chapter one

COUNTDOWN TO CHAOS

WHEN AMBITION MEETS INSECURITY

I finally met someone who really saw me. He pursued me and wooed me. I’d never thought in a million years I’d actually find a man that was good-looking, successful, God-loving, and interested in me.

Most people saw me as confident, together, ambitious, and accomplished, and in many ways this was true. But as much as I hate to admit it, I was also insecure about being single. I just didn’t want anyone to know it. So I pretended like being single and alone was a good thing. It was a God thing. I learned how to spin it—something most Believers and churchgoers know how to do oh-so well.

I was the good girl, fully committed to never embarrassing God or my family. I tried to do everything right. No drinking. No drugs. No wild partying. No sex. I got good grades, won lots of awards, had leadership roles and scholarships.

That does not get you asked out on a lot of dates. Sure, being a “good girl with strong values” will certainly make your dad proud. Your pastor will tout you in front of others as someone to emulate. But the truth is, I wanted a man to woo me.

People told me to stay strong. They said that the wait would be worth it. And, of course, I trusted ’em—all of them. My parents, singles ministry leaders, authors, relationship experts, couples married for a gazillion years, and God Himself. I was living in what often felt like a permanent state of it’s-not-your-time-yet-but-keep-waiting-he-is-eventually-going-to-come-and-sweep-you-off-your-feet-one-day-just-not-today rejection.

But instead of wallowing and allowing anyone to see how much this hurt, I played dress-up. I covered my insecurity and loneliness with achievement, which, of course, was celebrated and rewarded. I’ll tell you more about my spiral into success addiction later. Suffice it to say, I was good at it.

But then, I finally met someone.

He was everything I had prayed for and desperately wanted but was afraid to believe I would ever actually find. But here he was. He wasn’t intimidated. He was actually attracted to my ambition, my love for God, and my quirky ways. This incredibly handsome (and successful) man who had an athletic build, a megawatt smile, and a magnetic “everything-will-be-okay” personality couldn’t stop calling me beautiful. I’d been in pageants and onstage competitions most of my life, but I never got compliments like these from handsome men—not as a teenager, not in college, and not really as an adult.

He wore a cross around his neck and always had a Bible in his hand. He didn’t mind courting me long-distance. I was in Atlanta and he was in Chicago. And I didn’t mind that he was ten years older than I was, divorced with three kids, and had had a vasectomy. He was willing to get it reversed for me, he said, or we’d figure something out. Cloud nine had decided to stop by my doorstep and scoop me up. I was totally ready for the love-conquers-all journey ahead. We were in love, our chemistry was magical; we’d face life as a team, and I was in heaven.

Heaven was hearing three kiddos call me Mom, giving the baby girl nighttime baths, and taking the older boys to baseball and football practice. Heaven was searching for and finding a home for all of us to live in and call our own. Heaven was figuring out how to grocery shop for and somehow make breakfast for our soon-to-be family of five, while also miraculously finding a few seconds to brush my teeth and get myself together before 7 a.m.

I loved being a bonus mom. I loved being in love. I loved it so much that after we got engaged, I decided to give up the life I’d created (the one that so many people envied) and my dream business to be a mom and a wife. It wasn’t even a hard decision. I was so sick and tired of people asking me—for years—if I even wanted children, or if I ever wanted to get married. Hearing that from other women of all ages hurt the most—especially those I admired and those who were Believers. Of course I wanted it. It was like people thought a driven, successful woman couldn’t possibly also want to change diapers and have a wedding. They seemed to be saying there was no way God would have designed someone like me for both.

So when we got engaged, my heart knew right away that this was what I had been waiting for. I was twenty-nine, and this felt way more significant than all of the things I had done, and it felt far more rewarding than any award I’d ever received. So I began the process of closing down my über-successful and super-sexy sports agency and told my pro-athlete clients in the NFL and NBA (the ones that are virtually impossible to land to begin with) that I’d be finding them alternative representation. I released my staff. I closed down my physical office, a two-story loft-style space I had poured a crazy amount of money into decorating and building out. I ended my endorsement contracts with companies like Gatorade, Tiffany & Co., Nike, and Rolls-Royce. I also gave up producing an awards show I founded called The Caring EDGE Awards that honored celebrities and athletes for their charitable endeavors—an event near and dear to my heart, and one that was so close to inking a national television deal.

I started releasing, ending, and packing for a life shift from the South to the Windy City . . . all the while still planning an over-the-top wedding. I mean, that’s what you do when it’s worth the wait, right?! This wedding would symbolize God’s faithfulness, goodness, and promise. Plus, my fiancé promised he would take care of me in the transition, and that I could finally take a break for a while from the grind-exhausting pace I was used to. Again, heaven. I felt blessed and like God was just smiling on me . . . maybe even rewarding me for all of those years of sacrifice and commitment. I was trying on dresses, flipping through bridal magazines, choosing colors (I went with blush pink, chocolate, and champagne by the way), taste-testing food for the reception, finishing marriage counseling with an amazing spiritual mentor, and purchasing not just his ring, but three necklaces to present to each of his children during the ceremony. I wanted them to know I was vowing to love them as my own, too. I kept pinching myself during the engagement photo shoot, wondering if this was really happening to someone like me.

THAT MONDAY MORNING

Six days before the wedding, I opened my eyes feeling giddy, like a girl on Christmas morning. My Prince Charming was on his way to take me into the life of my dreams. Today was the day he would be flying in from Chicago to Atlanta for “wedding week.” He had an early morning flight, and I had set the alarm on my phone so that I wouldn’t oversleep and miss picking him up from the airport.

We had talked the night before, confirming schedules, going over the $13,952 in final fees that needed to be taken care of within the next twenty-four hours, and ga-ga-goo-gooing over how excited we were to be getting married. Suddenly, our conversation was interrupted—not by him or me though. I’d felt this overwhelming sensation of God’s presence. The spirit came in quickly, like swiftly rising rushing rapids that immediately submerged my soul. I’m not even sure I fully told my fiancé goodbye. I just knew that I needed to go. I told him I’d see him in the morning, and hung up the phone.

What happened next was an intense, supernatural encounter with God like I’d never experienced before. It was as if Heaven opened up and embraced me with warm, fiery arms. I started praising, crying, and praying in a tongue I’d never uttered. I didn’t feel in control of my words, my emotions, or my body. But I also wasn’t out of control. I was just present. It felt like I was at a private campfire, worshipping uninhibited and unaware of time or surroundings, surrendered to the magnitude of God’s unexplainable, undeniable, and uncontainable presence. My arms were lifted, and I lost myself in the intimacy and intensity of spirit-driven communion. The word worship doesn’t quite explain it. It was an all-consuming encounter.

Once it all subsided, my heartbeat slowed back down and I sat straight up on my burgundy sofa with my eyes still closed, taking deep, cautious breaths. I hadn’t even felt the streams of tears falling down my face. I took one more breath and asked myself: What just happened here? I opened my eyes, blinking and allowing my vision to adjust. It was like I had just come out of a dark tunnel and into the light. I had no idea what had just happened. I still can’t fully describe it, but I knew I had had a special encounter of immersion in God. At the time, I believed it was a sign, confirmation that I was indeed ready to walk down the aisle and that God was assuring me of His presence, removing any doubts or last-minute wedding jitters. That night, I went to sleep drained from the encounter, yet on a high. When Monday morning came around, I was ready.

I was so ready that I opened my eyes before the alarm even went off. I took a deep breath, and with a smile on my face, I thanked God for this day and the beauty of this season. Then I rolled over to my left and reached for my cell phone, which was charging on the nightstand. As expected, I had gotten my daily love note, a morning text message from my fiancé. He religiously sent a sweet text message in the morning, every morning, usually before I woke up. This one said how excited he was to see me in just a few hours and that he was at the airport about to board his flight. I replied with a simple “I love you too and I’ll see you soon.”

His flight wouldn’t get in for another two hours, so I decided to check email from my phone before I jumped in the shower to get ready. There were two unopened emails at the top of my inbox. One was from the hotel that was housing guests for the wedding, confirming our 10:30 a.m. appointment for a final walk-through. We’d be heading straight to the hotel from the airport. I recognized the name of the sender of the other email as well. It was from my fiancé’s ex-wife. We’d been in contact here and there over the months, and more recently to prepare the kids for their trip to Atlanta for the wedding. I figured she wanted to confirm some details. However, when I looked at the subject line it read: “Apology.”

She really hadn’t been very nice to me for the last several months—there were days when she wouldn’t even acknowledge my presence, even when we were just a few feet away from each other. I figured she was finally apologizing for her dismissive attitude and negative energy. I opened the email. It was paragraphs long . . . like really long. My eyes were moving, reading each word line by line, but my mind didn’t comprehend. I’ll give you the general idea of the email and paraphrase it to spare you (and me) the godless details:

I’m sorry to tell you that your fiancé is doing to you the very thing he did to me. I know because I’ve been sleeping with him throughout your relationship as recently as this month, and in your new house . . . the one you haven’t even moved in to yet.

I don’t think I was taking deep breaths. I’m not sure I was even breathing at all. This little phone with a small screen had delivered a big message. I sat up in the bed and reread the message again. It hadn’t changed. Then, coincidently, I got a text message from him. He was boarding his flight.

I shook it off. It’s not true, I told myself. After all, this woman didn’t like me. She’d never liked me. She was jealous of the fact that we’re getting married and was just trying to get under my skin. I mean, why wait until today? Why wait until he was boarding his flight. Why now?

I decided I just needed to call him. He was my best friend and we told each other everything. He’d be just as shocked and annoyed at these shenanigans as I was. My fiancé and I were a team. At least we would be in shock together, and move on unfazed . . . together.

I called, and my Prince Charming picked up right away after the second ring. I could hear the flight attendant in the background telling the passengers to take their seats.

I quickly shared the gist of the email: “Look, I got an email just now from your ex and she is saying that the two of you have been sleeping together.” He said—and this I remember very well—“Oh my God! I knew she was going to do something like this. Sweetie. Don’t believe her. I have to go now and turn off my phone. My flight is taking off now, but don’t believe her. I’ll see you shortly. I love you. Don’t believe her. I love you.”

Three times he said, Don’t believe her.

Once the call ended, I sighed with relief. Of course I shouldn’t believe her. She didn’t like me.

But then my spirit got unusually quiet and calm. It said nothing and felt nothing. It was still. And it was anchored in this newfound place of deep serenity. It was like an ancient oak tree had planted itself in my soul. I wasn’t scared. I wasn’t panicking, worried, or even anxious. I didn’t feel anything. I was present. I was clear-minded. And then the Holy Spirit simply said, “Get dressed.” So I did.

I hopped in the white luxury SUV my fiancé had bought for me. I was really, really hesitant about letting him do that. I’d never had a man offer to take care of and provide for me in that way. And, financially, I’d never needed it. I was a hard worker, and I was successful. I put my seatbelt on, and as I put the car in reverse to pull out of my garage, I reflected on the conversation I’d had with my father before I agreed to go to the car dealership with my fiancé ten months earlier. I’m a daddy’s girl, and once my father assured me that part of blending your life with someone is learning to let them care and provide for you, I relented. It was time to relinquish my title as an independent woman. The car had always been a reminder to me to let my guard down, to trust, to receive, to surrender, to love, and to be loved.

Once I got on the highway, I decided to call her, the ex-wife, while I drove to the airport. She answered in a nonchalant tone, and I could tell right away that she’d been expecting my call. She’d been on my end of this type of conversation many times before. I didn’t say much. I told her I had received her email and I wanted to understand what her purpose was. I listened, and she just talked and talked and talked about how horrible their relationship had been, about the he-said-she-said saga that had been going on since they were in junior high, and about how much she loved him but could no longer stay with him because he was a cheater. I just listened. Most of it felt like a conversation with a teenager in the middle of a high school love triangle. Only she was ten years my senior and this wasn’t high school. Over the last year and a half, she’d had very little to say to me, mostly small talk, but now, six days before my wedding, she had so much to “open up” about.

It was like an out-of-body experience. As I listened, I felt like a lawyer handling a case for a client, listening to a story about someone else’s life. My inner lawyer/investigator really did kick in for one moment. She claimed to have been in my bed with my fiancé in my house.

There was no way she had been inside. I was certain of that. My fiancé and I had talked about creating and safeguarding our sacred space. We had long conversations about boundaries and this being our home. I had spent months searching for a home, picking out furniture, and making sure the kids would have a place that they loved and where they felt loved. We had also decided to wait until we were married to have sex, and we had decided not to even sleep in the new bed I picked out for us until after we were married and I officially moved in as his wife. So I asked if she could describe the inside of my new home. Her voice beamed with pride: “I most certainly can.”

She went straight for the bathroom, describing not the guest bathroom on the main floor, but the one upstairs in my master bedroom. The master bedroom I had just finished decorating on my last trip. This woman, who had her own fiancé, detailed to me where the towels were, placed in an interesting, cramped little nook—an odd place you’d never look or be able to describe unless you’d been there and someone had told you where to get ’em. I had picked the location. I’d thought it would save space. And then she described a small wicker basket that I had for personal feminine care items, inside of a drawer.

I realized she had been there. Shock set in. This was her payback not to me, but to him. I was caught in the crossfire—a casualty in a war I didn’t realize had been going on for more than half of my life. The oak tree expanded to fill up even more of the space in my soul. There was no apology and no remorse, only satisfaction. So, gracefully, I stopped her diatribe and I said: “Okay. Thank you for letting me know.”

Now in retrospect, there were 101 things I could have said. Had the oak tree not been occupying the space held by my normal self, I would have had a few other choice words. But in the moment, peace replaced panic. I pulled into the airport parking garage. I don’t remember exiting the highway or anything about the ride other than that sobering, stunning conversation. I went inside and decided to hide out and blend into the background around baggage claim. I wanted to see my fiancé before he saw me.

I fidgeted with the ring on my finger and watched him from afar. That’s when I knew for sure. He was standing at the carousel waiting for his bags to arrive. The strong, charming, self-assured person that I had come to know wasn’t there.

I believe we have our natural eyes, and then we have spiritual eyes that enable us to discern what others cannot see . . . but exactly what God is trying to show. With my spiritual eyes, I saw a different demeanor, a countenance of embarrassment and a cloak of shame. It was oozing from him. When I was ready to emerge from the crowd, I walked until he saw me. We had picked each other up from the airport a dozen times or more over the last year of our long-distance courtship. This time there were no smiles. There was no enthusiasm. There was no joy, and no running to meet each other with a kiss and warm embrace. There was only fear, its cousin nervousness, and, without a doubt, there was shame. He didn’t have to say a thing. I knew.

WHEN HEAVEN BECOMES A LIVING HELL

We went and sat at a restaurant inside of the airport and talked. He said a bunch of words about how none of it was true, and I felt like I was listening to a little boy explain how he hadn’t stolen cookies out of the cookie jar when he had crumbs all over his face. I just blinked. And stared.

I’m sure the fact that I was so calm completely freaked him out. Thank God we were in a public place that had lots of people from Homeland Security on the premises. And thank God Heaven had decided on this day to grow an oak tree inside of me. It took up every inch of space, making sure this encounter didn’t go a different way.

He eventually admitted the allegations were true. He had been unfaithful. He had allowed her into the house that I gave up my life for and into the bed that I thought we were both waiting for. Much of the rest of the conversation is a blur. I do remember asking if he had at least used protection. When he said no, I almost lost it right there in the airport. I suddenly noticed the forks and knives on the table in front of me. I had held on to my virginity for thirty years. Thirty. Long. Years. I had guarded my heart. I had honored God with my body. I believed this man who had pledged adamantly before my father that he was “waiting until marriage” because he had found the one. Yeah. I was about to lose it then. That’s when I realized I didn’t know him.

We left the airport restaurant for the parking garage and sat in the car for probably another hour so we could talk more privately. I don’t remember anything he said. All of his words sounded like the gibberish from Charlie Brown’s teacher. I do remember taking my ring off. He wouldn’t accept it, so I dropped it in the cup holder in the car. I really think he thought that since we’d made it to the car, we’d be on our way. After all, we had a morning meeting with the hotel. We were supposed to be doing a final on the cake tasting, and we were slated to review the seating chart with our wedding coordinators, all before 3 p.m. We had a full day and an even fuller week planned.

Nope. The oak tree and I were unmoved. I didn’t care where he was going or what he was going to do, but he wasn’t leaving that airport with me. No sir. I wanted him to be crystal clear about where we stood: “We are not getting married. You need to let your friends and family know.”

There were no tears on my part . . . not at this point. I was resolute and didn’t even think twice, not for single moment, about us moving forward toward matrimony. I didn’t care what others would say or think. Those thoughts never entered my mind. I was, however, ready to leave the airport, tired of going in circles, tired of hearing I’m sorry, and tired of seeing his face. Arms crossed, I walked with him back into the airport. He apologized again . . . and again. I said I would contact the wedding planners and let them know the wedding was off. His brown skin had gone pale.

When he awkwardly hugged me goodbye, it was like embracing a stranger. He walked away, pulling his suitcase with one hand and balancing a large backpack over his shoulder with the other. He turned around, taking a last look, and for the first time I finally saw him. In a blink of a moment, God allowed me to see with clarity that he was ashamed. He was secretive, exposed, and embarrassed. He wasn’t a bad person, but in that moment I knew shame and secrecy, unfortunately, were a part of the fabric of his life.

As my “Prince Charming” walked away, I remember asking God why I hadn’t seen or discerned this essence before. Why now? Over time, I realized that I hadn’t been ready until now.

We can’t see what we’re not ready to believe.

I wouldn’t have listened. God had indeed tried to show me. Looking back, there had been signs. Nothing glaring. Nothing obvious. But I had a lack of peace. I hadn’t paid attention to the reality that infidelity was a pattern and lifestyle in his family . . . for generations. I thought I was being open, forgiving, and nonjudgmental. On occasion, he would overreact to little things. Like me not eating the piece of a pork chop he cut up, and me instead picking the piece off his plate that I wanted. Or him not wanting me to “out dress” him when we were making plans for the wedding rehearsal dinner. Saying he didn’t want to look like a bum standing next to a princess. Or him getting annoyed when my travel schedule was unclear. I later learned he was managing rendezvous with other women, and my lack of predictability wasn’t helping. There were little skirmishes here and there over nothing. No major blowouts. Just moments that felt odd in my spirit and didn’t make sense. I didn’t want to overanalyze or read into something that wasn’t there. I mean, shedding Ms. Independent meant letting him cut that pork chop and hand feed you what he wants you to have . . . right?

IGNORING IGNORANCE

In going through pre-marriage counseling, you learn so much about compromise and being selfless. I never wanted to be viewed as inflexible or incapable of “submission.” I wanted to show that I could love. I could give. I could serve, be a caretaker, and homemaker.

Everyone around me seemed to see me as “Marshawn.com” so to speak. Even family and friends. The assumption was that I couldn’t cook, clean, and conform to what it takes to a be real wife. At least that’s how I felt. But, I never had a chance to show who I could be without actually being in a relationship.

Projections can often feel like ongoing rejection.

Even my fiancé used to say that he feared my work consuming me over our relationship. So I learned to sacrifice. That’s what Christ did, right? He gave the ultimate sacrifice because he loved us that much. That’s what a “loving” supportive woman is supposed to do. Right?

But, now I felt lost at being myself. I sacrificed so much of who I was to become a giver, a lover, a supporter, a real wife, and a mother. I changed my priorities even though my devotion and dedication were constantly questioned. Did I really want this? Was I really ready? Could I accept the total package of the relationship . . . and all it’s baggage?

He often asked questions that I didn’t understand. I was already sacrificing. Why wasn’t that enough? What else needed to be proved?

A man will always be insecure about your commitment when he has commitment issues.

And vice versa, but those were not my issues. I had approached this relationship in a responsible, trusting, and loving manner. But, you can’t recognize what you don’t know to look for.

I even sacrificed my right to frustration and disappointment . . . putting my feelings and emotional standards on the back burner and believed it to be “loving submission.” What do I mean? I allowed his ex-wife to be disrespectful toward me because I was following his lead. I assumed, because they had kids, that baby-mama-drama just came with the territory. I told him that her attitude and words were hurtful. He saw my tears. I did my very best to love their children like my own. He knew she was being mean-spirited and downright evil. Yet, he continued to treat her like a friend . . . well, really like a wife whose feelings came first. I missed the obvious. And, I (trying to be the bigger person . . . a loving Christian and supportive step-mother-to-be), just accepted the status quo and believed that it would somehow get better.

He just wasn’t emotionally available. Believing otherwise was an illusion. He wasn’t ready for a relationship at this level even though he wanted to be, which he later explained and apologized for. Looking back, he really hadn’t even been divorced that long. All of this explained why he complained about very insignificant things.

There were signs.

I sacrificed my need (and my birthright) to be respected because a loving wife is supposed to sacrifice, right? Well, whose job was it to protect me? I guess I relinquished that to my fiancé, too. But a woman should always retain that duty. It’s called intuition. We should never ignore it. It’s sacred and it’s how God guards us, guides us, and grooms us.

But I didn’t realize I had surrendered my good sense little by little and lie by lie by turning a blind eye after blind eye. I thought I was trusting God to work everything out. But God’s role is simply sounding an alarm from within . . . troubling your spirit with a recurring whisper. Others may not see it or sense it, but deep inside you know it. Plus, I was busy proving. The hustle ’n bustle of planning a wedding, putting “me” on hold, preparing to move my life, become a real wife, do laundry, and cook for a tribe consumed the space necessary to see what I couldn’t see: This relationship never stood a chance. Not a healthy one. I was changing. I do believe he was trying, but he was still stuck . . . unprepared to walk with and love a woman living at higher frequency. Sacrifice without sobriety is just silly. Being drunk in love isn’t sexy. When a man has been unable to face and fix his past, he brings his past into his present. We can’t rewrite reality. We can only choose to wake up.

HOW DID I END UP HERE?

So, I left the airport, I got back in the car, and started to head home. From my car speaker phone, I called my mom and asked her to get my dad. I then asked the two of them to patch my brother in via three-way over the phone. I told them what had just happened, and they were in total shock. I still didn’t cry. I calmly told them what I needed and assured them I was fine. I felt nothing. I just needed my mom to call the wedding planners and for them to help me stop the wedding train because I was getting off.

In my sports business, I often dealt with public relations nightmares and fixed “scandals” for my clients. We called it crisis management. I was in crisis-management mode, and it really felt as though I was handling a matter for a client; I was simply letting my team know what needed to be done. I don’t remember how all of the meetings for that day or the next got canceled. My mom and the wedding planners figured it all out, I suppose. When I arrived home, I plopped down on my woolly, burgundy couch. The same one that had been an oasis of worship just the night before. And then my phone rang. It was a dear friend, Jamye, an amazing swimsuit designer who was making me a custom swimsuit for the honeymoon. She had called to confirm my mailing address.

That is when the floodgates opened. The oak tree turned into a weeping willow and the tears just flowed. I told her there would be no wedding. Somehow she heard me through the sniffles and panicked breathing. She said she loved me and that God would get me through this. I hung up and buried my head in the cushions. Worship had turned to wailing. Thankfully God had extended just the right amount of grace. I didn’t have a meltdown while driving in the car. I wasn’t at the airport being detained by Homeland Security for losing my cool; I didn’t pick up any knives from the table when he admitted to sleeping with another woman. I was at home.

But, God, how did I end up here? Two of my close girlfriends from law school, Nicki and Cloteen, had been told the wedding was canceled, and they insisted on bringing me some food that evening, even though I told them I just wanted to be alone. Funny how someone else’s shame drives you into seclusion, huh? I had nothing to be ashamed of, but I was. I was humiliated and heartbroken. Being I-got-your-back-no-matter-what kind of girlfriends, they showed up at my doorstep anyway. I hadn’t eaten all day and they didn’t know what to get me, so they got me a little bit of everything. Four huge entrées! That made me laugh and broke the ice. Their presence that night was everything. As I crawled into bed, weary from the longest day of my life, I managed to pull out my Bible and it opened up at Romans 13:11:

The hour has already come for you to wake up from your slumber, because our salvation is nearer now than when we first believed.

—Romans 13:11 (NIV)

Awaken from my slumber. Oh, I was awakened all right. I was baffled at how easy it had been to unconsciously sleepwalk through a relationship, to go through the motions without ever knowing it.

My heart was in pieces, yet it had only begun to break. Still, something inside of me was grateful that I hadn’t been blindsided by this after I was married. In the days that followed, I realized that God interventions aren’t sexy, but they are necessary. I didn’t have words for an audible prayer that evening. I did know that God heard me anyway. Deep inside I knew God had a plan, and even in the midst of this pain, a purpose. My heart and soul were bleeding but listening. If this was an invitation, Heaven had my full attention.

BY ANY MEANS NECESSARY

Now, hopefully I have your attention. Let me be up-front and say that this book isn’t about infidelity or my life story. It’s not about blame, forgiveness, or finding the right relationship. It’s about awakening, entering, and fulfilling your purpose, your true calling. If you’ve ever prayed the prayer, “God, use me,” God will use any means necessary to align you on the path of purpose. That includes pain from your past and present.

Chaos is often God’s way of inviting us to step into our calling.

God uses disruption as a catalyst to get our attention and prepare us for our next season, even if the process is ugly. The mess I just shared with you, that was my call to wake up from a season of slumber I hadn’t even known I was in. The mess was also a message.

Could it be that you are sleepwalking, too? Think about it. Has disruption—painful or unexpected events—intruded into your life . . . dismantling your plans, putting a dent in your dreams, or piercing your hope and trust?

Every woman who will be used mightily by God will inevitably face betrayal and disappointment along the way. Betrayal is God’s most consistent avenue for igniting and awakening his sleeping warrior princesses. Disappointment is God’s tried-and-true catalyst for greater calling. Every woman will have her heart broken and her virgin hope defiled. I’m not alone. You’re not alone and no woman is exempt. But . . .

What if the hurt, disappointment, wounding, and betrayal are actually a shaking and an awakening?

What if all that you’ve been through didn’t happen to you, but happened for you?

What if the drama has something to do with the very thing God sent you here to do?

God is stubborn and steadfast when it comes to getting His daughters on His path, the divine path that takes us to our promised land and aligns us with destiny. I thought I was on it. But I was wrong. I was living a good life, but Heaven was calling me higher. To get there, I’d have to dig deeper.

My instinct was to ask why I ended up in this position; why God would allow this to happen to me. But those were the wrong questions. The better question was this: God, where are you taking me? I’ll explain more, but remember that. Where is more important than why.

That’s a question God stands ready to answer and a question we’ll mull over and figure out together. Brace yourself. The answer itself is a God-guided adventure. If you’ve been through (or are going through) a corridor of pain, you’re in good company. The pathway to purpose almost always travels through the door of pain first. You’re not forgotten. You’re not somehow unqualified because you’ve faced imperfection and made some mistakes. And you’re not off God’s radar.

In fact, the opposite is true. You’re exactly who God wants and needs in this very moment and for such a time as this. You may not be a woman scorned like I was, wrestling to believe in your own beauty, worth, intelligence, and value. Or maybe you are. Your story and awakening might be different than mine, but I’m certain of this: God loves us too much to leave us.

In the pages that follow, I’m going to share sister-to-sister what I’ve learned about getting up after you’ve been knocked so far down a pit you can’t even see the possibility of daylight above you. We’re going to discover the steps to entering God’s master purpose and plan for your life (no matter what you’ve been through), and how God mysteriously and lovingly is leading you right now into your true calling, a life soaked in His significance. That’s what God did for me. He invited me to rise, align with, and awaken the real me—the woman He created me to be.

My heart tells me that you are anointed for more, too. If you’re experiencing some kind of disruption . . . a life shaking, a soul stirring, and an unexplainable craving for your next level, one that glorifies God, then I’m here to tell you that your new season is waiting. God is vying for your attention.

Heaven is calling you higher and deeper, too.