Baby Steps

She needed redemption unlike anyone I'd ever known. We sat a small round table, she on one side, me on the other. I was allowed to hold her hand, but when I moved closer to sooth her tears, the loud speaker jolted me back, "Mam, get back in your seat." I had forgotten the rules. I had forgotten where I was...

Driving to the prison that day my mind swirled. I had many things I wanted to say...none of which were kind. "What were you thinking? You've lost everything! How could you hurt your family like this? Drugs...you were selling drugs... in my neighborhood." And the litany of questions and accusations went on and on. I knew I needed help.

Lord, there are so many things I want to say, but I know my words are not the words she needs to hear. Help me.

And somewhere between my driveway and the razor wire, the waiting room and the metal detector, the tedious walk through tightly monitored steal doors and the little round table at which we sat, the Lord stripped my mind down. All I could do was listen.

And I gained the privilege of walking beside her as she took her first steps toward redemption.



Walking beside someone on their road to redemption is, humanly speaking, a futile task. It takes patience and wisdom beyond our abilities. Honest prayer is the first place to start. And the impossible becomes miraculous.

Priceless Communication

Angry tears streamed down my face. Angry words reached heaven. Lord, she’s had enough disappointments. Why didn’t she make the team? My twelve year old daughter sat next to me, crying. Born with a severe communication disorder that impacts all areas of her life, nothing had come easily to Anna—nothing . . . but soccer.

Anna had just told me her friend, Stephanie, had received the congratulatory call from the soccer coach. Anna didn’t. I was ticked!

“It okay, Mom. I happy Steph make it. I just sad.”

I felt like a fool. I was focused on my own anger, jealousy, and disappointment. Yet my daughter communicated perfectly to my heart in three imperfect sentences. And I realized some things: Other things come easily to Anna--accepting her losses, loving her friend above herself, and being honest about her emotions. And I had a lot to learn.

Why Me?

"Mom, I speak to Leah tomorrow."

"About what?" I asked.

"Not having friends. Leah sad. She not have friends. I going to tell her about when I not have friends."

My daughter was born with a severe speech disorder. Making friends, especially with girls, has been a challenge most of her life. Her brothers and their friends never cared...as long as Anna could grunt and throw, kick, and catch the ball... well golly, who cares if she can't talk. She could be apart of their team any day. But girls...girls expected more from Anna, and she longed to deliver. Living without close girl friends has been one of Anna's greatest heartaches.

"That's so cool, Anna. I'm so proud of you." I responded.

Why am I so proud? Anna hasn't wasted her pain. She turned her pain into something better. She used it to touch someone's life. To say, "You're not alone. Let me tell you how I'm getting through this situation."

We all have ouchy areas in our lives. And we've all raised our voices toward heaven and yelled, "Why me?" I'm the Queen of WhyMeez. Yet, God has never taken me anywhere that He hasn't turned my pain (either self-inflicked or other-inflicked) into something good, something useful, something meaningful.

My daughter has graduated from the WhyMeez school this year. And I think she made another friend.


The Father of all compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God. II Corinthians 1:3, 4