"Blah, blah, blah, whatever. Amen."

 “I’m going to the hospital to reclaim what is rightfully ours.  Please pray.”  It was 6:54 on a Friday morning and this is what I texted to our leadership team.  I remember thinking that morning that whenever I feel compelled to do something I don’t really want to do, it’s usually the Lord leading me.  

We had heard the devastating news the night before that Tara, one of our Blue Monarch graduates, had been found unresponsive in her bedroom at her parent’s house and had not been conscious since then.  There was concern that she had gone way too long without oxygen, and she was in the intensive care unit at a hospital two and a half hours away.  I wasn’t anxious to see Tara in this condition, but I felt God was telling me to get dressed and head that way.

It was just the week before that we saw horrific photographs of Tara's car completely destroyed from a drug related accident.  It was a miracle that she and her son were not killed or at least severely injured.  Would this be the wakeup call Tara needed?
  
The whole drive to the hospital, I listened to praise and worship music in my car and prayed out loud that God would give us a beautiful miracle that day.  He could – and he would.
 
Tara’s parents were gracious to immediately invite me into Tara’s area in the ICU and it was a shock to see her lying in the bed hooked to what seemed like a hundred wires and tubes.  She still had a black eye from the car accident, which made that event much more real.  With tears uncontrollably streaming from my eyes, I put one hand on Tara’s forehead, the other on her shoulder, and prayed my heart out for supernatural healing for her body.  I fully expected to see her eyes open any moment.  He could – and he would.
 
As the day wore on, we all experienced waves of fond memories between tsunamis of grief as we took turns holding Tara’s hands.  Her sweet mother uncovered Tara’s foot to show me her middle toe that was shorter than the others, something they teased her about through the years.  Tara had just gotten a pedicure a couple of days before, which seemed like a good sign that she did not have plans to harm herself – a fleeting thought we often have in situations like this when there is still so much that we don’t know or understand.  
 
I watched Tara’s mother gently stroke her foot, which I imagined she also did when her daughter was a newborn, as so many mothers do.  While I looked at Tara’s foot, my mind went back to some of the last conversations we had.  “Tara, you cannot have one foot in your old life and the other in your new life.  It will never work!  It never does!”  I gave her examples of others who had tried to do the same and none of those stories turned out well.  In fact, one of my examples died shortly after Tara left Blue Monarch.
 
Truth is, it isn’t exactly an equal tug of war.  The Old Life won’t settle for just a foot.  It will pull and pull until it gobbles up the entire body.  On the other side is Jesus, gently holding out his hand.  Because he graciously gives us free will, he doesn’t force us to take his hand.  He holds it out until we grab ahold of it and then he will help pull the rest of us out of the darkness.  At that point, the Old Life doesn’t stand a chance.     
 
Hours went by and during moments of silence, we probably all had conversation balloons over our heads that were full of “what if’s.”  It’s hard to resist the thoughts of what we should have done that might have made a difference.  
 
Tara began to take on some of the characteristics I remembered from the day my father died and it didn’t look hopeful, but we continued to pray.  He could – but it didn’t look like he was going to.  As this reality began to settle in, I gradually developed anger on top of my grief.  
 
Through the curtain I could see the doctor making his way down the hallway to report the results from the final test and the expression on his face made words unnecessary.  Knowing what was coming felt like that brief second before the roller coaster drops a hundred feet headfirst.
 
The raw grief of a mother and the tears of a stepfather who loved Tara more than many of the biological fathers I have seen, cut like a knife.  I wanted to take their pain and run out the door with it so they couldn’t feel it any longer.  My own tears were a mixture of overwhelming grief and profound anger.  Why did God let this happen?!  I was so mad.
 
I drove the whole way home in a silent car.  Even music was unbearable.  That night when I went to bed, I surprised myself by saying out loud, “Blah, blah, blah, whatever.  Amen.”  There.  Take that.  Goodnight. 
 
The next day, as I tried to process this waste of a beautiful life, the loss of a mother who learned to love her brilliant child, Jakobe, while at Blue Monarch, who got tears in her eyes when he ran in from daycare calling her “Mommy” for the first time, the one who was so amazing and smart that we even hired her for a position at Blue Monarch, the bright young woman so full of hope and promise – remarkably, I began to hear Jesus speak to me through all the noise.  
 
He reminded me of how the police had searched Tara’s room and found no drugs and how the test results at the hospital remarkably showed no drugs in her system.  I recalled her mother proudly describing how Tara took a friend with her to church the Sunday after her accident and how excited she was to share her faith with someone else.  Apparently, that accident really was a wakeup call after all.  
 
Then I realized, I was on the wrong mission all along.  I thought I was going to the hospital to reclaim what was rightfully ours.  But the truth is, she did not belong to us.  She never did.  She didn’t even belong to her sweet mother and father.  She belonged to Jesus – and after her “Old Life” came close to taking her completely, Jesus reclaimed what was rightfully his and now she is safely with him, full of joy and totally healed.  
 
So, how can we best honor Tara now?  I think we share with everyone we can, what she would probably say today if she could.  With those beautiful dark eyes, and those perfectly shaped brows, in that soft voice of hers, I believe she would say, “Take Jesus’ hand and grab on with all you’ve got.  Keep BOTH feet firmly planted in his direction –because ALL of you belongs to him.  And don’t ever forget that.” 
 
Thankfully, Tara had time to teach this to her son, Jakobe, which will impact him the rest of his life – so in many ways, I guess you could say, “God could – and he did.”

“Same Song, Second Verse...”

There was a popular phrase I heard as a child that went like this: “Same song, second verse, could get better, but it’s gonna get worse.” This little diddy has been running through my head a lot lately – but it seems more accurate to say, “Same song, second verse, could get better and guess what, it did.” And yeah, I realize it doesn’t rhyme.

I feel like I’ve had Christmas early this year because every time I turn around, I receive a surprising gift that took almost twenty years to make.

For instance, one day I received a volunteer application in my email. It came with an unexpected note. “Many, many years ago, I was one of the young children that lived in the Blue Monarch home with my mother and two siblings. I have memories of the fun things we got the chance to experience while being there.” She went on to describe how she is a mother, herself, now and wanted to participate in our pen pal program so she and her son could write letters together.  

When I saw the name, I immediately remembered her as a young girl and began digging in an old box to find a note she wrote to me in 2006 when she lived at Blue Monarch. I had saved it all these years because it was so special to me. "My mom is learning to be a good mom."  

Not long after this day, I got a call from Aly, who lived here as a four-year-old. I remember a day when Aly was with me at the café I still owned at the time. There was a painter working on a new addition and his pants were revealing a little too much when he bent over. Even as a four-year-old Aly was eager to set him straight. “Hey Mister, your pants are falling down!” She yelled this across the room, and he ignored her, but she didn’t give up. “Hey Mister, do you KNOW your pants are falling down?” (The question we all want to ask but never do.)    

Aly is now a college student at Berea College in Kentucky, and she was interested in doing an internship at Blue Monarch this summer. Are you kidding me? Of course! She is majoring in Family and Children Services and Psychology – and what better place to study all of that. I couldn’t wait until her first day and naturally, the first item on our list was to go through old pictures of the days she lived here with her mother, also in 2006. 

Then a couple of weeks later I got a high school graduation invitation from a beautiful young lady with long blond hair. My word, could it be? Yes, she was this precious baby all grown up. Memories of her in a highchair at the kitchen table immediately came to mind. I thought back on her time at Blue Monarch in

2004 and vividly remembered the day her big brother was reunited with their mother after a painfully long separation. The mom was so worried her son would not remember her, but he jumped into her arms as if they were simply picking up where they left off. That was my first experience to witness the powerful bond between mother and child that even years apart could not erase. I have seen this happen hundreds of times since then.

And many of our supporters are familiar with Trenton. He is often referred to as the “Christmas Miracle Baby” and was the very first Blue Monarch baby. He nearly died at birth and was just inches away from death. But prayer dramatically saved him, and it has been a pleasure watching him grow up. He is a constant reminder of the power of prayer. Unfortunately, he missed rehearsal for graduation and was not allowed to participate in the ceremony, so on very short notice, we threw him a surprise graduation party at Blue Monarch, which may have been more fun in the long run. After all, he was the single most important person at our event and around here he is a celebrity. It was fun seeing his sisters, Whitney and Brittany, who also lived here with their mother as children in 2003. Brittany even brought a toddler of her own to our party who looked just like her when she lived here.  

So, when I think of these amazing young adults whose mothers were so courageous to bring them to Blue Monarch as babies and toddlers, there is something significant they appear to have in common. They have exciting futures ahead of them and do not seem to be struggling with the same challenges their mothers faced at their ages. Perhaps they learned from watching their mothers’ journeys and didn’t want to make the same mistakes. Maybe their mothers became healthier parents, encouraging their kids to make better choices.  

But I like to think there was also something special about their time at Blue Monarch as young children that made a tremendous difference. Regardless, they seem to be drawn back to us, so there is apparently something comforting about returning home, which is what we wanted all along.   

“Same song, second verse, could get better and guess what, it did.” As I look at this photo of our babies with the very first Blue Monarch baby, especially Arionna who is gazing at Trenton as if she understands the significance of the moment, I have a feeling the third verse is being written even as we speak. I don't know about you, but I cannot wait to hear it.

We will not hide them from their children; we will tell the next generation the praiseworthy deeds of the Lord, his power, and the wonders he had done. Psalm 78:4  

If you have never heard the story of the Christmas Miracle Baby, you can check it out here:  http://susanatblue.blogspot.com/2014/12/ 

The Unexpected Detour

Her toddler was not sleeping at night and this mom was struggling. Allison (not her real name) was exhausted, overwhelmed, and felt defeated. Nothing unusual for a typical mom, but for one already feeling insecure about her parenting skills and having lost custody of another child because of her personal choices, this took a normal frustration to a whole new level. She felt like a parenting failure and this aggravation only confirmed her convictions.

Our team discussed a few options to help Allison’s little boy sleep and I handed her a bottle of lavender spray I had on my desk that had been given to me as a gift. “Here. See if this will also help.”  

 

I was a little disappointed by her reaction, which was not in proportion to the sacrifice I had just made. I really liked the lavender spray and enjoyed using it in my office, but she seemed noticeably indifferent and even a little hesitant to take it.

 

Little did I know, this mom had been hiding an ugly secret. She was a severe alcoholic and knew she would be at risk of drinking the lavender spray, simply for the tiny bit of alcohol in the bottle. We were also unaware she had been drinking hand sanitizer to get a buzz. Yes, hand sanitizer. We typically don’t keep liquid sanitizer around for that very reason, but she had found some left over from a recent event and had sneaked a few bottles back from trips off campus. (Apparently the burning sensation going down the throat is a close substitute for the real thing, and the numbing it provides is worth the disgusting taste.)  

 

When these indiscretions were finally revealed, they explained a lot. For months we had been struggling with this mom to make progress and despite all our efforts, we still felt we were working harder at her recovery than she was. Truth was, we were.  

 

After multiple chances, Allison left us with few options. It was frustrating because we all saw her potential and we adored her little boy, but no matter how much we tried, she was determined to remain stuck right where she was. We just continued circling the same tree.  

 

Our staff had a lengthy meeting and finally made the painful decision to make room for someone more desperate for an opportunity. After all, we had a responsibility to honor the journeys of all the women who were putting 100% into their own recovery. It was imperative that we held others to the same standard. But - it did not mean we had to like it. We decided to meet with Allison the following morning to let her know our decision and we all went home with heavy hearts.

 

The next morning, I was hurriedly walking through my bedroom about to leave for work, when a scene much like a movie unexpectedly started playing in my head. In vivid color and great detail, I saw a family of three facing a casket that held the body of a blond headed woman. Their backs were to me and blocked the woman's face. Where did that come from? Her husband looked to be in his early forties, he was tall and thin with neatly cut dark hair. He was comforting their teenage daughter whose head was tucked under his arm as she wept. To the left of the girl was her brother who seemed to be about ten years old. He stood like a soldier, very stoic, staring at his mother in the casket with his arms by his side, hands clinched into white knuckled fists. 

The grief was overwhelming and I could feel this family's emotions as if they were my own. Even when I tried to shift my thoughts to something else, I couldn't. The movie in my head continued to play as the father attempted to comfort his two children while he was clearly devastated by his own loss.

 

I was still puzzled by this scene when God spoke to my heart, “If you discharge Allison today, this mother will be killed by a drunk driver." Wow.

All the way to work I pictured this family in my mind. It was so detailed, I was convinced I would recognize them if I saw them on the streets, and I suspected they lived in a town about an hour away where Allison would be returning if she left our campus. It was tempting to find them just to validate the powerful images.

 

As I walked into my office, our staff members were already preparing for our dreadful meeting with Allison. I said, “Can we call a family meeting instead with all our residents and staff?”  

 

The atmosphere was tense because Allison's peers suspected she was leaving for all the obvious reasons, but they were puzzled by the group meeting since this was something we would typically handle in private. They were also a little weary from trying to help her in their own ways. Allison was tearful and even trembling. She knew she had pushed her limits and was dreading the bad news.  

 

“I wanted to meet with everyone instead of meeting with Allison privately, because I feel the entire community needs to know what has happened. As you know, we have struggled with Allison for months and she refuses to make any progress. We keep landing right back where we started. I know you are frustrated with her, too, for not being more serious about her recovery when she has so much at stake.” Everyone nodded.

 

Allison continued to cry and tremble. I was anxious to put her out of her misery.

 

“But Allison is not leaving today and I want you all to know why, because she ordinarily would be, considering the circumstances.” Allison nearly collapsed on the sofa and was a bundle of tears and disbelief before I could even explain the reason. She took a noticeable deep breath.  

 

I continued by telling our residents and staff what had happened earlier that morning and that I was going to listen to God and not discharge Allison that day. I couldn’t make any promises if Allison continued to be uncooperative, but for today, she was not leaving. There were tears everywhere I looked. No one could believe the inevitable had shifted so dramatically.

 

Later that day, Allison came into my office. I expected her to express how grateful she was for another chance, but she also shared a story that clearly had a profound impact on her.  

 

With tears streaming down her face, she said, “Miss Susan, last night I prayed my heart out that God would speak to you somehow and convince you to give me another chance. So, when you told your story this morning, I couldn’t believe it. God heard me! I am so thankful!” She wept tears of true gratitude and disbelief.  

 

Well, I am happy to report this event has been a game changer. Allison is a completely different person. She is genuinely happy with a smile that never ends. She is digging into her issues with our counselor, instead of holding back and refusing to talk about her true feelings. She has faced the shame she carried about her secret relapses and has confessed all the embarrassing details to her peers. She has let go of constantly comparing herself to others, which has always been such a powerful stumbling block. She is happy to do her chores rather than grumbling behind our backs and in many ways she is becoming an effective leader. She is enjoying being a mother in a way she has never known before now, and her relationship with her precious child has visibly grown.

One day recently I asked Allison if she was still tempted to drink hand sanitizer. She immediately said, "No, but I haven't really been around it either." 

Then she paused. "Well, I guess I have been around it at the store...and the doctor's office..." A huge smile spread across her face as she realized she no longer looked for it, and was no longer tempted by it. In fact, she seems to finally be free from that terrible temptation. Just look at that!   

 

But there's more. From what Allison tells me, her toddler is sleeping much better, which comes as no surprise. Looks like he finally has the mama he was trying to find all along - and we're pretty happy to have found her, too.  

Lord, thank you for guiding our steps even when they take us in a different direction to unexpected places. You always know the path that is best. Amen    

Steps to Nowhere

If there had been such a thing as online reviews back then, I don’t think this outfitter could have made it. A travel agent with good intentions booked me for a trail ride in the Tetons and I couldn’t have been more excited. I loved traveling alone and this was going to be an amazing adventure. Camping in the wilderness, riding horses all day, coming back to a hearty meal cooked over a fire - what could be better?

 

The rugged cowboy in charge was more authentic than John Wayne, himself. He was a big guy, had a thick handlebar mustache that completely covered his lips and hung to the bottom of his chin. Everything about him was weathered - his face, his cowboy hat, and his dusty, leather boots. Customer service was not his thing and he rarely spoke unless it was an occasional grunt that his crew seemed to understand. Speaking of his crew, our first morning got delayed because he had to bail them out of jail for public drunkenness. Apparently, this was a weekly routine.

 

Our group was quite diverse. The ones that stood out the most were a newly married couple who thought this was going to be an amazing honeymoon. Neither had ever ridden a horse, they were terribly unprepared for the extreme changes in temperature or the many hours in a saddle, and by the end of the first day the poor girl was in tears. She wore shorts for an eight-hour ride and came back with saddle sores and blisters all over her skinny little legs. They didn’t leave the campsite again until we left for good. That marriage was off to a rough start. 

It didn't take long to see that the master cowboy got a thrill from scaring folks. Each day brought adventures that bordered on sadistic because they were so dangerous. I love a thrill and was accustomed to hours on horseback, but this was ridiculous. One day we rode to the top of a steep mountain covered in nothing but snow and loose slate. The horses had to lean over at a 45-degree angle and scramble to keep their feet on the ground. They might as well have been trying to skate sideways on marbles.

Another day we went down a ravine that was so steep, the horses literally scooted on their butts with their front legs straight out trying to navigate the boulders and rocky crevices. I tried to convince myself that my horse knew what he was doing because he did this trip every week, but he began trembling like he was scared to death. I didn’t realize at the time it was because he had been rented for the week and was totally unprepared to risk his life for a stranger on his back.  

 

When we finally got to the bottom of this dangerous stretch, I reached up and grabbed the massive cowboy by the collar and said, “This was not in the brochure!” to which he had no response. I was ever so thankful the little newlyweds were not with us that day. This man apparently got some kind of sick pleasure out of seeing people in distress. Since we rode each day for eight hours, I could only imagine how long it would take to go back and get help if anyone got hurt. After all, it wasn’t like we had cell service or even cell phones for that matter. 

 

It was no wonder Mr. Cowboy’s wife left him. Word had it he was mad at her one day, so he backed his horse trailer to the backdoor of the Piggly Wiggly she managed and turned his horses loose in the produce department to graze on all the vegetables. But she got him back, alright. Apparently when he got home later that night, she had hauled off their trailer and all he found were the concrete steps to nowhere. 

 

There were a few highlights to appreciate from this adventure - such as the incredible wildflowers that appeared in the most unexpected places like little surprises from God, the spectacular views from mountains that were too high for even vegetation to grow, and especially the occasional moose sighting. But I was happy to pack up and leave at the end of the week.

 

The trail back to the pickup place was extremely narrow, barely wide enough for the width of a horse. It was hazardous because the mountain was straight up one side and straight down the other. There were four pack burros that were strung together carrying all our gear. They could barely fit within the space of the small trail because their saddle bags on either side were as wide as their bodies.  

 

All of a sudden, one of the pack burros lost his footing, slipped off the side of the trail, and began falling down the steep embankment. It was about a twenty-to-thirty-foot drop-off but because the burro was tied to three others, its fall progressed in slow motion. Naturally, since they were connected, all four eventually tumbled down the incline like dominoes. They were a tangled mess, and my first thought was that we were going to end this treacherous trip by watching them shoot innocent animals. I couldn’t imagine how they might possibly survive such a fall without life threatening broken bones and cuts.  

 

As we watched from an aerial view, some of the crew quickly scrambled down the steep embankment on foot to cut them loose while the rest of us held our breath in horror. The burros were a huge knot of legs, hooves, and body parts that were hard to distinguish as they struggled to untangle themselves. They left a trail of pots and pans and personal belongings in their wake. Stuff was strewn everywhere.  

 

Much to my surprise, once the burros were cut loose from each other, they righted themselves and immediately began eating grass as if nothing ever happened. Amazingly, none were seriously injured, thank God, and they apparently survived without permanent trauma since they were so eager to simply return to the basics. Now I just eat grass.

 

Late the other night I heard from a former resident who was in yet another crisis, and this experience immediately came to my mind. I finally realized it was because she and her friends remind me of this string of burros that were yoked together in such a way that one could not fall without taking the others, too.  

 

For years, this group of women have refused to permanently separate from each other. When one falls, they all fall. They don’t just stumble. They sink deep. They make poor choices that turn into near death experiences - and they do it together. 

 

However, when someone cuts them loose, they don’t look up and try to figure out a way to get back on track. They just simply return to the basics like those burros and pick up where they left off before the latest catastrophe.  Now I just eat grass. 

 

Once in a blue moon this group will recognize how toxic they are for each other and go their separate ways. It is during these times they thrive, seek fulfilling jobs, heal relationships with family members, and find reasons to be excited about life. They get reacquainted with God as if he is a brand-new idea and are eager to sing his praises. But eventually, one will slip off the trail. She will drag the others with her because none are willing to let go of the worn out baggage that causes them to be drawn to each other in the first place. It's a vicious cycle.  

 

The wheel of recovery at Blue Monarch has many spokes and this is one of them. In fact, we have begun focusing even more on the pitfalls of co-dependency since it can be such a trigger for setbacks. We encourage our residents to choose their friends wisely. “Set the bar really high! Don’t get yoked to people who will drag you down. Choose friends who represent who you want to be - not who you hate to be. You don’t have to be tied to unhealthy people to feel whole.”  

 

In other words, we are grooming trail blazers - women who are strong and confident in who God made them, not fearful to step off in a fresh direction. In fact, I have news for the one who is known for finding sadistic pleasure in the distress of others. When you come looking for these courageous women, you will find no one at home and steps to nowhere - because they will have reached for the One who breaks their yokes and sets them free. And that, by the way, is not a brand-new idea.   

 

In my anguish I cried to the Lord, and he answered by setting me free. Psalm 118:5

 

The Sweet Sound of a Growl

When this adorable little girl arrived at Blue Monarch with her mom and siblings, I couldn't help but think of Nell, the young woman played by Jodie Foster in a movie by the same name.  Nell had developed a strange language of her own, which was a combination of her deceased mother's distorted speech following a stroke, and a secret language she shared with her twin who had died decades earlier.  She lived a life of isolation and had not been exposed to anything different.

This young girl at Blue Monarch, let's call her "Sadie," would rush into a room and aggressively lunge at random individuals, scrunch up her face, and basically growl.  Yes, growl.  It wasn't a mean growl.  It was more of an "I don't know how to express myself, so Grrrrrrrrr!"  She rarely spoke, but when she did, her words were totally unrecognizable.  Her family members were the only ones who understood her unique language, much like Nell.  It must have been so frustrating to see people glancing at each other with puzzled expressions instead of responding to what she was saying.

Naturally, the first time I witnessed this, my instinct was to protect Sadie from kids at school who might be cruel to her.  I couldn't bear the thought of other children making fun of her odd form of communication.  We needed to get her into speech therapy right away!

Sadie was interesting to observe, and I often thought she would make a rich character in a good, Southern novel.  She was fascinating.  It was obvious she was drawn to others, but like a suspicious puppy, she jumped back just in time if anyone reached for her.  She was good at judging just the right distance to avoid being touched.  It was a mystery how she determined which ones to approach and which ones to ignore.  There was really no category in between.

As part of our recovery process, the courageous women of Blue Monarch deliver their "Readiness Statements" to their peers and our staff.  This is a powerful, often very emotional, and even painful account of the difficult journey they traveled, which landed them in a place like Blue Monarch. We have discovered this exercise brings great freedom. They express their desires to do something drastically different, and they identify the individuals they wish to hold them accountable.  The stories can be horrific and even shocking.  I have yet to hear one that is not heartbreaking.  I often wonder how they cheated death despite all the close calls.  It's a miracle, actually.  That's the only explanation I can come up with.  

But these stories are also when I fall in love with their children and begin to see them in a whole new light.  When we hear the experiences their little ones endured - and survived - we suddenly understand their behavior.  It completely makes sense.  The screaming immediately becomes less annoying, the crying becomes more meaningful, and their constant need for attention is totally understandable.  It's as if a veil is lifted, and the child transforms into a tiny person who desperately needs our help instead of a loud, unruly kid out of control.

When I heard Sadie's mother describe her personal journey, I completely understood why she cried non-stop for the first two weeks at Blue Monarch, and why her beautiful daughter only growled at others.  It suddenly made all kinds of sense.  I could see why Sadie either never learned to talk or refused to talk by choice.  No wonder.  In fact, I found myself cheering her on.  "You go girl!  You talk when you are good and ready!"

Sadie did begin working with a speech therapist, and in the meantime, she and her family settled into their new lives at Blue Monarch.  She loved our pets and farm animals.  She developed friendships with the other children at Blue Monarch.  We focused on Sadie's recovery as much as we did her mom's and she thrived with everything our robust children's program had to offer.  Sadie was a happy child and knew she was in a good place.  Her brother even pulled me aside one afternoon to tell me, "Miss Susan, you know what I love most about Blue Monarch?  I know we are safe!"  Sadie seemed to know that as well.

It took almost a year, but one day I suddenly realized Sadie had broken through many of the barriers she faced when she first arrived.  Sadie had just gotten home from school when she ran into my office with a million questions. "What's this?  What's this?"  She was a little old for those type questions, but I was happy to answer every single one.  She jumped into my lap, gave me a hug, looked out the window at the house we were building for more families and said, "Look!  That's our new house!"

I realized in that moment that I understood her speech completely and it was not because she and I had become family.  It was because Sadie was becoming a new creation - just like her mom.  If you ask me, that calls for a victory cry - like a big fat "Grrrrrrr!"  

Now that I think about it...perhaps that's what it was all along.  

Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old has gone, the new has come!  2 Corinthians 5:17

"I was aiming for his heart!"

*I want to note in advance, that some of the women we serve have good, healthy fathers who love them and want the very best for them.  Sadly, that is not always the case.  

 

*****

We were sitting around the kitchen table eating lunch and somehow, the topic of broken noses came up.  I was surrounded by six women in our program, and it came as a shock to me that I was the only one at the table who had not suffered a broken nose at the hands of an abuser.  What?  I had no idea this was so common.  I was impressed they didn't all look like Sylvester Stallone.

 

One of the women began telling a very graphic story of how her boyfriend beat her up and oddly enough, the broken nose was not the worst of the story.

 

As if I was talking to a girlfriend about her husband leaving up the toilet seat, I casually said, “Well, I hope you got him back.”

 

“I got him back alright!  I shot him!”  Okay, I didn’t see that coming.

 

“Seriously?  Did you kill him?”  

 

“Well, I meant to!  I was aiming for his heart but at the last second, he bent over backwards just like Gumby and the bullet went through his shoulder instead.”

 

“And then what?”  

 

“I called the po-lice and told them I shot a man and was trying to kill him.  He rolled around in the street and squealed like a pig until they got there." Apparently, her boyfriend didn’t press charges, said it was an accident and even though she insisted it was not, they did not arrest her.  Guess he figured the next time might be worse.

 

Later, as I reflected on this woman’s family tree, I realized this was practically a tradition in her family.  Her mother shot her abusive husband in the neck and somehow didn’t kill him or serve time.  And rumors are, her grandmother shot and killed her husband, shoved his body off the bluff, and burned the sofa he was sitting on.  The way it was told to me, the law looked the other way because the grandfather was a monster, and everyone knew it.  The women in this family set the bar pretty low for finding a good man.  

 

One has to wonder, why did three generations of women choose men they would someday want to kill?  Did the men start out charming and then change after they were together?  Or did their partners remind them of their fathers who were just as bad?  Is it true little girls grow up to marry someone just like their fathers? 

 

I am reminded of a day when I chatted with the women at Blue Monarch about relationships and discovered not one of them had ever been on a real date - despite the fact each one had multiple children.  Sadly, not one of the mothers seemed to find this unacceptable or even unusual.  In other words, they did not believe they deserved better.  Changing this perspective is not easy.

 

Recovery is so much more than just sobriety.  True recovery is a wheel with many spokes.  Thankfully, Blue Monarch is a long-term program, so we have an opportunity to address the entire wheel and our goal is to make sure there are no broken spokes by the time they walk out our door.  

 

Choosing healthier relationships is just one of those spokes, but it is a challenging one that can seriously impact the next generation.  Never was this more clear than it was last week.  I received a heartbreaking call from a former resident, one that has played over and over in my head ever since. 

 

“I have finally hit rock bottom, Miss Susan.”  This woman was crying so hard she was practically hiccupping the words and it was difficult to understand her.  But this part I got loud and clear.  “My husband raped our little girl. Twice.”

 

My heart sank and I thought I might throw up as she shared the gruesome details.  My mind immediately went back to the precious baby that was born into such a safe, nurturing bubble while at Blue Monarch years ago.  This man had taken a perfect little flower and assaulted her in the most hideous, vile way possible.  And now her father was gone, which was also going to be hard for a child to understand.  I remembered a picture her mother had sent me years later of this innocent little girl wearing a pink and purple outfit, standing so proud and happy - totally unaware of what she would endure in the months to come.  

 

“They are offering him twenty years.”  

 

In my opinion, twenty years was not nearly enough for what this little girl will carry for a lifetime.  I reflected on all the women we had served who experienced the same violation by their own biological fathers.  It was only through the tremendous grace of God and his supernatural healing that some were able to overcome the trauma and heartbreak - and even forgive.  It was no wonder they turned to drugs to numb the pain and I prayed this little girl would not do the same.

 

“I just never thought my daughter would get hurt.” 

 

I thought back on all the many times we warned the mom to get away from this man.  There were many red flags she chose to ignore.  I wanted to turn back the clock and try again in some other way that might have gotten her attention and changed the outcome.  Please, Lord, can we go back to before this happened and try again?

 

This mother is a perfect example of someone walking out the door without all the spokes intact.  She is a fierce survivor, extremely bright, funny, resourceful, and full of promise for a great future.  But she can also be very hardheaded and stubborn.  Despite the fact she was clean and sober when she left Blue Monarch, and had accomplished some amazing things, she was not willing to let go of her perspective on relationships.  In other words, she still wanted to do recovery her way and hang onto pieces of her old life at the same time.  She insisted on pursuing a relationship with a man she already knew was not healthy, and she will suffer the “what-if’s” the rest of her life.  Turns out that one broken spoke was a big one.  

 

The next day, as I looked around the room at the women we have today, I didn’t want to ask, “Who’s next?”  I wanted to shout, “NEVER AGAIN!”  I wanted to do whatever we could to ensure no one else experienced this same trauma.  We talked about the importance of completely surrendering our lives to Jesus and submitting to the process and how destructive it can be to have one foot in recovery - and the other in old behavior.  It simply does not work.  

 

So many times, as we talk about our loving, Heavenly Father, we get blank or even angry looks from the women we serve.  How does that make any sense when their earthly fathers have been harmful or abusive?  No doubt, this concept will be very difficult for the little girl who was just raped by her own father.  

We pray this precious child will one day understand that her Heavenly Father loves her and she will always be his perfect little flower.  He is the Father who will always be there, no matter what, and he is the Father who will never change.  No matter what.  Our prayer is that one day, this little girl will set the bar really, really high and seek a man with a heart like God's.  May she aim for His heart and find it.

    

Lord, we pray for tremendous healing for this little girl and her family.  May she feel your presence in big and powerful ways and find comfort that only you can bring. Amen

Is it completely hopeless? Is it?

So, it's been eighteen years and this is still my favorite Blue Monarch Christmas story.  If you haven't heard it before, perhaps it will bless you this Christmas season.  Sometimes we need a little reminder that prayer actually is powerful.  No, really.

*****

My journey with Blue Monarch has been filled with wonderful memories as well as some painful bumps along the way.  When God asked me to take this on, I had no idea what I was getting into.  And when I think back, my expectations were so remarkably low.  I just had NO idea…
This couldn’t have been clearer to me than when I witnessed the birth of our first Blue Monarch baby.  

It was 2003 and our program was brand new.  As an artist with no social work background, I was just figuring things out as we went along.  One of our first residents showed up pregnant.  She hid it well because we didn’t know she was pregnant until her water broke, which was quite a surprise. 

Chrystal was way too early to be going into labor, so she was rushed to the hospital for thirty days of bed rest.  During this time, I frequently traveled to Chattanooga to visit her, bringing lots of reading material and trying to structure some kind of productive program for her under the circumstances. 

One thing I noticed was that this young mother was beginning to develop a personal relationship with God – which seemed pretty remarkable considering she was alone in her room much of the time, confined to the bed with very little to keep her busy.

Short of the thirty days, she called me one day and said, “Miss Susan, you’ve got to get here.  I have to have an emergency c-section!”  (It has always seemed sad to me when I’m the one in the delivery room instead of a special family member.  Little did I know, I would repeat this role a number of times in the years to come.) 

So, I got suited up for the c-section, completely shocked they allowed ordinary people off the streets to witness this dramatic surgery.  But when the doctor lifted her baby out, I was horrified because he looked like a little dead bird.  He was black from the knees down and looked completely lifeless.  Fortunately, the mother was not able to see what I saw on the other side of the curtain.  They immediately whisked him away and we returned to Chrystal's room to wait for news.  We waited…and waited…and waited.  Three painful hours went by and not one person could tell us anything about the baby.  Things didn’t look good.

Finally, the doctor entered the room and said, “We’ve tried everything to save your baby but we’re not going to be able to.  So, if you want to see him alive, you only have a few minutes left.”  I was taken aback by the doctor’s bedside manner in such a traumatic moment and immediately assumed he must be numb from seeing this scene so often.  

As you can imagine, our world turned upside down in a split second.  Chrystal was extremely upset, and the entire NICU cleared out so we could visit her baby in his last moments in privacy.  This time he looked like a dead bird in a box hooked up to a million wires.  He was pitiful and tiny and lifeless.  Chrystal demanded to know why the God she had just met would let something like this happen.  Honestly, I was asking myself the same thing. 

The doctor pointed to a gauge overhead and said, “You see this number?  This measures his blood oxygen level and should be over 90.  But as you can see, it’s only 20.”  

After an understandable emotional breakdown, Chrystal decided to go back to her room because she didn’t want to watch him die.  But it didn’t seem right to leave him alone, so I stayed with her baby.  Christmas carols were quietly playing in the background with Christmas only a few days away, which only made this moment even more surreal. What in the world was happening?  I thought I was going to help women get jobs and I was about to watch a baby die. I was angry with God in that moment and felt he had not been up front with me about the assignment I had been given.  “This was not in the brochure!” 

I watched the dreaded number continue to drop from 20…to 16…and then all the way down to 11… In other words, it was completely hopeless. 

All of a sudden it occurred to me that we needed to be praying for this baby!  So, I got on the phone, called my daughter in the middle of the night, and asked her to call all her friends and start praying for this baby.

Even though I had grown up in the church, I had heard about “the power of prayer” until it no longer meant anything to me.  I couldn’t imagine how it could possibly make a difference at this point, but it seemed like the thing to do, so I sat there next to the baby and prayed.  I prayed hard, but I will admit, my faith was not even the size of a mustard seed.  

Afraid of what I might see, I eventually peeked at the gauge and much to my surprise, the number had begun to rise.  It was back up to 20.  Wow!  Maybe it moves around?  I kept watching as that number gradually climbed all the way to up to over 90 again!  It was unbelievable!

The nurses ran over to me and couldn’t believe what they saw.  They quickly fetched the doctor and when he rushed over, he looked at me and demanded, “What did you do?!” 

“I really don’t know.  We just have a lot of folks praying for this baby.”

“Well, that’s one helluva prayer team you people have!  I’ve never seen anything like this!”

Chrystal eventually named the baby, Trenton, but around the hospital he immediately became "The Christmas Miracle Baby".

I remember sitting there just soaking in the miracle that had just happened.  It was overwhelming and there are no words to truly describe how supernatural it felt.  Then it suddenly hit me - even if we never accomplished another thing at Blue Monarch, it would always be worth it because of this very moment.  Anything after that day was going to be icing on the cake!

As I drove away from the hospital later that day, I suddenly realized - Blue Monarch wasn’t about getting women jobs.  We were in the business of saving lives.  What I didn't know yet, was that there would be lots and lots of Blue Monarch miracles.  This was just the first.  

*****

Through the years, as I have told this story many times, the first question has always been, "How is the Christmas Miracle Baby doing today?"  Well, take a look.  I would say he's doing great!  Yep, prayer is powerful, indeed, even when things look completely hopeless.  May we never, ever forget that.