There was a freedom I experienced that first year of living in the country.

I had already lost so much so I had the mindset of what else do I have to lose?

I bought the chickens.

I planted the garden.

I sat at my table every morning continuing to study my Bible just as I did in the city with those handful of women on Wednesday nights.

I was trying to be the very best mother, wife, and believer I could be.

I was sharing on my first blog what God was doing and what I was learning through the process.

I was serving in church again.

I was serving in my kids’ school.

I was dreaming again.

I had hope again.

I hosted a big backyard Bible club.

I hosted my first women’s retreat.

There were many that were following my story, reaching out, and being strengthened in their own faith.

There were a few women from my church and community that even started joining me once a week around my table.

We would start with coffee.

We would share what we had been studying.

But mostly we shared life…our hopes, our hurts, our prayers.

This was my first time I actually had a group of women sit with me.

Not because there was a “ministry” task to be done but because we needed community.

At least I did.

Our mornings would lead to making the littles a lunch.

And before we knew it, time would slip away, and we’d be rushing to our vehicles to pick the older kids up from school.

I looked forward each week to sitting and sharing with these ladies.

We did this for over a year.

That year of freedom and discovery would soon end and lead to a year of depression and a plea for deliverance.

When I got back from what would be our last vacation, I found myself on my knees in my shower begging God to give me the courage to take my own life.

I didn’t want to live anymore.

I was done.

And at the end of summer…I‘d soon learn I had everything to lose—but so much more to gain.