The Truth About Grief

"Some things in life cannot be fixed. 

They can only be carried."

~Megan Devine

There are days when I feel like we are on the uphill side of this.

Days when things feel "normal".

Days when I can see glimpses of our life before grief.

Then there are all the other days.

Days when I feel like for every five steps we take forward-we also somehow manage to take a hundred steps back.

Days when the only thing getting us out of bed in the morning is grace.

I'd be lying if I told you that my type A personality didn't want to plan this out.

To put grief in nice, organized little boxes.

To define how we are going to feel and when we are going to feel it.

I want to take each step of the grieving process and somehow rush us through.

Not because I don't care.

But, because there is nothing worse than watching someone you love go through something that you can't fix or take away.

Sometimes I feel like if we can just get through all the steps-sooner rather than later-then maybe we can salvage what's left of the old parts of ourselves.

The people we were before the grief completely broke and changed us.

Because that's the thing about grief-it changes you.

It takes the core of who you are, and carves you into something different.

Something you never thought existed within you.

And when I look in the mirror, I stare at this thing I've become.

I touch her skin.

I run my fingers along the stress acne on her chin, the deeper lines around her eyes, and the furrowed crease in her forehead.

I see the heaviness in her shoulders, and darkness in her eyes.

And when I look at her I realize the hard truth of it is this: there is no "going back".

There is only "before" and there is only "after".

No moment when we will wake up and things will be exactly the way they once were.

Grief has become a thread we have woven into our tapestry whether we like the color of it or not.

There is no "getting over" it.

There is no magical ten-step plan that will make it go away.

It has bound itself to us, and we have bound ourselves to it.

We must resign ourselves to accept it, and the fact that it will always be there-melded to our shadows.

A reminder of our "before" while we move forward into our "after".

These are the things they don't teach you in marriage counseling.

This conversation doesn't come up in the midst of managing your money and learning to fight fair.

And in many ways, no one can ever prepare you for grief and the toll it will take.

No one. 

So, we do the only thing we can do.

We hobble together our broken pieces, and hide our monsters in our least conspicuous places.

We wring our hands and we take deep breaths.

And we sojourn on.

Forward.

Always forward. 

Because the truth about grief is this: I know as little about it now as I did 12 months ago.

And the days when I think I understand it are the days when it throws me another curve ball.

And it's usually something I never saw coming.

So, we re-adjust.

We make more room.

We learn to live with a little more ache, and a touch more limp in our gait.

And all the while, we slowly, but surely make our way.

Forward.

Always forward. 

And the only thing that propels me-that keeps me putting one foot in front of the other-is this truth: that someday forward won't always seem so hard.

Maybe not tomorrow or the day after.

Maybe not six months from now.

But, I know someday forward won't be the most painful thing we do every single day.

And eventually our limp won't be quite so noticeable, and we will learn to love the people we've become.

People who have been refined by the fire.

People who went to battle with grief, and who came out on the other side stronger, wiser, and more compassionate for those who will someday walk a journey just like ours.

But, for now we will just focus on forward.

On one step.

One moment.

One day at a time.

And I will hold onto the good days, and wash my face after the bad ones.

I will cling to the promise that His mercies are new every single morning.

I will take more deep breaths and keep being faithful in this valley.

And I will fix my eyes on the horizon, because that's where I see it best.

Someday.

I know it's coming.

It just hasn't gotten here yet.

Things I Don't Say Out Loud

"I can say with great certainty and absolute honesty
that I did not know what love was until I knew what love was not."
~P.T. Berkey

We all have that one person we don't really talk about.

For me that person is you.

It will always be you. 

It's been 4 years.

Four.

When I choose to go there, I remember every single moment of every single second of that day.

That day is full of images and feelings my mind and my heart just cannot shake.

Trust me. I've tried. 

If I could sit down across the table from you, the first thing I would do is stare straight into your eyes.

Eyes that used to bring me to my knees.

Eyes that could convince me to do anything you wanted.

Eyes that were always so sincere even when they lied. 

I would wonder if there was ever a soul in their depths even though I would already know the answer.

I would wonder if-even for one single moment of the past four years- tears had formed in their corners at the thought of me.

I would wonder if you ever felt guilt.

The kind of guilt that lingers and waits patiently for you in the dark.

Do you-even for a split second-think about all the lies you've told?

Lies carefully crafted to make you sleep better at night.

How is that working for you?

From the outside, it seems to be working well.

I mean, thank God you're not me.

The shade of victim you're wearing is so becoming on you.

Really.

I wish I had the guts to pull it off.

But, I know every story needs a villain.

Someone or something for "true love" to conquer.

Because without it the ending would never be "happy".

I have resigned myself to being the villain for you.

It suites me better anyways.

And honestly, I never got the chance to play the other part.

I was too busy picking up all the pieces and hobbling together a life for myself that I had almost forgotten all about you.

Almost. 

You know, I read somewhere that strength is being able to forgive someone who is not sorry.

And if I was being honest, I would tell you that I have spent every single day of the last 4 years and 6 months trying to forgive you.

Really, truly forgive you.

I used to tell myself that I had, but honestly all I had done is bury it deep inside somewhere, and I never allowed myself to think about it or acknowledge it.

Because we all have chapters in our story that we don't want to read out loud.

For me, you are that chapter.

Because that chapter brings me to tears.

Tears for what could have been.

Tears for what never was.

Tears for the lies.

Tears for the girl who believed them.

You know I thought by now I would be able to sit across the table from you and wish you the best.

That if I really loved you a part of me would want you to be happy.

To embrace all the beauty that life has for you.

I thought that I would get to a place where I could extend you the grace that has been so graciously extended to me.

But, as I type this 4 1/2 years later I can say with absolute certainty that I'm not there yet.

And I don't know if I ever will be.

I know I should.

I know it's the "right" thing to do.

I know I have so many things for which to be thankful.

I know that this life 1,602 days later looks a hell of a lot better than I thought it would on the day you tried to destroy me.

I know all of these things.

And when I push all of this down deep and I don't think about it, I can almost convince myself that I have accepted those truths.

But, then the long nights come.

Or a memory, or a song, or a place reaches out and slaps me straight across the face.

And you know what?

It still knocks the wind out of me.

It leaves me breathless and angry.

I know it's me who still chooses to give you that power.

The power to dictate how I feel about things that you don't even care about from thousands of miles away.

Things you've tucked away and pretend never happened.

Things that once made up the plot line of a fairytale that suddenly turned into a nightmare.

A glorious charade.

Because that's all it was, right?

A charade.

A storyline that stroked your ego.

You loved pretending to be the hero.

The person sweeping in to "save" me.

It gave you purpose.

Until that purpose no longer served you.

And the princess you were "saving" was left with nothing more than a broken heart and a new life that was built on empty promises you never intended to keep.

But, you're right.

100%.

I'm the villain.

The homewrecker.

The girl in this town with a reputation I will never quite be able to shake.

All of it.

Every single moment was all my fault.

I brought this on myself.

When they build a statue to your piety and perfection will you be sure to let me know?

I'll want to send a card.

A card to express my condolences. 

My condolences for the for the life you've chosen to live.

A life full of lies and moments that you will never, ever get back.

A life without merit or even a vapor of anything noteworthy or honorable.

Because while you were choosing that life, I was choosing to rebuild mine.

Stone by stone.

Broken piece by broken piece.

While you were hiding in the shadows, I chose to step into the Light.

I was tired of the dark.

While you chose to run, I chose to face them.

Every single one.

Eye to eye.

Fist to fist.

While you chose easy, I chose hard.

And God was it hard.

So freaking hard.

While you chose false "faith", I chose the real thing.

Because honestly, grace was the only thing getting me out of bed in the morning.

While you chose fake, I chose real.

And it came in the form of the truest, purest love I have ever known.

So, yeah.

You have my condolences.

Because I would rather live a life that is hard and worth talking about.

Than whatever it is that your doing.

Because talking about your story.

Stories about boys just like you.

Who broke girls just like me.

And how girls just like me lived to tell about it.

Those stories-they change lives.

And those types of stories can only be told by those of us who are not afraid to tell them.

So, while you wallow in fear with all of your lies.

I'll be over here.

On top of my mountain.

Thankful that I have always been brave enough to own my truth.

And you know, if I ever got the chance to sit down across the table from you, I'm pretty sure I would tell you that.

All of it.

Every single word. 

Beauty

This beauty.

Born of love. 

Forged by fire. 

My greatest accomplishment to date. 

I watch her sleep and wonder about the mountains she will one day move. 

The peaks she will conquer.

The valleys she will forage. 

I think about all the ways I am preparing her for these things. 

The hard things.

The brave things.

The things that make your heart sing, and the things that make your heart grieve.  

I think about all of the hard things I am already asking her to do. 

Things she never wanted. 

Things I never planned for her the first time I held her. 

I think about all the grace she gives me day in and day out for these things. 

Grace I don’t deserve.

Because life is a series of trial and error.

There will be times when it seems perfect, and all is right in the world. 

And yet there will be other times when it will derail on you faster than you can catch your breath. 

It’s a constant ebb and flow. If it’s not one thing, it’s another.

And it’s not about who you are when you're smack dab in the middle of it. 

It’s about who you are when you come out on the other side. 

If she doesn’t learn anything else from me, I hope she learns this. 

But, for now I will cuddle down beside her and watch her sleep.

I will wonder what fills her dreams, and I will dream about the plans He has for her. 

Plans He wrote for her long before I even knew her. 

Her path has been determined. 

All of her days have already been ordained. 

This beauty of mine. 

And, like me, He created her from a long line of strength, courage, and perseverance. 

A great lineage of women whose faith runs deep, and whose minds are as sharp as their tongues.

Warrior princesses who have lived through dark wars and hard fought battles.

Women who wear their scars proudly. 

She is of us. 

And it's because of this that I know despite everything she will be okay. 

This funny, ornery, gorgeous girl with a heart that contains more beauty than I could ever understand.

She was built for all the things He has for her-great things, brave things, things I cannot even fathom. 

Thankfully, I find solace in the knowledge that He will see her through just as He has done for each of us, and that the great army behind her won't let her falter and will be there to light her way.

This beauty. 

My beauty.

Born of love.

Forged by fire. 

Lessons From the Wilderness: Trust the Wait

"Trust the wait.

Embrace the uncertainty.

Enjoy the beauty of becoming. 

When nothing is certain, anything is possible."

~Unknown

Over the last few weeks I've been reading an amazing book called, "Wait and See: Finding Peace in God's Pauses and Plans" by Wendy Pope. 

I stumbled upon this book when it showed up in my "Recommendations for You" section on Amazon, and I bought it solely based on the title. 

As many of you know, I am currently in a very long, very dry season of waiting. 

I'm still not 100% certain what brought me here, but I do know WHY I am here. 

I am here because there are things He needs to teach me in the wilderness. 

Things that I will need for the journey that is to come. 

I know my calling.

I know my purpose. 

But, I also know that His timing is everything. 

This book has totally transformed my mind set regarding my current waiting season. It has taught me to lean in harder towards God instead of pushing Him away. 

It has reminded me of all of the people who came before me who also walked through very hard, very real seasons of waiting. 

• Noah WAITED. Scholars guesstimate that it took Noah almost 75 years to build the ark. (Genesis 6)
• Abraham WAITED for the child he was promised. (Genesis 18)
• Joseph WAITED. He spent years in captivity before the Lord final rose him up to second in command over all of Egypt. (Genesis 37-41)
• Joshua WAITED in the desert with the Israelites for the Promise Land. (Joshua 1-5)
• Hannah WAITED and prayed longingly for a child. (1 Samuel 1)
• Samuel WAITED for God to show him the first King of Israel. (1 Samuel 9)
• Ruth WAITED at the instruction of her mother in law at the feet of Boaz. (Ruth 3)
• Esther WAITED for the Lord’s timing to approach the King to save her people. (Esther 5)
• David WAITED for years to become the chosen King of Israel. (2 Samuel)
• John the Baptist WAITED and prepared the way for Jesus public ministry (Matthew 3)
• Jesus WAITED 40 years to start his public ministry.
• Paul had MANY seasons of WAITING…some of them spent in prison. (Acts 16)

I have spent so much time studying these Biblical heroes and their seasons of waiting. I draw strength and encouragement from them, as well as, strength and encouragement from people I know in my everyday life who have walked through seasons of waiting: my pastors who held church in their living room for years waiting for God to grow their ministry; my aunt who recently walked through a successful chemo journey but spent months waiting for God to heal her; an amazing mili-spouse and bloggy friend who just spent a year waiting for her beloved to return from Kuwait; and so many more.

It's a relief to know that seasons of waiting are not unique. They are a critical tool that God uses to show and guide us toward the plan He has for us.

Today, I wanted to share with you some of the things God has been teaching me in my season of waiting. Some of these lessons have been painful and others have been a relief, but regardless, I know each one is taking me in the direction of where He is leading me.

****

1. Waiting HEALS us. 

One of my favorite quotes in Wendy's book is this, "God has to do a work in us before He can do a work through us."

When my season started, I believed it was due to the untimely, sudden death of my mother-in-law. I believed it was God's way of making us-especially me-slow down and reassess what was truly important in life.

In many ways, I still believe that was part of it, but as I trudge faithfully along (see also: being dragged while kicking and screaming), I am finding out that this season of waiting had a much deeper meaning.

Over the past few months, I have found my mind wandering back to a much darker time in my life.

Ashley circa. 2013.

For YEARS I have squeaked by without really thinking about that time in my life.

Sure I talk about it...often.

I use it as a reference point. A tool to help those just like me.

But, I haven't really THOUGHT about it a.k.a. DEALT with it.

I like to tuck that year deep within my heart, and pretend like I am fine.

Just fine. 

I like to masquerade around like I am stronger because of it, and completely healed from it.

But, the truth is: I'm not. 

I think in the beginning, I wanted to put on a brave face SO badly that instead of working through all the processes of grief, hurt, and betrayal, I rushed headlong into my new normal.

Shortly after everything happened, I began to minimize my pain, because people were begging me to just "stop talking about it".

And so I did-at least in the context of how it applied to me and my very broken life.

I washed my face, put on my makeup, and faced the next four years in a way many people would describe as "brave" or "empowering".

I have used my story to help many, many people.

But, the truth is: we can't hide from God.

He sees even the most broken places within us.

The ugly, dark places that we keep hidden or that only come out on Wednesday night after everyone in your house has gone to bed and your 3 glasses of wine deep.

It took me a while, but eventually I realized that God wanted me to walk through this season of waiting, because He knew I still had a lot of healing to do.

He knew that there was no way I could truly help or understand others if there were things I had not totally worked through in my own heart.

The last few weeks have been especially painful, but I am finding that I am starting to say things out loud to myself that I never truly acknowledged or was in denial about 4 years ago.

God is digging the darkness up and out.

Much like a dentist extracting a painful tooth, He knows that it's going to hurt, but in the end I will feel so much better because we have walked through this together.

"Dear brothers and sisters, when troubles of any kind come your way, consider it an opportunity for great joy. For you know that when your faith is tested, your endurance has a chance to grow. So let it grow, for when your endurance is fully developed, you will be perfect and complete, needing nothing." (James 1:2-4 NLT)

It may require relieving painful memories, acknowledging lies that we told ourselves to make ourselves feel better, and/or reaching out to those that we have wronged and who have wronged us, but in the end we emerge totally renewed, fully developed, perfect, complete, and ready to take on what He has in store for us.

****

2. Waiting PREPARES us.


David didn't storm the castle and force Saul to give him his crown. Noah didn't order his big boat from Amazon. Esther didn't throw a tantrum to make the King give in to her way. John the Baptist didn't get jealous and choose to focus on his own agenda. Paul didn't give up because he was sitting on the floor of a jail cell.

Instead, all of these people used their season of waiting to press harder into God.

I often describe my season of waiting as a "leaning in".

I visualize myself sitting on God's lap and leaning back, hard against His chest. I can hear his heartbeat, and feel His breath keeping rhythm with mine. I quiet my mind and my heart, and wait expectantly for Him to reveal the next step.

While He hasn't opened the next door quite yet, I know that what He really wants from me in this season is to draw closer to Him.

"And we know that God causes everything to work together for the good of those who love God and are called according to his purpose for them." (Romans 8:28 NLT)

There are definitely days when I don't see or understand how God is using this season for "my good". 

There are days when my very type-A, plan-loving personality wants to rush ahead and make all of this "hurry up already"! 

I have seen the vision. I know where all of this is going, so why can't it just be now? 

And it's in those moments when I feel myself trying to take back control that He reminds me that nothing good ever comes from doing things of my own accord. 

His timing is perfect. His plan is perfect. His ways are perfect. 

Even on the days when it doesn't feel like it. 

So, instead of focusing on how I can get somewhere faster, I need to focus on what He's trying to teach me in this place and how He is going to use this season ultimately for His glory. 

****

3. Waiting SHIFTS our perspective. 

It's so easy in seasons of waiting to become sickeningly self-focused. 

Our selfish, human nature loves a pity party and "Why Me?" becomes the #1 hit that me, myself, and I find ourselves jamming out to on the dance floor. 

My little family can attest to the ways that I have allowed my season of waiting to steal my joy and turn my focus inward instead of outward.

Recently, God decided to shine a harsh, blaring light on this reality for me.

He wanted me to understand that while I'm so focused on the what's to come-my very real here and now is suffering from my selfishness.

It's no secret that I am a blessed girl.

I have this amazing boy who loves me in a way I do not deserve.

A little girl who swears I hung the moon.

A cute little house, a nice car (despite the self-inflicted dent), and a job that pays well.

My bills get paid every month, my family always has more than enough food to eat, clothes to wear, and way too many things to entertain them, and I always have a box of wine in my fridge.

I have so many things to be thankful for-so many things that fill my life with joy and purpose.

But, sometimes I get so focused on the blinking cursor at end of paragraph. 

I am waiting impatiently for what is to come instead of re-reading the paragraph I just typed.

Yes, God has BIG plans, but He doesn't want us to forget the things He's called us to in the meantime.

Our families. Our boring desk jobs. Our monthly children's church commitment. Our small groups.

"What I’m getting at, friends, is that you should simply keep on doing what you’ve done from the beginning. When I was living among you, you lived in responsive obedience. Now that I’m separated from you, keep it up. Better yet, redouble your efforts. Be energetic in your life of salvation, reverent and sensitive before God. That energy is God’s energy, an energy deep within you, God himself willing and working at what will give him the most pleasure." (Phil. 2:12-13 MSG)

The things I mentioned before may seem small compared to arenas filled with people and entire bookshelves full of our next best seller, but the truth is that they are just as-if not more-important.

****

I wish I could end this post by saying that my season of waiting is over, and I have a meeting with a publisher next week, but the truth is my season of waiting is far from over. 

I still have a lot of healing to do and more mornings to spend in the lap of my Savior. 

But, I know without a shadow of a doubt what is to come-I'm just waiting on Him to show me the next step, the next door, the next chapter. 

If you are in a season of waiting, let me just encourage you in this: God is not far from you. He is right there with you. 

He sees. He knows. He is listening. 

You didn't misunderstand Him and He always keeps His promises. 

It may not come the way you think it should or in the way you had planned, but I know that His ways are always SO much better.

So, hold on, brave heart. 

It's coming. 

Human

"She made broken look beautiful and strong look invincible.
She walked with the universe on her shoulders and made it look like a pair of wings." 
~Unknown

Tired.

The word doesn't even begin to touch the weariness I feel within my depths. 

You know, the older I get the more I loosen my grip on "the plan". 

The one my type A personality feels like I have to have. 

This year "the plan" derailed in more ways than I could count, and I'm still trying to wrap both my mind and my heart around it. 

Not only did our family experience gut wrenching grief-the kind of grief that we are only now slowly, but surely making our way back from with the knowledge it will always be there-but I also experienced the death of a dream. 

One that I had been holding close to my heart for a very long time. 

And over the past four months I have been watching as the story re-writes itself-shifting on me mid-chapter. 

I'd be lying if I said the suddenness of it all didn't sting just a little.

Actually, it stings a lot. 

Like a lot more than I've let on over the past four months. 

But, yet here I am.

Smiling, holding on, and taking it one day at a time.

I used to think I knew how this was going to play out.

I used to think I was headed in the right direction.

I was writing the ending before it was even in sight.

But, this upending of everything-yet again-has left me melancholy, restless, and more than a little unsure of myself.

And tired.

Very, very tired.

I know the right answer is this: that I know this is His way of reminding me that His plans are so much better than my plans-even when they sting a little. 

I also know that He brought me to this place for a reason, even if the reason is to teach me how to simply wait.

But, over the last two weeks my very human body has decided that while I know these things, it doesn't truly understand these things that come with this season.

This season of waiting.

I am reminded of all the women who came before me.

The ones who endured similar seasons such as mine.

I am reminded of their outcomes, their successes, and the truth that nothing ever happens overnight.

I am reminded of His faithfulness and provision.

I am reminded of all the valleys that have come before this one where I have come out on the other side-a little scarred, a little jaded, but much stronger than I was before.

These reminders propel me.

They keep me putting one foot in front of the other.

They allow me to get up every single day.

They fill me with hope when everything seems to be falling apart.

But sometimes I just want to sit at the kitchen table and stare out the window with the weight of what seems like the whole world on my shoulders and just be.

Be heartbroken.

Be lost.

Be more than a little unsure.

Be a very human girl with a very human heart.

Because in my short 32 years of life I have come to know this: that we are all a little broken, we are all a little scared, and we are all destined to struggle in this life.

He never promised it would be easy.

He only promised that He would be there: taking our hand, walking us through each valley, and allowing us to sit at our kitchen tables heartbroken and scared, while He sits next to us reminding us of all the things we know, but we just don't understand.

I know there's a mountain top at the end of this valley-I'm pretty sure I see glimpses of it's peak every now and then.

But, today I'm tired.

And that's ok. 

To The Girls Like Me

We will carry pieces of all those who have built and broken us.

~Atticus

On Monday, I will celebrate 5 years since I celebrated the birthday in this picture.

I remember that girl very well. 

I always try to keep her at the forefront of my mind.

I wear her like armour. 

I have told her story over and over and over again to the point that most people are tired of hearing it and they wish I would move on.

But, the truth is, I'm not going too. 

I will never-as long as I live-get over her.

The girl who sacrificed everything for a lie.

The girl who paid heavily for her sins.

The girl who once was lost, but was finally found. 

That girl.

Me.

You know, sometimes I wish my testimony was pretty. 

That is was all clean lines and perfectly poignant prose of a life lived totally in service to my Savior.

You know, the testimony I was "supposed" to have.

If you would have known me during my youth, you probably would have said that my life was set firmly on a Godly path. 

My mother absolutely filled the lives of my sisters and I with Christ. She blessed us with the opportunity to attend a Christian school, and encouraged us to be active in our church and youth group. She allowed us to attend Acquire the Fire retreats and summer youth camps. She prayed fearlessly and continually over us. She did EVERYTHING within her power to ensure my "spiritual success".

For a while, I chased after the life my mother had prayed that I would have. I married very young, and I still managed to obtain my Associates degree. I volunteered at the same Christian school I had been blessed to attend growing up, and I went to the church that supported the ministry of that school. I sang "specials" during Sunday service. I tried to fit their mold, and I volunteered in children's church and with their youth. I tried my best to be everything I was supposed to be. 

But, life has a funny way of never going according to plan.

And over the last five years, I have learned just how messy, but beautiful a unplanned life can be.

I have talked often on this blog about my story. The one I wrote shortly after the picture above was taken.

My story is pretty messy.

Some would even consider it ugly and they still do.

It broke me.

It destroyed me.

It left me with some pretty deep scars, and all of the wisdom I wish I could of crammed into my 21 year old mind all those years ago if she would have listened.

But, in life there are no take backs.

You don't get to redo the moments you've already lived.

So, the girl in the picture, she had no choice but to rally.

To pick herself up, dust herself off, and try again.

And you know what?

She made a come back.

My life is now more beautiful than I ever could of imagined when I was the girl in that picture.

I have a wonderful husband who I do not deserve. A man who encourages me, supports me, and leads me in the most amazingly, self-less way.

I have a beautiful little girl who thinks I hung the moon. A steady job. A cute, snug little house on a hill. And a future that looks bright, even on the days when it seems like it doesn't.

I am blessed beyond measure.

And while I always try to keep the girl in the picture at the forefront of my mind, I know that I am not her anymore.

I have come a long way.

But, despite all of that, there are still days when I find myself looking back-second guessing every single step that brought me here.

Just a few weeks ago, I read a Facebook post that basically said that women "like me" don't deserve Jesus.

That we are disgusting, and we should live our lives ashamed of who we are and the message we are sending.

I'm not gonna lie.

It hurt me.

It penatrated my armour and for a moment I felt like that girl.

The one in the picture. 

The one who would have traded every single moment of the previous two years before that picture just to take it all back.

The one who would have crawled into a hole just to take all eyes off of her if even for a second.

The one with the bloody knife in her hand that had killed all of the hopes and dreams of more people than she cared to count.

I cried for her that night.

In fact, I've been crying for her off and on for the last 20 something days, and for all the girls just like her. 

Because I don't know much, but I know this: Jesus loves that girl in that picture.

He loves her so much that He didn't allow her to have something that she so desperately wanted, because what He had planned for her was so much better.

He loves her so much that He died for her, and He extended grace to her that day and all the days before and after.

He loves her so much that He made a way where there was no way, and He brought her out of that desert and set her apart for something so much bigger than anything she could ever ask for or imagine.

He loves her so incredibly much that when He sees that girl in that picture, He doesn't see disgusting.

You know what He sees?

He sees a woman who is beautiful, blessed, and redeemed.

A woman with a story.

A story He has asked her to tell.

And I plan to keep telling that version of the story over and over and over again.

Because that's the version that so many women just like me need to hear.

The version that says that there is hope and there is grace.

The version that says that there is life after loss.

The version that says our mistakes do not define us, but what we do with the lessons we have learned from those mistakes do.

So, this is for all the girls just like me.

The ones celebrating milestones of a life built on top of what was once ash and rubble.

The ones choosing everyday to own who they've been and who they are becoming.

The ones who don't shy away from their story, because if they did, then the person who needs to hear it most may never get the chance.

The ones with fire in their eyes and love in their scarred up hearts.

The ones whose stories are different than mine, but whose are also the same.

I'm so proud of you and everything you've become.

Just like I'm proud of her.

That girl in the picture. 

Thank you for choosing every single day to stand up and fight-even when the world wants nothing more than to keep you down.

And for the ones who are just starting the rebuilding process, I'm proud of you too.

It takes so much courage to start again.

There is hope for you, and so much more to your story.

So, hang in there.

God's got this and He wants nothing more than for you to allow Him to drown out all the noise.

Because that's all it is...noise.

And I'm here to tell you that I'm living, breathing proof that all the noise doesn't matter.

Not one little bit.

And if I ever got the chance, I'd say that to the girl in the picture.