“Ples tuke me in with my blankit.”

“For me, my mother is just a couple of chapters in the book. But to her, I am the whole book.” 

I heard a man describe how this statement completely changed the way he saw his mother, offering a new understanding of their relationship. This perspective explained why their need for each other’s time and attention was so lopsided. 

But when I heard this story, I immediately transferred the scenario to what I observe at Blue Monarch, and it just didn’t fit.

Sadly, what I often see is the opposite. To the typical mom we serve, her child is barely two chapters in the book because drugs, trauma, and unhealthy relationships have consumed the rest. To her kid, however, she is the entire book. The child clings to her with desperation. 

He panics when she leaves the room. He dreads leaving for school, fearful she won’t be there when he returns on the bus. And he struggles to sleep in his own bed because he’s afraid she won’t be there when he wakes up. He can’t focus on school or even sports because he’s consumed with worry over what his mother may or may not do. He’s exhausted from solving grownup problems and caring for siblings - basically picking up the missing pieces mom may have left behind. He loves and hates her at the same time while she takes up all the space in his head and world.

Meanwhile, the mom, even as a grown adult, still sees her own mother as the entire book. She longs for what she didn’t get from her mom growing up. She ends every phone conversation in tears because she clings to the hope her mother will finally say what she needs to hear. “Maybe next time will be different.” But it isn’t, because she is still only a couple of chapters in her mother’s book.

This disjointed cycle explains why the mother/child relationship at Blue Monarch can be so complicated and messy. The mom won't be the mom until she stops being the child. And the child can’t be the child while he’s trying to be the parent.

Blue Monarch is unique in lots of ways, but this issue is probably what sets us apart the most. We have developed a very rich Sober Parenting Program, which provides great support and hands-on coaching for our moms as they work to become the mothers their children so desperately need.

I remember a speaking engagement I had many years ago. My turn to speak followed the leader of another recovery program that serves the same population. A person in the audience asked her, “Do you accept children in your program?” Her answer was a hard no. “Oh, children absolutely do not belong in recovery.”

When I stepped up to the podium, I began with, “Well, this is awkward because other programs have found what works for them, but we believe the child should recover with the mom. After all, they need their own recovery, and we feel they should heal together.” I couldn’t help but notice a group of women from the other program in the back of the room, nodding in support of what I said. 

A child living with us right now took matters into her own hands the other day and decided to work on the relationship with her mom. She handed her mother a sheet of paper where she had written, “Mom, I no that you and me have been having a hard time. So I would like to fix that. Can tmorow be a good day? Anser yes or no. Coler in the box.”

She had drawn a box for her mother to mark her answer. She checked, “yes."

On the back of the sheet the girl wrote some instructions, “You rite things you wont to apoligiz for and queshtins.” Then she added another note: “Ples tuke me in with my blankit.” (A great example of grownup behavior with the feelings of a child.) 

When I saw this communication, initiated by the child, I felt the weight of this girl’s efforts to get their relationship into a more appropriate balance of parent and child. And I could also feel the mother’s struggle to be something she didn't understand and perhaps never observed. 

The mom responded with a list of honest apologies: 

“I apologize to you for...yelling at you, laughing at you, not being patient with you, getting frustrated at you for things that aren’t your fault, for not spending one on one time enough with you, for saying mean things to you.”

Then a list of questions, per the instructions:

“Can we try to work together to fix these things? Can we find things to do together that we both like? Can you try to work on not backtalking me? Can we tell each other we love each other every day?”

And the final question, “Will you forgive me for these things?” The daughter responded with, “Yes, I defly will. Can I have a hug?”

So, yes, this relationship is complicated and messy, but I’ve seen mothers and children wade through this process many times and here’s how I suspect it will turn out:

With time and lots of new parenting tools, the mom will discard the things that clutter the chapters in her book and make more and more space for her child. In fact, she may look at her daughter one day as if she’s discovered something precious for the very first time. And as her daughter heals from her trauma, and eventually trusts her mom as the parent, new chapters will develop in her own book - ones that rightfully belong to a kid. Instead of solving mom’s problems, she may decide to climb a tree or ride a bike instead. 

In other words, this transformation will be a miracle. But thankfully, we serve a miraculous God. And in him, all things really are possible. 

Lord, thank you for the path where our moms and their children are able to heal together and restore their families in ways only you can provide. Amen

"Please give me back my misery!"

Confession. I often consider myself a “Bible idiot.” The Old Testament confuses me and the story that makes my head spin is the one of the Israelites leaving Egypt and going to the Promised Land. It's a blurry cycle of wandering around with ungrateful, grouchy hearts and little faith while making God angry, even though he always comes around and forgives their pathetic behavior - again. 

Recently I set out to get this messy story straightened out in my head and when I did, I made an interesting discovery. It started to sound familiar because I was living this story every single day. Honestly, there are so many parallels to Blue Monarch, we could be a modern-day version of the same exact story. Here’s what I mean:

Misery in Eqypt - the families we serve typically come from generations (400 years?) of addiction, abuse, and misery. In fact, it is not unusual for our women to have been taught to use drugs by a parent or grandparent. Perhaps they were even arrested together. They literally become slaves to their drugs of choice, which ultimately leads to bondage - sometimes behind bars.

Parting the Red Sea - I wish now I had kept a record of all the stories I have heard through the years that illustrate how miraculously God leads women to our door. How God parted the sea just in time, allowing clear paths to save their lives. One story stands out above the others: 

With her children buckled in the back seat of her car, this mom parked on a lonely country road, with a plan to kill herself out of desperation. She had even put things in place so someone would find the children shortly after she committed suicide. But miraculously, a nurse (who was oddly wearing an old-timey nurse’s cap) appeared on foot at her car door to see if she needed help. When she heard this mother’s hopelessness, the nurse recommended Blue Monarch - and the rest is history. Miracle after miracle of deliverance from the slavery and oppression described above.

Those Ten Commandments - just like the Israelites struggled to follow the commandments from God, the rules we have at Blue Monarch are also challenging for many of the women we serve. However, they are necessary to obtain complete and total freedom. Even if the broken rule goes undetected or unconfessed, the action often leads to natural consequences that only make things worse. (In fact, I can totally sympathize with Moses for smashing the tablet of Ten Commandments out of frustration because rule-following is an everyday challenge.)

All You Can Eat Manna - even though God made sure they were cared for each day with manna that literally fell out of the sky through no effort of their own, the Israelites grew tired of it and became very ungrateful. Sadly, we sometimes see this as well. Even though I hear lots of tearful expressions of thankfulness, I’m always surprised when a woman does not value what Blue Monarch provides. And if I’m totally honest, it also hurts my heart because it's as if she has taken a beautifully wrapped gift from God and thrown it on the floor. After all, it’s a gorgeous home on a large farm in the country, with every possible need met. But for a few, it’s not enough and we can’t make someone feel thankful. However, I have collected many notes from ones who appreciated later what they gained. Unfortunately, by then they also feel regret.

Fear of Giants - this is a phenomenon we see a lot. The Israelites finally reached a point of entering the Promised Land, but when they saw the giants in the land, they decided it would be better to go all the way back to Egypt - to the pain and chaos they knew. At least that was familiar. Even though they knew Canaan was filled with milk and honey, it was not worth facing the unknown. And they didn't trust God to get them through it. 

This is such a great description of what our moms sometimes experience. The fear of success can be overwhelming and paralyzing. It’s unfamiliar and frightening - just like the giants. “I understand addiction. Being successful feels scary." In other words, "Please give me back my misery." 

There was a woman here who lived on the roof of a grocery store for a season. But she referred to those days as “the best place I ever lived.” To most this would be dreadful. But to her it was familiar and there were no giants.

This delusion is sometimes passed down to the children as well. We once had a child who had lived in a shed barely big enough for a mattress from wall to wall. This child even suffered abuse in this space, but when he drew a picture of the shed, he colored a massive, spectacular mansion. He had already learned to settle for familiar and make it better in his head.

Missing Out - this is also one that hurts. The Israelites who rebelled and demonstrated fear and a lack of gratitude missed the chance to experience the Promised Land. They continued to wander until their entire generation was gone - but their children were able to enter instead. 

One of the hardest parts of our job is to witness a mother making poor choices, which cause her to leave our program, while her children suffer the consequences. We have all shed tears over this scenario. Even though the mom may be ungrateful and rebellious, her children were probably thriving and finally felt safe. It’s heartbreaking to see the kids leave with her, knowing they are going to a place that will possibly harm them in some way. For that reason, we often stay in touch as long as we can to assist in finding another program or safe housing.

God’s Promise - even though it took many generations for God’s promise to Abraham to be fulfilled, his descendants were able to enjoy the benefits of that covenant. The children I just described are the ones who return to Blue Monarch years later as young adults, expressing what an impact their time with us meant to them. “I want my children to live like I did here, and I want my grandchildren to live like that, too.” They have fond memories to share and it’s obvious their childhoods were shaped by what they learned and experienced with us. So, even though their mothers may not have entered the Promised Land, the next generation did because their mothers got them here.

Give Me Canaan - I feel God makes a promise to every woman we serve. And I have seen those promises fulfilled hundreds of times in ways that still surprise me. It’s truly remarkable the impossible doors that open, the crooked paths that straighten, and the hardened hearts that soften when our moms put their faith in God, trust his word, follow his commandments, express their heartfelt gratitude, and cherish their journeys.  

But it’s the ones who grab the hand of Jesus to face the giants together who find the land of milk and honey and leave Egypt to never look back. 

*****

"And I have promised to bring you up out of your misery in Egypt into the land of the Canaanites...a land flowing with milk and honey." Exodus 3:17

"The baby's name is what?!"

The young lady had been at Blue Monarch for only a short time when she went into labor. Once again, I found myself in the hospital with the mom of a new baby, filling in where one might expect her mother to stand. I don’t remember the specific reasons this woman’s mother was missing in action that day, but I assume it was the usual. She was probably in active addiction, and either couldn’t or wouldn’t be present for such an important moment.

After settling back in her hospital room, the nurse appeared with a clipboard and asked, “So, what’s the baby’s name?”

With absolutely no hesitation, the mom looked up and replied, “Montesuvius Daeschon.” (Pronounced MON-TUH-SOO-VEE-US DAY-SHAWN)

"The baby's name is what?!" I looked at the nurse, lifted my finger and said, “Could you give us a minute?”

“Are you sure about that? He won’t be able to say or spell his name until he’s in the third grade. Even his teachers won’t be able to pronounce it. It could cause him to be picked on by other children. Where did you even come up with a name like that?”

“In jail. My cell mates and I came up with it, and I like it.”

Well, she was pretty insistent, but I encouraged her to come up with a name that had some significance. Was there a family name? Something that had special meaning?

She finally settled on “William.” Her dad’s name was William, and she grew up on Williams Street. Perfect. His name would be William.

After William and his mom returned to Blue Monarch, her other four children came for their first visit. (She didn’t have custody of them at the time.) As she introduced me to each child, I began to grasp what I had done to poor William.

All four children had exotic names like Montesuvius Daeschon - just as difficult to say and spell. And then I realized, even the mom’s name was the name of a continent with just one letter changed, emphasizing the middle syllable instead of the first. 

What had I done? I had ultimately created the very scenario I was trying to prevent. William could potentially become an outcast in his own family, being the only one with a simple name.

This was early on in my Blue Monarch journey and thankfully I learned a valuable and humbling lesson that day. I was inflicting my own preferences on this mom when I had absolutely no right to do so. Just because it was more familiar to me did not mean it was better. And I’m ashamed to say, my interference showed a lack of respect, which I deeply regret. 

Since that day I have heard hundreds of names at Blue Monarch that are difficult to say and even harder to spell - yet I honor each one. Sometimes I get excited to hear a name that is easy to say and sounds familiar - only to discover the spelling is totally unexpected and near impossible to remember so I keep a folder on my desk with all the names as a quick reference. 

One day I decided to dig a little deeper, so I asked some moms at Blue Monarch to help me understand this phenomenon. The answer was pretty simple. “I wanted my child to be special with a name no one else had.”

If there is one phrase I hear more than any other, it is, “I have no self-confidence.” But as I listen to personal stories and testimonies, this is no mystery. 

“I was molested by my mother’s boyfriend at the age of six.”

“My grandfather (who abused me) said I was so ugly, I would always have to sell my body to get by.”

“I was pregnant by my stepfather at the age of thirteen, but my mother wouldn’t believe me.”

It’s no wonder there is such low self-esteem, and even self-loathing. How does one suffer debilitating trauma and multiple attacks on self-worth yet walk around with pride? So, it’s like that line in the movies, “It’s too late for me - but save yourself!” I will always be worthless, but my child will be unique and special.

If we were to take a baseline measurement when our families walk through our door, some would fall into a negative range for confidence. Therefore, our goal is not simply sobriety and recovery. We work to lift up every woman and child, emphasize their strengths and unique gifts, celebrate their accomplishments, and build them as high as we possibly can before they leave our campus for the outside world. The moms - and kids - develop a deep desire to become better and healthier in every aspect of who they are. They enjoy discovering who they never knew they could become. As the mother becomes stronger and more confident, her children do as well. It’s contagious. 

Last week I had a vivid illustration of this. A boy who lives with us, one who has struggled with managing his behavior, wrote this heartfelt paper at school. The assignment was, “If I was going to the Wizard of Oz, I would ask for...” 

Whereas one might expect the answer to be “electronics” or “candy,” his said:

“I would ask for help for my grandpa’s cancer to go away and his blindness and my mom to be a better mom and my heart to be better kindness so I can be helpful and loving to others around me.”

So, if you ask me, that’s one special kid - regardless of his name. And I suspect someone way better than the Wizard of Oz heard his heart. 

"I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well."  Psalm 139:14 (NIV)

 

"Why is everyone lying to me?"

I found Christmas very troubling as a child. It made absolutely no sense why everyone was going along with what was clearly a hoax - that Santa was real. Even grownups I trusted were lying to me.  

How could it possibly be true? He didn’t look the same from store to store. For starters, his nose changed from one place to the next. Each Santa had a different voice and smell. (One Santa even smelled like mothballs.) Sometimes Santa was jolly but at the next store he might be sort of cranky. I remember demanding an explanation, “Why is Santa here and down the street at the same time?”  The answer was that Santa had helpers, so then I wanted to know if the one I saw was the real thing – or just a helper, because surely it mattered.  

It. Made. No. Sense.

So, I can remember sitting on Santa’s knee at the Sears and Roebuck department store, looking around at everyone else, hoping to make eye contact with anyone who might nod to indicate he or she also knew the terrible truth. Hey, y'all. Is no one seeing what I'm seeing here?  

Each year this charade became increasingly troubling to me the closer we got to Christmas. So, by Christmas morning, right after opening my presents and seeing what “Santa” left for me, I spent the rest of the morning lying on the sofa, sick with a terrible upset stomach. My parents always chalked it up to excitement. But I believe it was actually anxiety from watching everyone go along with something that was clearly a big fat lie. 

Okay, I am very aware that I was ridiculously and unnecessarily analytical. I get that. However, once I finally declared I did not believe in Santa and my parents confirmed I was right, I was never again sick on Christmas Day.

What made more sense to me, though, was that Christmas was about celebrating the birth of Jesus. I loved the Christmas story of Mary miraculously becoming pregnant, and Joseph supporting her even though it probably made no sense to him and required superhuman faith. I found it exciting and fascinating that wise men carried all kinds of exotic gifts and followed a brilliant star in the sky until they found baby Jesus. It was also such a moving image for Jesus, our Lord and Savior, to begin his life in an ordinary barn with farm animals. It made him so real – just like us. 

For God to send his only son to save us, when none of us really deserved it, well this just proved his powerful love for us, which was incredibly comforting and humbling. And for Jesus to come as a baby, knowing that he would die the most cruel death of all – just for each of us to have everlasting life – this made my heart sing and ache at the same time. Now, that was a Christmas story that made sense, even though so much of it was even harder to explain than Santa and his flying reindeer.

All of this is why it hurts my heart every time I hear of someone wanting to take Jesus out of his own birthday. How can that make any sense? What would be the meaning of Christmas if not for the celebration of Jesus’ birth? What would be the point?

Through the years, several people have suggested we should take Jesus out of Blue Monarch, too. After all, this would allow us to “reach a larger audience and perhaps gain greater support." The first time I heard this my knee jerk reaction surprised me. My heart physically hurt in my chest and I remember wondering if Jesus’ heart was hurting, too. But my answer has always been the same. Jesus is not negotiable. We have Blue Monarch because of Jesus and I keep this picture in my office as a constant reminder.

Each week our staff prays together for the women and children we serve and for the wisdom and discernment to do our jobs well. Jesus’ presence in that room is sometimes so tangible it brings tears to my eyes. It’s powerful. Blue Monarch is where hundreds of children have learned about Jesus for the first time and really grasped that he loves them and will always be with them – even after they leave Blue Monarch one day. Jesus assures the women (some who need to hear it the most) that the love of a heavenly father can be quite different from the love of an earthly father. And Jesus is the one who sometimes gently whispers in my ear, “Remember, this woman is my child and I love her. So, look at her through my eyes.”

Jesus is not only the reason for the season. He is the reason for the hope and healing Blue Monarch offers to his wounded women and children who come to us for help. After all, they don’t just show up by accident. I'm convinced Jesus is the one who brings them.  

This is how God showed his love among us:  He sent his one and only Son into the world that we might live through him.  1 John 4:9

  

That’s a day worth celebrating. And it has a name. Christmas.

"Your face! It's so fat!"

The newfound freedom was a daily rush. I was a college freshman, living in a dorm with no restrictions (other than the fact my parents booked me on the only floor at a school of 40,000 students where boys were NEVER allowed.) Despite all that, being able to come and go at all hours of the night with absolutely no accountability was a thrill like no other.

The privilege I enjoyed the most was having food available around the clock, which was a complete culture shock. I was accustomed to three meals a day and that was it. Breakfast was typically eggs, bacon, and biscuits (unless my mother and father were disagreeing about something in which case we had toast.) And supper was always at 5:00 sharp, the minute my father walked in the door after work. We never had food just lying around and I don’t really remember snacking. 

So, it was an irresistible delight to have 24-hour access to pizza, enormous deli sandwiches piled high with meats and cheeses, frozen chocolate covered bananas, and unlimited milkshakes by simply going downstairs when I felt the least bit hungry - or just wanted to eat because I could. 

It didn’t hit me what I had done until I came home for Thanksgiving. My brother, who felt no need or desire to sugar coat things for me, said, “Your face! It’s so fat!” I glanced at a nearby mirror and realized he was right. What happened? Turns out, I had gained thirty pounds in just a matter of weeks since going off to college for the first time.

Not only did my new (reckless) level of independence make me bigger, but I was convinced I was wiser as well. When I announced plans to go to Miami with my new boyfriend, the football team quarterback, my parents said I couldn’t go. So, after I got to Miami, I called to let them know I had gone anyway since they failed to provide me with a good reason not to. My poor parents...  

Everything I just described is what we face every single day at Blue Monarch - several times over. But I can’t say we saw it coming. 

In 2016, through a very generous, unexpected gift, we built the first four cottages of our WINGS Community - a place for our graduates to live as they transition into a new job, school, or both. We thought we were simply providing temporary affordable housing to our graduates, but we quickly learned we had embarked on the most critical phase of our recovery program. 

We noticed that sudden access to social media was risky and volatile. This gave immediate access to old friends, which could easily lead right back to the “old life.” Before we knew it, they were taking giant steps backward in no time. 

No budgeting oversight rapidly developed into overdrafts and unnecessary extravagance. One I remember in particular was the purchase of $200 worth of Easter candy, which was probably worth $400 since it had already been marked down.

And for whatever reason, all the credit card applications started showing up in the mail for our graduates as if some evil debt villain was just waiting to get his claws into them. Therefore, some were quick to accumulate enormous debt in a short period of time. 

One of the most obvious shifts fell into the category of parenting. It was easy to fall back into old habits and in no time the kids were out of control, and all the structure we had worked so hard to develop had flown out the window. Mom was no longer in charge, and her children were eating Fruit Loops for dinner.

And I can’t ignore the fact there was immediate temptation to go off to Miami with the quarterback, so to speak, which I know firsthand is never a good idea. (One guy who resurfaced even had the name of a famous cowboy, but it turned out that was all he had going for him.)

We suddenly realized why we had heard stories from former graduates who occasionally struggled after leaving Blue Monarch. We always wondered, “Why didn’t she just apply what she learned here?” Well, now it was obvious this phase following graduation was risky and full of dangerous forks in the road - just like a kid going off to college for the first time. Except this was worse because most didn’t have strong foundations growing up to counterbalance their choices. And they had children to care for while learning to be an adult.

So, this is how our amazing WINGS Transitional Program for Graduates began. One by one we began putting processes in place to address all the problem issues. What we ultimately developed was a unique and powerful recovery program with a success rate that grew from 77% to a staggering 100%. We designed the transitional program to introduce independence gradually instead of suddenly throwing them into the outside world. And we balanced freedom and independence with a healthy level of accountability and support.

As a result, our WINGS graduates have become absolute rock stars! Here are just a few examples of the paths they have taken: a successful business owner, dental assistant, medical assistant, cosmetologist, phlebotomist, realtor, and even a pilot. And eight of our WINGS graduates now work for Blue Monarch in programming, administrative, and development roles. In fact, even our Executive Director is a WINGS graduate.

If I ever need a reminder of what this extended program has created, I simply visit our WINGS Community in the early evening. It turns into an idyllic village of eight colorful cottages straight out of a storybook: women returning from work with proud grins on their faces, kids riding bikes on the sidewalk, moms laughing together at picnic tables as their children enjoy the playground, and toddlers loving on our dog, Atticus. I always walk away with a full and satisfied heart - impressed by our “college freshmen” for all they have accomplished - and grateful they’re not sitting on a beach in Miami with a bucket full of regrets.  

Lord, thank you for holding our moms and kids in the palm of your hand as they discover the incredible paths you have for them. Amen

"I have no sympathy for a mother like that."

I thought I had cheated the system. My American Airlines credit card offered a mile for every dollar, and I was going to make sure my daughter and I earned free trips to Hawaii when she graduated from high school. So, for years I used my credit card for everything, even when I had cash on hand, patting myself on the back each time for outsmarting American Airlines. 

Sure enough, when the time came, Mary Susan and I booked first class tickets to Hawaii, completely free. I was anxious for her to have the same first class experience to Hawaii that her father and I enjoyed on our honeymoon (minus losing my luggage and having to wear clothes with the hotel logo on them for two days because all the stores were closed for Easter). But first class was no longer what it was back then, even on the long flight from Dallas to Oahu. Gone were the recliner sized seats and heated blankets. And gone was the chef with the tall white chef’s hat, that rolled out a Texas-sized prime rib to carve to order. (Can you believe they ever did that?) Quite the contrary, the seats were only average, the service was miniscule, and other than the curtain separating us from the smarter travelers who got the same thing for less, first class was less than notable.

When we reached the bustling Dallas airport, we had quite a trek to our tight connecting flight and decided to ride the airport subway. As we began to board, warnings came on loud and clear that the small window of time to hop on was quickly ending. Much to my horror, right after my daughter stepped aboard, the bells rang, and the doors began to close.

That moment was forever burned in my memory. I looked at my daughter’s panicked expression on the other side of the doors and in that split second, I played the scenario in my head of how difficult it would be to find each other once the train took off. (This was before cell phones.) And even though it was not likely, I suddenly had a tremendous fear I might never see her again – and it would be my fault.

So, just like the mothers who suddenly have the strength to lift a car off their children, I grabbed the doors that were nearly closed and pulled with all my might until I forced them open. I quickly stepped inside, thankful the nightmare was over.

Well, it was over for us, but not for everyone else and I’m sure the ripple effect was endless. My actions caused the train to sound an alarm and shut down completely after only a few yards in the dark tunnel. It was nearly forty-five minutes before it started moving again. The car was hot as blazes with no fresh air, people were missing connecting flights, several women cried, and another became hysterical from claustrophobia. I had created quite a mess, but I knew I would do it all over again if presented with the same risk of losing my daughter – despite the hateful, disapproving glares from the other passengers.

Many of the women we serve at Blue Monarch have experienced much worse loss and panic (and judgement), but their nightmares were not over in a matter of minutes. For some, the painful separation from their children has lasted years. Yes, years.

I once had a volunteer who was involved with Blue Monarch for the wrong reasons. In fact, it was because of her that we began examining the motivation behind wanting to serve or work at Blue Monarch because intentions are not always healthy ones. She said, “Honestly, I have no sympathy for a mother who mistreats her child.” That statement pierced my heart on behalf of the women we serve – and told me she was not a good fit for our ministry.

It was obvious this woman was only looking at the circumstances on the very surface. But there is so much more. There are hundreds of reasons a mother may find herself in a place that causes the loss of her children. Perhaps she was taught to use drugs by her own parents and discovered they would numb the pain of physical and sexual abuse and now she can’t stop. Maybe she was still longing for the nurturing childhood she never had, making it impossible to be a mother herself. Maybe she wanted a loving relationship so badly, this desire caused her to overlook her children. There are many reasons, not necessarily good ones, but I don’t think any of them are deciding one day to be a bad mom.

Recently, one of our mothers poured out her heart through a recovery project she did in one of our classes. It was a sort of before-and-after story and the “before” was still quite fresh in her mind. 

Alexis began to reflect on the separation from her daughter and even though they are reunited now, the pain was still like an open wound. She wept as she said, “I missed her so much – I would even miss the smell of her hair.” I could totally relate because what mother doesn’t forever keep that scent in her head?

I realized in that moment that many people just assume a mother who has lost custody of her children doesn’t feel the loss. After all, she caused it, likely through selfish choices or poor decisions, so it probably doesn’t matter to her. But it does. And as the drugs leave her system and she begins to feel more deeply, the pain is even more intense.

The heartache our moms experience during the separation from their children is excruciating. I see it on their faces and in their body language. They struggle seeing all the kids who are with their moms because it makes them miss their own children even more. We assure them their day will come, but they want it right now.

A mother may be allowed periodic visits with her child as we navigate the complicated reunification process. But she can overreact when she sees the slightest bruise or scratch, just wondering if her child is being mistreated in her absence. She feels helpless to protect. She goes to bed each night wondering what her child is doing, is she okay? Is she crying for me? Will she remember me? Will she forgive me? Will this nightmare ever end?

There are many times when I think back on that woman’s statement: “I have no sympathy for a mother who mistreats her child.” But there’s one major point she failed to recognize. The mother is a grownup version of that child. 

Let me say that again. The mother (that she judges and loathes) is nothing more than a grown-up version of that child (for whom she feels compassion and empathy). And if that child doesn’t get help, she will eventually become the mom. But when the mom becomes a healthier parent, that dreadful cycle will stop. So, there IS hope.

Actually, I think Alexis says it best: “I am not my past – I am my daughter’s future.” And those are the words of a good mom.

Lord, thank you for Blue Monarch, a place where mothers can become healthy parents and children can learn what that means. Amen

"Can we address the ghost in the room?"

Sometimes the loudest person in the room is someone we cannot see or hear. It’s the dad. Even though he may be in prison, missing in action, or even dead, he walks among us, lives with us, and his presence is undeniable. 

Because we serve moms and their kids, we often forget there is a father out there somewhere who plays a prominent role – even if we never see him. Perhaps we have simply become accustomed to the fact that fathers are typically not a part of the families we see.

It’s no secret that the “family” has been under attack for quite some time and there is a significant shift that has taken place even in my lifetime.

For instance, although I knew my grandfather for only a few years, I still display this little dress where I can see it every day. He took me on an exciting shopping trip when I was only a toddler, which was such a special treat because it was just the two of us – something that rarely happened. Just looking at this dress gives me a warm feeling inside. The dress represents his love for me that I tangibly felt in that moment. (I can't help but notice my favorite color today was already my favorite color as a child.)

And even though I keep this velvet vest stuffed away in a closet, and it will never fit me again in a million years, I have preserved it all this time because my dad is the one who taught me to sew and it’s something we did together. He and I made it when I was a teenager, including the velvet covered buttons and satin lining. (He learned how to sew in the Navy and lied about his age to get in.)

Where are the memories like these for our Blue Monarch kids? They barely know their fathers, much less their grandfathers. But they are very aware something big is missing. And it’s the ghost in the room.

I often feel our boys want a father even more than their sisters do. They’re angry their fathers are not there for them and the easiest persons to blame are the moms. Surely, it’s the mother’s fault the father left. She must have done something to make him no longer want his family. So, the boys strike out at their moms (sometimes literally) out of overwhelming anger. 

And then there are the times when a mom must stand firm and not allow her son to spend time with his father, even if he’s available, because she knows he’s still in addiction. Or he is so unreliable, she can’t allow him to hurt their son anymore, and the only way to prevent disappointment and heartbreak is to remove the risk. I can't count the number of times I have seen a boy completely crushed when his father doesn't show up for a visit, call when he says he will, or do the thing he has promised.

But the children are not the only ones wrestling with the invisible man. Many times, I have heard a woman tearfully confess she struggles to bond with her son because she sees the face of his father every time she looks at him. I know. That’s hurtful to imagine, but I have heard this so many times, it’s a legitimate problem.

Of course, this is typically a case where the father of that boy was abusive, or the man hurt her so deeply she can’t even tolerate a younger version of his face.

Naturally, this develops into bigger issues because somewhere, deep down, the son knows he is treated differently than his sisters. He can’t help but pick up on the little subtleties. Perhaps his mom grabs for the hand of his sister but never reaches for his. Or she simply shows affection for his siblings in a way he never experiences himself. This is a disturbing phenomenon, something she is not proud of, and one we address and correct with time. (Yet another reason our program is a lengthy one, thank goodness.)

We currently have a six-year-old boy with over-the-top behavioral issues. This is not unusual for a child who has suffered severe trauma, but we eventually discovered the ghost in the room was at the center of his anger. Even though he has not seen his father since he was a two-year-old, (because his dad has been incarcerated) the boy is grieving the loss of that relationship. Perhaps he is observing other children at church or school with their fathers, and it is becoming more and more obvious his own is absent.

In the meantime, we’ve noticed this first grader is becoming increasingly attached to a special blanket. He wants to carry it everywhere he goes, which seems a little surprising at his age. But one day we realized, the blanket is covered in photographs that date back to the last time his father was in his life – when he was a two-year-old. Now it makes all kinds of sense and explains why he is so fiercely protective of it.

In much the same way my toddler dress and homemade vest are special to me, this blanket is a possession this boy cherishes and something to which he is emotionally attached. The difference is, my objects bring back good memories that are only part of the big scrapbook in my head. His memories stopped four years ago, and the blanket is all he has left.

So, what do we do about the ghost in the room that causes so much turmoil and heartache? Well, for the dads who decide they want to resurface in the child’s life, we have developed policies and procedures that equip the father to be a healthier parent, evaluate his level of commitment, and are designed to protect the child from further harm. Honestly, I wish courts would require the same.

For dads who will never return, we provide trauma therapy, mentorship, and counseling to help the child heal from the wounds left behind by the ghost in the room. In fact, we have seen unbelievable, supernatural healing for this. For example, we had a boy who witnessed the death of his father, leaving him traumatized and basically emotionless. He never changed the expression on his face and rarely interacted with other kids. But after working with his trauma, he eventually came to life in a dramatic way and began playing like all the other children. It was a miracle. And fortunately, these services are available to all our kids.

But here is the most important and effective treatment for our kids who suffer so much loss. Alongside their moms, we help the children establish a relationship with their Heavenly Father who will never let them down, will never leave, and will always love them no matter what. For the kids who truly grasp this truth, the ghost in the room eventually finds his appropriate spot where he no longer causes harm, and the children begin looking forward with expectation rather than dwelling in the past. 

When these boys become fathers to their own kids one day, I truly believe they will follow in the footsteps of the Father who healed them and held them tight. And at that point they will create happy memories for children who will never have to struggle with a ghost in the room.