It was a Tuesday; I was seventeen, and every lie I had believed about my past was shattered. I remember it so well, sitting on my knees, weeping at the painful truth: I was sexually abused, and my story had to be told.

For two years, I let my abuse shape every part of me. It shaped the way I viewed men, myself, and sex. It even brought me to a point where I thought I was called to celibacy because I was so disgusted with sex; I never wanted to have it again. I was afraid of any guy that looked my way. I was convinced they were after me to use me and leave. I believed that no guy would ever choose me and love me for who I am and not just how I looked. 

I was convinced that it was my fault; I could have stopped it, I could have said something, I could have ended the dating relationship and I did not. I played as much as a role as he did. I believed all of it.

However, God had something else to say. It wasn’t my fault.

The chains broke as Iies were replaced with truth: I can be healed.  I can be pure. I am precious. I am beautiful.

I remember so perfectly the night I shared my story for the very first time, sitting in my friend’s passenger seat mustering up the courage to speak. My friend sat, listened, and cried as I fought through tears just to get the words out. It was the most painful thing I had ever done.

But I fought to share my story, because I knew, eventually, that being brave would get easier. And I knew that my bravery would allow someone else to be brave.

For me, being brave is sharing my story, even if I can barely speak through the tears. Being brave is forgiving my past and loving how it has molded me into who I am today.

Being brave is not sitting down when God says “Stand up and speak.”

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I was abused and beaten until the age of 18 by my mother.

It made me fearful of having my own children.

Children were the cause of evil — my mother told me so!  I caused pain and I caused  hurt.  She almost died, and she hated me for it.  And every day, I heard her wish that I had never been born.  Rather then hugs and kisses, I got ice-cold stares, punches, strikes and kicks.  Sometimes her eyes would fill with rage, and she’d hit me until I became lost inside my own world and eventually blacked out.

I grew to hate my mother and wish her dead.

I ran away from home one hour after turning 18.  I married my high school girlfriend just because my mother couldn’t stand her, but we were ready for divorce after only 1 year. I joined the military and begain smoking hash everyday just to escape.  I spiraled out of control — stealing, drinking to excess, and cursing uncontrollably. I got arrested for writing bad checks, and eventually came before a court martial.  I realized then that something had to change, but I didn’t know what or how.

I began to look for ways to get rid of the anger, hurt and hatred. I married my second wife — a woman who was also looking for a different life — and our journey continued together.  We were eventually drawn back to church, I began to recall and document my past.  I realized that I had prayed extensively during my ordeals as a kid, and that a lot of my coping mechanisms for escaping the pain came from that prayer.

In the end, I had abandoned God when I ran away from home. I asked for His forgiveness and welcomed him into my life.

In December 2003, I got a call from my uncle to tell me that my father was ill and that the diagnosis was terminal. It had been 11 years since we’d spoken, but I visited with him in the hospital, scheduling my visit to avoid my mother.  I had no peace; I knew I had to forgive her, but it seemed impossible.

The day before my return visit to see my father, I got down on my knees and prayed like I have never prayed before. I broke down and cried out and finally released the pain.  I didn’t sort out my feelings or change my opinions about the past — I simply released the pain. Then I curled up in a fetal position and fell asleep.

I woke up later that day with a total feeling of relief and calm, ready to face my mother.  I met her and explained my hurt and anger and my need to forgive her.  I told my dad that night  … and at 2am he died.

I’ve been married for 29 years now, and am a prison chaplain teaching fathers how to end the cycle of abuse in their own lives.  I’m also raising 3 grandchildren — with love, kindness, and lots of hugs.  My mother continues to live in another state than me, but we stay in touch once a month. Last week, I was able to wish her well on Happy Mothers Day.

I’ve learned that bitterness and hatred are destructive, but that the power of forgiveness gives life.  I did not allow my past to ruin me, or hatred to control me.  I let my past inspire me, so that today I can be the person that God designed me to be — and be a living testament to second chances.

Every Sunday evening close to the same time each week, I feel a knot begin in my chest. Monday is coming. Back to the grind, the office the 3 by 3 foot cubicle, back to the automated work week many of us participate in.

It’s been too easy for me to try to fit into that “factory- mentality” be a cog in someone else’s machine, I feel the humanity drain out of me… and my worth is based again at the bottom line on a spread-sheet in some office in accounting.

Many times quitting seems like it’s the only way out. Because in the end, my worth is trivial, after all I am just a worn out cog that needs to be replaced.

Following that (lack of) logic, it’s effortless to lose touch with myself, burn-out, reboot and go into shut down mode. Its easier to neglect my need for hope, and escape my emotions rather than confront my humanity that’s being twisted into a cog.

So I give up on myself and put work first, quit living second chances and beat myself up for not being perfect… and ultimately lose touch with what it means to be FULLY ALIVE.

I start to plug in and ignore my heart, dreams, passion… and what makes me, me…

That was up until now… up until I decided to take a stand for honesty and self awareness and TRULY BREATHE the life back into my lungs.

So today, I’m going to be exactly who I need to be, a living human-being.

I am going to take this NO QUIT Monday as an opportunity to recognize the shadow and the light… the flaws and the strengths… and put my efforts in generously giving grace to those I work with.

In the end I have been given a beautiful opportunity – to turn that 3 by 3 foot cubicle inside the factory into a second chance lifeline that invests in grace and gives hope the bottom line. Join me?

Growing up, I was constantly made fun of for my size. I heard every joke that degrades being short, and I defined my value from those jokes. I feared that I didn’t belong and I felt rejected. I thought I was alone and those hurtful words caused me to feel unworthy of love.

When I finally did overcome those feelings, I found out that I’m not the only one who has struggled. If only I had known that I wasn’t so alone…

That was why I decided to quit my full time job and pursue So Worth Loving with full force. I had to overcome the fear of failure once again, and I can’t express how much adrenaline I felt that day. After the words “I quit” came out of my mouth, I was consumed with thoughts of both positive and negative:

• “You can finally pursue what you have a passion for.”
• “It’s just the beginning!”
• “What if you suck at this?”
• “What if you made the biggest mistake of your life?”

So I have to be brave.  And for the month of May, I have committed myself to the word brave — as a reminder that maybe I can relate to someone else, and let them know they’re not alone in their struggles.

Join me in encouraging others, and let them know that they are worthy of love.  Choose your own word for May, and let the world know.   We’ve launched May You Be — a place for people to fill in the blank for what they have overcome, or are still overcoming.

So grab a piece of paper, fill in the blank, take a picture, and let people know what word you are committing to for the month of May. Head over to May You Be and upload your photo! Use the hashtag  #MayYouBe on social media.

You never know… it could be a word someone else is struggling with.

You’re not good enough. You don’t deserve it. You’ll screw it up again. You’ll let him down. You’ll fail.

Sound familiar?

Nothing stops you dead in your tracks like guilt. It traps you in the worst moments of your life, and keeps you from being who you were meant to be.

So today, we’re giving ourselves permission to forgive … ourselves. We’re off the hook, and we’re moving on with our lives. We believe in ourselves, and we believe in you.

Will you join us?

As the waves begin to surround you and the sun begins to set, you’ve realized you’ve done it again. You’ve put yourself in a situation that led to failure, judgment, and resentment. And while a sea of treacherous waves begins to rise and crush your feeble body, you realize that you’re helpless, lost and afraid.

“How did I end up here!?” you ask. “Where did I go wrong!?”

And while you rewind and replay the events that occurred within your head, you realize it actually was your fault. You realized you’ve not only judged and condemned, but failed in a miserable way.

As the temperature of the water gets colder and the waves that surround you get bigger, it begins to get harder and harder for you to stay a afloat. The shame begins to set in and the tears begin to stream from your bobbing head. You give out a loud voice shouting, “I’m sorry! I never meant for it to be like this.”

And as your voice gets lost in the sound of the wind and crashing waves, you realize you’re alone, tired, and sorry. You wish you could go back and change the way you did things, but what’s done is done.

But just as you begin to give up and let your body begin it’s plunge to the darkened depths of failure, you spot something in the distance. You can’t make out what it is, but it looks to be floating towards you. As you scramble to stay afloat, you use every last ounce of strength to make your way towards this unknown object.

As you struggle to make your way to the unknown object, you see another one. And another. And another. Until you realize you are surround by them.

As you finally reach the one closest to you, you realize what it is. It’s a small orange life-raft, and written across the top is the word “GRACE.”

You realize you have been given a second chance. You’ve been given hope. You’ve been shown grace.

As you make your way into the small floating device, the temperature, waves and wind don’t seem as scary any more. In fact, you completely forget about them as your mind is now more focused on the people you need to apologize to.

So today, on NO QUIT Monday, remember that failure isn’t the end — it’s the first step in finding grace and a second chance.

“If I should have a daughter” by Sarah Kay:

If I should have a daughter, instead of Mom, she’s gonna call me Point B, because that way she knows that no matter what happens, at least she can always find her way to me.

And I’m going to paint solar systems on the backs of her hands, so she has to learn the entire universe before she can say, “Oh, I know that like the back of my hand.”

And she’s going to learn that this life will hit you hard in the face, wait for you to get back up just so it can kick you in the stomach.

But getting the wind knocked out of you is the only way to remind your lungs how much they like the taste of air.

There is hurt here that cannot be fixed by Band-Aids or poetry.
So the first time she realizes that Wonder Woman isn’t coming, I’ll make sure she knows she doesn’t have to wear the cape all by herself.

Because no matter how wide you stretch your fingers, your hands will always be too small to catch all the pain you want to heal.

Believe me, I’ve tried. “And, baby,” I’ll tell her, don’t keep your nose up in the air like that. I know that trick; I’ve done it a million times. You’re just smelling for smoke so you can follow the trail back to a burning house, so you can find the boy who lost everything in the fire to see if you can save him. Or else find the boy who lit the fire in the first place, to see if you can change him.”

But I know she will anyway, so instead I’ll always keep an extra supply of chocolate and rain boots nearby, because there is no heartbreak that chocolate can’t fix.

Okay, there’s a few heartbreaks that chocolate can’t fix.

But that’s what the rain boots are for.

Because rain will wash away everything, if you let it.

I want her to look at the world through the underside of a glass-bottom boat, to look through a microscope at the galaxies that exist on the pinpoint of a human mind, because that’s the way my mom taught me. 

That there’ll be days like this.

There’ll be days like this, my momma said.

When you open your hands to catch and wind up with only blisters and bruises; when you step out of the phone booth and try to fly and the very people you want to save are the ones standing on your cape; when your boots will fill with rain, and you’ll be up to your knees in disappointment.

And those are the very days you have all the more reason to say thank you. 

Because there’s nothing more beautiful than the way the ocean refuses to stop kissing the shoreline, no matter how many times it’s swept away.

You will put the wind in winsome, lose some.

You will put the star in starting over, and over.

And no matter how many land mines erupt in a minute, be sure your mind lands on the beauty of this funny place called life.

And yes, on a scale from one to over-trusting, I am pretty damn naive.

But I want her to know that this world is made out of sugar. 

It can crumble so easily, but don’t be afraid to stick your tongue out and taste it. 

“Baby,” I’ll tell her, “remember, your mama is a worrier, and your papa is a warrior, and you are the girl with small hands and big eyes who never stops asking for more.”

Remember that good things come in threes and so do bad things. And always apologize when you’ve done something wrong. But don’t you ever apologize for the way your eyes refuse to stop shining.

Your voice is small, but don’t ever stop singing.
And when they finally hand you heartache, when they slip war and hatred under your door and offer you handouts on street-corners of cynicism and defeat, you tell them that they really ought to meet your mother.

Get involved today, and join us in making scandalous grace an everyday part of the world around us!

• Check out our most recent video premier, and share it with others.
• Learn about POTSC Groups, and take a chance by joining or starting one.
• Join the Grace Mob, and become an instrument of practical, actionable grace.
• Share your story!  Email us (mohan@potsc.com) and lend your voice to the movement.  Drafts, questions, comments … it’s all valued.  We can even help you craft your story if necessary.

Have you recently gotten involved? Share your thoughts below!

When there is death, grace lives.

When a job is lost, grace can be found.

When memories are forgotten, grace is remembered.

When money is gone, grace remains.

When pain is too much, grace is even more.

When relationships fail, grace triumphs.

When friendship is split, grace repairs.

When lies are told, grace is truth.

When injustice lingers, grace overcomes.

When tears fall, grace uplifts.

When hope walks out, grace stays put.

When vows are broken, grace mends.

When fear keeps you quiet, grace proclaims.

When lies humiliate, grace praises.

When heights are unreachable, grace climbs.

When wars rage, grace fights.

When lust diminishes, grace values.

When pride crushes, grace restores.

When image is tarnished, grace is beauty.

When hearts change, grace continues.

When emotions unload, grace carries.

Grace. Grace. Grace.

When it’s all said and done: GRACE.