This guest post was sent to me by a lovely blogging lady who wishes to remain anonymous. I was so touched by her story, and honored that she trusted me with such a personal part of her life. I love that this is a two-sided story: one side a powerful tale of strength in recovering from a devastating disease, and the other side an example of true love and charity reaching out to a woman in need. Please read with open minds and hearts, and remember the bravery it took to put something so private out there for the world to read. If you’d like to write a guest post, please view the guidelines under “what is inspire?” on the sidebar to your right.

If I were to write about someone who has inspired or enriched my life, it would have to be my pastor’s wife, Lisa. I think of all the women in my life, not related to me, she has touched my life the most. It all started 7 years ago when I was her daughter’s boss at work and my family and I had no where to spend Thanksgiving. All of my family was out of town and we had settled in with the idea that Thanksgiving was on our own that year. Her daughter approached me before the holiday and said her parents would like to invite us if we didn’t already have plans. I had only met them briefly once before, but I liked them and we decided to go. They made us feel so welcome and we immediately felt like we belonged. The entire day was filled with laughter, Lisa loving up my kids to death, and the feeling that they truly cared about us.

Now fast forward to 3 years ago. We were searching for a new church to attend. We remembered how kind and loving Lisa and her husband were, so we decided to check out the church they pastored. Just like in their home, they made us feel welcome. We loved the atmosphere and the pastor was dynamic. We had found our church.

About a year later, I was still suffering from depression. Bad depression. I had been suffering for so many years, no medications were working and I was battling the most horrendous demons inside me. I began to drink socially with friends at the time. Then found that the drinking made the demons go away and the depression seemed to lift. Then I began to drink to “relax” after a day with my kids, the kids I watched as daycare and the stresses of being a stay-at-home mom with a husband who worked 16 hours a day. Pretty soon I began to drink earlier in the day and by the time my kids were to be tucked in bed, I was blitzed. Not to mention the parties every weekend. Outside my life, no one knew I drank like this. I kept it a secret. Thus was my routine for 1 ½ years.

One Sunday when I was at church, I was totally convicted of my behavior. I can’t remember what it was, but God was talking to me louder than I had ever heard Him. I practically flew down to the altar at the front of our church and bawled. Lisa was instantly there by my side. She prayed with me. She talked to me. She was there. I then confessed to her my guilty secret. There was no judgment in her eyes. Just love. It was totally Christ’s love I saw in her eyes and I just knew I had to beat this thing that was holding me captive. She told me I was now accountable to her because I had told her. She would pray for me and help keep me on track. I felt assured. I was confident I could do this.

But if you’re an alcoholic, you know all the best promises in the world cannot help you fight your addiction. And I couldn’t stay sober. I would try so hard! But I couldn’t. It got to be so bad, my husband was becoming ashamed of me. When Lisa would call and ask me how I was doing, I would lie to her and say I was doing great. I really wasn’t. Then one weekend, I made the biggest mistake of my life while drunk and I had no where to turn. No where. I didn’t know what to do or where to go. So I called Lisa. I told her I had been lying to her all these months and I cried as I told her what I had done. It was Sunday morning, but instead of going to church, she came right over to my house. She held my hand as I cried. She prayed for me. And she told me what I needed to do. She hugged me. She loved me.

I ended up attempting suicide over my mistake. And as I laid in the hospital recovering, she came to see me. Once again, there was no judgment, no persecution. Just love. Love and concern. She told me there was so much to live for. She knew the desperation I was feeling and she told me that God knew my desperation. And not only that, but God loved me anyway and was ready to take my broken pieces and make them whole again. She told me she was going to be right there by my side as I embarked on my journey. She was my prayer warrior.

I have since made peace with my demons and my life is now whole again, just as she said it would be. But I don’t think I would be where I am today if it wasn’t for her unconditional love and support for me. I have never in my life seen so much of Christ in one person. Lisa personifies what I truly believe is the reason God calls certain people into the ministry. He calls those who can make a difference because they are real. God doesn’t want fake people. He wants Lisas. She’s not perfect and she isn’t mistake-proof. But she loves and she prays. She loved me and she prayed for me. And here I am today. I’ve been sober for 2 years, 8 months, and 15 days today.

To this day, Lisa can tell when I need a hug or when things aren’t right. And when she sees it, she’s right there with encouragement, scripture and arms that seem to engulf you and make you feel like the world does not exist, just you and her. Thank you Lisa for making a difference in this broken woman’s life.

— Anonymous

This is the first guest post for “inspire: personal stories”. It was submitted by Kathryn, of Daring Young Mom. Thank you Kathryn! If you’d like to write a guest post, please view the guidelines under “what is inspire?”.

She responded to an ad I placed on campus, asking for survivors of rape or sexual assault willing to share their stories on film. She was timid at first but willing to entertain the possibility.

After a few conversations, she chose to do the interview, sharing how she had been betrayed by someone she trusted, how what started out as a pleasant evening had turned into the worst night of her life. She confided in me and in my crew. Through me, she shared her most personal experiences with thousands of strangers.

She chose to be filmed with her face showing, to stand up and say, “This happened to me. It was not my fault. If it happens to you, it’s not your fault either.” These were things no one had told her. These were things she had to learn the hard way, as she reconstructed her self image over time.

We were sloppy. We needed to re-shoot portions of her interview. She returned, seemingly unfazed, and again relived her nightmare in front of the cameras.

We hired an actress to play her and recreated that horrible night. For several months, she worked with us on the film to help survivors of rape and sexual assault get the assistance they needed. With her help, I completed my senior film project and learned a whole new language for dealing with this issue. She made me a stronger and more compassionate person.

Wanting to do more, she also started a rape advocacy program to get women support quickly and with as little effort on their part as possible. Composed and tireless, she amazed me with her efforts.

Shortly after the project was completed, I heard a knock at my door. When I opened it, there stood Emily. In her hand she held flowers and a note for me.

The note was a short and sincere thank you for everything I had done to help her and other women struggling with this type of violation. She thanked me for helping her heal, when I felt like what I had done was repeatedly tear open her wounds for the sake of the project.

If I deserved flowers and a thank you note for that, she deserved something more than I could ever give. And she had it. She has it. And every single day she gives it away to others.

–Kathryn, the DYM

The birth of my first child was an intense, frightening experience. Babs was 4 days overdue, and having gained over 60 pounds in my pregnancy (which we found out later was due to untreated medical issues) I was a quivering blob of uncomfortable fat. I begged my doctor to induce me to end my suffering. After 12 hours of labor and 3 hours of pushing, I was spent. I couldn’t go on. The baby hadn’t moved an inch, and she had gone into distress several times. We decided to do a C-section. My recovery was difficult, to say the least. My body was so drained from the unsuccessful labor, that it had no reserves left to heal from major surgery. I was in a lot of pain, taking some major drugs for the pain, and barely able to care for myself let alone this tiny new baby.

The morning that I went in to be induced, I was not the only one about to have a baby. My cat and I had been pregnant at the same time, and as we left to go to the hospital, she had already had three of her five kitten litter. I was worried about her all that day, and during my stay at the hospital I had my mom and husband drive to my house several times to check on her. She was a first-time mother, just like me.

When I was finally able to come home, I was struck by how the mewling of her little kittens sounded remarkably like the squeaks my own child made. My cat and I both took to parenting with tentative ease, both of us constantly hovering over our babies and jumping to tend to their every need. We struggled to master our new roles as mothers, nursing and bathing our babies, and trying to take care of our own sore bodies. While Babs thrived, however, my cat’s babies grew steadily weaker. Three of them stopped eating completely, and their pitiful cries (sounding so much like little Babs’) were more than I could bear.

A woman from my church had been coming over regularly since the birth of my baby, bringing me meals and helping with the housework. Before she had her own children, she had worked as an assistant at a veterinarian’s office, and she recognized the kittens’ sudden decline as Fading Kitten Syndrome. She came over at least once a day to help me try to get the kittens to eat, and then to bury the first two that passed away. She held Babs while I sobbed uncontrollably at the sight of my cat searching the entire house for her two missing babies. When it was clear that the little black and white kitten was too weak to nurse from his mother, she took him home with her so I wouldn’t have to hear his suffering cries. She tried to feed him kitten formula with a tiny bottle, and warmed him on a heating pad on her lap until with one last shuddering breath, he finally let go. She called me to break the sad news gently, comforting me with kind reminders that he was no longer in pain and that it was meant to be.

With the sick kittens gone, the remaining two had enough milk and their mother’s attention to slowly regain their strength. A few weeks later, they were healthy and strong enough to go to their new homes.

I will never forget the kindness this woman showed me. She went above and beyond the bounds of our friendship, stepping in to fill a need I was unable to handle on my own. Her kind, unselfish, and insightful acts will live on in my heart forever.

By the way, the little tortoiseshell kitten with the fluffy tail now lives a spoiled, happy life with my friend and her family.