Always the plan

I have been ghosting all of you the past few months. What started with giving some freedom to someone I thought I could trust . . . ended in a reevaluation of what and who I want to be, and what I want this blog and my non profit A Reason to Stand to become. I have never been surrounded by so many “business” people driven by power and money, than I have the past six months; masked in the form of genuine hearts willing to help.

It has been healing to step back and compare watching others try to take something that didn’t belong to them, and realize that I still had a lot of pain from another time someone came and took from me something that didn’t belong to him. I have felt like my walls went back up, leaving me too afraid to be vulnerable—and in protection mode all over again.

After a month of preterm labor, and now a few weeks engulfed in all my efforts being used up in a desperate fight to no longer be pregnant . . . it is no surprise to me that I sit here at six in the morning, feeling a need to get out of my head what has been on my mind.

Protecting our children.

I am about to give birth to a child that is coming into a different world than the other five have lived. The last time I was here, I didn’t know it, but my world was about to shatter. There have been many moments through the last nine months that I almost felt inadequate to give her a home that she deserved. A pure—un-traumatized—baby why would she want a mother who has been so broken? The dude in my head has had a great time brining me back to the fear that I couldn’t protect my other kids . . . why would this time be any different? He has been truly creative at bringing back inadequacy to a new kind of level.

So I as I have pondered these fears, and worked through some of the trauma I thought had long since passed, I have realized a few things . . .

In this world—though she hopefully won’t experience first hand what her brothers and sisters went through—she will still need to be protected from it.

We live in a world obsessed with two things. Sex and Murder. Glorified at every turn, our children are constantly bombarded with marketing full of images depicting the Hollywood version of these two sins, but what they don’t tell you is how murder really feels for the kids who live it every day.

What they don’t tell you is that both of these choices—affairs and murder—shatter hearts. What they don’t tell you is that these kids effected by losing someone close to them at the hand of another person . . . lose their childhood—their innocence—in a single moment. What Hollywood fails to portray is the years that follow. They want us to think that murder is intriguing, they want our children to think that it is just part of life. Little do they know is how it really feels when it happens to you.

So what does growing up in a world of murder feel like? It feels like panic attacks at school when a Hollywood version book about murder is read out loud to a group of 8^th graders. It feels like anxiety for weeks after a 12 year old plays a shooting game with all of his friends. Haunting nightmares after accidently seeing a commercial during a football game—a commercial about a cereal killer. Little kids scared to go up to their room alone. Kids afraid to go to school after a lock in drill. Tears in the night after someone says a simple phrase when not wanting to do a task at school,
Just shoot me in the head.” Words that in any one else’s world seem so simple—to children of murder—brings about an image that is all too real.

So to those in Hollywood who make light of taking a life . . . I want you to know that murder isn’t just a cool topic that—as my daughter’s eighth grade teacher put it—“keeps their attention because kids like this stuff”. Kids only like this stuff, because we have let it become commonplace in their life. I know for a fact that we wouldn’t let them read books about 10 different ways a sex addict raped someone—so why is it ok to have them read a book about 10 different ways a serial killer murdered people?

Our kids are being told lies. They are playing games that take away their view of the preciousness of every life. They are watching movies that glorify and give power to sex and violence. They are surrounded by images that take away the importance of fidelity and protection of life. Then we wonder why young kids bring guns into schools; we wonder why they do it in a way that they have no empathy for anyone else . . . it is because we have taught them that it is ok . . . and not just ok—we have let them come to believe that it is cool.

Our kids deserve more. They need us to care about what we let the world put into their heads. We need to protect them from the numbing effect of stories and games that fog their view of reality and fantasy. They need us to filter out the world, and teach them right from wrong. They need to learn empathy.

I learned the importance of this by parenting what the world might call “broken children”. But guess what . . . the world is the broken one. God wants us to have empathy. And my unlucky children learned that the day their father was shot in the head. They care about what others are going through and how things feel for them. They care about every emotion I feel—sometimes to an obnoxious level. They cry when their friend’s parents get divorced, because they don’t want them to hurt. They ask for an extra ten bucks when their school is raising money for a student with cancer—not because they know him well—but because they ache for another in pain.

Emapthy is what we have to teach our kids, to care about every life that is around them. Empathy—heart for another person’s needs—is what changes everything. Empathy is what this pure child who hasn’t felt the effect of trauma is going to learn from her siblings who have lived a life full of it.

So little baby. You are coming to a family that some days has felt a little broken . . . but what I finally figured out: this was always the plan. You won’t see them as your broken brothers and sisters—you will see them as brothers and sisters who learned at a young age what it is like to care. They will protect you on a fierce level at every turn, because they will never want you to hurt. They will be your warriors, because they learned a long time ago that life is precious. They will give you their hearts, because they know what it feels like for hearts to be broken. You won’t see them as broken, because it is in their broken past that they learned how to love.

Empathy is love—caring about the life and needs of another person. In a world full of empathy there is no room for the world’s view of what makes us broken. God doesn’t make any mistakes . . . so little baby, I am ready to be your mom. I am worthy to be your mom. This was always the plan. My heart is ready to do it again, and I have faith that this time it will be different. It won’t be perfect—no life is—but what I can promise you is that it will be beautiful. A perfect kind of mess. The world isn’t what we are bringing you into . . . you are coming straight into our hearts—and we can’t wait.

God’s plan is beautiful . . . and I am so glad you choose us. This was always the plan.

Christmas: Heaven is Here

I remember a Christmas—I had to have been about eleven—when my single mother took me a side one day and said, “Ash”—she probably really called me by my nickname SMASH—“I have to ask you a favor.” She then proceeded to tell me that this year her Christmas budget was close to nothing. She said, “I need your help, the only thing I was able to purchase for you was a nail polish, and this year I need you to be ok with that.”

I was long past the years of asking Santa for presents, but I had never imagined a Christmas when there was going to be close to nothing under our tree. Being the brave young woman I was, I looked my mother in the eye and said, “Do not buy me another thing, if you have any money left get something for the little girls.” My little sisters were 5 and 7 years younger than me, and I was pretty sure they still had faith in the little jolly man with the red suit.

Christmas morning came, and just as she had promised all I opened was my nail polish. I sat quietly as the others opened their meager gifts.

It was hard to breathe as I chocked back tears. I wasn’t sad about the presents, but it killed me to watch my mother go around trying to smile—I could see it all over her face . . . she felt like she had failed us.

Soon there was a knock. We all scampered to the door of our little duplex and as it swung open we were surprised to see what looked like a little miniature tree standing boldly on our porch. Instead of leaves, this little tree proudly sported little wrapped up dollar bills—tiny ribbons held them tightly to each branch.

Tears filled my eyes as we picked up the little magic plant and carried it into our tiny kitchen. I looked up to see my mother’s face—it was wet from tears—as she watched us count what felt like a million dollars. We felt rich that Christmas—rich in blessings, rich in dollars, and rich in love. Someone loved us enough to know that year . . . we just needed a tiny sprout of hope, not in a little jolly man in a red suit . . . but in Christ. They were His hands that day. Angels that dropped off a tiny reminder in that tiny duplex: we were not forgotten.

Fast forward about five or six years. It is Christmas time again. My mother has remarried a very generous kind man who announced, “Kids”—there were twelve of us between the two of them, probably six of us living at home—“This year we want to do Christmas a little differently, we want to give our presents to a family who needs it. We will give you a budget and assign you partners to shop for each of their children and we will drop everything off at their house on Christmas Eve. Our goal is to make sure they have no idea where it came from. It will be really fun . . . the only catch is: we won’t be buying anything for any of you.”

My mind quickly took me back to the nail polish and the money tree, and the look in my mother’s eye. I shouted with excitement, “Yes!”

I took it to another level—as I often tend to do—and knocked on their door with a fake “research questionnaire for school”. I had to meet the people we were going to be shopping for. These total strangers let me in their house. I surveyed the room. They had no TV, and I didn’t see any sign of a scrap of food.  They had four little kids. They talked very kindly to their children as they filled out my fake questionnaire. As I drove home that night tears fell down my cheeks as I thought about all the fun things I was going to purchase for their family.

Christmas Eve came. The boxes were all lined in our front room, decorated beautifully. We loaded them into our cars. We drove in silence and when we approached their tiny apartment my step dad turned and said, “Ashlee, you are the fastest kid I know. Once we get all the presents loaded on the porch, why don’t you be the one to ring the doorbell and run around the corner.”

The porch was loaded and everyone had piled into the cars. I rang the doorbell and ran as fast as my legs could carry me.  I slammed myself into the car and we sped away. I noticed over the fence from their apartment was a Kmart. I suggested we go over to the parking lot and look over the huge cinderblock fence to see if we could see the family. (Like I said, always trying to take it to the next level.)

My stepbrother hoisted me up so I could barely peek my eyes over the wall. And there on the porch were all the presents . . . along with a mother, weeping so hard she couldn’t even bend over to pick up one box. I could hear her sobs, I could feel of the gratitude she felt, but I also could remember a moment when my own mother had cried those same tears—and I felt joy.

This time we got to be His hands—someone else had the opportunity to remember His love . . . and we got to be apart of it.

I will never forget either of these Christmas’ and the lessons I learned feeling the earthly angels . . . and how powerful it feels to be one.

Heaven is close, there are angels all around us—some we can see, and others we can only feel. This Christmas let us always remember the miracles—we even have the power to create some.  Three wise men followed a star to bring their love to a little baby far away. Most of the time we don’t have to look or travel too far to find someone who needs to be reminded that they are loved—a little glimmer of light can help us remember we are not forgotten.

The box that saved my life

This morning I sat in bed and thought about a moment of service that changed my life.  A box to "people of Japan". If you have read my first book, you know this story . . . but I wanted to share it with you again today in a new way.  #lighttheworld

Light the World

I wanted to share the video for day one and announce one of the big projects we are going to be working on. We have some teens in our area that need our help. In the next few days I am going to be sharing a few of their stories and how we can help. So this year our #lighttheworld event is going to be a call for teens to help each other. I hope this video gets you thinking about ways you can make a difference to the people around you. You can make a difference, and I know you will.

Too close to the fence

(Caution: graphic pictures are included in this post)

It all started two weeks ago. Our four girls were off at activities and the boys and their friends were jumping on the trampoline and playing in the grass with our dog Sadie. My friend and I were talking as we watched the kids run around in the back yard.

Sadie—as she usually does—began running along the fence line playing with the neighbor’s two German shepherds. An activity I had always encouraged in hopes to get her at least five minutes of exercise each day. She always got a rush of energy when they were running the fence with her. I have always just assumed they were her only friends—and I think she did too.

So for the millionth time—on her own side of the fence—Sadie got a jolt of energy and booked it down the fence line . . . playing their usual game. Prepared to run a race she would never win, be defeated, go back inside and fall asleep on the couch. It was the same every time . . . until that day.

Sadie was only half way down the fence line when all of the sudden she appeared to be stuck on something. At first I didn’t comprehend what was happening, but as I ran towards the commotion—of Teage’s panicked cry and dogs making noises—I could see that the two German shepherds had both stuck their noses between the slats in the fence and were clamped down with their jaws tight on our dog—their bodies still in their own yard. They began to try to pull her—in opposite directions—through the slits between the wrought iron posts.

I knew in that moment she was gone. She wasn’t making a noise—as one of the dogs was pretty much clamping down on her airway—and her eyes were rolled back in her head. But I also knew I wasn’t going to let them destroy her body—any more than it already was—in front of my babies. So I did what any mama bear would do . . . I decided to fight.

In complete shock, Teage and I began punching, kicking, yelling, and crying . . . begging these animals to set her free. To no avail Sadie was still being pulled through two separate openings—she would never fit through—by two different mouths.

I began to scream at the top of my lungs, hoping for anyone around to come and help me set her free so we could give her a proper burial. Soon, a few neighbors came running to the rescue. It took 3 adults and one ten year old punching and kicking for a few minutes to get the other dogs to let her go, and once they did . . . she took a breath.

She was still alive! Mangled, bleeding, and full of holes and shaking with fear—but alive.

The whole left side of her body was covered in blood and teeth marks—some so deep you could see her insides. Sadie got a lot of stitches that night. The doctor in the ER vet clinic said her extra fat saved her life (A lesson we might want to consider this holiday season. “I am eating for my safety!”.) Then—with the help of some miracle worker doctors—she was sent home to recover the very next morning.

For someone who has suffered with PTSD for the past six and half years, I can’t say I didn’t fall into a state of intense fear most of that night.  The “WHY US”—“why my son who already struggles with fear of the unknown” ate at me for the hours I sat waiting. I covered the gamete on victim pity parties in my mind. I quickly went through the grief cycle as I waited in a room for hours, to see if the dog—I bought for my kids as a therapy healing animal—was going to make it.  And I sobbed even harder the next morning when she came home with a heartbeat, but looked like she wished she was dead.

I cried for her pain, for the struggle—I feared—this moment of trauma was going to play in the lives of my already hurting children. I struggled with a belief racked in fear that has tried to haunt me many times before. I do not have the ability to protect them. The evidence had never felt so strong as this scene had played out in the safety of our own property . . . while I stood by.

I know now that those fears that came into my mind—as I thought I was failing yet again— . . . they aren’t true.

So two weeks later I want to share a few things I have learned from a moment of fear.

#1. We are not promised tomorrow. Literally the day before, I said—out loud and on Instagram—how grateful I am for such a perfect dog. I thought in that moment, those words left my lips, that maybe she was God’s way of blessing us for all the hell we have been through. Then—not even 24 hours later—I thought we had lost her forever. Not because of anything we did or did not do . . . but because life is full of bumps in the road and fences we must not walk too close to.

#2. There are going to be “German Shepherds” in our lives. Obviously I am not talking about the breed. There are many of these dogs that have saved lives and been life long companions for people. I am talking about traumatic moments—someone or something coming out of nowhere and tearing you down. Some—we might not ever see coming. Some are merely the voices we hear in our minds—threatening us to just give up. Some are going to be real life bad guys with guns—others might be threats to our marriages, or bullies at school. Whatever our “German Shepherds” have been or will be . . . they are unique to each of us individually. They can either cause us to give up . . . or they can give us a reason to fight—a reason to stand a little taller . . . or for me this week, stand a little more grateful.

#3. Sometimes we might not see the wolves in sheep clothing, and learn through a lot of pain that some don’t want to be the friend we hoped they were. Other times we might gain a friend in someone we thought was out to get us.

#4. Sometimes—just like Daniel in the Bible— we will be thrown into a lion’s den. Sometimes God will calm the lions, and other times He will send a miracle in a different way.  On this day in my backyard . . . I saw hundreds of them.

#5. We cannot walk too close to the fence. There are some things in this world that just make sense. We can clearly see the consequences of walking along the edge of a cliff . . . because we can easily see what can go wrong. But how many situations do we encounter each day that the outcomes are not as clear?

If there is something in your life that you keep taking a risk for—that maybe isn’t really going to be worth it in the end—take a few steps back, it just might save your life.

#6. No matter how hard we work, or how much money we spend to help someone heal—we don’t get to decide how they will receive it. We cannot force them to accept our “love” and our “knowledge” of what is best for them.

Sadie was stitched up from head to toe. She didn’t eat much for days. She hardly moved at all. But once she started healing and those stitches started itching, she decided, one day, to use her back leg to not only dig out her stitches but to reopen the biggest wound she had received from her attack. Blood everywhere again. More pain.

#7. If we want to heal, we can’t keep reopening our wounds. We have to let others do their jobs to help us. We have to let stitches heal before we try to take them out ourselves. Some things do take time. And others  . . . though in the moment seem to feel good to make it hurt again—maybe aren’t worth digging back up.

#8. Some fences are not built well enough to keep the darkness out. But some of the fences and walls—we create for ourselves—are the very things that are not letting the light in.

You guys know my story. There have been other “German Shepherds” . . . and fences that should have been avoided. So today I plead with you—those who have the ability to take a step back. Run. Find fences and company that are worth living for . . . and are not posing as a friend in a safe back yard.

Our relationships, our decisions, our integrity . . . they matter. Don’t walk too close to the fence. Decide now what side you want to be on, and don’t let anyone try to pull you through to the other side—first of all, you don’t fit. Second of all . . . the grass isn’t always greener over there.

And when those “German shepherds” come—and they will come—just don’t forget who you are. It isn’t what we go through, but what we become after the pain that makes all the difference. Yes we may carry scars, and have wounds we are tempted to open up again and again . . . but we can heal.

(Here she is snuggling me while I type)

If you feel like you have been attacked, belittled, humiliated, and the “German shepherds” around you seem to have forgotten your worth, don’t you dare give up. You aren’t broken. You have so much yet to live for. The world still needs you. And as you heal those fears of all the moments you were not shown the love you deserve . . . just remember—you are still enough . . . broken and all. 

Sometimes we trust, and get hurt any way. Doesn’t mean we didn’t do our best. Having faith in a plan, and having that plan fail us does not have to be evidence of our worthlessness, or a reason for us to loose faith in others. For every “dog” that has attacked, there is another that has brought love and companionship. For every plan that has changed and failed, there is a plan that has changed and brought so much success . . . even joy.

We have to be there for each other. God doesn’t send us one another by accident. An animal that was brought to our family to be a therapy dog . . . is now taking her turn teaching us how to be her “therapy people”.  The circle of life doesn’t always have to bring death.

Healing isn’t easy, but it is possible. So Sadie, though I know you will never read this post. Thanks for being strong—for fighting for another day. For reminding me—AGAIN—how I need to make the most of every moment and never take advantage of all I have been given. Also, thanks for showing these kids how to fight—and giving them a new hope that not every attack ends in death.

Today as you assess the fences you walk . . . just remember as wounds heal, the pain does too. If you are holding on to a pain of a wound that has long since healed physically, maybe today it is time to stop digging in a letting it hurt you emotionally or mentally. Ask for the help you need, there are people who can help you stitch it up once and for all. You will see miracles as you pray for grace.

Life is too hard to do it alone. We need each other. And we don’t just need each other’s presence . . . we need each other’s love. Perfectly imperfect love. Don’t walk too close to the fence, but don’t be afraid to make room—on your side—for the people who need you the most.

He never said it would be easy . . . just worth it.

The hundred dollar bill that changed my life

Working on Book 3—like a boss—today. Feels kind of good to stop avoiding it. Scary. Out of my comfort zone...but good. Came to the chapter about the hundred dollar bill.  

That day in the grocery store—after the murder trial had ended—was one of the greatest gifts Heavenly Father could have given me.

Hope everyone is having a wonderful week. Looking for a few stories to highlight on the blog for the holidays coming up. Please send in your "I will stand" surviving victimhood story for a chance to be featured on here. 

Link to the story on the blog:

http://www.themomentswestand.com/2015/03/send-someone.html




Here is a video about that story as well.

Day 25

Yesterday I had a few minutes and decided to work on video 25!! I hope everyone had a wonderful Mother's Day. This video is about a few thoughts I had this weekend as I celebrated Mother's Day in a different way.

Shelter for a King

The past few weeks I have had a couple experiences that have made me realize there are a lot of people in this world who need us.

For a long time I believed that I needed other people . . . to make me feel good about myself, to fix me when I was hurting, to tell me I was of worth so I could feel it inside. I thought life was about waiting around for angels.

For a long time I believed that I had been robbed: of life, of love, of family—of the past, of the future, of worth, of value. Only in those moments I never once realized . . . I had no idea what it was like to have nothing.

A few nights ago I heard a story about a woman who worked at a homeless shelter who noticed a new lady walking in the soup kitchen door with no shoes on. She ran into her office and searched high and low to find the shoeless woman a voucher so she could send her to a store to purchase some shoes. When she walked out to deliver it, she noticed that the woman's feet were now covered. Confused she looked around the room to find that one of the shelters usual dinner guests was now barefoot. She hurried over to the woman walking around with no shoes and questioned what had happened. The hungry, barefoot woman exclaimed, "Well . . . I noticed she didn't have any shoes, and I have two pairs." The very humbled shelter director walked into her office in tears wondering how on earth she had never seen things that way. In her closet at home sat twenty pairs of shoes, but she had never once taken them from off her feet to protect the naked feet of another. 

It is stories like this that motivate us to want to help someone else, but it is moments where we get to help that we gain a testimony of the impact we can have another person's life and the blessings it can bring to our own.

I have been battling impressions for a few weeks on how to share some stories that have changed my life. So today these impressions win. I am going to share some tender moments, not to bring attention to the people in them, but to help bring to light the others in the story who need you. 

Each week our family does some sort of activity together. Some days we watch a few motivational videos; others we play at the park.  Sometimes we read the scriptures and study a bible story, or attend a dance recital or basketball game.

The last few years we have been trying to incorporate situations where the kids can develop empathy and learn to serve someone else—babysitting for a friend; cleaning our church building; or making dinner for a family in need.

This month we decided to try something new. We signed our whole family up to serve dinner at a soup kitchen at a men’s shelter. Honestly, I originally called the shelter because I was looking for an eye opening moment for my children, wake them up to life outside of our bubble. Help them gain some appreciation for all that they had. Help them to be more accepting of each other, and the sacrifices that are made for them every single day.

I knew it was going to be an eye opening experience for our very sheltered children, but I didn’t realize the impact it was going to have on all of us.

We had talked about it for weeks, but once Sunday night came everything seemed to try to keep us from getting there. Determined to carry out our commitment, we loaded our family in the car and headed to the shelter.

We entered the building, unsure of what exactly we had signed up for. To get to the kitchen we had to walk down halls lined with men from all walks of life.  The kids kept their heads down and walked silently in a row. Once we got to the kitchen, we washed up and were given our assignments. The four big kids would be dishing up the food, and Shawn and I were assigned to help the two youngest serve the trays to all the men who had come for dinner.

The meal looked like Thanksgiving—including a giant tray of Jell-O. All of which had come in as donations. The kids each took a job and did their best to get their assigned food onto the tray. Sometimes they spilled gravy all over the rolls, sometimes the turkey fell in the Jello, but each time I went back for another tray they were laughing—grinning from ear to ear. Talking to the other volunteer that had come to serve that day. She was telling them stories of the men she had met there, and about all she had learned from serving them.

Every tray we delivered was greeted with a, “Wow. Thank you so very much.” One gentleman said to Tytus, “I have been coming here a while now . . . and every time I have had to stand in line for a long time to get this tray. What a treat to have a kind little boy serve me. Eating like a king today. ”

My heart stopped for a minute, as I stared into this humble man's eyes. A king? All Tytus had done was say hello and bring him a tray of food. I looked around the room. It was full of kings, grateful for a meal . . . but even more excited to see a smile. 

The workers said that it is rare to have more than two volunteers to help dish up the food every night, let alone be able to serve these men individually.

After the last man was served their food, Kaleeya and Tytus went around taking orders for drinks. We only had two options—water and tea—but the sparkle in their eyes as they pushed the button and filled those cups was that of pure love. 

Those cups were not the only ones being filled in that room. There were eight of us who went to the shelter that night, thinking we were going to fill up trays and cups for hungry men. I think we were the ones there to be filled. 

By the end of the night our kids didn’t want to leave. They asked if we could stay just a few more hours.

Up on the ceiling above us was a sign, “You can’t save a man by telling him of his sins. He knows them already. Tell him there is a pardon and love waiting for him . . . Make him understand you believe in him, and never give up.” Fanny J. Crosby

Sometimes it is easy to forget that we are all children of God. We almost get entitled—thinking maybe because of our faith we are loved just a little bit more. But if we really study the books that our faiths are built on, we will find that God loves the sinners, the hypocrites, and the imperfect—so all of us.

I always pictured that I would need to go over seas to feed the world and teach my children how to serve them, but turns out there are many who are poor—in body and in spirit—right in our own back yard. The simple act of seeing someone sitting alone at a table, and brining them food can help them feel remembered—like they are eating like a King.

On the way out I took a picture of another sign. It was small and taped on the wall in the back kitchen, “Go make the invisible God visible.”

My heart has been full thinking of that shelter these past few weeks. Remembering times in my life when I was the poor being helped.  Knocks at my own door with trays of food, arms to hold babies, and hearts to bring peace. 

I wish I could go back and spend a little more time in appreciation for all that was done for me. I wish I would have known that many of those hands holding my babies were probably hurting too. 

Sometimes God sends others to help save us—from pain, from fear, from starvation. And other times we get to share our love—and be saved in a different way. We don't have to have it all figured out to be able to help another. In both experiences I have felt closer to God, because it is Him who is blessing us with the light. 

Even the broken, can comfort the lonely. Even the imperfect can show perfect love. 

I am so grateful we live in a world that still has people who care—for every mouth and every heart is numbered in heaven.

We can #lighttheworld. It doesn’t cost anything to bring light to another, and we don’t have to give it up to share it. It multiplies inside the more we give it away.

This holiday season . . . let us remember the One. The one who washed the feet of those who served Him, and let them do the same for Him.

We are all in this together—children of God.

I have the goal to travel around this country sharing hope . . . with victims, with the broken, with the hurting. I always thought that maybe words were my only mission to do that. And then I saw there are some people who don't even have food to eat and shoes on their feet. So these communities that I visit. I want to do more than tell stories and share hope . . . I want to give it. 

Every single person you meet has a story. For some, life has failed them . . . others have failed at life. But we are all God's children and it is up to us to help them find Him. It is amazing to see that in those moments . . . so do we.

These experiences have made me ask some questions to myself. How many pairs of shoes do you have? How many meals do you take for granted? How many times do you withhold a smile, to someone looking for a sign their life is worth living?

I know individually we can't save the world—that is like thinking we can fill the ocean all on our own—but we can put in our two drops to try. We can make a difference. I need your help. Get out in your community. Send money to organizations who are seeking to save. It is our job alone to share our light with everyone we meet. 

Someday we will all stand before God. He won't be proud of how many shoes we collected at the end of our life . . . but how many we took off of our feet to give to one of His children.

Be the light. This holiday season, and forever. 

December 2016:
I am going to be teaming up with some local organizations and Mormon.org for their #lighttheworld campaign. Please join us. If you have any way you can help, us or others, just find a way to bring light the world. No matter your religion, your skin color, your socioeconomic status, your faith—or lack of faith—you can make a difference. 

We are going to be collecting donations for the local shelters and families in need and having a little Christmas devotional. Please stop by and come say hello. I will announce the location next week along with all the details. If you know of a family who could use anything specific please contact me directly themomentswestand@gmail.com so I can get that organized. If your family wants to sponsor a family or if you want to make a donation and will not be able to come meet up with us please feel free to contact me. 

Thank you all in advance. We have all been blessed with so much. As we clean out our closets this week, and make purchases through the next month for strangers in need I know we will have angels assist us to direct us where to go, who to feed, and what feet to cover. Those shoes taking up dust in your closets . . . could change someone's life. 

Happy Thanksgiving. I am thankful for all of you. 
Ashlee