What Has Your Sister Done Published

WHAT HAS YOUR SISTER DONE – Stories of Unplanned Pregnancy is available on Amazon. 

The Cover! 

Check out this beautiful cover. 

The tender photograph is of Rosa Dilworth Reyes and was taken just before she placed her baby for adoption. I interviewed Rosa on the phone and like most of the stories in the book, was overcome with emotion as to what she experienced, the courage she displayed and obstacles she faced during her unplanned pregnancy.

She said “When I decided to place my baby for adoption, my counselor had me write a letter to myself, reminding me why I was placing her. Without that letter of commitment, I’m not sure if I would have followed through. My emotions were pulling at my heart and I wasn’t sure if I was strong enough to do what I’d set out to do. Even though it was hard, it was the best thing that could have ever happened because I had a fresh start. I could be who I wanted to be, which was the best person for my daughter. She needed to know I was going to make my life right.”

There may be someone today struggling with an unexpected positive pregnancy test or maybe she has known for weeks she’s pregnant, but is too scared to talk to anyone about it. Once you read what many young woman face with an unplanned pregnancy, you will want to step forward and be there, to love and help those in need.  Thank you to all of those who have supported this project.  It has been life-changing.

To see the book on Amazon, click here.

The Emotional Dam of Intermittent Fasting - Joy

As so many of you out there, I feel everything.  I feel so many sensations running through my body, my heart, my mind that some days I have to do “inventory” to understand what’s going on.  Since fasting, feeling has turned into healing.  Because I’m not filling my body with food, my feelings are not suppressed or “stuffed.”  The break from food allows my spirit, which is much stronger and healthier than my body, to become more present then my flesh and through the light of God, I can not only balance out, but rise to a higher degree of love and healing.  Sounds pretty new-age-ish, but it’s just a beautiful thing that comes with fasting. 

When I was a teenager and into my early twenties, this “gift” of feeling everything could be depilating.  After I was sexually abused, something vulnerable in me awoke and it seemed to attract dysfunctional men.  I couldn’t catch a break.  Either I didn’t believe I was worth more or the men I was attracting into my life had some sort of ability to read I was weak.  I didn’t have the self-esteem or strength to defend myself.  I started having panic attacks, painful periods of time when my heart couldn’t carry my hurt.  Rapid heartbeats, inability to breath, panting, crying, fainting – all in an attempt to maintain and hold myself together as my world was falling apart.  My mom was the only one who could pull me out of such experiences.  Her understanding, soft tone, encouragement, physical touch – it all helped me come back.  I had my last panic attack at the age of 26.  Thankfully, marrying my sweetheart was a strong influence of love and my body didn’t respond to stress anymore in the form of panic attacks.

I know so many girls and women have and have had panic attacks.  1 out of 3 of us have been sexually abused.  I want to find you, to find others and not just heal, but shine.

What was I feeling before I started intermittent fasting?  After all, I’d been married for over 17 years, had six children and lived a dream life. Yes, life was good, better than good and with all the love surrounding me, I’d worked through so many of my issues and feelings, but I still carried shame and regret.  With all that was on my plate, I couldn’t handle these emotions anymore.  Why was I still hiding from hurt?  Negativity?  Procrastination?  Unmet expectations?  I was suffocating.  Either they had to go, or I was going to break from the weight of it all.

While fasting, I have major breakthroughs specific to my emotional challenges, I mean life-changing ideas and experiences that placed me on a path to higher love and purpose.  Just a few weeks ago, I had an experience were I learned the amazing power of repentance.  I’ve known about repentance my entire life, but rarely acted on it.  The bigger truth of asking God every day to be forgiven of my sins has helped with me be more sympathetic to others, learn from my own mistakes and recognize the addictions I still have to break in my life.  Repentance lifts my emotional load and frees me from negativity.  Still, I’m stubborn.  Even with all I’m learning, I’ll forget or don’t make this task a priority some days.  The flesh is so stubborn. 

During my first 30-day fast (you can read about this experience in my memoir (Starving Girl), I had an experience one night.  I was driving one of my son’s home from basketball practice and I stopped to get something to eat.  I hadn’t broken my fast yet, so I had a prayer in the car, then went into Pei Wei for some lettuce wraps and edamame.  Once back in the car, I reached for the package of edamame.  I put that salty warm soybean pod in my mouth, bit it open and the flavor of the soybean electrified my palate.  Food is delicious, but after an 18 hour fast, food is explosive.  Those first few bites meant everything.  They provided the nourishment I needed and I was not only delighted, but so very grateful.  So very thankful was I, so amazing was the taste, with my sweet son in the back seat sharing all the fun things about his day, my car that worked every time I start it up, the love from my family, my clarity of thought, when I heard in my mind “Well, look at you.  You’re doing it.”   (This happens a lot to me.  The Spirit continues to give me so much encouragement.)

I was.  I was doing it.  Fasting was helping me tackle so many of my emotions, I was present, my health was improving, plus I was losing weight.  My heart almost burst, and suddenly, I thought of those awful panic attacks.  All those years ago when all hope seemed lost, how I would rather die than endure any more pain, how it was so difficult to breathe I would pass out. 

But, no, at this moment, breaking my fast with the wonderful food, this wasn’t a panic attack.  Yes, my heart beat was increasing, yes I felt like I might cry, yes, I was overcome, but what I was experiencing was my first a joy attack.

So powerful was my joy.  I imagined a line on one end of the spectrum a panic attack and on the polar opposite end, a joy attack.  Oh, this was big. I needed my mom.  This was too much emotion.  I started deep breathing.  I couldn’t have a “joy attack.”  I was driving.  I couldn’t fall apart because I was “so happy.”  As wonderful as it was, I had to control this or my eyes would fill and become blurred with tears.  In my mind, I started talking to my mom.  I envisioned her holding me, but my love for her made my “joy attack” even stronger.  I had to block the image of my mom or at that moment, her love would overcome me. 

“Breath deep,” I said to myself.  “Everything’s fine.” 

If it hadn’t been so overwhelming, it would have been funny.  I mean really, who has a “joy attack” when eating edamame.  But, seriously, a clean physical palate means emotional and spiritual experiences finally have room in my life to manifest.

I did get a hold of my mom and she told me, “Tell your joy it can come in smaller doses or we can get together and you can invite it back while we are holding each other.”  My mom, she’s so awesome.  She validates everything in my life.  To her, I’m never weird.

Joy is an emotion I feel more and more. Swimming with ducks in Sedona 2016

If you have panic attacks, please know you can breathe and heal and overcome, but you have to feel.  You have to be validated by yourself.  Don’t be afraid.  It takes time and work.  Believe, hope, remember your worth and pray.  Let your spirit (also known as your soul) shine, God is there.  He will heal you.  I know He can and will.

Image found here.

Making History at the first ever Prolife Women's Conference

Why did I attend the first ever prolife women’s conference in Dallas, TX this last weekend? 

(Abby Johson flashes a selfie!  We love her.)

My love for my baby(ies) and for all babies carried me there. My love for those who have suffered sexual abuse brought me there. For anyone who’s been broken, fallen, felt worthless or without hope, I went for you.  At times, these feelings have governed my world, so in that respect, I went for me.

I met so many amazing people, people from all over the country who support a better world.  

(Serrin M. Foster, President of Feminists for Life, shared so many things about abortion I'd never even considered.)

I met my hero’s, not celebrities or singers from today’s pop culture, but those who whole-heartedly believe women deserve better than abortion.  I met women who regret their abortions and are looking not only to heal, but to heal others, adoption advocates, birth mothers, those who have been adopted, abortion survivors, rape survivors, those born out of rape, single moms, secular women who support humanity, gay women, politicians on both sides of the aisle, volunteers, mothers, grandmothers, daughters, abortion workers who have seen terrible injustices on women and children and who are standing up and speaking out, doctors, lawyers, civil right leaders, clergy, atheists all in support of nonviolence, choices and the very best for women. 

A woman with gray hair in a modest dress had a pin secured onto her sweater.  She passed by me and when I read the words she boldly wore on her lapel, I had to speak to her.  I regret my abortion, it said and I thought I might cry.  In my eyes, she was a woman whose conviction was born out of pain and I immediately loved her.  She was there representing her unborn child and my respect for her felt like a trophy.  21% of pregnancies end in abortion. 

I talked with a woman about her adoption that had happened 16 years earlier.  Her baby, a son, was placed with a loving family and had recently connected with her.  As she spoke, I could see her core was made up of pain, courage, love and understanding.  What a mighty force a birth mother is and I could think of no more selfless act.  Small wrinkle lines had made their way around her eyes.  To me, they represented the time she’d spent in deep thought, moments of heartache, wonder and than redemption.  Half her heart was her son and she would spend her life praying he was happy and loved.  On the contrary, abortion had never been an option for her.  Thru adoption, she could give her son life and pure unconditional love.  Although this woman felt small, I saw her as a woman of great bravery; a hero with light shining from her eyes and words.  Adoption made this fragile woman unbreakable.

A beautiful woman from New Mexico opened up to me about her older brother, a boy her mom had aborted almost 40 years earlier.  Thru tears, she spoke of her love for him, how she feels him near and knows his name.  There is a movement of others just like her; family members looking to heal from the loss of a sibling.  Abortion is a secret that can only heal through truth.  The reality this boy existed, that he had a purpose on earth and loved his family still holds true.  Thru gentle whispers and tender relationships, he still has a voice.  Because of God, his mother and sister can have peace and know someday, they will see him again.

I met a woman who’d volunteered for over thirty years at a pregnancy center.  Before, I may not have noticed such a quiet, unassuming force of nature.  It’s not easy to put yourself out there, especially in this sort of controversial arena.  I wondered how many lives she’d impacted, how many woman and children she saved.  Why would a person take so much time from his or her life to reach out to pregnant woman?  “Love,” she said.  “Because of love.” 

I met Abby Johnson, a former director from Planned Parenthood who for 8 years, thought she was doing the best thing for woman, but after seeing an ultrasound guided abortion learned the horrors of abortion.  She left the industry and has been sharing her story ever since – that abortion is a product Planned Parenthood sells and they make millions upon millions of dollars from, that abortion clinics are strategically placed in the poorest minority communities, that more black babies are aborted every year then born, that abortion patients are most often coerced by abusive boyfriends and even Planned Parenthood staff into having abortions, that the abortion industry is built on lies, violence and corruption.  Abortion is population control and eugenics.  If you can convince an entire population of women to destroy their offspring, you don't have to start a war.  You don't need to build up an army because the women will silently and many on their own dime, pay for their unborn to be destroyed.  If politicians can convince women abortion is an empowering choice, then money wins, a sick social agenda wins and women lose.  

A met a bad-a*#, tattoo-covered, pink-haired, bi-sexual woman who rocks.  She is an in your face, out-spoken New Yorker who doesn’t care what you think of her.  She stands for all injustice on woman and breaking away from prolife stereotypes, will say through secular words, historical studies and philosophical argument that abortion hurts woman.  She won’t say God and faith.  She’s not a mother.  She doesn’t read the Bible, but instead quotes deep thinkers, artists and scholars who have something to say about woman’s liberation.  It’s fascinating and the name of her organization is Feminists For Life.  You have been warned!!

A pregnant wonder woman.  I love it.

A brave woman opened up to me about her two abortions and how through dreams, she sees her little children playing on a swing underneath a giant tree.  They are safe and in the care of Jesus Christ.  When she cried, her tears sprang out like droplets of hope and I cried with her.  For those who have had an abortion or multiple abortions, do not for a minute think you are not loved.  You are so loved.  I love you.  Pray.  Talk with God.  God’s got this.  There is nothing we can do that He doesn’t already know about and have covered.  If you haven’t prayed in a while, take a moment alone and open your mind to a conversation about what you’ve been through.  In every abortion, there are two victims.  You deserve healing too.  You are beautiful.   

I was impacted by woman after woman and wished I could ask everyone in attendance their story and why they made the journey.  Most, like me, had traveled across the country at their own expense to show their support to a cause bursting at the seams.  We are done with the abortion narrative, that a woman’s choice is the end of the discussion.  Woman deserve better than abortion.  A pregnant woman should be loved and protected.  Our societal norms regarding unplanned pregnancy are not prowoman.  Violence has never been embraced by the feminist movement until abortion.  Men have a huge part in this change.  Respect for womanhood, her body and the unborn child must become a man’s issue or we will never change. 

It’s been 42 years since abortion became legal.  56 million babies later, what does the research show?  The truth is not easy to find, but these are the questions we need to ask.  Is abortion a woman's right, or a wrong inflicted on women? Is it a mark of liberation, or a sign that women are not yet free?  Women are speaking out on abortion, not for political reasons but out of concern for women’s emotional, physical, mental and spiritual health.  Abortion is not political, but at the heartstrings of every woman who has experienced it and every child who has lost his or her life.  My thesis is I believe more abortions than we realize are born out of the injustice of sexual abuse, how it makes a girl feel like trash and how 1 out of 3 girls will suffer sexual abuse.  It will take years, even a lifetime to heal.  One of the greatest tools for manipulative unjust men is abortion.  If he can convince a woman she is worthless, so will she view her baby.    

So, why was I at the prolife women's conference?  If we could sit down, I’d tell you through tear-stained eyes, but most importantly I was there because I have a one-year old son named Canyon Samuel Lofgreen who came at a difficult time in my life.  This unplanned life event was born out of debilitating morning sickness, doubt, uncertainty, emotional turmoil, physical exhaustion and . . . faith.  Faith was what I held onto when my world felt out of control and in return for my small 9-month sacrifice I received a baby.  

A baby!!  

When everything else fell away and I could see through the eyes of love, I knew my baby was worth it.  His presence alone is enough, but the physical warmth of his body next to mine makes every cell of my body sing.  In finding him, I lost myself and away went all the rationality that having a baby would be too difficult.  I’m stronger than I knew and my complaining only made me weak.  When in frustration I voiced out I wasn’t strong enough to care for another baby, something said back to me “Become stronger,” and I knew it was the voice of God.  I had that choice, to be stronger than the negativity, the societal pressure and uncertainty.  I want my son to know I stand for him and I want woman to know people like my son deserve a chance, that we don’t want to just wipe out such charisma and beauty before they even have a chance.  How many babies just like Canyon are aborted before their mother gets to know how amazing they are.   

In the words of Abby Johnson, “We believe that abortion strips women of their dignity. We believe that motherhood is empowering. We believe that not conforming and giving into societal pressures when it comes to femininity is empowering. We believe that this justice applies to every single human being on this earth. We believe in redefining the pro-life movement to include everyone, every age, race, gender, religion and every job.”

Because of the people I met, I know I’m not alone.  

People who support life have the winning ticket.  

(A supporter for Democrats for Life.)

WE chose life over death.  

We chose a baby over shame.  

We chose woman over corruption.  We chose to give our time, money and prayers to pregnancy centers and adoption agencies instead of Planned Parenthood.  

I’m so thankful for Abby Johnson had the tenacity and vision (and can survive off of so little sleep) that should could put the first ever Prolife Women’s conference on the map.  I believe we made history and what an honor it was to be there.  For my son, for my children, out of my love for others I will do my part, even for the one—especially for the one. 


If you do not agree with me, that's alright.  I appreciate your willlingness to read about my experience.  I love all women and feel the political divide projected on us by the media and politicians is harmful.  I love you.

I’m working on a book called WHAT HAS YOUR SISTER DONE? and have extended the deadline for you to submit your story.

WHAT HAS YOUR SISTER DONE? is a collection of stories about girls who faced an unplanned pregnancy and what they decided to do about it. Some may have kept the baby while others may have placed their baby up for adoption or terminated their pregnancy through abortion. Because many aspects of unplanned pregnancy aren’t talked about, I’m hoping these stories will open the door and help someone in the same situation.

If you want to help, here’s what you can do:

Write your story. This can be done the same way you would write a journal or diary entry. Write about how you felt and how your story progressed. Share what ever you feel. There is no judgment here. Remember, your story may be just what someone else needs to read.

Stories can be submitted anonymously or you can request names be changed. You can email stories to mydeartrash@gmail.com. Please submit your story as soon as possible. By submitting your story, I reserve the right to have your story in WHAT HAS YOUR SISTER DONE?

Also, if you know someone who has had an unplanned pregnancy, please pass this information on to them. Feel free to contact me is you have any questions. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

A Scene I'm Not Sure How to Write

I want to be light-hearted about this, I really do.

I want to be funny and courageous. 

Losing weight can be fun, right.

Going without food for 18 hours a day is insightful, yes. 

I can have ah-ha moments.  

I can think deep and marvel at the body God created for me.

Or, I can clean out my refrigerator.

That’s what I did yesterday. 

I lost my mind in moldy zucchini sitting in a puddle of juice in the bottom drawer of my refrigerator. 

I let the moments tick by while I watched the baby crawl towards his toys.  Inch by inch he moves his little body, lifting his knee and then pushing off with his other foot.  

Now that’s cute.  

Cute is what you get when you watch a baby crawl. 

I used to be funny and I know I’m still fun, but first, there’s something I’ve got to do.

I’m working on my memoir Starving Girl 

and I have to write a scene that’s eating me alive.

How’s that for a pun.  A starving girl has something eating her alive.  Funny, huh.

Writing this memoir, it’s now necessary to explore the path of a girl who realizes she is so much more than a victim to a gray-haired man double her age who walks with a limp and smells like cigarette smoke. 

At the ice cream store she works at, he doesn’t act much like her boss, even though he is.  

With not much experience, this girl is good at making ice cream cakes. 

The first time her boss touches her she's standing next to the back counter mixing purple frosting.  His boldness shocks the girl and she's not even certain what just happened.

“What do you think you’re doing?’ she tries to say boldly, but all she  can do is whisper.

“Whatever I want,” he says with steady eyes. 

The girl places the frosting tube down on the counter, walks to the bathroom with the cement floor and locks the door.  She looks in the mirror and her pale face stares back at her like a ghost.

For months, her boss double her age continues his game of cat and mouse; teasing, pulling, reaching, tormenting, bullying, threatening, accusing, abusing all while she earns minimum wage.

So naive is the girl, so very trusting and curious she doesn’t see the writing on the wall.  Yes, she’s frightened.  She knows what he’s doing is wrong.  She knows he’s married.  She’s told several people who are close to her of the dilemma she’s in, but no one offers help.  Do they even believe her?
 

Besides his demands, she’s all alone.

Only when the boss man’s wife is killed, hit by a drunk driver and decapitated, does he leave the girl at the ice cream shop alone.  The girl comes uninvited to the funeral, crying like a fool, wanting someone to touch her so she can feel alive but he acts like he doesn’t know her.  She becomes indivisible.  Problem is, the girl is now addicted to the horrible games of cat and mouse he’s introduced her to.  Why doesn’t her boss want her now?  Why does he abandon her?

They say "time heals all wounds."  I think the saying might be better off “time helps forget deep-rooted rotten wounds.” 

And time did help.  I did move on, but with the scars of abuse I became trapped in another and yet another scenario, almost replaying the same games over and over again with men until one day I found my voice.  I said enough.  I broke free, went on a 18-month mission for my church and returned a new girl. 

I was a woman who understood the power of Jesus Christ can heal and empower.  You see, my love for my Savior is my anchor.  He understood my pain; He healed my heart and set me free.

I was flying, finding my way and dreaming big when I found out my boss from the ice cream shop committed suicide.  Nobody knew my relationship with him, that as a young girl I had given my heart to a man who stole it from me first so when I was asked if I would be attending his funeral I numbly said “Yes.”

And this my friends is the scene I have to write for Starving Girl.

How I shook as I approached his coffin.  My skin was ice cold.

How even through all my healing; even though he was dead, I was still afraid of him.

How I looked for any evidence I could find that he did in fact shoot himself in the head.

And most importantly, how I found the strength through Jesus Christ to forgive him.

Because this journey is not about being a victim, it's about overcoming.

My Golden Ticket

I knew Ben Carson was coming to town and wanted to hear him speak.  I have a lot of respect for the man; he’s an overcomer and I’m greatly inspired by his story of boy living in poverty to becoming one of the top neurosurgeons in the nation so I made it a priority. It was 6:30pm.  I woke my 3 month-old baby Canyon from his late, late afternoon nap and started the drive into Phoenix during the end of rush hour.   I left 15 minutes late so I was already stressed for time.  I drove into Phoenix just as it was getting dark and started to look for parking. I wasn’t exactly sure where I was going.  Downtown has a lot of one way streets and is unfamiliar to me.  I found a parking garage near the Phoenix Convention Center and it was $12 to park.  I reached into my wallet and handed the attendant my credit card.  

“Cash only,” he said.  

That morning I had given the last of my cash to my kids for lunch money.  

“There is an ATM over on Third St.,” he said.  

I backed my large SUV into reverse and slowly moved out of the parking garage, careful not to hit the line of cars already forming behind me.  I wasn’t sure which way to go when I say another parking garage advertising $5 to park.  I knew I had enough change at the bottom of my purse so I pulled into the lane.  The cashier patiently waited as I grabbed change from my purse and the glove compartment of the car.  I was like a squirrel looking for acorns at this point, searching under the floor mats and in any nook and cranny I could find.  I produced a handful of coins, mostly pennies.  The cashier patiently counted out my money.  I knew I was short but hoped if I didn’t say anything she might come up with a different amount.  In the mean time, my baby was starting to fuss. I’d already been in the car for over ½ an hour.  

“You only have $3.85,” the clerk said, jolting me out of my stressed state of mind.  

I would blame my irrational behavior on hormones, but I’m a horrible liar.  Truth is I was frustrated. For some reason, I felt like I might cry and just like that, I was crying in this sort of pity cry. Great!  I felt sorry for my self.  

“I don’t mean to cry,” I said to the clerk.  “but I have a new baby in the car, I don’t know where an ATM is and I’m late to hear Dr. Carson speak.”  She peered inside the back window and looked at my fussy baby.  Her face turned compassionate and she motioned toward the garage.  

“Just go on in, it’s all good.”  

I never intended asking her for a favor and quite honestly felt like a great big loser, but I took her kind gesture and thanked her profusely as I rolled up the window.  I drive a large SUV and there was a part of me that wasn’t even certain my car would fit, but I drove down into that parking garage and tears swelled in my eyes even more than before.   Part of it was my pride as I knew I'd taken advantage of the clerk.  Seriously, she was just a college student and because of my pity party which was now at the price tag of a indebted whopping $1.15 she’d broken some sort of parking attendant "code of conduct".  This whole night was turning out to be a giant mistake.  Still, I found a parking spot and turned off the car.  Now what?  My baby was crying and I still didn’t know where I was going.  It was dark outside but even darker in the belly of the parking garage. I opened my door as two men walked by.  I mustered up my courage and grabbed the only weapon I had; my diaper bag.  Why hadn’t I invited anyone to come with me?  Coming alone was not smart.  I walked around to the other side of the car and opened the back door.  Inside, my darling baby had stopped crying and was curiously watching me.  His innocent expression filled me with such love.  All he wanted was me.  Suddenly, I didn’t feel alone.  I had Canyon.  I was so overcome with gratitude for his companionship I started crying all over again. 

“Come here little guy,” I said as I took him into my arms.  “I’m so glad you’re here,” and I hugged his little body into mine.  

His familiar smell, the gentle way his hands reached into my hair and the closeness to which I held him was so comforting.  I literally cried on his tiny shoulder and thanked him for being there with me.  Once I started feeling better I positioned him into my baby Bjorn and took the stairs out of the parking garage onto the city streets of Phoenix.  A man walked by and stopped to comment on and look at the baby.  

“Do you know where the convention center is?” I asked after I'd answered his questions of the baby's age and name.  

“Sure, I was walking there to see Dr. Carson,” he said.  

So, we walked together as the light rail whizzed past us.  I thanked him as I entered the over-sized convention room holding 12,000plus people.   

The energy was amazing and immediately all the efforts I’d made to attend were worth it.  Dr. Carson’s heartfelt speech was beautiful.  His speech lasted another 25 minutes when he ended with a few Q&A’s.  The crowd started to disperse, but I was just getting started. Are you kidding?  Getting me downtown was like getting a race boat off the dock and into the water just to let it idle.  I had so much more to offer than turning around and driving back home.  I was energized.  While most people were leaving, I noticed a small line forming near the stage.  Was it possible to meet Dr. Carson?  I had to find out.  

I’m not sure how but many in the crowd of 1,000 people or so made way so the baby and I could be near the front and suddenly Ms. Carson reached over to me so she could see the baby.  

“He’s adorable,” she said.  “I miss my grand kids,” and she reached in to hug on my little boy.  I asked for a photo and I kissed her on the cheek.  I literally felt a transfer of energy.  Candy Carson is absolutely beautiful inside and out and I could feel her vivacity immensely.  I could barely believe what had happened and finally turned to head back to the parking garage. The baby slept the entire ride home, making the journey home much less eventful then my earlier experience.  

My baby had been my golden ticket to an incredible experience.  Because of him I'd been able to park, find the convention center and meet Candy Carson but most important was when he offered me his companionship when I felt all alone.  He is my little person.  He needs me and I need him.  He’s coming everywhere with me forever and I’ve already told him he’s not allowed to ever grow up.  

We’ll see if he follows that little rule or not.

My journey - what now?

I’m not sure how many times I’ve sat down to write my story about sexual abuse.  I start a page, maybe finish a chapter and 6 years ago I wrote an entire 300 page novel.  That first novel was fiction, of course, but the story was about me.  I’m there in every page.    

From day to day, my motive changes.  One day I want to write for healing; another day I want to write to help others and some days I want to write to explore.  But, every day I can’t help what I write; for writing has been most healing and I have to let it carry me where it wants. 

What do I want to share?  What will help other people suffering the most?  Could my story prevent others from being hurt?  Can I do it?

As I get older, I’m so impressed with people who share their unique challenges and trials; their hurts and fears cupped with spoonfuls of hope.  

My favorite books of 2014 include A House in the Sky by Amanda Lindhout

 My Story by Elizabeth Smart 

and Finding Me by Michelle Knight.   

The heartache and fear; the horror and despair, but these girls found a way through there abuse.  They over came in such a triumphant way, their courage and faith like fireworks during a thunderstorm.  These girls are my hero’s and I strongly recommend these memoirs to anyone. 

I’m finally at a place where my past no longer hurts me.  It’s been this way for a couple of years now.  This is because of my Savior, Jesus Christ and also because of the tender, nurturing love of my husband.  My story now feels just like that – a story.  Some days, it’s even easy to forget that scared hopeless girl was me.  In many ways I’ve overcome, but almost every angle of my character has been built on my struggles of overcoming. 

Where I was once vulnerable, I’m now acutely aware.

Because I was hurt, I’m now able to see the hurt in others.

The loneliness I once felt serves as a constant source of gratitude; for I never forget the blessings that surround me. 

I’ve always been happy; that was one element not taken away from me; but now I’m happy deep down to my soul – not just as a coping mechanism.

I most relate to teenage and young adult girls, because this is the age my life took a difficult turn.  It took me nearly a decade to get back on track.

Because of my healing, I could move on easily.  No longer do I have flash backs when my husband touches me a certain way, no more panic attacks at strange hours of the day, but something inside of me says “Don’t forget.” 

About a year ago, I started project:USED.  

www.projectused.com

You can read about my inspiration for project:USED here.  It was an incredible undertaking with so much support, but I’ll never forget how vulnerable I felt releasing the video.  Days before the release, I cried into my husband’s shoulder.  What was I feeling?  Was it shame?  Hurt? Fear?  I’ve always been good at keeping secrets.  There have been so many things in my life no one was every supposed to know about.  I think the hurt came from breaking open a secret. 

I continue to discover my path.  I have a great desire to save.  Sometimes this come out in the way I salvage thrift store finds. It’s a fun way to save- to redeem.  My Dear Trash ( six years old now and almost 1,000,000 hits) is full of hope.  Where I once felt like trash, I found value again in myself.  I find a little bit of myself in every piece I work on.

Then I wrote my first novel The Mermaids Handbook of Secrets (originally titled Colors of the Sea).  

I explored scientist Rachel Carson and her desire to protect the sea and our environment.  I’ve always loved Rachel Carson and her books, even making her a major part of my studies through my communication degree at ASU.  I took a postmodern twist on Rachel Carson and developed a character for the young adult audience that would reintroduce her passion for the sea to a new generation.  There is an underlying theme of saving the sea from environmental trauma and the sexual abuse my character faces.  You can read the first chapter here. 

Then, my daughter was born.  Her presence; the very essence of the female spirit radiated in her.  

She.  Girl.  Safe. Loved.

And I’ve learned so much about myself and mothering from having a daughter.  

Here is Eden with my mom.

Eden is my perfect mirror.  If I love myself, she’ll learn to love herself.  If I’m strong, she’ll learn to be strong.  If I celebrate my female spirit, she’ll do the same.  How I've grown seeing the world through the eyes of my wonderful innocent daughter. 

Next, I wrote The Memory Catcher with my mom author Sarah Hinze.  

The book is her memoir; her journey of her own miscarriage, to studying prebirth experiences and finally to becoming a voice for the unborn.  

Her books share how unborn spirits can warn, protect and enlighten us.  Then, unexpectedly her research presented evidence that aborted babies may die here on earth, but their souls live on.  These real-life accounts in a book she wrote called The Castaways provided healing and hope for so many.  

Coming soon, the 15-year anniversary edition of The Castaways (more on that later).

I learned God can lead us when we write, especially when we write to honor Him.  The experience made me crave inspiring memoirs and I broke out of  my normal reading genre - fiction.  I’ve always known difficult things that happen to us can lead to good things, but I learned it in a literary sense.  There is a beautiful way to share such stories.

I can’t forget my new found love of Christian music.  I spend a lot of time painting and restoring furniture, working in the kitchen and so forth.  I stopped listening to political radio and top 40 and turned the dial over to the inspiring messages and gorgeous tunes of these amazing musicians.  So many songs touched my heart, but the one that stands out is Overcomer by Mandisa.  Her story is amazing.

I was being spiritually nourished throughout the day.  My relationship with Jesus Christ grew in leaps and bounds.  

Then, project:USED (www.projectused.com).  

Dresses, the very core of woman; some might say its sexist, but with the inspiration of DRESSEMBER and a new look at what it means for a woman to wear a dress, I found dresses liberating.  The dress became a symbol of what it means to be a strong woman.  Don’t hide behind pants, celebrate the female spirit. 

After all that, what now?  I’ve come a long way as a mother, wife, an entrepreneur, a writer and a girl.  I’ve blogged for almost six years.  My dear readers, what courage and healing you’ve provided me!  It’s been so much fun.  Thank you for following me on this journey and I look forward to continuing the exploration of My Dear Trash.  In addition to my blog, I’ve written and completed almost five novels all about strong young adult girls that overcome in their own way.  An exciting twist, my last two novels are historical fiction.  God willing, I think I know where my next step leads.  I’m currently working with a literary agency and I think my time may have finally come to publish my stories.  Yes, it’s a big leap, but oh my! Am I ever ready to hold own of my own books.  You’ll find me in a puddle of tears jumping for joy. 

All these experiences (and too many to count) have lead me to light.  I have so many stories and ideas; dreams and goals – all bringing another step closer to the joy of being a strong, confident girl!  

I love having so many artistic outlets in my life. If it wasn’t for the therapeutic outlet of furniture restoration, I wouldn’t have so much time to collect my thoughts and explore plots. If it wasn’t for writing, I’d probably explode in a big pile of ideas!  So, wish me luck and courage and I take this leap of faith into the world of publishing.  I’m so excited I can hardly stand it!

You can check out my website at lauralofgreen.com.

Follow me on facebook for My Dear Trash here and for project:USED here.

I'm also on pinterest here.