O' Lord

O' Lord, O' Lord, I know you hear my cry! Your love is lifting me above all the lies. No matter what I face, this I know in time, you'll take all that is wrong and make it right.  "

Those are the lyrics that I heard this morning as I woke up from a jet-lagged sleep. Those lyrics are still harmonizing in my mind and heart...eight hours later. I am currently finding myself sitting in a coffee shop in small town, Sugarcreek, Ohio. I find myself at home. I have been here in Ohio for five days now, and I have done nothing but cry out the words "O' Lord, O' Lord" over and over again.

 I am, once again, in a position where I am unsure of where God wants me. What I thought was going to happen, was that I was going to come back to Ohio for three weeks to try and somehow begin mending the brokenness in my family. Mainly with my parents. But I have come to realize, that I can't fix them. I can't change them. I can't change anything but myself. I have to come to realize that the doors for me to go back to Alaska have come to a close, and it brings sadness to my heart at that reality. I mean, what am I to do? Physically and worldly, I have nothing. I am now without a job, a home, and possibly a car. In both places. But the one thing that I know has remained and will ALWAYS remain, is Jesus.

O' Lord, O' Lord. 

 I am unsure of what I am to do. In two weeks, I will be approaching the date that my flight leaves for Alaska. Do I get on that plane knowing that I have nothing to return to, or do I stay and start over here in Ohio? All I know is that I can't worry about the here and now, or anything in my past, but I must stay focused on the one thing that I know will never change. The one thing that will always remain...

O' Lord. O' Lord, I know you hear my cry! Your love is lifting me above all the lies.

Differences

Two days ago, I found myself boarding flights to come back home to Ohio to see my family who I haven't seen in almost a year and a half. As I was having my bags checked, I went passed the "First Class" check bag line and said "Must be nice". A friend of mien was with me at the time and she looked at me and said "Mal. Its just a ticket. There is no difference between you and them. You are ALL going to the same place." I looked at her and said thank you for reminding me of my undesirable selfish thoughts.
   When I boarded my first plane, ironically enough,God placed me right behind first class. I mean I was a single seat away from being in first class. (God sure is funny sometimes) As the minutes progressed of being able to remove our seat belts, I watched the flight attendants walk up and down the aisle of first class and asked if anyone would like a drink. I wanted to shout out "Me! I would like one please!" But then, I started thinking to myself "What is so different about them? Why do they get treated better than those of us in coach?"

I just didn't get it. What is so different? I mean, we are just the same on the outside...humans. That's it

Salty Tongue

"For we all stumble in many things. If anyone does not stumble on word, he is a perfect man, able also to bridle the whole body...Even so the tongue is a little member and boasts great things. See how great a forest a little fire kindles!...But no man can tame the tongue. It is an unruly evil, full of deadly poison." (James 3;2,5,8)

I first heard those words of truth from the book of James when I was eleven years old. I was a camper at Camp Buckeye Retreat Center in Dundee, Ohio. It was during cabin devotional time. The time where all of us campers would sit in a circle on the floor of our cabin, and listen to our counselors as they taught us the directions and the truth that was found in the Bible. Eleven years later, at (almost) 22 years of age, I still think back to that one night when those verses were read aloud. Those words...those verses, impacted my life in more ways than I can describe. That was the night that "taming the tongue" was humanly impossible.

I was around five years old when the lying began. That one word to me, is so bitter. Its as bitter as the taste of salt on my tongue. Grainy...disgusting. As I think and ponder on that bitterness, my mouth has turned dry and my tongue is rough as sandpaper. Truth of the mater is...

  I was a liar.

 Growing up, I would lie about anything and everything. Small things, big things, medical "conditions"...everything. My parents, mainly my dad, would repeatedly tell me that I was a "wolf in sheep's clothing". My mom would always bring up the story of "the boy who cried wolf too many times". Growing up, my parents would also say "Mal, you won't be in as much trouble if you tell us the truth and not lie about it." But no matter how many times they would repeat themselves, and ask me why I would lie, I still continued to do what I, deep down, didn't want to do.

Along with my parents and brother, a lot of people would ask me over and over again why I lied. I mean I lied about stupid crap! I always said the same thing every time, "I don't know." Honestly, I knew the reason why I did what I did. I just didn't want them to know. I didn't want anyone to know. Throughout the years, my parents would spend thousands of dollars taking me to see psychiatrists, counselors, and psychologists. I had multiple personality tests that were given to me. I remember there were a lot of times where I would sit in a room all by myself at a desk, with a pencil and a multiple choice answer test. The doctors would tell me that I had to "fill in the bubbles". I sat there. Quietly. I take my time up until I got to question thirty and then I would quickly fill in the rest of the bubbles because I just simply didn't care. More importantly-I didn't understand why I was having to do such a "silly" thing. In my mind, I didn't understand why I would have to go and see them week in and week out. I missed countless hours of school. Mom would come and pick me up for a psychiatric appointment during school...and I just couldn't understand. What was wrong with me?

I lied for protection. I wanted to be protected from everything in the world...mainly people and pain. I wanted to have control of some part of my life. Looking back, I now realize that I just wanted to be protected from sadness. I wanted to be accepted by my family. I wanted attention. I wanted someone to notice me. 

When I was in the sixth grade, I lied about having asthma. My parents, once again, spent thousands of dollars, to take me to doctors and appointments, to have me checked for numerous things. I had to take a pulminary function test, and I remember my mom asking the doctor if there was anyway that I could "fake" a positive result. The doctor told her no. I was bound and determined to make it true. I believed that I had asthma. So therefore...it was true. Well, let me just say that it was a lie, and seven years later, when I was eighteen years, I was truthfully and honestly diagnosed with asthma. Turns out my mom was right.

What goes around comes around. 

I could go on and on about the lies that I told. I could go on about how I lied about the time my mom simply asked who got the mustard out (it was me) and left it out on the counter. I could tell you how I lied about that and how I told her that it wasn't me. All she wanted was a direct answer. I lied about it. I could go on and on and on...but what good will that do? It won't change my past. It won't fix the bridges that have been burned between my parents and I. I used to believe that my past would change....that was a lie. The truth is, is that my past will always be my past. I can not look back at the things that I have done wrong ten years ago.

But what I can do is look forward. What I CAN do is tell you that Christ has redeemed me. I am no longer a liar. I am no longer a person with a salty tongue. I may mess up and do wrong. But I am human. We all are. And let me tell you this, before I leave...no matter what you have done yesterday, it doesn't matter today. You can't go back and rewind time. I know, I know-I wish we could do that too, but we can't. My life changed when I began seeking Christ. My life changed when Christ SAVED me and raised me from the dead.

That much I know is

TRUTH.

It Took Alaska: Just a Piece of It

Chapter One

   I was born and raised in a small town in Ohio that was located smack-dab in the center of Amish Country. It was a small town indeed. Granted, it was nothing to brag about. I mean we had a bank, two gas stations, an ice cream shop, a butcher shop that was known to all of us “small town folks” as “Suzie's, a restaruant that was best known for its “Amish style” mashed potatoes and gravy, a decent sized park with two baseball fields, and one caution light in the square that would blink red every second, just to remind you to stop at the only intersection in town. Then of course, there was the train that would screech on by in all hours of the night, but never seemed to bother most people. That was my town, and for the longest time, that was my home. Good old Baltic, Ohio.

 

 Now there wasn't a single person or family who lived in Baltic that was known as “rich”. My family was far from that, but my parents managed. As a town, we all seemed to have “gotten by” with what we had. My family did just that. My dad was well known around the town. It was a town where everybody knew everybody, and let me just say; everyone knew who Shane Renfrew was. My dad was strong and built like a successful working man. He owned and still owns a contracting company called “Shane's Renovations.” When he first started out, his business was “Ceilings and More Drywall” . My dad has always been a hard working man, who would work long hours just to provide for his family. Looking back, some of the most memorable moments that I have of my dad from when I was a little girl was seeing him come home covered in drywall dust. He would walk over to the stairs and unlace his dust covered boots and aftwerwards, he would then empty out his jean pockets. First came his chewing Tobacco-good old Copenhagen... with the silver lid. Next would come his brown leather wallet that seemed to have been attached to him since I was born. Dad would count all of his money that was left over from that day at work. Then there would come the miscellanious things from his pocket: paper shreds, receipts, pennies, and sometimes even a small tool. (My dad was a tool man-nothing surprised me about his pockets.) My mom would usually be in the kitchen when dad came home. I remember seeing my dad, quite a few times, walk over to the sink, washed his calloused hands, and when he was done, I would see him give my mom a kiss. My dad was quite the “Nicholas Sparks”-very romantic when it came to my mom and him. That was and still is my dad.

  Then there's my mom. Words just can't describe her , and I mean that with all sincere truth and love. Let me just say that my mom..well, she's who I want to be like when I become a mother to my own children. My mom's name is Gina. She is a person and a woman of pure elegant beauty. When she smiles, she can light up any room that she enters, and when I hear her laugh, my heart is full of joy. She is built with the body of a true mother to two children. Strong. Brave. She has the heart of compassion and has always protected her family, especially my brother and I, just like a mama bear and her cubs. My mom is the type of woman that I want to be simply because she is full of life. When I was little, my mom worked as a waitress at the same restaurant that was known for the mashed potatoes and gravy. When I was around six or seven, (I believe) mom stopped working and took on the job as a stay-at-home mom. I loved that about her...she simply quit her job to be able to spend more time with my brother and I. My mom was the one person that was always there after long, treacherous, agonizing, hours at school and would, every single day, ask the same question when we got in her view, “How was school?”. I always replied with the same answer day in and day out, until the day I graduated, “Fine.” Today, as I write this, I wish I would have told her about my days at school. I just wish I would have told her.

  I have a brother who is three and a half years younger than me. His name is Dakota and he will be eighteen in March and will graduate high school in the spring. My brother is extremely smart and intelligent. Great with finances and budgeting, and if you were to ask me-I know for a fact that he will do amazing things when he gets older! Growing up, aside from all of the normal brother-sister fights, him and I got along “mildly well”. Dakota and I were your typical, somewhat well-rounded, children. We did everything kids do! From sliding down the stairs in our mom's laundry basket, climbing up walls like Spiderman, throwing water by the five gallons onto my brothers (upstairs) bedroom floor and pretending to “ice skate” (we got our butt's beat for that one), to having dodgeball wars with egg yolks. I was the one who took it up a notch and would dump all of the expired (and when I say expired, I'm talking expired by a day or so) milk down the kitchen sink. That was our childhood, and to me, that's the best thing about life!

With all of the being said, that is my family. That is my background of where I come from. 

Let me just say that the story has yet to begin.

Finding Hope: The Truth of How a Miscarriage Made Me Stronger

Growing up I was that girl who was against sex. Anything to do with such a thing, made my face cringe. When I would see my parents kiss , even though they were married, it would make my stomach go into knots. I was the girl that would always make the comment “Gross! Go get a room!” I was also that girl in Junior High who was a part of the so-called “Abstinence Team”...The A-Team. Yup-that was me, going from school to school with other team members who, just like me wanted nothing to do with sex. We would go around telling thirteen and fourteen year old's not to have sex because of skin and flesh eating diseases, and how NOT to have sexual relationships, while still explaining how to use a condom by placing it on a ripe banana. Made complete and total sense. (Insert Sarcasm) I was the type of girl, that when my friends proudly bragged about their weekend flings with their boyfriends, I made darn sure to tell them how wrong they really were for having sex before marriage. I mean after all, sex was and is considered for marriage. Basically, I told them that they would be doomed to hell for the rest of eternity...I mean after all, I was THAT girl.

I graduated high school in May of 2012, and I began my journey of living out the single life. Up until that point, I was still the same girl that I was back in school, and I still had that “Junior High mentality” when it came to the topic of sex. There was, however, a change that took place over the course of my High School career. You can call it hormones, growth spurts, or whatever floats your boat, but I rapidly became the girl who was obsessed (I'm meaning REALLY obsessed!) with sappy love stories. While all of my other friends and classmates were out partying away on Friday nights getting hammered, high, and having sex, I was on my couch partying away in my blue, rubber duck printed, pajama pants, watching Nicholas Sparks' “The Notebook” on the Hallmark Channel, and emptying out all the kleenex's that sat in the middle of my coffee table. All because I wanted to have a perfect, sappy love story just like Noah and Allie. Yup...I was THAT girl. So...after a period of time, and so many empty kleenex boxes later, I decided to set out on a journey of my own to find that sappy love story of my own.

In the following months of August through October of 2012, I lived in Stone Mountain, Georgia, as a live-in nanny for ten children. I'm not going to go into detail about that season of life, because trust and believe me when I tell you that it is a long story. I moved back to Ohio, and on Christmas Day, 2012, I once again found myself packing my small, white, chevy cavalier with all of my belongings (which wasn't much by the way) and I hit the road to small town Corfu, New York.

This is where the story begins...

  When I moved to New York, I moved in with my close friend Emily and her family. While living with her family, I worked at a coffee shop that was located about thirty minutes away from the house. It was there that I met all of my New York “family”. In the midst of working at this coffee shop, I was also hanging with the wrong “crowd” of people outside of my “family”. I spent a lot of my time with people who liked to party and live the free life. They were people who weren't afraid to “let loose” or have a good time. Sex, drinking, more nightly sex flings...I wanted that life. I wanted to let loose and have “fun”. Besides-people were always telling me that I was so uptight about my life. Stressed. That I needed to be free and actually “enjoy” life. So I did just that.

   I ended up meeting a guy through a friend of mine, and after about six hours of knowing each other, we had sex. That guy was my first. I thought I was ready for it, but when the time came, I wasn't. I remember that night clear as day. It was nearly five in the morning and we were sitting in his living room watching Family Guy. ( I hate that show) He then pulled the back of my grey hoodie without saying anything, and started kissing me. I didn't know what to do. My heart was beating so fast that I thought it was going to come out of my body. I remember feeling nervous. NUMB. I wasn't ready. I didn't want it. But when he asked if it was okay, I gave him the slightest nod of yes. In some aspects, I guess that was me giving him consent to continue. I gave him permission. During the few minutes that everything was happening, I felt as if I left my body. It was almost as if I was watching from above, the acts that were taking place. The next morning was everything but a blur for me. I felt sick, and even now, as I write about this moment, my stomach is turning. I walked out of his apartment, and walked the sidewalked path to my car. I was crying uncontrollably. My mind raced at a hundred miles an hour. “How could I have let this happen? I was supposed to be THAT girl who was against sex until marriage. I was wanting to wait until marriage. You're nothing Malarie. You are nothing.” When I got to my car, I threw up. My Bible was sitting in the passenger seat and when I turned on my car, the song “How He Loves” came on. I smashed my hand against the stereo so hard, that the impact ended up breaking my radio. As far as my Bible went, I rolled my window down, and threw it as hard as I could. God couldn't have loved me anymore after what I did. Although there was guilt, shame, and disgust in my heart, it didn't take long for an addiction to the active “sex life” to deterioate my life.

  Two months after the rampage first began, I moved back to Ohio. I left New York and everyone that I loved; my friends, my church family (even though I stopped going for a month), the coffee shop, everything. When I moved back, let me just say that things didn't work out the way they were supposed to, so I ended up living in a homeless shelter and attending community college at the same time. During my time at the shelter, I was extremely alone, depressed, and I was on a mission to seek out attention. I became THAT girl. The addiction to sex was how I learned to live free and let loose from all of the homeless, crummy, life of cards that I was unwillingly dealt. I quickly began to live the disgusting and rebellious life of sleeping with any man that would have me, most of whom I didn't know...that's how I met Derrik.

I met Derrik online. We talked over texting for a day and a half, and before I knew it, I found myself driving a half hour to his apartment. At that point I didn't know what this man was capable of. For all I knew, he could have raped and killed me right then and there. He could have never let me leave. But I still went. When I got to his apartment door, it took me five minutes to find the brave courage (if you want to call it that) to knock on his door. When he answered, he immediately took me to his bedroom. The whole “course of action” was about ten minutes. When we were finished, he walked me to the door and tossed me a quarter and said “Thanks for the favor.”, and that was that. Once again, I found myself being manipulated and used as just another woman that he could add to his list. I felt betrayed, worthless, and full of disgust. I remember leaving feeling the same way that I did when I was back in New York. NUMB. Except this time, I knew my worth. Twenty-five cents...that was my worth. That was the moment that God changed my heart and took me for a life changing ride that I was not prepared for in any way.

In October of 2013, I started getting sick-nausea, vomiting, headaches, and constant abdomen cramping. One night, I had a stabbing pain that shot through my back. This pain was excruciating and it took my breath away. I called a friend of mine and asked her if she would take me to the hospital. They ran various amounts of blood panels, including a pregnancy test. While I waited to hear what those tests were, they ordered an ultra sound. That's when my life changed.

  I laid in the dark ultra sound room, and the technician ran the wand across my stomach and stopped. I could hear her say “Oh my gosh.” under her breath. I asked her what was wrong and she said that she had to go ask my ER doctor if there was anything else that she was supposed to be looking for. I waited in the dark room for five treacherous minutes. When the technician came back, what she said next, was something that I was not prepared to hear....She told me that I was two and a half months pregnant and was getting ready to enter my third month of pregnancy. As she was telling me this, everything sounded muffled, as if I was submerged underwater. I remember asking her quite a few times to repeat herself. I couldn't believe it. I was pregnant. I was THAT girl. I left the hospital feeling nervous, scared, excited, anxious and everything else a twenty year old pregnant woman should have been feeling at that time. The next day, I called Derrik and told him that I was pregnant and that it was his child, but just like with the value of the quarter, his child was nothing to him. His child was worthless. After that, I didn't tell anyone about this new journey, but I told myself my baby and I were going to make it. I went from being a homeless woman who was worth twenty-five cents, to being worth everything to this little human that was growing inside of me. I had in my heart, mind and soul, that I was going to be okay. That I was going to be the best mom that I could be to my child. I had it in my heart, soul and mind that my sex addictive life was over. That I was free. That WE were free. God was going to have me be okay. Or maybe I wasn't.

December of 2013 was the most tragic month of my life. I was almost four months pregnant with this growing child. I was attending a local University, majoring in Nursing, and I was becoming a better person for my child. I was sitting in my English Composition class when I felt the tight, electrifying pinch in my abdomen. I immediately felt sick and ran to the bathroom. I threw up. When I stood up in the stall, that's when I saw the blood. I didn't want this reality to be happening. A shiver of fear swarmed and rushed through my body. I had a friend of mine drive me to the hospital. On that day, December 8, 2013, my life changed forever. No heart beat. No rhythm. My baby was gone. My purpose for living was all but short of living for.

Two weeks later, on December 18^th, 2013, I left Ohio. I left everything that reminded me of the life of hurt, pain and destruction, and got a plane to Alaska. I left for complete isolation and nobody knew the true reason of why I left. I never told anyone the reason why I truly was leaving.

It is now January of 2015, and I am still here in Alaska. I am still living my life. Although, losing Brayleigh, my daughter, was the most heart-wrenching, and painful thing that I have ever experienced, God has given me freedom. He has given me hope. The past year and a half has been one of the hardest years that I have ever gone through as a woman and as a mother. There are days where my heart grips with the wanting and the desire to have Brayleigh in my arms again. She would be turning a year old this year. I would be planning her first birthday. My life would be completely different. But in this pain, I have HOPE. I have hope, that one day, Brayleigh and I will be reunited at the gate of Heaven.

Today, a year and a half later, I am strong. I am worth more than twenty-five cents. I am worth more than the mistakes that I have made. I am not broken, but I am repaired and mended because of the grace that God has given me in the midst of this worldly life. I am a new creation.

I have found hope in Christ.

~This hope we have as an anchor of the soul, a hope both sure and steadfast and one which enters within the veil, where Jesus has entered as a forerunner for us, having become a high priest forever...”~

Hebrews 6:19

Scared.

  How does one person know if they, themselves, feel burdened? I must admit that ever since camp ended, life has been extremely challenging and hard. I can't seem to focus anymore. My heart, I am finding, is heavy with conviction, shame, remorse, anger, sadness, and everything else in between. I mean, don't get me wrong-I have my moments and sometimes even days, where happiness and joy realm within my heart. I am a person who has those things that "shine" when I am around other people, but deep down, when I find myself to be alone, those amazing feelings seem to disappear. Vanish into thin air.

 Well, let me just say that...I am tired.

 Over the course of the past month and a half, I have been fighting a sickness. The doctors don't really know what is wrong, and yet I am still finding myself to be sick. Throwing up, nausea, dizziness, fainting, fast heart beat, temporary numbness in my legs, chest pain, headaches, and sometimes (this has only happened twice) my vision becomes blurry. As a previous nursing student who has taken some courses regarding the medical field, I thought these symptoms were just plain anxiety. I mean, I have a TON of stuff on my plate. More than what I feel I can handle..but God never gives us anything that we can't handle, right? With all of these symptoms, I find myself being agitated, irritable, angry, impatient. Today, I was placed on a heart monitor for twenty-four hours. The doctors will be able to see my rhythm of my heart beat and depending on what the results are, I may have to wear it longer. Its hard for me to face this reality. I mean its obvious that its plain to see that I don't have it together, but yet this just constantly keeps going. I just want it to stop, but every time I get impatient or ask God what is wrong with me, its as if He is saying "wait, my child. Be patient." Well, fleshly, and quite frankly, I find myself telling Him that I don't want to be patient. I can't be patient. I want to know what is happening to my body.

I want to know because truth is...I'm scared.

Freedom in a Hurricane of Love

"Amazing grace how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me" were the lyrics that danced through my mind as I woke up this morning. When I awoke, my heart was completely focused on the love that Christ has for me. The reality and truth hit me hard..the truth that I was "once lost, but now am found" seemed to overwhelm my heart. My heart that was once hardened and chained to the sins of the world, anger, manipulations and addictions have finally been set free.

 My whole life, I have always wanted to know what it felt like to be free. I never understood the meaning, or the depths of that ONE word. The word freedom would dance and roll off my tongue so strongly, that it gave me chills to just think about something so incredible and powerful. To think of something that I thought I would never gain access too all because of my so called "problems". I have always wanted to be free. 

 Being a twenty-one year old woman, I can now say that I have found hope, joy, and peace in the midst of my trials and circumstances...the good, the bad, and the ugly ones. I have found the root of pure love from the depths of Christ's heart. His compassion for me is strong. "He loves like a hurricane, and I am a tree, bending beneath the weight of His wind and mercy. When all of a sudden, I am unaware of these afflictions eclipsed by glory.'' And it in these moments of complete awe and stillness, that I have realized just how beautiful God is and "how great His reflection", His jealousy, is for me. For me! I am a sinner, and God has found me and "fearfully and wonderfully He has made me according to His image! The love and compassion that my Jesus has for me can not compare to anything else in this world. And regardless of where I have once lived, lost and corrupted .by the sins of this world,  never once did He leave me on my own. Never once did I ever walk alone.  Because as the song says "You are faithful, God. You are faithful."

I have come to realize and accept the fact that God is faithful. That His promises and His plans for me, are for my own good. I find that promise scripted in the book of Jeremiah 29:11, as it says "For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future."  Sometimes, our plans that we make for our lives are different from the plan that Christ has for us. I have realized that I can not control my life or what happens to me. My life is not my life to live. Its God's life that He has planned for me and He has chosen me to live it. And the plans that Christ has planned for me, may be things that I don't want to do. He may call me to another country (or state) that is 4,000 some miles away from my "comfort zone". He may have planned for me to marry some amazing guy who loves Christ just as much as I do, or He may not have me get married at all in life. His plans for me may entitle me giving up everything I possibly have in order to serve Him;whatever that may look like. We don't know the plans that He has for us, nor do I know the plans He has for me, but I can cling to the promise that those plans are not meant to harm me but they are meant to give me hope and a future. And with that promise, I have found freedom.