Category Archives: Family

Series: College Life | Firsts…

I’m in my last semester of college for my BA in English. I have five, yes five, English courses this semester…and a husband, three kids, and a dog. And four of those classes have long book lists so needless to say, I have little time for anything.

With all that said, I miss being here. I am trying to make time to blog but honestly, I’m exhausted. Physically and emotionally. Especially since my last blog which told of another huge loss I’m dealing with. It’s still hard. It’s going to be hard. It’s life. Anyway, a professor from one of my writing classes gave us a writing exercise in class a couple days ago and I wanted to share it all with you…

The exercise: Write about a first or firsts…

“It was ice cold and stark white in the delivery room. Even though I hadn’t started pushing yet, I was already exhausted. It’s indescribable how those sharp, stabbing pains in my stomach and back had stolen any umph I could muster up. It was all I could do just to breathe through them.

Speaking of breathing, I hate that word. I hate focusing on breathing. There was a time in my life when holding my breathe was normal. It was safe. Here was this doctor standing beside me telling me to breathe. Frankly, I wanted to rip his lungs out and say, ‘You try breathing!’

Not to mention my husband standing there with an empathetic look. All I could think was he’d gotten me into this mess — he better figure out a way to get me through it. I wanted to stab him every time the knots got tighter inside. I felt like my body was attacking me, which I’d felt many times before, only this time, it wasn’t my body. It was this strange creature growing inside my body causing this crazy whirlwind of physical and emotional feelings.

I screamed at the doctor, ‘Just get him out!’

I was twenty-two. I wondered what God was thinking letting me have a kid. Didn’t He know how screwed up I was? Why would He trust me with an innocent little kid. I couldn’t even keep a cactus alive, but God expected me to keep a baby alive?

‘Push…’ I hear the nurses say, ‘You can do it…breathe, just breathe.’ I swore if I heard one more person say breathe I was going to smother them all with the extra pillows they’d stuffed behind me.

And then…

I saw these tiny red toes and heard this wimpy, pitiful cry. It was the first time I’d given birth…the first time I’d really known what love was…the first time I had a reason to breathe.”

So there you have it. That’s my creative story of firsts. Though portions of the story may be somewhat exaggerated, when I write, I write from my heart. So yes, that little creature that turned my world upside down…he gave me purpose. He gave me a reason to fight. We’ve had our moments. I’ve had my really crappy mom moments and he’s had his drive me crazy moments. He’s seventeen now. He’s a senior in high school. He’s a volunteer firefighter. He’s training to be an EMT. He’s a good boy. I’m thankful, but still surprised God trusted me to raise this kid…and his two siblings.

Through all the hard in life, in marriage, in parenting, in loss, in grief, in darkness…through it all, I depend on beauty like this to help me breathe again.


A Raging River…

>>>>> Yes, this post is incredibly long…what do you expect when it’s been so long since I posted. Don’t click away. Bear with me, read it until the end. Please. <<<<<

2017 Raging River

The past few days have been quite overwhelming. Change is inevitable yet so often, difficult to accept. Loss is painful, excruciating. This sums it up…


Let’s say you’re on a journey. We each have a different path. Some have flowers and butterflies early on and some have briars and thorns. Maybe some have briars and thorns the whole way. Let’s say the briars and thorns are the hurt, pain, and trauma that stings, cuts, and scrapes like the briars. Then you make it to a river. It’s fierce. It’s scary. You know to get to the path on the other side, free from the briars and thorns, you’ve got to cross the raging waters. And let’s say therapy is the stones laid out before you. You just have to take the step. You make it to the first one, catch your balance, plan out your next step and prepare to move forward. Some stones may be slippery. You may twist your ankle. It’s not an easy crossing but you press on. You step to the next stone, getting closer and closer to the other side.

The let’s say grief gets in the way. Grief over loss, losing the stones. It stops you in your tracks. There aren’t anymore stones laid out for you to step across. All you see is raging waters. You feel the sting of cold water splashing against your scraped and scratched up legs. You feel lost and alone. You wonder if there is hope…but as you glance back at the stones you’ve crossed, you’re reminded there is hope. You found it a few stones back.

Where do you go from there?

Your journey halts. You’re stuck on that stone for who knows how long while the water crashes around you. It’s overwhelming. It’s painful. It’s scary. You beg for more stones. You cry out for stones from the deepest part of your heart. But the stones are gone. How do you get across. How do you reach the other side without drowning?

You know it will happen…you just don’t know how. You know it won’t be with those stones and that is where grief has settled in. Maybe you’ll fall a few times. Maybe you’ll get soaked but you’ve made it far enough to know the river won’t take you.

Where is your path leading you? Are you headed through flowers and butterflies or are you tangled in the briars? Are you safe on a stone or treading water just to breathe? Or have you crossed the river and reached the other side, with soft green grass, the shade and protection of a giant weeping willow tree, a cool, gentle breeze, and a place to rest, where you can look back and see just how far you’ve come?

I wrote that sometime last night. Words usually come easy for me but the ability to accurately explain my feelings, well, not so much. This seemed clear enough to create a visual of what I’ve been feeling.

Why all this? I do want to offer an explanation. I owe that to myself.

The insecurity of home.
The lack of support, love, and nurturing.
A childhood lost.
A girl growing in a world alone, a world that has mostly been cruel.

If your own mother and father don’t love you, why would anyone else?

That is a question I’ve asked over and over again. A parent’s role in a child’s life involves love, nurturing, protection, direction, guidance, support, and so much more. Those are things that can’t be replaced by another person. It’s an ugly fact.

I’ve bounced from house to house, never really feeling home.

Foster care.

I’ve been in and out of therapy since around age 11. At 15, I wanted nothing to do with the therapist the courts ordered me to see. I was stone cold hard. My walls were so high, no one could touch me. It was great. And it was lonely.

At 19, after losing the one person I knew without a doubt loved me, my Papa, a part of me died with him. He was the only person that had given me a reason to live all those years. He was the one person who taught me what real love looked like, how to be kind and respectful, and how to love others unconditionally.

At that point, life became careless. I was a firefighter. Back then, female firefighters were rare. I loved that. I loved being the tough girl. I loved the idea that I could step into a burning house, with flames all around me and knowing they couldn’t touch me. I embraced the idea that I would gladly give my life in order to save someone else. In fact, I wanted to.

“When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze.” Isaiah 43:2

And today, twenty years later, I can say there have been many times that I ached to find home. Not a home this world can offer, but an eternal home where there is no more pain and suffering.

Admittedly, I’ve attempted to take my own life. Several times. And yet, here I am. I look around and see raging waters. But I also see the path continues. I’ve learned that somehow, I’ll find a way.

So, where I am today is in the midst of grief. They say being able to feel is a part of healing. Well, I must have done a lot of healing in the past few years because I’m definitely feeling this. It’s heavy. It feels like I’m choking. It feels like there are rocks in my lungs. It feels like I’m covered by a blanket waiting to be smothered. It’s incredible pain. I’ve never known pain like this because I was never able to feel like this.

Over the past four years, I have been seeing a therapist. She’s the last of a long list of attempts to break through my walls…and she did. No one else had been able to do that. Not because they couldn’t but because I couldn’t let them. I couldn’t trust. I could talk about my past and all the wrongs but I couldn’t feel. No one could knock down the walls that kept me safe from the pain of the world around me.

Kara did. I don’t know how she did. She says I did the work.

Therapy is an odd thing. My opinion of it has changed frequently and probably will continue to change. In many ways, it’s amazing. You have the opportunity to share anything without judgment. Without anger. Without being punished. Now, don’t get me wrong…that doesn’t come easy. It takes a long time to learn that it’s a relationship where it’s safe enough to trust. A LONG TIME! (for me anyway)

But when you find that person, the one who can really see you, the one who lets you know it’s okay to breathe, the one that reminds you, you’re not alone, the one that bears ALL your secrets, the one that has loved you in spite of all you’ve been, done, and are…when you find that one, it means the world to you.

Kara isn’t perfect. She’s not some magical creature with a wand that wipes away all the wrong of the world. Nope, she’s pretty normal. She’s just a regular human being who struggles like the rest of us but we clicked. She taught me to trust. That was something I’d never been able to do.

She taught me…

to trust – that taking the chance can be worth it.
to believe – to believe I am strong, worthy, lovable, wanted.
to seek hope – that even in the darkest moments, hope is there.
to love – to love myself, to see my worth, to know myself.
to dream – to imagine where I would be when I made it to the other side.
to embrace – to seek truth and embrace it.
to grow – that I didn’t have to be afraid of who I would become.
to change – to bring truth in to erase all the lies I’d believed.
to feel – that it would hurt like hell but it would be so worth it.

And that’s where I am. I am feeling. I am grieving. When my Papa died, back in 1997, I cried off and on for three days and didn’t speak to anyone. I felt dead inside. That was about all I could feel. I wanted to die with him. I was numb. I was lost. I was alone. I wasn’t able to grieve because I had no idea how to really feel anything other than empty.

Grief sucks! Plain and simple – it absolutely hurts like hell. Losing someone who has meant the world to you, by death or by the end of a relationship is incredibly hard.

Two days ago, Kara told me she’s leaving her position in a private counseling setting and heading into the school system. It’s what is best for her and her family. It wasn’t an easy choice, but one she had to make, none the less. I care greatly for her and want the best for her and her family…I just wish I could be a part of her best.

I was/am devastated. DEVASTATED.

This woman, the one who knocked down my walls, helped me learn to breathe, taught me to find hope, and to press on, to fight death and find life…she’s leaving me. And all I can think of is I knew this would happen. Everyone leaves.

A father who never cared enough to even meet his daughter.
A mother who chose the man who sexually abused me for years, rather than her own daughter.
Teachers who cared but couldn’t realistically move on to the next grade with you, every year.
Lawyers, advocates, foster parents, friends, houses, family, etc.
A grandma, who much like myself, bounced between emotions, never really being able to express unconditional love, but rather love based solely on conditions, and fits of rage and anger.
A Papa who meant the world to a little girl who had no one else, who had the hands of strength, the heart full of love and compassion, a presence of the only thing safe in the world.

Whether by death or by walking away, the people that have mattered most, who have cared most, who were supposed to love, protect, encourage, support, etc. – they all leave.

And that’s where I’m at.
Kara is leaving.

I know it’s not the same. I know she truly cared. She’s dedicated four years of her own life and time to helping me. She’s put in countless hours of watching me stumble over words, back track on progress, question everything she’s said, argue or debate her truths vs. my truths, and lately, she’s watched me cry.

For years, pretty much all my life, crying wasn’t an option. Crying wasn’t safe. Crying made things worse. Crying meant something was wrong. Crying meant you weren’t strong enough.

But Kara taught me it was okay to cry.
She taught me I was safe with her and it was safe to cry with her.

She never took advantage of my vulnerability and what I viewed as a weakness. She viewed it as strength. Progress, she would say.

I can’t tell you the exact day when I first cried with Kara. I can tell you it wasn’t that long ago. It’s only been within maybe the last year that I really felt like I was stepping across the stones that created a path to somewhere better. And she was walking with me. Holding my hand. Offering hugs, when I was able to ask.

You may wonder, why is it a loss? It’s not like she died and is gone forever.

But it is a loss. That’s where the ugly part of therapy comes in…

Kara always said the therapist/client relationship is like no other. It’s complicated. There are ethics and boundaries she has to adhere to for my own good, but they are incredibly difficult to accept and understand. You’d think just the fact you’ve spent so much time with one another, that would be enough, but it’s not. Ethics, boundaries and the design of the therapeutic relationship don’t leave a door open for anything when the relationship ends. It most definitely is a loss. It’s a death.

And that’s what I am grieving.

I am grieving the loss of the person who knows me better than anyone else in this world.
The person who has taught me what safe love looks like, what love really means.
Who has given up much of her own life in order to save mine.
The person I pray for and want the best for, yet ache to be a part of her best.
Like with my Papa, I am grieving the person who showed me I mattered, that I was loved, that I was wanted.

I have an amazing husband. He’s caring, patient (very, very patient), gentle, and understanding. For the most part, I’ve shut him out of my therapy life and my healing journey, mostly because I’m stubborn, and partly as some lame attempt to protect him from my own heavy baggage. It was safest for me to view the time I had with Kara, in her office, as the one place, the one person I could actually let see the real me. I treasured that time. I cherished it. And I learned over time that I didn’t have to carry it all with me when I wasn’t there. She was safe enough that I could leave it all with her and actually live life in the in between. There’s so much comfort in that.

I have three beautiful, smart, amazing kids. I adore them. They are great kids just like my husband is great. They are my biggest fans, my biggest source of support, and they are honest enough to be brutal when I wear something wacky!

As much as I love them, it’s not the same. Theirs is a relationship where they depend on me. They receive unconditional love and support from me and in return, they love me back. They look to me for comfort, protection, guidance, and so on. They need me. They come to me for hugs or to fix everything.

That’s what I’m missing. That’s what I’ve lost. There is no one on this earth that can fill that role. There is no one who has known me forever, who calls me theirs, who has done and would do anything for me, who has wiped away tears, picked me up when I fell, held my hand through the hard times, and taught me what a mother’s love is supposed to look like. Kara did that for me.

And honestly, I am so truly blessed. My home…my family…I have found in my church. It took me years to get to that point to but I believe all that time, God was preparing me, teaching me, growing me. And He’s given, and He’s taken away. I’d like to put in a direct request that He stop taking away but it seems when He takes away, He helps me find many other things/people to keep me moving forward.

I have some amazing people in my life. There are women who have walked this journey with me, who have been my allies, my support, my stones along side Kara. They’ve prayed for me. They’ve kept me accountable (sheesh!). They’ve guided me and taught me. And painfully, when I look at them, I see what wonderful mother’s they are to their children, how they pray constantly for them, how they love them with such a deep, genuine love. And I see how they have that with their own mothers, how they have those people that have always known them, always cared, and always called them theirs. I realize there is no perfect family. I realize it’s a really messed up world and every family has its issues. Still, it’s hard to be loved by these amazing ladies and know I will still never matter that much…so much that I would be first in their lives, that I would be right in line with their other children, that they have watched grow from the tiniest fingers and toes, picked up from falls, held when they were sick, ached with every ounce of their body when their children were hurting. That’s what I grieve. Even Kara couldn’t offer that.

But here I am.

The river might be raging but I can still see the other side. I’m determined to someday sit beneath that giant weeping willow tree, feel the warm sun bearing down on my face, the gentleness of the soft green grass below me, and the freedom to breathe.

“Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the LORD your God will be with you wherever you go.” Joshua 1:9

But for a moment, let me grieve. This is healing, right?



Now that I have you humming that little tune in your head (and if you’re not, click here and you will be!)…


Not the twenty-five cent kind of change.

Real change.

Different things.  Different life.  Different schedule.  Different routine.

And so on.


I’m sure I’ve probably written about this before but the past few weeks/months have brought on a lot of changes for me in many different areas of my life.

I am not a fan of change.

When I get comfy, I like to stay there.

Back in the fall, when I was going through Melissa Taylor’s online Bible study for Unglued, by Lysa TerKeurst, I came unglued. 

Our van of 4+ years had died.  We went out and bought a new van.  In the end, I have everything to be thankful for, nothing to be ungrateful about and yet I’m human and still fall short.  The point of that is, with a new van, came a monthly car payment which meant I somehow needed extra income which came with the idea of keeping a child which leads us to a handsome little man staying with me during the day, five days a week, which means change.

One little event, the death of an automobile, led to a complete change in my life.  I was comfortable.  Olivia and I had a routine.  I was perfectly content with my eleven year old van.  I didn’t need a new one.  I was happy spending day in and day out shopping with my toddler, going wherever the wind took us, lunch dates with friends, etc.

Now, my time is precious.  I have come to realize that all the time we spent doing nothing, was precious time.  Those are moments I will cherish forever because those are the days Olivia and I shared, just the two of us.

Now, don’t get my wrong … this new little guy, he’s great!  Not only is he a super snugglie three month old, but he’s cute to boot.  And to top it off, his mom and dad are pretty cool too.  So, we have this all worked out and I’m sure this is all part of God’s grander plan but my dislike of change has sure stirred up the emotions.

Yesterday, we took this fancy schmancy new van to the dealership to see if some awkward things could be fixed.  The answer was simply ,”No,” which of course led to me whining and ranting over what idiot designed such and such and did they test it before they … blah, blah and then it hit me …


“Who’s the idiot here?  You’re griping and complaining about a van that YOU picked out, that YOU decided to buy, that YOU thought would be great and that YOU failed to sit in the third row and see how comfy the very badly designed headrests felt.”

Duh, I, amidst the thoughts of anger, frustration, whining and complaining, came to the stark conclusion that I was the idiot.  I have no right to complain.  Who am I to complain?  I have a nice, new van and here I am complaining about it.  I bet my friend Christy, that gave up everything to move to Africa, would be sorely disappointed in my shallow behavior.

So, I realize now that change isn’t always bad.  Sure, my life has changed but along with it, some really great things have happened.  Change has led me to a whole new world of ladies, some from my very own church that until now, I haven’t had the opportunity to get to know.  A large group of us even went to see Anne Graham Lotz together and what an amazing time that was.  I was also invited to a lovely Valentine’s breakfast at a sweet friends home with a wonderful group of ladies and I had another invite to a dear friends church for a great evening of fun, fellowship and food.

And this little guy that has become a part of mine and Olivia’s day, well, I have really enjoyed getting to know him and his family.

I can’t tell you how many good things have come with change and perhaps that is because sometimes, we tend to focus on the bad.  I let the bad things outweigh the good when in fact, if I take the time to stop and look, the good things far outweigh the bad.

How do you handle change?  Does it get the best of you or do you roll with it and seek out the blessings that come from it?

James 1:17 says …

Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows.

For today, I am going to embrace the changes that come my way, finding the joy, the beauty in the changes and I find comfort and peace in knowing that our God is never changing. He is the same today, tomorrow and always.  His promises have withstood time.  His plans for me and for you are always the same.  What more could I ask for?!

© The Imperfect Princess at

Three T’s for Tuesday – 10/16/12 – Submission

**What works for my family, may not be the right thing for your family but I have learned a lot through trial and error, mistake and prayer.  I am no expert on families, but I am an expert on mine.  My opinions and suggestions are simply that, opinions and suggestions.  Take from them what works for you and put aside the rest :)

Today’s Three T’s for Tueday:  Tackling Tough Topics is…


What are your thought on submission?

Many times, when we think of submission, we automatically go to these verses:

21 Submit to one another out of reverence for Christ.

22 Wives, submit yourselves to your own husbands as you do to the Lord.  23 For the husband is the head of the wife as Christ is the head of the church, his body, of which he is the Savior.  24 Now as the church submits to Christ, so also wives should submit to their husbands in everything.

25 Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her  26 to make her holy, cleansing her by the washing with water through the word,  27 and to present her to himself as a radiant church, without stain or wrinkle or any other blemish, but holy and blameless.  28 In this same way, husbands out to love their wives as their own bodies.  He who loves his wife loves himself.  29 After all, no one ever hated their own body, but they feed and care for their body, just as Christ does the church — 30 for we are members of his body.  31 “For this reason a man will leave his father and mother and be united to his wife, and the two will become one flesh.  32 This is a profound mystery — but I am talking about Christ and the church.

Many people twist these verses and make them sound ugly.  Some husbands have used verse 22 in order to control their wives.  Some wives have used it as an excuse for their overpowering spouses.  In some marriages, it has been used to justify physical or sexual abuse. 

A wise Christ-honoring husband will not take advantage of his leadership role, and a wise Christ-honoring wife will not try to undermine her husband’s leadership.  Either approach causes disunity and friction in marriage.
Paul counseled all believers to submit to one another by choice – wives to husbands and also husbands to wives;  slaves to masters and masters to slaves; children to parents and parents to children.  This kind of mutual submission preserves order and harmony in the family while it increases love and respect among family members.  (NIV Life Application Study Bible)

In our home, we have a partnership.  We work together.  We both parent our children.  We both partake in house work.  We both have duties outside of the home.  We don’t make big decisions without first consulting one another.  We are a team.

We have submission to the Lord and a partnership with each other.

We are both to submit to God, in everything we do and say.  Sometimes we do this with ease.  Other times, we fall short.  We don’t have a perfect relationship and it does take work but we have love and respect for each other.  Our personalities compliment each other.  Tony is the peacekeeper and I am the hothead.  He keeps me grounded and I offer a little spunk in his day :)

In the end, these verses are beautiful.  When read in full, we get the picture of a relationship filled with love and respect, hope and joy, blessings and peace.  We read how the love of each other should surpass anything else and through that love, we honor and respect one another, just as we honor and respect God.  We shouldn’t focus on one of these verses alone, but the story in a whole, how we as the church submit to God and God in return loves us, unconditionally.  In the same way, while we as wives submit to our husbands, our husbands shower us with unconditional love.

© The Imperfect Princess at

31 Days | Day 13 – Colorful Blankets

Have you ever had that moment when you realized you just stole the joy from your child?  I have and it’s a hard one to digest.

A couple weeks ago, we heard the excitement in Olivia’s voice as she showed off her fancy made bed to her brothers.  The boys had cleaned and made their beds early in the evening and she wanted to be a big kid like them and do hers all by herself.  She proudly came running into the living room shouting to her dad and I …

“I made my bed!  It’s pretty colors!  Come see!  Come see!”

Of course we went without hesitation to her bedroom.  There, we found about 10 multicolored baby blankets neatly flattened across her bed.  She had done such a wonderful job getting them just right.  I praised her on a job well done and her great choice of colors and asked, “Are you going to sleep under all those pretty colors tonight?”  She quickly replied, “Yep!”

In a completely innocent attempt to give her something special, I said, “Hang on, I have something special for you!”  

I ran to the closet and pulled out the most special blanket.  My grandmother did a lot of sewing.  My mother kept many of my grandmothers fabrics.  She had cut out some Holly Hobby dolls (the profile view of the little country girl wearing a bonnet) and never did anything with them.  Well, several years ago, my mom had a large quilt made for me with those dolls and before we ever even knew about Olivia, she also had a toddler blanket made from them, just in case I ever had a little girl :)

I went in Olivia’s room with this awesome little blanket I’d been dying to give her.  I started to remove her beautiful arrangement of blankets and place the new blanket on her bed.  With excitement, I said, “Here, this is a very special blanket that Nana had made just for you!  Don’t you love it?”

To my dismay, she didn’t.  I had ruined her moment.  Although I had the best of intentions, I had minimized the specialness of her sweet combination of colorful blankets arranged so perfectly on her little bed.

In the end, she did love her new blanket special from Nana.  And for years to come, I will remind her just how special it is that it’s made from my Nana’s fabric and a gift from her Nana. 

Right now, this was a reminder to me though, to enjoy her moments, for her.  To let her have her moments and to build her up through her own creativity.  It was an awakening that I don’t have to fix everything or try to make everything better.  Sometimes things are just right the way she chooses.

© The Imperfect Princess at

Is My Security Enough?

“I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.”  John 16:33
For days now, that verse is what I have held on to.  Yes, in this world, we will have trouble.  I have experienced many different forms of trouble over the years.  I have faced abuse, loss, fear, worry…
And yet, I am still here.
My walk with the Lord is closer than it has ever been.
I have a desire to seek the Lord, to know Him, to trust Him, to live for Him.
He has promised me security in Him.
Our lives were turned upside down last week.  We now check, double check and triple check our doors.  We are constantly looking out our windows.  We are afraid to leave our home.  We are worried.  We are forced to change our daily habits.  Our kids sense our worry and fear.  They too check doors and windows.
The first couple days went by and things seemed fine.  By Friday, the reality set in.  Now, I can’t replay the thoughts in my head without tears.  I look at the pictures and my heart just sinks.  I think of that night and how much our lives changed in that one instance.  I think of the many things I do differently now.
No family should ever have to feel the fear and insecurity of a home break-in.  Your home is suppose to be your safe place.
We have a decorative sign that hangs on one of our walls that says, “God bless our home and all who enter”.  
I keep thinking of that sign.  If I harbor anger towards these crooks, then am I asking God not to bless them?  Am I ignoring the very sign I have hung on my wall that I see every day? 
They have changed our lives, not destroyed them, but changed them.  They have changed our thinking.  They have taken away our peace.  They have taken our security in our home but they can’t take away our security in Christ unless we allow them to.
As I posted in my last post, I pray that somehow, our lives will be used to change their lives.  Perhaps the prayers we’ve prayed in our home will have some kind of affect on them.  Maybe they will be overcome with guilt as they use or sell our items.  Maybe they did get a glimpse of the scriptures on our walls.  Maybe they felt God’s presence in our home.  
My security at home will never be the same but my security in Christ is more than sufficient!
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.  2 Corinthians 12:9
Whatever the case may be, we still have a home, we still have each other and we still have a God who cares about us and loves us.  That is something they can’t take away.
© The Imperfect Princess at