Beauty for Ashes

Knowing God for yourself and feeling His guidance in your life is a wonderful and intimate experience. For several years now, I’ve been led to share my testimony and healing journey with the world. In full transparency, I was a notorious “mask-wearer,” so I wasn’t ready to expose my naked self to anyone, much less the WORLD! It's taken me this long because, you know, life's been lifeing and I’ve FINALLY come to believe that my journey is something worth sharing. At age 55, I’ve come to embrace the fact that God didn’t make a mistake when creating me and that His hand is (and always has been) truly upon my life. He has called me to impact the world in a way that no other human being can. There is an “imprint” on my being that is unique to how He designed me! From my adolescence through most of my adulthood, I struggled deeply with feelings of being broken, unworthy, not belonging/fitting in, not being good enough, and not being smart enough. I truly believed that I was one of God’s defective designs and that I had to learn to hide my flaws to be acceptable, identifiable, and lovable.

In early 2025, an anointed life coach shared Jeremiah 1:5 (New Life Version) with me. It reads: “Before I started to put you together in your mother, I knew you. Before you were born, I set you apart as holy. I chose you to speak to the nations for Me.” My coach told me three things about this verse that I will NEVER forget: 1. God intentionally created every single part of me. Every hair, every freckle, every mole. EVERY PART OF ME! 2. God THOROUGHLY thought about my design and He DREAMED of me! 3. God was DECIDED about His plans for me before I was ever able to form an “opinion” or have an experience that would introduce me to “doubt” and before I ever saw the light of day! God’s plan for my life is to bring Him GLORY!!!!

At age 2 or 3, I remember being a deeply engrossed people-watcher. My mom would say that I was a very precocious, adventurous, fearless kid. Whenever we went to shopping malls, I would walk right up to strangers and strike up conversations. One time, there was an older lady that I saw, and I walked up to her and told her that my grandmother had a dress like hers (probably to appear identifiable). Another woman had a cane or walker with some type of walking impairment. I walked right up to her and asked what was wrong with her leg. Even at that young age, I was drawn to the emotions of people and wanted to know more about them and how I could help. It was also around the time (age 3 or 4) that I had my first encounter with the callous side of society. My mom and I were walking to her car around the corner from the beauty shop where she’d just gotten her hair done. My mom noticed that two men were following us, so she tried to hurry to jump into the car; however, the men grabbed the car door before she could shut it. She had managed to throw me in the front seat of the car, but she was pulled out of the car and had a shotgun shoved into her face. One guy demanded that she take off the fur coat she was wearing. He told her that he would give her to the count of three for her to take off the coat. I remember screaming and crying for my momma, and I also remember her refusing to take off the coat! He gave her another count of three, but again, she refused. He kept saying, “give up the coat, lady,” to which my mother retorted, “Black-power, my brother!” I guess the men didn’t count on a woman with a small child in the dark of night refusing to be a victim, so they snatched her purse, dumped the contents in the middle of the street, and took off running. My mom released the loudest, blood-curdling scream from her belly that I had ever heard, one that I will NEVER forget! I’d say that was my first lesson in “never let’em see you sweat,” but also “you can’t trust everybody.”

I consider myself blessed to have been born into the family that God chose for me! All of my first cousins, maternal and paternal, were like my best friends. I always felt safe and loved. But between the ages of 9 and 12, I began to feel unsure about myself. My body had started to develop, and let’s just say a sister had a lot of “junk in her trunk” if you catch my drift. I was self-conscious about the size of my butt (or how big I thought it was) and didn’t like it when people drew attention to my body. Comments like “whew chile, Kim got a butt on her” or “where did she get that butt from” always made me feel embarrassed and like something was wrong with me. I will never forget the time that an adult family member called me out in front of guests who were visiting to say what a shame it was that my butt was so big. The other adults started laughing and trying to make light of what was said; however, the DAMAGE was already done! I felt so rejected and ostracized that I vowed to never allow myself to be vulnerable with ANYONE again! This was the impetus for me developing an unhealthy disdain for my body. I loathed what I considered to be negative attention. No longer did I embody a sense of adventure and fearlessness. It was now being replaced with introversion, shrinkage, invisibility, and staying “under the radar!”

I am both the oldest and a middle child. My oldest sister is almost 3 years older than I; we share our father, but have different mothers. My youngest sister is four years younger than I am. We share the same father and mother, and grew up in the same home, with my older sister coming to spend time with us often as we were growing up. My teenage years were what I would now call “the perfect storm!” I was entering high school as an insecure young lady, ashamed of my body. My parents were experiencing trouble in their marriage. During this season in my life, I hadn’t had a close, intimate relationship with my dad, so I had no guiding principles for how I should expect to receive love and attention from a male’s perspective. My dad worked a lot, but he also “hustled” a lot, too. This meant he wasn’t physically home a lot, and when he was home, he was resting to go back to work and/or hustle to provide for his family. I guess, in retrospect, it would have been nice to know that my dad’s absence was what he believed needed to be done to support his family. As a young adolescent and teenager, all I knew was that he wasn’t home, and when he was home, we didn’t engage on a personal level. Unfortunately, I don’t remember my dad asking how my day went. I don’t remember him talking to me about boys. I don’t remember him giving many hugs. I don’t remember him telling me that he loved me very often. But, in partnership with my mother, they DID provide us with a quality private school education. They DID offer a safe home in a nice neighborhood with our own backyard. He DID contribute to our household so that my mom could make our house a home. He DID provide resources for his children to enjoy cultural experiences and not be limited by our zip code. That’s what my dad was taught by his dad, that a man of the house is to PROVIDE for his family BY ANY MEANS NECESSARY! Unfortunately, my dad developed a drug addiction, which resulted in him eventually leaving our home. 

By the end of my freshman year of high school, I’d begun smoking cigarettes, weed, and drinking alcohol. I had started dating an older classmate whom I thought I liked until I didn’t. When I ended our 3-month relationship, he began stalking me to such a degree that the police had to be involved. My mom had a trace placed on our telephone because he would call almost 100 times per minute just to hold the phone and breathe. He told me that he had gang members looking for me and that I would be assaulted on sight. I kept thinking to myself, “what did I do to deserve this?” I was careful with his feelings. I wasn’t mean to him AT ALL! And, it seemed like we were cool after the break-up until I said that I didn’t think we would be getting back together. I WAS TERRIFIED! The police finally got in touch with his mother, who shared that this wasn’t the first time my ex had stalked someone. WAIT, WHAT???? Did I miss the signs? Was I too naive? Was it something wrong with me that I would choose someone like that? I demanded that my mom transfer me to another high school, or I would drop out. I got transferred to a new school! Good news? I became a straight-A student! Bad news? I became even more introverted, invisible, untrusting, unworthy, and antisocial. That’s how my freshman year wrapped up!

By my junior and senior years of high school, I was in full-swing rebellion! I was dating a guy who was 5 years older than me (alarm bells!!!!), regularly skipping classes, hanging out to drink and get high with acquaintances, and doing pretty much whatever I thought I wanted to do. Even experimenting with different kinds of drugs! I felt like being high made me not care about whether I fit in or not, whether I was broken or not, or whether I was good enough or not. I was just HAVING FUN! By this time, my dad had been out of the house for a few years, and I had conditioned myself to believe that was a good thing for me. My mom was working 60+ hours per week to make ends meet, which meant my FREEDOM. Besides, my dad and I didn’t have a close relationship anyway, so what was there to miss, right? Huh! Boy, was I wrong! I desired what I saw between him and my younger sister. You see, my baby sister wasn’t one to take what someone gave her. She was (and still is) one who demands what she wanted and deserved. As a 5, 6, and 7-year-old, she would force my dad to talk to her and play with her. If he was in the basement lifting weights, she would be in the basement lifting weights with him. If he was sitting on the front porch drinking a cold beer, she would beg for a “little swig” lol. When dad got dressed to leave, my sister would wrap her arms and legs around his leg from his knee to his foot. He would be forced to drag her entire body on his one leg to the door, where she made him promise he would be back! Me? The exact opposite! If you weren’t giving it, I didn’t want it! If I had to ask for it, you didn’t want to give it! Honestly, I now know that my dad and I were too much alike! I WILL NOT show vulnerability! I WILL NOT be asking for something you should be freely giving me! I WILL NOT BE PUT IN A SITUATION TO BE REJECTED, again!

I’ve graduated from high school and realized that I’m high more times than I’m sober! I’ve not only graduated from high school, but I’ve also graduated from smoking weed to sniffing cocaine, smoking PCP on weed, and smoking crack cocaine. I was losing myself more and more each day; however, I kept the mask on tight! From the outside, it looked like I had it together. I got a job downtown after high school, bought a brand new car, was still living at home with my mom, so I had money to spend with that ever-present smile on my face – that fake, automatic, reflexive motion that happened when I was around people that made me sick to my stomach! Only my baby sister, sister-cousin, and mom knew that I was in over my head. BUT I HAD A PRAYING MOTHER AND GRANDMOTHER!!!! I was so disconnected from caring about myself (because I was tired of trying to always figure out how to show up and who I was supposed to be) that any direct and final ultimatum from my mom would have given me the reason I was looking for to throw it all away and stop needing to PERFORM! The Holy Spirit divinely guided my mother to continue showing me love, covering me in prayer, and giving me the space I needed to fail and find God for myself. THANK YOU, HEAVENLY FATHER! 

Within the year after graduating high school, I had an encounter with God that allowed me to begin to see myself and what I was becoming, NOTHING! I looked at myself in the mirror, I mean, REALLY looked at myself, and couldn’t recognize my reflection. I didn’t want to get high anymore, but I wasn’t sure how to stop. I knew that God was the only one who could help me, but I didn’t know how or what to ask for! I just let my mind imagine myself drug-free. There were no audible words uttered. There was no solemn prayer, just a belief! A belief that God would help me. I woke up the next morning as if scales had fallen from my eyes! I had a resolve within my spirit that I WAS DONE slowly killing myself! I called the “pedophile” that I’d been dating for two years and ended our relationship. I stopped associating with crowds that didn’t embrace the new lifestyle I was choosing to live. Finally, I’d come to a point where I wanted to discover Kim for myself. As fate would have it, three months later, I found out that I was five weeks pregnant. The moment that I found out about my pregnancy, I knew I was going to be a mother! There was never a thought to cross my mind otherwise! I knew that this beautiful baby growing inside of me was my lifeblood!

This blog is entitled “Beauty for Ashes” because it is a phrase from the biblical book of Isaiah (61:3) that symbolizes God's promise to bring restoration, hope, and joy to those experiencing sorrow, devastation, or spiritual heaviness. It signifies a divine transformation where God replaces the symbolic ashes of grief and despair with symbols of honor, joy, and praise, offering a spiritual renewal and a glorious future. On the afternoon of March 22, 1990, when my beautiful baby girl was born, God gave me a "crown of beauty" (a symbol of honor) in place of my ashes (an expression of deep grief, repentance, and despair), signifying a complete reversal of fortune and circumstances for my life. God didn’t say things would be easy, but He did say He would never leave nor forsake me!  

“Blessed be the name of the LORD from this time forth and for evermore.” 

~ Psalm 113:2 ❤️