Crashing into Jesus in the Walmart Parking Lot

I am precious, I am honored, and I am loved

—and so are you.

Not the kids. Anything but my boys, God—anything.

I was on a three-year streak of horrible luck.

First, my mom died. Then, within months of her passing, my dad took us out of the will. He met someone just six weeks after my mom's death—a woman 40 years younger.

I sought counseling to cope with my mom’s death. Instead, therapy focused on uncovering repressed memories of childhood abuse. For the first time, I discovered the true extent of the abuse. I had no recollection it was that bad, and no clue how to heal.

Then, Hurricane Florence devastated our town, our home, our lives. 

Family members tore down my child, word by word, jab by jab, stripping away his joy and confidence.

COVID struck, the world shut down, and I found myself in the final stages of a divorce—something I never imagined would happen.

But I still tried to be what I thought was a good Christian, a good person—until I couldn’t anymore.

I couldn't shake the feeling deep in my soul that God was punishing me. I didn’t know why, but I knew that no matter how hard I tried, I wasn't worthy of His love—or anyone else's.

We had agreed on just about everything: finances, child visitation. Then, the day before our court date, he called to say that if I didn’t comply with one last thing, all bets were off—including the kids.

I panicked. I needed to get to Walmart now. I needed printer paper. There wasn’t enough time. I got in my car and crashed into my son’s car. Then, I did the unthinkable: I yelled at him for parking in the driveway.

I arrived at Walmart. I had hit rock bottom. I sat in the car, sobbing, pounding the steering wheel, and cursing at God—fully expecting to be on an express flight to condemnation. Instead, I heard, “Now we can talk. You finally showed Me the true you—not the person you think I want you to be.”

I share this because neither my life nor I immediately changed that day. But slowly, I began to believe the small voices of truth: I am precious, I am honored, and I am loved—and so are you.

I know that sharing these kinds of experiences takes immense courage. It’s hard to be vulnerable, to expose the parts of ourselves that we often keep hidden. But I’ve learned that in those moments of raw honesty, we find not only our own healing but also the strength to help others heal.

If you feel ready, I invite you to share your own truth—in whatever way feels right for you. Whether it’s a small step or a giant leap, know that this is a safe space. Your truths are valuable and worthy of being told. Together, we are creating a community of support, understanding, and love.

Thank you for taking this journey with me. You are not alone.