded on Jesus. If you can’t give me that, go away. If you’re into drugs or alcohol, go away. Looking for a one-night stand? Go. Away.” Whoa. She’s serious about God. She could be my way back. My reset button. Deep down, I knew I couldn’t reset anything. I couldn’t turn back time and erase my past mistakes. I stood hopeless before God. He probably hated my despicable guts. I sure did.

We started off a bit rocky with my divorce and all, but she understood. I confided in Lilly about how I used to be dedicated to the church and that I wanted to become that man again. I told her I needed someone who would support me and share my same beliefs in God. Within months, we married. Looking for a new church for our fresh start, we joined The Bridge Church on Easter Sunday. We fell in love with the atmosphere. The friendly smiles and open arms seemed too good to be true. Lilly didn’t understand how strangers could be so nice to us. They just had to be fake, she thought. Still, we continued going there as we embraced our future as a couple. We planned our new baby, Simon.

114 Reset

Lilly’s next pregnancy came out of nowhere. My friend Peter loved to tease Lilly. Peter often came over and sat with me on the porch. We would yak all night. When my wife marked the ninth month of her pregnancy, Peter died in a motorcycle accident. I’d formed a bond with Peter, something I never did with men. I could trust him around my wife and kids. He brought so much life and energy to my world. When he died, I lost more than my only male best friend. I lost my brother. That year continued to be full of pain. Chanel nearly lost her life in a train accident. Her attitude toward Christian living and loving Jesus changed, and we became friends again. Then my birth father passed. What happened to my reset? My new life of love and rest? Where did it go?



I soon learned about the Life Transformation School at The Bridge Church. Lilly described it as a safe place for people to overcome past struggles or memories, as well as to understand one’s place in God’s family. The people guiding me through the class helped me pluck out bad memories and replace them with God’s love. Toward the end of the classes, my mentor instructed me to pray about a situation in my life with which I struggled. Of course, my childhood abuse remained a source of pain. I needed healing and truth.

115 #DENTONING

I sat in the room with several church leaders around me. My mentor asked, “Where was God when you were getting abused, Matthew?” “I don’t know,” I replied. “In my mind, I don’t see him there. I’m angry he let it happen.” “Okay,” he said. “Let’s pray about that.”

Slash! Slash! Slash! My stepfather whipped me as I cowered in the bathroom. He screamed, looking like a demented monster as wretched sobs left my mouth. But I wasn’t alone. Between me, a man hovered over me. Big. Strong. The son of God. Jesus stood between my abuser and me. He took some of those lashes. It hurt him.

“I see him,” I choked out. “Those beatings hurt him as much as they hurt me.” I sensed that God wanted me to stop seeing him as only a judge and creator. He wanted me to see him as my heavenly father, too. A kind father who loved and accepted me. Even with my teenage mistakes and the decisions I made in my marriage to Chanel, God still loved me. Even though my motivation for participating in church was that God wouldn’t blast me to hell, he loved me in my mistaken view of him — it never angered him. If anything, it made him sad that I didn’t know my identity in Christ Jesus.

116 Reset

Nothing can separate you from me. I later backed up God’s message with scripture. How did I ever miss it? Romans 8:38-39 reads: “For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.” I thought I’d committed the most unforgivable offenses against the Lord and his teachings. I thought God had thrown me away. Finding Lilly and The Bridge Church set me on the right path, but it took a true encounter with Jesus to really know him. Reset. And ready to live as God’s son.



Lilly “Mommy?” Tears gathered and spilled from Simon’s eyes. “My leg hurts.” When our 3-year-old began to limp, we took him to the hospital for an X-ray. “He has a fractured growth plate,” the doctor said. “We’re going to put a cast on him.” Matthew and I returned home with our son. We alternated taking off work. Throughout the week, Simon’s temperature fluctuated between 104 and 105. We gave

117 #DENTONING him Tylenol, but the fever never broke. On Memorial Day weekend, Matt called me at work. “He’s saying his bone hurts, Lilly.” “That doesn’t sound right. Take him to the ER.” The doctors removed the cast and examined his swollen leg. Simon grew pale and weak. They mentioned an ear infection, but that didn’t make sense. The doctors didn’t know what ailed my boy, so they transferred him to a children’s hospital. “This isn’t a fractured growth plate.” The doctor stood before us in the waiting area. “This is a MRSA staph infection. It’s in his bone. Right now, your son is septic.” He paused when I gasped and latched onto Matt. “He’s going into shock. Right now, we’re pumping him full of antibiotics. As we speak, he is being prepped for surgery.” “Oh, my God,” I cried. “Is he going to be okay?” “We’re doing everything we can. It’s good you brought him in. He wouldn’t have lasted another 24 hours without this surgery. His organs would have shut down. I understand you made an appointment for him on Tuesday. Correct?” The doctor watched us nod. “It’s very good that you didn’t wait.” He excused himself, and I collapsed in a chair. Dread grew within me as I thought of my little boy. Matthew and I prayed in the hospital. For the first time, I really needed God to step in and do something I couldn’t. Waiting for Simon to return from surgery, I sat in the dark. I thought of my friends from church who’d lost a child. I cried for them. I couldn’t imagine being in

118 Reset their shoes. Just knowing that my son could die left me feeling lifeless. I prayed, Lord, I want to be strong for Simon, but I’m so scared. If something goes wrong, I don’t know what I’ll do without my baby. I fell to pieces in that dark, dull room. I can’t live knowing I’ve lost a child. I’m not strong enough for that. I can’t go through that. Please save my son’s life. Please hear me. Don’t let anything else happen. Don’t worry. The words skittered across my heart so suddenly. I got this. I trembled at the power of those words. Words not from me. Words that I felt certain belonged to God. Later that night, a nurse rolled my son into the bedroom. My shoulders shook as I saw my little boy strapped with IVs. Gratefulness soared through me. I couldn’t stop thinking that God didn’t have to save my son, but he did. He stretched out his hand, showering my family with mercy, love and a kindness I would never forget. He rescued me from a lifetime of pain. He did that. For me. A broken girl like me. This is why I must stay close to you. Moments like this. When no one can help me, you speak one word and everything is okay. You give me miracles. You give me strength. You give me love. You give your whole heart, yet I’ve only given you pieces of mine. Not anymore.

After Simon’s close scrape with death, I pursued a deeper relationship with Jesus. I thought that marrying Matthew and joining The Bridge Church served as my

119 #DENTONING reset in life, but seeing my son in such a dire situation helped me push that button. Until my son needed my prayers, I had no idea of my lingering hesitations about entering a real relationship with Christ. I didn’t realize that I had never truly offered God my whole heart. Nor had I given it in my marriage. I didn’t know how to be God’s daughter. How to accept love and care from God. From anyone, really. But when I really needed God to help me, I couldn’t do anything but trust in him. I’ve always felt neglected and unloved. I never did anything right. All my choices turned into mistakes. All my mishaps turned into regrets. How can you love me so much? How can I trust you so blindly with every part of my life? How can you be so good to me, God? Through Simon, I realized that God would never let me down. I could depend on him. For a year, I became a stay-at-home mom to care for Simon. Through that time, I felt so useless and unworthy without a job. When I prayed about that, God reassured me that it’s okay to take time off for my family. He encouraged me to actually get to know my children. I learned so much from God when I fully opened my heart to him. Without my son’s terrible sickness, I might never have heard God’s voice and drawn closer to him. He brought beauty out of a bad situation. Reset. God broke through my barriers, and I accepted his love.

120 Reset



Matthew I prayed to God and said, Lord, you returned me to where I needed to be. You accepted me for me. You know my weaknesses. You know where I’ve failed. Here I am. I will do whatever you want. My heart is to build a relationship with other people so they can see the love of the father through me. I want to be a world changer. Through a nonprofit organization that helps the homeless in Denton, I’m able to work for positive changes in my community. Lilly can relate — she was homeless for a while. We discovered that Denton has a lot of homeless people. Our hearts are drawn to help any way we can. We’ve hosted banquets to encourage and feed the homeless — the mayor of Denton has attended and commended our help to the city. We have already provided one tiny house for a very thankful lady, and our goal is to build many more to bridge that gap in our community’s resources for the homeless. Maybe I was destined to be a preacher, but my message is spoken strongest on the streets, when I am the hands of Jesus to those hurting and hungry.



“Hey, man.” I seized hold of a fellow at the shelter and hugged him tightly.

121 #DENTONING

“No, no.” His trembling palms pushed me back. “Please. I smell bad. Please don’t.” “It’s okay.” I let go. “I don’t care. You’re fine with me, brother.” Fidgety and red-faced, he said, “I’ve been homeless for 15 years. No one has ever touched or helped me. People think I have the plague, but you’re different.” “That’s right. I’m a hugger. You don’t have to worry about all that junk here.” I never want another soul to feel like my friend Darius felt when I hugged him. I don’t want him or anyone else to go another year feeling cast aside or inhuman because he’s without a home. Everyone deserves love and acceptance. We all have an identity, purpose and destiny in Christ Jesus. Just like Lilly and I found ours, I want to help others find theirs.

122 The Fixer The Story of Joy Written by J.S. Moore

I drummed my fingers nervously on the armrest, wondering what in the world could have gone wrong with the sale of my house while I vacationed. Why did he ask me to come down to his office? Was there a problem with the offer we received? What’s so important that he needed to tell me in person? My real-estate agent, Jimmy, greeted me as he entered the room. “So, what’s this about?” I asked anxiously. “Well, there’s a problem with the title on your house,” Jimmy said, eyeing me cautiously. “Why is that?” “There’s a child-support lien on it. Do you know anything about that?” I paused, shocked. I was in the process of divorcing my husband, Mike, after enduring a tumultuous eight years of his alcoholism. We both still lived in the house, although we each planned to look for our own places as soon as the house was under contract. “Mike has a son, but he’s got nothing to do with him,” I replied quickly. “There must be some mistake.” “Well, this lien — from what I can tell — seems to be in place for failing to support a daughter.”

123 #DENTONING

I sucked in my breath. The room spun, and my hands gripped the chair’s armrests. What? A daughter? “Joy, are you okay?” “Yes,” I stammered. “It just comes as a bit of a shock, that’s all.” Jimmy nodded. “The problem is, we have to get this lien taken care of before we can sell the house.” “Sure, sure.” I swallowed hard. With my background in the mortgage business, I understood that. But I couldn’t wrap my head around the second life that Mike apparently led. I rummaged through my purse for my cellphone and dialed. “It’s not mine! It’s got nothing to do with me!” Mike screamed defensively, after I explained the child-support lien and the danger it posed to the sale of our house. “Okay, well, I’m coming home, and we’ll talk about it then.” An hour later, I pulled into the driveway. Right away, I knew something was wrong. The house stood out on the dark street, with every single window lit up. “Mike?” I yelled. As I ran from room to room, I saw that everything had been ransacked, as if he’d left in a big hurry. Drawers and closet doors hung open. Mike had taken everything he considered his. I stood in the middle of my house, my head spinning

124 The Fixer as fast as the ceiling fan above me, and the horrible reality began to sink in. I felt sick in the pit of my stomach. What secrets had my husband been keeping from me?



I grew up in a quaint village called Newmarket, just outside Cambridge, England. Since Newmarket was well- known as a center for horse racing, we had approximately one horse for every seven people. The speed limit through town topped out at 20 miles per hour so that the cars wouldn’t spook the horses, and instead of a hospital for humans, we boasted a state-of-the-art equine hospital. Queen Elizabeth came to our village to visit the horse museum (after all, thoroughbred racing was the sport of kings!), and at age 9, I peered through the large crowd of excited townspeople to catch a glimpse of her and Princess Di. I could barely see them in the distance, but the thrill of the royal visit stuck with me. On Sundays, my dad took us to the local pub for lunch, and we sat in its family room eating crisps (what Americans call “chips”). I had a happy childhood overall — my hardworking parents instilled a strong work ethic in me. When my parents divorced, my sister and I stayed with our mum. Dad moved just a bike ride away, but at 13, I had a closer relationship to him than my 9-year-old sister, Chloe, did, so I often rode to his place alone. Mum and Dad never communicated after the divorce — they

125 #DENTONING relied on me to relay messages back and forth. I felt pressure to keep the peace, so I made up excuses for why Chloe didn’t visit him as often as I did. “She doesn’t feel well,” I’d say. Or, “She has a lot of homework tonight.” Truth be told, I was more like my father — everybody said so. Quiet and shy, I easily entertained myself, happy to sit in the corner with a book. Chloe’s personality favored our mum — she was boisterous, outgoing and affectionate. She and Dad had trouble connecting. I busied myself with helping our household run as smoothly as possible while Mum cleaned houses and took on evening shifts as a waitress. I had two paper routes — one in the morning and one in the evening — and often, when we got home from school, I cooked dinner for Chloe and tried to fill the mother role for her as best as I could. I didn’t like the general unsettled feeling of my split-up family. I felt conflicted inside, and I just wanted to fix it all.



“Please, stop!” I pleaded, tugging the back of my skirt from the girls’ grasp and scrambling to get away. Why are they so cruel to me? Two schoolmates took it upon themselves to make my life difficult, following me home, saying horrible things to me and — most embarrassing — pulling up my skirt on occasion, for everyone to see my knickers, British for underwear.

126 The Fixer

I slung my book bag across my shoulders and broke into a jog. “You can’t run from us,” one of the girls called out after me. “We’re going to find you later!” Both broke into fits of giggles. I kept running. After all, I had a paper route to do and dinner to get on. We were 14 — in my opinion, too old for bullying. I didn’t understand what they got out of it. Perhaps my shy nature made me an easy target. Many times, I’d hide in the restroom after school until I knew for sure that the two of them had gone home. “Joy! What are you still doing here?” a teacher asked as she prepared to leave for the day. “Oh, um, I forgot my book,” I lied, mustering a crooked smile and patting my book bag. “All right, then. Hurry home!” she chirped. The bullying lasted about six months. Girls could sometimes be catty and mean for no reason at all, but their words and actions stuck with me long after the cruelty stopped.



After I finished upper school, I attended art school for a little over a year, mostly because I didn’t know what else to do. I rode a bus about 20 miles each way daily to attend lessons, and then I worked at a local fish-and-chips shop on weekends.

127 #DENTONING

In the meantime, my father had married a woman named Shelly, and my mum lived with Rudy, an American who served in the U.S. Air Force. One evening, my mum and Rudy sat us girls down on the sofa to give us some big news. “Rudy has received new orders and will now be stationed in the States,” Mum began. “So we will be moving to Omaha, Nebraska!” “Oh, how fun!” Chloe squealed with delight, to the relief of the two adults. I wished I could share her enthusiasm, but instead, I felt shock and confusion. What about my life here? What about my friends? What about Dad? More than anything, I didn’t want to disappoint my father or abandon him. “Do I have to go?” I asked carefully, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Well, no,” Mum said, her brow furrowed. “I suppose not. After all, you are 18 — old enough to make your own decisions.” “But you’re more than welcome to,” Rudy quickly added. “We’d love to have you come with us, if you’d like.” I nodded. Chloe still attended school, so of course she would make the move. But once again, my neat little existence was slipping out of my control. No matter what I chose — if I moved to the States and left my dad behind, or if I stayed in England while my mum and sister moved

128 The Fixer far away — I’d be letting someone down and abandoning somebody I loved. How can I possibly put an ocean between myself and either of them? I felt anxious and sick. A few days later, I mustered up the courage to break the news to Dad. “I honestly don’t know what to do,” I told him, tears filling my eyes. “Well, Joy, you can’t worry about me,” Dad said, patting my hand. “I want what’s best for you. If you don’t go, you might regret it someday. You have to try.” I decided he was right, and I appreciated his support. But it didn’t make it any easier when, just weeks later, I boarded a plane headed for a new land, a new country and a new life.



I hated America. I found it boring, and loneliness overwhelmed me. Chloe enrolled in the local high school, which helped her make friends easily. Back in Newmarket, I had gone out to pubs almost every night, but in the United States, 18 was underage, which made it impossible to go to bars and extraordinarily difficult to meet people. Mum and Rudy married, and the four of us settled into life on the base in Omaha. As the months passed, things gradually improved for me. I made a few friends, became used to the American way of life and began to adapt to my new surroundings.

129 #DENTONING

Unfortunately, my visa expiration date quickly approached. Mum and Chloe could stay in the United States because they were my stepdad’s dependents, but as a legal adult, I would have to leave. Fine. Whatever. I’ll go home, I thought bitterly. I flew back to England and stayed with my dad and Shelly until I landed a job at a video store and was able to rent a flat with my friend Gemma. I threw myself back into my old life, but to my surprise, I missed America. I decided to start the process to move back there on my own terms. But I understood that, apart from a military connection, the immigration paperwork process could be very long and required patience. Meanwhile, I spent a lot of time with my dad. I also took the bus to visit my mum’s mother, whom I called Nana, every Monday between my shifts at work. Since Mum lived in America and couldn’t see Nana herself, I tried to fill in her shoes as much as I could. Nana returned the favor, coming my direction once a week to shop at the outdoor market. We grew very close. At our flat, Gemma and I often entertained friends, especially her younger sister, Claire, who had lupus. She came over and hung out with us all the time. It shocked all of us when Claire suddenly took a turn for the worse and died early one Monday morning. My heart felt so sick for Gemma’s loss, for my loss and for the world’s loss of such an amazing young person. I had planned to ride the bus up to Nana’s later in the afternoon as I always did, but instead, I decided to stay

130 The Fixer with Gemma and her family. I picked up the phone to let Nana know I would not be able to come. “Hello?” my aunt answered. “Hi, Aunt Linda, it’s Joy. Is Nana there?” The line fell silent for a second, and then I heard a muffled sob. “Nana had a heart attack and passed in the night,” Aunt Linda replied at last. “What? Oh, no!” It can’t be true! Not Nana. Aunt Linda sobbed, and I continued to hold the phone in disbelief. Tears streamed down my face. On the other side of the flat, I knew Gemma suffered, too, with the loss of her sister. The dark grief that hovered over our flat was palpable. My mum and stepdad flew from the States within a couple of days, but not long after landing, Rudy received word that his dad had suffered a stroke. He left Mum’s side to fly home, but he didn’t make it in time. His father had passed away. Death comes in threes, I thought to myself, hardly able to believe that we had lost three people we loved within a few days. I attended two funerals that Friday, and in spite of my heartache, I supported my grieving family and friends, especially my mum. Of the three we lost that week, my nana’s passing saddened me the most, for her disposition was so similar to Mum’s. I’d deeply miss the warmth and joy she brought to my life. The string of untimely and sudden deaths had just

131 #DENTONING begun. Six months later, we lost my grandfather on my dad’s side to lung cancer. The very same week, my cousin’s friend died from an aneurysm, and my stepmother’s ex-husband lost his life in an explosion. Death really does come in threes. After the grief of attending my fourth funeral in one year — I couldn’t make two of the funerals — I felt ready for a new start. At 21, with more maturity, confidence and life experience under my belt, America sounded really good. I hoped it would free me from the cloud of sorrow that hovered over my life. So when my approved immigration paperwork finally arrived in the mail — two and a half years after I first filed it — the wheels for a future on a new continent started turning. But breaking the news to my father terrified me. As always, my loyalty to both my parents threatened to tear me apart. “Your dad thinks he’ll never see you again,” Shelly told me over the phone a couple days after I’d tearfully sat down with them. “He’s afraid he’ll miss you walking down the aisle at your wedding.” I swallowed the lump in my throat and kept packing.



Once I got back to the States, I knew I’d made the right choice. I lived in Omaha again, close to my family, and found a job working the front desk at a hotel. Eventually, I

132 The Fixer began using my penchant for organizing to coordinate banquets and weddings at various hotels around the city. “Is this seat taken?” I asked, sliding onto a stool in the near-empty hotel bar. On Saturdays, I often served as the wedding coordinator at a particular hotel, and while I waited for the bride to get ready in her room upstairs, I’d find a way to pass the time. “Only by you.” The cute bartender grinned and winked. “So you’re coordinating a wedding again today?” I nodded, my breath catching in my throat. I looked forward to this hour each week, and I had developed a mad crush on Mike. I found his unabashed friendliness quite attractive, and I enjoyed his flirtatiousness, too. My visits gave him someone to talk to during the bar’s slow times, and in turn, he kept my water glass filled to the brim. It worked both ways. “Hey, Joy, do you think you’d like to go out for drinks sometime?” he asked when my hour was up and I prepared to check on the bride. “You mean — like real drinks? At a different pub?” My heart fluttered in my chest. Mike laughed easily and nodded. “I’d love to.” In the hotel business, people worked hard but played hard. The normal culture involved going out drinking on Friday nights with co-workers and friends, and as our relationship developed, Mike and I were part of that — working long hours by day and partying into the early morning hours.

133 #DENTONING

When we married a couple of years later, my dad and Shelly traveled all the way from England so Dad could walk me down the aisle. My wedding day meant so much to me — I was surrounded by both sets of parents, my sister and my friends. Everything finally felt complete.



Mike and I settled into married life in Omaha. We dreamed of having a family someday — he always said we’d name our daughter Heather Marie — but not just yet. We worked hard during the days and spent evenings at clubs with our friends, enjoying the freedom of our 20s and early 30s while we still could. We did dream of living someplace warmer, though. The Nebraska winters were pretty brutal, in my opinion. My stepfather, Rudy, was originally from Texas and often bragged about how great the Lone Star State was. So when I received a job offer in Dallas, we packed up and relocated. Mum, Rudy, Chloe, her husband and their young sons soon followed. Mike got a job at a furniture store and soon made new work friends with whom he could go to happy hour on weeknights or meet at bars on the weekends. I’d gradually grown out of the party lifestyle, and it no longer interested me. We owned a little house I loved, and when I finished work each day, I just wanted to be home. But Mike stayed out later and later. Some nights, he didn’t come home at all, and I worried incessantly about him.

134 The Fixer

“Why don’t you just come home?” I asked him one afternoon when he phoned to let me know he’d be late. “Why do you nag me?” His tone sounded contentious and biting. “I’m not nagging! I just want you to be here — with me. I miss you.” But Mike could not be “controlled,” as he saw it. I started reading about addiction and alcoholism. If the alcohol affects your life, the book read — to the point where it affects your family or your ability to work — then you have a drinking problem. I snapped the book shut and leaned back in my chair. More than once I had seen my friendly, generous husband pay for a round of beers for everyone in a bar when we were already scraping the bottom of the barrel financially. Mike was a good person when sober, but he regularly spent a ton of money on alcohol, and it affected our ability to pay the bills. I can’t tell anybody, I decided, not wanting my family to think ill of him. Even after a few years of marriage, I still wanted Mike to meet their approval. In addition, although I had always wanted children, I knew it didn’t make sense to bring kids into an alcoholic situation. Heather Marie may never exist, I thought. We argued more and more. “Please get help!” I’d plead with him. “I don’t have a problem!” he’d insist. “Yes, you do!”

135 #DENTONING

But he’d just storm away, slamming the door behind him on his way out of the house. Then, Mike crashed a car and briefly ended up in the hospital. The bartender told the police that Mike couldn’t even stand straight, but he hadn’t been able to keep him from driving away. One night, Mike became angry with me and punched a hole in the wall right next to my head. He wasn’t typically a violent person, but the alcoholism was changing his personality. Each night for the next week, I locked myself in our bedroom with our dog. I sank into deep depression. The hurt, confusion and worry had robbed me of my naturally pleasant demeanor. I slogged back and forth between work and home, keeping my head low, trying to make enough money to pay the bills before Mike spent it all on alcohol and trying to hide the situation from everyone else in my life. I had switched careers to the mortgage industry, and I cried nearly every morning on my way to the office. The man I loved was changing before my eyes, and I began to see that nothing I could do would fix it. Since I had been the product of a divorced, split-up family, I had intended to stay married to one man my entire life. But as Mike continued to refuse to get help for his addiction and our finances worsened, I realized this wasn’t a marriage anymore. I issued Mike an ultimatum. “I love you, Mike,” I told him the next time I saw him. “And I want to be married to you forever. But unless you

136 The Fixer let me get you some help for your drinking problem, I’m going to have to leave you.” I crossed my fingers, inwardly, hoping my words would trigger a desire for change. But Mike wasn’t interested. “We should probably get divorced then,” he answered snottily. “Because I don’t want to come home and listen to you anymore.” My heart sank. Within a few weeks, I filed for divorce and contacted a real-estate agent named Jimmy to put the house on the market. In Jimmy’s work, he’d encountered many spouses with addictions, and he sympathized with my situation. With everything in process, I headed off for a vacation back home in England, halfway hoping that when I returned, Mike would wake up and say, “I don’t really want this. I’ll get help. Let’s stop the divorce.” Some buyers made an offer on the house while I was gone, but the day after I returned home, I sat in Jimmy’s office listening to some rubbish about a child-support lien holding up the sale of our house. Mike had a son from a previous relationship, but the child’s mother had never sought his involvement before. “Well, this lien — from what I can tell — seems to be in place for failing to support a daughter,” Jimmy said gently. A daughter? I could barely breathe. Jimmy looked down at the documents in front of him and pointed to a line of text.

137 #DENTONING

“Do you know anything about a Heather Marie?” he asked. Heather Marie. I thought I might be sick. Mike got his Heather Marie — just not with me. “Joy, are you okay?” I shook my head as if to clear it — to perhaps shake away the pain of the betrayal. I felt like a participant on a reality show, finding out about my ex-husband’s secret life. “Yes. It just comes as a bit of a shock, that’s all.” I’ve wondered sometimes, in retrospect, how things might have been different if I hadn’t called Mike right then. If I’d been able to talk with him at home in person and get some answers, without him running away from the situation, perhaps that could have altered the whole course of events. But instead, I called Mike from Jimmy’s office, and at the very mention of child support and the lien, he freaked out. And while I headed home to talk through it with him, Mike threw everything he needed in a couple of suitcases and disappeared into the night.



In the months that followed, countless bill collectors harassed me, both over the phone and at my door. “We’re trying to track Mike down. Do you know where he is?” “I’m so sorry, sir. I don’t.”

138 The Fixer

“Well, we’re going to take your house,” the man threatened. Even when a bailiff came to the house and subpoenaed me over the child support, I cooperated. In fact, I cooperated with everyone, even though I had done absolutely nothing wrong. I understood that Mike had made a lot of people angry, but nobody knew how deeply his actions hurt me.

In his digging, Jimmy discovered that Mike had even more secrets, such as a post office box that he’d been using for credit cards he applied for in my name. With every revelation that surfaced, I wondered how I’d been so blind to the fact that my husband had apparently led a full- blown life outside of the one we shared. “I’ve never seen anything like this,” Jimmy said, shaking his head. “And I’ve seen a lot of stuff.” I truly felt like I qualified to go on one of those sleazy daytime talk shows and air out all the dirty laundry of our so-called marriage. “I’m glad he’s gone,” Mum said to me one day. “I’m waiting for him to show up on America’s Most Wanted.” “That’s not helpful,” I answered, sighing heavily. “I’m just saying!” I didn’t know where Mike had gone, but the life we built together crumbled around me. I ended up losing the house because of the debt he’d accumulated in my name. Swallowing my pride, I had to ask my mum and Rudy for some money.

139 #DENTONING

There were times that Mike’s absence caused a sense of relief for me. I didn’t have to deal with the day-to-day stress anymore. I didn’t have to pick up his dirty laundry, and I enjoyed my argument-free home. But other times, I feared that when I arrived home from work, Mike would be waiting for me. Even after I moved into my new apartment, that fear stayed with me. On those nights, I pulled out a wine bottle and drank away the fears until I drifted off to sleep, hoping that when dawn came, it would bring with it a peace I longed for but wasn’t sure existed.



Easter approached, and I made plans to go to church with my aunt Patty, same as I’d done for a couple of years. But my sister phoned with a different invitation. “I just got this flier in the mail,” Chloe said. “There’s going to be a British band called Delirious? playing at a new church that meets at the college. I think the boys and I are going to go on Easter Sunday. Would you like to join us?” It sounded fun — especially if there would be people from England. I always enjoyed talking to folks from back home. I called Aunt Patty. “Absolutely! Go with your sister!” she said. So on Easter morning, I met Chloe and my nephews at the college. On the elevator, five smartly dressed guys joined us.

140 The Fixer

“They have British accents!” Chloe whispered to me excitedly. We stepped off the elevator and found some seats in the packed auditorium. As always, Chloe dove right in to conversations with people around us, learning that it was the church’s very first service ever. In fact, the pastor had previously spent two years in England. The guys from the elevator took the stage, and the crowd erupted into cheers. The music started, and Chloe and I exchanged impressed glances. “They’re kind of a big deal, huh?” she whispered, cocking an eyebrow. Everybody stood during the music, so we stood, too. When it ended, we all sat down, and the pastor got up to talk. As he spoke, I felt flutters in my chest, like something was starting to come to life within me. He talked about a God who loves us. He explained that because of the sins and dirt in our lives, God had made a way for us to be set free of anything that stood in the way of our having a close relationship with him. He had sent his son, Jesus, to Earth to die and take the punishment for everything we’d ever done wrong. If we accepted that fact, we could be forgiven and completely free. We could know God. We could experience his peace. We could experience him with us all the time — even after we died, we would get to spend eternity in heaven. “Maybe this is the first time you’re hearing this,” the pastor continued. “If you don’t know where you’re going

141 #DENTONING when you die and you want this relationship with God that I’ve been talking about, raise your hand.” Next to me, Chloe’s hands shot straight up in the air, both of them. My heart leapt in my chest. I felt the same urge, the same desire, but I did not feel as bold as Chloe. She was always one to leap into the deep end, while I tended to take slower steps, getting used to the water around my ankles before even letting it touch my knees. Even so, the pastor’s message resonated with me because I knew deep in my heart that I didn’t want to be bitter about Mike anymore. I didn’t like the person I’d become — obsessive, jaded and cynical. I just didn’t know how to get to that place of forgiveness. I had no idea what that looked like or how it worked. In fact, as I thought about it, I realized it went deeper than Mike’s betrayal. In every situation, from my mum and dad’s divorce, to my long-distance relationships with my parents and sister, to the various deaths among my family and friends, I’d always felt the self-imposed pressure to be the “fixer,” to smooth things over and care for everyone. But as I sat in that church service that morning, I felt drawn to the thought that it wasn’t in my power to fix anything all on my own. In fact, I needed someone to fix me — to be my peacemaker, to repair the damaged person I had become over time. I needed Jesus to fix me. I walked out of The Bridge Church a different person

142 The Fixer that Easter morning. I may not have been as vocal as my sister about it, but the repair work had already begun.



I couldn’t get enough of this new life. I listened to CDs on my way to work and on my way home, trying to soak up as much information as I could about God’s story, his ways and his plan. Chloe and I went to church every Sunday, and each week we learned more and more. I really wanted to learn everything I could, so I scoured the Bible, searching for any passages that could help me. Why don’t they put the books of the Bible in alphabetical order so I can find them better? I wondered. I discovered a Bible app on my smartphone that allowed me to type in the word “forgiveness” (or whatever other word described my feelings that day) and give the phone a shake, causing a random scripture on that subject to pop up. I did that often, drinking in the wisdom and peace that I received from the ancient, God-inspired words. Being a planner, I had always liked being in control. Even going back to my days as a teen, I had wanted to fix my family following my parents’ divorce. I had wanted to do whatever I could to keep the peace and prevent the situation from getting out of hand. I wasn’t nearly as spontaneous as my mum and sister. I hadn’t been the one jumping at the chance to move across the ocean. I had

143 #DENTONING yearned for stability — for a plan that stayed in place. When we lost six people in one year, I wanted to help and support my family and fix all the broken hearts. These were all reasons why I had done so well as a wedding planner in my 20s. So the situation with Mike hurt me on deeper levels than I cared to admit. I hadn’t been able to control his behavior or fix his problems. After all, I’d never been able to fix my own life — not really. Gradually, I understood that I could not control anything, but God had it all. He had been there the whole time. I hated that Mike and I had divorced, but God had the ability to put the pieces of my life back together. Sometimes life didn’t go the way I wanted it to, but I could be still and calm and — as we often sang at church — know that he was God. My peace came from knowing that my story hadn’t ended yet. I accepted what Jesus had done for me in dying for my sins, and I realized that my relationship with God was only beginning. And as I felt God’s true forgiveness for my sins, I then felt free to forgive Mike as well. He hadn’t known any better; he hadn’t had Jesus to help him get free of the nasty grip alcohol had on his life. Once I understood that and truly forgave him, God set me free of my bitterness and my need to fix Mike’s life or my own. I could let God do the work on me.



144 The Fixer

Chloe and I stood next to the lazy river at the local water park on a hot and muggy August evening. I didn’t really like water, much less water parks. But my new belief in Jesus required this beautiful symbolic statement of the change that had occurred in my life. The Bridge Church had only been around for a few months and didn’t have a way to baptize the 10 new Christians at the auditorium where we met each week. So, our pastor arranged for us to do it at the water park after closing time, in this very normal public place, where kids played all day and moms floated lazily by. It felt fitting, somehow, that in the midst of a normally chaotic venue, we would arise cleansed and changed. Chloe and I stepped down into the chlorinated water together, she more quickly than I, as always, joining our pastor and his associate in the river. “Joy and Chloe, I baptize you in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit,” the pastor said, and then they dunked us both, side by side, backward into the water. When they brought us up and our faces emerged a second later, I felt as though I’d left my old self in the river to be washed downstream, and a completely new Joy rose from the water. I felt joy — true joy — for the first time in my life. I viewed the world with more clarity than I had ever imagined possible. I heard celebratory cheers from my new friends, who were standing up on the bank and on the bridge behind us. And in that moment, while seeing my life through a different lens, I experienced the true peace

145 #DENTONING and change that comes from a relationship with God. I trusted that I’d never be alone again, and I would never be the same.



I decided that since I had no children of my own, I should get involved with the church’s youth. I talked to teenagers about the hurt from being bullied as a girl, the pain when my parents split up, the broken heart of losing people I loved and the bitterness that ate away at my soul when my husband betrayed me. The teens could relate to all of those situations in their own way, but I spoke of the answer, too — that my relationship with God and freedom in Jesus had allowed me to forgive and be still, trusting him to do all the work to fix my life and heal my heart. Funnily enough, I even became Facebook friends with both of the girls who had bullied me in middle school. I only wish I could have met Jesus sooner. I lived in a cozy one-bedroom apartment with my puppy, but I dreamed of being married again someday. So I signed up for an online dating service. I didn’t write too much about myself on my profile — I thought most of the profiles were pretty cheesy. Before too long, a guy named Grant contacted me and asked me out. We hit it off immediately. Grant had lost his wife to cancer and had a son and daughter in their early 20s. We had so much in common, and my friends joked that Grant was the male version of me.

146 The Fixer

Grant and I dated for a few years and developed a beautiful friendship. We both felt so grateful to God for giving us each other after the loss and pain we had experienced, so we began planning a lovely wedding. But all our plans seemed to come crashing down when I discovered a lump in my breast. I didn’t tell anyone — not Grant, not Chloe, not even my mum. I just scheduled an appointment with my doctor to have it checked out. “There’s only a 20 percent chance the lump is cancerous,” the doctor said, after doing the biopsy. “Go home. Don’t worry about it, and we’ll call you with the results in a few days. Chances are everything’s fine.” I wasn’t really worried. My planner nature had already thought through all the scenarios and how I would handle it if it did turn out to be cancer. But really, I understood that it was just another situation I couldn’t fix. I had to leave it up to God.



“This is Dr. Gupta’s office. And I’m calling with the results of your biopsy. Is this a good time?” I stood up from my desk and closed my office door so my co-workers couldn’t overhear my conversation. “Yes, this is fine.” I felt a sudden wave of dizziness and nausea. “The biopsy came back positive. Dr. Gupta would like to see you sometime this week to discuss the results and talk about the next steps.” “Oh, my goodness. Positive.”

147 #DENTONING

“Yes, it was positive for cancer, but we caught it early, so we have every reason to believe our treatments —” She kept talking, but her voice receded into the background. The word “cancer” had made me suddenly feel very heavy in my office chair. I closed my eyes and tried to shut out the inklings of fear trying to creep their way into my mind. For I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord, I recited silently. Plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. It was one of my favorite scriptures from the Bible — and one that I had discovered with my shake-it Bible app. It gave me peace to know that God, the ultimate “fixer,” controlled this situation, too. Please help me, God, I prayed. Please help me to trust that you’ve got this. Please show me that everything is going to be okay. I sat alone in my office for a very long time. Through the door, I could hear the muffled sounds of my co- workers packing up for the day and wishing each other a good night. I sat for more than an hour after everyone else had gone home, fighting the urge to be fearful and trying to plan my next step. But I couldn’t think straight. I worried about telling Grant. He’d lost his first wife to the same kind of cancer, and I knew that he’d walked through that illness with her every step of the way. How can I ask him to do that again? I reached for my phone and pressed Grant’s number on the speed dial.

148 The Fixer

“Hey, sweetie, I’m leaving work now. Is it all right if I come over?” “Of course!” he answered, his voice so warm and loving. An hour later, I sat nervously in Grant’s living room, my hands clasped together in my lap. “I had a lump in my breast,” I began, my voice wavering, “so I went to get it checked out.” I swallowed hard and looked Grant in the eye. “Today they called to say it’s cancer.” I burst into tears then. I’d held it together up until that point, but now the tears flowed freely. “This is different, though,” I promised through my sobs. “I’m going to be fine. We caught it early.” Grant just held me, letting me cry, reassuring me in a soothing voice that everything would be okay. That God had everything under control. “You’re okay, Joy,” he said gently. “We’ll deal with it. We’ll treat it.” We decided together that, in light of the diagnosis, we should put the wedding on hold. That way I could focus on the treatment and not worry about trying to plan the perfect ceremony. I called our pastor’s wife next, and she prayed with me right then that God would flood my heart and mind with peace. From that moment forward, I never lost peace — I never doubted that God would bring the right doctors and nurses into the situation to help me fight the cancer and win. I called my mum then, and Chloe and even my dad in

149 #DENTONING

England, whom I regularly spoke to once a week or so. All of them were supportive and loving. The doctor’s office scheduled my lumpectomy for my birthday. “If we do this on my birthday, it means I’ll get to have a whole lot more!” I reasoned to everyone. Before chemo and radiation, Chloe and my mum treated me to an English breakfast. I wore a T-shirt that read “Keep calm and carry on” to the appointment I made to shave my head. To my surprise, Chloe had them shave her hair off, too. It meant so much to me. In addition, people from our church sent me packages and cards and hats, making me feel so loved. Chemotherapy was no picnic. It slowed my life down tremendously. I learned to appreciate the little things, like the vibrant colors of the delicate flowers I saw when I sat outside. Despite depression and general malaise, I found Bible passages to give me the encouragement I needed. Grant accompanied me to every treatment, and I saw firsthand that he would have no problem with the “in sickness and in health” part of the vow when we eventually did get married. When the doctors declared me cleared of cancer, I thanked God, not only for the good report, but for the fact that he had given me so much unexplainable peace.



150 The Fixer

My eyes misted as the wedding music started and Grant walked his gorgeous daughter Lara down the aisle lined with rows of white wooden folding chairs and smiling guests. The beautiful summer day made for a charming outdoor wedding, and Lara made a radiant bride — lovely both inside and out. It was Lara’s day — the one she’d dreamed about since her childhood — and I felt privileged and honored to fill her mother’s shoes as best as I could and help her do what I do best: plan! I could never replace Lara’s beautiful, brilliant mother. But I could use my strengths to offer her my support and lavish her with love, being the very best Joy that I could be. I thanked God every day for giving me stepchildren whom I loved as if they were my own. Grant and I had finally tied the knot in a ceremony largely scaled back from our original plan. My fight with cancer had changed me — it changed what mattered. Life consisted of moments, not things. I wanted to spend time with the people we cared about, so we kept the wedding small and held it on the shore of a local lake. Much to my delight, all of my mom’s sisters flew in from England and Australia to help us celebrate, making it a mini-family reunion. As I watched Grant escort Lara toward her handsome groom, I thanked God for the beauty of new beginnings. I thanked him for showing me that I didn’t always have to be in control — that his plan superseded my plan.

151 #DENTONING

The pain I experienced in my life drove me toward Jesus, toward a life lived in high definition and clarity, free of bitterness or worry or fear and filled with joy. I wouldn’t have had it any other way. After all, he fixed me.

152 A Good Father The Story of Elliot Written by Laura Paulus

This can’t be happening. I tried to take some deep breaths and get a grip on my emotions. Reaching over, I took my wife’s hand and held it tightly. “It has just spread too much. We tried everything we can think of. There really isn’t anything left to do.” “No!” I yelled, startling myself almost as much as everyone else in the room. I listened to my wife crying and realized that my tears fell, too. How can I feel so many things at once but also feel so completely numb? “So, now what are we supposed to do?” I asked the doctor. “If you can’t help her, what are we supposed to do for her?” “Take her home, and be together as a family. We will get you some support with hospice to make her more comfortable, but that is about all we can do. Go and enjoy your time together before it is over.” Just give up, you mean. “You should talk to her and let her know that she is dying. It will help her understand it better.” What kind of father would I be if I just gave up?

153 #DENTONING

“We aren’t going to tell our little girl that she is dying, because she isn’t. She will get better. Watch and see.” My wife and I refused to accept that things would not get better. We would take her home, but her story wouldn’t be over. “Elliot, I hope you’re right,” the doctor said as she patted my arm and turned to leave. I hoped so, too.



Dawn and I joined the U.S. Air Force six days apart. We attended Basic Trainings separately and then received our first orders. My orders arrived for a base in England. Several months later, Dawn received her transfer orders for the same base. “Hey, are you going to that concert this weekend?” my friend Melissa asked. Melissa and I attended the same singles group. We often did outings together, and we were excited about a concert coming up. “I am. You?” “Yep, and I think my roommate, Dawn, is coming. I’ve been bugging her to come to our group times, but she hasn’t been able to come. However, she can make it to the concert. We’re going to have a great time.” On Saturday, we all met up and rode a bus to another town. After a great time at the concert, we loaded up on the bus and headed back to the base. I ended up sitting

154 A Good Father next to Dawn. We talked the entire ride, and I really enjoyed getting to know her. A few days later, my phone rang. “Hey, this is Dawn. Do you happen to know how I can reach Jordan?” Jordan was a friend who had also attended the concert. “Well, he works underground, so he has to stay there his entire shift. We can’t reach him until he gets off.” “Oh, shoot. I wanted to see if he could grab lunch, but I guess he can’t.” “Sorry, maybe another day when he isn’t working.” “Well, what are you doing for lunch? Are you free?” I happened to be free, so we grabbed lunch. We seemed to get along well, and the next day, she called me again. “What are you doing for lunch? Want to go with me again?” Of course, I did. If a beautiful girl asks you to go to lunch, you do it. It didn’t hurt that we hit it off well. And after a few more lunches, Dawn let me in on a secret. “Hey, Elliot, I need to be honest about something.” “Sure, what’s up?” “I never really wanted to go to lunch with Jordan. But I couldn’t find the nerve to just ask you to lunch directly.” “Really? Well, you should have. I would have said yes.” The next year, we got married.



155 #DENTONING

We moved to Tennessee shortly after getting married and receiving honorable discharges. Dawn began working on her education degree so that she could be a teacher, allowing her to hold the same schedule as our hoped-for children. And six years later, our first daughter arrived. Amelia filled our life with joy. Then, we celebrated the birth of another little girl whom we named Lauren. From the moment of our third daughter’s birth, we knew something was wrong. Baby Stephanie barely made any sound, and the medical staff got very quiet and busy. “What’s wrong?” We both seemed to ask the question at the same time. No one answered us for what seemed like hours. Finally, a nurse told us that they needed to take the baby to the nursery to check on some breathing issues. She assured us that someone would update us as soon as they had any news. Finally, the doctor spoke kindly to us. “Your baby has a form of congenital heart disease. It basically means her right ventricle is not getting enough oxygen, which is causing her to not get any air to her lungs. We are quickly assessing her and deciding on the best plan of action.” Would we lose our little girl before we even got to know her?



156 A Good Father

After several surgeries and the beginning of a medication regimen that would be required for the rest of her life, Stephanie began to heal and to thrive. Slowly, we moved away from her health crisis, but we often worried that something could go wrong again. I told my wife that we shouldn’t have more kids, after all that we’d experienced with our little girl and her heart condition. “I just can’t go through something like that again. It’s too painful for all of us.” But several years later, Dawn began getting baby fever again. “Just one more. I really want a little boy.” “But look at our record. Are you going to be okay if it’s another girl?” I asked her. “I’ll be okay. I just want one more.” So we decided we would add one more child to our family. Shortly before Christmas, we welcomed another baby girl, whom we named Grace. She arrived healthy, and we instantly fell in love with our little girl, just as we had fallen for her sisters. We settled into life as a family of six, assuming that we’d completed our family. Before we knew it, our youngest turned 1. While we were surprised at how quickly our kids grew, we found that we enjoyed them more each day. We enjoyed Christmas with a 1-year-old as we experienced the joy of the season through her eyes. A few weeks later, we noticed that our youngest suffered from a runny nose, a few other cold symptoms and a slight fever. Because we learned that our girls

157 #DENTONING developed sinus infections if we did not jump on cold symptoms immediately, Dawn drove her to the doctor. “I’m off work, anyway, so it makes sense to run her in and get it taken care of. Otherwise, one of us is going to end up taking five or more days off work to be home with a sick baby.” It made sense to me. I still needed to work, so I kissed them all goodbye the next morning. Dawn made an appointment with the doctor and headed that way after getting the oldest two off to school. She found a babysitter to stay with Stephanie. I got busy with work and didn’t even think about the doctor appointment.

I picked up the phone and heard my wife quietly crying. “What is it? Are you okay?” “No. The doctor examined the baby and discovered a large tumor on her left side. A tumor! How did we not know it existed? We bathe her, rock her, change her and all kinds of things. How did we miss that? What kind of parents are we?” “Okay, hold on. What does that mean that she has a tumor? What is the doctor saying?” “They’re starting a bunch of tests. Oh, Elliot, what is happening? How can our baby be so sick?” I rushed to the hospital as the doctors ran tests on Grace. I wanted to support Dawn and be on the scene for information.

158 A Good Father

It made me think I could control it all better if I got there. But how could I control cancer?



The next several days passed in a blur. Thankfully, our community of friends surrounded us and sat with us for hours in the hospital. And they made sure our other daughters received love and care. The hours crept by, filled with tests and procedures as various medical staff came in and out of the room. Yet it seemed like time stood still as we waited to find out what was wrong. Finally, we got some answers from the doctor. “Grace has a rare kidney cancer. It is a malignant tumor that occurs in young children.” “What is going to happen?” I could barely get the first word out of my mouth. “Well, we will need to go in and operate. Once we remove it and see if it has spread, we will know more. We’ll do the surgery tomorrow, and then we will find more answers.” We took turns pacing the floor and watching our baby girl sleep, knowing she would be facing a major surgery the next morning. She remained so happy and sweet through all of it, and she didn’t even seem that sick. How could this be happening? After the surgery, the doctor came out still in his scrubs, but we mostly saw the huge smile on his face.

159 #DENTONING

“We removed her kidney with the tumor and discovered that the cancer remained contained. We extracted it without contaminating any other systems in her little body. This is really good news. The best news, actually.” After the staff wheeled Grace out of recovery, we were able to see her. She looked so little, lying there with cords and wires bigger than her all over, but she still smiled. We felt instant relief. We met with the doctor again later that day to get more details and find out more about the next steps. “We caught the cancer in stage 1. This is good news. It also means that you guys need to decide if you want us to give her chemotherapy or not.” “But you’re her doctor. Shouldn’t you decide that?” “Our medical protocol makes us require chemo in stage 2 and up, but parents decide in stage 1.” “We aren’t qualified to make such a big decision,” I told the doctor, feeling completely overwhelmed. “I can give you some time to think about it, but we need a decision in the next 24 hours. She should be fine without chemo, but you may feel better if you go through with it.” We talked back and forth about it. Another conversation with the doctor helped us solidify our decision. “Okay, I am a numbers guy, so help me understand this. What is the chance of her getting this cancer again?” I wanted to know what we were dealing with.

160 A Good Father

“If you don’t do it, she has a 14 percent chance of having it again. If you do chemo, her chances go down to less than half of a percent.” “Well, that’s a no-brainer. Let’s do it. I don’t want her to go through this again because I decided not to do chemotherapy.” The doctor nodded and left to make arrangements to begin her treatments. Dawn and I sat down and began thinking about it more as we watched our 13-month-old sleep. “Did we make the right decision? Does this mean we aren’t trusting God to heal her?”



Shortly before I met Dawn, I knew that I needed more in my life. I loved the Air Force, but I still wanted more. When friends invited me to visit their church, I decided to give it a try. At the church, the pastor talked about how God sent his son, Jesus, to die for our sins. “Jesus died so that we could experience a relationship with God. By accepting the gift of his death, we can be with God forever.” It seemed too easy, but I prayed and began a relationship with God. I ended up concluding that the pastor knew what he was talking about. Dawn accepted a relationship with God as a teenager. By the time we met and got married, we both knew that our faith mattered. We wanted a marriage built on loving God and serving and knowing him.

161 #DENTONING

Unfortunately, while we loved God and believed that he loved us, we strongly held the idea that he carried a big stick, just waiting for us to mess up so that he could hit us with it. Stephanie’s congenital heart disease only reinforced that concept. We must have messed up for God to punish our daughter like that. When our sweet baby got cancer, we experienced the familiar pain of guilt and shame as we thought about how we must have disappointed God for him to make her so sick. It didn’t help that we beat ourselves up over not finding her tumor earlier. As our church friends surrounded us during those days of diagnosis and surgery, we felt supported and loved by God. Even though we didn’t understand why we needed to go through a big medical crisis again, we simply tried to trust that God would take care of it all. But because we still saw him as a being who punished us, we doubted ourselves and everything we knew during the treatment. Instead of feeling good about choosing chemotherapy, we worried that God would see our decision as a lack of faith. What if that disappointed him and made him decide not to make her better? We still moved forward, and our Grace was declared cancer-free before her second birthday. Our family began to settle back into a normal life. We made it through the biggest scare parents could face, and we came out alive and well. A friend and I decided to start our own business, and

162 A Good Father

Dawn and I wanted to move our family to Texas to try a change of scenery. Shortly after moving there, we found a church that we liked. The people at The Bridge Church welcomed us with smiles and hugs the moment we walked in the door. And they not only welcomed us, but they loved our little girls, too. It just seemed like the perfect place for us. A few months into our time there, the business I started in Texas failed. My frustration with God grew as we lost our home on top of having no income. We packed up what we could carry and moved into an apartment. I felt like a failure who couldn’t even give my family a nice place to live. A few months after we lost the house, we noticed that Grace was showing cold symptoms again. We were a bit puzzled since she mostly stayed inside, and we hardly ever went near sick people. She didn’t exhibit any other symptoms, so we kept an eye on her but didn’t take her to the doctor. Then a few nights later, Dawn checked on our girls during the night. After finding Grace struggling to breathe, we knew the time had come to take our youngest to the hospital. “You stay here with the other girls, and I will take her in,” she said. “Hopefully, we can get some medicine and be back in no time.” A few hours later, we realized that we were back in the familiar nightmare that we’d hoped never to experience again. The cancer had returned.

163 #DENTONING



Our routine of tests and the parade of medical staff coming in and out of the hospital room resumed as if it had never stopped, even though we sat in a different hospital in a different state. And, our little girl, at age 3, could communicate her discomfort to us this time. Grace suffered from pneumonia due to the tumor that had grown in her chest and pressed onto her lung, causing it to not be able to fill up with air. As liquid built up, it became harder for her to breathe. The doctors decided to remove the tumor and follow it up with radiation and chemotherapy. They gave us the news and left the room. A friend of mine visiting from the Air Force also heard the update. He put his hand on me and told me to give it to God. My jaw tightened with anger. I wasn’t angry at my friend. Lots of well-intentioned people said similar things to us throughout both of our girls’ illnesses. They meant to encourage, even if their words fell far short of encouraging. No. I fumed at God. Why are you doing this to us? What did we do to you? God didn’t answer me, at least not in a way that I could decipher. My wife and friend just looked at me in surprise. “I’m tired of this. We need to gather people to pray. I’m not losing my daughter.” Even though I continued to struggle to feel like God

164 A Good Father loved me and wanted the best for me, I did believe that he could and would heal Grace. I felt certain that if we prayed hard enough and believed enough, it would all work out. And it seemed to work. The doctors originally planned to remove most of her right lung, but they ended up only having to take a small section out since the medications worked so well at shrinking the tumor. Once again, Grace received a clean bill of health, and they sent us on our way. We celebrated and took a trip to get away and be together as a family. I felt better about my relationship with God. Our church family surrounded us with love, and we experienced God’s love through them as they supported us financially, emotionally and prayerfully. They not only brought us meals and helped with the girls when Grace had her relapse as well as after, they helped us pay off some of our bills as we worked toward a more stable income. And the entire time, they prayed with us and offered moral support. “You guys need a break. Go and grab some coffee. We can handle the girls for a few hours.” And we felt nothing but gratitude for the way the doctors saved most of her lung. We did not take these things lightly — God took care of us. We continued to pray and trust him to keep our daughter well.



165 #DENTONING

After the second cancer scare, we nervously settled back into our normal life. I found work again, and more money came in. Every three months, we returned to the doctor for scans and blood work to make sure that Grace continued to be healthy and cancer-free. As each report came back with no sign of cancer, we started breathing easier. God healed her. We still worried a little at times, and it didn’t help me trust God when I had vivid dreams for the other girls, with visions of them growing older and accomplishing things. Yet whenever I prayed and asked about Grace, nothing ever came. It made me somewhat nervous, but I pushed it out of my mind. God often spoke to me in dreams. I always appreciated them, but I never demanded or even expected them. Part of me figured he just wasn’t telling me about his plans for Grace. After all, he doesn’t owe me anything. So, even though it had happened before, the return of the cancer less than a year later caught us off-guard — it jolted and numbed us at the same time. The fact that we were dealing with cancer for the third time seemed completely unreal. But as we watched the medical procedures, we quickly knew that all of it was very real. We found some comfort that the third time they only found a grape-sized tumor. There would still be surgery, radiation and chemotherapy, but she had come through fine the other times, when the tumors were larger. The situation fell short of ideal, but it could have been worse. We knew to be thankful for the good news.

166 A Good Father

But by September of that year, more tumors appeared. I think we had a feeling the news would not be good the day we went to meet with our doctor, but we still hoped for a miracle. And we remained confident that God could deliver a miracle. But would he? As I yelled at the doctor that day to just wait and see how Grace would get better, part of me worried that the end had come, but most of me believed that our girl would recover. We kept praying for a miracle with our church family, but we also wanted to enjoy each day to the fullest in case it happened to be our last day with Grace. We did the “Make a Wish” trip to Disneyland. The trip amazed all of us. Grace rushed around from one character to another. Like many 4-year-old girls, she loved the princesses, as well as Mickey and Minnie. And our older girls were wonderful, enjoying it all with her. They never complained about anything, and they loved watching her enjoy all the sights and sounds. We laughed together and made some great memories. None of us wanted to return home to just wait for her to die. We celebrated Halloween with our little girl, going all out with decorations and costumes. She smiled and enjoyed every minute of it. We relished every moment we got with her.



167 #DENTONING

That November, we invited some friends over one night. We looked forward to enjoying some time together. And our kids fell around the same ages, so our girls enjoyed hanging out, too. Grace had a decent day. She tired easily due to the medications she took for pain control. She also needed to go to the bathroom constantly, due to a tumor sitting on her bladder. One time she asked me to take her, so I carried her frail body into the bathroom. “Daddy, can you shut the door so the guy out there doesn’t see me go potty?” I turned, but I didn’t see anyone there. Rather than argue, I shut the bathroom door while she went, and then I carried her back to the couch. She wanted to sit with her mom, so she snuggled with her. “I’d like to go sit in Daddy’s lap,” she said after a few minutes, struggling to get up. Her mom, with glistening tears, helped her walk back to me. Grace crawled into my lap and rested in my arms peacefully. At one point, I turned to look at her. Maybe I just sensed something. I looked at her chest as I always did to check her breathing. My own breath stopped as I realized her chest sat still. We called 911, and they came and attempted to resuscitate her, but Grace had already passed away as I held her. Her fight had ended. Our little girl had left us. The next few weeks passed in a blur.

168 A Good Father

Once again, church family surrounded us and wrapped us in love. We kept our girls close as we shared memories and tears. Stephanie seemed to struggle the most for several weeks. She’d shared a bedroom with Grace, and like all sisters, they had their squabbles. As the youngest, Grace seemed to possess a knack for getting under Stephanie’s skin, causing her to lose patience often. “I just keep remembering all of the times I said mean things to her. She wasn’t supposed to die. I should have been nicer to her.” We couldn’t assure her enough that she’d been a good sister. She remained inconsolable. Night after night, our daughter cried herself to sleep, feeling the guilt weighing on her. Until the night she dreamed. “Mom! Dad! I talked to Grace last night in my dream. I told her I was sorry for being a bad sister to her. She told me I was a good sister, and she wasn’t mad at me.” She stopped crying about it after that. We held a beautiful memorial service after Thanksgiving. Not only did people we never even expected show up to offer support, but we knew love by our church and friends. We held a time of worship, where we played music and sang to God about how much we loved him. While we still grieved for our little girl, we sensed God healing our pain. I still struggled to understand why God let it all happen. It might have been different if I hadn’t been so sure that he would heal our daughter. I had believed it so

169 #DENTONING completely, and I felt let down that God didn’t seem to care enough to heal her. Oh, son. No, I knew that you were the best dad for Grace. I knew that you would love her through it all and be the best support you could be. You did well. Those words sank down into my inner core, and I believed them. Then God brought to my mind a dream I’d had during Grace’s illness.

My family and a few church members are standing in the living room of a mobile home, praying. We are scared because a tornado is heading our way. We begin to pray. Then, the tornado passes, and all of us walk outside together with Grace riding on my shoulders. Everything around us is destroyed, but we all remain unharmed. Helpers show up and ask me where they can help, and I tell them to help all of the kids who need someone.

I woke up from that dream believing that God had shown me that Grace would be whole again and that our family would be intact. But now I wondered if God meant something else. I sensed God whisper to me, She IS whole again. And she is with me. There isn’t anywhere better for her. I know that you wanted her with you, but the time came for her to return to me. I realized that God had been there the whole time. And he healed her like we knew he would. He just chose to do so by taking her to heaven rather than leaving her on

170 A Good Father an earth filled with pain and suffering. How could we beat that for her? What the enemy meant for evil, God was turning for good.



There are still moments where the pain feels fresh, as if we just lost our Grace. And it is often little unexpected events or moments that drive the grief home all over again, even though it has been years since she passed away. The September after she died, I walked into a Walmart to pick up a few things. I turned and saw aisles of Halloween decorations, and the emotions hit me hard. All I could think about was the way we had all celebrated Halloween together right before Grace died. I cried hard as I finished my shopping and checked out. I’m sure I scared a few people with my apparent instability. As a family, we often find ourselves remembering little things that keep her memory alive. We laugh as we recall silly things she said or things she loved — the color purple, princesses and ponies. When we see something on TV or hear her favorite song on the radio, we all smile and look forward to the day we will see her again. There have been positive results from our ordeal. About a year after we lost our little girl, we decided to become foster parents.

171 #DENTONING

“Won’t the experience of having foster kids come into the home and then leave just make you relive the pain of losing your daughter?” the social worker asked us during our home study. “We lost our little girl, but we loved her fiercely while we had her. We wouldn’t trade the time we did get with her for anything. And we will feel the same way with any child who comes into our home. We will love them fiercely as long as we have them.” My wife’s words captured what both of our hearts felt. Remember your dream of telling helpers to look for the kids who need help? That is what you are doing. In addition to having foster children in our home, we continued to serve in The Bridge. How could we not give back to the place full of people who had surrounded us in our darkest time and showed us the love of God? And, as we served and talked about our pain of losing our daughter, we shared about the father that God has been to us. Just as Grace loved to sit on my lap, we can sit in the father’s presence and enjoy his love — without fear. Someone even accepted a relationship with God after hearing our story and realizing all that we went through and the way that God loved us through it all. When we tell people our story, they often ask us how our marriage is. We researched the statistics on marriages after the death of a child, and the odds were definitely stacked against us. Not only do a high percentage of marriages end in divorce, but many times one of the parents will develop a

172 A Good Father life-threatening disease. This is simply due to the stress of living through a child dying. “God never meant for us to experience death and grief. He wanted us to live forever and be perfect. But our sin and mistakes prevented that from happening when Adam and Eve disobeyed God in the Garden of Eden. Death and grief became a consequence, but it is still not how God designed it,” I recently explained to a grief group. “This is why we turn to God and our spouses to get through it all. We can’t carry it on our own,” Dawn added. Later that night, we talked about how we had avoided adding to the statistics for divorce or illness. “God just carried us. When you admitted your anger with him, you shared honestly, and he reached out to you. He rebuilt our faith and met us like the good father that he is. He has sustained us,” Dawn pointed out. “And it seemed like when one of us struggled and felt weak in our faith, the other seemed to be in a better place of trust. We balanced each other out,” I said. “Well, God balanced us — he made us partners and strengthened our partnership.” “And he gave us this boy we are caring for now. We can show him love and give him a safe place to live.” “We have been able to open up our hearts and home because of the love that God has poured out to heal us.”



173 #DENTONING

“Two hundred and fifty-one, 252! That’s the last one. Look at them all! The kids are going to love them!” People filled the living room floor with a sea of fluffy stuffed animals waiting to be given to their new friends at Cook’s Children’s Hospital. It’s hard to believe so many people still donate in Grace’s memory year after year. “Here’s a purple sock monkey. Make sure that one goes to the oncology floor. You know how Grace loved monkeys.” We all smile and laugh. “Probably because she was a monkey!” Grace opened presents better than anyone in the world. She would take a gift into her lap with gratefulness and then rip into it with big eyes of anticipation and pull the gift out with the widest cheek-to-cheek grin. I have learned that God is a good Father who knows how to give good gifts. Even through the worst pain and unthinkable circumstances life dishes out, his grace is turning all of our charred ashes into magnificent beauty.

174 Juggling The Story of Justin Written by Ruth Ford

I stared at the pile of mail on my desk. An official- looking envelope topped the stack. The return address read “IRS.” I sighed, knowing that it wouldn’t hold good news. Might as well open it. Waiting won’t make it go away. I ripped the back flap and unfolded the enclosed paper to read the numbers. My tax debt had ballooned to $200,000. I closed my eyes and leaned my head back. I felt so weary from all the juggling. My finances. My relationships. My life. Come on, Justin! You can do this! You’ve got to keep all these balls in the air!



I started juggling even before I became a teenager — not balls, bowling pins or knives like a circus performer. No. Whatever life threw at me. Just before my 12th birthday, I sprinted home from school one day and launched myself from the bright sunshine through the front door of our small trailer home. As I paused, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the dimness, I noticed Dad’s clothes and personal items piled on the

175 #DENTONING dining-room table. He usually kept them tucked away in the back bedroom that he shared with Mom. My mind raced, but my feet felt too heavy to move. Mom and Dad had been isolating themselves a lot behind the closed door to their room. The drone of their endless conversations made me queasy. Dave and Tom said their parents are splitting up. I wonder if that’s happening to us. Mom appeared in the doorway, and I pointed toward the table. “So, I see Dad’s stuff there. What does that mean? Is he moving out? Are you getting a divorce?” Mom shook her head. “No, Justin. We’ve just been disagreeing about a lot of things lately. We still love you and your brother and your sister, but we’re going to take a little break from each other.” She tried to smile. “We’ll see how things go.” Dad moved out, but he never moved back in. After a while, they did divorce, and although Mom and Dad both tried to reassure my siblings and me about how much they loved us, something felt incomplete. I stared at my blue eyes in the bathroom mirror one morning as I combed my hair. You just can’t trust people to stick around. I’ll never rely on anyone again. I’m just going to take care of myself. I vowed to learn to manage and control my life. I would figure out how to juggle whatever life threw at me.



176 Juggling

Dad stood tall in my life as my hero, so his absence left me feeling unsettled and incomplete. He had started his career as a welder in his late teens. He worked long days, but I looked forward to his evening homecoming. His jeans and pocket tees smelled of dust, sweat and heat, but I loved his hugs. I always knew Dad as a hugger, but he says that wasn’t always true. He says that one day he was acting like a smart aleck at his job, and an older man pulled him aside and said, “That kind of behavior doesn’t make you a man, you know.” Dad ignored him at first, but the conversation stuck with him. About a year later, he returned to that man and started asking questions. Dad says those conversations began a process that made him want to change. Then one day, the man put his arm around Dad’s shoulders. Dad pulled away. “What are you doing?” “Just trying to give you a hug.” Dad moved back even farther. “I don’t hug anyone!” The older man cocked his head. “No one? Not even your wife or your son?” “Nope! I didn’t grow up with that, and I don’t do it!” “Well, maybe you should.” I was 3 years old the first time my dad hugged me. He says it was one of the hardest things he ever did, but he never regretted it. And he never went back to his old ways. As long as I can remember, we’ve been a family of huggers.

177 #DENTONING



I still don’t know everything that happened between Mom and Dad, but I appreciate their choice to avoid including me and my siblings in their disagreement. We three kids stayed with Mom as she finished her two-year degree, and then we moved with her when she attended a different college, completing her bachelor’s degree. We moved with her again when she found a job in Texas. Even though my dad remarried, he stayed in touch with us through all those moves, and we often visited him, especially during our summer vacations from school. My parents didn’t ever talk trash about each other, and they didn’t fight for our attention. Still, I felt like my family relationships hovered around me, like balls in the air. This one rested briefly in my hand, then this one, then this one. Can’t drop any of them. I didn’t want to hurt my mom by admitting that I liked my stepmom, Ginny, so my visits with Dad sometimes reflected my own ambivalence. I think my brother and sister mirrored my negative attitude. Finally, Ginny gathered us three children around her. “You don’t have to call me Mom …” she began. Whew! I sighed internally and visibly relaxed. Ginny continued looking at each of us, gazing solemnly until we met her eyes. “But I would really like to have the respect that I deserve as your father’s wife.”

178 Juggling

Little by little, as Ginny honestly and consistently welcomed us into the home that she shared with my dad, my defenses disintegrated. As I entered my sophomore year in high school, I moved in with Dad and Ginny and stayed with them for two full years. Ginny had been in a difficult relationship before she met my dad, and she’d also battled some addictions. She drew strength from her faith in God, admitting that many of her previous choices opposed God’s desires for her. She understood that, through his death, Jesus paid the penalty for every action or attitude that separated her from God. And she trusted that, because she asked for forgiveness, she now enjoyed a relationship with God and had been adopted into his family. “I’m not the same woman I used to be,” she said. And she proved her commitment by her new choices. Dad worked 12 to 14 hours each day, so Ginny and I spent a lot of time together in those two years that I lived with them. “How do you want to dress for Halloween?” she asked one day. I shrugged. “Hadn’t really thought about it.” Ginny’s eyes sparkled. “I have an idea.” She held up a bag from which she pulled a dress and some makeup. “I’ll help you. They’ll never know who you are!” Ginny also helped me bleach my hair in the summer, and she proposed a myriad of fun suggestions. Her efforts and enthusiasm helped me return her love and acceptance.

179 #DENTONING

In the midst of that, she also taught me how much God loved me. And she began teaching me what God expects from people who claim to follow him. “Tomorrow, Justin, you’re going to start reading the Bible with me,” she said. I respected her too much to refuse. When I started earning money by mowing lawns, she pulled me aside. “Do you know about tithing?” I shook my head. “Nope.” “Well, today you’re going to learn.” Ginny explained that “tithe” simply means “one- tenth.” She showed me places in the Bible that described keeping 90 percent of whatever God gives you but returning 10 percent to God by giving it to a church or ministry. Then she honed in on my new employment. “How much did you make today?” I shrugged. “Five dollars.” “Do the math. What’s 10 percent of that?” “Fifty cents.” She smiled. “Then that’s what you’re going to put in the offering plate on Sunday.” I grunted an objection, but I knew she meant what she said. So I acquiesced. My two quarters went in the offering plate the following Sunday, and as long as I lived with Dad and Ginny, they reinforced that habit. I didn’t understand until later the importance of the principles that Ginny taught me.



180 Juggling

Mom also eventually remarried, and I returned to Texas so that I could live with her and my stepdad, helping them to establish their new business. I entered my final year of high school. Separated from Ginny’s and Dad’s influence, I engaged in some behaviors that I knew wouldn’t win their approval. I never became a big-time partier, but I did drink occasionally, and I smoked cigarettes and sometimes indulged in marijuana. My mom and stepdad attended church, but their faith wasn’t as obvious as Ginny’s, and they didn’t hold me accountable for my choices. One evening, I returned home around 9 p.m. I called several friends, but no one answered. I sighed. Guess I’ll just watch TV. I ambled back to the bedroom that I shared with my brother and laid on my bunk. I flipped on the TV that we shared, and I still don’t really know why, but I flicked through the stations and finally tuned in to a Christian network that was familiar, because I watched it with Ginny. I fluffed the pillow behind me so I could sit up a bit, and I turned my attention to the speaker. “Some of you are watching tonight, and you know you’ve thought or said or done things that are the opposite of what Jesus wanted for you. Maybe you’ve never asked Jesus to forgive you.” I held my breath, certain he was speaking to me. “Maybe you know about Jesus, but you don’t really know Jesus. Well, I have good news for you! You can pray

181 #DENTONING with me tonight and give your heart to Jesus. You can ask him to live inside you and guide you forever.” The speaker invited viewers to pray with him — to say the words after him — and so I did. “Dear Jesus, I’m sorry that I’ve done things my own way rather than yours. I want you to come into my heart and change me.” As soon as I said “Amen,” I felt a sense of release. I took a deep breath and smiled. Mom and my stepdad had already fallen asleep, and my siblings were out, so I couldn’t tell anyone what I’d done. I went to bed, but I woke up the next morning and smiled. I need to call Ginny! I dialed the number. “Ginny, guess what! Last night I accepted Jesus into my heart.” “That’s wonderful! Your father will be excited to hear that, too!” She prayed with me, and then I went about my day. That evening, my dad called. “Son, I’m proud of your decision!” He prayed with me as well. A few days later, a package arrived in the mail. When I pulled open the brown paper wrapper, I found a Bible.



I did occasionally open that Bible and read a bit, but I didn’t have anyone to help me understand it or encourage me and help me understand God’s principles for life. A few months later, one of my friends called. “Hey, you want to go out?”

182 Juggling

I met him at a local pool hall. Neon lights blinked in the front window. Smoke enveloped me as I entered the front door. I squinted and peered through the haze until I spotted my friend. Someone accompanied him. I waved as I made my way to the table. He nodded to me. “Justin, this is Samantha.” I smiled at her, and she smiled back. My friend racked up the 15 balls, forming a triangle at one end of the table. He picked up a cue stick and brushed chalk on the end of it. “I’ll break.” I don’t really remember how many games we played or who won, but I do remember Samantha. “Samantha lives just around the corner from you,” my friend said. “How come I’ve never seen you?” I asked her. “Maybe because I don’t go to your school,” she answered. For a couple of months, the three of us hung out together on weekends, and then I invited Samantha to go out with me for dinner. Soon we dated steadily, and within a few months, she informed me that I would be a father.



Mom blinked when I told her. “Did you just say Samantha is pregnant?” I nodded. “You know, they may not put your name on the birth certificate if you aren’t married.”

183 #DENTONING

I hadn’t even considered that possibility. I think I love Samantha. We’ll get married eventually, anyway. Why not now? Samantha was halfway through her pregnancy when we married, and my first daughter burst into this world on New Year’s Day. Two years later, life gave me another ball to juggle when my second daughter arrived. I don’t want to be like my dad! I knew when he left, he didn’t mean to hurt me, yet I still felt the sting of his absence after my parents’ divorce. I want to be there for my girls. I want to spend more time with them. My father-in-law owned a small plumbing company. “Why don’t you come work for me?” he asked. “You can make a lot more money this way.” I considered his offer. I knew my way around a toolbox. I thought I could be successful in that line of employment. Plus, it will give me more control over my schedule. I focused on being available to my daughters, so I said yes.



I worked for my father-in-law for a few years, and then a door opened for employment with a plumbing corporation. In the four years that I worked there, I pursued the various licenses necessary to become a plumbing contractor, and then I opened my own business. If my kids needed me, I wouldn’t even have to ask for time off. I could just go. I could juggle my time and manipulate my schedule.

184 Juggling

Samantha and I had some great times together, and I felt good putting my all into our marriage. But in the midst of pulling together all these positive changes, another reality hit me. Our budget didn’t add up. I kept giving Samantha money to pay our bills, but we were falling behind. One of my wife’s friends approached me. “Did you know that Samantha bought herself a new necklace?” That was news to me. Then another one came. “You remember that guy Samantha used to run around with? He’s in jail now, and she’s buying things for him.” Samantha denied it all, but eventually I confronted her about her lies. So while my business came together, my marriage fell apart. One month after I started my own plumbing company, Samantha and I divorced. My daughters remained my top priority, so I left everything in the house except my tools and my clothes. I continued paying their rent. Under our custody agreement, my girls lived with Samantha, but they visited me on weekends and often on weeknights as well. It’s best for everyone. Everything is under control. All balls still in the air.



The first year, my new company demonstrated only slow growth, but I enjoyed having time to spend with my girls. Eventually, I met a concrete contractor who took on

185 #DENTONING a job that required tearing down one building and using a lot of the materials to construct a new building. The crew lagged several months behind schedule. I’d never worked on a commercial job before, but I decided to bid on the plumbing part of the contract. I won the bid, and soon two of us worked on-site at the new building, charging $400 to $500 per hour to install everything the other company was uninstalling at the old building. We earned tens of thousands of dollars in just a few months. This is pure cash! I reveled in the money. I stopped by the car dealership and pointed out a vehicle. “I want to buy that one.” “Great! Let’s go in and work out the financing.” I smiled. “I’ll pay cash.” I felt intoxicated with the newfound ability to purchase my way to a sense of well-being and fulfillment. I assumed the following year would prove to be just as lucrative and that I could juggle the finances to catch up with taxes later.



That’s about the time that I noticed Marilyn. I’d known her for a long time. In fact, for several years she worked for my mom and stepdad as a secretary in their business. My stepdad planned an out-of-town trip, and he asked me to stop in at the business in the evenings to check the paperwork and do other required tasks. The first night I walked into the office, Marilyn was working with a

186 Juggling team of five or six telemarketers, dialing and conversing with prospective clients. I waved, and she acknowledged my greeting. Wow — she’s beautiful! I returned every night that week to complete paperwork for my stepdad. And each evening, I learned a little more about Marilyn. She’d recently exited a bad relationship. She had three children. After a short time, I asked her out, and before long, we were seeing each other regularly. With my newfound wealth, I purchased jewelry for her, and we took vacations. On the surface, everything added up. Money flowed. We felt a sense of freedom — until it came time to catch up on the taxes.



I pulled out a pen and prepared to write another check to the Internal Revenue Service. “One thousand and xx/100 dollars.” For a couple of years, the IRS allowed me to pay my back taxes and my current taxes in one lump sum. I sent in at least $1,000 each month, often more, totaling anywhere from $12,000 to $20,000 per year, yet I was still barely covering the interest that I owed. I made very little progress on the principal. And because I already assigned so much income to those payments, I also fell behind on the current taxes. Through all of that, Marilyn and I continued dating.

187 #DENTONING

After a few years, she asked a serious question. “Have you ever thought about getting married again?” I hesitated. “Um, no.” “Well, maybe you’d better start thinking about it.” Finally, she gave me an ultimatum. “I don’t want to date anymore. I want to get married. So if that’s not happening, I’m moving on.” So we married, and my family swelled from two kids to five as we blended our families. And still, despite sending huge chunks of money to the IRS on a monthly basis, my tax burden kept swelling. I learned something about juggling — it requires a lot of focus, and it burns a lot of energy, but it doesn’t produce much forward momentum. Despite my constant reorganization of resources, I couldn’t imagine that I would ever be free from the overwhelming debt.



Marilyn and I had been married almost five years when Ginny passed away. She battled cancer, so her death didn’t surprise us, but it still left me feeling empty. My family traveled to Wyoming for the funeral. We entered a church that had previously served as a furniture store. The commercial lighting remained from the building’s previous purpose, casting a bright glow over the stage. Dad and Ginny had participated in a church in Montana before moving to Wyoming, and many of their friends

188 Juggling from both groups came to honor and remember my stepmom. Because she understood her situation, Ginny had planned her own funeral service. She asked for someone to lead the crowd in singing a few traditional hymns, and she requested that the pastor would explain how a person could enter into a relationship with God. Our whole family wept together that day, and Dad sat beside me, gripping my hand as the pastor explained that we all have behaved in selfish ways, choosing to pursue our own desires rather than God’s. He also said that we all need to understand that God loves us and will forgive those choices. “Ginny would want you all to know that you can experience the joy of forgiveness today. All you have to do is ask.” As the ceremony moved toward its conclusion, something clicked inside me. I felt like someone had paused a movie, and everything stood still. Then, I heard a voice whispering my name. Justin? I held my breath. Justin? I knew no one else could hear the voice, because it was coming from inside my mind or my heart. The voice was warm and personal, and it knew my name. Justin? And so I answered — not out loud, but inside. Hello? You haven’t been doing the things Ginny taught you. I didn’t respond at first, because the voice told the absolute truth. Finally, I admitted it. No, I haven’t.

189 #DENTONING

The warmth in the voice didn’t fade at all. If anything, it grew richer. When you get home, I want you to take your family back to church. And then the movie went back to “play,” and the funeral continued. But in my heart, I knew that life would change when we returned to Texas.



When I returned home, I found the Bible that Ginny had sent me so many years earlier. I discovered multiple places where she’d underlined portions and written notes in the margins to help me understand. Soon after we got home, I gathered my family around the table in our home in Texas. “I just want everyone to know, we’re making some changes. We’ve been attending church at Christmas and Easter. Now we’re going to choose a church that we can agree on, and we’re going to attend regularly. We’re going to be serious about this. We’re not going just to see what it’s all about. We’re going all in. We’re going to be committed.” We all knew The Bridge Church, which was located relatively close to our home. My girls had attended the youth group for about five years, but they hadn’t visited for a while. They suggested we might enjoy it. That first Sunday, Ginny’s lessons came back to my mind. Do you know about tithing? Well, today you’re going to learn.

190 Juggling

I took out a calculator and added up my income from that week. I divided that by 10, and wrote the check, carefully making it out to The Bridge Church. Given our financial situation, I struggled to make that choice. But when we got to church and the time came to give, I added my check in faith. That marked the first time in nine years that I tithed.



Within a year, my family and I became fully engaged in The Bridge Church, and we actively served our pastors and our friends in many ways. We continued tithing, making it a priority in spite of our financial difficulties. The first day of July in the following year, I received a notification from the IRS. In spite of all those years of sending as much as I could to pay off my tax debt, I still owed $200,000. The IRS responded to my situation with a new requirement. Independent contractors like me are paid on the basis of specific jobs performed, but we are not on payroll with the individuals or businesses that hire us. So the IRS has a specific set of forms that apply to people like me. Businesses hiring independent contractors use a W-9 form to collect information necessary to notify the IRS regarding amounts paid to the contractors. This gives the IRS the necessary information to collect the resulting taxes. Because my tax burden had reached such a large

191 #DENTONING amount, and because I had failed to make a significant dent in the principal, the IRS sent letters to businesses that had hired me as a contractor for specific jobs. From then on, those businesses were told to send my payments directly to the IRS rather than to me. My income dropped to zero.



I immediately called the IRS to talk to an agent. My income ceased, but I remained committed to specific jobs. I continued spending money on materials, with nothing coming in to replace it. I called the IRS daily, with no response. Finally, about two weeks later, I reached an agent. “I’m sorry, sir. I really can’t talk to you today. It’s after hours here, and I’m off the clock. I’m going on vacation tomorrow, but I’ll call you back in a week.” Still no resolution. Still no income. I couldn’t remember any time in my life that I had encountered more difficult challenges. In the face of this discouragement, Marilyn and I decided we wanted to go deeper in our relationship with God. The following day we went to church for a rigorous seven-day training event called Life Transformation School (LTS). It’s not required at The Bridge Church, but it’s a great opportunity for people to immerse themselves in Biblical truth, learning more and more about the different ways God wants to express his love in our lives. It

192 Juggling helps people who have accepted Jesus’ offer of forgiveness to understand their new identity as part of God’s family. Near the end of the seven days of training, each participant scheduled a one-on-one appointment with a mentor to receive additional insight on any specific issues that came up during the classes. The night before my pastoral session, I received a general list of potential items that people often need to address. Accompanying the list were these instructions: “Pray as you go through this list, and then tomorrow we’ll talk about anything that comes to your mind.” I followed the instructions. I prayed through the list. And the next day, when I went to my appointment, I planned to discuss a specific topic.



My appointment took place in one of the children’s group rooms at the church. The room was brightly painted with various characters that would be attractive to youngsters. The mentor sat near me, and we prayed together. Then he asked me about the list. I nodded. “Something came to my mind last night, and it kind of surprised me.” I explained about my parents’ divorce. “I really do have a great relationship with both my mom and my dad, but I realized last night that when my dad left, I decided I would never fully trust anyone ever again. I wouldn’t rely on anybody. I’d be self-sufficient and take care of myself.”

193 #DENTONING

The pastor nodded. “That’s a deep insight, and it’s something we’ll pray about together.” We bowed our heads in that children’s room, and we prayed about my childhood. We prayed for the father whose departure ruptured the boy’s trust and confidence. We prayed for the boy who felt the need to learn to juggle life, to keep balls in the air, to manage and control circumstances. And we prayed that the God who made both father and son would heal any inner turmoil that remained from the fractures that occurred so many years before. I asked God to forgive me for any bitterness I carried against my parents, especially my dad. The mentor suggested that I call Dad and tell him about the meeting. I swallowed hard before I punched his number into my phone. We embarked on a difficult conversation, but the result made it worth the effort. “I’m so sorry, son. I hope you can forgive me.” We prayed together, and our relationship felt fresh. We released the past and chose to look forward.



At LTS, the mentor finished praying with me about the situation with my dad. Then he leaned back in his chair. “I’m not sure we’re done yet. I feel like there might be something else we need to talk and pray about.” I hesitated. “Well, I do have an ongoing situation with the IRS.”

194 Juggling

I explained about the accumulation of debt. I told him about the years of sending payments, to no avail. I described the current situation, with continuing expenses but no income. He prayed again, asking God to bring what he called “supernatural resolution” to my tremendously difficult situation. When he lifted his head, he paused and said, “I know a Christian lady who is a tax preparer. In fact, she’s been attending the LTS classes. When we meet again, remind me to introduce her to you.” I met the woman at the next LTS evening and briefly described my situation. She handed me her business card. “Come to my office tomorrow.” The drive from my home to her office required about an hour. I brought all my documentation and handed it to her. She scanned it. “I think we can do something about this.” Relief welled up inside, almost choking me. I blinked hard as I shook her hand. “Thank you so much!” And thank you, God! I returned to my truck and started the return trip home. About halfway there, my cellphone rang. The caller identified herself as the IRS agent I had reached previously. As promised, she phoned me when she returned from vacation. “As I recall, you have a debt, and we need to talk about how to resolve it.” I’m sure the relief welling up in me must have spilled into my voice as I replied, “I just left an appointment with

195 #DENTONING a tax preparer, and she told me to refer all questions to her.” I gave the agent her phone number. Within three days, that woman brokered a deal allowing me to resume receiving payments. We were approaching the beginning of the month, when bills would all be due again. I had fostered good relationships with the people I served. Throughout the preceding month, I held back on issuing invoices, and they reserved the money owed. Now I could bill them. We were back in business.



My family still faced financial challenges. I needed to pay the tax preparer to continue representing us. “Don’t quit making your payments to the IRS,” she said, “because if you do, there’s not much I can do to help you. You have to show that you’re making an effort.” I also continued tithing. Sometimes I questioned that decision, but I remembered Ginny’s training. I didn’t miss an opportunity to put my check in the donation bucket. And I met regularly with three men from my church who prayed with me over these issues, and they also held me accountable to some degree for my choices. They helped me keep my life in balance. My tax preparer worked with the IRS for more than a year. I continued making payments, as she suggested. Around Thanksgiving, she completed the negotiations

196 Juggling that would set me free from the burden of debt. The IRS agreed to accept $11,000 to cover the $200,000 debt. I could make payments over a two-year period, and they’d charge me no interest. After I received this decision from the IRS, my business blossomed. I actually quit advertising, because word-of-mouth recommendations brought me more business than I’d ever known. I did some calculations and discovered my income tripled the amount earned in the same period the previous year. A miracle can be defined as an advantageous event that requires a supernatural source. Miracles happen when people mysteriously rebound from sickness. They happen on highways, when vehicles that are headed directly toward one another mysteriously don’t collide. In my case, I’m certain that a miracle happened when my overwhelming debt dropped to a little more than 5 percent of the original amount. I thank God regularly for bringing the people into my life to represent me. But I also believe that he directly intervened, releasing me from the tremendous burden that I carried for so many years.



About six months into my payment plan to eliminate that final $11,000 of tax debt, Marilyn and I, along with two of our children, traveled with teams from The Bridge Church to different areas of the world. Marilyn went to

197 #DENTONING

Central America, one child stayed in Miami and the other went with me to a poor country in Africa. Before we left, I hired a new employee to help with my business. He’d handle jobs and paperwork in my absence, and I couldn’t even call to check on his progress. I felt responsible to guide and protect my family, but we were spread out all over the world. I started praying to God about the concerns that nibbled at my mind and caused me to feel a familiar uneasiness. What do you want me to do, God? How can I focus on what you want for me to do here, when my mind is caught up in these other worries? A specific image filled my mind. I could see my hands moving in front of me, grabbing balls and lofting them back into the air. Catching, tossing, catching, tossing — juggling. As I watched, suddenly my hands pulled back, and I felt the edge of panic with all the balls in the air simultaneously. They’re going to fall! But they didn’t. Another pair of hands came from behind me, replacing mine. Two hands adeptly held all those balls. My pastor says sometimes you just “know something in your knower.” That’s how I felt that day. I “knew in my knower” that those hands belonged to God and that he would not drop anything. He would never leave. He would never disappear.

198 Juggling

Still, my empty hands felt useless, just hanging by my side. If you’re going to hold all those balls, then what’s left for me to do? I’m pretty sure God laughed and pointed to one ball resting atop the heap. See that one right there? I nodded. That’s the one I want you to hold right now. It’s a soccer ball. Go use it to play with a group of local children. I learned that day that I like soccer a lot better than I like juggling.

199

#DENTONING

200 Conclusion

Denton County is special to us because it’s an amalgamation of diverse culture, colorful history and converging destiny. You’ve seen through these stories how God can take all the different details of someone’s life — good and bad — and transform them into something extraordinarily beautiful. Beautiful isn’t necessarily the religious, cookie-cutter life that people sometimes think of when they think of God. Beautiful is messy. It is an authentic relationship that’s not afraid of real problems and real feelings. What if I told you that you matter to God — even if he doesn’t matter to you? What if he really knows your name, knows your hopes and dreams and has been there all along — inviting you into a place of belonging, not into an organization or into a religion, but into a real relationship. Into a real family. This is the reality that many people in Denton County have found at The Bridge Church. Our mission is to connect people of all ages, all races and all kinds to a fullness of life. Every Sunday at The Bridge, we end our service with the phrase, “We love you, and there’s nothing you can do about it.” We say this because that’s the kind of unconditional love that God the Father showers on us. No matter what

201 #DENTONING you’ve done, been through, said or thought, he loves you, and there’s nothing you can do to change it. He has a good purpose for your life that’s beyond what you could ever dare to dream of or request. “Now glory be to God, who by his mighty power at work within us is able to do far more than we would ever dare to ask or even dream of — infinitely beyond our highest prayers, desires, thoughts, or hopes” (Ephesians 3:20 Living Translation). Now it’s your turn. What is your story? Maybe you’ve been #dentoning with no real purpose. You, too, can discover a new life beyond what you’ve known. It begins with believing that God loves you so much that he sent his son, Jesus — not to condemn you, but to rescue you and save you (John 3:16-17). The Bible reads, “If you confess with your mouth and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved” (Romans 10:9 NLT). It’s not hard or complicated, and it all starts with a heartfelt prayer:

Jesus, I ask you to come and change me. I’ve tried to change myself, and I’m surrendering to you. I believe that you love me and you died on the cross in my place to bring me back into a real relationship with you. Forgive me for how I’ve sinned and damaged myself and others. I ask you, Jesus, to be Lord of my life and to give me a new heart. Come and live in me, and help me to know you’re with me now. I believe you have a great purpose for my

202 Conclusion life beyond what I can imagine. Rewrite my story. Take all the good, the bad and the ugly to make my life beautiful and whole before you.

We would love to meet you! Come as you are. There’s no need to dress up or be something you’re not. God has a great purpose for your life. We can’t wait to see how your story will unfold. Let’s keep #dentoning together!

Pastor Duane & Kris White The Bridge Church findthebridge.com

203

#DENTONING

204

We’d love to meet you!

The Bridge Church www.findthebridge.com [email protected] 940-735-2080

We are located at 4582 Fishtrap Road Denton, TX 76208

Watch our latest messages online and check for current service times.

205