The Lifter Up of Mine Head

Your head is hanging down so low

Don’t even pause to see your reflection anymore

Once your eyes shined and sparkled so bright

Now it seems you live in perpetual night

That dark rainy cloud follows you closely above

Draining you of all happiness and love

Do you listen to those lies being whispered in your ear…?

Through steely lips, lies chatted with a sneer

Don’t you know that we are all flawed?

Our mistakes often leaving us appalled

I know you ran and hid in times before

With your tail between your legs, behind the door…

of your heart, you kept us all away

And with each new mistake, you’d run out of things to say…

Dear friend, I’ve come to share some news

Of a Savior Whose mercy each day, renews

Dead beloved, He sees where you’ve come short

Give Him the mess and let Him sort…

out the things that don’t belong

Put your money on Him, you can’t bet wrong

He is the God of light, the King of kings

He is the Creator of all things

Don’t listen to those empty lies anymore

Don’t you hide behind your heart’s closed door

Lift your head, beloved friend

Put your eyes on the Knower of the beginning and end

Take His hand and hold on tight

I guarantee He will get you through this night

Amy’s I’m Back World!

A full month fast from WordPress was hard y’all. I especially missed reading your stuff and hearing your daily thoughts on the things of God and whatever else has been on your minds. A fast though, is what was needed to pull away from time stealers and better prepare myself for the start of school and activities the kids and I are in. We started school last week. We are doing a 4 day week and I am hopeful it will be a good school year. Abigail and I are taking Spanish, we’re just waiting on one more book to arrive. I took it in school, so I’m hoping to remember things as I go. We shall see! Lol

I mentioned in my last post briefly that I have decided to write my memoir. I thought if you write a full account of your life it’s your autobiography…but that’s for famous people! I also thought a memoir was an account of a single event in one’s life but I am not certain. Anyways I’ve decided to write a memoir starting from early memories and on. I believe I cannot truly describe my mistakes and actions without giving the background of where I came from that led me to those mistakes. And 9nce I’ve told my story I will be able to share of God’s endless mercy that He has shown me. I have already wrote about 16,000 words and have so much more to go.

For those of you who know my story, a question ❓❓ for ya. What do you think it would be like if I included my poems in the book? Like the poems that coincide with my past and inserting them during those times as I write? I’ve thought about it and think a few here and there would be okay. Maybe not one on every page, but then I think, who really reads and likes poetry? Do I run the risk of losing the audience’s attention? Feel free to comment.

Every one is feeling better here. Abigail has finished the meds for Lyme’s and is trying to grow up too fast! My husband is over Covid and we are all doing well.

A throw I made for my Aunt. Think of a sunflower 🌻
Did another for a very close kind friend, hey Mandy! This is with velvet yarn
I made this one for me! Called a mandala throw. I used striped yarn. I made this during our quarantine…
9 years old. Time flies
The new birthday bike that got lost on a FedEx truck, went back to the shipper and the shipper would not resend it. We had to reorder from a different source and FedEx got it here but late. She was a very good sport about it. It’s called Little Mismatched Bike
Shores of Lake Michigan
I photo-bombed this pic, my friend was trying to take of a storm rolling in.

Fragments of a Broken Childhood: Lesson 2-Last chance to read. Post will be taken down.

635910092486671444-1931218666_homeee.jpgI’m still on break from WordPress for the month. I am currently writing my memoir and that is why some of these posts are being taken down as I write them in my book. No need to comment y’all as I’m not checking my comments til Sept.

I know it’s hard to believe that I could have anymore to reveal. But sadly, I do. The one thing I want you to keep closely in mind is that I’m no longer trapped in the life I write about. I write about that former life as a way to heal and God willing, to help someone else.

So the next fragment of my childhood stems over a period of 1st grade through 11th grade. This portion, I believe, was most impactful towards my abusing drugs and alcohol.

Back to that same trailer, where I was being fed Jack Daniel’s in the name of “Look what my kid can do.” There were memories there that are so vivid and confusing. I remember my mom showing me a photo album. In that album was a picture of my father standing next to another man about the same age and height. She would point to that other man and tell me, “Amy, that man is your father. He’s your real dad.”

This was said to me as she was drunk. The lights were low, the air was cloudy and the music was going (as always). I’d ask her the next morning about the picture and she would say, “I was just kidding around” or something to that affect. Her reaction, I remember, was as if I did something wrong by even asking. Now looking back, I’d say she was mad at herself but directed it towards me.

I don’t remember having a huge reaction to any of this. I don’t remember crying or yelling at her that it wasn’t true. My guess is that it probably was said to me many times as a child that it became a game of sorts to me. Also this was attention from her to me, so I gobbled it up.

Time would pass after that and I would get passed around as her addiction took her down many times. (Which I’ll write about later) By the 5th grade or so, we got to choose to live with our dad and that’s where we ended up. Seldomly she’d take us on the weekend. Which entailed us watching her party. This particular weekend I went with her alone. She didn’t have her own place so we went to where she hung out a lot. I remember being in the livingroom watching TV when she called me into the kitchen and had me sit on her lap. Makes me wonder if I weren’t a bit younger than 5th grade. But like I said, there was so much instability that it’s hard to place my age in most events.

She then told me that my dad wasn’t my real father. That his friend “B” was my father. I guess I didn’t believe her at first, how could I? We played this game before. But her good friend walked into the room and asked what was going on and she told her friend, “I’m finally telling Amy the truth” the friend seemed to know what that meant and I realized this wasn’t a game anymore. I remember that moment. I don’t remember the rest of that night. Did I lay awake and cry? Did I continue to think on it as a joke?

The next morning I remember it was time to take me back to Dad’s.

Home wasn’t a word for me as I lived always somewhere else never having that home feeling.

She drove me in a black car. She told me we were going to drive by his house. This man that was my real father. I told her no I didn’t want to, but she said we’d just drive by. Next thing you know, we’re pulling into the driveway. At this time I remember begging her to leave but she said we we’re just turning around. Then she was out of the car and going to the door! She and a man walked back to the car. This was “B” this stranger that I had seen in photographs as a child. This is supposed to be my father. They both stood at the passenger window as she said to him, “I told her” and they spoke. I looked down at my lap the whole time. He didn’t make an effort to speak to me. He didn’t kneel down to my level and even try.  Maybe he was doing me a favor since I wasn’t being very open to the idea. Funny that my regret at that time was I didn’t look up. I didn’t have the courage. Not sure what looking up would do, really. That moment was when it all became real to me. And it hurt. I felt like I was betraying the father I knew all along by being where I was at that moment. My dad that I knew as my father, was my refuge. He was my oasis. He was my rock and he was the only one who treated me close to how a little girl should be treated. And now he would be gone too.

The next memory is of me laying on a mattress or couch in the livingroom at my dad’s house. Where I lived at that time. He came in from work and asking my sister why I was crying. She told him what our mom had said and did. His answer was “Oh that.” So it was true and he knew it. This wasn’t a game. I wish he had hugged me and told me the things I needed to hear. But he didn’t. I believe he retreated to his own space.

The “dad” thing wouldn’t get talked about after that day but a handful of times. And not in the way a girl needs to be talked to about it. It was comments from my mom’s mom, “Well you look just like your father, that other man isn’t your real father” Just things like that.

Fast forward to high school. I still don’t know at this time and that bond I always had with my dad was there but it was fragile because the thought was always there…maybe he’s not my dad to maybe he is. I would see “B” at McDonald’s on my lunch hour during high school. I don’t think he knew it was me but I knew it was him. I would tell my friends who he was in the hopes they could help me feel better about it, but they weren’t equipped to help me.

At about 16 years old I had enough. I was bolder and by then could speak up for myself. I asked if we could get a blood test done.

Do you remember my last post I wrote how I remember being in the car with both my parents at the same time only a few times? The day we went to get our blood drawn was one of those days. Looking back, I don’t know why she had to come, but she did. Her blood didn’t need to be drawn. The results came through the mail a good six weeks later. I opened them. My dad, my oasis, my rock was indeed my real father!

“B” to this day doesnt know whether I’m his daughter or not. There are times I think I should find him and drop him a letter to let him know. There are other times the thought is, he didn’t come after me. See, I mailed him a letter of two before I knew the results. He had a chance and he didn’t take it. Kind of a weird feeling being let down and not even found by someone who should want to find you whether they knew or not. Bottom line is none of it was my fault so it’s not my responsibility to fill him in. What do you think? What would you do?

I would later find out that my mother gave me my middle name after “B’s” mother! Can you believe that? A woman she believed to be my grandmother who never was…I was named after her. The Jerry Springer Show couldn’t come up with stuff this crazy!

The totality of all of these events and feelings kept getting shoved down further and further. I drowned them in alcohol and drugs. Once I became sober, these feelings and realizations would slowly drift up and I inevitably dealt with them. Are they gone? No. Do they hurt from time to time? You better believe it. But God………

He brought me out. He became my Father. My earthly father is still in my life. I can’t say he’s the best at what he does but I do try to remember that he was equally hurt at the hand of an addict and quite possibly a sociopath. Pawns in a game. Not all addicts are out to hurt and lie and destroy their loved ones. Some just want what they think they need and stop at nothing to get it. The case here goes beyond that.

So if I were you reading this, I’d be fuming and tsk-ing away. You may even think to yourself that I have a right to rise above and look down on my mother. But honestly? My biggest struggle every day is that I want to forgive her. I want to be like Jesus. I want to love her and excuse her. But I can’t. I have grasped forgiveness for a season. And I’ll be so sure I’m there. I’ve arrived at forgiving…until I get a call. Until I smell a smell. Or see a juice glass. Hear a song from way back when. And I begin all over again.

So what do you think lesson #2 is? Lesson #2 is two-fold. One is- forgiveness is not something that is done but is something we’re always doing. Two: Jesus is my parent. My brother. My sister. My rock. My oasis. And most importantly He is my home! God bless you for reading.

See Ya!

Hey y’all I’m fasting WordPress for the month of Aug. I will not post or read your posts. As Arnold Schwarzenegger said….I’ll be back!

On Him Only

One more thing and I just might burst

Can’t stand when others see me at my worst

The pile, the stack is climbing high

And stress is here, I won’t deny

But don’t think for one minute you got me

Cause I’m lookin at your back as you flee

There’s power in my well, springing up within

Backed with the mighty Name, I will win

You’ll never get power over me

My soul’s adversary, my enemy

I have a strength found in His Name

The One Who was here before you ever came

The One Who spoke even you into being

The end of you, He’s already seeing

Climb back in hole; your pile of regret

Get away from me, my family you won’t get

I know your tricks, your games, your lies

On Him only, my heart relies


Y’all what a crazy 24 hours. I had to share.

We arrived home safely yesterday from our trip to Missouri. We made real good time on the drive and had no issues with vehicles or stopped traffic. Except around St Louis and that wasn’t but a few minutes.

Pulling into town, we saw a storm forming right above our house. We pulled in to a down pour! But we were happy to get in our own doors. We turned the air on and started to unload the car. “We may just get all of our clothes unpacked tonight!” Was a thought I remember going through my mind. Until the fridge….

See we have this big fancy fridge that we bought couple years back. Thing is, the ice maker isn’t so fancy and it hasn’t produced ice is some time. So we thought, let’s take everything out of the fridge and unplug it while we’re gone. Then the ice maker and all of its components could officially thaw. I washed out the fridge but I shut the doors before we left. So we came home to mold in the fridge and freezer! Stop unpacking and get to pulling parts out and literally soaking them in the tub with bleach water. It’s 85° in the house.

We were making progress with the fridge when I went around the corner to my bedroom. You know when a kid shouldn’t be doing something they jump out of the spot they’re in? Well my Leah did just that. Then she cried out. “It’s bleeding Mommy” We stop what were doing and take her to the kitchen to get a better look. We have a wood boiler to heat our home now because before that it had baseboard heaters and the old one is still along the wall in our room. She sliced her heel open. It doesn’t need stitches but it needs bandages, and of course cleaned. So I ran out the door to Dollar general. Hard to keep a Christian attitude in our dollar generals around here. They are poorly stocked and poorly run.

Coming home we got the heel all bandaged up and the fridge back in order. All the while my husband says he doesn’t feel well. We took his temp and he had a 101 fever. He’s congested and believes it’s bronchitis.

Waking this morning, I find Leah with a cane to get around. And I find my husband pretty much down on the couch feeling pretty poorly. My Abigail’s rash has gone down but she still has no energy and seems like she lost her best friend all of the time. I’ve chalked that up to adolescent attitude and behavior. Then my phone rings…

It’s the doctor from Missouri who saw abigail when the rash was flared up. She says some of the tick borne panels have come back and she’s positive for Lyme’s. Crazy rash explained.

Once we got the details hashed out, I told everyone we need to sit down and simply pray. We prayed. It helped. And went about our day. Two girls down, one with fatigue and the other with limited mobility and a husband who just wants to curl up and sleep.

I flew out the door for groceries to fill back up the emptied fridge. My brain was going 500 miles an hour. I’m trying to process the Lyme’s disease. When did she get bit? How did I miss it? Will she be ok? Did Leah get a tetanus shot recent enough? Does my husband have Covid? I drove to the wrong store. Then turned around and drove to the right one.

I get to the pharmacy for the antibiotics for abigail, I look at the pharmacist and say, “one more thing and I may burst.” She says to me, “One more thing and I may just cry” she says this with tears in her eyes. I tell her hang in there. And off I go. Shopping I think to myself I should have been there for her. Said something about God to her. Witnessed. Did something! Oh well, too late now. Besides what shape am I in at this point anyway?

As go to unload my groceries, the young man ringing me up has this….

He thinks I’m odd when I ask to take a pic of his arm lol. But it’s God telling me this. I just know it.

How many times do we sit and go on and on about how we have it bad? How many ways do we assess a situation, to find out no matter what we do, the outcome will be ultimately in God’s hands anyhow? How many times do we see hardships and think we shouldn’t have to endure them because we pray and seek God? How many times do we see a full on attack from the enemy and not do anything about it?

Silver Dollar City

Well went on discount day. Thursday’s down here in Missouri, you can get tickets for 50$ at participating stores. Regular price is 74$. So we thought we were in like Flynn…well everyone else gets those tickets too! They only are available for Thursday. The park was packed. Three times we got in line for a ride only to be turned away after waiting bc the ride was down.

We went to guest relations once the frustration was kicking in. They gave us free tickets which we used today. Got our money’s worth today. The heat down here in the south is something else! Hey Stu, I met a nice young man (16 years old) from Shreveport, Louisiana. Good kid.

Along our vacationing, we’ve been baffled by a strange rash that my middle daughter has been dealing with. Since last week she’s been having odd looking circular patches throughout her body. We emailed our Dr and he thought one thing. But over time of a few days, the rash changed its looks so we took her in here in Branson. No fever. No itching. Just rings that are not scaly or oozing or anything. They took bloodwork to rule out tick stuff. But the other idea is a drug eruption rash. A delayed reaction from antibiotics she had to take for a bout of cellulitis a month ago. It’s finally starting to fade. But we sure would like an explanation. We go home tomorrow and she will see her Dr Monday.

Ever seen anything like this? Comment if you have

Nationals in Branson

Our time competing is over for the week. We lost our second game Tuesday morning. My daughter was in tears. But that’s okay. Why? Because, really if you think about it, she gets to experience winning and losing some.

I spoke with other coaches and parents about today’s society and what they’re doing to our children. If you sign up your child for baseball or soccer you pay a good amount of money to allow them to compete. Every child competes whether they know what a ball is or not. I believe in giving kids opportunity to compete, but it needs to be just that, competing. When you were young didn’t you have to try out for baseball or soccer to “make the team”?

I heard a mom tell me that she paid for the soccer uniform and for a trophy. Your child gets a trophy whether he earned it or not!

It was hard to see Abigail’s tears today. Equally hard to deal with some parents and what they thought I should have done differently. But at the end of the day??? My child and myself learned our life lessons. Abigail’s lesson was she doesn’t get handed trophies and ribbons. She earns them. She has also been learning to cheer on others even when she’s losing. My lesson? A soft answer turneth away wrath. I was able to keep my mouth shut in a stressful situation. And I was able to do that over the past few months.

We went to see JESUS at the Sights and Sounds Theatre tonight! Wow! What an awesome experience. Phenomenal.

Pretty smiles
Not so pretty smiles
We visited the Dewy Short Dam on Table Rock Lake
Go carts
This is the inside Lobby of the Chateau…look way up on the top balcony. The kids loved riding the elevators to the top floor

Nationals in Branson

Well we made it to Branson in one piece. Beautiful down here. You can certainly tell we are from the North because my mother in law, all 3 girls, and I saw a blue tailed little lizard by the pool and we’re super fascinated.

Heading around St. Louis

We got in Fri night. Saturday night we checked in our teams and found out our times and opponents to quiz. There are 77 teams in our division competing. 5 teams came from our state. We had placed second at our state finals so we become Indiana 2 here at nationals. They do a random drawing for what is called the matrix…if you’re not familiar with that term, it’s a bracket system using double elimination to dwindle down the competition until there are 2 left competing for the coveted first place.

Top half of the round in bracket

This morning, Sunday, we played our Indiana 1!! So it was Indiana 1 against Indiana 2. We lost. So that is our one loss. We will get another chance to play Tues morning. We will play either Alabama 1 or Texas 5. So we shall see.

Our condo…hop and a skip from the pool.
The Chateau on the Lake
This is where the competition is being held.  (Image found on the internet)

Beautiful place isn’t it?

I’ve been, as always, trying to learn a lesson or two along the way. One that I’ve learned is that those coaches and coordinators that went before me had alot more on their plates than I had realized. Now, being in their shoes, I see things in a different light. Being a coach of a team built out of your child along with other’s children is tough or touchy at times. You do not want to appear to be favorable to your own child. And you do not want to offend other’s children. And you certainly do not want to offend the parents.

I had to make a few tough decisions this year along the way that I know made me stronger. Because I’m one that wants to please everyone and the decisions I made would one way or another “bother” a child and/or a parent. All in all, it went ok. And I’ve been asked to coach again, lol, so I must’ve done some part of it right.

My other life lesson….well I’m still learning it. How many of you can testify how challenging it can be to travel with family? Seems like each year our family goes on vacation we have a few hairy days in the beginning. The drive… hairy. The unpacking…hairy. The constant togetherness…hairy. Everyone talking and speaking their wants at the same time…hairy!

Being the mom, I wanna fix and control the environment and boy do I try. I keep reminding myself that this happens every time and that it smoothes itself out after a couple days. Okay…any time now y’all! I look inside myself during these times wondering if I’m the cause. Is my attitude somehow controlling the whole attitude? I don’t know. But I will get up and try again. We humans can be so wired in what we want, how we feel, what we think that we end up bulldozing those we love the most.

Inside the Chateau

Abigail: “Mommy, what’s that thing called again?”                              Mommy: “a gazebo”        

Amy’s Lonely World

Aren’t I pathetic? Lol. My two kiddos went to church camp for the next 4 nights. What torture it is for the parent. As much as we parents long for a break, we forget that that break comes with a price. Four nights away from my children. Ah sweet relief….so you think. But to have them 2 hrs away can be hard for a mama. All the things that could happen roll through my big imagination.

Luckily they live stream the morning and evening service so can get a glimpse of them. Makes it easier.

We will be going to Branson, Missouri this weekend. We will compete among 75 other teams at a national level for our bible quizzing team. I’ll try to blog our progress and the sights and sounds of the land of Missouri.

I learned something yesterday from my ever so wise mother in law that I’d like to share with you.

She said the bible speaks of baring one another’s burdens. We were talking about how God has been helping me to remove myself from listening to other’s problems. When I say that, I mean in a daily aspect. Having someone or a couple someones, texting or talking to me about their lives, their burdens. Recently, I put myself in a situation where I ended up hearing way too much of a friend’s life, daily. This friend does not call on the Lord and doesn’t really know how. She doesn’t seek His face. I got bogged down over time of hearing these things but not really seeing any results in her situations. She wasn’t seeking advice either, but I’d give anyway.

I have been in the set of mind that I’m to help others. Sometimes at the cost of my family. Spending time saturating myself on the phone or whatever to help other individuals. I’m a fixer as one mentor always called me. I didn’t see anything wrong with that…until this recent friendship.

Back to my mother in law. She says, “You know where it says in the Bible that we should bare one another’s burdens? I don’t think it means to have to hear other’s burdens daily. We aren’t meant to have to listen to their daily minor life struggles. I think it means that we have a Christian duty to help those in real need. A family without food. A person needing a ride.”

Y’all, this statement took a weight off my shoulders! Growing up like I did, where I was the parent and my mom was the child, made me a confused child and adult. It’s called becoming parentified and it is hard on a child. The roles are reversed and the child grows up parenting anyone around them.

Lastly, I will be doing some revamping to my blog over the coming months. I will be slowly taking down posts of my childhood and adulthood struggles. As I do, I’ll repost each one before I take them down for a last chance to read them. Comments aren’t really necessary but if you just can’t contain yourself in a positive manner, then bring ’em on!

One of the latest throws I made for a friend. Gave it to her on the 4th of July.
Bernat blanket yarn makes a beautiful throw, if you’re willing to use a huge needle. It’s a workout on the hands.