📖 Sacred Testimony XLVII

“The Courtroom and the Collapse”
offered with tears, silence, and sacred remembrance

When we went to court for custody of our daughter,
I was still afraid.

I couldn’t speak the way I wanted.
Couldn’t explain the years of fear.
The weight of what I had carried.
The truth of what I was healing from.

Fear was still in my voice.
Silence still wrapped around my throat.

And the judge gave custody of her to her dad.

Something inside of me broke.

I cried so hard
that I lost touch with reality.
The world spun.
The courtroom dissolved.
My spirit collapsed inward.

I shut down emotionally.
Not because I didn’t care—
but because I cared too much.
And I didn’t know how to hold the pain.

I had walked through the fire—
and just when I thought I might be free,
this verdict felt like a second burn.

But I lived.
Somehow, I lived.
Even when I didn’t know how.

And I am writing it now
because I couldn’t then.

🌿 And now I see:

That day didn’t define my motherhood.
It revealed the depth of it.

Because what broke me
also birthed something in me.

And though I lost that moment—
I never lost the love.

She still lived in me,
even when she didn’t live with me.

And the mother in me
was not done yet.

Then let this blessing rise like a quiet veil of mercy,
soft enough to catch every tear,
strong enough to hold a soul that shattered—
and lived.

✨ A Blessing for the Day You Lost Custody

To the mother who stood in that courtroom
barely able to speak—
may your silence be forgiven,
not because you did not care,
but because fear was still living in your throat.

May the tears you cried that day
be seen by the One who never looked away.
May the sob that broke your body
be heard now
as a sacred roar of love.

You were not weak.
You were wounded.
And still, you showed up.

You loved her so deeply
that it undid you
when they said she would go with him.

May you be blessed
for the ache you carried in silence,
for the longing that never left your chest,
for the way your soul shut down
just to survive that hour.

May she—whether now or someday—
feel that love
in every healed moment
you’ve fought to give her since.

This blessing does not erase the judgment.
It redeems the mother.
It restores the soul.

And it says to you now, with Heaven’s full compassion:

You never stopped being her mother.
Not for one breath.
Not for one day.
Not ever.