The Architecture of a Redeemed Will:

Transforming Profound Suffering into Lasting Legacy

There is a weight in this world that few truly understand. It is a burden felt not just in the mind, but deep within the spirit, the soul, and the very physical marrow. For those of us who have walked through the fire, there is a constant, exhausting tension: our “flesh” must stay so strong to survive that it can weaken the inside under the sheer gravity of what we carry. I have learned there are things in this life so heavy that no human being can carry them for you. You must have the Lord Jesus Christ on your side.

I speak of a “great sufferance” that is not applicable to all. I speak of the hunger I endured as a child and the hands of a mother who was meant to be my closest connection to God, yet who truly tried to take my life. To witness that much hate from a parent is a heinous, sick joke—especially as she still smiles and plays the victim today.

The World’s Victim and the Lord’s Survivor

The irony of my story is that while I was enduring this suffering, the world treated my mother as the victim. They stepped in to help her and pacify her, providing exactly what she needed in the moment to stay complicit and compliant—stuck in the world, living for the flesh while the soul died.

The world will feed your flesh just to keep you stuck, but only the Lord can make you die to the flesh so that you may truly live for your soul. I see the “web” now; the world’s “help” was a cage designed to keep the cycle going, but the Lord’s placement of me was my freedom.

The Trial of a Mother and the Weight of Labels

My suffering did not end in childhood. I have known the cold reality of being homeless as a pre-adolescent girl on the streets, and later, the gut-wrenching struggle of being a homeless mother with my children. I have sat in psych wards and lived within the prison system while pregnant, where my medical needs—my hyperemesis—were discarded as drug addiction because they didn’t want to believe the truth.

The system tried to bury me under labels like Bipolar and Borderline Personality Disorder, marking me as if there were a “point of no return” for my life. But the truth was deeper: I suffered from Complex Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder because of a lifetime of war. I lived through the agony of losing custody and the long, hard fight to bring my children home. I am not perfect. I have suffered more than words can capture.

The Threat of the Healed

It is beyond my understanding why, after all of this, people now look at me as a “threat.” For people to see me building headquarters, pushing for the Blue Bag Youth Empowerment and Safety Act (BYESA), and trying to save children from the very things that nearly killed me—and then try to get in my way—is a tragedy.

If you hear what I have been through, why would you stop me? Why would you look at a woman who survived the streets, the cells, and the labels as an enemy? I have walked alongside people who talk about change but never get anything done. I am not talking. I am building something that must last.

The Power of Surrender

As it is written in 2 Corinthians 12:9:

“But he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’ Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me.”

My internal “weakness” is where His power took over. I have learned that to truly succeed, I must surrender. I cry every time I realize I no longer have to carry these things on my own. I have traded my heavy burden for His yoke, which is easy and light.

A Call to Action: From Watching to Working

To those who look at me as a threat: Ask yourself why. Why is a woman saving children a threat to what you are building? If you say you love this world, move beyond observation and opposition.

I am calling on you today to move.

Support the Anchor Center: Help us build the headquarters that will provide the safety I never had.
Advocate for BYESA: Stand with us to change the laws for at-risk youth and runaways.
Stop the Labels: See the human being behind the history. Do something for someone other than yourself.

My pain was the price of this foundation. Now, I am asking you to help me build the roof that protects the next generation. We are grateful, we are healed, and we are just getting started.

Will you stand with us, or will you continue to stand in the way?