Looks Like We Made It: New Start 1.3

Please note that while we are sharing our memoir it is a work in progress.  The title “Looks Like We Made It” is a working title.  The words in the chapters are are also a work in progress.  This is not a final copy, but rather a chance to share our story.

New Start

Looks Like We Made It

New Start

Chapter 1.3

Sergio

My dad pulled up to the sign that read Delta Airlines, parked at the side of the curb and popped the trunk to pull out my luggage. He said be good, don’t get into any trouble. Little late for words of advice. What I wanted to hear from my dad was, I’ve changed my mind we don’t need to ship you off, let’s try and figure this out here in Colorado, there’s no need to send you to California. I learned at a young age this wasn’t how my dad’s thoughts worked. Once he made up his mind he remained silent and moved slowly into action.  Little words were exchanged and body language showed discomfort. I never doubted if my dad loved me, even when I was never on the receiving side of hugs or an I love you from  him. The love memories came from watching him get up for work in a middle of a snowstorm so he could provide for our family. He was never able to make it to any of my school functions because he had to work, but I always had clothes and food to eat.  To me, that was normal.  In the neighborhood we lived in my friends dads weren’t around and if they were they weren’t working. My neighborhood friend’s dad spent time hanging out at the bar or in the streets. I never saw my dad come home drunk, be loud or crazy, or ever try to hit my mom, that was the life that my friends lived.  But of course I wanted my dad to come to my school functions and to tell me he loved me, but that wasn’t his way. Convincing myself over and over that his lack of affection was normal was how I coped with his lack of interest.

Our  way of connecting was to wake  up on Saturday at six in the morning to help him load his truck for the flea market. His everyday job was a sanitation worker with a route at Peterson Air Force Base but on the weekends he was a salesman at the flea market.  He often collected items that other’s threw away, cleaned them up and sold them.  My dad noticed how much stuff soldiers threw away that could still be used. My job was to help load and unload the merchandise into the truck and to unpack the merchandise from the boxes onto blue tarps that were laid out on the ground so people could see what we had to sale as they walked by.  We would park the truck next to our selling station and I would sit in the driver’s seat of the truck with the window rolled down with my hand criss crossed and my head laying on them watching my dad sale stuff waiting for him to call me over to help. “Mijo check and see if we have a size 10 in those combat boots.”

“Yes, sir” I said and sometimes to make him laugh I would salute him as I was given orders.  

When potential buyers asked the cost of the boots my dad replied “Well these aren’t just any boots, they’re government issued pilot training boots, brand new they cost $200, but I’ll sell them to you for $20.”  My dad always had a good story to back up his merchandise. This was the only time I got to see him like this because before I woke up in the morning he would be gone to work and at night he would take a shower, eat and go to bed. So I enjoyed getting up early on the weekends to help him.  I was ready to be part of this boys club. I loved to see my dad in acton, he could sale anything. At the flea market I had dad to myself and the attention I wanted.  Getting up at 6 a.m. was worth the time I had with my dad.

But on this drive  everything was different.  Maybe what I wanted from my dad on the ride to the airport was for my dad to tell me we had a change of plans, that he needed me to stay and help him get ready for the flea market this weekend. Instead he handed me my bags and said “good luck mijo”. As I grabbed my bag our eyes met and without saying any words I could read his eyes reminding  me to call if I needed anything. And with a last nod of his head I walked away towards the entrance of the airport.

My mom already started walking toward the front doors to the ticketing station to get my boarding pass and to check in my bag.  She turned to hand me my boarding pass and pulled another envelope from her purse and said there’s some money in there for you to get something to eat on your way. She gave me a hug that was a little bit tighter and a little bit longer than usual. I didn’t pull away from her hold still hoping one of them would change their minds.  She pulled away and started to walk away but as I turned my head I got a glimpse of her eyes and I could see that she had started to cry, I felt a knot grow in my throat and my heart started to raise in my chest, I needed  to walk away or I would have started crying at the sight of her.

My mom was just like my dad when it came to showing emotion, they weren’t any good at it at all.  I watched her take out a Marlboro 100 cigarette from her purse,  light it up as she continued to cry. I never told my mom how much I appreciated how hard she worked to provide for me or to simply ask her to sit down relax from a hard day’s work. I wanted to run to her side, give her a hug and tell her thanks for everything she had done for me.  Giving me an envelope of cash was her way of writing me a letter telling me her feelings. Mijo I wish you didn’t have to leave, I wish you would have been able to figure out how to stay out of trouble so you didn’t have to leave us. But if you have to go I want to make sure that you are ok. Here’s a little something for you as you travel. Those were the words I imagined she had written on the bills as she placed them in the envelope. As mad as I made her in the past year she still would not allow me to suffer in any way.  My mom knew all too well what it was like to suffer.  She never came out and told me how hard it was for her as a young woman coming to America, I overheard conversations of how she entered the US with her unborn son to a strange new place where she knew no one. I could only imagine how many times she didn’t have enough to eat or a warm place to stay, but somehow she figured it out so her family would not struggle in the same way she did. The money was her way of telling me I’m watching over you. I started to feel a little guilty for all the crap I was putting my family through. Why did I have to take things as far as I had? It was because I wanted more from them, I needed their attention, but I sought it in all the wrong ways. I didn’t like feeling so lonely and I believed I had to figure out all of life’s lesson on my own. That’s exactly what I was doing, learning life on my own I felt alone and the people I surrounded myself with were there to help me not feel alone anymore. I searched  for my friends to acknowledge me. The bad part of this was that it usually meant me getting into trouble or breaking the law and I would have to pay for all the crazy things I did by being taken away from everything, including the people that helped me not feel alone.

I had never flown before and I was nervous.  I found my assigned seat, a window seat allowing me to look out unto the city that would no longer be my home.  I watched the flight attendant give out safety instructions and wondered if I would in fact be safe.  I started to feel anxious about meeting new people, would I have to start meeting new people right now in the plane with the person sitting next to me? What the hell would I talk to them about. Hello I’m Sergio I’m visiting California because I was kicked out of Colorado for stealing cars and breaking into houses or hey I’ve never flown before and what might help is a drink, could you order me a shot of tequila, they won’t sell to me because I’m only fifteen years old.  I decided not to speak to the person sitting next to me because I wasn’t up to wasting my time on small talk. I had life to figure out. Would I have to live up to my reputation or not in cali?  I realized I had the opportunity to change everything.  My reputation didn’t have to follow me to California.  I could create a new reputation.  I could reinvent myself into someone other than what people knew me as. Maybe I could make my mom and dad proud of the new person I had become, yeah this is what I wanted to achieve but could I really do it?

I was nervous to make the life change of moving to California.  I spent the last year of my life creating an image for myself.  People knew who I was in Colorado Springs.  After my flight to California everything about the world I lived in would no longer exist.  The world I lived in was small and it was instantly going to get bigger.  I was scared to death, I even second guessed my decision to leave the state.  Somehow the option of getting locked up seemed less scary than moving to an unknown world.  I knew what getting locked up felt like.  I knew the workers in the facility.  I made friends, and just by walking inside the detention centers people know who I was even if they had never met me. I had left a lasting impression in detention centers.  I knew what it felt like to sleep in a cell and  I knew what it was like to live in a facility and not see my family.  But California was an entirely new world.  I was afraid of the unknown.

The two hour flight passed in an instance, there was no turning back. Over the intercom the pilot announced to prepare to land, I turned my attention out the window and watched as the small objects got bigger the closer we came to land. I felt the nose of the plane tilt up and thud the plane made as it  touched the ground made me jump. Roar was the sound the plane made and then I was jolted forward by the breaks of the plane being engaged and I was in my new home. It was as if the landing joult was the last part of me leaving Colorado Springs behind, like being pulled from the bubble. Over the intercom the flight attendant said welcome to Los Angeles California and thank you for flying with us. I had no idea what to do next. I didn’t want to get left behind or lost so I followed the gentleman in front of me. I kept my head down as I followed his red tennis shoes and walked down the hall to baggage claim. I  waited for my bag to come up the ramp and onto the circle conveyor belt.  I couldn’t remember what my bag looked like, when I took my bag from my dad I  headed directly the ticketing desk, I totally missed to take a mental picture of it, and it didn’t help that my mom packed it for me so alI I could do was look for the one  bag that was the most familiar. Then I saw it riding down the conveyor belt right at me, It was a dark brown, square in shape with one handle at the top,  a big gold zipper that opened the top, and was covered in dust from rarely being used. It had set in our closet for years. I remembered playing hide and go seek and hiding behind it in the hallway closet, I reached over and pulled it off the luggage carousel and placed it to my side, it was time to wait.

The plan was for my aunt and uncle to pick me up from the airport.  I had only met them once when I was very young and I wasn’t sure I would recognize them. However family blood runs thick and the moment I saw my aunt I knew she was part of my family.  She and my mom shared the same eyes and the same smile, it was easy picking her out of the crowd.  I was welcomed with hugs.  My aunt and uncle were going to take me from the airport  to the bus station  where I would ride the greyhound to Santa Barbara.

It was late at night, well past 2 am when we got to  the bus station, but it didn’t seem to matter that it was late there were still people everywhere, waiting to go all over the United States, I thought that that was sort of cool. It was cold outside but nothing like the cold from back home.  The air wasn’t as harsh as Colorado’s cold nights.  My uncle purchased  me a ticket to Santa Barbara and hugs were once again given. Meeting my aunt and uncle was the easiest part of the whole trip. Maybe it was because we were family and I could feel the connection that I was with family.  I loaded onto the bus for another three hour trip. I knew immediately to keep my bag close to my body and to be aware of where my wallet was at all times. With my possessions close by I sat by the window and tried to look out into this new world, but it was too dark outside.  I had a lot on my mind and wondered about the last call that I got from my pregnant girlfriend. I never thought I would be a dad, well not at 15.  I thought at some point I would find a nice girl and we would get married, buy a house and then have a baby.  But that wasn’t how it was going to turn out for me. Why would I change now I never did things the normal way, why would this be any different?. Man I wasn’t ready to be anybody’s dad my head was so messed up I was scared I would screw them up more than I was. I was pissed that she wasn’t on the pill.   How did this happen? Did it mean that I had to marry her, I don’t even know if I love her.  All I could think of as soon as she said I’m pregnant was I don’t have any money, I don’t have a job and I’m getting kicked out of Colorado Springs. Are you keeping it, “Yes” she replied. It was crazy because she wasn’t any better off then I was. I didn’t want to be one of those guys that wasn’t around when his baby is born or a dad that wasn’t in the picture. But it looked like that was how it was going to turn out.

When I stepped off the bus and looked at my surroundings I could see the sun making it’s presence, the mark of a new start.  The sun reflected on the ocean, the light snuck up on the flowers and trees and eventually covered them with a warm blanket of light.  I stood up and took a deep breath of the morning air and felt oddly at peace with my life and my new home.  I fell in love with the view California had to offer .  It was stunningly beautiful.  The houses were different than back home.  They were red, orange, peach.  Colors I never knew homes to be.  They were adobe houses and I felt my attraction to them.  I could smell something fresh in the air.  I don’t know what it was that I could smell, but I knew I belonged there.  The ocean was beautiful, it called my name. California would be a new start.

 

Sergio

Sergio

The guy in the chair, who lost his ability to walk, but found his mobility through a change in his heart. A change when his mind was awakened by the gift of Purpose.
“And your life will be brighter than the noonday.
Its darkness will be like the morning.” Job11:17

Looks Like We Made It: Looking For Home 1.2

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Looks Like We Made It: Looking For Home 1.2

Please note that while we are sharing our memoir it is a work in progress.  The title “Looks Like We Made It” is a working title.  The words in the chapters are are also a work in progress.  This is not a final copy, but rather a chance to share our story.

Looking For Home

Looks Like We Made It

Chapter 1.2

Norah

I stared out the window on a crisp Colorado fall morning, the leaves changed in color and all had almost fallen to the ground, waiting for the wind to blow them away. Some leaves remained on branches, but very few. I often wondered how they hung on. I loved fall, it was always my favorite season. The sun shining through the almost naked trees and the beauty in the colors calms me. With the cold weather approaching some leaves would freeze and be held to the ground. I too had changed in color, but I was still attached to the tree by a small branch prepared for the wind to take me to a beautiful place not aware that winter would soon come and I would be frozen to the cold ground. I was headed in a different direction and speed I was not expecting.

That morning I thought I had the flu.  My mom went to work leaving me home alone even though I was throwing up. The morning air was cold and, I wiped the frost off my bedroom window in order to watch her drive away. I quickly got right back in my bed half mad that she left me alone and half glad that I was all alone. Even though at times I wished she was what I considered to be a normal parent I was safer spending less time with her. I couldn’t have a single conversation that did not include how tired she was and how I could be doing so much more to help her out. The more I did, the more resentful I became, especially when what I did was never up to her standards and she never thanked me. I quickly reminded myself she was now a single parent and could not afford to miss a day’s worth of pay.

This structure that once held laughter, good food and salsa music, this place that often smelled of pine sol and simmering sofrito was quiet, dim, and fragrance free. The year prior the place I called home became infested with sobs, angry outburst and bitterness. Salsa music no longer played unless my mother played it to pretend she was whole and happy. She was good at pretending. I no longer smelled the scents of my father’s favorite things in life, a clean home and his favorite Puerto Rican foods cooking. My mom’s way of showing love was through acts of service and she served my father in hopes to keep him happy and lacking for anything. He was her pride a joy, a service man. Growing up her eyes twinkled when he dressed in his class “A” army uniform. It had been a year since I had seen her look at him in this way. This house had changed not only in name but mostly in feelings. A year prior our home changed into a house when my father packed his personal belongs, when he was asked to leave. My mother could no longer live with a man that she could not trust.

When I sat in my bed, I was all alone. I felt out of place in this unfamiliar environment. All of the possessions inside looked familiar and even inviting but I was quickly reminded that the things inside are all for show. Being at our house made me feel desperate to exit.  Each one of my family members pulled in separate directions in search for a place to live, a place to call home. Our family house was a place that we each resided in, a roof over our head not a place we lived. A place where you live would imply that life was happening and it wasn’t.  We slept on occasion under this shared roof but we did not share the same family connection we had when our father was here.

I had to get out of bed before I threw up again, I walked passed my mother’s room on the way to the bathroom.  This once was my parents room, once a shared space. Now it felt like a dark cave. I avoided going in this room unless my mother would call me in there. Growing up my parents bedroom was where I would most often find my father under the blankets on weekend mornings. Being in the army we moved a lot, but my parents bedroom still held the same meaning to me, even if it wasn’t physically the same room. My dad loved to sleep in after a long weeks worth of work. It was known by all of us that as soon as dad got up we would be doing something fun as a family. It was a Saturday tradition to go shopping, to a movie and out to eat. Some mornings I would hear my parents talking through our bedroom walls, this is how I knew family fun time was approaching. I would jump in the bed with them both, if their conversation wasn’t over they would start to speak in spanish. They knew that I could understand most of what they were saying so they invented their own code language of spanish to discourage me from trying to figure out what they were saying. It was their own secret language. When my dad wasn’t moving fast enough for my liking I would start to push him with my legs. He was so much bigger than me so I would squeeze my body between my parents position both my legs, one his mid back the other on his butt and rock him back and forth acting as if I was going to push him out of the bed. I would continue this as I begged him to get out of bed, “come on daddy get up please, let’s go now, you take forever to get ready.” In time he would give in to my begging and sit up and off I would run to my room to get dressed. But there was no longer any signs of my father in that bedroom, nothing to show that an Army soldier once slept next to my mother.

I was hunched over the toilet wishing my dad was there. I wanted someone to take care of me. But my dad became the parent I saw every other weekend. Some of our weekend visits felt long and drawn out, we were growing apart as father and daughter.  I dreaded hearing his car pull up and tried to prepare myself to act as if I were excited. My parents separation and divorce came right at a time that I believed most girls grew attached to their fathers, at thirteen years our relationship suffered. It was uncomfortable being alone with him. Our time together felt unnatural and forced. Our conversations lacked closeness. I grew up watching sitcoms like The Cosby’s and Growing Pains and I would often dream of my family sharing that kind of closeness. Why couldn’t we sit around a dinner table and share conversations that were relevant to a pre teen girl. These television families would always find a solution to whatever disagreement they had. My family’s lack in good comunication forced me to close myself in, I couldn’t share what was really going on in my life, I couldn’t be the real me, instead I pretended to be his innocent baby girl. A obedient child that always did what she was told.

My mom became distracted and disconnected in her newfound freedom. She wanted to prove to my father how she didn’t need him any longer. She was working full time and started to make friends. Most of our conversations were based on whether or not I had done my chores. She did not react well in an untidy home. So to her a clean house was priority even over homework. This became a task that was mostly mine. Deep down in her Puerto Rican upbringing it was the woman’s “job” to do the household chores not the men’s. We had a big house at the time my parents separated. They bought this house to make a permanent home for our family. Growing up we had lived in several army bases, I could only recall one other time we lived in an actual house. It was a house my parents built from the grown up in North Carolina. We did not live there long, I often wonder why. So this being the family home my parents chose after building a home, was very spacious. It had three stories and we each had our own bedrooms. I loved this house, I especially loved the stairs, one lead to my bedroom and the other to the family room. I loved the stairs mainly because prior to this home stairs only lead to basements. Basements for mostly storge, nothing fun. These stairs lead to rooms that reflected each occupant’s personality, rooms that once were filled with the laughter.   

I would pass my brothers in the hallway that separated our rooms as we headed out to school, or at least they were pretending they were going to school for my mom’s sake. When school was over they were always out with their friends and girlfriends. The saturday mornings in our pjs eating Captain Crunch watching Tom and Jerry were long gone. Waking up I would pass by empty bedrooms. Not only was my dad missing from his bed but if my brothers had come home in the evening they would be long gone before I had much of a chance to interact with them. I had no idea where they went and they never included me in whatever they did. Being the youngest of us and a 13 year old girl I required the most guidance. The kind of guidance that would prepare me for life, love and relationship. I was not prepared for any of the above and I set out to find a place where I could feel connected to someone where I could share who I was, I wanted to belong. I did not want to feel alone in the world, unloved, or uncared for.

As the distance in my family grew wider and wider. I continued to search for the attention I desperately needed. I found every reason to not be at home because inside those walls resided only people and not a family. There was a huge void in my life that my boyfriend instantly filled the day I met him.  He became my entire world, he became my home.

Norah

Norah

A wife to a man in wheels. Sharing my life with all of the struggles in hopes to open up the highways of understanding, compassion, love, and hope.  Follow me as I tread through.

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Posted by The Wheels of Grace on Monday, February 22, 2016

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Looks Like We Made It: Let’s Go Home 1.1

Please note that while we are sharing our memoir it is a work in progress.  The title “Looks Like We Made It” is a working title.  The words in the chapters are are also a work in progress.  This is not a final copy, but rather a chance to share our story.

Let's Go Home

Looks Like We Made It

Chapter 1.1

Sergio

I laid in my cell and stared out the square window from my bed. There was nothing to really stare at but the light posts illuminating the black asphalt. I watched as the wind blew an empty Big Gulp cup across the lot, until it slipped out of sight and into the unknown darkness. I was about to become that empty Big Gulp cup, I was to be flown far away from home, to land in a place that I had never seen before, empty. I wrapped myself tighter in the blanket as if maybe this would prevent me from being blown away. I didn’t want leave home, I didn’t want to make new friends. Why didn’t I tell the judge that I didn’t want to move?  Everyone was telling me that this was going to be good for me, that I needed a change, bull crap, they just didn’t want to have to deal with me anymore. This was as much for them as it was for me.

Why didn’t I run a different direction instead of trying to run through the parking lot of the mall. The cops were onto to me and knew the car I was driving was stolen. I thought if I could ditch the car I could out run them. I turned down a road so my friend and I could jump out and run. The car slammed into a big metal trash can and as I jumped out a loud voice told me get out with your hands up, my instinct was to get as far away as possible. I was close to my uncle’s house, if I could get there I could hide out. But I would have to cross the mall’s parking lot, it was too risky to try and go around. With my heart rate raising and my lungs trying to keep up with my running I stopped and hid under a tree until I could see the cops pass by, then I could make a break for the other side. I saw the lights turn to go around the side of the building and I darted out into the lot and ran as fast as I could go, behind me I could see a set of headlights turn my way and start to speed up in my direction. I was in the middle of the parking lot with nowhere to hide. In an instant I was surrounded by red and blue sirens. Busted. Get on the ground, get on your knees and put your hands in the air. At that moment I wondered how long my sentence to juvenile detention was going to be. It was my last night I would be able to walk around in Colorado Springs. I wouldn’t get a chance to tell anyone goodbye.

I had pushed the limits of the law and a long-term sentence was coming for me. I had been slapped on the wrist several times, but that was over. I was out of chances. I thought I would be sentenced to a juvenile detention center for at least a year. But my fate was different than I expected. I didn’t get another slap on the wrist but I didn’t get locked up either. Instead I was banished. My probation officer must have been on my side or he felt bad for me. He did everything in his power to allow me to move out of the state of Colorado and never to return. My parents took this plea and arranged for me to move to California with my oldest sister Angelica.

I was detained in Zebulon Pike before I could leave to California. I called my girlfriend to tell her I was leaving and didn’t think I was ever coming back. She had news of her own. I’m pregnant, the only words I remember her saying. The phone went cold against my ear and the chill spread throughout my body. I was in a situation I had no idea how to handle. I couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t help her. I was struggling to take care of myself. I was being sent away and there was nothing either of us could do. After the chill I began to warm up and I calmed, instantly heading into denial. The baby wasn’t mine, she had been with other guys, was she actually pregnant? I couldn’t care for her, or the baby even if it was mine. I never thought I was hurting anyone but myself. I thought I could handle the situations I put myself in and they only affected me. I was very wrong. I was leaving behind a trail of broken hearts and broken promises.

The only light in my cell came from the window facing the parking lot and underneath my door. When my cell became slightly darker I knew it was because the guard was standing in front of my door. I heard the metal key being inserted into the lock of the door as it was being turned. It was an odd time for the guard to be letting me out. He was brief with his words and they should have sounded like freedom

“Mr Sanchez get your stuff, it’s time.” He said, but it wasn’t quite freedom, it was the start to an unknown life.   

It was so late at night I felt like he was sneaking me out, but it was so there wasn’t a big ruckus from the other youth. I was guided to the staff work station to get my personal belongings but before I was given my clothes I had to sign a form stating that all my stuff was there. One black muscle shirt, one grey hoodie sweater, one black pair of jeans, and one set of white shoes. Sign here and get dressed your mom is waiting to take you. As soon as I was ready the guard lead me to the front door where I could see my mom on the other side waiting, BUZZ as soon as I heard the door unlock I pushed it and walked through letting the door slamm behind me. My mom greeted me with a half smile and together we walked down the long hallway to the last door that had to be buzzed to open. As soon as my face touched the cool air of the night I felt an unusual chill come over me.

I could see my mom’s car, a fire engine red Ford Taurus sitting in the parking lot. I knew my dad had to be in the car by the exhaust coming out of the back tail pipes. I got in the back seat and no one said much except for my mom telling me my flight plans. You will fly to Los Angeles and your aunt will pick you up and take you to the bus station to Santa Barbara where your sister will be waiting for you. I stared out the window the rest of the drive to the airport. I was trying to grab one last image of the town, the place that I called home. The drive was normally thirty to forty minutes long but this night it seemed like it was more of a five to ten minute drive. I read the road sign exit to I-25 next right and when I heard the blinker come on I felt a pressure coming from deep inside my chest. I could hear my heart pumping every time the blinker sounded, if I wanted to stay this was my last chance to open my mouth and say something.  I needed to convince my mom that I could change my bad ways and start listening, I would have to convince her that I would stay away from my friends. But nothing would come out of my mouth. There wasn’t anything I could think of that I hadn’t said before and failed at. Mom please don’t make me go! I looked out the window trying to figure out what to say, the sign that read Airport 2 miles hit me in the face, come on Sergio think of something to say. I had to change my mom’s mind, that’s the only way this car would turn toward home. My mom was the leader of our family, she carried the weight of making sure we had food, clothes and shelter. Even if it meant that she had to work two jobs and that she went without. Her past had conditioned her to work hard and provide. She taught her kids there wasn’t any room for wishing or hoping, if you wanted to make something happen in your life you made it happen with hard work and sacrifice. There was no room for showing love by hugs and kisses she showed it by providing. But in that moment I didn’t want a strong mother, I wanted my mom to stop the car, pull me out of it and give me a hug and kiss and tell me let’s go home.

 

 

 

Sergio

Sergio

The guy in the chair, who lost his ability to walk, but found his mobility through a change in his heart. A change when his mind was awakened by the gift of Purpose.
“And your life will be brighter than the noonday.
Its darkness will be like the morning.” Job11:17

Looks Like We Made It: Looking For Home 1.2

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Writing Hurts

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Writing Our Book Part 4

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Take Care of You in 2017

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Merry Christmas Prayers

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Writing Our Book Part 3

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Hands That Are Thankful

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We Are Meant to Change

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Writing Our Book

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Ain’t Too Proud To Beg

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