When God Makes a Promise

When I was 15 years old, I had a very strong inclination that God had a calling on my life.  I prayed about it, and asked for several signs, because to be completely honest, I generally don’t trust my feelings.  Besides, I loved to sing more than anything, and I couldn’t believe that God would actually call me into music ministry.  On a certain day in December 1995, while attending an Illinois Youth Encounter, I prayed that 3 very random, but specific things would happen…things that wouldn’t normally happen.  By the end of that night, all three of those things had occurred.  As a shy 15 year old, I was a little freaked out.  I told my friend, Bethany, and when I went home, I went forward to talk to my pastor that Sunday to tell him what God told me, but he sat me down, and never told the church.  It made me feel like he didn’t believe me, or didn’t believe IN me.  Maybe I didn’t communicate it well.  Besides, I was 15.  The only women I knew in music ministry were recording artists, so I’m sure the idea seemed a bit far fetched.

The next year, at 16, I began to write off the idea that I had correctly heard God.  I wrestled with the concept over and over, and I didn’t want to tell people about it.  I didn’t want to seem braggy or conceited, or come off like I thought I was better than anyone else.  I was a choir girl, and grew up around a lot of talented singers.  I had no desire in the least to come off as a diva.  I struggled with my gift and my calling.  I just wanted to be normal.  At the height of my burden, questioning whether I could have really heard it right, I asked God for another sign.  On this particular day, I was attending the All-District Choir Festival.  My heart was heavy, and I prayed to God, asking that if He really wanted me to commit my life to music ministry, that He would allow my name to be called as the top audition in the district for my section (meaning I would go on to All-State Honors Choir and audition to sing the national anthem for a state basketball game), but to make sure my ego wouldn’t get the better of me, that He would prevent me from making All-State at all the following year.  It was a bold prayer, and I was petrified.  I was even more petrified when my name was actually called.  I was the top Alto 1.  My knees were shaking more than I knew they could and I could barely catch my breath.  Everyone thought I was just nervous about the anthem audition, but God had spoke, so clearly that I couldn’t ignore Him.  I didn’t feel like my audition had even been that good, and there I was, being called up as top of my district.  And just as I’d asked, the following year, I didn’t make it past All-District…and it was humbling, but I knew more than anything, that was a confirmation.

God made me a promise…but honestly, I had no idea what it meant.

Proverbs 3:5-6 Holman Christian Standard Bible (HCSB)
Trust in the Lord with all your heart,
and do not rely on your own understanding;
think about Him in all your ways,
and He will guide you on the right paths.

Trying to rely on my own understanding made things confusing.  Like I said, the only women I had ever seen in “music ministry” were recording artists.  Women didn’t serve in a Music Minister role in any church I’d ever attended.  In my mind, I was going to be a recording artist when I grew up.  At 17, I left for college to study vocal performance and Contemporary Christian Music.  After 1 year, I felt like God called me away from school, and I disobeyed.  I stayed too long trying to rely on my own understanding, and I paid a heavy price, but God was still faithful.  He had made me a promise, even if it wasn’t turning out like I wanted.

At 21, I married Bryan.  At 23, I became a mom.  At 25, our marriage struggled, and at 27, we recommitted ourselves to our marriage and our God.  I didn’t forget God’s promise.  I went to a conference in my late 20’s to learn more about the Christian music industry, thinking that perhaps my timing had not been right in my youthful pursuit of my call…and to be completely honest, it sounded awful to me. The ministry aspect was in no way the focus. Promotion and money were king, and this idealistic INFP didn’t want much to do with it. My faith and calling weren’t and aren’t about glorifying myself. Realizing this caused me to pause and it caused me to pray. All my life, I thought that was what God meant, but it wasn’t what I really wanted.  It didn’t fit.  I was confused, but not defeated.  I realized that God called me to music ministry, not necessarily that I would be a Christian recording artist, as silly as that sounds now.  Bryan and I began seeking what God really meant, not relying on our own understanding, and it all intertwined with a promise God had made Bryan when he was 19 – he would plant a church.  One year later, after a lot of prayer and God moving a few mountains, we moved to New Orleans to attend seminary.

I’m grateful God doesn’t function within our paradigm of life.  His ways are counter-cultural.  His timing isn’t immediate, things don’t happen quickly or even how we think they’re going to occur…and He has a reason for all of it.  When I look back on all the years between age 15 and age 37, I’m thankful.  I’m thankful that I wasn’t thrown into a position for which I wasn’t ready.  I’m thankful that His ideas are different than mine.  I’m thankful for the perfection in His plans and the awe I’m wrapped inside thinking of how faithful He is, even when we’re not.

When God makes a promise, he always comes through.  On Sunday, February 18, 2018, I was blessed to lead worship at Sow Chicago Community Church, a church where my husband is the lead pastor and church planter, and I am the Worship Director.  How cool is that?

Isn’t God amazing?



I don’t think I’ve ever really been fearless or brave.  Truth is, if I hadn’t been on my period and wearing a tampon, and it hadn’t been shoved so far up inside of me that I had to go to the hospital to have it removed, I probably wouldn’t have reported the crime.  Who would have believed me?  He was my friend from work.  I had hung out with him on multiple occasions and gone to lunch with him several times.  We weren’t dating, nor had that discussion ever come up.  He was moving to California to go to law school at the end of the summer, and although he wasn’t my type, he was interesting, and I’m generally indiscriminately social.  I like to see life from different perspectives, and he sure had a different one, although, until that night, I had never felt threatened by him.

Even with that kind of physical evidence however, the state’s attorney didn’t believe me.  Even if they did, I wasn’t the victim that they needed to get a conviction.  My demeanor wasn’t appropriate.  When I’m uncomfortable, I crack jokes, and during my exam, I’m sure I said some things to lighten the mood.  I’ve done that since I was a kid.  Yes, I had been sobbing for the majority of the day, and numb and confused, but I was naked in a room full of doctors, police, advocates, and my mom.  It was humiliating, and I didn’t know how to act.  I refused a morning after pill because of my religious convictions.  I’m sure me getting engaged to Bryan 7 weeks after the assault didn’t help either, but the truth is, I had only met my husband the day before the attack, and only saw him a second time because all of the clothes I had purchased from his store were confiscated by the police and I went back to make an identical purchase.  I told him on the way out when he questioned my buying everything a second time that my clothes had been confiscated by the police, and I’d tell him the story if I ever got to know him better.  He knows the story now.

The state’s attorney chose not to indict, and never followed up to tell me.  I went on, never knowing what happened or why.  I was diagnosed with anxiety disorder, and took medication off and on to deal with my irrational anxiety and panic attacks.  Eventually, over a year later, I conjured up the courage to call Prairie Center Against Sexual Assault and ask what had happened and why nothing ever came of it after I had been through an embarrassing exam and gave my statement to a detective at the police station.  She was new to the job, but began to dig.  I typed up my story and sent it to her, and not surprisingly, my account had not changed.  The detective I spoke with said he had always believed me, but the guy had moved to California to go to law school (more quickly than planned after being questioned by the police), and since the state’s attorney who had been assigned my file didn’t think I was a viable case, it had just faded into the background and was dropped.  My new advocate continued to work for me.  Almost 2 years after the attack, I had a meeting with the Sangamon County state’s attorney, the 3rd in command attorney who didn’t believe me initially, the original detective, and my new advocate.  As a result of the meeting and my solid account, they decided to go forward with the case in 2003, and he was indicted.  The statute of limitations in Illinois was 3 years at that time, and if I had waited any longer, nothing would have been done.

The case drug on and on.  Even after he was indicted, it didn’t end until November 2007, 6 years and 5 months after the assault.  His attorneys delayed several times.  We had to wait for the DNA evidence to process.  The state delayed when I became pregnant with Matthew.  He faced 6-14 years in prison for felony sexual assault, but the longer it drug out, the more I questioned what was the right thing to do.  He had gotten married in California.  I felt for his wife, and honestly believed that he wouldn’t be a danger to anyone else, so I approached the state’s attorney and asked if they could charge him with a lesser crime.  I felt he still needed to be convicted of something, but I was hoping offering grace and mercy in that situation would allow him to move on and be a productive member of society.  Although it seemed like the best thing to do at the time, I have no idea whether it was the right thing or not.  After seeing the kind of man he has become, I would say no, but all I know is I did what I felt was right at the time.

At the end of the day, he plead guilty to misdemeanor sexual assault or inappropriate touching.  He spent no time in jail.  He was on probation for 2 years, having to fly back to Illinois every 6 months to check in with his parole officer.  He attended alcohol counseling, paid $500.00 to Prairie Center Against Sexual Assault, and wrote me a letter of “apology” for his crime.  In the letter, he basically spat in my face and acted like I was crazy.  It was his final blow, because through it all, he had to keep putting forth that he was the victim of a false rape accusation.  I had a panic attack when I read it in the courtroom, and they withdrew the plea deal.  Unfortunately, my attorney (you know, the one who didn’t want to try the case in the beginning) chose to recuse himself after the deal he had worked so hard to put together fell through, so their office ended up putting it back on the table a few months later, with my rapist rewriting a more obviously forced, disingenuous, and polite version of his required apology.

He had to retake his bar exam, because his original  one expired during his indictment period.  He eventually bid to have his record expunged, which was a condition of the plea agreement, and it was granted.  Other than him running his mouth about being “falsely” accused of rape on the internet, no one would really know what happened, or why he had to retake the bar or why it took him so long to get licensed to practice law in California.  Lucky for me (sarcasm font) he has been running his mouth for years on the internet about the experience, mixing his tale with lies and half truths, calling himself “patient zero to the false rape epidemic” and painting the anonymous accuser as a psycho with a vendetta against men.  It’s repulsive, and he’s a liar.

Even in the past, I’ve shared more than most do about my experiences with sexual assault.  That is not my only experience, but probably the one that affected me the most because of the prolonged legal action.  While I thought I had worked through most of my anxiety and PTSD, this past Spring, I was hit in the face with it all again.  I read about my rapist in national news, and I wanted to throw up.  I literally shook.  I was anxious.  Panic attacks reemerged.  This went on for about 3 months.  By summer, I was getting better again, but honestly, it’s horrible feeling that way again.  People in the news like Donald Trump, Bill Cosby, Bill O’Reilly, and Harvey Weinstein pick the scabs open again and again.  Reading random people on Facebook lash out at the victims and blame them for being victims, opens very real wounds for me and countless others.

For those who question why women don’t report, read my story again.  Does that sound fun to you?  For those who claim they’re just after fame or money, ask yourself, who wants that kind of fame?  I made a conscious decision not to file a civil suit because I didn’t want anyone to ever be able to say it was about money, because it wasn’t.  It was about justice, and that was it.

For those of you who question why those women never called out Harvey Weinstein before now, consider how powerful he was.  He could have probably ruined them and their whole family.  Did you know that if you talk about a criminal sexual assault that happened to you and call out your perpetrator, that YOU could be sued for libel/defamation?  I do.  If I ever felt like calling out anyone by name, that has stopped me in my tracks.  I still fear for my family, and while it may be unsubstantiated, it hasn’t gone away in 16 years.  As much as the legal system traumatized me when I pressed charges against a man who raped me, I couldn’t even imagine going through that fight too.

I know what those women are feeling, because I’ve been there, and some days, I still am.  There is truly safety in numbers.  Sexual assault is a crime that can be easily dismissed because evidence is tricky, and it comes down to a he said/she said situation in the majority of cases.  It’s maddening, and I have no idea how to fix it.  Our culture’s broken view of sex and sexuality further complicates the issue, but when a pattern of abuse is established, people will listen, at least most of the time.  To tell our stories is painful, but it is important.  There are many more of us out there, hidden in the shadows, too scared or ashamed to say #MeToo.

The Planks We Don’t Know We Have

I was born with a lazy right eye.  It is a genetic issue from my dad’s side.  My parents did their best to correct the issue in the eighties, taking me to a specialist when I was 3.  I wore an eye patch and glasses through 1st grade.  At that point, I was deemed “cured”, as aesthetically, it was no longer noticeable, at least, most of the time.

What I didn’t know, is that this condition continued to affect me, even though I thought I was basically all better.  I still didn’t see like everyone else, and I had no idea.  My right eye shuts on and off to avoid double vision when it veers ever so slightly, which causes me to have little to no depth perception, and eye tracking is much more difficult for me than for a normal person which affects my ability to read quickly.  I have to focus much more and utilize more brain power for tasks that don’t require that for a person with normal vision.  It is the reason I was/am a day dreamer.

For years, I assumed I just wasn’t as smart as others.  I have difficulty focusing.  Reading and studying are harder for me, and I don’t enjoy it because it is so much extra work.  Although I am very musical, I have a hard time sight reading as quickly as someone with normal vision, and I always have to focus super intently to do it.  When I was in driver’s ed at 15 years old, I didn’t understand the depth perception test.  I was completely embarrassed, made a joke of it (because I ALWAYS tell jokes when I feel awkward to cope), and just assumed I was stupid.  My senior year, when I was auditioning for All-District Choir, I completely lost my place during a singing exercise and bombed my audition.  I still made All-District, but I didn’t make All-State, which I had done the year before as the top alto 1 in my district.  I was so embarrassed, but again, just assumed I wasn’t very smart, and that maybe the year before was a fluke.  I won’t even go into the issues I had during sport tryouts because I couldn’t really tell where the ball was, but again, for years, I just internalized this as I wasn’t smart enough or good enough.  Other people were just more coordinated than me, more athletic than me.

Then about 3 years ago, I scheduled a routine eye exam for me for contacts with my son’s eye specialist.  Matthew was born with bilateral strabismus, and although he had a surgery to correct his issues when he was 4, we discovered 6 years later that he was still living with difficulty due to the fact his eyes were not perfectly corrected.  His eyes were taking turns turning off and on, and  as a result, were not working together, but separately.  Dr. Adema treated him with prism glasses and vision therapy to correct his eye dysfunction as much as possible.  His eyes now work together, his eye tracking is MUCH improved, and he can actually see 3D movies, which I’ve never been able to do.  At the time I made my own appointment, he was at a midpoint in his treatment.

Dr. Adema noticed what many other eye doctors had missed for years.  My right eye is still weaker than my left and my brain turns it off pretty regularly to avoid double vision, i.e. I have vision loss in my right eye due to a very slight lazy eye.  I have learned to function with this condition, not even knowing I had it.  He explained to me that because I was 34 at the time, fixing me would do more harm than good, because I would have to completely learn how to re-see.  He explained to me how it affects me.  He told me that I don’t have depth perception.  He told me eye tracking is difficult, and let me know that unless I memorized everything, I would not be able to feasibly pass my piano proficiency in seminary.  He told me that it affects my ability to mentally focus.  He told me that I’m not stupid, and that I’ve had to learn how to function differently than everyone else.

I went home and cried.  I know it may seem silly to you, but for me, who had always just assumed that I wasn’t good enough or smart enough, life suddenly made more sense.  I began to notice my eyes not working correctly.  I was aware.

So why am I telling you all about my lazy eye?  Well, the main reason isn’t so you can check it out next time you see me.  Having this condition, and becoming aware of it so late in life allowed me to understand something much better than I ever had before.

Matthew 7:1-5 says this:

 “Do not judge, or you too will be judged. For in the same way you judge others, you will be judged, and with the measure you use, it will be measured to you.

“Why do you look at the speck of sawdust in your brother’s eye and pay no attention to the plank in your own eye? How can you say to your brother, ‘Let me take the speck out of your eye,’ when all the time there is a plank in your own eye? You hypocrite, first take the plank out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to remove the speck from your brother’s eye.”

Sometimes we are born with planks or specks in our eyes, and we are completely oblivious to their presence.  We learn to function with them, see around them, and don’t think for a second that we see any differently than anyone else.  This can be as a result of culture, class, race, family history, medical issues, or an as-sundry of other things.  Why do we try to remove the speck in our brother’s eye when we don’t address our own plank?  Well, sometimes it’s only because we don’t believe we have a problem.  We don’t believe we have a plank there.  But here’s the thing: as Christians, when someone lovingly or not so lovingly addresses our issue, even if it’s new information to us, we need to be humble enough to look into it, and not so quick to react negatively.  Sometimes it can be shameful, but we need to be aware of ourselves, because if we are not aware of our sin, how can we turn from it?  Truth is SO IMPORTANT.

I guess my point is, pray that God will show you your planks and lose the pride.  We have to be humble in order to follow Jesus, and none of us are perfect.  It’s okay not to be perfect, but it’s not okay to believe that we don’t need to continue to be sanctified.  None of us are there yet.  Embrace it.  Be aware of it, and use the knowledge to strive for holiness, because we are called to be set apart.

Sweet 16

Sixteen years ago today, June 13, 2001, I walked into Finish Line in Springfield, IL and set eyes on my future husband for the first time.  He was 6 feet tall, skinny, with bleach blonde hair and a dark goatee.  He was 22 years old, and I was 20.  We were both a mess, mentally and spiritually.  It was an odd time for God to show up, but His timing is always not what we expect.

I’m convinced he thought I was a psycho, but he tells me he thought I was hot and I guess that makes boys lose their better judgement.  I wasn’t looking for anything serious, mostly because I’d lost faith in it.  Our first few interactions were filled with odd conversations and strange statements, which I was sure would either intrigue him or scare him away, and at that point in my life, I really didn’t care which one.  We kept running into each other around Springfield, however, and one night at Walmart when I had left work early because of a panic attack and I didn’t want to go home to my empty apartment and his alarm clock broke out of nowhere, we ran into each other again.  He asked me out, and we agreed to meet at the mall because I didn’t want him to know where I lived.

Our first date on June 30 was just as quirky.  I asked him question after question after question.  I think I was probably trying to avoid talking about me, since I had been raped in the wee hours of June 14, just 2 weeks prior and the night after we met, and I wasn’t processing that well.  We stayed out that night until around 3 AM, just driving around and talking after dinner, and I confessed to him what was going on with me.  We talked about all sorts of things that probably weren’t typical first date material.  We both confessed we had a call to ministry, but were just not in a place to pursue it.  The next morning, I told my friend, Clayton, that I was sure I’d scared him off.  Bryan didn’t call me again for a week, and in my mind, in the several days in between, I probably was never going to hear from him again, and I started dating someone else, because in all honesty, that’s how I dealt with rejection at the time.  There were too many guys out there to get upset about one not liking you.

And for anyone who knows us, it didn’t take that long for us to work through the initial mess.  In August, we became “officially” a couple, and two days later, he asked me to marry him.  We quickly planned a wedding, and got married on November 17, 2001.

I look back, and neither of us had any idea about what we were doing or getting ourselves into.  We were very naive, and have walked through some tough journeys together as a result.  But God’s plans are so much better than our own, and He has blessed us immensely over the almost 16 years we’ve stuck it out together.  There is absolutely no one who could have loved me like Bryan has, and our story still makes me shake my head on how it could have possibly come to be, but God.

So today, even though some tough memories are also attached to this time, I am so grateful for the blessing of meeting that tall, skinny, bleach blonde dude who had just moved to Springfield.  I adore him so much, and I’m so happy to spend this crazy life with him!  Thanks for putting up with me, Bryan.

My Assignments

So I started seeing a counselor a couple weeks ago.  I’ve never really sought out counseling, despite having a dysfunctional past in many respects.  I probably should have taken the opportunity to utilize counseling services while we were in seminary, but I also didn’t want to be that transparent with counseling students.  I just wasn’t comfortable with the scenario, but after a rocky month of feeling more triggered by old situations than I wanted to admit, I finally sought out some help to conquer some of my driving anxieties.  While I feel in many ways “back to normal”, I also became painfully aware that my normal, probably wasn’t normal at all, so I’m looking at this time as an opportunity to strive for a healthier existence.

Tonight, C and I discussed 2 goals that she would like me to be able to achieve:

  1. Being able to go places alone
  2. Making new friends

I have a lot of fear about going anywhere solo.  Being married to a man that likes me and wants to go with me any chance he gets is something I absolutely love.  It helps me deal with unknown situations and provides me a feeling of safety in numbers.  If my husband is not there, my kids usually are, so I rarely have to confront this too head on.  I told C that I know this isn’t rational, but she reminded me that because of my past, it’s normal for my situation, so I was assigned to try to walk the block alone or try to find a small task to do by myself as I try to gradually confront and break this ever present anxiety.  For those of you reading this, I am asking for your prayers, and maybe one of these days, I can go to the grocery store alone.  Baby steps.

Secondly, making friends has never been an easy task for me.  I feel like I have lots of baggage and I’m a little complicated.  It’s easier for me to keep my friends that I’ve had forever (i.e. Bethany and Abby) and not really try to make new close relationships so I don’t have to explain myself to anyone because my past is kind of messy.  I’m also an INFP, which means small talk is hard for me and I desire deep relationships, which take a ton of work and are not just automatic, which annoys me.  I’ve always said, it was a good thing Bryan asked me to marry him right away, because I was never very good at the shallow dating stage.  I know I scared a few men off early on by not really masking my imperfections right away because I value being genuine with people.  If you want a good laugh, you should ask my husband about our first date (i.e. that time I interrogated him because I was in a weird mood).  I was sure I’d scared him off too.  Anyway, back on topic, making new friends is tough!  In a lot of ways, it’s exactly like dating, and like I said, I sucked at that too.  My best friends have known me since preschool or before, but as a church planting family, I have to get over this.  I’ve been assigned to try to initiate conversations with people and try to follow up with them.  I know this is just something I need to do as a missionary, but it’s also something I need to do as a human.  We all need friends.  Please pray that I find mine in Chicago.

So anyway, for those of you who read my last post and were wondering if I’m still suffering with crippling anxiety, I’m not, but I know I still need to heal, and that’s going to take some work.  Thanks for caring enough to read this…


I Desperately Need Your Prayers.

I’ve been swirling with anxiety lately, and I desperately need your prayers.  I recently blogged in vague terms about the man who raped me on June 14, 2001, who was charged and later plead down to misdemeanor battery charge in lieu of going to trial and risking prison time.  I had seen his name in an NBC news article a few weeks ago, and then the google searches ensued, upon which I found out way more than I wanted to know about him and the lies he has spewed about me since the ending of the court case in 2007.  My head was right back to where I was at trial’s end, and it wasn’t pretty.  I’ve been struggling with anxiety more than I want to admit these past few weeks.

5 years ago, on April 13, 2012 I wrote this excerpt on a private blog, acknowledging my first sexual assault for the very first time, not only to myself, but also to my husband.  This incident occurred in October 1999, when I was 19 years old and a sophomore at Greenville College, but I didn’t recognize it as what it was until I was already in my 30’s:

“I’ve been sexually assaulted multiple times, but until I started reading the book, “Rid of My Disgrace”, only the 2 rapes had registered with me.  I was almost 19 before I ever even kissed a boy…and then shortly after, something happened.  Something I really never talked about.  Something I blamed myself for, and it’s only by looking back on it as a woman in my 30’s and talking about it with Bryan, that I fully understand the inappropriateness of that situation.  It was in that moment with “DH”, who years later is a pastor, that I broke.  I was in shock and ashamed, and I never really told anyone fully about it, except for my husband 2 days ago.  I knew I still had extreme distaste, even hatred for him, but I didn’t understand why until recently.”

Because my anxiety was hard at work again yesterday, and I ended up googling “DH“.  I know I shouldn’t have.  I’ve joked that I need to have my internet privileges revoked for now, but like I said, I’m struggling…badly.  I haven’t googled or thought about him much for the last 4 or 5 years, and I was completely taken aback by what I saw.

He was convicted in 2015 of sexual contact with a minor, and is currently serving a 26 year sentence for his crimes.

I was in horrified shock.  I texted a college girlfriend and asked her if she’d heard about it, but she hadn’t.  She was horrified as well, before knowing what he did to me, because it wasn’t something I even told my closest friends.

I’m absolutely heartbroken for the victim and her family.  I can’t imagine what his wife and kids are feeling.

I don’t even know exactly what I’m feeling, but a lot of me just feels less crazy.  It really wasn’t me.  It was him.  I broke down and wept last night.  My kids wanted to know what was wrong, and I told them, “There were some people who did some very bad things to mommy when she was young.  Most of the time it doesn’t bother me anymore, but sometimes it still does.”  They both hugged me for a long time.

Please pray for me and my family as we work through these struggles one more time, and pray that it is all used for God’s glory.  God is moving so much as we are striving to plant a new church in our community, and even though I really need to work through these issues, I don’t always feel like I have enough time to do so.  Pray that I finally make this a priority, because it still unfortunately affects me and my family too.  Thank you.



Bryan and I are getting so close to planting.  His apprenticeship with the North American Mission Board will officially end in May, and he will officially be a Chicago North American Mission Board Missionary and Lead Planter in the new church, Sow Chicago.  We’re excited, overwhelmed, and ready all at once.  God is going to do some amazing things, and we know it.

But I’m here to tell you all, spiritual warfare is no joke.  Satan knows precisely where your weaknesses are, and he will exploit them, especially when God is on the move.  His desire is to break you and render you useless, because you’re less effective if you’re blindsided.

I was blindsided last week.  Silly me, who had actually thought for a moment, that I had no idea how Satan could attack us.  I wondered if he would attack our marriage, our boys, our income?  I just couldn’t be sure, but I was sure that our past had been resolved and it had to be something new that I hadn’t seen before…but it wasn’t.

An old wound was gauged open again.  It started with my morning routine, catching up on the day’s news.  I caught a name I recognized in an NBC article, and the wind was knocked out of me…no, not him…

My nerves immediately became shot and my brain started spinning.  I couldn’t even imagine this guy gaining notoriety, especially from people in the White House.  The google searches ensued.  My anxiety levels hit highs I haven’t seen in years as I read article after article of a man who practically broke me.  He’s published falsehoods and lies about me on his blogs and given interviews calling me a feminist liar without naming me.  My fears of him eventually hurting me or my family were re-imagined, and I was a mess once again.

Blindsided.  I didn’t see this one coming…

But as I walk through this pain and anxiety again, I have learned to rely on God.  This week I’ve been finding comfort in Psalm 62, knowing that I am not the only one who has ever been unjustly attacked:

Psalm 62

Trust in God Alone

“1 I am at rest in God alone;
my salvation comes from him.
He alone is my rock and my salvation,
my stronghold; I will never be shaken.
How long will you threaten a man?
Will all of you attack[a]
as if he were a leaning wall
or a tottering fence?
They only plan to bring him down
from his high position.
They take pleasure in lying;
they bless with their mouths,
but they curse inwardly. Selah

Rest in God alone, my soul,
for my hope comes from him.

He alone is my rock and my salvation,
my stronghold; I will not be shaken.
My salvation and glory depend on God, my strong rock.
My refuge is in God.
Trust in him at all times, you people;
pour out your hearts before him.
God is our refuge. Selah

Common people are only a vapor;
important people, an illusion.
Together on a scale,

they weigh less than[b] a vapor.
10 Place no trust in oppression,
or false hope in robbery.
If wealth increases,
don’t set your heart on it.
11 God has spoken once;
I have heard this twice:
strength belongs to God,
12 and faithful love belongs to you, Lord.
For you repay each according to his works.”


and breathe… God has this.  I don’t have to.  Though anxiety and seeing his name and even having one of my seminary professors endorse him as “a name he can trust” makes everything seem so very real, this was all resolved in court almost 10 years ago.  Just because someone spews lies about you, doesn’t make them true, not even close.  I don’t have to defend myself.  God will do that for me, but please, pray for us.