Last weekend I had the opportunity to hold a book signing at a church in Nevada. A great community of people who exemplify grace to the broken and downtrodden.

As I sat behind the 8-ft. folding table ladened with books, pens and brochures I found myself overcome with a feeling I haven’t felt in nearly eight years of sobriety.

ALONE. . .

While the staff and the volunteers were incredibly supportive, I was surprised by the looks and comments I received from many church attenders who stopped by and walked by my table.

Even in a church that is more open about these struggles than most—I found myself feeling like the only woman in the world who has ever struggled with pornography addiction. I founded this ministry so that no woman would ever have to feel like her again.

And yet, there I was feeling purposeless and defeated as I was questioned about the validity of my calling. Fighting the frog in my throat and the tears that welled my eyes—trying to keep good face. “What am I doing?” racing through my mind.

Then I remembered a prayer that many addicts are quite familiar with reciting.

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change;
courage to change the things I can; and the wisdom to know the difference.

I began to recite this prayer many, many times to myself as I watched people walk by and immediately peace entered my mind, my heart, my soul. Understanding that there are things I cannot change (ie. I can’t make anyone accept this issue), but there are things I can change (ie. have the courage to provide women with help). And then in these moments of what feels like persecution—I can know the difference.

Which brings me to a sweet girl named Ashlee.

Probably 18 or 19 years old, she was the last to come to my table. Having lived in Las Vegas her entire life she has watched friend after friend enter the sex industry. As strippers, prostitutes, porn actresses, you name it.

Thanking God and while texting on her phone, she describes how she has avoided this lifestyle. And she wants to help her friends find hope for a better life. She was so excited to share my book with one of her friends in particular, thanking me for being open with my struggles and for being a safe place for other women.

We’re only as alone as we allow the enemy to make us feel.

If ministry were meant to be easy, I would have founded a ministry and written a book on finance or marriage and this road would be met with much less grief. But if Ashlee and girls like her can somehow be helped as a result of this venture—the lower than expected book sales and dismissive words & looks are worth it.

It is worth it ALL for no woman to feel alone again.

I am writing this post today with an incredibly overwhelmed heart.

October 1996: My porn addiction began at 10 years old.

October 1999: Started attending church at Westside.

July 2000: I accepted Christ at church camp… but still actively engaged in pornography and sexual addiction when I got home.

November 2003. I had just revealed my porn addiction for the first time. I was in the beginning of my recovery. I was beginning to know what it meant to be accountable to my behavior. Not just to someone else, but ultimately to God.

February 2004: I started working at Westside in an administrative assistant position. No one there (except Anne) knew about my past. Three months later, I switch positions on staff and found a sweet spot in Communications.

February 2008: I began leading my first recovery group for women at Westside.

February 2009: I launched Dirty Girls Ministries.

February 2010 and as I write this: I am about to pack my suitcase for a day of travel on Sunday. I’m visiting Covenant Eyes headquarters in Owosso, MI.

I was invited to be a part of a networking meeting with other pioneers in porn ministry (all men of course, except I was able to ask/force/wrangle Nicole Wick to come out for a day). I’m going to be interviewed as part of a documentary on porn addiction. I will be speaking from the perspective of female addicts. And if that wasn’t enough, Covenant Eyes has asked me to present to their team—the causes, effects and factors behind female porn addiction.

March/April 2010: Dirty Girls Ministries (and I) will be featured in the April issue ofChristian Today Magazine for the column, “Who’s Next: People You Need to Know.”

And I am presently having an active conversation with a well-known Christian publisher regarding my book. I’ll know in just a matter of weeks whether this a-go.

Wha?

If you doubt that God could or would use your story … I’m a testament that He will literally scrape the bottom of the barrel in order to bring glory to Himself. He never wastes an experience. No matter how painful or ugly it may be.

I feel like sooooooo unworthy of this.

Any of this.

Yet, I know it isn’t about me at all. And that’s what is so cool about it.

Humbled.
Overwhelmed.
Appreciative.

And I beg for your prayers.

I am taking a break from the blog this week to place solid focus on writing my book (I’ve been contacted by a publisher and they’ve requested a few chapters to review—*gulp*). Nothing has been promised on their end, but it is exciting nonetheless. I am hoping to nail down a few chapters and send them early next week.

I will also be traveling to Nashville mid-week for a few days of continued writing, time with friends and hopefully find some rest as well (made better by a free flight and a free place to stay).

So, if you think about it—please send up some prayers on my behalf …for focus, creativity, clarity and safety.

And in my absence from the blog, enjoy some awesome guest posts throughout the week from some of my new favorite people…

Lori Wilhite (on Monday)
Serena Woods (on Tuesday)
Kyle Reed (on Wednesday)
Nicole Wick (on Thursday)
My 2009 Wrap-Up (on Friday)

Have a wonderful week… see you next year!

Part of my Thanksgiving weekend was spent in Perryville, MO. It is a town with a population of less than 9,000 about an hour and half south of St. Louis, MO. It is also home to my paternal grandparents.

My family and much of my extended family gathered together in Perryville to celebrate the 85th birthdays of my grandparents. It was a wonderful time getting to see cousins I haven’t seen in years and seeing their spouses and children.

There is something in my mind that only remembers my grandparents as young, active and alert. I remember my grandma baking the most amazing chocolate chip cookies. I remember my grandpa taking me out for ice cream. I remember making 2 or 3 visits a year with my whole family piled in the car and knowing my cousins better than I knew my best friends.

But it has been 7 years since I have paid a visit. And so much has changed—even in that amount of time.

Seeing my grandparents aging is a difficult reality to be faced with. My grandma is forgetful and has signs of dementia. She has to use a motorized scooter to get around and needs help with virtually everything. My grandpa helps her all he can and that further ages him. I found myself with such a great sense of sadness seeing them this way.

I also found myself with such a great sense of guilt for having not been more involved in the lives of my extended family. For having taken family for granted. I kept looking around at my cousins all mingling together and gushing over babies and sharing stories from their lives.

But I was sitting there with nothing but memories.
So badly wanting to reinvent those feelings again.
Wondering why we had grown so segregated.
I even have an uncle and 4 cousins who didn’t make it—and I have no clue where they are or what they are doing.

Hopefully through technology like facebook, I will be able to keep in touch my cousins again. At least those I was able to reunite with over the weekend. I desire to be a more active part of their lives. If they will have me. Because soon, it will be us who are 85 and I want to think that family will come see me.

Friends come and go (as I know far too well) but family is forever…
Shame on me for not making them all a priority until now.

Circa 1987. I’m the one in the back in the navy dress.

Circa 2009. I think you can find me.

Next week, my dad’s side of the family is gathering in the St. Louis area for a family reunion, of a sort. My grandma is turning 85 next week and my grandpa turned 85 earlier this year. We’re celebrating these milestones with a gathering of my immediate family, my aunts & uncles, my cousins, etc. We haven’t all been together in about 7 years.

I was asked to put together a video slideshow of pictures of the whole family.

While going through old pictures I found this one:

There are 2 things about this pictures that strike me as odd: 1) My arms and legs are tan. I am not sure I have been tan since this picture was taken. And 2) I don’t remember much from my younger childhood years, but I remember every bit about when this picture was taken.

Growing up, my family didn’t take recreational vacations. Ever. We lived so far away from family that anytime my parents were off work, and we were out of school, those times were reserved for visiting family afar (think the girl pictured above on road trips in the back of a 1988 Buick Skylark sitting between 2 older brothers).

The reason this picture and the memories around it are so vivid is how odd it was. We were at a family reunion (similar to the one taking place next week) camping in Branson, MO. It was one of the first (and only) times I remember vacationing with my family in an unfamiliar, new place. One afternoon on the trip, some of us decided to go to Ripley’s Believe it or Not.

that’s the real building in Branson, MO

I remember walking around with my Aunt Nonnie (her real name is Diane) looking at all of the oddities, when we came across that statue. It is an exact replica of the World’s Tallest Man: Robert Wadlow.

Isn’t that just plain wild? I mean, the dude was almost 9ft tall, at 8ft. 11 inches. Because I was freakishly tall as a child, I am probably not much shorter at about 8 years old in that picture, than I am now at almost 25 (I am 5ft tall).

Ever since our encounter at Ripley’s, he’s continued fascinate me. And is an odd memory that has stuck with me—that was also made odder by the fact that my grandma used to work in a shoe-shop in the Illinois town that Robert Wadlow was from. She used to help make his custom size 37 shoes. No, really.

Share an odd memory from your childhood. Come on, we all have them.