Angol
Growing up I was expected to look a certain way, act a certain way and talk a certain way. My parents pastored a few churches and my siblings and I followed their every move like ducks in a row. Everyone thought we were the perfect family. Beautiful parents who made the ultimate power couple and their talented and even more beautiful children. We were praised, admired and envied. Yet, little did anyone know what transpired when we said our good byes and shut the door to our home. No one knew the secrets, the lies, the betrayals and the sacrifices. If not for an amazing woman of God, I don't know how'd we survive the horrors we endured. This woman protected us with all she could, put herself in danger's path for us, held us together with all her might and fell on her face before God for us. This woman is my mother.
Only the love of a mother could endure the storms we faced. The older I became the more I knew, and the more I knew, the more compelled I was to share her story. Her story of abuse, ridicule and pain. Her story of triumph, revelation and joy. Her story is my story. Her story is my brothers' story. Her story is my sister's story. Her story is your story. It's time the curtain was pulled back and the story was told. This is the time to break generational curses and stop all types of abuse. This is Prevailing, the process of overcoming.
