As the youngest of eight, raised modest in the Kentucky hills, we knew hard work and Scripture. When God called me into ministry, family questioned this calling due to it not being how they believed. By then, I had three children: one who loved breaking the law, one who struggled with simple tasks, and one who grew up in the shadows of sirens and special needs. Motherhood became a pulpit, educating me to trust God in storms and under the eyes of judgement, tasks I sometimes doubted I’d endure. I have felt the eyes of a legion of folks, stares of neighbors, sideways glances in church even as I slipped into a pew. The cold assessments of school oƯicials across the table were also not missed by me. My husband and I, who are both preachers, answered the door at 2 a.m. to police inquiries, fought for integrity within schools, while trying not to crumble under the convictions of some churchgoers. I married young, had my first child at eighteen, miscarried the next, then welcomed my second son two years later. At two weeks old he choked on formula causing an anoxic brain injury – permanent damage, a life sentence of care. My oldest son stole his first car at thirteen and was sentenced to twenty years in prison by eighteen. After years of prayer, my oldest son has rediscovered faith and turned his life toward Jesus. I trusted that no one is too far from His grace. When my youngest turned twenty, my niece overdosed leaving behind a two-week-old daughter. Our family… Read More