Abuse Survivor

Happy Way of Life #16 To Try

Abuse Survivor, Art, bravery, confidence, courage, freedom, grace, happy, mercy, Peace, praise, Prayer, Redemption, Stillness, Trust, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder

There is a persuasion in the soul of man that he is here for a cause, that he was put down in this place by the Creator to do the work for which He inspires him, that he is an overmatch for all antagonists that could combine against him. Ralph Waldo Emerson

Have you considered the deep down joy of trying?

It is possible that trying might be more fantastic than you’ve ever known.

If we’d not discount it based on whether we finished satisfactorily or how everything may have to fall apart to come back together.

Last night, I painted for an hour, the same the night before. The surface waits for me now, paint tubes not closed properly, canvases stacked with halfway pieces and half-hearted attempts.

I’ve been here before. Seeking something big and of notice.

Seeking to be known by the work of my hands.

Instead of my heart.

Self-awareness, oh what a blessed gift you are!

Encouraging my beginning again.

Telling me to try.

I’ve just done a new thing this morning.

An idea I’ve had for a long time, a story and the deadline, oh shoot!

It’s today.

So instead, I pitched my idea…just proposed the heart of the story to see if the publisher might think the reader may like to read more.

This is not a phenomenal feat, it is simply a try and it is new for me.

So, now I move farther into my Saturday.

I’ll run while the air is still cool, make the bed, do some laundry, maybe return to the mess I made and try again and again.

Maybe, again. I will try.

Know that wisdom is such to your soul; if you find it, there will be a future, and your hope will not be cut off. – Proverbs 24:14

A Loyal Peace

Abuse Survivor, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, doubt, Forgiveness, freedom, grace, happy, heaven, mercy, Peace, praise, Prayer, Redemption, rest, Stillness, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

He restores my soul.

A grassy hill, a sloping field sits in front of our house. Occasionally, when it cools down with a crisp sharp change, a lone deer will stand and stare.

I imagine it sometimes more of a pretty meadow and I love to picture a flock of fat fuzzy sheep gathered together, content in their position.

I read this morning of our all-knowing God, His knowing us completely, our good things and our struggles.

I thought of Him as a shepherd and imagined one sheep who had found a solitary corner, separate from the rest.

One might think illness, pregnant with a baby lamb or some limitation causing it to stay back, to retreat.

Like a sheep all alone on purpose, I’m prone to retreat. Sometimes to rest my mind, filter out the excess. Sometimes healthy or something else.

Other times the cause is remorse, sometimes insecurity, sometimes shame, or uncertainty.

I learned long ago to find a corner and to sit with it all, wanting someone to notice or praying no one noticed at all.

Until I convinced myself to get up and carry on.

We have a shepherd who is loyal, not going to leave us behind or desire that we sulk off separate from rest.

God sees our good. He also sees our not good. Our emotions and negative names we give ourselves are just as troubling to Him as our sin, I believe.

Were we able to audibly hear Him calling our name, saying “Come here, come out from that corner!”

We’d hear him say, I imagine, “I give you safety not fear. I created you to be confident, not afraid, I will equip you to do great things, don’t be insecure. Remorse is not required of you.

You are forgiven.”

Then He might tell me a story or a few of them about others like me who got lost and were found and found again.

And if this were so, I imagine there would be an embrace and perhaps, He would say:

“Stay with me. Stay longer this time, Lisa Anne.

Everything I did and have done. It is for you, for you to follow, fully believing.

I am loyal, your loyal shepherd.

I don’t see your struggles the way you believe I do, I see them simply as not meant for you. I see you meant for more. This is why I am loyal, why I gave my life for your peace.”

But he was pierced for our transgressions; he was crushed for our iniquities; upon him was the chastisement that brought us peace, and with his wounds we are healed.

All we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned-every one-to his own way; and the LORD has laid on him the iniquity of us all. – Isaiah 53:5-6

 

This post was prompted by the Five Minute Friday community, Kate gave us the word loyal and like most times, I’m sure I took more than five minutes to finish, still, I am linking up with others. Kate Motaung writes about the loyalty she observed while in Africa. Read here: Loyal

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Where God Has Me

Abuse Survivor, confidence, contentment, courage, Faith, Forgiveness, freedom, grace, love, Peace, Redemption, rest, Salvation, Stillness, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder

Lisa Brittain writes about freedom, trust and surrender. She asked me to write about freedom.

She reminds the reader that when we look to the Lord, we are radiant and without fear. (Psalm 34:5).

This morning, I read my contribution to her blog. It’s an odd excitement to see your words in other places, I hope it will always be exciting. I believe it will.

Today, it prompted a sort of urgent self-reflection, a gentle stirring me to right a slight wrong.

Early still, I’m awake and thinking about this new “forgetting and forgiving is freedom” place God has me.

I know it’s the right place, this place of deliverance longed for for so long.

Yet, it’s not about me.

I’m glad I caught it early.

Self-examination in the quiet space of morning caused me to trash quickly a post, one about not joining in the conversations about new and overwhelmingly increasing numbers of sexual abuse disclosures.

I harshly used the word “bandwagon” to judge others who are finding their voice and bravely revealing what they’d hidden for so long.

My 5:30 a.m. journal is a note to self:

Are you boastful when you declare your progress?

Are you self-righteous when you proclaim your healing?

Somewhere I remember self-righteousness being like filthy rags.

Oh.

Maybe.

And my sermon to self?

“Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.”

I will preface the sharing of my post on freedom by being clear.

I understand how important it is to confront physical, sexual, emotional abuse and if appropriate, even the abuser.

I understand the powerful freedom that comes from declarative disclosure, ideally with a trusted and trained therapist.

It is important to say aloud and as often as needed:

“He, she, they should not have hurt me.” or “What happened to me was wrong”.

Yes, I do understand.

I understand the strength you never thought was yours equipping you in your disclosure and growing stronger and stronger.

I understand to decide to step away from those wounds, to move on towards new and vibrant places with a countenance of confidence is a decision of will and of faith, of determination and daily rising up to meet the road with God beside me.

I’m not able on my own.

My decisive daily prayer of what to do now with my survivor story that was once horrific and now, hopeful has become:

Lord, what do I have to say that others need to hear, to read, to know? Help me to help and not hinder and to speak more of my hope through you than my harm through them. May it be so.

Because of mercy, Amen

Here’s an excerpt from my post on which Lisa gave space for my freedom story.

   For so long, I’ve held tightly to my harm from abuse.  My days and nights have been marked by reminders that prodded the scars of my heart’s wounds, the scars that would be forever tender. Talking with others who understood or at least could attempt to be empathic, I was committed to my mindset, a decision to “keep my stuff”. It was a huge part of me…

Read more here:

The Freedom of Forgetting

What I Lost

Abuse Survivor, confidence, contentment, courage, memoir, mercy, Peace, Redemption, rest, Salvation, Stillness, Trust, Uncategorized

On the morning of my birthday, I lost a treasured gift.  A trinket, a charm my hand loved to seek out to be sure still there or to cling not so tightly to, my thumb and index finger, for secret security.

It was early and I was dressing to be with a crowd of women who were hopeful writers, speakers, famous and not famous, wise and seeking wisdom. I had thought to go fancy, bright colors and bold statement jewelry, then settled on a crisp white top with navy stripes, jeans, favorite worn leather sandals and blue grey beads that landed just right. Simple earrings, favorite bracelet, watch and birthstone ring. I decided to be me and the morning was going pretty good.  It was good, a good hair day, feeling my best me.

One more thing though, I was hesitant over wearing it, would it be just the right touch?  Was it necessary to offset the subtle sparkle of bead and would it send the right message, give the right image?

My fingers reached for the tiny hook that opens the clasp, the thick rope chain that has always kept it safe.

Seconds between thinking, of course you wear it,  people will notice and then…No, you shouldn’t, you shouldn’t act as if your day depends on what you wear or whether you’re someone to be seen and especially righteous by the wearing of your tiny gold cross.

Showy, Lisa Anne, that’s showy, that’s seeking notice.

Another second was all that passed and I convinced myself that’s silly, wear the necklace, no shame in your game, let it shine!

But, on the morning of my birthday,

I lost my cross.

It slipped from my hand and the delicate charm I was washing to make shine fell quickly into the drain of the hotel sink.

Well then, there you go, I thought. I tried to pull the drain from the sink, wedged the end of my toothbrush in and then decided it was okay.

I let it go.

No time to worry, no time to panic. Only time to carry on knowing what I needed to know.

I’d be fine without my cross resting on my chest.

No, I’d be better.

I’d be less showy, less fan girl of the authors hoping they notice me.

I’d be more quiet background and less front row.

I’d be able to see them, hear them, not be heard and not to be seen.

I’d be there to soak in what was poured out, not to be dying of thirst and hoping some special soul might notice and offer me a cool drink from their famously special cup.

A drink of attention, acclaim, of admiration of me and my appearance.

I’d be there to be changed.

And I was.

Two hours in,  my shirt’s all wrinkled and my lipstick has faded. My hair is puffy on one side and flat on the other. I’m next to a pretty young woman.  We’re facing the mirrors and she smiles as I smile and say, “humidity hair”.

Two or three others agree. After lunch with time before the next session, I join a group clustered and we begin to talk and we ask questions that seem so very much the same and we smile and we answer, we laugh and we agree.  We’ve learned so much more than we expected today but exactly what we prayed we would.

It’s all of us that matter, our stories of Jesus, not a one the same as the other.

Our messages are meant to be written and gradual or sudden nudges for others to know more.  To know more of our story before and even more of it now. We’re stewards or our stories, not proud owners and most of all not fancy paraders for our glory or our lingering disdain.

We are bearers of light; yet, not the light.

I am closer and closer to no longer fretting over what I lost or perceived as a loss. Closer to forgetting my need to remember, to hold on to, to believe I must appear to be so or just so.

The hotel called to say they’d found my cross. I asked them to mail it and told them I appreciated it so, it was from my husband and special to me because of it being a long ago birthday gift.

I drove right past the hotel as I headed home from the conference.  I thought to exit but decided instead to go on.

Decided to continue on back towards home, to arrive at the place where it matters no more what I left behind, only what I’ve come to know now.

What I lost mattering not, only what I’ve found and continue to find through Him.

I once was lost. Now I’m found. Was blind but now I’m (beginning) to see.

On the day I turned 58 I lost my cross, had to let go and leave it behind.

But, I’m pretty sure I found my message. Yes, I believe I found my song.

Linking up with Mary Geisen and others at Tell His Story. Yes, we’re just a blip on God’s radar, we’re small in this great big world. Still, we matter. 

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For Women

Abuse Survivor, bravery, confidence, contentment, daughters, Motherhood, Peace, praise, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

I came real close to calling her back.

Thought about it more than once, a non-writer, blogger, random probably, reader of my words.

I couldn’t remember the way she said what she said.

I told her it meant so very much and now I can’t even remember how, but

we went from work related conversation to her making mention of my instagram, my words that morning

And other mornings.

“Something about it…” she said.

“Something about your words, always, always for women”

2 days later, I’m settled here, settled and satisfied that sometimes some things I say matter for someone other than me.

Just now I’ve had a texting convo with my girl and before that a friend and before that this one who made my day when she told me I likely had no idea how much my words mean to so many women.

Like a prayer, I’m inclined to say

Amen.

Prompted by the FMF ladies…the word, WOMAN

Woman

August ‘63

Abuse Survivor, bravery, Children, confidence, contentment, courage, Faith, family, grace, heaven, memoir, mercy, Redemption, Stillness, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. – 1 Corinthians 13:7

The greatest thing happened yesterday, more special than anyone will understand. I saw myself surrounded by love and I am hesitant to say; but, I am thinking it may be the unlocking of so much more, the freedom to change my perspective, to alter my imaginary ideas of what I was incapable of remembering.

That’s me there. The bobbed bangs and even back then I was unable to open my eyes for the shot. That’s me surrounded by love in the August of ’63 when I turned 3.

I’ve just read two separate perspectives on love after waking up with the realization that “we should just love”.

I can’t say how sleep unearthed this necessary proclamation.

It may have been the weekend with family, the coming together of us from different places and paths that had taken us all spread out from one another are bringing us back together.

In need of the other’s love.

In need of connecting again as if we were small and couldn’t help but be gathered together cousins, sisters, uncles, aunts, and dogs.

This morning I read of how disillusioned Jesus may have been perceived to be.

How he saw others as redeemable and that was all he saw. He saw them as returners to His Father’s love and He saw them without judgment of the places their hands, hearts, and feet had been before they came or returned from wandering.

I’d like to say I love this way. That I don’t pretend that my concerns over others is not judgment, that it is only my hoping for them to be better.

I’d love to know I could love, and that my love wouldn’t be questioned.

That I’d not have ideas about others that humbled me when they were conclusion jumping wrong.

That I’d love the way family loves, bound together although disjointed by life.

That I’d love without judgment, that my love would be childlike and innocent in acceptance and mature and intentional in the reality of its necessity and giving of grace.

I’d love to love like Jesus.

I believe I shall love better, knowing, after all, I have been loved, was and am.

The little girl in the pointy hat, the stretchy string pinching our necks as we all gathered around the table with our mamas, daddies, aunts, uncles, grandmothers, grandfathers and a bird dog patiently waiting for a scrap.

Children, now adults, all found our way despite stumbling, falling, faltering along the way.

One, Stephanie, not with us, missed so much more than time can attempt to measure. Others, babies then, too tiny for the table and some yet to be conceived.

When we all get to heaven, what a day of rejoicing that will be!

We all were loved, I’m so sorry to have ever doubted.

For from his fullness we have all received, grace upon grace. – John 1:16

Love endured, endures still.

So now faith, hope, and love abide, these three; but the greatest of these is love. – 1 Corinthians 13:11-13

Lament No More

Abuse Survivor, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, Faith, grace, happy, kindness, memoir, mercy, Peace, praise, Prayer, Redemption, Stillness, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, waiting

Yesterday I told a writer, a published author who is good, funny and honest, the thing I’d been thinking all week.

Andra Watkins is strong and unafraid and kind and I can’t wait to read her new book!

Andra Watkins

I’ve met her and read two of her books already. This one is a little different and she wrote that it had been an idea long ago, finally coming to fruition despite serious medical interruptions and detours.

I finally commented on her FB page.

I told her how seeing her accomplishment made me feel. Told her I was jealous. I told her I was happy for her. I told her I came up with a new word about my feelings. I had decided I was “jAPPY”.

She replied that she knew I would, that I would one day write a book.

I smiled.

Running last night, yes, me running, I decided to remember that I will only not write if it is not for me from God to write.

In that case, it will be okay.

I have written a whole lot already.

Yes.

I have a crazy real fear that my time will run out. Partly due to the lack of time because of my career and the mental exhaustion it causes, I have only tiny chunks to devote to writing. (This is my reality. This is not whining and not in need of encouraging or worthy comments along the lines of…if it mattered you’d make time.)

This is accepting that space and time will clear in time and if not, well, that change is no longer completely up to me.

The happening or not, I am a smaller part than I wanted to be.

Running towards something, pressing a little farther each time and committing to knowing this is my part, my new dedication, just keeping going.

I begin my day every day with the Jabez prayer. The one that is an imploring of God to make good things happen and to keep them coming, please.

Everyday, I realized today, I am praying for more when I already have so much, God has granted a multitude of what I have asked.

…and that your hand might be with me, and that you would keep me from harm so that it might not bring me pain!” And God granted what he asked. – 1 Chronicles 4:10

I’m a woman raised with very little and along the way I have been given so much, had opportunity to give from all I’ve been given.

The book I thought I might write no longer is the book I believe may come.

The prior was a lament, the future will perhaps only recall the past from which I’ve come; but, will be so much more heavy on hope.

God is moving me from all the past.

God is keeping me from my pain.

It is a necessary blessing.

My soul continually remembers it and is bowed down within me.

But this I call to mind, and therefore I have hope:The steadfast love of the LORD never ceases; his mercies never come to an end;

they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. – Lamentations 3:20-23

The song in my ears while running reminding me that His mercy will not end.

I tapped replay.

His mercy never ends. His plan for me will not be thwarted even if I stumble and get bummed out by my past so hard to forget or agonizing my far away and unattainable to me future.

A mercy song:

As Sure As the Sun will rise and chase away the night, His mercy will not end. Ellie Holcomb

His mercy will not end.

His love for me will not be removed.

I will continue in rhythm with His timing, His mercy,

His idea for my book.

Learned Yesterday

Abuse Survivor, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, doubt, grace, kindness, memoir, mercy, Peace, praise, Redemption, rest, Serving, Teaching, Trust, Uncategorized, Unity, Vulnerability, waiting

Before I forget, I must make a list of yesterday’s people.

A Board President gave the blessing before the meal at a gathering of grantees. He prayed for us, our work of love and for those who had yet to pass through our doors.

Before his “Amen” he paused as if the Spirit lingered long with Him and he longed to stay in that moment. Just as after his “Amen” his sense of God was so real he audibly acknowledged it, he kind of shook from the presence with an “Oh”.

Laughter with my friend/employee/spiritually wise one all the way to and from the gathering on the crazy construction mess of interstate.

We were safe.

A fellow grantee, selected as the spokesperson for her table and her response to the chosen question over our biggest obstacles in providing help to others. She, one by one listed needs that had been met for her Free Clinic simply by asking straight out and three times maybe four in beautiful oration, she paused and added:

Ask, that your joy may be complete!

Five women, separately but simultaneously because of the day, encouraged my writing after reading “Black Crow Mercies”.

One took the time to send an email, I only skimmed at first and read again before bed seeing the gift more clearly from God for me.

Thank you for who you are. This is not the first time God has used you to soften my heart. I am praying for your book. Just know it will bless.

Love from the camping ground,

Anna

 She has spoken hope for me, and dare I say, made reality, my writing of a book.

Later, two women I have written guest posts for sent me sweet words, one sharing my words, the other sharing my hopes and her hopes with me. She shared them in a podcast I’d never bothered to listen to.

I messaged her and wrote how her voice calmed me as she talked about peace, how happy I was to finally listen, to hear her sweet tone.

Even later, I went for a run and was exhilarated over how much this challenge of going a little farther has gotten hold of my heart.

Music in my ears, impressing me to continue.

Farther, farther along…

Farther Along

Running from the devil of depression, I allowed my acceptance of my truth.

I ran with new vigorous confidence and commitment towards my growing stronger, towards understanding.

Home, I announce to my son that I went farther. I ran farther this time. I head to the kitchen to finish dinner and it’s healthy, I’m healthy.

I think of a writer named Lisa, remembering I told her I’d guest post again and letting the ball drop on my end.

Then I see her comment from 12 hours before and my name in her post, my words, “Black Crow Mercies” shared for her friends.

I commented how unbelievably timely her sharing, for I felt she’d long forgotten me because of my forgetting her.

Two writers, males, commented as well. One in agreement with my realizations on being different, one affirming I’m “good, okay, different”.

People on my path.

Lord, you never delay too long. Thank you for showing that what I decided to believe once again will in fact be true.

In a little while, I knew I would see.

In a little while, I knew I’d again believe.

Because of mercy, Amen.

linking this post up with others at Tell His Story hosted by Mary Geisen.

http://marygeisen.com/foreigner-in-a-foreign-land/

Never Walk Alone

Abuse Survivor, Angels, bravery, confidence, courage, grace, memoir, mercy, Peace, Prayer, Redemption, rest, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder

I’m led to Matthew 11 and happen upon the words of Jesus I have over time found hard to relate to, difficult to apply and for me, a struggle to see as I am meant to see.

Over time though, my overthinking has thankfully become lessened,

over time.

Struggling still, to understand the “yoke”, I try to be visual of what it might look like for Jesus to have a yoke attached to his back.

Thinking naturally of animals: oxen, donkeys, maybe cows or a poor old countryman, thin and worn, breaking up the land for seed and pushing forward

Bent by what’s behind him, intent on going forward.

A posture I do understand.

Struggling, but determined, working hard, a hard working tired soul.

This morning, I opened my Bible to see a girl reminiscent of me in the border.

On a morning some time before I must have begun to understand the yoke thing momentarily

even more so, thankfully, now.

If I had my way, I might prefer to open my Bible and read the tiny words as if a guide or simple self-help.

I know now that it’s the drawing in that is God’s desire and I’m drawn to consider meaning, there is cause for me to get quiet.

It is God’s intent.

That I get again and again, quietly confident.

To read, reread, can’t quite relate and after a while, begin to understand.

The passage about the yoke, I’ve long been unable “to get”.

But, this morning, I see.

I see.

Jesus is saying, let me come alongside you, let’s walk together. Here, I’ll put one side of the yoke on my back and you take the other.

Leave your old yoke behind Lisa Anne, trade it for mine.

Mine is for you, not working against you and it is like me, gentle, not proud and not boisterous and burdened or stumbling along defeated by the arduous trek.

Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.

Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.

For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.” Jesus -Matthew 11:28-30

Abide, stay near and in rhythm with me, your steps are now syncing with mine and mine with yours.

Today, and tomorrow and on and on, a promise here for your believing,

You never have to walk alone

There is rest here beside me

Rest for your soul.

Bearer of Sorrows and Healer of Horrors

Abuse Survivor, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, doubt, Faith, grace, memoir, mercy, Prayer, Redemption, rest, Stillness, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, waiting

Matthew, Chapter 8 describes Jesus as a healer.

A healer of a leper, a servant fortunate to have a compassionate owner, a woman lying sick with unrelenting fever, and men tortured by mental demons.

The first was healed by an outreached hand, the slave healed from a distance at the request of his humble and heartbroken owner.

The touch of a fevered and weak hand and finally the exit of horrendous mental illness via a herd of pigs.

I’ve never experienced an unrelenting fever or been incapacitated by pain, physical nor evil, mental torment.

I have carried burdens for too long though and been bent by their load.

The words of the prophet Isaiah remind me I’m best when I’m quietly confident and now more than ever that I no longer should dwell on the past, that I should see all the good that is springing up before me.

And I have, yes, I have surely seen the springing up and I’m getting better at forgetting.

Remember not the former things, nor consider the things of old. – Isaiah 43:18

Everyday I drive by a tiny church. The sign out front remaining the same for weeks.

Do not return to the place God delivered you from.

church sign truth

I pass by, look either straight towards the truth or give a sideways glance.

Okay, okay yes, I know.

Matthew Chapter 8, is all about healing with reminders of rescue thrown in, a boat tossed by sudden storm and the disciples who’d just witnessed miraculous healing by the one accompanying them.

Jesus was sleeping like a baby.

They wake him and he calms the storm, a reminder to them and us of who He is, will always be.

25 And they went and woke him, saying, “Save us, Lord; we are perishing.”

26 And he said to them, “Why are you afraid, O you of little faith?” Then he rose and rebuked the winds and the sea, and there was a great calm. – Matthew 8:25-26

Isaiah prophesied that Jesus would bring healing and that he would bear our burdens, that our heavy loads and sorrows would be His if we would allow it to be, that the cross would be the place of understanding, finally.

These horrors, this pain, these burdens, this trauma, we can leave them with Him, we can if we will, lay down our heavy loads.

This was to fulfill what was spoken by the prophet Isaiah: “He took our illnesses and bore our diseases.” – Matthew 8:17

The yoke that is not ours to be bent by we can let go.

Surely he has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows; yet we esteemed him stricken, smitten by God, and afflicted.

But he was pierced for our transgressions; he was crushed for our iniquities; upon him was the chastisement that brought us peace, and with his wounds we are healed. – Isaiah 53:4-5

Someone skilled in understanding trauma posed the question to a group of us affected by such, her question about finally moving past…

How will you know? TT

And the answer, I believe quite possibly will be,

When you choose to truly believe in your healing. me

Lord, help those of us confounded by our pasts to believe and help not to be sidelined by the ever present reminders of our own making but, the constant conversations intent on igniting our fears, our memories, our fight or flight and mostly our tendency to carry our loads of sorrow again. Be our healer, Jesus, the healer of all, still.

May my healing journey bring hope to others. Because of your mercy, I am able to say,

Amen

Catching up on reading the words of others, I love the way Mary describes her inner scars and the suggestion that the ones that show now are the ones resulting from the places Jesus healed us. I’m late to the link-up but thought my thoughts here are somewhat similar.

Tell His Story