Top 10 Things Overheard at Revolve 2013

I took some of my girls to Revolve Tour a few weeks ago, and I made up a list of top 10 (or 12 actually) things that happened or were overheard.  They probably just sound dumb if you don't know these girls or weren't there. But here they are anyway. Better late than never!

• They’re climbing in yo window…snatching your snacks up. Hide yo sour patch kids, hide yo m&ms. ’cause the rats are all up in here!
• Drool and jaws drop as Anthem Lights takes the stage. High pitched screaming follows.
• I’m not sure who is screeching louder, Kelly Scott or the rats??
• ”We didn’t sleep all night! And we’re not tired. And we wrote new songs on the guitar we learned to play just now.”
• Upon meeting Anthem Lights: “Hi whats your name?” Danniee: “Ummm…Uhhh, Christina!”
  Later: “Who’s Christina?? I completely forgot my name, he’s so attractive!”
• What should we do with 40 girls at midnight? Pack out McDonalds and feed them ice cream!
• Bullying is cool #saidnooneever
• Can we be best friends with Britt Nicole?? -Molly Sexton
• I’m never washing this hand again!
• ”Nothing abnormal about riding a wheelchair at church and 1:00 a.m”
• The service is over and it’s time to go…where are all our girls? Oh, that’s right. We’ll be waiting on them for the next few hours as they talk with bands and speakers. Waiting…always waiting.
• After waiting, we get kicked out…again.
• Why is it that we got kicked out? Oh yes, because Molly and Courtney are freaking out and running laps in the worship center.
• This is Love. And true love is not a what but a Someone.

A Letter of Hope

Dear Girls Minister,

Thank you for your letter of encouragement last week.  I hope this letter, this response, finds you well.  From your last correspondence I could tell that you are at a busy time in your life, and I hope that I have included the parts of my story as you asked, that will benefit your ministry.  In order to tell you of how God worked in my life, I must tell you of the background from which I come.  It’s a long and hard story, so bear with me.

As I reflect on that time in my life I can only say that God carried me through.  Up until about two years ago, I didn’t think that I would even make it to the next day.  But here follows the story of God’s work in my life.

Broken.  That’s the only way to describe the first eleven years of my life.  I cannot recall the details of my biological mother’s face or even the house we lived in.  All I know of those eight years was fear, pain, and rejection.  The smells from my father’s bedroom, which I can now label as Weed and alcohol, were strong enough to kill any sense of smell, but especially in a small child.  The anger that came from that man was emitted on my face, my arms, my legs.  It’s a wonder that I even learned to walk properly.  I’m not sure what it is that I did to cause such anger, but I guess being born was bad enough.  Once Carly and Samuel were born, those beatings became more frequent and I tried to protect them.  They were so small.  If I could just keep them from experiencing what I had gone through….  The way he would look at me, and the thoughts of what he might do – again – haunted every waking moment and were amplified as I slept.  Sleep was supposed to be a release from the troubles, but not in that home, not ever.  Broken, that is what I was.  Broken, dirty, used.

The days were always cloudy in my mind, and once the smoking started again, the clouds would increase and my mind would become fuzzy.  Was this normal?  Would it ever go away?  Carly heard on the radio somewhere, or perhaps at school, that praying would solve your problems.  So we tried that for a few months.  We would pray to have a good life, to be taken out of this hell mother called home.  Did it work?  Did whoever we were praying to even hear us?  Obviously not, because we stayed there.  Two more years we endured.  More years than I care to count feeling like a whore.  I’ll spare you every detail, but looking back it was nothing that any little girl should ever have to live through, much less remember.

The clouds broke one day as sunshine came in the form of uniformed officers.  The moment was terrifying.  There were guns and masked men.  Dogs were barking angrily and running through our house, headed straight to the closet – the closet where the plant my father told me was an “herb” lived.  My parents were handcuffed and forced away.  I made the little ones close their eyes and hide in their room so that they would not have to see the scary scene.  Only when I was much older did I learn that one of the neighbors had heard the beatings and suspected drug use.  I did not cry as they took them away.  I did not cry as we were loaded up in foreign cars.  I had learned long ago that crying did no good, it only brought about harder beatings.  

I learned that this raid was good for us kids.  We were taken to a place where we could play.  I stood back and watched my siblings.  Who were these people here?  How could we trust them?  I could hear adults talking about us and making decisions about us.  The control was never in our hands.

They told me we were going to live with a new family, a nice family.  I didn’t believe them.  What adult was nice?  I’m not sure I even fully understood the word.  We followed the instructions given – what choice did we have, and what could be worse than where we came from?

Hesitantly I began a new life.  The people in this new home were kind.  They took us to this white building where we sang songs and learned about some guy named Jesus.  He seemed nice and Heaven sounded like a safe place.  That’s where my faith began.  This home felt safe.

We lived there two years and then we moved homes again.  I did not cry as we left.  These people were not as kind and we didn’t go to the white church anymore.  We went to school and then we came home.  We went to school and then we came home.  Monotony.  Life was not bad there, but it sure wasn’t as good.  Then, when I was eleven, we were told we were being adopted.  All three of us together.  Cool.  We met the mom and dad who they told us that they had been praying for us and they were excited to become a family.  So what?  My calloused heart wanted to believe them, but what I knew of family wasn’t so great.  We obviously agreed to go with them because any place was probably better than the second foster home.

This family showed love.  A new kind of love that I had never known.  They brought us to church, but this church was different than the white one.  The buildings were red or tan, and we didn’t just sing old songs.  People were friendly and wanted to know me.  I met you and some other women who cared about me and some girls my age.  A few I recognized from school.  Sixth grade is an awkward time for anyone, but for me and my untrusting self, well let’s just say I made it harder than it had to be.  

As the year continued, I became more and more open to the new parents.  But not too open.  That was dangerous and could lead to hurt later.  I wouldn’t cry.  My siblings seemed to really love these parents, so I could protect them less and think about myself more.  

I started spending more time with some girls from church.  Bailey and Kelsey and I became inseparable.  My timid walls began to come down, but I replaced them with craziness – which in reality was just a cry for attention.  I craved so much attention.  These girls began to love me, and I them.  I finally had friends.  We could tell each other everything but I still felt that something in my life was missing and that they didn’t know all of me.

That spring we went to a conference and heard a singer speak about true identity.  About being a daughter of the King.  As she spoke I felt this longing to have what she was talking about.  But what did it mean fully?  I didn’t understand, and I didn’t want to open myself up for more pain.  Besides, my identity was tainted and broken by my biological parents.  The thoughts of what she offered nagged at me, urging me to change, but in small group, and to you, I knew exactly what to say.  I knew how to put on a good masquerade and show the world that I was ok.  Mrs. Katy, (you remember that she was my small group leader?) probably saw through my game, but loved me anyway.  She would tell our group good things that really helped with problems at school.  And while she said true things, and worship in Blue was fun to be part of, the reason I kept coming to church was just to see my friends and to get away from my family for a while.  They kept telling me to read the Bible, but it was so big and old and I didn’t know where to start.  

My crazy actions in public kept gaining me attention and I realized that this satisfied for a short time the longing inside of me.  Boys started to notice and before long one asked me out.  He saw value in me and wanted me.  I knew my adoptive mother would flip if she found out, so I kept him a secret.  I hid that among many other things from people.  I gave the world what they wanted to see, and lying about my life became an addiction.  I think Bailey and Kelsey could see through it, and I think it hurt them, but at the time I didn’t care.  I was protecting myself.  

Finally in seventh or eighth grade, my mother found out about the boyfriends.  She found out about the “non-age appropriate” videos from YouTube.  In my mind they were just dancing, but apparently that wasn’t good enough for her.  The consequences that she put in place for so many things were constricting.  I felt trapped and pressured and broken still.  The hurt from my past was so great .  I lashed out in anger.  I felt that so many people were worried about me that it might be best for all of us if I stop existing.  Many times I thought about how to do it.  Pills were too unreliable, and we didn’t own any guns.  But this had to end!!  The thoughts swarmed until that day you came to my house unannounced.  Do you remember when you and Mrs. Katy wanted to talk to me about some things?  What resulted was an excuse for my mother to tell me all these things she didn’t want to confront me about alone.  This gave more fuel to the fire that wanted to end my life.  However, you seemed concerned about me.  It was as though you were on my side, listening to me.  I told y’all of a time earlier that day at La Hacienda Ranch when I wanted to escape; when hurting myself seemed like the only option.  I told you that I didn’t not believe in God, but that I couldn’t be certain that there was a God.  I told you that I had stopped reading the Bible and devotional you had given all of the girls earlier that year.

And suddenly, I felt a bit more free.  Telling the truth, even when I didn’t know how to fix it, seemed to bring me closer to freedom.  You listened.  And I mattered.  I wasn’t just one in a crowd, and I wasn’t broken in y’alls eyes – maybe still in my mind, but in your eyes I could see myself differently.

Do you remember what we did next?  You suggested that we start together.  That small thought-change began with Jesus, and that He heals brokenness.  You suggested that we could all use a little accountability and decided that you, Bailey, Kelsey, and I would read through Philippians together, discussing it along the way.  This accountability was intimidating to me at first, but then Jesus began to speak to me.  Years of feeling abandoned by Him faded as I felt His presence.  I began to look forward to the girls ministry events that we would have every month or so because it meant I could hear how Jesus was changing other girls’ lives and I could hear truth spoken from girls for us girls.  One time we had a giant girls weekend, but you then turned it into more frequent, short night events, so that we could bring friends, have girl-time, and listen to each other’s lives.  I don’t think I ever told you, but those nights were some of the times when I was encouraged most.  I began to see myself as others saw me – not as a whore, but as a daughter of God.  

Throughout high school, God turned my brokenness into a place of healing.  Because of my small group on Sundays and deep Bible study on Wednesdays, I was able to hear God’s truth and read His Word for myself.  I had a craving to know Him more and more.  I couldn’t wait to tell others how he had healed the holes in my heart.  Jesus took away my destructive thoughts.  I no longer thrust myself into the arms of the world, but was whole in Christ.  My relationship with my siblings became healthy and I began to trust men.  Only a little though.  Our accountability continued for a long while, and I realized that not all of the girls had this.  Do you remember the discussion we had about this?  I began reaching out to younger girls.  We would do life together and middle schoolers were encouraged by high schoolers.  I served more and I began to see how the church worked. I was inspired as I saw you encourage the small group leaders, having coffee with them on Sunday mornings, or taking interest in their lives throughout the week.  It made an impact on how they related to us girls.

So, This is how God has moved.  I don’t recognize the person I was, wanting to end the precious gift of life God gives.  I was playing the part of the Creator instead of allowing Him to do so.  You asked me to describe where I am now.  Well, I’ve been at college for two years now.  It’s been a long road, but I am plugged in to a church that I’ve been attending since the third week of school.  I am being mentored by my favorite professor’s wife, who happens to love the Lord more than I thought was possible.  I never thought I’d make it past eighth grade, but here I am.  I never thought I’d find Christians in this secular school, but I did.  God is faithful and He’s using my story to help encourage kids coming out of the foster system.  He makes people whole.  He restores relationships.  He makes brokenness new.  And I cry, because when I think about all that God has done in my life, I can’t help but be overwhelmed.  

I’ll be home for spring break, so let’s catch up then, ok?  I’m not sure what God has next for my life, but the fullness He brings is enough.

Love always,

Shannon.

**This story is one of hope.  The background may be a little more exaggerated than what I fully comprehend, and the end is what we hope happens, the names have been changed.  But this my heartache this week, the burden I've been petitioning God about.