A Truthful Testimony of Pain and Redemption on Wednesday, May 21st, 2025

A Truthful Testimony of Pain and Redemption
For decades, I held back my story, afraid to disrupt the status quo or expose painful truths. No more. This is my account—raw, imperfect, and honest—of my experiences as an adopted child, a mother, and a seeker of God’s redemption. I’m not here for appearances. I’m here for truth, as I’ve lived it and understand it, flaws and all. If you disagree, bring evidence, and let’s talk. If not, please listen. My story is for anyone who’s felt abandoned, struggled with parenting, or sought healing through faith. I’m not perfect, but I’m committed to honesty, no matter the cost.

The Weight of Adoption Without Love
Adoption can be a beautiful gift, but only when it’s rooted in genuine love and selflessness. My adoptive parents provided food, shelter, and clothing, but when I needed emotional or spiritual support, they were absent—every single time. As a child, I craved their acceptance, but their actions often felt driven by appearances rather than care.

I don’t believe God withholds children from some to punish them. Sometimes, He brings children to those equipped—mentally, emotionally, and spiritually—to raise them. Other times, people adopt for the wrong reasons, like social approval. My parents, avowed atheists, raised me to believe God didn’t exist. When life’s hardships led me to faith, they mocked me, unable to see beyond their own worldview. I don’t blame them entirely for my struggles, but their lack of support left deep scars. To anyone considering adoption: search your heart. Are you in it for optics, or are you ready to love a child fully?

A Devastating Choice at Seventeen
The most painful example of their absence came when I was seventeen and pregnant. I was scared, vulnerable, and desperate for guidance. Instead of support, my adoptive parents gave me an ultimatum: terminate the pregnancy or be cut off from the family. There was no discussion, no compassion—just a demand to preserve their image. I longed for their love, so I made the selfish choice to obey them, a decision that haunts me still.

Looking back, I see their insistence on abortion wasn’t about me or my unborn child. It was about control and avoiding the inconvenience of a grandchild. True love doesn’t demand death to maintain appearances. It seeks life, even when it’s messy. I failed my child by not standing up to them, and I carry that guilt. But through faith, I’ve found forgiveness at the foot of Christ’s cross, and I hold onto hope that others can too.

Losing My Sons to Optics
Years later, as a young mother, I struggled to raise my two sons. I was ill-equipped, carrying the wounds of my own upbringing. When I needed help, my adoptive parents didn’t offer support. Instead, they took me to court, seeking custody of my boys. They won, not out of love, but to maintain their facade of righteousness. The proof? They failed my sons even more than they failed me.

My youngest son, diagnosed with autism as a child, is now in his thirties and has never been set up for Social Security benefits to support his disability. Both boys faced severe challenges as adults, shaped by the same superficial care that marked my childhood. If my parents truly loved them, why didn’t they ensure their stability? And if they believed I was unfit to parent, why didn’t they teach me love and responsibility when I was in their care? These questions linger, not out of bitterness, but as a call for accountability. I, too, failed my sons as a mother, and I own that truth. But God’s grace offers a path to healing for all of us.

Abandoned Again
Much later, as the only parent left, my adoptive father urged me to sell everything and move to his state, promising support. I trusted him, hoping for reconciliation. But soon after I arrived, he reneged, leaving me and my husband financially ruined and alone. Worse, he spread lies to paint himself as the victim. Once again, appearances trumped love. This betrayal reinforced a hard lesson: no one can wear a mask forever. Truth, not optics, is what matters when we face God.

Finding Redemption Through Truth
Through all this pain, I’ve learned that redemption begins with honesty—first with ourselves, then with God. My adoptive parents’ denial of God stemmed from their own wounds, but it didn’t justify the harm they caused. I, too, have caused harm, especially to my sons, and I’ve had to face that truth at the deepest level. Jesus Christ—the way, the truth, and the life—has been my refuge. He forgives my failures, and He offers the same to anyone willing to be honest about their own.

If you’re carrying pain, guilt, or a need for revenge, there’s a better way. Open your heart to God. Let Him heal the wounds that drive you to hurt others or yourself. The late Billy Graham’s sinner’s prayer is a simple step toward salvation: acknowledge your need for Christ, confess your sins, and invite Him in. He can turn ashes into beauty, not just for me, but for you—whether you’re the one who caused pain or the one who endured it.

A Final Word
I share this not to judge hearts or intentions, but to speak truth as I’ve lived it. My words are colored by raw emotion, and I’m far from perfect. But I’ve promised God and myself to be honest, even if it costs me everything. Truth is worth more than man’s opinion. If my story resonates, I pray it leads you to reflect, seek forgiveness, or find courage to face your own pain. God’s love is real, and His redemption is for everyone who dares to believe.

Updated to add the disclaimer that my own original words were too emotionally charged and disorganized, so I first wrote the entire blog entry and then copied/pasted it to Grok AI to turn into a much better-written piece. I did not do this for deceptive purposes but more to bring organization, better tone, and other good/improved elements that I lack naturally; historical facts are correct to the best of my recollection and understanding with the caveat to remind you, dear Reader, that this is only one person's perspective and, need I say again, that I do not purport or pretend to be perfect. 

Look to Jesus.
💗

It's Not About Hate, on Wednesday, May 7th, 2025

 Greetings and salutations; hello (again) dear Reader, and welcome! 

I'd like to share thoughts about the controversy surrounding transgender people and military service, if you will read along and offer your own thoughts on the matter (dissent and agreement and other are all welcome).

You know, I love our country the same as the next red-blooded American and would have happily been in the military from the moment that age qualified me; I went to all the recruitment offices the week that I turned 18 years old, in fact. The promise of benefits like discipline, strength, team-work, excellence - all of those beckoned, and the need to serve my country and live a life for others seemed like everything one could hope for from a meaningful, productive life. My heart towards this nation and her people remains the same to this day, decades later, and no branch of our military accepted my passionate desire to serve. Now, let me tell you why.

First and possibly the easiest of all of these reasonable rejections to accept, is the obvious 'no' in response to my medical condition/s, like asthma. So, why not? Well, with asthma, I'd be reliant on constant medication just to *maybe* breathe as well as my peers (causing me to be a liability to each and every one of them!). That's just one example, so: truly medical reasons. And, even though it broke my heart, I understand. It is better to be a faithful civilian who is *not* compromising others (albeit inadvertently, but intent here does nothing to alter the potential of a negative and avoidable end result).
 

Now, my case is just one of a myriad of legitimate, substantiated reasons applicable to me that all resulted in the fact that I did not/ do not qualify for military service. The military didn't hate me because of my asthma; they did not judge me for it, or accuse me of loving my country any less than they do. But, the reality is that, I am among the compromised, which (if accepted to serve anyway) would have weakened the entire military, me their compromised Achille's Heel, just waiting for that artfully lobbed arrow to strike.

So, let's talk about the recent SCOTUS ruling which upholds President Trump's executive order which disallows transgender people from serving.

Does it look like and/or maybe feel like an attack, betrayal, or other rejection that is somehow personal in nature?

And here, it might be challenging, but may I please try to gently encourage you here, dear Reader, to please: stop, breathe, pause, think IF it does make you feel passionately negative initially, as though it's an attack, etc.

You can do this; our feelings and our thoughts are seperate, sometimes we have to slow down and become very controlled and deliberate to sort those things out and deliberately lean into the whole "thought" option in order to gain better control of the "feelings" option. 

Ok; now that we're on the same page and using our minds to sort through all of these things, I'd like to offer the thought that (maybe) our president did not make this decision as anything other than a desire to protect people who are potentially more vulnerable medically speaking. Specifically, like my asthma or diabetes disqualify me because they can't be expected to provide the meds I need out in combat zones, the same medical truth also applies to transgender people, who need constant access to certain medications in order to keep their own medical needs addressed, which is every bit as valid and important as any other medical need, frankly. In fact, I even see the protective decision as one that validates the humanity of the transgender population by deliberately protecting them by keeping them out of harm's way, which is precisely the role of those who are allowed to serve (putting themselves in harm's way, that is).  

I submit to you that protective actions show love, respect, consideration... not judgement and certainly not hate.

And, praise God for every brave American heart of the ones who love this country enough to want (actually want!) to lay his/her/their lives down in service to the rest of us?! I mean, hello, what's not to love and admire about such selfless courage? The willingness to serve in and of itself is meritorious in my eyes, but I digress. The fact that some of us just don't meet the medical mark/ fall short of what is medically required in order to be a true military asset, is not a reflection on who we are, and in no way even hints that we are any less valuable than those who are able to serve. Always remember this.

The safety and efficacy of our military - it's lethality - must always remain priority number one, period, under any and all circumstances, in perpetuity.

Anything and I mean literally *anything* that distracts from the primary goal is potentially detrimental and, therefore, must be disallowed and accounted for from the very beginning. It's not something that we can afford to experiment with. To preserve strength and potency, standards must be stringently applied to each and every one of us, equally and across the board. 

Anyway, thank you for taking some time to read and consider these thoughts; what do you think, dear Reader?