The Generosity Continues!

Karen Mundy’s Story. I was so touched by it. I pray you are too.

I think it may be time to share some of my story. Those that attend FHC will know what has prompted this desire. It isn’t easy to think back over my life and to see clearly what the story is or how it should be told. I honestly don’t have a lot of memories from my childhood. I remember bits and pieces. I often hear people talk about their past with vivid detail and it’s then I realize that I don’t. What is weird about this is that I have a REALLY good memory. Perhaps this lack of memory is more of a defense.

Sharing your story and being honest is often hard. For the most part, we don’t want to “re-live” the parts of our life we think best forgotten. However, we can never fully know who we are now without taking into consideration the past. While the past doesn’t have to define you, it does play a part in your story. How can someone ever know how much you have overcome if you never share the trials? Personally, my story convinces me (if nobody else) just how great God is. Many times when I express my view on a certain situation or issue, I’m told I do not love enough. I’m told I’m being too judgmental. On the flip side, we often don’t share our past because we are afraid of judgment even though the past is who we WERE, not who we ARE. What people don’t understand is that on many issues, I have the view I have because I’ve been down that “road.” I can call sin what it is because it wasn’t too long ago that I was deeply embedded in it. I also know the feeling of being so deeply rooted in it that you think these “pleasures” are going to make you happy. Yet, all you feel is emptiness. I guess I should start at the beginning.

I was born August 9, 1976. I am the youngest of 5 children. The sibling closest in age to me is 7 years older, so I was definitely the “baby.” My 4 older siblings were from my mom’s previous marriage. My dad adopted them so we all shared the same last name (except for my oldest sister). Right after I was born, my mom had gallbladder surgery and I went to stay with my aunt and uncle while she recovered (so much for that newborn bonding). Although I don’t remember much about my infant years, I’m told that my siblings were responsible for me a lot. I went with them to all of their games (they were in high school) and my sister Carol loved to dress me up as their mascot. My dad was a Marine and we lived on the military base in Camp Lejeune, NC. At night, my parents worked at an X-rated drive-in theater. I wasn’t “aware” of this, but it does say something about what the moral values were in the home. When I was about a year old, my brother came into the bathroom and found me choking and struggling to breathe. I had gotten into a bottle of baby powder and tried to eat it. I am told that I was purple and my sibling’s memory of this is of my dad holding me under the sink trying to clear out my throat. I went to the hospital and spent the night there for observation just to make sure I was okay. I guess I could say I owe my brother my life because if he had not found me as soon as he did, I wouldn’t have made it.

When I was 4, my dad retired from the military and we moved to Blackstone, VA. This is where my mom was from and all of my mom’s family lived here. Although my dad retired from the military, I sometimes think he forgot to remember that in how he ran the home. There were strict rules and he used fear and intimidation to control things. A dinner wasn’t complete unless he had made one of us cry. Then after being made to cry, we were told to be quiet or we would be “given something to cry about.” It was this type of treatment that taught me to just be quiet and keep my feelings, thoughts, etc. to myself because obviously they are wrong. I still struggle with this when it comes to any type of public speaking. I have to fight the fear of thinking that everyone is going to attack me or that what I have to share isn’t important. I am sure this background is why I’m much more comfortable being behind the scenes. Whenever I do “step out front”, I am indescribably nervous.

I remember when I was about 5; I would wake up on Saturday mornings and go crawl into bed with my parents. I remember doing this and I loved these times of attention. However, it started that once my mom would get up to make breakfast; this is when my dad would take advantage of the ability to touch me in inappropriate ways. I remember not understanding what was happening, but I knew it wasn’t “right.” This type of thing wasn’t something that I was ever talked to about. I didn’t understand exactly what was going on, but thought since it’s my dad, it must be okay. So at a very young age, I learned to equate physical affection with love. I thought that if someone shows you affection, they must love you. After all, this is how my dad showed me love, right? The abuse from him occurred in other ways as well. My dad loved animals and we had many dogs as I was growing up. I say many because we would get a dog and I would become attached and spend a lot of time outside after school with the dog. Eventually, I would go to school and when I came home the dog would be gone. There would be no warning. No notice. Just the thing I loved was gone, never to be seen again. I felt that I must have done something to make the dog go away. Or something I did must have caused such punishment.

While growing up, my mom babysat kids in the home. She spent all day with other people’s children and by the time they left, she was burnt out on children. I know this is no excuse, but as an adult, I imagine this is the reason why she never really seemed “available.” Saturdays were her days of grocery shopping and time for herself. My sister and I would have to stay home and clean the house while she did this. I remember how excited I would be on the occasion I got to go with her to Ft. Pickett to the PX . Mom was more relaxed in the rules of the house so I could do more when dad wasn’t home. If he was there, I wasn’t allowed to bring toys out of my room to play. Mom didn’t mind. As controlling as dad was, mom was left to give out discipline. I remembered the times I was spanked; it was always out of anger and never out of love and guidance. In her frustration, we would be hit for every syllable that was said. How (spank) many (spank) times (spank) do (spank) I (spank) have (spank)….you get the point.

When I was about ten, I remember being home one day by myself and the phone rang. Normally I was not allowed to answer. I wasn’t allowed to ever touch the remote to the t.v. either, but that is another story. I answered and it was a collect call from Noel Mundy. I wasn’t aware of how a collect call worked and I thought it was someone asking for Noel Mundy (my dad’s name). I hung up the phone and it rang again. I answered and it was someone telling me that HE was Noel Mundy and he wanted to know if his dad was home. This is how I found out that I had an older brother from one of my dad’s previous marriages (he is currently on his 5th marriage). It was shortly after this phone call that my brother came to live with us. He only stayed about six months and then returned back to North Dakota.

When I was about 13, my dad pulled me aside and told me that things weren’t going well between him and my mom and that they may be getting divorced. Why he told me this alone, I didn’t understand at the time. A few nights later I began to understand why. My mom was crying and my sister was at the house. My mom told me that she and my dad were getting divorced. I found out that a part of the reason for the divorce was because other people had come forward saying that my dad had molested them. I was asked at the time if he had ever done it to me, and I lied and said no. I felt that he was my DAD and I couldn’t betray him that way. If I tell the truth, he won’t love me anymore.

When my dad left, he quickly moved in with his new girlfriend. It wasn’t hard, even for me, to know there must have been a relationship prior to him leaving in order for them to live together so quickly. This girlfriend would later become my step mom. They are still together and I have had to work really hard to forgive her for the part she played in hurting my mom. Once my dad moved out, I had very little contact with him on a regular basis.

After my parents divorce, my mom got a “life.” She spent 2-3 nights a week bowling and another 2 nights at the local bar. So at the age of 14, I was home alone an average of 5 nights a week. I began to get attention from a guy that I went to school with. Here is where the story gets harder to tell because I know there are many of my “friends” on here that know him and know only part of the story from this time. I will try to keep his identity anonymous for those that may not KNOW. His older sister and my older sister were in the same graduating class and considered themselves friends. I remember being younger and going to his house while our sisters did homework, etc. He was a couple years older than me and he was also black. Here is where you need to know that I grew up in a very racist home. I remember watching the Cosby show and my dad telling me to turn off that “N-word” show and he didn’t want any N’s on his television. This is the type of thing I heard on a regular basis. Ironic enough considering I lived in a town that may have been more black than white. But it was also a town in which you had streets that were only for whites and streets that were only for blacks. You didn’t’ live in the black neighborhood and blacks didn’t live in the white neighborhood. The opinion was that if a black family moved in, well…..there goes the neighborhood. I wouldn’t say that I started talking to this boy because he was black or even initially because I had an attraction to him. What I did know is that he was the only person around who did give me any attention. I don’t think it had anything to do with who HE was, but more just because he was there when nobody else was. It wasn’t long before I would sneak out of the house to meet him. It wasn’t a difficult thing to do when your mom is gone 4-5 nights a week and keeps the same schedule. I knew exactly when she would be home. I began doing sexual “things” when I was 14. I had found my dad’s porn videos when I was about 10-11 and I thought that was what sex was. I thought everything I saw was what you did. Nobody ever talked to me about sex, so how else would I know anything? I engaged in some behaviors at 14 and had sex for the first time at 15. Prior to actually having sex, I had spent the night with my boyfriend for his 18th birthday. Surprisingly, we didn’t have sex that night; however my mom caught us the next morning. She proceeded to charge him with contributing to the delinquency of a minor. We had to go to court and he was told that he could not have any contact with me at all. I was beyond devastated. I felt that the ONE person that cared about me was being taken away from me. Of course, we continued to see each other very discreetly for a while after that. I can’t help but think that this would not have happened if he had been white. I was beat with a belt once and told I would NEVER be with a black man.

Shortly after my parents separated, my mom began dating a man that was an alcoholic. He didn’t help my situation any. He was as racist as my dad and was often a source of “encouragement” for my mom in her line of thinking. His name was Ken. Ken was from New Jersey and he had been married before and had two young children. He often would find work under the table so he could avoid paying child support. He had no contact with his kids. Looking back now, it is easy for me to see how a generational curse works. My mom conceived two kids out of wedlock (my oldest sister and myself). Of her 5 children, we are also the only two to have kids out of wedlock. My dad abandoned two children. My mom’s boyfriend abandoned two children. Olivia’s dad has 3 kids (#4 due soon) and he has no contact physically, financially, or otherwise to his 3 kids. See a pattern? I digress though I would hear my mom and Ken argue frequently over me and how to “handle” me. Ken would drink and he would take his anger out on me. I was called a b*tch, wh*re, sl*t, etc. He never hit me although when he got mad, he would “jump” as if to scare me and tell me that I should be glad he didn’t beat me because I would deserve it if he did. One time he wanted to go for a ride with me so he could “apologize” for his behavior. After his apology he wanted to kiss me and I refused. He told me that if he was black, I would have kissed him.

I have always had a love of music. One of my punishments was taking away my music. I remember at one time all of my cassette tapes were taken away so my music could be screened. As a mother now, I understand this concept; however the screening process shows how deep the racism went. I had several gospel tapes that were not returned to me (black people on the cover). However, I had some copied tapes that did not have a cover that were returned to me. One of these was Onyx. Anyone who knows the group I’m referencing will laugh because that was a VERY inappropriate group for me to have. Oh, and a 2 Live Crew tape came back as well. Basically, my music was judged simply by the picture on the front. I remember being told by my mom that that bible said interracial dating was wrong. I immediately called our pastor to ask HIM, because I KNEW she was wrong. I don’t think she appreciated me doing that.

On my 17th birthday, my boyfriend broke up with me. I was absolutely devastated. I couldn’t take the pain of life anymore and tried to commit suicide. I remember going to the medicine cabinet and pulling out everything in it. I didn’t want to empty any one bottle because then it might have been obvious what I did, so I took about 5-10 pills out of everything I could find. I remember counting out 100 pills and I took them all. My mom wasn’t home at the time. She came home and I was upstairs in my room. I remember becoming violently sick for the next 24 hours. My mom thought I just had a really bad flu. I don’t think she ever knew what I had done. This would be the second time in my life that I probably should have died, but I didn’t.

During my senior year of high school I began dating a man 10 years older than me. After about two months of dating him, he told me he was married BUT was getting divorced. I was still looking for attention, so I justified continuing this relationship by believing everything he told me. The stress of home, this crazy relationship, dealing with the secrets from my dad, and some other things eventually became too much for me. I had a nervous breakdown. I remember starting to cry, and I just couldn’t stop. My mom mentioned my dad and I begged her to NOT call him or make me go live with him. I had to tell her why. My mom was at a loss and I remember her reaction when I told her that he had done it to me too. I was admitted to a mental hospital and stayed there for two weeks. This was in November of my senior year of high school. My experience there helped me because after speaking with the counselors and sharing my home life, it helped me to see how I was not to blame for many of the things I was taking the burden for.

We went to counseling for a while after I left the hospital, but I don’t think my mom liked what the counselor had to say. No parent likes to be told they are doing something wrong. My life really didn’t change much.

I need to go back and cover the “spiritual” side of my life. From the time I was about 5 or so, I went to church. My family went to church. However, my idea of “church” was that it was a place you went so you could dress up and talk about everybody else. Where I grew up, church was a very segregated place. I remember attending a Christmas program and seeing two older black women there and thinking “why are they here? This isn’t THEIR church.” This was the mentality of everyone around me, including “Christians.” To me, a Christian was a judgmental (MENTAL being the key word there) hypocrite. I remember my dad going to the altar every Sunday weeping, yet being abusive at home the rest of the week. I thought church was just something you did, not something you ARE. I had always heard of Jesus and I could quote scriptures and name the books of the bible. For a time we attended a church that believed women shouldn’t wear makeup or wear pants. I learned of a vengeful, hateful God. I never knew or had been shown the LOVE of God. This was my thinking when it came to who God is.

Now, skip ahead…The end of my senior year I moved in with my dad. Yes, crazy to think, but going there seemed the better option than staying at my mom’s. A lot of this had to do with him lying to me and saying “oh, if you lived with me, I wouldn’t care who you dated.” If you lived with me, I wouldn’t make you do this, this, or this. All of these promises were lies just to get him out of having to pay child support for me. I remember asking if I could go to a party being held after graduation. I was told I couldn’t go because there may be black people there and that wasn’t allowed. At this point I was climbing out of my window to see my boyfriend every night anyway, so that is what I did this night too. That boyfriend would be the married one. By this point in the story, this married man was facing charges of involuntary manslaughter. To make that long story short, he got into a confrontation with the man his (ex) wife was dating and shot him. I know it’s crazy, but I continued to date him.

I began college in August and was working full-time. One day I was at a friends house and received a phone call from my dad telling me that I had to move out. He said I was never home and his house was not a place to store my stuff. I had nowhere else to go so I moved in with the boyfriend. My dad became mad at me because that was where I lived. Even though HE kicked me out, he was mad over where I ended up. One time this boyfriend saw me talking to another man that I worked with and thought I was cheating on him (I wasn’t). When we got home, he raped me. I guess in order to show me who the boss was. Thankfully, he was sentenced to prison. This caused me to evaluate where I was and I knew living in Virginia and because of everything around me, I had to get away. My sister in Massachusetts was in the process of a divorce. I moved in with her so I could help with her three daughters.

While in Massachusetts, I found a freedom, but not a good one. I began to get into the party crowd. Up until this point I had never really drank or done drugs. Here is where I began to party. Living in the most liberal state where anything goes, I began to take part of that anything goes mentality. After living with my sister for 2 years, I moved to Boston and lived with 2 male roommates. We were nothing more than friends . Not to go into too many details, but in that two years time and for a few months into moving to Boston, I had slept with more men that I can count. I am SO not proud of this. I do not share this in any kind of bragging way. I know there are some who will read this and think ‘oh my gosh’ and will pass judgment on this. Please know, my choices were based on my looking for love. I deceived myself into thinking if a man slept with me, he really cared about me. I had no respect for myself and honestly I didn’t care if I lived or died. I know the possibilities of what could happen because of my behavior, but again…I didn’t really care. When I see women that parade themselves around in immodest clothing, I feel sorry for them. Honestly, I see them and I know they are simply looking for attention, albeit the wrong kind.

In November 1997, we found out my mom had cancer. I was 21 and the thought of losing my mom was overwhelming. It was around this time I began dating Kiara’s dad. He was 9 years older than me. Still….I was looking for a father. I don’t want to share too much of this part of the story because Kiara is on here and also some other children. Let’s just say I understand the feeling of being alone and pregnant. I understand being told to make a decision that you know is wrong and NOT the right thing to do. One sin never covers up another. My mom was not told I was pregnant until I was about 5 months and was coming down to see her. We didn’t know if she would make it, so I was convinced to stay quiet so as not to hurt her unnecessarily. I made sure my sister was there with her when I called to tell her. She was understandably upset. I went to see her and I remember taking her to chemo and sitting in the room with her. She told me that she if she had to pick one of her children to go through this, it would be me because she knew I could handle it. She knew that I was always great with kids and that I would be a great mother. She told me that she wished better for me because she knows how hard of a road it is.

In February 2009, Kiara was born. I was able to visit mom in April and she adored Kiara. She was still dating Ken and prior to Kiara being born and even before she knew I was pregnant, she had told him that if I dated or married a black man, that we would always be welcome in her home. She told him if he didn’t’ like it, then he could leave. She told him that she wasn’t willing to lose her daughter over something like that. When she saw Kiara she kept saying how beautiful she was. Leaving to come back to Massachusetts was the hardest thing I have ever done. I was on maternity leave and mom begged me not to go. Mom was not doing well and we both knew it would be the last time we saw each other this side of heaven. My mom was saved the day after she found out she had cancer. I hate that it took something so serious for God to get her attention, but I am glad she had the opportunity and also time to make amends where they needed to be made. On May 27, mom went home to heaven. I was at such a loss. As a new mom, I was just beginning to understand the love a mom has for her daughter. I finally understood the good intentions in her actions, even if they were wrong. I didn’t understand how God could do this. I was blessed at this time to be dating a great man. He really stepped up in loving and providing for myself and Kiara. He and I were friends for two years before we dated. He was there in the room when Kiara was born and her middle name is his last name. She was about 2 months old when we started dating.

When Kiara was about a year old, I began going to church. I knew there was something missing in my life and thought I would try this church thing again. I found a church and through there met some great people. I still talk to a few of them. We attended a Saturday night bible study (shout out to the Harkins’!! Living Waters rocks!!!) and the people there really helped encourage me. The Harkins family invited us for every Easter and holiday and really loved us as if we were family. They were the first examples I knew of a HEALTHY Christian family. I saw the relationship they had with their kids (some of them already teens) and knew they were the kind of parents I wanted to be.

Things didn’t work out with my boyfriend. I don’t blame him and I don’t blame me. We were both just at two different places and sometimes things don’t work for a reason. He is now happily married with a son and I am so proud of him and happy for him. Even though we no longer were dating, we continued to live together (separate bedrooms). After a few years, I began to go to clubs again and out dancing. If you know the song Slow Fade by Casting Crowns, then you know this part of my story. I eventually met a man at a club and we dated for about 2 years. I stopped going to church and fell away from what I believed and the peace I had found.

After a while, I knew this relationship was unhealthy and had to make a change again. I then decided it was time to move to Charlotte, NC. Kiara was 5 and it was a hard decision to make because I knew it was taking her away from her dad. By this time he was very involved in her life and I hated to take her away from him. I have 2 sisters and a brother in Charlotte and the opportunity came for me to transfer with work. I was blessed get a job with a bank when I was 20 and I am still with the same bank (although it’s had 3 different names). I also knew if I moved to Charlotte, I would finally be able to live on my own. I was 28 and had never lived by myself. I always had a boyfriend or roommates.

About 2 months before I was going to move, I went out with friends to a club. That night I met Olivia’s dad. I knew I was moving, so I didn’t really use ANY judgment in dating him. I figured he would just be some fun before I moved. I knew he had two children and I believed blindly all the reasons he gave me for not being an involved father. When I tell you he was a good liar, I mean he was SO convincing! After knowing him 2 weeks, I became pregnant with Olivia. Again, I share these details, but I’m not proud of it. I only share so much to show how far God has brought me. Prior to finding out I was pregnant, we had agreed that he would move to Charlotte with me. I didn’t realize it at the time, but he was running from his problems in Boston.

We moved to Charlotte in July 2005 and things weren’t great, but they were okay. Kiara began to attend school at University Meadows. We lived right across from the school and every weekend I saw the signs saying Freedom House Church met in the school on Sunday. I was curious, but wanted no part of church. I knew what God expected of me, and I knew that I was disappointing him in the way I was living. In October the church was holding a Harvest Carnival. Kiara begged me to take her. I reluctantly agreed, but had no plan of actually going to church myself. I thought I would take her to play and that was it. When I went and heard the announcement for parents to sign their children into class and then go to the service, I felt I had been caught! I was so convicted, but I went in anyway. I can’t describe the feeling I felt that day. I knew God was calling me back, but I knew my current lifestyle wasn’t lining up with what He would require of me. We attended several times over the next few months. Kiara made me. I can say Kiara has probably saved my life twice. The first time was when she was born because I was living so out of control that she made me calm down. I wanted to be a good mother. It wasn’t until this week when I heard Pastor Penny say it that I realized I wanted a daughter so bad because I was looking for the mother-daughter relationship I had never known before. The second time was by her begging me every weekend to take her to church. It would start on Saturday morning. Then Saturday night she would ask again. Then Sunday morning she would come in and wake me up with “can we PLEASE go to church today!?” One of the greatest witnesses in my own life has been Kiara. One night I was putting her to bed and she asked me, in her 6 year wisdom “mom, does Branton (Olivia’s dad) love Satan more than he loves God?” I asked her why she asked and she said “because of how he cusses and the music he listens to and just how he behaves.” Wow. It stopped me in my tracks. It was shortly after this that Branton started acting strangely. He was very withdrawn and we fought over everything. 10 days before Olivia was born, he walked out. I was absolutely devastated. He had PROMISED he wouldn’t leave me. He PROMISED he would be there. This was yet again another man I had trusted that walked out. Here comes another part of the story that is hard to share. The day before Olivia was born I was visiting my midwife. She noticed something “not quite right” and ran a quick test. I found out he had given me an STD. I praise God it was something that was curable by two antibiotic pills. I can’t explain to you the feelings I had at knowing he had potentially endangered not only MY life, but Olivia’s as well. I have been checked regularly since her birth to ensure everything else was okay and again…praise God it all is. The day Olivia was born, he told me he couldn’t be there because he had to work. He told his job he couldn’t be there because Olivia was being born.

I blame the hormones as the reason I let him come home when Olivia was about a week old. He apologized profusely and really “stepped his game up.” He was so attentive and loving to Olivia and I just couldn’t take away her daddy. He even came with us to church a couple times and I thought maybe he was really changing. I found out the reason he had walked out on me before she was born was so he could sleep with a girl he was working with. I now understood all his angry behavior. His guilt was causing him to take his convictions out on me. It was very difficult for me to live with him knowing all that he had done. After about two months, I noticed he had started the same behavior as before when he walked out. I called another girl he worked with that I found calling his phone. She swore there was nothing going on. She was recently divorced and was not interested in anything more. She knew of our relationship and of his cheating with the other girl they both worked with. I looked at my situation and realized I was repeating the choices of my mother. I knew how it affected me and I knew I NEVER wanted my daughters to feel that I had chose an abusive man over them. I knew something was going on again, but this time I was very calm and had an amazing peace about the situation. I credit God with it because logically, my flesh didn’t understand it. I felt I HAD to let him stay because I couldn’t survive financially without him. But I knew I deserved so much better. I knew God has great things for me. I told him to pack his things and leave. Of course, he moved in with this girl and they are still together 3 years later. Dysfunction loves dysfunction. She is due in May with another little girl. My heart absolutely breaks for this child. My heart breaks for this woman who is okay with a man that has abandoned three children and who had been told the truth and yet still did not think enough of herself to want better. Even more, my heart breaks for Branton. Oh, the grief God must feel for him. He is missing out on the valuable things in life. I once told him that Jesus loves him and his response was “no, Satan loves me. He already has a room reserved for me in hell.” This is the darkness he is in. I am no longer angry at him, but pray for him to see the truth of Christ.

To try and wrap this up……

After I made him leave, we were evicted because I could not afford where we were living. We moved in with Olivia’s babysitter. This was not a great situation, but was another way God always made sure we were taken care of. After living there for six months, I was able to get our own place. At the age of 30 I was finally on my own! Looking at our situation, we don’t appear to have a lot. We don’t live in the nicest house or drive the nicest car. However, we are more than comfortable. God has provided for us in ways that have simply blown me away. There have been times where I didn’t know where our next meal would come from and someone would hand me a gift card or offer to take us out to eat. I was obedient when God told me to take a job making less money and 6 months later I was promoted to a job making more than I ever have before. When I was offered the job the recruiter told me he was in shock at the offer I received because of the increase over what I currently made. That is how HUGE my God is. I am still not perfect and I know God has a lot more work to do in me. I can’t say I never stumble. Some habits are hard to break but that is where God’s grace comes in. He doesn’t give us grace so we can sin, but he does give us the grace we need to be strong enough to NOT sin. I know my limits now. I know that I can’t go to clubs or be around certain crowds because it is a temptation for me. I have to be careful of the music I listen to and the movies I watch. I know the foothold the enemy tries to use on me, but I refuse to let him. It would be easy for me to say that I don’t trust men. I look forward to finding the man I can trust. I have just learned the value that lies within myself and I know I’m worth more than what men of this world are looking to give. I realize bitterness and hate is what satan WANTS me to feel. He would love nothing more than for me to be a bitter woman. But I know how God has made me and I KNOW the purposes He has for me. There is nothing on earth or in hell that satan can scheme to keep me from pressing on in my purpose. If I had no purpose, I would not have been rescued from death twice. Although I am now 32, I feel as if I have just begun to live. The perfect love of Christ casts out ALL fear. And in the Greek, all means all (that’s for you Pastor Penny!)

The generational curses are stopping with me. I am the last one in this branch of the tree. The fruit going forward is going to be fresh and healthy. I praise God for the beauty he has seen in a mess like me.

~ by pennymaxwell on May 6, 2009.