Look at me blogging. I always thought that will be the day, “who’s got the time, but here I am living that day. My publisher tells me it’s something that all published authors should do. A way for my readers to connect with me. Facebook and blog have become my new best friends. Well, we better be friends because we’ll be spending a lot of time together. The hard part is coming up with cute and entertaining things to say, so I won’t. I’ll keep it plain and simple.

I’m looking forward to sharing life’s moments with you and answering any questions you might have.

I guess a good place to start would be to explain why I wanted to go public with my story. I had many reasons to not write my story. The usual I’m too busy, it’s too hard, it’s physically and emotionally exhausting, and let’s face it, somewhat embarrassing. Not to mention, who am I to write a book. I had only two very good reasons that made me sit and write for endless hours for three months. It was you and a little girl I call Eight Ounces.

If you have read my story or even the back cover of the book you know that I have been going into prisons for over ten years to minister to women inmates. Through those years I have often told my story of hope, redemption and the power of God’s love. How He healed me and rebuilt me to be the woman I am today. We often refer to ourselves as seed planters because usually we only get one opportunity to plant seeds so deep within their hearts that the seeds will penetrate and begin to grow. We ask God to go with them when they leave us. We pray that God will protect them  and nurture what was planted.

A few years ago, a young girl came to chapel with eleven other women. I never saw her before and although she had to be at least eighteen years old to be in that facility, she barley weighed ninety pounds and looked only to be thirteen or fourteen years. She sat across from me in a circle we formed with our chairs. She held her head down with her chin tightly snuggled into her chest. Her long brown hair hung down covering her face. I suspected on purpose. Her knees were locked together and shaking. The tears pouring from her eyes were falling from her motionless face on to her lap soaking into her issued sweatpants. I could see at first glance that this girl didn’t come off the streets.

We always encourage the ladies to participate but we never insist. Chapel is a safe place to be loved and nurtured. A place to experience the love of God and his forgiveness. It’s a place for truth. After 85 minutes into the evening, I thought I could hear her say something. I asked if the ladies could please give me a moment of silence. I leaned into the circle towards the young lady and asked if she wanted to say something. I could barely hear her as she whispered in a soft low voice just one word.

I didn’t share her story in my book, but it’s a story that deserves to be told. Please join me next Monday for the story of a little girl I named Eight Ounces.