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On Angels Wings

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On Angels Wings




Joan Nicholes





“On Angels Wings” is compilation of the painful events in my life that finally led me to true Christianity interspersed with bible verses and prayers that I have written from the heart.  It is an attempt to give people hope and inspiration every where.  Hopefully “On Angels Wings” will help you to grow spiritually and help you to find forgiveness and healing within yourself so that you can live each day without the burden of guilt and sorrow.  I will try and help you to set yourself free from all those things that are in the past and no longer matter because each day we live with these negative things in our lives, keeps us from growing closer to God.  It is when we ultimately sacrifice everything and give total control over to Him that our lives become complete.





During the course of our lives we are thrown many curve balls.  Life does not always turn out the way we want it to, or think it should.  My life has been a true example of this.  I had illusions of what life would be like.  But in the process of living, I was disillusioned by no one’s fault but my own.  I suffered hurts that I thought would never heal.  I grew angry with each passing day.  I lived in a world of total darkness.  I succumbed to a sadness that consumed me day and night until I wanted to die rather than live through another day.


“God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain for the former things are passed away.”  Revelation 21:4


My troubles started a long time ago in my youth.  I was rebellious as, I guess, all teenagers are.  I was always struggling to fit in and feel as if I belonged somewhere in the world.  I caused my parents much heartache and suffering.  To this day I regret the decisions that I made and for so long I had blamed God for all the bad things that had gone wrong in my life.  I refused to take responsibility for anything.  It was not until three years ago that I finally accepted the role I played in my life and therefore accepted blame for those things, which were, at one time, very painful.




Today I ask forgiveness for those sins that have haunted me for a lifetime.  Today I put them to rest.  I will bury them deep into the ground that they will be forgotten.  Wash the pain and tears from my eyes and restore my soul so that I can smile once again.  Amen!”


At the age of 15 I accept Christ as my savior during a three-day revival at my church.  It made a powerful impact on me.  I remember standing in the pew next to my friend Charlotte with tears streaming down my face.  At first I was terrified of making that first step toward the altar.  But at last I forced myself to do it.  I remember the preacher coming to my home and questioning me about my decision.  He wanted to know if I was certain I knew what I was doing and what it meant to be a Christian.  At the time I was certain I knew everything there was to know.  But in essence, I didn’t know a thing.  I was blind to all the truths.  I didn’t have a clue what it meant to be a Christian nor did I really care what it meant.  I lived only for today, never thinking about tomorrow or where my life my lead me. 


“Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.”  Psalm 23:6


As I said I never felt pretty.  I suffered from low self-esteem and a lack of self-confidence.  Making friends was not an easy task for me.  So when I was nineteen, an older lady I worked with introduced me to a gentleman friend of hers. I was elated.  I could not believe that a man like him would ever look twice at someone like me.  But as time went by, he would come to my office and pay me a visit several times during the week.  He’d take me to lunch and we had a great time together.  I felt comfortable with him and we spent a lot of time laughing with each other. 


After several months of lunch dating I finally agreed to go out with him on a real date though, at this time in my life, I had never been on a date before.  Not even in high school.  I was a bit nervous, as I suppose I should have been.  But looking back on it, it was more fear than anything.  I did not know what to expect.


We ended up going to a club that night.  A small intimate night club.  Don and I sat around with a few of his friends.  I have never been much of a drinker and I can’t even remember what I’d been drinking that night.  I know, however, that I was not drunk or inebriated in any way when I left the club that night.  I know that I was cognizant of my surroundings.  I was capable of walking on my own.  I was capable of making my own decisions.


When Don and I got into his van to leave that night, we were sitting side by side.  He reached over and kissed me.  At first the kiss was gentle.  I kissed him back.  Then the kiss grew deeper.  My heart started to race as I realized I was in over my head.  I didn’t know what I was doing.


I pushed Don away in fear.  In stunned silence he looked at me, then he went for another kiss.  I said no and pushed away again.  This only angered him.  He grabbed the hair at the back of my neck as he pulled me up from my seat.  He threw me in the back of the van and proceeded to rape me despite my pleas for him to stop. 


“When you stand and pray, forgive anything you may have against anyone, so that your Father in Heaven will forgive the wrongs you have done.”  Mark 11:25


“Lord, Father In Heaven:


I have been wronged.  I know that I have suffered an injustice.  I did not ask to be hurt.  But I was.  I am full of hurt and anger.  My soul is wracked with remorse for what I have suffered.  My mind screams out for bitter revenge.  But I ask you today to help me forgive this man for what he did to me.  Cleanse my heart and make it like new again.  Wipe away my guilt and shame and help me to stand proudly once again. Amen!”


It was nearly ten years later that I finally told someone about that night.  For all those years I had kept it bottled up inside of me, allowing it to eat at me every single day.


I did not date again until two years later at the age of 21.  That’s when I met Bruce, my daughter’s father.  We met at the tennis courts one Saturday afternoon after I had hit a few balls back and forth with a friend of mine.  We had sat and talked for hours that day.  He’d been kind of quiet and shy.  I’d done most of the talking but I found myself drawn to him.  Something made me feel safe with him.   I don’t know if it was necessarily instinct, or what it was, but I didn’t feel any kind of threat by him.  So when he asked me for my phone number, I gladly gave it to him. 


He started calling me at home everyone once in a while.  We always had a lot to talk about.  He was really funny and he made me laugh.  It would take him four months to finally ask me out on a date.  He was a perfect gentleman.  He always kept his distance.  He was never pushy or forceful.  It took him four months before he even tried to kiss me.  And when he did, I did not fear him.  It felt right.  I trusted him with every fiber of my being.  He was the kindest, sweetest, most gentle man I’d ever met.


As we continued to see each other our feelings began to grow.  I remember the first time he ever told me that he loved me.  I was babysitting at a friend’s house.  The kids were tucked in bed asleep and we were on the phone.  In the middle of our conversation he just blurted out “I love you.”  I stood there with the phone in my hand unable to say a word. No one had ever said that to me before.  I was stunned beyond belief.  I was not certain I had heard him correctly.  When, at last, I found my voice again, I asked him to repeat what he said.  He said, “I love you”. 


My heart soared at hearing those words because I loved him too.  It was shortly after that that we moved in together without the sanctity of marriage.  Things were good.  We were blissfully in love.  Bruce held down a good job though the hours were long and the work was hard.  There were times when he worked from noon to midnight.  But I always knew he’d be coming home to me.  I could never wait to see him, wrap my arms around him and tell him that I loved him. 


Eventually we decided to start our family.  I was twenty-three years old then.  It didn’t take long before I got pregnant with our first child.  I took a job in downtown Houston so that financially Bruce and I could take care of the coming birth of our child.  We were both ecstatic about the baby.  We couldn’t wait to tell our families and share the good news with them.


As the months passed we became even more excited about the baby.  It was all we talked about.  Then tragedy would strike unexpectedly, destroying our hopes and dreams in the process.  It would mark the end of our relationship as we had known it.  Things would never be the same again.


“For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, saith the Lord.  For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts.”  Isaiah 55: 8,9


If I could go back in time and change the things, I would.  But it is impossible to do so.  But many a night I grieved for the loss of my child.  I grew despondent.  My relationships with everyone began to suffer.  I was angry with God for taking the life of my child.  I could not understand how he could give me something so precious, then take it away like that.  I was left with an empty void that I didn’t know how to fill.  I slipped into such a deep state of depression that I wanted to die right along with my baby.  I sought out numerous counselors.  They counseled me, tried to prescribe different anti-depressants, but in essence they could not help me.  I could not help myself.  


Bruce withdrew from me.  He was angry with me and blamed the loss of our child solely on me.  I blamed myself too.  I guess that was the hardest part for me.  Forgiving myself. 


The next few years of our life would be hell.  Bruce had succumbed to a life of drugs.  He never talked about the loss of our child.  He totally blocked it out of his mind.  The anger in him simmered and grew out of control.  His moods became unpredictable.  Communicating with him became impossible.  I grew to fear him.  The man I once loved no longer existed and a monster had taken over.


But I was dedicated to him.  I loved him.  I could not stand by and watch him destroy his life.  I tried to offer to get him help at a clinic.  I went to AA meetings with him.  I encouraged him each step of the way.  I would have done anything for him if only he would have let me.


I continued to suffer numerous beatings from him as well as verbal and sexual abuse.  There were times I hated him and hated God too.


I remember there was a day that had really gone bad.  I don’t remember exactly what had happened.  But I remember standing beside my car with tears rolling down my face.  In my anger I lifted my arms to heaven and I asked God, “Why me, Lord?  Why me?”  Then I fell to my knees and wept.


It was then that I decided to wipe God from my life.  To me He no longer existed.  I was continually depressed.  I could not understand the things that were happening in my life and I blamed everything on Him.  This was not a God I wanted any part of.



I do not understand why you allowed these things to happen to me.  You took away my child.  I do not know how to deal with the pain and suffering.  You have taken so much from me.  Not only did you take my child, you took from me the man I love.  You took away everything that was important to me and left me with nothing.  How am I supposed to live now?  How do I cope with life when I can’t even begin to understand what is happening to me?  Why?  Why did you do it? “


Eventually I became pregnant again.  I debated whether or not to tell Bruce.  I kept silent for a few days after I found out.  I was afraid to tell Bruce, but I was more afraid not to tell him because I did not know what his reaction would be if he were to find out on his own that I was pregnant again.  So I finally told him the truth.  He did not take the news well at all.  He was furious.  He told me that he wouldn’t make a very good father and he demanded that I have an abortion.


For the first time in my life I was going to stand up to myself, take control of my life.  I was not going to let him tell me what to do.  This was my baby, my body.   I was going to have this baby and I was going to love him enough for the both of us. 


When I refused to have an abortion, this only angered Bruce even more.  He threw me on the ground and proceeded to kick me.  Over and over again I felt each blow.  I cried out begging him to stop.  I curled into a fetal position and wrapped my arms around my knees waiting for him to stop.  As if realizing what he had done, he fell to his knees, holding his face in his hands as he cried.  He took me in his arms and held me against his chest.  He kept saying over and over again, “I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry.”


The following day, I ended up in the hospital threatening to miscarry.  Bruce had damaged my kidneys and in order to save me and the baby the doctor had to prescribe a strong antibiotic for the infection that had set in.  I was forced to bed rest and had to take two weeks off from work.  The baby survived the ordeal.  I now call her my miracle baby.  She does not know what her father did to her before she was born.  Nor do I intend to ever tell her.  It is a secret I live with continually.  But I do not see where I would gain anything by telling her the truth. 


“Be strong and of a good courage, fear not, nor be afraid of them: for the Lord thy God, he it is that doth go with thee; he will not fail thee, nor forsake thee.”  Deutoronomy 31: 6


For the entire length of my pregnancy, it tiptoed around the house.  I was on my best behavior.  I controlled everything that came out of my mouth.  I did not want to say anything that would send him into a rage and cause him to hit me.  Most of the time I remained silent.  I had to protect this precious life growing inside of me.


Bruce came and went all hours of the night.  He would disappear for days at a time, then he’d show up at two in the morning smelling of sweat and high on drugs.  He quit his job.  Nothing mattered to him anymore except where he’d get his next drug.


When I was eight months pregnant, I decided I had had enough of Bruce and his ways.  I was determined to put an end to our relationship.  When I heard his footsteps coming up the stairs leading to our apartment.  I called the police to have him taken away.


I pretended there was nothing wrong.  I smiled at him and eased my way out the door because I did not want to be trapped inside the house with him. 


I sat on the top step and he sat beside me.  I tried to keep up a conversation with him so that he would not suspect that there was anything going on inside my head.  I was nervous and scared.  I feared for the life of my child.


It took about 15 minutes for the police to arrive.  When Bruce saw them he ran down the stairs tried to run away.  But the policeman tackled him and they began to wrestle on the ground.  The lady officer that was with him took out her nightstick and began to hit Bruce across the backside.  Finally they were able to apprehend him and cuff him.  They drug him, literally, as he refused to walk on his own two feet.


Bruce was jailed overnight and then released.  I can’t say why, but I took him back in.  At this point, I could not say it was out of love because I think my love for him had died a bitter death long before then.  It could have been out of fear of repercussion, but cannot be for certain.  Maybe it was the fear of my daughter growing up without her father.




I know I don’t always make the right decisions in my life.  But thank you for picking up the pieces and setting me straight again.  I walked in fear.  Now the fear is gone for I trust in you daily.  You put me on Angels Wings and for that I am grateful.  Continue to watch over me as I live my life according to your will.  Amen!”


Kathryne was born two weeks early.  The birth was difficult.  There were complications.  She and I nearly died on the birthing table.  After seventeen hours of strenuous labor, I was ready to give up. She was taken from me through a c-section. I was not able to hold her immediately after she was born.  I heard her cry for the first time, then they rushed her away into another room to take care of her. I did not see her for the first two days after she was born.


Eventually we were released from the hospital and were sent home.  But all was not a joyous occasion.  Things were not right with my daughter.  Doctor’s could not explain it.  Over the course of a year my daughter saw no less than ten doctors.  But not a one of them could tell me what was wrong with her.


She cried continually.  She could never sleep, except on occasion.  Eating was difficult.  She had horrible skin rashes, fits of crying.  She’d scratch herself until she bled.  She was in and out of hospitals.  She couldn’t go outside to play, or sit on furniture.  Nothing could touch her skin without it flaming up in huge red welts.  Clothing irritated her skin and made things worse.  As she got older she could not eat table food because the rash would worsen.  By this time I was living with my parents and had been since my daughter was 11 months old.


In desperation one day I went to the library to find out once and for all what was wrong with my baby.  I pulled all the medical books I could find and began to read them from cover to cover.  In the course of my reading I discovered that my daughter had not developed any type of immune system while in the womb because of the antibiotics I had taken during the first trimester of pregnancy.


You could not imagine the immense relief I felt at knowing this.  I continued my research to find out what I needed to do in order to help my child survive.  I knew what my options were and then set about finding the right kind of doctor to help her out.


It took a few doctors before I found one I felt comfortable with.  Because of my daughter’s condition we had to be careful what kind of medication to give her because the wrong one could have killed her.  It was a long drawn out process and it was at the age of 4 that we begun to see real progress.  We had finally found the right combination of drugs that worked miracles.  When she went out, she had to be covered from head to toe so that nothing touched her skin.  She had to take a bath with special soap and be rubbed down with special creams and ointments that had to be special ordered.  Eventually by the age of five and a half she would start showing some improvements.  By this time Kathryne and I had not seen or  heard from her dad for several years.  By the time she was seven, we moved out of my parents home and into our own.


Things were rocky for us.  I was emotionally unstable and had been since the loss of my first child.  I had spent many hours wishing I were dead.  There was rarely a day that went by that I did not think of suicide.  I know I had a responsibility to my daughter and it was the only thing in the world that kept me going and kept me alive.  Nothing else mattered to me except her. 


Things improved for a little while until I got sick and ended up in the hospital.  I went in with a routine kidney stone, or what doctor’s thought was routine.  However, nothing turned out to be routine at all.  The stone was rather large and had implanted itself in the tube of the left kidney.  The kidney had become severely toxic.  When the doctor went in to dislodge the stone, the poison from the kidney went into my heart and lungs causing near death.  The doctor had to stop the surgery.  When they awakened me he informed me that they could not get my temperature under 105.  My chest felt like fire.  I could barely breath.  I whispered that my chest hurt and immediately I was ordered to have a chest X-ray which confirmed that I had pneumonia.  Something went wrong with the heart and they hooked me  up to a line that fed potassium straight to the heart to keep it functioning.


The doctor put me on a series of antibiotics for the pneumonia, but my body wouldn’t fight it off.  I kept deteriorating.  They were about to drill through my back to drain the fluid from my lungs, when the doctor burst into my room and told them, “Stop.  She’s getting better.  The medicine is finally working.” 


I guess it was this experience that changed my life.  I was in ICU for 11 days fighting to live for the first time in my life.  On Thanksgiving Day I begged to go home to be with my family, as I was certain it would be my last days with t hem and I had things I wanted and needed to say to them before I went.


As I was leaving the hospital my doctor came to me full of amazement.  He said to me, “You are a miracle.  You shouldn’t be walking out of this hospital.”   It would take me six months to a year to recuperate from this incident in my life.  Something changed me.  Though I had lost my job over my illness, I found a reason to live.  I no longer wanted to die.


So through the next few years things went pretty smoothly until I met Steve Mitchka.  I met him through my church.  He had sole custody of three boys, ages six, seven, and fifteen. Kyle, Randy, and James.  Kyle was a sweetheart and it was easy to fall in love with him.  He had a sweet disposition and beautiful blond hair.  James was close to my daughter’s age.  I felt sorry for him.  I tried to be a role model and help him through difficult times with his father.  He did not get much love from his father and he was strapped with a huge responsibility of taking care of his two brothers while his father worked.  He didn’t get much of a chance to live a normal teenage life.  Randy on the other hand was a handful.  He had emotional problems to deal with but I believe I handled them well. 


Steve and I started dating.  Most of the time it was as a group.  A large group.  But we had great times together.  My family did not like Steve.  They thought he was using me to be a mother to his children.  Frankly I didn’t see what was so wrong about that.  I would have been willing to step into that role.  My relationship with my parents began to suffer.  It was fraught with tension.  We would argue about everything.    I went back to being depressed once again.  I was angry at my parents for trying to control my life.  Then one Friday evening, my father and I were having a heated discussion.


He threatened to take me to court and get custody of my daughter because he thought I was an unfit mother and would allow Steve’s boys to hurt Kathryne.  I asked him what kind of parent he thought I was if I would allow anyone to hurt my child.  I stormed out of the house, drove home in tears and hated my life once again.


This time I really wanted out.  Life was too much for me to bear.  So I found all the bottles of pills I had in my bathroom.  I took an overdose and ended up in the hospital.  Steve found me and took me in.  He was beside himself.  He was angry at me and he kept shouting at me “I loved you, damn it.  I loved you.  Why’d you have to go and do this for?”


I was in the hospital for 5 days.  It was then that Steve proposed and asked me if I’d marry him.  I was hesitant at first.  I didn’t need any more problems.  But at his persistence I finally said yes.  I wore his ring proudly and told everyone I knew.


Things were still not good between my parents and I.   They could not see any good in Steve and they thought I was making a huge mistake.


We started planning our future together.  We were making all these elaborate plans.  He was going to get a job in Livingston.  He was going to build a house for us on a piece of land he owned up there.  I was going to sell the house I was living in and move in with my parents until we were married.


He took me to his family reunion and introduced me to everyone.  His aunts, uncles, cousins.  Then his mother found out we were planning on getting.  We had an exchange of words and she told me that Steve was not ready to get married and if that was what he intended she would set him straight.


So the next weekend he went out of town to his mother’s.  When he came back that evening he told me “I wasn’t ready to be married to a man who had three boys.”  I asked him if that was him talking or his mother.  Things began to disintegrate in our relationship.  We stopped dating.  He would come to the house in the evenings but he wouldn’t stay long.  He’d bring the boys along and we’d watch a family video or play games together. 


Then he started canceling our evening together.  Or he’d be really late coming over.  I’d cook dinner for him and it would take him hours to get over there to see me.  I would try to call him at home and he wouldn’t answer the phone.  I would try to reach him on his cell phone and couldn’t reach him there either.  I became suspicious and wondered what was going on.  I’d try to talk to him, find out what was going on inside his head.  But he wouldn’t open up and talk to me.  He shut me out.  So things only got worse.  I hated this lack of communication.  I wanted to trust him, but I had, at this point, no reason to trust him.


Finally, it was a Friday night.  Steve was supposed to be coming over to spend the evening with me.  It was growing late and so I called him at home.  He wasn’t there.  I tried him on his cell phone and couldn’t reach him there either.  I was angry and hurt and very disillusioned.  At this point I no longer cared to keep the relationship together. I wanted no part of it.  My nerves were fraught with tension.  I felt I deserved better treatment than that.  So I left him a voice mail that as far as I was concerned our relationship was over don’t bother coming over.


It was about 10:30 that even when I heard the doorbell ringing.  It was him.  He was angry and demanded a reason why I would leave a nasty voice mail like that on his answering machine.  I explained it was my only means of communication.


He threatened me that night and said if I didn’t give him another chance he would put a gun in his mouth.  Of course I believed he was serious.  So I tried to make one last attempt to make it work.  To me, it seemed, I was always the one trying to make it work. 


That next evening we went out.  I wanted to go to the movies so we made arrangements to go to the early showing that night.  But when six o’clock came around, there was no Steve.  I tried to call him at home and couldn’t reach him once again.  Then I tried him on his cell phone but it wasn’t turned on.  I grew angry.  I was full of tension.  By the time he got there is was nearly 8:30 in the evening.  I barely said a word to him.  I got into the truck and we headed to the mall. 


The evening was a complete disaster.  He was outraged at the price of the movie tickets.  He started yelling at me in front of everyone and he told me he’d never take me to another movie again.  Then he wanted to buy a box of popcorn, so I wanted a bottled water.  Once again he went into a rage because he didn’t want to spend three dollars on a bottled water.  So I told him forget it.  I don’t need it that badly.  So as we were making our way up the escalator to the movie, he asked me why we were here in the first place.


I explained to him that we hadn’t been out in a long time and I thought it would do us good.  Obviously I was very wrong. 


When we got inside the movie theatre and the commercials were rolling, Steve got even more upset than he was previously that night.  He started screaming that they needed to stop the commercials and get on with the movie.  I turned to him and grabbed him by the arm and told him to just be quiet.  I had run out of patience with  him.  He turned to me and said to me, “This was your idea to come here.  You should have paid our way in.”


That’s all it took.  I had had enough.  I got up from my seat and stormed out of there.  I never looked back.  He did not come after me.  I left the building and as I was walking through the parking lot I took his ring and flung it.  I do not know where it landed, nor did I care at the time.


With tears in my eyes I sat in James Coney Island wondering how I was going to get home.  I had no money. I had no cell phone to call anyone.  Finally the manager came to me and asked if I was alright.  I explained to him what happened.  He loaned me his cell phone and I called everyone I knew, but couldn’t get anyone to answer the phone.


I was in a real mess and didn’t know how to fix it.  


Later that evening the manager offered to take me home.  It was one of the worst experiences of my life.  The next day Steve started calling me.  At first I tried to ignore the calls. But after about the 30th call, I finally picked up the phone and explained to him the relationship was over.  I no longer wanted to be a part of his life.


He would not let the relationship go.  He continued to call and harass me.  He would come to the house and beg me to take him back.  But I would not give in to him.  I finally called the police and filed a complaint.  He was ordered not to make any more contact with me and if he came to my house he would be arrested for trespassing.


The calls stopped, but the letters started coming.  He threatened suicide a number of times in the letters and also confessed the truth that “He was married” despite the fact that he had told me his divorce was final.  I finally took the letters to my pastor and together we decided to take them to his sister.  When I give her the letters she laughed in my face and told me that Steve was not suicidal.  I just recently learned, through his oldest sun, that he had a nervous breakdown and lost custody of the boys.


After my break up with Steve, I finally turned my life over to Christ.  I knew I needed him in my life.  I could not make it any longer without him in it.  I took my bible to work with me and I’d read it on my lunch hour.  For the first time in 8 years I finally prayed.  I asked God to help me through this.  I started writing in a journal morning, noon, and night.  I made a promise to God that I would never again turn my back on him. 


So through the last few years, I started back to church.  I started really listening to the messages.  My pastor helped me to come to terms with everything from the past.  He helped me close the book on my past and start living for the future.  My spirituality started growing.  I feel my sadness leaving my body and peace started taking over.  Eventually I was happy for the first time in my life.  And I realized for the first time, what was lacking.  Christ.  This experience prepared me for the biggest battle of my life, cancer.


Even today, after having faced a battle with cancer, I am happier than I have ever been in my life.  I no longer feel depressed.  I am no longer empty.  Though I am lonely, I am no longer alone. 


Christ has done for me, what counselors couldn’t.  He restored me.  He brought me from the brink of destruction, to life of hope, joy, and total contentment.  Though I don’t have everything I want in life.  I have everything I need. I have caring friend, family, co-workers who give me encouragement and inspiration.  I have a beautiful, beautiful daughter whom I delight in.


I regret the time I was away from God.  I regret the decisions I made in my life and I now take complete responsibility for my actions.  I am truly sorry that I tried to take my own life.  I feel, now, that it was a selfish act.  I hurt my parents in the worst way.  And they did not deserve that.


But with Christ I know I can face any challenge that comes along.  I no longer live in fear.  I am stronger than I have ever been.  I no longer think of death, or suicide.  I can smile, be happy, and give praise for all the things I have suffered in my life.  For it is those things that have made me the person that I have become.


I give praise to God for my sufferings.   He brought me through each one of them and with his help, I will continue to grow and become a more beautiful person.  He will shine through me for the whole world to see.

Why Forgive

Nick's Story

God Has Kept Me Here For A Reason

An Act Of Kindness Contributed By Lee Ryan Miller

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