I’ll take you on a trip down memory lane and share how much my life has changed since I published NTL.

I’m asking readers to share their own testimonies of growing THROUGH, for we know it’s not just going through that matters, but also growing through the trials and tribulations that carries the greatest weight.

And how do we build muscle???

With weight and wait.

Joy comes in the morning…and blessings reveal themselves when we wait on the Lord.

Okay…I better stop here before I write a whole sermon.

I simply wanted to say, check out my latest YouTube post, and subscribe to the channel if you haven’t already so you’ll be notified when I share the next episode.

I’m looking forward to connecting and sharing.

Until next time, remember you’re blessed NEVERTHELESS.

Sharonda

Geez, I really wished I had paid attention.  As I got closer to it, I realized the mouth was open and it was flipped with its belly upright.  It had apparently been crushed and I assumed by the wheel of my Godfather’s truck.

I parked my bike near it’s corpse and proceeded to walk by it.  I drew in closer to check out all the details of this snake that otherwise I would only read about or see on television.  I hoped again to God that it was not faking.  It would not have been pretty if this thing jumped up at me.  Once in the house I asked my Godmother if she knew there was a snake in her driveway and then showed her the pictures.  She too was glad it was dead. 

I returned the next day and found that his truck was not in the driveway but neither was the dead snake.  When he arrived home later I asked him what happened to the snake and yet he had no clue what I was even talking about. I told him all that happened the day before and that I couldn’t believe he didn’t know there was a snake under his truck, about 4 or 5 feet long and possibly poisonous making its way in the direction of his home’s door.  He shrugged and moved onto another subject.  I was dumbfounded.  You know, I can be a bit dramatic so I allowed my entire life to flash before my eyes.  I know…ridiculous. But what can I say? I’m a wannabe drama major in the production of me.  What if he was home when I arrived on my motorcycle and the snake was still alive?  What if it attacked me when I dismounted?  What if it made it to the door of the home and was sitting there waiting for my Godfather to leave? What if, what if. Oh boy, it’s the what ifs that will take you out if you allow them to.

Then I began to think on Genesis 3:15 where the Lord said to the serpent,

“And I will put enmity between you and the woman, and between your offspring and hers, he will crush your head and you will strike his heel.”

There the snake rested, on the ground with its head crushed and all I cared about was a possible strike to my heel.

I changed my focus to this being a problem that had been resolved long before I even realized the problem existed.  I am constantly reminded of the ripple effects of our actions and how our inaction can delay the ripples that are necessary in our lives and the lives of others.  When we fail to do what we’re called to do, we can delay the solutions we seek to the problems we know about and those we have yet to encounter.  Our inaction can hinder those around us and cause heartache to those we care about and yet we want to believe no one matters. 

Had my Godfather decided he didn’t feel like going out to take care of the tasks he had on his list that day, who knows what the results would have been.  I know some may sum this up to luck or happenstance but I like believing life is a bit more purposed than that.  It is important to me to rely on the belief that my actions have meaning.  It is important to me to believe that I am here to cause change.  It is important to me to know when I keep moving, that I am making things possible not just for myself but for others as well.  

Besides, even Dory knew the importance of just keep swimming.

Just keep pushing, keep growing, keep moving. You’d be surprised where God will take you when you willing go along for the ride.

Love, Sharonda

I’m not sure what results I expected after taking the Ancestry.com DNA test but I did imagine what if my father took the same test because he was searching for me just as I longed to find him. I imagined how he might look after all these years. I imagined the questions he would ask and tried to decided what I wanted to know most from him. I would see the television commercials, listen to the testimonials about ancestral hints and wish for my happy reunion. I even signed up for the show Long Lost Family on TLC but never heard back. The reality I had to face was just how impossible it would be to find my dad with the little amount of information I had on him. All I knew from my mom was his name, James C. Johnson, that he was in the military, around the same age as my mom and was from Texas.

“Really mom, that’s the best you can give me?” I thought.

All I had at that point was to do the DNA test and to give it time. So that’s exactly what I did.

I joined Ancestry.com in 2018 and started to build my family tree. It was a sad sight, a tree that started with me, included my kids, my husband, my mom, and ended there. It stayed that way from 2018 until now. There were many matches listed for my DNA and the information even included whether it was a match on my mom’s side or my dad’s. Without a name to start with or build from, it was almost impossible to reach out to the countless 3rd-4th and 5th-6th cousins. However, there was only 1st-2nd cousin match and surprise, surprise it was on my dad’s side. To my disappointment though, the name listed wasn’t even a name. The person simply went by a set of initials, P.M.

Well, I figured I had nothing to lose and I sent this person a message. One month went by and no response. Two months and then three. Nothing. Then, to my excitement, I received a reply.

“How do you know James Johnson? Are you a Berryman descendant?”

I replied, “He's my father. I don’t know any Berrymans.”

Then, silence.

I figured I must be on the right track and decided I wasn’t going to stop looking. I searched this person’s tree and behold, there it was, James C. Johnson. But not just the person I believed to be my father. He had a living mother, brothers and sisters. Those siblings had children and immediately my tree grew to include branches on both sides. I couldn’t believe my eyes! I actually found him! With a name, a test and a prayer, there he was. I’ve come closer than I ever had before.

The story my mom had given me was that he knew about me, and that she turned him down when he offered to marry her. For 40+ years, I’ve convinced myself that this meant he wanted to be in my life and that my mom prevented him from ever having a chance to know his daughter. I would not allow another opportunity to be missed. Not now that it’s up to me. I could see the resemblances in the faces of my children. My son looks like my uncle and my daughter looks like my dad.

Now, the search for my dad wasn’t the only crazy whirlwind happening. While searching for his family and the ways in which I was connected to this mysterious P.M., I also found a news clipping through the genealogy site that mentioned my mom. It was an obituary notice from 1970 for Mrs. Doris Jackson Pratt. My mom was listed as a surviving daughter along with 5 of her siblings.

What???? Siblings???

Oh mother, you’ve got some explaining to do.

From there, I went to Facebook and began my hunt for the aunts and uncle I was never told I had. Within 24 hours, I had connected with a daughter of my mom’s sister and had a ZOOM video conference scheduled for the next day. By the end of the week, there were plans for a Thanksgiving holiday reunion, friend requests made on Facebook, and tears upon tears of joy for the fact that they had finally found Shirley, my mom.

It was all surreal to me. I began to feel overwhelmed in the reliving and remembering past pains. I thought about all the years I felt alone, trying to fit into families comprised of people who didn’t want me there and reminded me often that I didn’t belong. I remembered trying to comprehend why my mom and I never had someplace to go back to and always had to find a new place to call home. I began to wonder how different my life could have, would have, should have been if this larger than life group of people weren't kept from me.

The power of the mind is amazing. It can create a place of entrapment and paralyzing confusion if you’re not careful. There, in that moment, I was beginning to minimize all the beauty in my life, the love I've received from surrogate and adoptive families, the success and achievements I've had in spite of the craziness that was my life. There’s absolutely no way I could claim, with certainty, that my life would have been better or worse, it simply would have been different. I get the chance, now, to have relationships that I never imagined I would have and for that I am beyond grateful. I get to call some cousin without the whispers of “she’s not really family" as if blood should determine and dictate bond acceptance. I'm blessed to have been accepted by the sweetest of grandmas, my grandma Toots, who never cared whose blood flowed through my veins. I was her granddaughter and I pitied the fool who tried to say otherwise.

I wish she was here because I would have wanted my newfound family to meet her. She covered me while they were looking for me and I will always honor her for her love.

This experience has given me much more insight into what family is and what it isn't. I know now what it’s like to have people long for your return, love you without ever meeting you and care for you when they didn't have to. All we have is who we love, and this should begin with SELF.

Blood relative, self or stranger, we get to choose to love. It’s not limited to or by family, nor does it require having anyone else in your life. Love begins within and when you have it overflowing from inside, it's easy to share it with others.

I was reminded that I am to count it all joy, and above all, to love.

As for the search for my dad, well let’s just say it’s going to take more time.

Not to find out who he is, because that I already know. Turns out he needs more time to accept that his actions have consequences and sometimes those consequences come looking when you least expect it.

Oh, who knew?

Seems the fantasy I created in my mind was just that, a fantasy. My dad wasn’t longing to find me after all these years. I searched for him only to learn that he didn’t want to be searched for. In fact, he probably wished his relative, P.M. never took a DNA test. But such is life. I never wished to find out I was an ‘oops’ on his end but, nevertheless, here I am.

Let’s be clear, I’m not an oops to God and that’s all that matters. Besides, I’ve got a family reunion in Charlotte to get ready for and people to love. With open arms I will receive those on his side who choose to accept me and if that never includes him, then it’s his loss….not mine. I’ve come this far, 45 years, without him and I’m willing to bet that I can do the next 45 without his involvement too.

Love always and on purpose.

Sharonda “Phoenix”

One might respond, “it’s the day America celebrates its independence” and therefore assume I should join in on the jubilation but my confusion only continues.

Am I an American? You darn tootin I am. Born and raised.

But that doesn’t mean I understand why I would need to celebrate the day this country gained independence from Great Britain.

To understand my confusion, I suppose would require understanding of how I feel the other 364 days of the year and the injustices I see everyday based on the color of one’s skin, beliefs or preferences. According to the current president’s statement released today, America celebrates the “vision of our Founding Fathers revealed to the world on that fateful day”. But the only thing that comes to mind are the many fateful days that followed for persons of color forced to live in a land controlled by a government and it’s people who did not see them as equal, nor cared if they experienced life, liberty or the pursuit of happiness.

How can I celebrate the anniversary of the day Jefferson introduced a document that he himself did not envision extending to the very people he too held enslaved? My answer is: I cannot.

Now, before you begin to feel some type of way about me not celebrating the 4th of July, let me share that I don’t celebrate Juneteenth either. I’m an equal opportunity kind of non-celebrant.

Simply put, I struggle with the idea of ignoring the part of this country’s history for the celebration of the other part. The acclaimed speaker and notable activist Mr. Frederick Douglass passionately expressed exactly how I feel today, though his speech was delivered in 1852.

What, to the American slave is your 4th of July” - Frederick Douglass

I realize I’m not a slave but so much of what he said still applies. For me this day is a reminder that this country’s ability to even entertain the notion of independence was directly dependent upon what was taken from and required of my ancestors. The inhumane treatment and control of Africans brought to this country by no fault of their own, those who were bred like livestock and those raped and forced to bear the children of their overseers, for the purpose of establishing a better life for colony Americans.

If this day 244 years ago could not be celebrated by every person in America, then why would every person in America celebrate it now?

It would take another 89 years for slavery to be abolished and 92 years for Blacks born in America to be viewed as citizens. The right to vote would not happen until 1870 and what followed the 15th Amendment were laws such as the Black Codes, Jim Crow, and poll taxes to keep Blacks from exercising these rights.

For every step forward, there were many more steps backward. Blacks were granted freedom but not provided with the means to start this new life. Instead slave owners profited from the government’s confiscation of their property and then created new ways to enslave the property they fought to keep. Blacks have had to struggle, beg, and plead for scraps to be thrown to them and then expected to be grateful and forever indebted for the generosity.

But hey…let’s light some fireworks, right?

I realize that everything mentioned up to this point is from a time long ago, and not my personal account. But even in 2020, this country still struggles with deep rooted hatred and racial inequality. There seems to be a resurgence of racist terrorism, Blacks are being lynched, killed by authorities and presumed guilty rather than innocent, and subject to far more egregious consequences than non-Blacks.

For years we’ve been expected to “get over it” and move on. For years we’ve been expected to see the election of the first African American president as a sign of racial harmony and acceptance. Yet, recently, we’ve had to endure the highest office being occupied by someone who referred to white supremacists as “very fine people” and permitted the gassing of peaceful protesters so that he could walk to a church building for a photo op.

Each year there’s a new hashtag for a person of color killed by an authority figure without cause or provocation. Children. Fathers. Mothers. Sisters. Brothers. The same laws that were enacted to hunt down fugitive slaves are still being used today.

Stop and frisk. Find something. Provoke a reaction. Claim resisting. Arrest. Convict. Sentence. Repeat.

That doesn’t sound like independence to me.

I suppose the 4th of July is just another one of those holidays that can be celebrated by some rather than all in this country, just like religious and local state holidays. The irony, however, is this is one of the things I appreciate as an American. I get to choose what I celebrate and how I celebrate it.

While I doubt I will ever join in on the celebration of Juneteenth, I will however say a private prayer and give thanks on December 6, 1865 when the 13th Amendment became law and in fact, freed slaves. I doubt I will ever light a firework on July 4th, but I will honor those who fought to secure women’s right to vote in 1920 and those who brought about the Civil Rights Act of 1964 on July 2nd. Of course there are other dates that are also important to me, and should be to others.

Like September 24th, the day I came into the world. Just kidding…not really.

Love.

Country life, free-living, surviving off the land;

City-life, high class wealth, legacy money made off man;

Then there’s me, someplace in the middle, in between free and priceless.

No weapon formed shall prosper, yet Black Lives Matter long before they’re lifeless.

Free country-men fighting for their right to be free.

Wealthy men lying in front of cameras, “Hey, look at me!”

Then, there’s me…virtually sending condolences for lives lost to the coronavirus.

In the middle, holding on tight to “If God be for us, who can be against us?”

When two sides fight, the hardest place to be has got to be in the middle.

Love,

Phoenix 💖

I know it's been awhile and I've missed sharing with you. So much has happened and I look forward to telling you all about it.

In October of 2018, I became the owner of 2018 Indian Dark Horse motorcycle.

I said goodbye to my 2012 Victory Highball which I purchased in 2011 and absolutely adored.  Riding my Highball was simply the best. I rode to Canada with the Kingdom Knights, rode west and back for a 1,000 miles in 24 hours Iron Butt Association challenge. Through sun and then stormy weather, my Highball and I made it everywhere and back without a single hiccup.  I loved my bike and developed a certain level of loyalty to it. #Victory4life

[CycleWorld.com review of the Victory Highball]

Then I experienced more. I got a taste of abundance.

I knew more existed but I said it wasn't necessary.  I said I can do without it.

But I wasn't just doing without it...I was making excuses for not wanting more or striving for better than what I thought I could have. I was giving a higher priority to ownership of a thing than the right to have better. Moving on to better became less of a priority to me. What mattered more was holding on to less. (Have you guessed I'm no longer just talking about the motorcycle?)

My Highball was not classified as a touring bike, which meant it technically wasn't  intended for long trips. It didn't come with saddlebags for storage, wind protection and the handlebars were positioned for a hardcore look and not for the comfort of the operator.  But since I wanted to take my bike on long trips, I decided to make adjustments, add aftermarket pieces,  and modify the design despite the purpose for which this bike was intended. This bike was meant to look good, not ride cross country.  Victory actually had a bike for those types of rides. Interestingly enough, one of those bikes was actually called Cross Country. 

I am amazed at how much stuff I accumulated over the years since 2011, the year I purchased the Highball.  Things used to fill in for, take the place of, or substitute for something I needed but didn't have. 

Small bags, big bags, bandannas, bungie cords, jackets big enough to cover seven layers of clothing, etc., things to make up for the things I didn't have.  Although there were times when I could have done better, I wasn't prepared to let go of what I was so determined to keep.  I made excuses.  I idolized the look. I allowed it to define me. I was falling for the same traps I mention in my book Nevertheless: Peace In Spite Of Pain. I had to remember it's okay to grow.

In order to GROW, I had to let GO.  I felt like my Highball and I were one. I couldn't imagine letting it go. I think a lot of people go through this in one way or another. Maybe not about a motorcycle but perhaps a house, a job, or a relationship.  We substitute, improvise, accommodate, and rig so much simply to hold on to what we've outgrown or should have let go.  This includes lack and struggle. Everything has a season. Some things are for a lifetime and some are just for a lesson. 

“Regardless of where you find yourself, rely on God’s Word to keep you, knowing when you give Him control in your life, all things work for your good.  Failing to do so can create chains of bondage, tying you to the very things that Christ took upon the Cross on your behalf.”  (Excerpt from chapter 15, Nevertheless: Peace In Spite Of Pain)

Be sure you have an ear to hear from the Holy Spirit.  God has given us access to better, peace, joy, and abundance.  Our lives shouldn't be based on the things we have but on what we do with those things to experience His best and to help others do the same. 

Since saying farewell to my Highball, I've grown to absolutely love my Dark Horse. It took some getting used to but honestly it was an easy transition. Perhaps this was because it was time to move on. Initially I thought handling a bike that is larger, heavier, wider (and dare I say meaner LOL) than the Highball would be a challenge, but I was wrong.  The Dark Horse handles ohhh so well. I recently completed another Iron Butt ride, this time 1,500 miles in 36 hours which took me from Maryland through Georgia to Alabama, then to Florida and North Carolina. There was no comparison between this bike and the one I had before. It is hard to compare something that was designed for a purpose with something that wasn’t. I think I should stop here before this becomes Indian Motorcycle advertisement.

But seriously, what was I waiting for? What was I avoiding all those years?  Did I not think I was worth it?  My husband said he thought I struggled with believing I deserved nice things. I wonder if he had point. 

While I may ride for enjoyment, I also ride as ministry.  I decided to use what some view as a negative image (biker) as a way to show God's love to others.  As a biker, God has given me a way to experience a version of relaxation and meditation that we call "wind therapy".  Now, with my Indian Dark Horse, I am thankful for many, many more comfortable therapy sessions to come.

So, until next time, look for me and my Dark Horse on the open road. 

Love,
Sharonda AKA Phoenix

In February 2015, it was official. I was patched with the colors of the Kingdom Knights Motorcycle Ministry. I donned those colors with full understanding of the respect, honor and service that comes with being a Knight.

From the moment those colors were placed upon my back, I tried to live up to all that is expected of me and from me. Hours on 2s in 100 degree heat, storms with lightning, and cold chills to reach my core; ministering when needed, praying always, and turning the other cheek when everything in my body wanted to fight, I always tried to remember the name I carry with me - Kingdom Knights. We are bikers for Christ.

After a while though, it became more and more routine. Grab the vest, hop on the bike and ride. Sleep, wake, ride, and repeat. Life happens, seasons change, and soon enough long periods of time elapse and I don’t even realize I haven’t worn or even looked to take my vest out of the closet. So the other day, I figured…there’s no better time than the present and I grabbed the scissors. Snip…snip…snip. I began cutting the strings the held the patch to my vest and the patch began to lift up off the leather.

Let me stop here before the rumor train takes off from Gossip Station. I recently purchased a new vest and decided to take on the tedious task of transferring the patches from the old vest to the new one myself.

AS I WAS SAYING…

In my stomach, I felt a sinking feeling as I continued removing the patch. Once it was completely detached, I held it in my hands and looked it over. I remembered the day I earned it. I was nervous, excited, humbled, and even in shock a little. I wanted more than anything to make them proud of me. I wanted to prove to them and to myself that they hadn’t made a mistake. I wanted to show myself that I could represent a house that stood for service in the community while growing within myself. I wanted to live up to their esteem while continuing to build my own.

I held the patch in my hands and thought about how much those still bright colors meant to me. I laughed a little at just how bright they were because our vice president would always say the bright colors meant new rider. I may not have traveled the roads he and the other 48-state crew members have, but I’ve held my own on a mile or two.

I remembered seeing skylines with them that I had never seen before. I remembered taking roads alone that I would have never taken had I not gone on similar roads with them in the past. I remembered feeling safe simply because of the company I kept with them.

With those memories flooding my mind, I hurriedly attached the patch to my new vest. I couldn’t stand not having my vest put back together any longer. I thought, “What if I’m called to ride at this very moment…I wouldn’t be able to go without my colors!”

Once all the patches were sewn on the new vest, I looked over the old one inspecting all the wear and tear which were like souvenirs of the miles traveled. But it was the back of the vest, the area covered by my colors that intrigued me the most.

Where my patch used to sit was the indentation of the words KINGDOM KNIGHTS. I could still see and feel the letters. I smiled. I knew then that the patch didn’t only transfer to the leather but it also transformed me into a better biker and person. Christ redeemed me. Christ restored me. Christ saved me. Through the Kingdom Knights, Christ transformed me. The energy of the KKMM lives in me because of their love, service, and dedication. All I can do is pray I equally live in them.

I AM A KINGDOM KNIGHT.

TRIED and TRUE. PATCHED….PERIOD

#KK4L

In my book, Nevertheless: Peace In Spite of Pain, I share how stress and happenstance would send me running to sink down into a corner and, with my knees to my chest, cover my ears to keep out all the sounds around me.  I would press my hands over my ears to deafen the sounds I heard, not just the noise around me but me from myself.  The sounds I tried to escape, and had the greatest potential for harm, were actually the declarations that I made silently to myself.  

Those moments of despair taught me to hate hope, hate joy, and believe that those promises and the promise of peace were beyond me.  I hated wanting joy, hope and peace.  I hated each and every time that I slipped up and experienced joy and happiness.  I hated when I enjoyed life.  I knew sorrow was near.  It always was and I couldn't escape it. 

Depression was for me.

Sadness was for me. 

Abuse was for me. 

Trouble and lack of love were for me.

These are the declarations I made during the first few seconds of those anxiety attacks.  My way of accepting my fate was to constantly tell myself I was destined for pain.  Hope and the idea that pain was not a way of life made feel as if I was doing something wrong or that pain was a punishment for something that I wasn't sure I did.  If pain wasn't normal, then it meant I was abnormal or that I had failed to figure out the secret to a successful life.   

NO. 

Just two letters. Two letters that can change a person's life only if they understand the power that lives inside them and the ability to apply that power.  Recognize that power.

What powers you?

How are you operating in that power?

What ability do you have that you're not applying the power inside you to?

NO?

What or who are you questioning? Yourself? Others? Your vision or assignment? 

Who is the focus for the things you're doing and the decisions you're making?

Are you seeking God first?

Walk in confidence of your ability. 

NO!

The enemy's job is the steal, kill and destroy and that's not just limited to our physical life.  Satan's job is to seek to devour your dreams, confidence and peace, and yet these gifts are from God and not Satan's to take.  In fact, the only thing Satan has access to is what we give him.  

We have the power and the right to declare what God has already predestined for us!

Depression is NOT for me!

Sadness is NOT for me!

Abuse is NOT for me!

Trouble and lack are NOT for me!

Proclaim with confidence that which belongs to you!

Eventually I learned how to get a hold over those moments of anxiety.  At first it took me a great deal of time to get myself together, to get up off the floor and decide to keep going. Over time I was able to get myself together quicker.  I began to believe more of the positive affirmations I declared over my life than the negative thoughts that filled my mind.  Fast forward to today and, guess what...those moments still come.  The difference is now I have had more practice in addressing them and preparing for them in advance.  Now, I recognize what's coming and I take steps to counter them with things that bring me joy.  Those attacks no longer take control of my mind, my movements or my words. 

My prayer life encourages me, my faith sustains me, and my trust in Christ who has delivered me for a purpose greater than anything I can contrive on my own keeps me going.  God's strength allows me power and ability to say NO MORE to depression, NO MORE to anxiety, and NO MORE to fears. 

I have given those things notice that their time is up.  

For more information on how to calm an anxious mind, visit: 

Connect with me on social media: 

Until next time...

Love ~Sharonda

God will get you through...I cannot tell you how many times I’ve heard this expression or how many times I’ve probably said it myself.  I know there’s truth to it because I am still here today, writing this post and living a testimony of a life.  God can certainly get you through.  But it’s the “how” part that most don’t talk about because honestly speaking, it’s not always the prettiest part of the story. 

Growing up, I used to get those down south, country-style, “momma don’t play that” type of whoopings. I didn’t have it like my kids have it today with this timeout, “no iPad for 20mins”, or “explain your feelings” business.  I had belt or switch to bare naked skin beatings.  Today, if a parent yells too loudly at their child, they risk being reported to the child protective agency.  Switch beatings weren't uncommon; my mom did what she knew and if I didn't learn better, then I would have continued the same style of correction.  As if the whooping wasn't enough, I would be the one who had to pick out my own switch which was made up of three thin and pliable branches from a tree.  My mom would only approve of the ones that were not too thin and had enough leaves that she could keep a few on the ends.  Next, I’d remove my pants and receive my punishment.  Oddly enough, I don’t remember the pain.  Granted it was over 30 years ago but I do remember the red and sometimes bloody whelps the switch left behind.  The wounds eventually healed and the scars never remained.  I suppose it’s safe to say those punishments didn’t always do the trick because after a period of time, there would be another offense that reaped the same consequence. 

The last whooping I remember happened when I was in my early teens.  I recall not crying, not reacting, not jumping around like a cricket on crack.  I just stood there taking each hit she gave me.  I could feel my mom trying harder because of my indifference.  But I could also sense she was growing tired of it all, again, due to my indifference.   Our relationship changed after that.  I still respected and loved her but I no longer feared her.  During that time in my life, I was going through more than my share and where my mom left off with her whoopings, the trials of life picked up with consistent torment.   

But God will get you through.

I made it through childhood.  I survived.  I am making it through adulthood.  I am a survivor.  Parenthood.  Now there’s something that will test ever fiber of your being and faith.  I like to believe I’m a strong woman.  Able to withstand more than I think I can. I’ve seen some things and have held the hands of and encouraged others who have been through tremendous challenges.  I’ve said, “Keep your head up.  God will get you through.”  I don’t know what it is about something happening to your own flesh and blood or loved one versus something happening to you that makes you lose a little bit of all of your entire mind!

God will get you through. 

I’ve counseled, mentored, encouraged, advised children, teens, young adults about bullying, cooping with peers, etc. but when my own son or daughter encountered trouble from others, I will confess, I was ready and willing to take absolutely NONE of my own advice.  The last thing I thought about was “God will get me through” nor was I willing to repeat those words to the very people who depended on me for their protection.  I wanted immediate resolution. I wanted revenge.  I didn’t care about a process.  I didn’t care about going through the motions.  I wanted my promise of protection, peace and comfort for myself and for my family.  And I wanted it now.

God didn’t say through wouldn’t hurt like hell.

Those whoopings I received as a child hurt but they didn’t last.  My childrens’ troubles, we laugh about them now and about how I sort of lost my marbles.  My storms today, I’ve bought a few pairs of galoshes and extra raincoats to wear just for the occasions.  You see, the storms will continue to come.  The difference is how we react to them.  We can either run around panicked looking for shelter, crying out to God as if we have been forsaken, remain in a calm mindset knowing that God hears the prayers of the righteous and delivers them from their troubles, or better yet stand up to the storm and declare it obey our command of peace.  Yes, we have the power to declare to peace to a storm.  Jesus shows us in Mark 4:39 that the wind and the sea are under His command and the good news is we have the authority to operate in the same way through the power of Holy Spirit.   Will you always understand why storms form in your life? No, sometimes the storms aren't even meant for you so don't run to it thinking you're running from it.  Does this mean you will avoid getting wet?  No, sometimes you will get wet in the process but the storm shall not defeat you.  

God will get you through. 

Your mind has to be stayed on God.  Your peace, you must remember comes from Him.  Don’t give it away.  Don’t throw away all your hard work and accomplishment because of a storm.  Someone is watching to see how you handle it.  Someone is facing a similar situation or maybe even worse and they are looking to you to see how you’re going to endure.  They enemy is never ONLY after you, but rather after you and everyone close to you.  He’s after those who need you, look up to you, and are coming after you. 

So, remember.  God will definitely get you through and yes, it might feel like hell but don’t stop gaining ground.  Keep moving.  Keep pushing because the pain you can forget, wounds heal and scars fade.  You might get wet and even mess up a few nice things along the way, but hold on to your faith and God’s promises.  In the end, only those will secure your peace. 

Sharonda 💖

There will be choices from your past that you may want to regret but instead of beating yourself up, go through and GROW through them.  Check out the video below and let me know in the comments one of your GROW through moments. 

Sharonda