After our move from Denver to Miami, we settled into a duplex apartment. The small amount of money we had saved quickly dwindled. Donny couldn’t find steady work, and my waitressing tips barely kept us afloat.
Six months later:
“Pack your bags; we’re moving,” Donny announced out of the blue.
“What? Another move? Where to now?” I wailed and braced for the answer.
“The Lone Star State, he shrugged. “Jobs are booming in Houston.” He left to tie up loose ends for our big move.
I put Anna Marie down for a nap. I plopped on the floor surrounded by boxes Donny had gathered, waiting to fill. I wept instead of packing, wanting to pull my hair out in frustration.
What are we going to do in Texas? Live out on the prairie? Herd a bunch of cattle? Ride horses? Donny might think himself a cowboy, but I ain’t no cowgirl.
I found myself talking to God. I pleaded with Him to change the circumstances. I wanted help to survive one more day, another move—to Timbuktu for all I knew. Was it selfish for me to want my little girl to know the love of her great-grandparents? Was it wrong for me to want her to know her humorous grandpa and enjoy Gloria’s pampering?
Angry. I threw things into suitcases and boxes. Pointless. Coming and going. Didn’t I moved enough times as a kid? As I fumed and tossed stuff around, an envelope fell out of my dusty Bible and dropped onto my lap. A letter! From Aunt Irma; written after I’d returned from New York, after my “great escape” from Donny. I sat crossed-legged on the floor and re-read her letter, allowing her words to digest:
| I pray that Donny’s heart will soften, so that he learns that our being imperfect beings that we are, we tend to make mistakes. Even with the best of intentions. May God put it in his heart these truths, so that he will be able to forget that you left him when you were hurt and so confused. And that the act no way lessened the love you have for him. Mary Ann, may he ever remember that a woman is not to ever be mistreated by hitting, but to be held, respected, and loved as someone precious as a part of himself. As for you dear, please remember; no one wins in a fight. And having the last word in an argument is not important. We love you and miss you and Anna Marie. God bless you, Aunt Irma and your uncle Jimmy. |
I re-folded the page and tucked it away. With a fresh determination to put all self-pity aside, I went back to my packing.
The above is an excerpt of Chapter 22 “Running in Heels: A Memoir of Grit and Grace“
That day I learned something about how God works in the middle of our chaos. Sometimes the answer to our prayers doesn’t arrive as a miracle or a changed circumstance. Sometimes it slips quietly out of the pages of a dusty Bible. It may appear as a letter written by someone who loves us.
Looking back now, I realize that move to Texas wasn’t just another exhausting chapter in a string of moves. It was one more place where God was teaching me grit… and a little grace.
Life has a funny way of surprising us with reminders. This happens just when we think we can’t take one more step. For me, it was Aunt Irma’s words on a worn piece of paper.
Have you ever had a moment like that—when something small stopped you in your tracks and shifted your perspective?
I’d love to hear your stories. Sometimes the lessons that steady us the most are the ones we almost overlook
From Heart to Heritage
Reflections From the Heart 