Thank God for the Day I Died

I flipped that little truck over and over again, five to six times, before we finally ended upside down on the roof and slid another fifty yards or so down the highway, leaving a half mile of debris strewn behind us. I can still, to this day, hear the sickening sound of metal being twisted to its capacity, taste the blood welling into my mouth, and smell the putrid odor of hot oil and burning paint.

But the sound I remember the loudest, the one that brings me to my knees, was the terrifying, deafening silence that followed, when all the other noise stopped. Because in that moment, I knew he was gone.

And it was my fault. I had killed him.

The Pilot Wife Life

It was November 24th, 2000—just another Thanksgiving morning. It was also the day I died. But wait, let’s backtrack a bit.

Two months earlier I was just living my life, doing whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted, with whomever I wanted. I was 24, single(ish) with suitors out the wazoo, making really good money, and the owner of my very own farmhouse on four acres in a quaint, tiny little town called Whitewater, KS.

If you asked me back then, I would have told you I was doing well. Looking back, I would tell you my life was full, but my heart was a bitter and cold abyss.

That ‘me’ was the product of years of abuse at the hands of those very people who should have loved me and protected me with their lives. I didn’t care very deeply about anything or anyone but me. I avoided deep emotional…

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Screw ‘Me Too’ and Rise Above

‘Me too’ is not some cute, temporary trend that is going around social media. It is not some interesting statistic. It is a brave revelation of the darkest moment of these women’s lives in the hopes that something will change, that the next woman will be spared the same devastation, that the other ‘me too’s’ out there hiding will know they are not alone. Rise above, my sisters. Rise above.

The Pilot Wife Life

I have wrestled heavily with posting this. I know it will likely make someone (or many someones) uncomfortable or even angry. However, as the mentor for a page that is predominantly comprised of women, my conscious has continued to prod me and refused to condone my silence.

I hate when that happens.

I know it might surprise you, but I don’t necessarily enjoy the craziness and controversy that almost always accompany viral posts. I didn’t create this site to gain fame or notoriety from the millions but rather to love the struggling One well – to change the world one beautiful life at a time.

And there within lies the problem with my desire to simply press delete and forget this ever crossed my mind. I know somewhere out there she – the precious One – needs someone to say this – and God is telling me that someone is…

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