I made enough money working double shifts as a bartender in St. Augustine to save for a rainy day. Life was mostly moving along as normal when one night, my little sister Jemma called me out of the blue. She was crying hysterically and told me someone had tried to attack her in her dorm room. She had called Mother and several others, but no one could help her. I was her last resort. It was the middle of the night, but I immediately set out on the six-hour drive to Miami. I helped her pack up her dorm room, and we headed back to my apartment in St. Augustine.
A few weeks later, Jemma and I moved together to Jacksonville Beach, about forty-five minutes away. I managed to land a lucrative bartending gig at the Lemon Bar, world-famous for its lemon bar freezes. The floor was sand, and the view was the ocean. The ocean bar was attached to a hotel, so in the mornings I worked as a maid and then walked over to make drinks throughout the night.
Jemma and I had a cute apartment just one block from the beach. Although I had stopped surfing after my near-death experience, I still loved walking on the beach every day and swimming in the water when it was calm. My sister surfed competitively, so our location was ideal. I worked double shifts five to six days a week. I picked up shifts others didn’t want so I could save money for us. We were living the dream. We always had groceries in the fridge and AC in the summer. Who could ask for more?
During this time, I found a new church, Beaches Methodist, led by Pastor Joby Martin. It was here that I became involved in a women’s small group Bible study and met a woman named Lori, whom I affectionately called Momma. (In fact, I still call her Momma.) From the first day we met, Lori treated me like the mother I always needed. She’s helped me make every major decision and continues to be a mentor to me. She has been a huge influence in my life, and I love her very much.
Over the next several months, I settled in to life in Jacksonville Beach and I wanted to help Jemma do the same. When I found out about the Jacksonville Beach lifeguard program and shared the information with Jemma, she was excited to participate. So I paid for her to take the summer course, which she passed with flying colors. She then became a city employee as a Jacksonville Beach lifeguard.
I was so proud!
Jemma and I grew very close. Our time together wasn’t without struggle though. Jemma is a free spirit, so she chafed against all the rules she had to follow when she lived under my roof. No alcohol and no boys. But oh, how I loved mothering her. I’d make her a lunch most days and drive to the lifeguard station to drop it off. Her smile was ear to ear when I handed her the lunch. I was thankful to have the means to offer something, and she was grateful to have someone care about her.
Jemma’s surfing improved every day, giving her opportunities to compete on the semi-professional circuit. She even secured a sponsor, and her entire world revolved around lifeguarding and surfing. My life was centered on taking care of us, being involved at church, and going to the gym. I trained to compete in some local races, such as the Trident Never Quit triathlon, and took my best shot at bodybuilding. Jemma and I kept our noses to the grindstone, working day in and day out, but we couldn’t satisfy the itch to move. We brainstormed and eventually made a decision to get the heck out of Dodge.
We were California bound! We could find a better future there, right? Create a life of dreams—or so we had heard! Plus, from California, Hawaii was much closer, which would be great for Jemma’s surfing career.
So we did it.
I moved first, and Jemma came not long afterward. California was a strange place for a girl who’d only been outside of north Florida for ROTC competitions. Driving across the country awakened my soul to the joys of travel. I saw things I had literally never seen before. The mountains in the rearview mirror revealed to me my true size—how small we are as humans, and how frail. As I journeyed on, I felt a strong sense of determination to write my book and to start a nonprofit for abused girls in Los Angeles. I knew that Florida and California had the largest populations of foster youth in the country. I would be in a prime location to help the forgotten children of America.
And so began the grueling path to achieve my dreams in the City of Lights.
I found an apartment in Venice Beach and quickly got a bartending job at the Venice Whaler, an iconic bar on the beach. I also quickly realized that people here weren’t as kind as people back home. Venice Beach was a giant melting pot of people who all wanted great fame and fortune.
None of that interested me, so I found friendships outside the entertainment industry. And I found a new church, Core Church LA. Once again, I joined the women’s Bible study, which is where I met one of my best friends, Megan. I also found plenty of new friends at American Defense Enterprises, a world-class small arms weaponry training range nestled in the mountains in Burro Canyon, where I took classes. On my days off, I loved target shooting at the range or hiking all the trails and summits in Southern California. Hiking alone in the mountains gave me a sense of wild abandon and freedom from the world. I had never fully adjusted to city life, but I felt happy and free when I was hiking all the southern peaks or shooting at the range. I stuck out like a sore thumb most places I went, but California soon gave me the opportunity of a lifetime.
I’d been in California for about seven months and was finally beginning to feel settled. I was grocery shopping at Whole Foods in Santa Monica one afternoon when a well-dressed man approached me. He had luxury written all over him, from his sunglasses to his Italian leather shoes. Immediately, I judged him. Typical LA, living-the-life-of-the-rich-and-famous guy. I also assumed he was hitting on me.
I was dressed in a casual ankle-length purple sundress, and he stood in front of me, openly looking me up and down. “You should compete in the Miss California Pageant,” he blurted out. His voice was matter-of-f act, his body posture confident.
“Excuse me,” I said, “have we met? I really don’t think I’m the gal for that, but thank you so kindly.” I quickly turned around to walk away.
This man has lost his cotton-pickin’ mind. Pageant? I don’t think so. I laughed to myself at the thought, but he approached me again.
“No, seriously,” he said, handing me his business card. “You should try out. The link is on my card. Call me if you change your mind.” Then he walked away.
I stared at his business card, certain he was either insane or desperate for a date. I brushed off the encounter, threw the card in my handbag, and continued shopping.
It’s said that curiosity killed the cat. Well, curiosity surely was digging its claws into me, so the next day, I got on my computer, googled the web link on his card, and began gathering intel. This Miss California United States Pageant was a big to-do! It was a competition, and a hard one at that. I started toying with the idea of being crowned a queen.
What does that mean exactly?
Where do I find a gown?
Do I have what it takes to walk around in front of thousands?
Does it mean I win money?
Could I launch my nonprofit?
Could it help me with my book?
Do I have what it takes?
What would it mean if I competed?
I wondered if I had the grit to do it. A trigger went off, and Mother’s words swirled around my thoughts, silencing my go-getter mind-set.
“You’re a whore!”
“You’re only good for one thing!”
“You’ll never graduate. You’ll never go to college. You can’t even read.”
After drowning out the memories of Mother, I wrote down all I needed to do in order to compete. Gowns. High heels. Entrance fees. Outfits for every event. Makeup. It was a daunting list of hundreds of things I needed and didn’t have, including “mandatory community service.” Community service was a huge part of winning the crown.
What have I done, and what would I do if I won?
Oh, I knew exactly what I’d do if I won. The exposure would be a boost to help me launch a nonprofit organization for foster care youth.
It was then that my heart cried out, Yes, you can surely do this!
After mulling it over for days, I concluded that God, in his infinite wisdom, was offering me, a tomboy from the South, an opportunity to become Ms. California, United States.
How silly! Me? A beauty queen?
But oh, how wonderful to have the platform to reach others!
Over the next few weeks, I went to work on checking off the items on that daunting list.
I first had to win a local pageant, so I filled out all of the paperwork for that. I wrote an essay and sat for an interview. After a few weeks, I was selected to be Ms. Ventura. This paved the way for me to compete in the state competition five months later.
Now the real work began.
I had to raise thousands of dollars to be in the competition, so I hit the pavement. I told everyone who’d listen that I wanted to compete for Ms. California on the platform of reforming foster care. I was strong in my convictions and confident I could make a difference. Business after business sponsored me.
I met with the man who had recruited me in Whole Foods. After talking with him, I realized he was a kind man and not at all the person I had initially judged him to be. Judging a book by its cover is an injustice to both the book and the reader. After all that I’d suffered because of the way I looked, I should have known better. But I began to learn that the more I listened with my ears and my heart, the less there was for my eyes to judge.
The beauty of humanity is that we are so unique! Each of us is given a set of gifts that perfectly aligns with our purpose. Whenever I rushed to judgment and dismissed a person based on their appearance, it seemed the Lord was right there to show me something magnificent about them. I no longer wanted to miss out on a good conversation or a personal connection because I let my eyes do the judging before a word was spoken.
After two months of relentless effort, I had raised close to $10,000. I borrowed gowns, shoes, clothes, and makeup. It was real. I was going to take my shot at being a pageant girl! I spent hours upon hours practicing hair, makeup, and walking on stage. I practiced answering questions and googled videos of previous pageants to glean anything I could to better prepare myself.
When I won Ms. Ventura, I met a woman named Ms. Kay. She owned a dance studio, and I went there to learn some moves. Through Ms. Kay, I met Ms. Bee, who also happened to have the means to sponsor me. Together, these two women became a strong force in my life. They believed in me more than I believed in myself. They helped me with everything—gowns, shoes, makeup, bathing suits. They taught me to dance and gave me voice lessons. For the interview portion of the competition, Ms. Kay stitched me up in a dress suit straight out of Ms. Bee’s wardrobe from the 1950s. I looked like a million dollars.
What a gift they were!
Months of preparing, practicing, and rehearsals made way for one very special day. I was nervous, excited, and scared, but above all, I knew I was on an important journey. After being beaten, tortured, and ridiculed for not looking like my parents or siblings, here I was using those very same physical attributes to launch a new, positive, life-changing adventure.
God is truly a miracle worker.
When I showed up on day one for the Ms. California United States competition, I saw a sea of amazingly beautiful, well-put-together girls. Each one seemed to have a personal assistant, mother, and cheerleader. I was way out of my league and I knew it. But there was no way I was turning back. After all, it’s hard to beat someone who doesn’t quit, so at least I had that going for me!
Looking back on it now, the competition itself is a blur, but I remember the impact it had on me with crystal-clear clarity. For years, I was rejected, despised, and ridiculed with names fit only for a monster. My soul had cracked right down the middle. Words have the power of life and death in them. I went years without hearing my given name at home. Which is why even to this day, the most beautiful sound on earth to me is the sound of someone saying my name. Every time a person calls me by my name, my heart weeps with relief.
When the pageant emcee announced my name as the winner, as the new Ms. California, I didn’t hear the roaring of the crowd. I didn’t jump at the sight of the sparkling diamond crown placed on my head. I didn’t cheer myself on for claiming the title. Not one of those things moved me in that moment.
I wept at the sound of my name.
Christina Meredith
Redemption had come, and now the whole world knew my honest-to-goodness name.
I was crowned Ms. California on April 13, 2013. Ms. Kay was there on the front row. After my crowning, one of the judges ran onstage, grabbed my arm, pulled me close, and said, “You earned every gem in that crown. I believe that you will change this nation, one orphan at a time. Give ’em hell, Christina.”
I cried for joy. I cried for me, yes, but I also cried for the others I would now have a chance to help. Thanks to the crown, I had a platform on the world stage for building my nonprofit, the Christina Meredith Foundation. My mission? To give girls like me the tools they needed to climb out of the miry pit of poverty and abuse.
The next year was a whirlwind of charity events, red carpet premieres, and galas. I gave TV interviews, was a guest on radio talk shows, and traveled on speaking tours. I was the opening presenter for the 2015 Special Olympics in Long Beach and spoke at more than one hundred events for foster youth. I had private audiences with some of the most powerful men and women in the world. I went hunting with the former secretary of state, James Baker; ate dinner with Jeb Bush; met with California senators Dianne Feinstein and Barbara Boxer; and spoke to other members of Congress about the plight of foster children. I traveled all over the country, speaking to thousands about overcoming adversity and about the realities facing aging-out foster youth. I even had the honor of speaking to an auditorium full of students at my former high school. My NJROTC mentors—Gunny Hanson, Captain Young, and Master Chief Duffy—were all there to behold the growth of a young girl they had helped raise. It was by far my favorite event.
Wherever I went, I shared words of encouragement and stories of hope with my audiences. I started blooming in my twenties! I was like a wildflower that had been wilted for decades but had now finally sprung to life with hope.
Shortly after winning the state crown, I began my fund-raising efforts to compete for the national title, Miss United States, which is held in Washington, DC, on the Fourth of July. I was serving as Ms. California and working part-time, so the days flew by. Still, I managed to raise thousands for everything I’d need, from designer gowns to spray tans. The national competition was much more intense, with more “on” time that required more poise, more perfection, more everything. The pageant was also televised, which added another layer of pressure. As a competitor, you couldn’t leave your hotel unless you looked like absolute perfection. At all times, you had to be perfectly put together and ready to smile for the cameras.
When I didn’t take home the national title, I felt devastated for a few days. But that feeling quickly waned when I realized God still had a purpose. He had given me a once-in-a-lifetime experience that was filled with lessons I needed to learn. And that in itself proved to be more than enough.
There are some lessons you just can’t go to school for. Engaging people in diverse circumstances helps a person grow. Being tossed into situations that don’t seem to mean much in the grand scheme of things can sometimes become an indispensable stepping-stone. This experience on the pageant circuit helped me know my boundaries. It helped me see both the positive and negative aspects of women competing for a crown. There were many important ways in which the competition helped me grow as a person and paved the path to get me to where I am today. And I am forever grateful.
A few months after the national competition, a newspaper in Los Angeles published an article about me. It just so happened that an entertainment producer named Betsy Kennedy read it. Betsy is very involved with nonprofit work, and she sent me a lengthy email about a public service announcement she was producing on behalf of foster care children. She wanted me to be the spokesperson for the campaign. I immediately said yes!
My first impression of Betsy, whom I affectionately call Bets, was that she was a brightly burning light. Her smile was wide and sincere, and her beauty was exceeded only by her gracious demeanor and kind words. She was magnificent to behold. I was mesmerized as she shared her heart for others and especially for foster youth. I instantly wanted her to mentor me.
Betsy was the perfect person to help me navigate the treacherous waters of the entertainment industry. She had grown up in the wealthy Brentwood community, graduated from Stanford with a degree in film, and helped produce several major motion pictures. Do I even need to say how brilliant she was? I also discovered that we shared a mutual love for the beautiful Jesus Christ. I loved her heart, and it wasn’t long before we were speaking every day, plotting ways to tackle the foster care crisis.
Not long after we met, Betsy introduced me to a man named Brad Freeman, who knew her parents from their college days together at Stanford University. Mr. Freeman was a sixty-something good ole boy from Fargo, North Dakota. After attending Harvard Business School, he began his investment banking career in Los Angeles and in 1983 cofounded Freeman Spogli & Co., a private equity firm.
Betsy told Mr. Freeman about me and explained that I was looking for a place to stay while I started college and worked on my book. When we officially met in person, he asked me what I planned to do after completing my term as Ms. California.
“Mr. Freeman, I’m going to write a book, and then I’m going to reform foster care in its entirety.”
He looked up from his comfortably worn sofa and without hesitation said, “That is very shrewd of you, Christina. You’re welcome to stay here. You can stay in my daughter’s old bedroom. My housekeeper will set it up for you.”
Mr. Freeman’s home was a straight-up mansion in Brentwood. It had a guest wing in the main house, as well as a separate guest house in the lush backyard.
What Mr. Freeman didn’t know was that everything I owned was crammed into my two-door Honda Civic. I was once again between places and had resorted to sleeping in my car. I was “shrewd” enough not to tell him!
It had been a rocky few months filled with disappointment and lots of driving. Jemma had moved to Hawaii to pursue her surfing career, so I left California for Florida and stayed there for a couple of months, hoping to get a book deal. When my book proposal was rejected, I returned to California to figure out what I wanted to do next.
Mr. Freeman had no idea the hopeful young woman in his living room was homeless. He simply gave me the passcode to the front gate and told me I could move in the next day. I drove away with tears in my eyes as I prepared to go from the poorhouse to the palace.
The first time Mr. Freeman and I had dinner together, his dining room table was formally set for two, and the housekeeper served the first course. I looked at all the silverware, the china, and the napkin perfectly folded and set on my plate. I knew he knew I had no idea which fork to use, so in his gracious, no-nonsense manner, he said, “Outside in. Always remember that.” Oh, yes, indeed! Manners I had, but etiquette is learned from environment, and I was being trained correctly and with care by Mr. Freeman. Any time we had a conversation, he would—and still does to this day—correct my English. He is the ultimate grammar police! But I’m not complaining. In fact, I’m grateful for all this man taught me during the months I stayed with him.
While living in Mr. Freeman’s guest room, I worked diligently on my book. During one of our conversations, I’d expressed my desire to get into politics later in life. So once again, Mr. Freeman helped pave the way for me. He was going to a dinner with his best friend’s brother, Jeb Bush, as Mr. Bush was toying with the idea of running for president. Mr. Freeman took me to this event, introducing me to everyone he knew. He told them about my book and about all I had accomplished as a homeless youth. He sounded a bit like a doting father as he pointed out all my achievements and goals for the future. This was a humbling experience for me because I so badly wanted to make him proud.
As I sat at dinner with several of the wealthiest men and women in the country, I couldn’t help but chuckle to myself. My bank account has less than $200 in it. How did I end up at this table? The Lord definitely has a sense of humor! At the start of the evening, I felt mildly out of place, but shortly after our party was seated, I began to enjoy this enormous learning curve.
I realized I was seated with the very people I was supposed to be seated with. I was destined to have every dinner, every meeting, and every handshake. I learned more at a private dinner party for Jeb Bush than I ever learned in a classroom. It just shows the mysterious and miraculous ways of God. He can take me anywhere he wants to take me.
Nothing is too hard for God. Nothing is impossible!
After my reign as Ms. California ended, I went on to speak all over the country. I shared my story everywhere, from churches to universities. I was declared a hometown hero by the city of St. Augustine. The same city that had caused me so much heartache in my childhood, now recognized me in an honoring way, allowing me to find healing through acknowledging my past. On April 1, 2014, I was privileged to speak at a meeting of the county commissioners in St. Johns County, where they issued a proclamation designating April 2014 as Child Abuse Prevention Month.
The mayor of St. Augustine invited me to be the honored guest at the annual Nights of Lights ceremony, where he shared my story with more than ten thousand people. They all applauded my victory before switching on millions of holiday lights.
The Florida Department of Children and Families invited me to speak to hundreds of children around northeast Florida, including state-funded youth foster homes, the Duval Regional Juvenile Detention Center in Jacksonville, Communities In Schools of Jacksonville, and several other places.
Being crowned Ms. California wasn’t just about becoming a beauty queen; it was about becoming a woman who could give back to a hurting world.
Hope deferred makes the heart sick,
but a dream fulfilled is a tree of life.
Proverbs 13:12 NLT