August 17, 2015

The Darkest Light

Looking back it is clear we survived in a state of limbo. For almost two years, I waited for the trial— then once it was over I began to wait for Dateline to wrap up the past . . . so I could move on.


I just knew that our life would be so simple and easy once the past was all cleared from it.

We got back from Hawaii with the greatest intentions to start living OUR life. My past had finally had some loose ends tied— the hype of Dateline had worn off—and I was ready to move forward.

A new kind of reality began to settle in our home. The—seemingly small compared to a murder trail—blending family problems that had been so neatly swept beneath any and all the rugs we could find, began to grow large in our newly shined eyes. We didn’t just start drowning in the pain of real realities—we began suffocating in our world.

The battle of blending our families—for the first time—was the only priority on our radar, and we were amateurs. The dark jabbing annoyances we once could easily dismiss . . . were blaring boldly in our faces. Living in limbo—waiting for the trial to end— began to propose to be a lot easier than living in real life. The issues that would arise had nowhere to hide, and for the first time Shawn and I were at war against each other. There was no defense side of the courtroom for us to team up against—the teams were split between us.

The battles we were wagging were no longer from the past—we were opening up new combat scars. The fears and emotions were no longer directed to some other power . . . but against ourselves.

The “your kids/my kids” conversations were directed with much more anger and fear than they had been before. The memory of the time we had sacrificed away from each other during the trial began to become a wedge that separated us from each other. Fears of unmet expectations brewed in our hearts and kept our minds spinning.

Many nights were spent in hate—not toward the things that had actually hurt us in our lives—but for each other.

Fear was our constant companion and a dark cloud hung over our marriage. Many nights ended with bags packed and the “D” word spoken. We didn’t know how to live without the chaos keeping us afloat. Our relationship had been built upon a dream of living it together, but we didn’t know how to find each other through the fog.

Months past. Time ticked by, each new day a bright hope for life to begin—but we didn’t know how. Each step we took toward each other, we fell back a few. All the things that had kept us together now seemed to be pulling us apart. The kids—who once helped us find the joy and purpose in family—began to be the topic of most of our heated battles. Shawn’s desire to hold on to his relationship with Jordyn—as it once was—began to pose as a threat to my need to feel like I was enough. For every moment he wanted to spend with her, I desired him to want the same with each of the others . . . and me.

The pure love of hope and faith we had once found in our anchor for each other began to be replaced with a wedge of bitterness and resentment.

What was happening to the perfect world we promised each other we would give to this family? What happened to the spark that we had felt in our marriage? What happened to the protection plan we had said would never fail?

The doubts that grew inside of me turned into hallucinations on how the past would have been an easier road. Shawn started to talk about wishing he could just have his simple life back and be rid of the stress and chaos. Hate in our pain blinded us and tried to make us despise each other. 

The plan of starting our life was failing. Every other week was like a rollercoaster. Shawn would long for time with Jordyn when she was gone, and fight for it when she returned. I would fight to be seen, and for all of the children to be his number one.

The more he pushed to have his past back, the more I felt like he didn’t want the future. The more I tried to force the future, the more he missed the past. We each stood at a crossroad—and neither of us could see each other.  

The holidays came and went and January passed. It was February and Shawn had to go out of town on a business trip. It was almost nice to have a break from the contention, and I looked forward to soaking up the few days I would have alone with my thoughts, when the kids were asleep.

As night settled on my house I reflected over the year—just one year before Shawn had gone to the same business conference.

I remembered how a few hours after he left to catch his plane my phone began to ring. Emmett’s belongings were being released from evidence and were to be dropped off at my house within the hour.

Within minutes I held Emmett’s possessions in my hands.

I spent the rest of that day buried in the past. Reading every text he had sent—the final testaments of his poor choices. His phone was filled with stories of the lies, none of which brought me any comfort in my fear of inadequacy. The fear of not being enough settled into my bones as I viewed for the first time— in his own words— his betrayal of me. 

When night came I ventured into his other belongings. His Ipod was filled with pornography and nasty videos. I glanced down the list of filth for three seconds before I turned it off and burst into tears. Betrayal. Ultimate despair settled deep inside in a new way I had never felt. I wasn’t listening to others spout off facts about Emmett’s bad choices—they were glaring loudly from a screen. And just like the realities Shawn and I were now facing about our imperfect family—there was nowhere to hide. No detectives keeping me from the facts I had been missing. No locks to keep me from the evidence I held in my hand.

Chills went down my spine as I tried to snap myself out of that memory. I started to feel panicked about the truths I had learned just twelve months before. As the memory of the anniversary of that tramatic day replayed in my mind, anger filled my heart. Didn’t Shawn remember all the pain I had been through? He had been there for me in so many ways through the struggles of my past—but he was failing to be there for me now.

I wasn’t enough for anyone.

I fell onto my bed and sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. I cried so hard it felt like the walls were shaking and caving in on me. Hours of the night passed and I did not move. My house was dark. Everything was quiet, and I was all alone.

Shawn was again gone for the week, only this time I wasn’t spending the evening angry at Emmett—I was filled with feelings of hate for Shawn. He was the man who wasn’t giving me all that I deserved. He was the one I was blaming for my unhappiness and moments I did not feel seen. He was the one who wasn’t meeting my perfect expectations on everything I had decided he should be.

The time I thought I was going to be able to enjoy being alone with my thoughts soon proved to be a distant dream. Being alone was the last thing I wanted—yet here I was. All I wanted to be desired as a wife and partner, but just like the year before I was full of proof that I was not.

There was a split second that night that I wanted to die—I could not feel a purpose or a reason to keep living. I wanted to be freed from the pain of the past, and the battles I was facing in reality. My sobs burned my cheeks and the temptation to give up beckoned my soul.

In fear of myself I fell to my knees on the side of my bed. I pleaded, “Heavenly Father. Guess it’s true . . . I knew I wasn’t enough. Because if I was . . . Shawn would want me . . . I would be his number one. If I was . . . Emmett wouldn’t have been all of the lies I found last year. If I was enough for anyone in this world . . . I would feel happy. They would see me. I wouldn’t have to beg for someone to see my worth, if I was worth fighting for. I thought Emmett was just blind, that maybe he didn’t want me because spiritually he couldn’t see what he had. But now I see, that it is me. Emmett didn’t want me because I am unlovable. I am not the girls he watched in those videos. I am not a supermodel or even a model of anything. I am worthless. My life isn’t going to make a difference for anyone. Shawn has said so himself . . . his life was easier without me. I don’t bring anything good into this world . . . so what am I still doing here? Everyone would be better off if I . . . just wasn’t here. Maybe all those people were right. If I would have been a better wife, Emmett wouldn’t have cheated on me.  If I was a good wife, he would still be alive and he would have been fighting for me. If I was a good wife, Shawn and I would be able to figure out how to love each other and blend this family. I just . . . I am worthless. I am garbage . . . and I am pretty sure no one will ever see me . . . because I am invisible. I can’t hide . . . but I can’t be seen. ”

It wasn’t much of a prayer, but a plea from the darkest part of my soul. Almost instantly—as I ended my pity party prayer in the quiet of my room, I felt a warmth rush over me. I could feel peace, and love, and purpose. I felt full of truth. It felt as though I could almost hear my Savior reassuring me, “Ashlee . . . I see you. And you are beautiful. I hear you . . . and feel your fears. They are real. You want to be seen—but who is it you are turning to for that approval? Them . . . or me?”

Happiness. I get so wrapped up in looking for it in everyone around me. My heart begs for others to reassure me that I am enough. I long to feel a tender embrace—reassuring me that I am ok just the way I am. I crave that unconditional eternal love . . . and I want it right now, in every form possible. I don’t want to wait. I need it when I need it and the unrealistic expectations I have for how it must come—do little to further my cause . . . because I set myself up to fail. I assume the universe will collaborate to play out my desired expectation so I can be happy. I easily forget that my unmet expectations are to help me turn to the only true source of happiness and self worth. I forget that my happiness cannot be built and founded by someone else’s approval of who I am. 

About the time the sun was rising, so was my heart. I looked out into the shadows of the morning searching for hope. Peace filled my heart and for the next three days I gave my kids all of me.

I didn’t think about the nasty videos on Emmett’s ipod; I didn’t give in to the temptations to go and open up another text on Emmett’s phone. I didn’t even stew about my need to be seen by Shawn. Every time fear tried to enter my life—I grabbed onto hope.

This time the evening Shawn flew home was Valentines Day. I was nervous to step back into our turmoil, and life that had become full of miscommunications and contention. The hope I had fought for that night on my bed—just a few days before— threatened to leave as I worried about Shawn’s return.

To my surprise, he had arranged for a babysitter so we could spend Valentines Day evening together. He told me to wear something nice and be ready to go when he arrived at home. He wouldn’t tell me where we were going—he said he had a surprise he had been planning just for me.

We didn’t talk much on the drive—and I felt anxious to see where we were going— but couldn’t help feel the fear of doubt of his love for me. Scared of repeating our pattern of crazy I began to put up a wall. My believed need to protect myself from rejection or disapproval began to multiply and I started to prepare myself for the let down of an “all about Shawn” surprise—instead of something he was really going to do just for me.  In fear of my expectations not being met, I decided to pretend I didn’t have any.

Soon we pulled into the parking lot of the temple. All the nights of fighting and fear felt like a dark cloud holding me back from seeing the expression of love my husband was trying to give me. Fear of his rejection echoed through my mind as I walked into the front doors. I tried hard to snap out of the pain of the past and live in the moment, but my protective wall was on high alert.

Soon we found ourselves sitting in the sealing room. Shawn kept looking over at me. Finally he leaned over and grabbed my arm. He whispered, “ You know this is hard for me. Coming here with you . . . and not knowing . . . I really want all the answers right now on what forever is going to look like for us . . . it is hard to let go of the whys and unknowns and see how it is all going to turn out and it is hard to not spend time dwelling on the answers . . . but today I just . . . I just want . . . I just wanted to see you.”

Before I could even respond a little lady stood up and began to speak. She said, “Before we begin . . . I am ninety years old . . . I am just a little old lady.  I just need to tell you about the people on these stacks of papers. This was my great great grandmother who lived many years ago. She had a very interesting life. She was blessed with nine children . . . but over the course of a few years . . . she lost seven of them to death. So today on Valentines Day we came here to give her the chance to be with those beautiful babies forever.” Tears were streaming down her face as she continued on, “So I know our lives are hard, and we get busy . . . and everyone of you are facing your own battles, but thank you for coming here today to help me give this sweet family this gift on Valentines Day. Family is the most important thing we will take with us when we die, it is what love is all about—being with each other forever.”

I couldn’t stop my tears. I stared at this couple—who had probably been married for more than seventy years—look into each others eyes and hold hands. I watched tears fall down this little woman’s face as she was serving a great great grandmother she had never met—giving her a gift for a day of love. The room was filled with charity: the pure love of Christ.

She wasn’t here, as I was, begging for someone to see her—she was standing in the temple with the gift to see.

I looked over to Shawn and thought about our six babies at home. I thought of losing one of them and the pain that would come through that trial—and this family had lost seven.

I thought about all the things Shawn had done right as my husband and as their new father. Memories of the mean things I had said to him, and all the times I had refused to see him filled my heart. Remorse for all the moments I had let him down played like a movie inside of me.

I silently pleaded for forgiveness from the pain I had caused him—in my fear, in my harsh words, and in my expectations of who he was supposed to be. I asked for forgiveness for all the times I had been blind—for all the times I had selfishly prayed that he could see me. Instantly my heart opened to a new hope—not that I could make my husband see me, but that I could be blessed to see him.


Forgiveness is such a lonely battle, especially when we wait around for the other person to give us the words or actions we need to help us feel whole. True forgiveness isn’t about the other person coming to make it all right—it is about turning it all over to God. Instead of reaching toward man, and almost suffocating them for their love, we have to reach up to heaven.

Forgiveness isn’t about what others can do to make it right. It is an every day choice we get to make. It is a battle we have to fight against Satan. He wants us to be miserable and believe that we are not enough. He wants us to have unrealistic expectations about who and what others should be for us so we fail to see them and the good that they DO do. So really our pride cycle that holds us back from true forgiveness and repentance is a battle we fight against Satan—not a blessing we withhold from some one else.

If I could give advise to anyone who is fighting this lonely battle of forgiveness and repentance I would say this: Pray for angels to take the lies from you. Pray for them to replace those lies with truth—truth that you are enough for God, truth that He can see you—truth that you do not need others to fulfill your expectations of them for you to be happy. Truth that there is good in others, even when they aren’t performing at your desired expectations.

That moment of fear or heartache is another chance for you to fight to see that His grace will make you whole. Another person on the earth cannot make us find our purpose. That can only come from Him. He can bring us the eternal love we are desperately trying to find in man—the unconditional love we all crave. 

Don't let man block your view of Heaven. You are enough. Don't look for that truth in anyone else but Heavenly Father and his Son. He won't leave you alone. Maybe cruel selfish people will, but not Him. 

And in the end . . . He is all that matters. He loves you. He always has, and He always will. 

So many days—in our lives here on earth—we will be reminded of the fear that we are invisible. We will be threatened with the sense of losing sight of who we are, when someone else can’t see us. 

These trials we face are meant to help us turn to Him. Don't let Satan use it against you. Give power to the truth. Truth will not only set us free from the pain of the past—it will set us free from the lies that are right in front of us.

Our journeys can feel lonely, but one truth will always remain: We are not alone. Everything we are made of is filled with truth. Everything we are, our true selves, is made up of perfect love.

Charity is the pure love of Christ. So next time I am singing the lonely lullabies of the “invisible woman” I pray I can remember to be seen—not by man, but by God.

If charity never faileth, then maybe that is the answer. For all the times I have spent crying on my bed to be seen . . . what if I would have been praying for the ability to see. Instead of pleading for my husband to come and stroke my fears and wipe my tears . . . what if I could have had empathy for his pain? What if I could have the gift to see his fears, or look into helping him through his insecurity of not being enough for me? How would those lonely nights looked differently . . . if I would have used my eyes to see instead of watching for someone to notice me?

Maybe we can’t take away each other’s pain; maybe we do not have the ability to entirely heal each other’s burdens—but what if there is more to life than worrying about what we can get from our relationships . . . and start seeing what we can give.

I am full of expectations—some for those around me, and some unrealistic ideas of who I should be. I desire to be seen. I desire to be adored, loved, and enough. I am full of expectations on what that should look like for me to be happy.

But the truth is . . . we were not given eyes to watch for imperfection—we were given the gift to see to look for those who need us. We are blessed with charity (the pure love of Christ) when we are willing to give it.


So maybe Christ didn’t just ask us to be His hands—He also needs us to be His eyes. Watch for those who are desperately seeking in the dark to be seen. Maybe your willingness to step outside of yourself will be the moment they remember they are not forgotten. Maybe that will be the day they remember the unspoken truth we have all at times forgotten—we are enough for Him, and we are enough to be an instrument in His Hands . . . to see.



Thank you to my husband Shawn for his support in writing this post. This song is for you . . . 
Both of Us

August 14, 2015

What makes us Beautiful

Ok friends. I am making a slide show for our Friday session of A Reason To Stand in Ogden, Utah coming up in October! I am looking for real life pictures of what unique beauty is to you. Get creative! It can be something you see in someone else, or something in yourself that makes you beautiful. I cannot wait to see all of your pictures of unique beauty! Email me at themomentswestand@gmail.com

And P.S... Cannot wait to meet everyone in Utah!!




A Reason To Stand: October 23rd-24th Ogden Utah

August 9, 2015

Hiding scars

Bailey reminded me yesterday that today would mark the one year anniversary of her blender accident. It isn't really a day I ever want to think about again, but the lessons I learned through that experience have stayed with me. I hope I never forget that conversation in our laundry room and the powerful message I was taught by my little girl.



About six months ago I started noticing that she would hide her hands whenever I took her picture. At first it bothered me and I began thinking I needed to tell her all the reasons she needed to just "be normal" and not try to hide her scars. The more I thought about it, the more I realized what a hypocrite I would be if I tried to make her become ok with her scars—on my time table. 

I pictured all the moments when I was trying hard to conceal the scars of my pain. Everyone around me wanted me to become ok with my scars, but I was still stuck on how much pain it had taken to get them there. 

Sometimes we need time to allow the wounds to heal, before we are ready to reveal the scars to anyone else . . . and thats ok. 

Shawn and I have had many long conversations about the vulnerability that comes with parenting and how hard it is to let go of our power, especially when something happens that is completely out of our control. We felt helpless after the accident. We hated that we couldn't protect her from that blender.  We both struggle with the fact that sometimes our children are going to hurt. We constantly wish we could shield them from feeling the bumps and bruises that will inevitably come their way. 

We can't put them in a glass bubble and shield them from the world (trust me, I have looked into it) but one thing we can give them is knowledge of the truth. We can teach them about eternal life and the importance of family. We can show them the hard work that marriage needs, but the rewards that come when you do it right. We can give them love, we can teach them light, and we can strive every day to be the examples they are looking for on who they want to be when they grow up. Examples of how to heal our wounds and become ok with the scars they leave. 

My little girl has scars all over her hands . . . and she is beautiful. She is perfect just the way she is. She is smart, she is kind, and she has learned that she has a Savior who has always been right beside her through everything life has thrown her way. 

The only way to heal our wounds completely is with Jesus Christ's grace. Healing doesn't usually happen overnight, but a little bit every day as we use the atonement over and over again. There will not be a day when we don't need it in one way or another.

If you are tired of hiding your scars, or waiting for your wounds to heal . . . you aren't alone. We have all been there. We must not give up. We all have scars. Some are seen by the world, and others we carry around silently. 

Our scars are evidence of the powerful gift Christ has given to all of us . . . to heal. 

Bailey's wounds are healed, but she is left with deep scars on both of her hands. There isn't a time when I see those scars or feel them when holding her hand, when I don't think about my Savior and the scars He took upon Himself for me.  

(Sometimes we joke that Bailey is the only girl in the world who could battle a ninja . . . and win. One of the first things she did— after getting some use back in her hands—was cooking in the kitchen. She has not let this accident hold her back, or allowed fear to win.)


Blog post about Bailey's blender accident:
Take Upon Me (Aug. 2014)



A favorite moment from our family reunion weekend (Aug. 2015): 

Today had already been a long day by noon. Packing, loading, and entertaining six kids on an eight hour road trip had just about done both Shawn and I in. For some reason everyone had been "at each other" before lunch, and eating didn't seem to make too much of a difference. Not long after stopping to eat Shawn pulled over in a random small town gas station to just grab me some peanut M&M's (don't judge) but he walked out with his hands full of food. He got in the car and started driving away. All of the sudden he stopped the car and jumped out, the food still in his hand . . . Minus my M&M's. 

Then for about five minutes this was our view. The car was silent. I couldn't stop the tears from falling. After a morning of practically begging my family to be grateful for all that we have and treat each other with love . . . it was even more powerful to see my husband show us all HOW.

Hopefully today Chris, whoever you are... You know that Heavenly Father loves you and you are not invisible. We are all sons and daughters of Him.



July 28, 2015

Life Expert


I had the opportunity to do a lot of speaking engagements and interviews during the month of June. It is amazing how much I learn each time I do: things that I remember—or lessons I am taught—as I go around to share my passion, in a message that has become a part of who I am. 

For a long time, as I would share our story, I thought it was to save someone from choosing evil. I thought if I could just help one person stay away from a bad choice, it would change the course of their life . . . or save them from an unexpected death. I hoped that I could save just one wife from ever sitting across from a room full of strangers, being told of a real life nightmare. I hoped if I could save someone from hurting their spouse—that would be one less victim doubting their own existence. 

I set out on a journey to open up my pain—in a desperate plea to all who could hear—to help them see that they could never let anyone they loved feel the pain that ate me alive. 

But this funny thing has happened—more and more, I am starting to learn that the real purpose of sharing our story is to bring hope—not just in a reminder of trauma and death—but in a light full of life. To remind people that no matter where they have been—they still have good inside of them. To help others see, that no matter who has doubted them or left them alone . . . they are still enough. To not only give people a list of the things that they should avoid—but to help them remember all the good inside of them that they might be forgetting. 

In a search to find how to be enough for myself I have found thousands of friends who are on that same journey. A silent battle against our own minds—looking and hoping to find a place where we feel like we can be free from the pain of the past. 

So friends. Our journeys are not the same—but I feel one with so many of you. We are all fulfilling a mission: trying to become experts in life. 

Thank you for letting me have a voice these last few years. I never would have asked to stand on a stage and pour out my soul—or sit on my bed and type through my tears—but I have never known more, without a shadow of a doubt, that I was right where I was supposed to be. 

On my road to healing I have found my way to a new journey. And it has been beautiful. 

A few weeks ago I got an email insisting that I just must be an expert in life. Ironically, the same day, I got another email insisting that I must be a fraud . . . that the hard things I have had to endured were my own fault because of who I am. One of these woman saw the good I have been trying to find; the other only saw flaws and imperfections.  

Sometimes I have felt very inadequate for the task of talking about life. I am NOT an expert on anything. I doubt myself in one way or another every single day. I mess up. I say the wrong thing, or screw up in some form or some way. I lack in perfection in parenting, and obviously in love. I have days that I suck at being a wife. My laundry—is a joke. My cooking has been weak. I compulsively check on my children in the middle of the night. I get jealous and insecure. I have panic attacks and get paralyzed—some days—in fear. On the bad days I am a horrible friend. I forget to call people back, and am told I never respond to questions on Facebook, and sometimes weeks before I answer emails. Hurtful emails have been given the power to ruin my day or cause me to doubt my purpose and mission. I have only mopped my floor twice this whole summer. I get nervous every time I have to speak in front of people. Some weeks the only clean clothes I fold for myself are pjs and sweats.  I hate swimming in water that I cannot see what is beneath me and I am afraid of the dark. (And these are just a few examples of the negative characteristics that I posses that cause me to doubt myself in the roles that I play.)

For every fight I wage to find goodness, I fight against my self-doubt, or others who willingly share their opinions of who I am. 

One thing is for sure—every word I have ever written and every speech I have ever given . . . has not been intended as a sermon from anyone who has perfected anything. On the contrary . . . the words that have come from my heart, have only been written because they are what I needed to hear. As the opposite of an expert in life—I have found that I have much to learn, and hope that I can always strive to grow and stand a little taller. To fight less, and let go of things that are not in my control. 


But there are some things I will never stop fighting for.

#1.  I will—at the end of this life—have completely forgiven all who have wronged me. 

#2.   I will not let a day go by without telling my family how much they mean to me. 

#3.  I will fight to find joy in being a mother. 

#4.   I will love faithfully. 

#5.   I will fight for the light. 

#6.   I will search for hope. 

#7.   I will testify of Jesus Christ and his infinite grace. 

#8.   I will strive each day to be better than the last. 

#9.   I will smile. 

#10.  I will put my family first. 


I still have much to write on this blog. I have stories in journals, and in my mind, that testify of these truths and the moments I am still learning how to stand tall in them. Thank you to everyone who has believed in me as I fulfill this mission—to find hope and healing. 

Life is going to be filled with storms. It has been said many times . . . it isn’t about calming the storms—it is about learning to stand through them. 

Our storms are never done, so our faith has to be unmovable. Looking back, after the storm, we might not be given the answers to why . . . but God will always show us how. 

Find your purpose and seek out your mission. With those two things, the answers will come. We may never become experts in all that we do—but we will become full of life. Life is not about perfecting ourselves . . . it is about perfectly being where Heavenly Father needs us to be. 

It is through Him we will find our purpose. It is through His grace we will be lead to our mission. I do not fully comprehend the WHY’s of my own life, but I will never again let them hold me back. 

The most amazing blessings come after the greatest sacrifice. Most of the time we don't get to choose what those losses and lessons will look like . . . but somehow it must have been part of the plan, or it wouldn’t have been. 

So to all the other experts that have only found perfection in failure—I get ya—the only thing I have constantly succeed in . . . is imperfection and failure. We are all experts in losing in one form or another, but as long as we don’t ever lose sight of what really matters . . . we will win.

Put your family first. Put your trust in God and rely on His Son’s grace to carry you through your storms—and you will make it through. Not because it will be easy . . . but because there is so much good in you. You are stronger than you think and smarter than you will ever know. You have gifts you haven’t even begun to realize. The spiritual strength that is hiding inside of you is the powerful tool that will be the armor that helps you win all of the battles worth fighting. 

So maybe we will continue to lose. Maybe we will always suck at laundry, and burn our dinner. Maybe our children will see us stub our toes, and hear us scream. Maybe a small army could eat their dinner off of our kitchen floor. Maybe the world is reminding us of all our inadequacies every single day—but they are not the experts in our life . . . we are.  

From the outside, some might think we are experts at everything they do not know. From the inside, we might see ourselves as the farthest thing from perfecting anything . . . especially life.

We are all right there. Imperfect messes, hoping to at least become the expert at one thing. I hope I can give my whole heart to my family—perfectly be there for them in the way that Christ would want me to be.  I hope if I perfect anything in this life—it is that I always put my family first.

Life isn’t easy. Love can be scary—especially when you know what it is like to lose it. Don’t let your fear of losing something stop you from loving it with all your heart. 

You don’t have to be an expert to live life . . . you just have to perfectly be where you were created to be. As long as the right One is seeing the good in your journey, who cares about all the rest? 

Be in the moment. Stand. You are the expert of your own destiny. You are the perfect one to . . . be you. Only you can fulfill the mission you were sent here to live. So when all the experts around you try to get you to believe you should be something else . . . just be you. Perfectly imperfect. 

Expect imperfection. Expect to grow. Expect to change. Expect to hurt. Expect to lose. Expect to be surprised. But even more importantly . . . expect that the real experts in life . . . are the ones living it.





Moments in June that I will never forget. 
 From my journal in June: 

(Not too long ago, a boy met a girl. Just as the stories say it was almost love at first sight. Only Unlike the movies . . . The girl was what some might see as broken, used garbage. This girl had a rocky past and a lot of baggage. The boy had a past, and his own hurt heart. Somehow they saw past all of that and saw each each other for who they really were. But life has a way of blurring that view. There have been a lot of days along the way that this boy and girl have wondered if they made the right choice. They have wondered if their love was worth all the fight. They have battled the broken—together—to try make things feel whole. Tonight I got to speak at a fireside and for the first time in all these years this guy came with me. Looking out into the audience—and seeing tears fall down his face as he stared back at me with those big blue eyes—I saw that boy I fell in love with years ago. He is something else, and I am so proud to be his wife)

(For the first time I got to speak with my four daughters in the audience. It was amazing to speak up in the mountains to a group of strong young women, and look out and see these four girls. I am so proud to be their mom. They each have a unique spirit they bring to my life and I want to be better because of them.)



A few of the podcast interviews I was able to be a part of: 

 
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