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I dreamt of you, again Saw your eyes while mine were closed I felt you in my space Felt the warmth beneath my soul I struggle with possibilities Could I have gotten this so wrong? Am I confusing realities? Did I stray too far from home? Heart flutters and palpitates Not the same as my wedding day More like when I birthed my cubs But in reverse, if I must say Not like they birthed me But I was born, birthed somehow Nestled deep within you As God configured my smile What joy it is to connect From the depths of a living soul Dreams coming uninterrupted Watching wishes unfold A promise is a promise I pray that God has kept I dreamt of you, again I dreamt we finally met

How I Unknowingly Followed A Mother's Scent For 30 Years It started when I was a very young girl. I couldn't tell you what it was back then, but there was a pull that went beyond the mother I knew. I would feel this pull beyond my bedroom, past the bathroom; it wasn't pulling me to the living room, where my entire family was, nor was it leading me to the bedroom of the mother I knew. I would get to the front door and stare. The pull I have felt for as long as I could remember was pulsating on the other side of that door, leading me out and away from the home that barely felt like my own. I would stare, curious as to what this sensation was, unsure if I should tell anyone, so afraid to hurt or offend the mother I already knew. Then it (the pull) followed me to school. I couldn't follow it yet, so it stayed close to me. This pull that tugged at my belly button, yanking at my soul. I would stand in the school yard, staring to my left, my beloved Godfather buried in a cemetery, two or 3 blocks over in that direction. But, I always felt something to my right staring at me. My neck would quickly turn to the right, more aware of the pull I've been feeling for some time now. I couldn't recognize anyone over there. I felt the pull intensely, like I was yearning for something that was yearning for me. The mother I knew was nowhere to be seen, and the grandmother I knew wasn't there either. What is this? Who is this? As life progressed, I remember seeing a college football game on the box television made out of wood. Unsure why I was cheering for the purple-and-orange team, I cheered louder. The pull came from the television this time. How in the world am I feeling yanked toward the television screen? I didn't even know the name of the football team; I knew nothing about the purple-and-orange team. Then some time passed, and I found myself glued to the screen watching Venus and Serena Williams play the sport I unknowingly fell in love with. I was drawn to Tennis like a couple in a romance comedy, afraid to admit their love, unsure of how their loved ones would respond. The family I knew began taking me to Steve and Barry's, a retail store that showcased the Williams Sisters and sold the Pastry brand sneakers by Angela and Vanessa Simmons, Rev Run's daughters. I would play Tennis on the walls of the apartment building, posing as my home. I had to get good enough so I wouldn't break any windows. I never broke any windows. Now that I think about it, somewhere around the fourth or fifth grade (maybe 3rd grade) is when I went vocal about my love for Tennis. Mr. Charles, the director of the Before and After Care program I attended, hosted a fashion show. We had three outfits each, one of which was sports wear. I remember wearing a light blue tennis dress, with a white visor and a thin badminton racket. The family I knew did their best to fit my vision of a tennis star for the fashion show. I remember walking out, strutting, and smiling, then I swung my badminton-tennis racket, and the crowd gasped and applauded. Trying to ignore the smiles on everyone's faces to avoid getting ahead of myself, I suddenly felt that pull to the left of me. Whose smiling face is pulling me, yanking at my soul, exposing my secret yearning? There was a choir I grew up watching. I remember the mother I knew taking my brother and me to rehearsals on Wednesdays to watch as she waited for her friends in the choir. I wasn't sure why we went so much, nor was I sure about why the grandma I knew was so opposed to it, but I loved it. I loved hearing Mrs. Sarah play the piano as she sang in such a beautiful voice. I enjoyed seeing Mrs. Charlotte direct the choir with such authority. As I grew older, I briefly forgot about the choir and could not understand why I wanted so badly to be a part of it in my early teens. The grandma I knew tried so hard to keep me from being in the choir; they already kept me from dancing with Mrs. Dareema, one of the beloved dance teachers at my church. I would have been devastated if I couldn't sing in this choir, and I had no idea why. When I returned to rehearsals without the mother and grandma I knew, there it was, the slight pull that I was beginning to overlook. The grandma I knew sent my aunt, of course, she was my grandma's eyes, when her presence didn't make sense. The grandma I knew forced me to sing soprano with my aunt; she was instructed not to let me out of her sight. I'm a natural-born alto. It (the pull) went silent during my teenage years, or so I thought. I can't recall being aware of the pull, just angry about the yearning. The mother I knew seemed like a stranger at times. I remember specific women appearing in my life. None came with that pull, but there were "connections." I wanted to go to college in the South, maybe even join a marching band like in the movie "Drumline." The grandmother I knew basically forbade me from ever going down South on my own. On family trips to Florida and Virginia, we never stopped in the Carolinas. And when the father I knew took me to Alabama for his first wedding, she begged them not to let me out of their sight, this time way more stern than usual. I could not go to Georgia with the dance team I was on, and college down South was completely out of the question. Southern culture sparked curiosity inside, especially after being told my entire life that, at times, I had a southern accent. Now that I think about it, nobody in the family I knew ever told me this. It was always people outside of "home" who swore I was straight from the South when I got excited and an accent came out. I never thought too much about it, as far as I knew, I always lived in Pennsylvania. In my young adult years, the freedom came to follow the pull on my own, and I had no idea I was doing it; it was certainly not intentional. How ironic it is that when I finally achieved the freedom to explore this pull, this yearning for what was clearly not in my home, I didn't. Or so I thought. By this time in my life, God had activated my soul, and it was following its own pull. God was pulling me closer to Him, and I was pulling away. When I was 19, I got hired at the department store where I had come as a child several times, but I couldn't remember it. Trauma has a way of distorting and erasing memories. It wasn't the store that pulled me in; it was a scent. A manager came into the main office while I was waiting for my interview, contemplating whether I should give up before I even gave myself a chance. She walked in and barely paid me any mind, or so I thought. I looked up and saw her, and looked back down, deciphering what it was that I was feeling. It was when this woman walked past me, and her scent gave me goosebumps. Chills went up and down my spine, forcing me to straighten it. My head popped up, my chest stuck out, and my back stood up tall. The layers of me that felt defeated, ready to quit before disappointment, were being challenged, all because of a scent. A scent that matched the pull I slightly forgot about. The pull was in this lady's direction, but now I know it went beyond her. I got the job and started the next day. For the first time in my life that I can recall, the secret pull I felt was toward someone I could identify. I didn't know her, or I thought I didn't, but it was her scent that was familiar to me. It was more than the beautiful body perfume she wore; it was a scent that forced my flesh into alignment with my soul, a soul that had already submitted to Christ's pull. I had no idea what I was feeling; I got it so wrong when trying to decipher it. The pull represented, no, the pull led to the manifestation of God's promise to me as a little girl, around the time the pulling first began. Time passed, and I fell in love with my now husband, Eric, my true soulmate. Once my soul connected with someone it deeply resonated with, the pulling resumed. Throughout my life, I lived in and visited places I felt led to, never considering that the pull was still at work in my life. The pull led me to God, God led me to the promise, and the promise came with a scent. A scent that I had been looking for unconsciously since I got on this planet. The family I knew would tease me for sniffing people. Yes, I have autism, but my soul was looking for something; Something my flesh thought it had to leave this planet to find. One day, when my husband and I were looking for an apartment for the two of us and our first child, who was still baking inside mommy, God told him specifically that I would find the place. In fact, God told him this every time we were looking for a home. But this time was different; it was the first time, and I had no idea how I would find the right place. God instructed me to do some research and write down 10 places we liked, and one of them would be our new home for our family. All nine places on the list just weren't it, and the last one I wasn't into. I really did not like the carpet in the apartment complex's hallways, and I tried so hard to overlook it. Of course, the tenth place I purposely put at the bottom of the list, hoping we would get something else before even having to consider those ugly carpets, was the one. That tenth place let us in with ease and helped us quickly get into a better neighborhood before our firstborn, our rainbow baby, arrived. Once at this place, I felt that woman from the department store so strongly that it pissed me off, because I couldn't understand it. I began sharing things with my husband and older women who had no answers. To make it worse, that woman wanted nothing to do with me, and I desperately wanted to understand this pull and why it got so strong near her. Long story short, after a long story, God revealed to me that the mother I knew was not my biological mother, the family I knew never intended to tell me, and that nobody was going to be able to prove that they were or were not my biological parents. This truth came a little while after praying to God about the woman in the department store. Things got strange over the years. When we worked together at the department store, I could tell when she was coming to work without checking the schedule. When she moved to a new location, I could tell the day before she was coming to my location and was right. One day, I told my coworker that the woman was coming back the next day, and she tried her hardest to convince me I was obsessed. You should have seen how stupid she looked when she saw that woman come back for the day to help. The only time I couldn't tell beforehand was when she would pop up on her days off; we always missed each other then. It got weirder years later. I was sitting with my husband when I suddenly told him she would change her Facebook profile picture. He asked how I knew that. I had no idea, but I checked, and she had just changed her profile picture at that exact moment. These precise "predictions" happened at least three times, and my husband witnessed each one. So, by this point, I was becoming frustrated, not scared, but a little shook. God didn't give me the spirit of fear, so I couldn't coware. One day, I had had enough. I prayed to God, Lord, please, send another mother who loves [department store lady], who loves you, and can see you in all of this! In Jesus Name, Amen. Then a little time passed, and upon instructions, God led me to her; He showed me where the pull was coming from. I thought the pull was just to [department store lady], but it was like she was secretly protecting it. I hypothesized that this was why the enemy of our souls kept trying to convince others I was everything but what I truly am. My persistence and blind obedience are why the enemy tried to label me a stalker because he had caught on that God was leading me to a truth that would show me more of who God is, and also who I truly am. It was like [department store lady] had moved her arm and revealed a really thick umbilical-like cord, the culprit of the pulling and yanking all these years, was connected from my belly button to this beautiful woman's. At first, I thought it was me, but it wasn't. She was older than I was, more established and sure of herself than I was. My soul began to rest. Then God revealed to me that I was following her scent; she was what had silently pulled at me my whole life. She was my mother. I'm still figuring out whether it's just a spiritual connection, because a biological one is too hidden and confusing at the moment. God showed me how, when I was a young girl in the schoolyard, she was the pull I felt to my right; she had loved ones living in that direction. Remember that connection to the wooden television box I felt while watching the purple-and orange team? Yeah, that purple-and-orange team is Clemson University, my dream school in South Carolina. That pull to the South, she is from the South. She also went to Clemson. That pull to Tennis, her father adores Tennis. That choir I spoke about, she has lifelong friends and family in that choir. Wanting to be in a marching band, she was also into marching bands, drill teams, and music. She can sing; she was also in a choir, and with some of the same people I was in a choir with. The department store lady was her best friend. The apartment that was tenth on the list, yeah, she lived there about 15 years before I did. Actually, almost every place I lived on my own, she lived nearby before I got there. She was, no, she is on the other end of that pull I felt, no feel. She was the scent I was following, the unconscious nudge to go here and then there. I struggled finding things that the family I knew and I really liked together, without one of us just liking it for the other. The "other mother" I prayed for, the one on the other side of the pull, the scent that I followed my entire life, she was everything I prayed for. While I always feel the responsibility and obligation to acknowledge that I mean no disrespect to the mother and family I knew, it is so freeing to finally admit that even if I never get the womb connection I prayed for my entire life in the way I want it, I can confirm that it is real. I can confirm that God didn't overlook my childlike prayers, and he protects my childlike innocence. He shows me that the very thing I prayed for had always been there, and I don't mean in the form of the family I knew; it was present in my life, waking my soul and guiding my light in a world that feels dark and eerie. I'm sure I have loved ones and strangers who think I am crazy, because they are sure the mother I knew is my biological mother. Either this womb connection with the other mother is pure, spiritual, soul-realm type stuff. Or just like I, others were also deceived into believing that the mother I knew was the mother who birthed me. Regardless, I have eternal gratitude for the mother I knew; though reluctant and seemingly contemptuous at times, she was always there. I knew her, I love her, I had her as my mother. I enjoyed making her laugh, having our discussions about life, and learning from her. At times, her presence was all I needed. I hope she is proud of me for living, for listening, and for following God with conscious obedience now. I miss her. I love her and the family I knew dearly, even after all we've been through. I hope the family I knew knew me, too. Then they will know that I am not present in the flesh because of strict obedience to God. I took them all for everything they came with, but now I must let God take me to and through everything he ordained for me. Yet, we can't deceive the soul or minimize the matters of the heart. Yes, the heart can be deceiving, but it can also be a portal to seeing the promises of God come to fruition. I don't like calling [department store lady] 'department store lady,' but I must honor the confidentiality of those involved in my soul journey. I care for her, too. I did not always make the best decisions when it came to her, but I was ignorant and trying to break free from familial deception while finding myself and understanding what God was doing in my life. She wasn't just a portal that led to the mother in my dreams. She is the one that God used to not only activate my soul, but to wake it up and bring it to the front, no more hiding inside my flesh as a mere engine. The other mother, the mother on the other side of the pull, the scent I had been unconsciously following, I see so much of myself in her that it scares me. There are times I look in the mirror, and I see her. Before writing this, I felt solely grieved because an actual bond with her feels unlikely. I was frustrated that she hadn't been a part of my life. After writing this, I see that she was there every step of the way, God utilizing her to influence my actions and solidify my roots in Christ. We could get a DNA test tomorrow, and it says she isn't my biological mother, and I would be devastated. Still, I hope someone, if not myself, can remind me that God kept his promises and gave me the womb connection, the guidance and the mother that my sweet young heart yearned and prayed for. A yearning that not only led me to a mother, but also prepared my soul to embark on a journey that introduced me to my Father, God, who built the deepest bond ever and led to a love that surpasses all understanding.

I'll share a backstory with you to add depth to the concept of having childlike faith. When I was a very young girl, I had a mommy and a daddy. There was a woman I knew as my mother and a man I knew as my father, but I secretly yearned for my mother. I yearned for a mother. I don't remember my exact prayer to God or if I prayed about it at all, but I expected God to do it for me. Throughout my life, I barely remembered that I had made that request known to God, that I wanted a mother. When I brought up my desire for a mother, others called me selfish and ungrateful because I had a mother, and some people didn't. But, they didn't understand my yearning. In 27 years of life, I never denounced the mother I knew as my mother. I took her for all she came with. I wasn't the perfect daughter, but I did my best to make her proud and pray she knows that I genuinely love her. I grew silent about my yearning for a mother. In fact, it became a secret. I promise I was not being ungrateful for the mother I knew, but I secretly felt like there was someone else in my heart. I unconsciously searched for that mother in my heart. I had a host of grandmothers and godmothers, some who assumed the role, and others I asked. I adopted school and work moms, church and dance mothers throughout my life. There was a host of aunties, cousins, and sisters who all guided me through life and made the ache for the mother in my heart not so bad. When I had my children, the mother I knew acted in a way that made me question her role as my mother. I didn't question her role in a way that would lead me to dig any further at the time; I left my wonder at maybe she was not being a good mother. I never thought she was not my biological mother. I just thought she acted in ways that a mother shouldn't act. I didn't yet realize how her role as my mother was just that, a role. She struggled with acting like a mother to me because she wasn't. When I turned 18, she quietly dismissed me in a way that felt like she had done her time. She was free from the bondage of being my mother. I always tried to be her good daughter. I wasn't the child one would feel the need to throw away or push out of the house. I was a scholar, ready to take on the world. She made me turn down scholarships and college opportunities, just to throw me away and expect me to suffer. I was 24 and 26 when I had my first two children, and I had begun to view motherhood in a different light. When I was 27, I met a Soul Sister, that's what we used to call each other. When I first met her, she reminded me of the mother I knew. I told her she reminded me of my mother, but I never showed her a picture of my family. Months later, our other Soul Sister and I were sharing photos of our families with each other. She gasped and said, "[Soul Sister] looks just like this woman." I asked her to show me who she was referring to, and lo and behold, she was referring to the mother I knew. She was right, Soul Sister looks just like the mother I knew. Their foreheads are the same, their lips, even the way they wore their hair, but it was that nose ring in both of their nose, at the very same spot, that really baffled me. I was raised as the oldest child and the only daughter of the mother I knew, so I was sure she didn't have another daughter, or was I? A few months later, God asked, "How do you feel about [the mother I knew]?" I told God that she was "cool," and I loved her. He asked me to dig deeper and be more honest. So I admitted, "God, I don't really feel like she's my mother." God said, "good" to my honesty and then continued, "because she not." I was baffled, "What do you mean she's not my mother?" I assumed I was tripping. I tried to dismiss it, but I couldn't. God showed me a woman, and there she was. The mother in my heart was real; she was alive and well. My heart fluttered and palpitated. No one had made my heart feel this way; It wasn't sexual or inappropriate, it wasn't the same way my husband makes me feel that I adore, or how my heart leaps at the mere thought of my babies. It was different, like the heart of the little girl I used to be had begun to pump again. You know how your heart pumped as a kid when you were excited? Maybe you felt it when it was time to go outside for recess, or the morning of Christmas, that feeling when you're opening a birthday present or on your way to do that thing you loved the most? If I could explain how this feeling felt, it was like when a baby comes out of the womb and looks at their mother for the first time, and their little heart pumps so fast because they are finally seeing her, finally in her arms, finally feeling her warmth from the outside. God had shown me her briefly a few days before he revealed who she was to me. When I stopped and really processed what was happening, these feelings I just described overtook me. I felt them for a little while, until I reached out to my assumed birth mother and she told me she wasn't my mother and to leave her and her family alone. She denied me almost three weeks before my 28th birthday; all that excitement and anticipation to end up heartbroken. Fast forward to the present day, I'm 30, and I still feel the ache of denial. My heart no longer flutters as often for her, and my faith has been faltering. I still am unsure who my birth mother truly is. To get to the point, I avoided going into more detail about why I am not sure of who my birth parents are, like no birth photos of me, or proof that the mother I knew birthed me. Adult me feels the ache in my chest, doctors have run tests, and everything is fine, so I know it's a broken heart. It's currently the holiday season, and my young children understand it's almost Christmas, but they're still processing the aspect of waiting for the exact day. We're having a rather big Christmas this year, so as box after box gets delivered, bags of goods get snuck into the back room, decorations go up, and the house gets prepared for what's to come, my babies grow increasingly excited. However, I realized that, no matter how sad they get about not being able to open the boxes yet, they remain happy and expectant. Even though things may not be going the way they want them to yet, they are not only remaining excited but also expectant. They may not understand when, or can perceive how long they must wait, but their excitement for what's to come never changes. Oh, the joys of childlike faith. Oh, the joys of not being bound by time or buried in anticipation. Anticipation used to bring us joy and excitement, not anxiety and frustration. We used to be excited in our waiting because we knew that the thing we wished would happen would happen eventually. The waiting sometimes felt like the fun part. Have you ever seen children having fun in the rollercoaster line? Like they actually seem happy to wait, chatting about what they expected or knew was to come. I recall seeing children happily waiting in long lines to get on the rides they wanted, whereas I am always willing to skip the long line and find another ride with a shorter wait. In line, they get to spend time together, excited to be at the amusement park or wherever they are. They're just happy to be where they are and enjoy every minute of it, filling the time they have to wait with the anticipation of what they are waiting for. As we get older, we're more prone to getting out of line, avoiding long wait times, and expecting things to process as quickly as possible. We get out of line. We get out of line. We step out of the will of God. We give up on what we are trusting God for because it is taking too long. We moan and groan in our waiting. Life has evolved to a fingertip service; we have everything at our fingertips nowadays. Anything that takes too long, if we aren't quitting, we're wondering if we should cancel it or walk away from it. Why? Because we don't want to wait. Do you know something that may become thinner as we age? Patience. We still retain traces of that childlike faith because we still know to expect, but as we grow older and life begins to unfold, our tolerance for time dwindles. We lose sight of how to be joyful in waiting, in affliction, in expectation, because we fear that what we want will not really come to pass. We must return to those layers of ourselves that weren't so wrapped up in how long, but were content with knowing God was going to do it regardless. When I was a little girl praying for the mother in my heart, I didn't question the when; I was just sure of the what. I didn't realize that I had moved forward in the line of life, waiting my turn to get what I had been hoping for. I was around 5 years old when I first remember yearning for the mother in my heart, and it took me 22 years to feel like I had recognized her for the first time. Life unfolded, and my assumed birthmother denied me, I lost sight of what God really did in all of this. God answered a 22-year-old prayer. I feel heartbroken, just two years after waiting, but little girl me waited patiently for 22 years. God actually did it! God answered my prayers! The mother in my heart is real. I by no means intend to disregard the mother I knew, but I must give God glory for what he has done. The truth might hurt more than the wait, but what matters now is that I asked God and he heard me. He helped me through the 22 years I wondered if she was real, and revealed her to me in his time. Although my doubt runs deep, I know God will bring us together when the time is right. Everyone's what and why will look different. Everyone's when and how will look different as well. But the who never changes, God is the same God today, tomorrow, yesterday and the day before. And when God says He will do it, He will do it. I encourage you to remember when your faith wasn't reliant on time. You may not have even realized you had faith, but everyone experiences the joys of faith one way or another. We expect to wake up, breathe, and go about our regularly scheduled activities. But as we grow older, we sometimes find it harder to expect the greatness of God to fill our hearts and grant our desires. I challenge you to think about a lost dream, desire, or wish that you once had but gave up on. I want you to dig deep. I'll be transparent, I try to give up on my desire for a womb connection, I always dreamed of a mother who made me feel like an extension of her. I have been trying to give up on it because I am ashamed that I am too old to want it now, and I question if God intends for it to come into fruition. I feel that I appear ungrateful for this beautifully happy life I am living, because I still carry this yearning from my childhood. What about you? Was it a parent? Was it a college? Was it a talent you gave up on? It could be a connection or a plan for your future. Can you look at it from the perspective of a child with pure faith, unaware of the burden of time or the weight of waiting? Can you trust God with it? Can you believe that if it is according to His will, He will see it through? Some things don't happen because it's not God's will, but what about those things that are a part of God's will for our lives or are in the realm of positively utilizing free will? I know, I know, 1 Corinthians 13:11 does state, ( A ) "When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things." (KJV) And 1 Corinthians 14:20 tells us, (B) "Brothers and sisters, stop thinking like children. In regard to evil be infants, but in your thinking be adults." (NIV) Then Matthew 18:3 tells us, (C)"...Verily I say unto you, Except ye be converted, and become as little children, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven." (KJV) To clarify, yes, the Bible tells us to be adults in our thinking and to move on from the past. However, Matthew 18:3 talks about mimicking some of the characteristics of children, such as humility, patience, purity, innocence, and faith, that aren't provoked or tainted by the harsh realities of life. So, hold onto your faith, undaunted by the fear introduced to us by life throughout the years. Remember how easy it was to trust God before waiting and expecting became such tasks. And hold onto what you prayed for without being afraid to expect God to bring it into fruition. God Bless You! -A.R. References (A) 1 Corinthians 13:11 (KJV) . (n.d.). Bible Gateway. https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=1%20Corinthians%2013%3A11&version=KJV (B) 1 Corinthians 14:20 - Prophecy and Tongues . (n.d.). Bible Hub. https://biblehub.com/1_corinthians/14-20.htm (C) Matthew 18:3 (KJV) . (n.d.). Bible Gateway. https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Matthew%2018%3A3&version=KJV #faith #christianity #HowTo #wisdom #encouragement #Jesus #God #motivation

One of the hardest things to experience in life is deception. Deception has many faces and intentions, but do you know one major thing that all deception does? Deception erases. Deception erases the truth, it erases identity, it erases reality. If you Google “to be deceived,” you will read, “To be deceived is to be misled or tricked into believing something that is not true, often due to a false impression or a lie. It involves being caused to believe something false, which can lead to feelings of betrayal and foolishness.” Collins’ Dictionary says, “If you deceive someone, you make them believe something that is not true, usually to get some advantage for yourself.” Reread the end of that last sentence, “usually to get some advantage for yourself.” Deception doesn’t consider its victim's feelings, emotions or reality. Deception solely focuses on how it can maintain the lies and false impressions it creates. After being deceived, how can you show up for yourself if deception erases? When people lie to you, they lie to themselves. They convince themselves they are doing what is best for both of you. But you must remind yourself that God is the author and finisher of our faith (Hebrews 12:2), and you must be the author of your reactions, next steps, and next chapter. Remember your worth even after deception. I’m thinking of Late Discovery Adoptees and others who have experienced the harsh realities of secrets as I write this. But everyone will be deceived at some point in their lives. Deception is inevitable in many cases, whether by a salesman, a loved one, a friend, an employer, or even an entire country. But your response is the one thing you can control. Remember the Serenity Prayer: “God grant me the serenity to accept the things I can’t change, courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference.” You can’t change another person’s action, but you can regain your power and maintain your perception of your worth by being conscious of where your value resides. Your worth and value do not rely on how others treat you. Judas lied to Jesus, and that most certainly didn’t make Jesus worthless. Often in movies, we see someone promising a loved one that they will show up for them, whether coming to a sports game, a recital or showcasing a talent or passion. The person doesn’t show, and the loved one struggles to succeed in their specific activity. They may feel that the person who didn’t show up doesn’t see their importance and begins believing they are not good at their activity. This is a perfect example of how someone else’s actions can alter how we view ourselves. Now, the person in the movie usually doesn’t want to continue in their activity or passion, and since their loved one didn’t keep their promise, they were deceived into thinking that the loved one would show up for them. A Late Discovery Adoptee (LDA) is someone who finds out later in life that they are adopted or not raised by their birth parents. No matter how one phrases it, an LDA was deceived into believing their birth parents were raising them. Their truths were erased, stored away, hidden from them for no benefit of their own. Their “loved ones” deceived them for personal gain and not out of pure love. When people say God is Love, it means much more than some people intend it to mean. God is Love is not a phrase limited to being inclusive or accepting another person’s preferences. “God is Love” is a blueprint for how to treat others and yourself. Numbers 23:19 (KJV) tells us, “God is not a man, that he should lie; neither the son of man, that he should repent.” 1 John 4:8 says, “Whoever does not love does not know God, because God is love". So if God is love and not a liar, then Love shouldn’t Lie! And if God is not a liar, but deception is a lie, then deception is not of God. This is why deception packs such a punch: it intends to erase everything God says you are and everything God intends you to be. So when you face deception, you must remember your worth and simply act on it. If you love a sport, you are worth the time it takes to master it to feel optimal enjoyment while participating. If you love yourself, you are worth the effort to enjoy being you. Deception can’t erase what you set in stone. Solidify yourself by intentionally striving for success and happiness even when you feel depressed and defeated. Live an authentic life; you may have been told a lie, but you aren’t the lie; you’re the truth that caused the lie to exist. You’re a truth! You’re the truth! Be your truth! Stay true to your core values and beliefs, only adjusting them for righteousness, accountability and completion purposes. Stay true to yourself even though you may have been lied to. Release the need to react in any way that doesn’t exemplify grace and competency. It’s okay to be upset, hurt or whatever feelings that follow the exposure of deception. But remember who the real enemy is, and know it’s not you! Don’t turn on yourself. Aim to love yourself. Practice it, and then master it. Continue doing the things you love. Engage in the positive things that bring you joy! Don’t let the deception end the story; use it as fuel to strive for a happy ending. Create a happy now! Lean on your faith when the weight of being deceived feels too heavy. Find a therapist or support group that fits your specific needs. This piece is not exclusive to Late Discovery Adoptees; all humans need to remember how vital it is to keep writing your story, especially when lies and deception try to erase your truth. God Bless You! Amelia Renee’ Rea7m (Realm 7), CEO www.ameliarenee.com

11:11 pm If you Google how to love yourself, the first thing you will see is “start by nurturing a compassionate inner voice and practicing self-care, which includes healthy habits and setting boundaries.” (Google, 2025) Yeah, put that to the side for a minute. If you asked me how to love yourself, I’d tell you first to admit what you hate about yourself. We aren’t babies, get raw. Look, I’ll start, I hate how my right eye wanders and closes at the first sight of light. Your turn. Say it out loud if you can; if you can’t, whisper it, let it leave your lips. Get descriptive; be honest with yourself. Here’s another one. I hate how much weight I’ve gained postpartum. Your turn. Have you gone yet? How do you feel? Did it depress you? Did it piss you off? Or did it liberate you? Did it give you a sense of control or fearlessness? After admitting what you hate about yourself, I’d tell you to permit yourself to feel this way! Stop being afraid of you! Perfect love casts out fear, so how can you love yourself when you fear yourself? Have you heard someone say, “I fear the Lord,” but also, “God didn’t give us the spirit of fear?” I lost a friend this way. I told her I don’t fear the Lord (I meant I don’t want to be scared to connect with God), and she assumed I didn’t serve or honor Him. I “fear” the Lord in the form of Reverence! But what she was too religious to understand is that her strong sense of faith was contradicting and potentially confusing. If God didn’t give us the spirit of fear, how can you fear the Lord? (We can blame the confusing English language for this, too.) But the fear of the Lord means reverence, pure reverence and honor. We fear going against God; we bow in his presence in honor. His glory is too glorious to look upon with our naked eyes, but we shouldn’t be fearful or scared of God; we shouldn’t be afraid to know and connect with Him. This is an example of how you should feel about yourself. You may be afraid to lose or harm yourself, you may even be scared to die, but you shouldn’t be afraid of yourself; you should not be scared to connect with yourself. You should have a deep reverence for yourself. (I DON'T MEAN BE A NARCISSIST! I REPEAT, I DON'T MEAN BE A NARCISSIST!) Reverence means a deep respect for oneself. You should honor yourself; this includes honoring what you may not like about yourself. Once you admit, and/or say it out loud, you’re releasing what you hate about yourself, so the hate has no place inside you! So I do fear the consequences of going against God! And I believe He does not give us the spirit of fear; He tells us not to be afraid, not to be weary, even though we still are sometimes. After you admit what you hate about yourself, admit what you fear. I’ll go too, I’m so afraid of mice! Like terribly afraid. How about you? What are you afraid of? Try to say it out loud, whisper it if you have to. Anything else? Oh, I’m so scared to drown, and I’m terrified of ever losing my babies. How about you? Say a big one! Fear has no place inside you, either. Do you feel anything? Do you feel lighter? Do you feel like you’ve released anything? Admit more fears and things you hate about yourself if you have to. Shoot, write it down if you must! Then rip the paper up! You’re releasing it and removing those hates and fears from inside you, because love needs room! LOVE NEEDS ROOM! Alright, now tell me what you love about yourself! For some of us, it was easier to admit what we hate about ourselves. Take a second, what is it? I’ll go first. Let me think. Wow, it’s taking me a while to think of one thing I love about myself! Oouu, I got it! I love my eyebrows, and I’m rather fond of my smile. I love how tough I can be, but gentle as well. I love how the sun shines off my pupils and highlights my beautiful brown eyes. I love my ability to write. I love how I nurture my children. I absolutely adore how I take accountability for my actions. Now, you! Say it out loud! Be proud! Be bold! Be fearless! Be honest! Why? Because no one needs to know and feel how much you love yourself more than you. I’ll offer a disclaimer: in the Bible, Paul tells us not to think too highly of ourselves (Romans 12:3). This doesn’t mean don’t hold yourself in high regard, but it means don’t hold yourself too high over everything and everyone else. You don’t want to be a narcissist, but you want to love yourself the perfect amount! So let’s recap so far! - Admit what you hate about yourself. - Admit your fears. - Release all hate and fear to make room for love! - Remember, love needs room. - Reverence yourself. - Don’t think too highly or too low of yourself. Does this sound complicated? You aren’t something quick and easy, baby! Now it’s time to be intentional. Do things that make you appreciate yourself. Put time and effort into yourself without worrying about who else did or didn’t. Loving yourself is between you and yourself. Don’t be afraid of being alone! You’ve released (or are working on it) your fears and hate. Be mindful that this is a step that you may need to consciously take over and over again. Now we can grab those suggestions from Google that we put aside. “Start by nurturing a compassionate inner voice and practicing self-care, which includes healthy habits and setting boundaries.” (Google, 2025) Since we have begun evicting the hate and fear inside us, it’s time to replace it with love and faith. Removing hate and fear may look like taking the power back from words and lies spoken over us and our lives. It may mean invalidating what your bully said about you. Removing hate and fear may also look like invalidating negative things a loved one told you or even negative things you’ve said to yourself. Removing hate and fear looks like not allowing what was done to you to define who you are or what you will become. Removing fear may look like knowing you will make mistakes and trusting yourself to learn from them. Don’t just cast out fear when you feel empowered or encouraged; keep doing it. And when you’re ready, start forgiving yourself for allowing hate and fear to take up so much room inside you. Forgive yourself for bad decisions. Forgive yourself for ignorance or lack of knowledge. Forgive yourself for those times you felt you couldn’t protect yourself. Forgive yourself for the moments you wanted to quit. Keep forgiving yourself. Loving yourself begins when you can trust that you've got you. Forgive! And talk nicely to yourself! No vanity. Pure love! This may sound like, “I look pretty today.” Or, “Mane, I’m handsome.” It may sound like, “I’m rocking this hairstyle.” Or, “I’m wearing this outfit, period!” Period boo! So once we nurture a compassionate inner voice, we must practice self-care, and I don’t care what anyone says, self-care is not selfish and making you a priority does not have to be selfish! You are your priority! Oxford Language Dictionary says a synonym of selfish is inconsiderate, and inconsiderate is described as “thoughtlessly causing hurt or inconvenience to others.” (Oxford Dictionaries) Baby, if loving me is causing harm to you, the conversation should have been over, hun! If loving me inconveniences you, baby, our schedules will never collide again! Shoot! You are a priority, and you will not appreciate you for not treating you as such! So, next, Google explains self-care as healthy habits and setting boundaries. One thing I learned is that I can’t leave the house without my wallet and my boundaries, baby! Those boundaries are a life-or-death type of serious! Setting boundaries is a healthy habit. Eat your fruits and veggies, drink that water and set those boundaries. It doesn’t matter the relation nor the duration of a bond, cross my boundaries and you’ll be crossed out of my life! Boundaries are your way of telling yourself that you've got you and you are safe! Watch you fall in love with you like you’re your knight in shining armor, I’m talking to the men too! Watch how you come running to protect yourself from anything that means you harm. Show up for you! Have your back! Feeling liked, protected, cherished, appreciated and respected are a few things that cause us to fall in love with other people; let these things be what causes you to fall in love with yourself! Period! Feed yourself well, including foods that are good for you! Take you out and do the things you love! Exercise! Be active! Be fearless! Watch how you start to feel. Nobody asked me, but this is my advice on how to love yourself. One last recap: How do you love yourself? - Admit what you hate about yourself. - Admit your fears. - Release all hate and fear to make room for love! - Remember, love needs room. - Reverence yourself. (God first!) - Don’t think too highly or too low of yourself. - Be intentional! - Do things that make you appreciate yourself. - Put time and effort into yourself - Don’t be afraid of being alone! - Give yourself time! - Forgive yourself! - Nurture a compassionate inner voice - Practice self-care - Make yourself a priority - Adopt healthy habits - SET BOUNDARIES!!! - Show up for you! - And Please, DO NOT BE/BECOME A NARCISSIST! Period! With much love and respect, -Amelia Renee’ “The Soul-See-Ologist” (P.S.: I use the word “yourself” so much in this article!)

You know I wanna think you don’t care You know I wanna question if you’re really there But I’ve seen you I’ve seen you move through the rhythm of the winds as the fall breaks through the bricks of summer. Through the questions in my head that get answered without a say I’ve seen you exist in the palpitations in my chest The way you rock me to sleep when I won’t let me rest. But I still find myself praying that you hear me. I’ve spent so long wanting to be heard by the big people the mommys and daddies. I still pray that you hear the hurt people, the me of the bunch, smiling and flowing, waiting til the next second alone, where I can throw a punch. God, how can I be happy but hurt like this? My heart feels like it’s breaking until I get lost in a kiss. In the arms of the man you designed exclusively for me, rub my hands through his locks now I’m remembering I’m free. As I hold his babies that I bore, they look in my eyes, and I forget the past even more. Eventually, it finds me again when Mommy needs a mommy and wifey needs a daddy. It hits me again. When the television talks about parents, then it hits me. When I still smell mommy’s scent, but it doesn’t match the “mommy” I knew, but the “mommy” that’s new. And I remember that I can’t tell the difference. Been wanting one of them to nurture me for a long time. I’ve felt like a burden ever since. Ooouu, the pain just left. My babies are downstairs playing with daddy. The joy in their laughs reminds me that I’m happy. But I’m happy…now. My past is where my sadness lies. Now the lies pour into my future when I see a different family in my eyes. So this is a poet’s prayer. Lord, I’m praying you hear my heart through this rhythm. God, I ask that you stand in the gap when my heart skips a beat. Just because I’m happy now doesn’t mean I don’t cry in my sleep. When my subconscious gets left with the memory, it’s like mad money, and I’m the one caught shredding the money, trying to do away with the visions of a life back when I tried to do it all without Christ. So this is a poet’s prayer. Hear me roar through the metaphors. For who I was is never again, and who I am is forever more. -Amelia Renee’ Photo by: Max Foster

Who in their right mind would keep a secret like this? Of course, there would be many reasons why someone would allow a human they claimed to love to believe such a lie. Even though it sounds nice when they say the decision was best for us, we, the late discovery adoptees, were never truly considered in the contemplation process. I refuse to believe this was the best decision for my mothers and me. Sounds like I was taken from or given up by my young mother and given to a distant cousin who was a few years older. This older, distant cousin may have been forced to raise me because her being my mother made more sense than an older relative popping up with an infant. This idea is my theory because my family is still actively keeping secrets, and I’m doing my best to sort everything God reveals to me properly. As much as I want to bash them for this decision that I completely disagree with, God has taught me an impressive amount of empathy, even towards those who I feel have caused me hurt or harm. Amidst my Sociological research, I have come across a few historical reasons families don’t tell a person they are adopted; I’ll do my best to have grace and empathy: 1. Era and Social Stigma In the past, adoption was associated with shame and secrecy. Families feared being judged harshly. Some believed adoption made a family appear “incomplete” or “less real,” so they pretended the adopted child was biologically theirs. 2. Desire to “Protect the Child” Families often believed the truth would hurt the child, making them feel different, rejected, or unwanted. Many avoided the subject altogether in hopes of sparing the child confusion or pain. (And yet, most adoptees — especially late discovery adoptees — feel rejected and unwanted regardless.) 3. Fear of Losing the Child’s Love Some adoptive parents worried that the child would stop seeing them as “real parents” if the truth came out. Others feared the adoptee would seek out their biological family and “replace” them. (This reasoning feels rooted in selfishness. Such deliberations place the parents’ emotional needs above the child’s right to the truth. People often tell adoptees that their “real parents” are the ones who raised them, but that is not accurate. Real parents are biological. Still, this truth does not cancel out the genuine, valid, and authentic love that adoptive parents may have for their children.) 4. Advice from Professionals or Agencies Decades ago, adoption agencies and even psychologists advised secrecy, believing it would help the child “fit in.” This advice contributed to a culture of silence surrounding adoption. 5. Personal Denial or Desire for Normalcy Some adoptive parents longed to believe — and for others to believe — that their family was “just like any other.” Avoiding the topic of adoption helped them sidestep their own insecurities or unresolved feelings about infertility, grief, or loss. 6. Cultural or Religious Influences In certain cultures, family lineage is considered sacred, so adoption may be hidden to avoid judgment. In religious contexts, some adoptive parents may interpret adoption as God “giving” them a child, and thus erase reminders of difference by keeping the truth secret. These are just a few reasons that I’ve encountered in my research. Society has become so timid that it’s hard to tackle tough topics as boldly as preferred. We live in a culture that nurtures what needs to be firmly corrected and casts out what needs to be nurtured. Understandably, individuals and families may have experienced things that made adoption appear to be the best option, but the idea of hiding it is never the best option. Hiding an adoption erases the origins of the adoptee. When you hide an adoption, you take the soul of the adoptee and erase everything that doesn’t fit the delusion buried in your ego. Even though your reasons may trigger empathy and understanding, your actions are harsh and open the door to severe trauma once the adoptee finds out the truth. Unfortunately, some adoptees die never knowing that they didn’t know their birth mother. Some adopted families die before the truth comes out, leaving the adoptee to navigate grief, confusion, and an identity crisis. This topic is one of those that is easily explained and understood if you’ve lived it. Some humans have the compassion and empathy to truly grasp what an adoptee may experience when discovering late in life that they are adopted. More information will be available on Amelia Renee’s Substack and at www.ameliarenee.com References Baden, A. L. (n.d.). Study on age of adoption disclosure and long-term well-being . Montclair State University. Retrieved from https://consideringadoption.com/new-study-emphasizes-damage-of-waiting-to-tell-children-theyre-adopted Brodzinsky, D. M. (2013). A need to know: Enhancing adoption competence among mental health professionals. Journal of Social Distress and the Homeless, 22 (3), 211–218. https://doi.org/10.1179/1053078913Z.0000000008 Fetters, A. (2019, July 3). What happens when parents wait to tell a child he’s adopted? The Atlantic . https://www.theatlantic.com/family/archive/2019/07/adoption-disclosure-study/594496/ Fisher, F. A. (1974, November 11). Adoptees liberty movement: On sealed records and identity . Time Magazine . Retrieved from https://content.time.com/time/subscriber/article/0,33009,944769,00.html Jones, A. M. (1997). Issues relevant to therapy with adoptees. Psychotherapy: Theory, Research, Practice, Training, 34 (1), 64–68. https://doi.org/10.1037/h0087657 Levy-Shiff, R. (2001). Psychological adjustment of adoptees in adulthood: Family environment and adoption-related correlates. International Journal of Behavioral Development, 25 (2), 97–104. https://doi.org/10.1080/01650250042000131 Rosenberg, K. F., & Groza, V. (1997). The impact of secrecy and denial in adoption: Practice and treatment issues. Families in Society: The Journal of Contemporary Human Services, 78 (5), 522–530. https://doi.org/10.1606/1044-3894.812 Smolin, D. M. (2021, October 25). Legacy of secrecy and shame in adoption. In S. Shapiro (Author), How an adoption broker cashed in on prospective parents’ dreams . The New Yorker . https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2021/10/25/how-an-adoption-broker-cashed-in-on-prospective-parents-dreams Wikipedia contributors. (2025, August 15). Adoption-related entries (Closed adoption; Adoption) . In Wikipedia . https://en.wikipedia.org

Life is just a game of tennis; what you serve is what you get. It was a glorious morning playing tennis with my husband and children. I was growing exhausted chasing the tennis ball to each corner of the court. Afraid to give up, I stretched my body and swung as hard as possible, hitting the ball out of the court and into the grass a few meters away. It was then that I felt a release. In my mind, I wasn’t playing against my husband; I was playing against myself, and I was aiming to knock every bad memory, every ounce of trauma, even past hurt, out of the park with no way to find me ever again. Tennis isn’t just a passion used to conquer postpartum weight, but it’s become my response to a past life full of abandoning my passions to fulfill the ego of liars. It’s how I combat past traumas created through an abandoned origin. For too long, I’ve been in a mental match with my old self, drilling unreturnable balls to my heart, confidence, and will. I’ve lost so many matches to myself that losing to someone else could feel like a relief. Imagine yourself head to toe on one side of a tennis court. You probably have your hair pulled out of your face and a hat or sweatband on to keep the drops of effort from pouring into your eyes. Of course, you picked the most comfortable outfit that makes you look and feel good. Your tennis shoes usually match your outfit, and your tennis racket is placed firmly in your dominant hand. You get to the line to serve, throw the lime green tennis ball up in the air after a few bounces to the ground, and position your body to serve the hardest yet accurate serve you can. Then you hear, “Fault!” Darn it, you hit the net. Alright, try again. “Double Fault!” the official yells! Now you just put a 15 on the board for your opponent. You're in your head now. You mumble to yourself, “Come on, get it together.” You receive your next set of balls, and you're set to serve again. You throw the lime green ball in the air a third time, and this time you smash it over the net and right into the serve box. Your opponent smashes it back to the corner opposite you. You try your hardest to catch it before the second bounce. You just missed it. In frustration, you swing your racket, then look towards your opponent. You freeze as they stare back, your opponent is you! You know your every move; you can anticipate your every mistake. The only thing left to do is grow and elevate. Growing and elevating requires more than just hitting the ball harder or faster; it’s about slowing down and defeating the parts of you that defeat you first. What does that mean? Look at doubt; your doubt defeats you before you can enter the game. What about your old habits that don’t serve the new you? Your old self is usually your opponent in life’s game of tennis. You hit back and forth, blow for blow, until one of you scores on the other. Train your mind, your physical and spiritual being, to endure a taxing game of tennis between who you used to be and who you’re becoming. And don’t release your racket until you’ve returned every blow that doesn’t nurture your elevation and growth.

Some connections are written in our DNA, but life doesn’t always give us the chance to grow into them. This is a letter I wrote for the woman I believe is my birth mother—on her birthday. It’s full of hope, honesty, and the ache of years apart. Whether she ever reads it or not, these are the words my heart has been carrying. A Birthday Letter to My Birth Mother After all that God has shown me, I still sometimes doubt that you’re my mother. I see so much of me in you— and you in me— but I can’t get past the rejection. In you, I see the promises of God to a little girl coming into fruition. In you, I see the mother I thought I had to die to find. In you, I see a living, walking, breathing dream I almost left behind. In you, I see a sunrise— enlightening, preparing you for a hectic day. In you, I feel the joy trapped in all the words I’ll never say. ⸻ I just wanted to be a daughter— experiencing a womb connection, that everlasting bond full of nurtured correction. All I wanted was to worship God with you, to feel safe to surrender and be vulnerable. To be proud of your successes. To witness a life that’s truly honorable. ⸻ Since we talked, I’ve rekindled abandoned passions— pieces of me slipping through my fragments, split up, forgotten, minimized to fractions, divided, ignored, canceled, subtracted. Since we talked, I’ve tackled what stalls my healing— advocating louder for my peace, expressing my feelings. ⸻ Since I heard your voice, I can’t bear the screeches of imposters— pretending to be you, resenting the role of my mother. They didn’t have the capacity to care— just the obligation to be there. Never had the tools to fulfill, feeding me hypnotic lies, enjoying the thrill. ⸻ I appreciate those who raised me, but I hate the reality that I was kept from you— You, whom I see when I look in the mirror. You, whom I see when I achieve my goals. You, whom I see when the truth unfolds. You, whom I see when I need to be better— the perfect blueprint of a courageous mother. ⸻ I watch you protect the child you’re raising. Even though it may hurt, it’s an effort worth praising. God tells me stories of you. He uses your testimony to teach me. Reminds me of you when I’m going through. ⸻ After all that God has shown me, I still sometimes doubt that you’re my mother— Praying I didn’t get it wrong, hoping it’s not another. I see so much of me in you, and you in me, but I can’t get past the rejection— Scared you’ll never want me, praying I didn’t get it wrong. In you, I see the promises of God to a little girl coming into fruition. In you, I see home. ⸻ Happy Birthday! —from the girl who hopes you’re her mother…

Sometimes, God will require things of us that we may not respect or agree with, but how will you react? What if your obedience to God would save your entire family line? What if your surrender redeemed multiple generations? What if you were required to do something for God that didn't directly benefit your loved ones? Would you say yes? What if you had to leave behind the very thing that pushed you forward? What if the thing you have been praying to God for existed on the other side of your surrender? What if you let go of everything you knew to become everything you're meant to be? Would you let go? What if I told you some of the first secrets of removing the sting of pain, trauma, and past hurts was to remove yourself? This doesn't always have to mean moving away from your hometown or getting a new job, but what if it meant moving out of the house where you were abused or removing yourself from those who cause drama in your family and even at work? I know a thousand excuses come to mind when you hear moving, shifting, or transitioning. What if your surrender to God required it; would you trust him? God called me out of my family over 5 years ago. I was told it was time to distance myself from certain people, which led to removing everyone I knew outside of my household. Sometimes, separation is necessary. I used to say my most outstanding flex was moving on from those I thought I couldn't live without. It's the truth; I felt I couldn't live without the family that raised me; it's not just that I thought I couldn't; I was manipulated and convinced that I shouldn't. How I was raised, it felt like a sin to desire a life that pleased me without focusing on how it benefitted someone else first. So, I told God, "No." I told the King of Kings and Lord of Lords that I couldn't be obedient because I could not leave my family. I feared they would hate me, I feared they would need me, I feared someone would die in my absence, and I could not disobey my beloved "grandmother." I chose to disobey God to please my "grandmother" and "family." I couldn't repent enough, especially when God showed me his command was protection, not just isolation. I struggle to share the entirety of this testimony, one because of my irritation with the lies and defamation I experience, but also because I want to tell my truth without shunning my loved ones and exposing my "family." I repented for many reasons, one being that I was serving my "family" over my God. They were so focused on themselves that they were exalting themselves over God. If God told someone to leave their surroundings to take up their cross and follow Him, who are you to make them feel bad for their obedience? Family and friends can quickly remind you what they desire of you or were able to expect from you, but not many people can identify and respect our obedience to the One, True, and Only God. Yes, you may be our mothers, fathers, or the people who raised us; yes, you may be our siblings and friends, but Jesus Christ is Our God, and how dare you expect us to deny him to appease you? Anyone who thinks otherwise is not my cup of tea. God commands us to serve no other gods before Him; we should serve no other gods but him; there is no other God but Him. If you don't believe that, it is not my job to argue with anyone about their personal beliefs. Free will is genuine, so respect mine while you demand your respect. And that can be a serious problem with loved ones; why can't you "Respect my Surrender?" God asked something of us, and eventually, we obeyed; why shun us for choosing to surrender to the will of our creator? The opposition is borderline demonic... For many reasons, some of you reading this may have to separate from where you were raised. Some of you may need encouragement to do so. Please do not think I am out here convincing people to leave their families; that minimizes my purpose. I am trying to lead you to God. Duh! Some of us have been raped, lied to, abused, defamed, manipulated, abducted from our truth, hurt, and so much more by people we refuse to separate from. It doesn't have to just be about family; some of us must separate from friends, exes, habits, hometowns, ideologies, expectations, and traumas. The man I thought was my father asked me something that changed my approach to everything. I complained about the people who raised me, and he asked, "Why do you keep dealing with people you claim have hurt you so badly?" I stopped and thought briefly; that was the last time I talked to him. Why do we do it? It's like cigarettes; you know it's killing you, so why keep smoking? It's because you identify some form of comfort even in the harm. This is deep, isn't it? How can we find comfort in pain? Reoccurring pain becomes a part of our normal, whether we realize it or not. So, because it's familiar, you stay around things and people that cause you pain. Forgiveness is also real, but do you know that you may still need to distance yourself from those you forgive? Hopefully, you forgive them, but it's still okay to take space when it's warranted, especially when it's commanded by God. Shoot, you can distance yourself from those you don't have any form of beef with. There are so many people I have no problem with that I distanced myself from, but in this moment, my surrender was my removal from a spotlight built around me. My surrender was my obedience to God's commands, no matter how hard or weak I felt. My surrender was a yes to God's will and way, even if I wanted to say no. It can be difficult to ask someone to respect a decision that goes against their desires. Sometimes, God will require things of us that we may not respect or agree with, but how will you react? What if your obedience to God would save your entire family line? What if your surrender redeemed multiple generations? What if you were required to do something for God that didn't directly benefit your loved ones? What if your surrender was the next step to the reception of God's promise? What if your most cherished loved ones didn't respect your surrender? Would you still surrender? What if it isolates you? What if you get dogged out for not doing what they prefer or agree with? Do you respect your surrender? It's easier to submit to the things we respect. Submitting to a parent, spouse, or anyone we don't respect is harder. Do you respect God? Do those you may leave behind respect you? Do you trust God? Do you and the people around you honor God? Surrendering to God's will may look different to everyone. We are individuals; everything about us is unique, including our personal relationships with God. One person's surrender may involve cigarettes, while another person's surrender may involve porn. One person may need to separate from things that hold them back, while some need to separate from the things that hold them up to teach them to depend on God! Your surrender could produce submission, while someone else's surrender could produce discipline. Merriam-Webster says surrender is "to yield to the power, control, or possession of another upon compulsion or demand." In a spiritual sense, we surrender our egos and expectations, our control, and demand to trust God with the outcome. We surrender our fears; we yield to God the power, control, and possession that fear, ego, anxiety, expectations, demands, agendas, other people, and ourselves have over us. We don't throw in the towel; we take a knee. We take a breather from whatever it is we can't control, maintain, manipulate, handle, or fix, and we give God the driver's seat, knowing this is the absolute best option. We surrender our will, meaning God's plans trump ours. Maybe you planned to live in a particular place for longer or forever; your surrender would look like you allowing God to move you where he wants to move you when he wants to do it. Maybe you had your occupation planned; surrender would look like you submitting to the purpose God aligned for you, even if it was never on your radar. For me, surrendering meant no contact with everyone I knew just because God said so. When I first surrendered, I thought I knew why God wanted me to do it; boy, was I wrong. The bombshell on me made sense as to why my loved ones wanted to keep me within arm's reach. If I hadn't surrendered to God, I would have been stuck in a place I genuinely didn't want to be but was manipulated to stay. I surrendered to God and watched the defamation of my character from a place of peace. I understood the things I could not explain. I found peace in the deepest parts of my being that I thought the light couldn't touch. God revived the dead dreams and wishes I buried beneath my trauma. My surrender will look different than yours, my outcome will look different than yours. But my testimony can empower you regardless of what part you resonate with. Whether you need to leave some things and people behind or whether you need to leave your plans on the drawing board, be empowered to surrender to God and respect your choice even if others do not. I respect my surrender; do you respect yours? -Amelia Renee' "Soul-See-Ologist"

A faith-based guide to enduring life’s endless attacks “Jacket On, Jacket Off.” How many times have you asked, “Why me?” How many times have you questioned your circumstances, “How much longer?” A few days ago, I watched a church service online. Before the speaker came to the pulpit to preach, an older woman gathered a choir to sing. As I watched, I noticed this woman throwing a ridiculous amount of shade at the younger choir director. It was so bad that I cringed. Her behavior was inappropriate and uncalled for. But the young choir director held her peace. She stood her ground and was gracefully defended by other elders who weren’t bullies. And she went on to direct the choir with her chin up and shoulders high. As I watched, I was furious. I’ve brought it up to God several times during our daily chats. The older woman’s actions were so unnecessary—and it frustrated me deeply. Mostly because I’ve experienced that same treatment far too many times. In both the world and the church, some older people are cruel and dismissive toward younger people. They put us in boxes, generalize us, and downplay our growth and spiritual journeys. Not every elder is like this, but there’s definitely a chunk who are. These are the people who refuse to respect you as the adult you are. No matter how grown you are, they can’t help but treat you like a child. But this isn’t the main point of this message. As I poured my frustration out to God, His response hit differently—it wasn’t what I expected. He reminded me that yes, this has happened to me many times, and it may happen again. But what’s most important is how the young woman responded to the disrespect. Yes, the older woman was completely in the wrong—but the grace and maturity that radiated from the younger woman spoke volumes. She humbled the older woman without saying a word. Then God whispered to me: “Jacket on. Jacket off.” Every day I find myself talking to God about the same things. I keep bringing up the times I’ve been lied on, lied to, disrespected, left hanging, abandoned, ridiculed—the list goes on. I find myself wondering why God allows it and how much longer I’ll have to wait for vindication. His response? “Jacket on. Jacket off.” And I knew exactly what He meant. Have you seen the Karate Kid remake with Jackie Chan and Jaden Smith? Jaden’s character, Dre, moves from Detroit to Beijing with his mom. Some local boys start bullying him because their leader likes a girl who likes Dre. Then Dre meets Mr. Han, the apartment maintenance man, played by Jackie Chan. Long story short, Dre begs Mr. Han to teach him Kung Fu. He’s seen Mr. Han defend himself with expert skill against the bullies and wants to learn how to fight back. But when training begins, Mr. Han simply has Dre do what his mom had been begging him to do all along: pick up his jacket. Pick it up. Put it on. Take it off. Hang it up. Drop it. Repeat. Over and over again. Dre becomes frustrated. He wants real training, not this endless repetition. He even tries to skip bringing the jacket one day, but Mr. Han sends him back to get it. He even holds an umbrella over Dre as he trains in the rain. One day, fed up, Dre explodes. Mr. Han calmly says, “Jacket on.” Dre flings it over his shoulder in frustration, but Mr. Han grabs the jacket and says it again, firmer: “Jacket on.” Dre mimics the motion without the jacket. Mr. Han corrects his posture, telling him to be strong and firm. Suddenly, Dre begins to move with precision and skill. Without realizing it, he had been building muscle memory all along. And just like that, it hit me. We complain about the length of our trials—but have you ever stopped to see how much you’ve grown? How many times has life come at you hard, and yet you responded in strength instead of defeat? As a believer in Jesus Christ, I know our enemy despises our devotion to the one true God. I’ve faced spiritual attacks that left me feeling isolated and broken. But lately, I’ve noticed something different. When the same attacks come again, I respond with more bravery. More wisdom. More grace. Why? Because it’s muscle memory now. God allows trials to build character that reflects Him. They give us spiritual stamina. They prepare us. As Paul reminds us in Romans: “Therefore, since we have been justified through faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ… Not only so, but we also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not put us to shame…” —Romans 5:1-5 NIV “Jacket On, Jacket Off” is God’s way of saying: There is purpose in the repetition. There is glory in the grind. If we face trials with grit and hope, we’ll realize that His promises are yes and Amen . We’ll notice we can hold on longer. We’ll discover that we won’t lose our minds when we feel like we should. So, keep hoping—for that one thing only God knows you’ve been praying for. Keep hoping for the reconciliation, the breakthrough, the healing. Hope does not put us to shame. When the going gets tough, you’re not going to quit—because you’ve been here before. You’ve trained for this. “Jacket On. Jacket Off.” Now, when you defeat the enemy—when you break addictions, generational curses, and spiritual strongholds—it’s going to be muscle memory. When the enemy tries to bully you this time, you’re ready. You’ve prayed. You’ve cried. You’ve read your Bible. You’ve called on Jesus. You’ve kept your head up and pressed on. And now, when life’s weight finds you again, you’ll know exactly what to do. Calling on Jesus is muscle memory now. Praying, opening your Bible, and walking in peace—it’s all muscle memory now. Dre couldn’t see the plan, just like we often can’t. We get annoyed with God. Some of us even turn away because we’re tired of the same old cycle. But let me encourage you: You wouldn’t eat a cake that isn’t fully baked. Just because it looks ready on the outside doesn’t mean it’s ready on the inside. So you put it back in the oven—to finish. To be made complete. God is still baking you. Let Him. I know you may feel ready for the blessing or breakthrough. You may even look ready. But let God prepare your whole self—heart, soul, and mind—so when He gives you what you’ve been praying for, you’ll know what to do with it. You’ll be able to sustain it. I’ve been praying for reconciliation with the man and woman I believe God told me are my birth parents. But God had to first heal my inner child. He had to correct my attitude so I wouldn’t sabotage the very thing I begged Him for. He had to renew my mind and mend my heart so my trauma wouldn’t bleed onto the fulfillment of His promise. “Jacket On, Jacket Off, Amelia.” God reminds me: My waiting is not in vain. My trauma is not my identity. My faith is not useless. Let this message encourage you. No matter what you believe, we’ve all been through something heavy. We’ve all needed a miracle. We’ve all been tired. We’ve all been weary. JACKET ON. JACKET OFF. You already know how to fight. You’ve already defeated things like depression, anxiety, suicide, addiction, rage, and so much more. So FIGHT. Don’t let life break you. Don’t let the enemy bully you. Let God forge a victory path in your spiritual muscle memory—so when you need it most, you’ll know exactly what to do. “Jacket On. Jacket Off.” God bless you, in Jesus’ Name. https://bible.com/bible/111/rom.5.1-5.NIV https://substack.com/@byameliarenee/note/c-142978907?r=62efl2&utm_medium=ios&utm_source=notes-share-action

“You ain’t even my child!” Her words pierced me like a sharpened sword heated over the hottest coals. My mother wobbled up the cold block in the early hours of the night. The only things awake were the streetlights, casting small circles of light on the dark street every few meters. Her drunken aura frustrated my already restless mind. We weren’t even arguing or disagreeing when she blurted out those forsaken words—a few months after my 21st birthday. “You ain’t even my child!” The phrase kept repeating in my head as I tried, tirelessly, to get my drunk mother safely into the house. It had all started about an hour earlier. I was in my room at my grandparents’ house when I heard a commotion. My grandfather stormed out. My grandmother explained to me that my mother was having one of her “fits” over her younger ex-boyfriend. I shook my head in frustration. Many people had no idea my mother was a drunk—including her. I expected a big blowout when my grandfather and mother returned, but he came back alone. He explained what had happened to my grandmother, who was growing more and more frustrated with their grown child by the minute. My mother had gotten out of the car and refused his help. My grandmother asked me to go get her, and I hopped to it. I hurried down the dark street and found my mother a few blocks away, across the main avenue that stayed relatively lit. I walked her home, listening to her cry and try her best to explain her hurt. “You don’t know what they put me through. Nobody knows what they’ve done to me,” she sobbed. Growing more empathetic—and scared—I did my best to usher her up the street toward home. She kept stopping in the middle of the road, snapping, getting louder. I just wanted to get her home safely. I was fully prepared to stay up all night with her, just to listen. I began begging her to keep walking as she grew more hysterical. I had a bad feeling about being outside so late. If trouble didn’t find us, the cops would—and there was no telling what she might say or do in front of them. “Mom, please come home. We can stay up all night and talk. I hear you, I do,” I pleaded, desperate to keep her moving toward safety. She kept ranting—obviously drunk, but also clearly hurting—and I empathized with her. So I pulled out my best card: the mommy card. “Mommy, please come home. For me,” I said in the sweetest voice I could muster. She took a step back, looked me up and down, and with a curled, aggressive sneer said, “You ain’t even my child!” I froze. The way she looked at me alone triggered a self-defense mechanism. But this was my mother—I wouldn’t dare hurt her or leave her alone like that. “Mom, come on!” I demanded. In my heart, I’ll never believe she didn’t know exactly what she said the moment it left her lips—especially when she saw the hurt smash across my face. My chest hurt so badly. After everything I had been through with this woman, hearing— in that moment —that she wasn’t my mother could have destroyed me. I finally got her home and into bed, doing my best to help her avoid any further altercations with my grandparents. I remember a few days later, I asked my grandmother why my mom would say something like that. My grandmother grew angry—not the kind of angry that protects, but the kind of angry a liar gets when their truth is exposed. She and my mother argued about it, and the issue quickly disappeared. I worked hard to forget about it. I wasn’t in a mental space where I could carry that truth, even if it was the truth. Maybe I brought it up privately from time to time, but I never mentioned it to my mother again—until almost eight years later. God revealed a woman to me who I looked way more like than anyone in the family that raised me. Not only did we resemble each other—we liked the same things, did the same things, and shared very specific health conditions. The kind of health conditions that are passed down genetically—usually maternally. When I connected with—and was later denied by—that woman, I reached back out to the mother I knew. I spoke to her woman-to-woman about the feelings I had surrounding this new, painful belief that she wasn’t my biological mother. She didn’t fight for me the way I had hoped. Maybe she thinks she did—but to me, she sounded more conniving than convincing . I finally asked her directly why she said she wasn’t my mother when I was 21. She had the nerve to say she never said it. It was heartbreaking to watch the family I knew fall back on the same old gaslighting and manipulation tactics they used to raise me. “I did not say that,” she insisted. “Please don’t lie to me. I’ve worked too hard to forgive you for saying it in the first place,” I said, holding my heart in my hands—cutting my fingers on its broken pieces. I called once more after that to wish the family a Merry Christmas and express my love. In obedience to God, I haven't spoken to them since.