I was born to two drug-addicted parents. By my first birthday, I had been in foster care. It wouldn’t be long before I reunited with my mother, but that wouldn’t last long until I was back in foster care again. Despite all the pain, the voice I wanted in my life was my momma’s. I was a momma’s girl.
My mom and I were in a bad car accident when I was six years old. I should have died, I was in the front seat and not restrained, but for some reason, I lived.
In and out of foster care, I would go.
I remember a bare refrigerator and empty shelves, but then a neighbor would just show up with food. Because of their kindness, I would not go hungry.
In and out of foster care, I would go.
When I was eight years old, the cops came and busted down the door of our tiny home. While I didn’t know the full extent, I knew my mom had a lot of illegal drugs. She was taken to jail, and the story was all over the news. I still remember the next day at school. Everyone knew what had happened, and it felt like that was all people could see when they looked at me. This is what people would expect me to become. I didn’t want that to be my story.
So at the age of 8, I chose to stay in foster care for good.
For the next five years, I bounced from foster home to foster home.
In pure survival mode, I began shutting down the things that made me unique. I wanted to keep the peace. I wanted to make everyone happy. ‘Don’t make that joke… don’t share that thought… what if they think you’re weird?’ I wanted a family to see this perfect child and give me a forever home. I thought that would fix everything.
My foster families started taking me to church. I sat through lessons and sermons that made no sense to me. But it’s what they wanted, so I complied, shutting out any questions because I thought good little kids who get adopted don’t ask questions.
When I was 13, a family wanted to adopt me. After five long years, I was so excited and nervous. This family operated a church camp, and I moved in right at the beginning of the camp season, so those first three months were extremely busy. I got to help out with camp that summer and learned about God in a very personal way. I felt His presence for the first time that summer. But, when the camp season ended, it was like I was meeting my new family for the first time.
There I was with all my trauma, a new relationship with the Lord, and a new family. I didn’t know what to do with all my feelings, so I started breaking the rules. And out of safety for me, they kept adding more rules. I could follow the rules for a short while, but it was always temporary before my unhealed past would haunt me again. As you can imagine, this wasn’t working well for anyone.
After about a year and a half of trying to make it work, I found out they were looking for a place to send me to. I was heartbroken and angry. They were supposed to be my forever family, but instead, I was packing up again.
I arrived at Cookson Hills right at the start of COVID in March of 2020, and I didn’t know what to think. Of course, our whole world was changing, but my world flipped upside down on top of that. As we all remember, COVID closed everything, so I decided to try and make the most of each day.
One evening our community held a little talent show. I love playing music, so I searched through some songs to see what I could play for our talent show. That’s when I uncovered a song I’d written and hidden away during my summer at camp. It feels incredibly vulnerable to share a song you’ve written with people you barely know. With all the courage I could muster, I grabbed my ukulele and performed my song in front of the whole community.
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I have a voice inside of me; she’s telling me to let her free.
I tell her that I’m really scared of what she might do.
She says, “I want the best for you; I’m not here to hurt you.
I know you’re really scared, but I’ll be here for you.”
She knocks on my heart every day. She tries to whisper, but it fades away.
She still gives the brightest smile on the dark, darkest days.
She says, “I want the best for you; I’m not here to hurt you.
I know you’re really scared, but I’ll be here for you.”
She desires for me to be the greatest person that she sees.
And she’ll keep singing till the light shines on me.
She says, “I want the best for you; I’m not here to hurt you.
I know you’re really scared, but I’ll be here for you.”
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When I developed a relationship with the Lord, I felt the Holy Spirit begin to comfort me. But I still spent my life silencing myself. But then I finally sang His words out loud. That voice inside of me wasn’t myself. That voice was that of the Lord, asking me to open up because He knew that I could begin to heal when I would finally be myself. The unexpected day became a turning point for me.
Cookson Hills has the things I need to heal and be better, so I have chosen to accept the help available and have been working on myself for almost three years. Three years! The longest I stayed in one place before was about 18 months.
My houseparents have helped me understand that I am not a bad child; I just didn’t have a way to cope with the trauma I had experienced. I started accepting the community around me, made friends, and it all felt so welcoming.
I got involved in the music program at school, and that has made a huge impact on me. When I make music with others, I get to be a part of something bigger than myself. And when kids from all different backgrounds can come together and perform such beautiful music, it gives me goosebumps. It is beautiful.
“She’ll be singing till the light shines on me.” God’s always going to be shining his light on me. And I hope that one day, I’ll be glowing, and people will just see me and think, ‘yeah, she’s a Christian, there’s no doubt about it.’
God has put so much in me, and it’s starting to come out in little bits and at a time. As I finish my senior year, I don’t know what is in store for me exactly. But I believe God has a plan for me involving music and helping others. Music was an outlet to get away from my anger and frustration. Even when I moved around often, the bandroom felt like home. Music is such a healthy way to work your brain and process issues. I’d love to someday work as a band director to help other kids have a safe place too.
If I could tell my 13-year-old self anything, it’d be things I still have to say to myself each day. But I’d tell her:
Looking back now, I know that God was by my side through it all. In the foster care homes, with no food in the fridge, the car accident, the drug bust… things that could have killed me, He kept me. He isn’t going to hurt me and leave me now. So I will keep carrying His voice inside of me.
I’m so grateful for the opportunities I have been given. As a donor, you might not get to see how you change our lives here, but trust me, my life has changed since coming to Cookson. When I came to Cookson, I had no idea who I was; I struggled with my identity and my worth. Cookson has changed that for me. I was able to spread my wings and figure out my identity and worth through Christ and the loving community around me. Being at Cookson, I don’t have to question if I’m loved and if I’m worth it. I know that I am loved, and I am safe. Thank you so much for making a change in me and all the other kids at Cookson. We love you!