There comes a part on the journey where the plain begins to become somewhat balanced. Scripture speaks about how the Holy Spirit works on transforming lives while man is unsuspecting. God works when we are least suspecting of His sculpting hand, until one day we look up and things are just different … we are different. The years I spent crawling for my life trying to escape the prison of my soul and past were the years God was preparing me. I was in a war against a deadly, conniving, manipulating enemy … myself. Kenya’s murder, Kenya’s birth, being a single mother, struggling to pay bills and raise a child, losing friends, gaining friends, every step was strategically ordained.
I spent three years on a job learning discipline, integrity, focus. I learned how to study, how to be quiet, how to watch people. I began being slow to speak and even slower when it came to making judgments. I died every day—I learned to die to my desires, my feelings, my will. I had to shed dead skin and old weights from the past in order to have enough space to receive something new. I always had huge dreams, massive dreams. Those ten years taught me that in order to execute a dream, you need way more than a vision. A vision takes dedication, discernment, patience, the ability to take chances, adapt to change. I would never had developed half of those skills without the storm. I was feeling pretty balanced until I received a letter in the mail one day from my distant stranger, Kenya’s father.