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Stepping Stones

The drawing is one I did while I was being treated for major depression. In this article, I am sharing how I was helped, and pray you will understand how my experiences can help others.

When I was 3 years old my mother died. Doctors had told my mother she would die if she gave me life, yet she chose to allow me to live. Thus, my father believed I had murdered my mother, so I was treated poorly. He brought a woman home who ended up dying in prison for all she did to my sister and me. Over the years I have been in regular hospitals; mental hospitals; been drugged; lied to; tortured; and tied down. Before I was even 5 years old, I had been beaten to the point there was blood coming out of my ears. I had electro-shock-therapy treatments in the days before they had enough compassion to at least sedate you first. Back in the days of my youth they did not know how to treat a feral child who was born in America. They experimented on me and those who were like me. I know what life can be for many who are misunderstood.

I must share, for many years, not just in my youth, but also as an adult, I did not want to live. However, God did not want me to go home before I was able to find happiness, so He refused to allow me to die. Now, I can honestly say, I am grateful for my life. I have learned many things that work and many things that do not work. It is my wish to share some of the good things with you that have helped me when I get depressed.

First off, I want you to know that you need to talk about how you are feeling. If you are being abused by someone (and that includes yourself) you need to share why you have those black and blue marks or cuts. When someone hurts you in any way, you need to share that with someone you trust.

In my very early years, I spend a number of months living outside in my father’s back yard. Most people did not even know I was there. If my sister had not been clubbed in our front yard, and a neighbor saw it happen, I would have died in that backyard. The doctors said I had “protein malnutrition” and one judge called me a “feral child.” A rare condition for anyone in the United States at that time. Now, it is very common in most of our cities. There are many children without homes or who have been abandoned by parents. I know of children eating out of trash bins or digging through others leftovers. Many times, over the years, I have received telephone calls during the night to alert me that certain children were sleeping in Goodwill bins. I would go pick them up, bring them to my home; feed and nurture them, only to have to return them to those who did that to them in the first place. It breaks my heart to know that the courts place children back into such situations after the parent takes a few weeks of classes. When I was young, after I had been rescued that first time, I kept running away from those who abused me, only to be returned to abusive care. I did not then, nor now, ever want a child to be forced to return to that type of life. Yes, I know what mental illness looks like, both as one who has suffered and as a person who helps others heal from that type of suffering, no matter what age they might be.

I am here to tell you, there is hope. You can heal. You can move forward, but you have to put forth effort to do this. You can’t wait for others to heal you. No matter what drugs they give you, that will not heal you. Most drugs have side effects that are much worse than the illness. Drugs only block “feelings”, they never help you to “overcome” what you went through to make you feel this way in the first place.

In my humble opinion, when you are able to find truth, then you can really begin to heal. Truth can set you free from your past. Truth can assist you in living toward whom you really want to be. Who God meant you to be. And yes, I did say the “G” word. I believe in God. I mean, Look all around you. Do you see that Sun up in the sky? How do you think it got there? Why do you think it comes up each and every morning? Do you see that Moon at night? How do you think it got there? Can you find a flower (one that has not been sprayed with some kind of chemical) and really see it? Can you smell it? If you are blind, can you not feel that flower? Who do you think created that flower in the first place? Who do you think really created you? Sure, your mother may have given you the body, and your father may have created that body, but who do you think gives you breath each and everyday? End of lecture 1. Now back to what I started to share with you.

While I was living in our backyard, I learned a few things. A person can survive in nature even better than in society. Fresh air is good for a human, and since you are human, I suggest you get outside and breath every single day. Even when you don’t feel like going outside, at least open a window, if you are able to do that.

I also learned that food is very important. Back, when I was young, I only had the fruit that fell from the trees, or the wild things that the animals gave me. But you have other types of food. And I am not speaking of potato chips, hamburgers and french fries. I am speaking of fruits and vegetables. Clean water, when you can get it. Not anything with “additives”. God gave us food enough to last us a lifetime that is clean and pure and healthy for us. We need to be careful what we put into our bodies. When we put garbage in, we get garbage out. That is a fact.

Since I was 5 years old, I have been seen by “professional” people who tried to help. Some where able to put the body back together. Some gave me good advice. The others, I won’t discuss. One of the good ones told me to write things down, some said to use art and music to speak. I recommend those things to you.

For example: One time, they had me in a straightjacket in a padded cell. I had tried to kill myself when my children were kidnapped and that was the only way they could keep me alive. While I was in there, I began to remember what helped me growing up. The birds, from when I was little, used to come sit by me, and make music, and I learned that I could talk to them by making music. Mentally, while in that padded cell, I went back to that time out-of-doors and began to make music to calm myself. I closed my eyes and saw sunshine and flowers that God had given me when I was locked in a cold, dark closet when I was about 3 years old. I remembered my animal friends who have fed and nurtured me. I felt comforted, and once I was calm, they let me out of that room. But, I could never tell any of them what had calmed me down.

Over the years, I spent a lot of time locked up, until I finally learned how to talk to others. It had taken me until I was about 12 years old to learn how to speak words. Up until I left there, then, I went back to being afraid. I do hope and pray you were not treated as I was when I was young. But for those of us who were not allowed to speak, as adults we still struggle, when under a lot of stress, to find words that were not there growing up.

Thanks to good people, I have used Music and Art to help me talk many times. I drew pictures of many things. I drew that picture of my sister, whom I thought was dead. In that picture, you will see a tree, which represented my family, that egg, as she had been born early, the teddy bear, since it was the only toy she had from my mother. I drew it in black and white with only my hand in color, as I thought everything I loved was dead. I was told that it helped me to heal during a very rough time. I drew rain and animals. While in HollyGrove Home for Children, I used music to create rain and gave all my feelings in the music. One of my therapists spoke to me about my art, and he told me that it helped him to understand who I am. I liked and trusted him. He never tried to drug me, nor force me to do anything against my will. Now to my thinking, that is a good therapist. I am sorry to say, most places now treat mental illness with drugs only. I am grateful to find there are still places where a person can talk and be helped gently without drugs.

As I grew older, I began to keep what I call: my “positivity journal”. I recommend it highly and know it has helped many people. Each day, you open it and write down at least 3 things you are grateful for.

When I first started mine, the only thing I could think of was toilet paper. Now you may laugh, however, when I was young, I did not even know what that was. I know I was over 5 but under ten years old when I got to see and learn what toilet paper was for. A nurse showed me, and she even taught me how to use a toilet. Prior to that time, the only time I had used a toilet was when my head was being held into it by my step-mother.  There, at the hospital, when the nurse flushed that toilet, and I saw the water went down and took all my “stuff” with it, I smiled. She smiled too and I knew it was okay. I’m sure you can think of something in your life that you are grateful for, even if you might think it is silly, right?

A few times in my life, I have been blind. When I saw my sister laying in that pool of blood and my step-mother beating her, I lost my sight, and that was just temporary. As an adult, I had a hole in my right eye, and all the fluid drained out. Then I got a very bad infection and lost sight in both eyes. One of my grateful things now, is that I can see. I’m sure you will think of many things you are grateful for every day.

May I share a game with you that I learned from one of my therapists? I call it the 5-4-3-2-1 game.

When you are anxious, stressed or feeling out of it: Look around you and find 5 colors. Name them. Next, reach out and touch 4 things. Name them as you touch them. Was it cold, warm, rough, smooth? Next, open your ears and listen for 3 sounds. It might be a fan, or a bird, or music, whatever it is, try to find at least 3 sounds. Next, think of 2 things that you enjoy eating or drinking. Think about what they taste like. Next, I want you to smell something. Then name that smell.

What I did, was make a little box and put things in it that I like. For example: 5 pieces of cloth which were different colors and textures. 4 little things; a smooth stone, a paper clip, an eraser, and a small marble. I also included a small bag of cinnamon, and hand lotion (I like wild cherry). I also put pictures of the mountains and the ocean and flowers. I called that my “E-box” and kept it close bye for those times when I was stressed out.

I suffer from what is now called “Post Traumatic Stress Disorder” (PTSD). I lived in a “war zone” in my own family. Due to sexual trauma at a very early age, and having to live in so many different homes over my growing up years, I learned how to survive in many ways. Thus, I had what some Doctors called “Multiple Personality Disorder” (MPD), which they now label as “Dissociative Identity Disorder” (DID). A small child must develop different facets of their personality to “survive” when living in so many different homes. Doctors have no clue how those types of labels stigmatize children. We should never put labels on our children. Never! That does not cure them. That does not help them to heal. One doctor thinks one thing, another thinks another and thus the child is tossed back and forth and that only makes the original trauma worse.

Yes, I do tend to speak with a different voice when I am under a lot of stress. The reason being, it is hard for me to find voice, even though I am trying with all my might to speak. That “child” within me was never allowed to use a voice, thus I never learned how to communicate properly. That does not mean I must be “weird”. Due to the abuse of my early youth, at times I have pain in places that have no current injury. That does not mean I am crazy. That means there is a problem that has not been resolved, yet. It does not mean I am faking. It is very real.

For many years, they took people who were “mentally ill” and chained them to floors and tossed food at them to keep them alive. They felt that was humane. Things did get better in some ways, but even in the 1960’s we were not treated much better.

During the 1980’s many of us fought to help change the rules for the mentally ill, so we could have the right to refuse drugs and abuse. We helped those who suffer to not be raped by those who should have been protecting us. To not be drugged into compliance. But rather to obtain real help to heal, and many are still in that same fight. I’m sorry to say that some abuse the system, and thus make things worse. Those who are not really what they claim to be just so they can get away with crimes. I believe that we all need to held accountable for what we do. They allow prisoners to have food and shelter and clothing, but what are they doing for the mentally ill? Many live on the streets, having to do things that would turn your stomach if you knew.

Some learned that beating a child never helped that child to learn anything but hatred. Yelling at a child does not help them learn love. But allowing them to get away with doing wrong things never helped them to learn either. Lifting a child helps them feel loved. Teaching them right from wrong by example is the way they learn best. But many never got an opportunity to see that in action. All we saw was the wrong type of “love” .

I learned about real love at HollyGrove Home for Children in Los Angeles California back in 1957. I was the first child to be placed there from the court system. I only got to stay for one year, but in that year I saw for the first time what real love felt like. I got my first clean hug from the headmistress, Miss Margaret Ingram. I learned how to laugh right out loud. I learned how play. I learned about music from an old upright piano. I learned I could talk to someone and that person believed me, even though others called me a liar. I learned that when I did something naughty, I was held accountable for what I had done. Yet, I was loved in spite of my mistake. I was not a bad person, I had done a naughty thing, and I learned how to correct that mistake. All humans do naughty things from time to time, but that does not make us bad. Those who deliberately harm others are doing something bad. But since we don’t know why they do what they do, we need to stay away from them, or let others know who can and will stop them. I learned we can do things we might not want to do, and when we are asked by those who really love us (in the correct way), we can learn and grow by doing those things. For example: I learned how to clean the pots and pans in the kitchen and how to keep a place clean enough to be healthy and allow it to be dirty enough to be lived in. I love what “clean love” taught me. That year has stayed with me over 69 years. I still draw on what I learned from those wonderful people.

Anyway, I just want you to know, there is hope. There is a life after abuse. There is a life after depression. There is a way to overcome all things. And that is because there is a God who loves you. There is a God who sent His Son, Jesus Christ to show you that God loves you. Jesus Christ who is a God, suffered so He could know how You feel, and thus He can and will comfort You when you turn to Him. He not only came for those who do bad things, He came for you and me. For those of us who have been damaged and abused and neglected and misunderstood. He came for those of us who make mistakes and then repent and strive not to hurt others. He came before and is coming again to bring us all back to His presence. When we cry, He and all the angels in heaven cry. When we mourn, He mourns. When we suffer, He understands, because He also suffered.

Please, do not give up. There are ways out of what you are feeling. There are ways to find peace and happiness. There are those who really do care and want to help. There really are those who can help, but you have to do your part. You can’t just sit by and feel sorry for yourself, because that never did help you nor anyone else. I know, because I have been where you are. I know you can be as happy as you allow yourself to be.

You want to know how I know that? I lived it. I am still living it. And I shall continue to live it, even though I can not always walk; even though I can not always use my eyes; even though I can not always leave my home; even when I am locked up or tied down; I know that I have a form of peace, because: I know that God is watching. He sees everything and His angels keep records over everything that happens to His children, of which you and I are one. I know that when this life is over (and everyone dies sooner or later) He will make things right. I know that with all my heart and mind and will continue to live, looking forward to that day.

Hugs, from an woman who was once a child. A woman who was once a mother. A woman who was once a wife. A woman who was once abused, neglected, tortured, abandoned, sick and felt lost. A woman to whom the good Lord sent help to teach me who I really am. You may ask, “Who do you think you are?” I am a daughter of God, who is telling you that you too are a child of God, and there is hope.

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Children

“When you choose whether to make or keep a covenant with God, you choose whether you will leave an inheritance of hope to those who might follow your example.” Henry B Eyring, Apostle of the Lord Jesus Christ.

The day my eldest child was born, I felt such deep joy. I felt she was the reason I had been born and allowed to live. This precious little gift straight from God to earth. And I had the honor to usher her into this life. I had prayed that I would be blessed with a family and now I was blessed to see the reality. I held her in my arms, and she just snuggled right in.

It was my joy to feed her and teach her to talk, allow her to walk, and play and enjoy the air and sunshine. Until November 1965, she was mine to love. She was born 23 August 1964 in Bellflower, Los Angeles, California.

When my son, Phillip LeRoy was born, my husband felt deep joy. It matched my own, as now I had two sweet little ones to love. He was born 3 November 1965 in Norwalk, Los Angeles, California. Until Thanksgiving night of 1965 they were both my angels to feed and love and hold.

In 1982 I received a telephone call from an attorney. He told me that my son was in a foster home, and they wanted to adopt him. They needed me to sign the papers to allow that to happen. I let him know that I wanted to at least see my son before I would sign anything. Up until that point, I did not even know if he was alive or dead. He said that was not allowed. I told him I would never sign anything until I had the opportunity to see my son. Then I hung up.

He called back at a later time and let me know the address of the foster home. I made the arrangements and went. As I saw this young man leaning against the door, I could see in him his father, thus I knew it was really my baby in a young man’s body. Slowly, I got out of the car and as I approached him, his foster mother came out the door. She invited us into the house, and I kept staring at Phillip.

Some time later the three of us went to a little coffee shop. I was sitting next to my son and she was telling me all they could give him. My heart was breaking. They could give him all those things I had wanted him to have. I had nothing to give him. Only my love, and he did not know how I felt. He had never really even met me before. After listening, I asked my son if that is what he wanted. He said, “yes”. I told her I needed a little bit of time, but I would sign.

I must admit, I never did sign that paper. As I was standing out back by the corral, crying on the neck of a horse, I heard my son say, “Lets run away together.”  I turned and said, “Let me go tell your foster parents you are coming with me.” He begged me to say nothing, just run. I told him that if I did that, I would go to prison and then we could never be together. He ran away and the foster parents let me know I needed to leave.

In 1986 I was blessed to go the House of the Lord, the Los Angeles Temple and learn who I really am, and that families were meant to be together for all eternity. I made certain covenants while there, and I treasure those promises made unto me.

The next time I saw my children was in Colorado. The year was 1989, and my babies were all grown up. I was only allowed to stay for very short visit, yet I saw what they looked like. No longer did I see my little girl as a wee one. No longer did I mourn over what might have been, but rather, I learned that when we are obedient to our covenants, Father does bless us with our hearts desires. I was reunited with my children and that means more to me than what happened.

I would like to share with you more words spoken by a man of God:

“After all we can do in faith, the Lord will justify our hopes for greater blessings for our families than we can imagine. He wants the best for them and for us, as His children.

“We are all children of a living God. Jesus of Nazareth is His Beloved Son and our resurrected Savior. This is His Church. In it are the keys of the priesthood, and so families can be forever. This is our priceless heritage of hope. I testify that it is true in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ, amen.” By President Henry B. Eyring, First Counselor in the First Presidency of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day-saints.”

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One Mercy from God

I love what Elder Oaks once said in regard to us who have suffered at the poor choices others made:

“While God will not prevent those choices, He will bless us to endure the consequences of other’s choices. And those whose mortal opportunities are cut short or reduced by the choices of others eventually have every blessing and opportunity offered through the Mercy and Atonement of Jesus Christ.”  Elder Dallin H. Oaks, Apostle of Jesus Christ. A member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day-saints. He is also a well known speaker and an attorney.

I personally know that the gift of Agency was not free. We all pay a price and Jesus Christ, the Son of the Most High God paid the highest price. He took upon himself our pain. Not just the sins of the world, but our pain. Yes, He knows about pain, suffering at the hands of others. He knows how we felt when beaten, starved, abused in horrendous ways, that we feel no one else understands. Yet He understands.

Many times, I have felt his tender mercy as I have felt His loving influence sweep over me. Many times I have felt lifted from off this horrible planet where others only saw beauty. Many times I have wanted to die rather than suffer more torture at the hands of evil men and women. Yet, through it all, Father was watching and weeping. The Lord paid a very high price for us, all because He loves us. I had never felt that dept of love that He has shown me.

I’m sorry if many of you do not know Him. I am sorry if this bothers you, but I just want you to know that I know God lives. I do pray this will not be deleted, but if it is, I have said my piece. Thank you for caring about me. It means a lot to me, as a feral child, to have others hear me.

I love this song. It speak volumes of love. When I hear the sweet voices of children in song it send chills down my spine. I hope you all have a great day. Hugs from a distance.

Photograph by Steve Gills.

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#Children, #Christian, #Faith, #LDS, JesusChrist

Jesus Loves the Little Children

Mathew 5: 1-12 (with additions from the KJV-JST)

1 And seeing the multitudes, he (Jesus Christ) went up into a mountain: and when he was set, his disciples came unto him:

2 And he opened his mouth, and taught them, saying,

3 Blessed are the poor in spirit: who come unto me, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

4 Blessed are they that mourn: who come unto me, for they shall be comforted.

5 Blessed are the meek: who come unto me, for they shall inherit the earth.

6 Blessed are they which do hunger and thirst after righteousness: for they shall be filled.

7 Blessed are the merciful: for they shall obtain mercy.

8 Blessed are the pure in heart: for they shall see God.

9 Blessed are the peacemakers: for they shall be called the children of God.

10 Blessed are they which are persecuted for righteousness’ sake: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

11 Blessed are ye, when men shall revile you, and persecute you, and shall say all manner of evil against you falsely, for my sake.

12 Rejoice, and be exceeding glad: for great is your reward in heaven: for so persecuted they the prophets which were before you.

As a small child, I mourned for my mother. Life was so hard back then. While I loved the trees, fruit, animals and sky, I wanted my mother. Now, as I grow old, I mourn my children this night. I miss being a mother. Those few years with my babies meant so much to me.

My youngest daughter and I sang silly songs together and loved to go to the park. We loved snuggling together and just spending time together. I loved it when she brought me flowers or when she had written a new song for her piano and played it for me. She and I were together only 5 short years, but that was over twice as long as I had my eldest two.

I remember one time, I was very sick, and taking a nap on the couch. I thought my little girl was in bed, however, I soon felt a dripping cloth on my face. She had taken a wash cloth, dipped it in the toilet (she could not reach the sink) and put it over my face to help me feel better. She was so tender.

I remember feeding my son, and my oldest daughter came into the room, climbed up on the bed, and put her head in my lap. I sang to them both that night. It was the last time I saw either of them for many years.

I’m glad Jesus Christ loves the little children. Aren’t you?

The drawing is of my half-sister which I created for a Mental Health Therapist when I was young. I used to be an artist.

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To my son

I take this from the Book of Mormon, yet the words are not only Alma’s they are mine:

My son, give ear to my words; for I swear unto you, that inasmuch as ye shall keep the commandments of God ye shall prosper in the land.

I would that ye should do as I have done, in remembering the captivity of our fathers; for they were in bondage, and none could deliver them except it was the God of Abraham, and the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob; and he surely did deliver them in their afflictions. (You know that I came when I learned of where you were. God blessed me with you that night – thank you for saving me from your friends.)

And now, O my son (Phillip), behold, thou art in thy youth, and therefore, I beseech of thee that thou wilt hear my words and learn of me; for I do know that whosoever shall put their trust in God shall be supported in their trials, and their troubles, and their afflictions, and shall be lifted up at the last day.

And I would not that ye think that I know of myself—not of the temporal but of the spiritual, not of the carnal mind but of God.

Now, behold, I say unto you, if I had not been born of God I should not have known these things; but God has, by the mouth of his holy angel, made these things known unto me, not of any worthiness of myself;

My sweet man, now. You are no longer my little boy. I only held you from birth until you were a two week old baby, then again in Colorado in 1989. My son, when I found you at 17, I could not hold. You were someone else’s son. The only reason I knew it was you is because you looked so much like your father. When your step-mother, or whomever that lady was in Colorado said, “What kind of a mother are you to not even recognize your own children.” she was right. A big difference between a child being fed at my breast and a man sitting there in a full beard and long hair. Nonetheless, when I looked into your eyes, I recognized you.

The reason I sat so long holding my hands together that night was because I was pleading with Father to help me be calm and not feel the pain of the words being thrown at me. I had wanted so badly to see you both that I did not want this moment to end.

Now, all these years have gone by, and I am almost ready to go back to my heavenly home. Perhaps, if it is Father’s will, I can see you when you and Rebecca leave this earth. If not, know this. I never stopped loving you.

The picture was taken when I did not know who you were. I just knew you and your sister were sitting on a swing and I pushed you. Larry brought you to my home and your grandfather took this picture of us. By the time I got a copy of it, you were a full grown man. Pain knows no bounds at times. Yet, this little picture has been in my home, in a place of honor,  since I received it. I used to have a small statue of Jesus holding little children, and I taped it to that. Then, I found a woman who had lost her children to death and gave her the statue, but I kept this picture next to my mission theme. I have Christ in my heart, so I only needed to see you and Rebecca once in awhile to be comforted. Now that your grandfather is gone, I was blessed by your Aunt Pat to get the picture of you two on your second birthday. The one where Rebecca had three candles and you had two on the same cake, and you both were smiling. I have that hanging on my kitchen cupboards. Good night my sweet one.

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Choose Ye This Day

“And see that all these things are done in wisdom and order; for it is not requisite that a man should run faster than he has strength. And again, it is expedient that he should be diligent, that thereby he might win the prize; therefore, all things must be done in order.” Mosiah 4:27

Marjorie Pay Hinckley added this:

“Choose carefully each day that which you will do and that which you will not do, and the Lord will bless you to accomplish the important things that have eternal consequences. At my age, I’ve edited the scripture just a little. “For is is not requisite that a woman should hobble faster than she has strength!”

I do so love that woman. I adored her husband. He was a prophet of God who blessed me in more ways than one.

From here down, please be advised I share things from my past, which might upset you. So be forewarned I don’t want to trigger anyone.

I can’t remember how old I was, all I know is, I was not yet a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day-saints, but this scripture from the King James version of the Holy Bible really struck me as truth:

Joshua 24:15

15 “And if it seem evil unto you to serve the Lord, choose you this day whom ye will serve; whether the gods which your fathers served that were on the other side of the flood, or the gods of the Amorites, in whose land ye dwell: but as for me and my house, we will serve the Lord.”

Where I came from, family chose false gods. They chose Satan, sex, drugs, and violence, pornography, bondage and worse. In the past, others wanted details, but I will not share details. These are things that should never be spoken of, let alone lived. Many children struggle with these types of backgrounds which creates shame that is almost too much to bear.

I remember in one town I lived in, I was out walking the neighborhood and saw the Calling Cards of Pedophiles and Rapists. They were all over the walls to show where certain houses were that contained single women with children, and those where men worked nights. In the windows next to the spot where the train pulled into town were explicit Pedophile calling cards. I went up to the door of the establishment and told them I knew what those were and to please, take them down. They just laughed at me. I asked to speak to the owner of the building and was told I was speaking to him. I again repeated my request. He continued to laugh, so I left.

I prayed all the way to the City/County building and ask to see who owned that building. After I gathered the information, I went to speak to the Mayor. He assured me that he was there to protect the women and children in that city. I filed a permit to picket, then went back home and prayed. I began a fast, and the next day I went to where the women I knew were working on a project and informed them of what was coming. They just kept their heads down, and told me not worry about it. They were protected. I was furious. Just because they were married was not an excuse to place others in harms way. I left and went home to prepare to do what I knew I needed to do.

One woman found out and drove by where I was walking. She brought me water and dry socks. One man came and walked as long as he could, however he was also disabled, so could not stay long. Many people drive by who honked and gave me a thumbs up, yet I walked alone. I walked each day until dark, then came back the next morning. I walked for three days praying and walking back and forth in front of the establishment with a sign on my chest and back. When I went home, I wrote note from the children of the City and asked him again to not bring those types of people into their neighborhood. I mailed it.

After the third day I went for a walk around the small area I lived. One of the earlier prophets told us that now was the time to go into the cracks and crevices to find God’s children. I follow the prophets, living and dead  I went back to the Government building to learn who were the owners of certain places. I then, went to the door of a whore house and knocked. I could see the eye behind the peek hole, and spoke very loudly, “I know who you are and what you are doing. WE don’t want you here.” I then went to the neighbors and let them know I was going to be picketing and why. I went home to prepare, and then picketed in front of the building for three days, as I had the other place. Again, I got honks, and thumbs up, but walked alone. After, I went into each alley during the dawn hours and knocked on car windows where there were people engaged in sexual activities. I shamed them, and let them know others were watching. I asked people leave their outside lights on at night. I took gloves and pick up tools to gather the condoms and empty needles before the children got up for school.

Then, I went downtown, and noticed some things that were already in town. I again went back and found out who the owners where. I was more than livid. I marched into the City/County Building during a meeting open to the public. I signed up to ask a question, then waiting my turn. While I waited I prayed and asked to be calm so I could say what needed to be said.

I walked up to where the Mayor was sitting and stared at him, until he looked up. I got as close to him as I could, and put my finger in front of his nose. “Shame on you!” I said. “You told me you were here to protect the women and children in this city and yet you are part owner in whore houses, abortion clinics, leather shops, paraphernalia shops. Shame on you!” The other members of the council lowered their eyes and heads, but he just sat there smiling.  I let him know that I had told Heavenly Father on him, then turned and went home.

In the past I have paid a high price for speaking truth. I have been tortured, drugged, locked up, laughed at, spit upon, and worse. But I share this with you. When people do not listen to the prophets, they reap the whirlwinds of God. Since when is murder of innocents an option? I’m sorry, but this sin is most grievous. When I first came here, I saw abortion clinics being advertised in public. I wrote to every religious person in town. I got only two letters back. One from an Orthodox Jewish Rabbi and the other from the President of the Church of Latter-day-saints.

I thank God for His righteous sons and their wives. They know whom they stand for. I know whom I stand for. Whom do you choose?

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#Blessing, #Children, #Family, #Gift, #LDS, #love

My Son

When my children were babies, they were kidnapped and until they were grown, I never knew where to find them. I am only sharing this, so you will see that God does bless us and when we do what is right, He gives us our hearts desires.

The photograph you see was not sent to me until after my father died and my step-sister had compassion and sent it to me. This is the way I want to remember them. I have only seen my son twice since he was stolen at two weeks old. My daughter was only a year and a few month that November in 1965 and the next time I saw her was in December 1989.

When I was set apart to become a missionary for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day-saints, I was given a blessing. For those of you who do not know what a blessing is: it is a gift from our Father in Heaven to those whom love Him, honor Him and will do what He has asked of them.

In the blessing I was promised if I served a faithful mission, I would be reunited with my family. At that time, I thought, “He has not clue what he is promising me.” Yet, in my heart, I knew that God never lies, so I moved forward.

Two weeks prior to my mission ending, I received a telephone call from a young man who claimed to be my son. I hung up on him. A few minutes later the phone rang again. I again hung up on him. I felt that perhaps a member of my family was trying to cause me grief, so I told my companion that if he called again, she needed to answer the phone. It did, and she did.

Soon, she came into the room and said, “Sister King, I think you need to talk to this person.”  I took the receiver and began to ask questions. He had all the right answers, and I felt in my heart it was not a bad joke, but rather he was in deed my precious Phillip.

Unbeknownst to me, he was part of a group of those who dislike people of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day-saints. He had been lied to so much by my family, that he hated me. I was told that his sister was with him, and he wanted me to meet his new girl friend. I explained I still had two weeks of my mission to go, but when it was over I would come as quickly as I could. He said, “Then forget it. If you can’t come now, then I don’t want to see you.” I begged him to allow me to talk to my mission president and try to work something out. He agreed, and after we hung up I wept bitterly. I knew that if I went, I would be breaking my mission rules, yet I also knew that if I did not go I might never see my son.

To make a long story short, I did obtain permission as well as was supported in my struggles by all those who knew what I was going through. My own companion could not come with me, however a Family History sister had relatives who lived in that city and she made arrangements for us to stay in their home while there. We got to the bus depot in that city only to learn that he had changed his mind and did not want to see me. After we went to her family’s home, she called him and I have no clue what she said, but he said I could come, but only if I came alone.

I broke mission rules again and went alone. I was surrounded by those whom hated me. I was mocked, taunted, spit upon and forced to listen while I was called names and my religion was mocked. Finally, my son had pity upon me. He leaned over, touched my hand and said, “I need to get you out of her before you get hurt.” He nodded to the man who had picked me up and told him to take me back to where I had been picked up. Just as I got to the front door, I turned, and grabbed my son and hugged him. I looked towards my daughter who backed up so I could not touch her. Then, I left.

In my heart, I feel that if I had not broken mission rules and gone alone, we perhaps would have had a much happier ending to this reunion. Nonetheless, I returned to the mission field and finished my mission. I later learned that if I had been patient, my mission president would have sent for my children and we could have been reunited on Temple Square. That never happened, and I am not sure they would have even come.

Even though my children and I are not in touch, I continue to pray that somehow they forgave me for those things they think I did. I pray that they have come to know Jesus Christ and accepted the Gospel plan. I pray that they married and have families which are sealed to them for all eternity. I know that somehow Father will make all things work for their good.

The photograph was taken at my birth-father’s house to celebrate both birthdays. August 10th and November 3rd.  I miss them, but yet I never knew them. I wish they could have known me, but that never happened either. Her 3rd birthday, his 2nd. It is the first I can see that they had something I never had. Happy birthday my loved ones. Happy birthday.

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