Discover extra content in the blog post Where’s My Son?

<< List of Episodes >>

Are you curious about the Holy Spirit’s power? Do you desire a deeper connection with spiritual strength in the midst of life’s challenges? Join me on a transformative journey as I navigate a challenging new job and fight for my parental rights, all while discovering the profound influence of the Holy Spirit.

In 2015 I would encounter new struggles as my youngest son Tim, in foster care, disappeared. I would face a lying social services caseworker willing to perjure himself in court to cover up his actions, and fight to find my son. As I embarked on this journey, a seed of faith was planted within me. Through exploring the teachings of the Holy Spirit, I uncovered a source of true power, ability, and resilience. In “Where’s My Son,” I’ll share my personal experiences and insights, revealing how you too can overcome uncertainty and adversity starting today.

Are you facing anxiety, uncertainty, or challenges in trusting others? Do you long for a sense of peace and purpose in your life? This content is for you. Together, we’ll explore the transformative work of the Holy Spirit and uncover practical steps to find peace, healing, and empowerment.

Join me on this journey of spiritual discovery and transformation. Together, we’ll unlock the power of the Holy Spirit and experience a newfound sense of purpose, resilience, and peace. Don’t miss out on the opportunity to transform your life from within.

TRANSCRIPT

How much do you know about the Holy Spirit? Do you want to experience the power of the Holy Spirit in your own life?

Join me as I start a challenging new job and fight for my parental rights. Amidst it all, a seed of faith is planted as I explored the teachings of the Holy Spirit, discovering the true source of power, ability and might.

I’ll reveal how you can overcome uncertainty and adversity starting today. Listen until the end, you won’t want to miss a word. This is Where’s My Son.

“Come work with me!” Jae urged me in the fall of 2014. “We need another tutor.” I shuddered at the thought. “Not a chance,” I answered. Jae was a tutor in Adult Basic Education (A.B.E). It could be argued that prison has neighborhoods with the unemployed its roughest and Education its angry twin. As one lives and eats with the people you work with, I had no interest in moving to that depressing neighborhood.

I worked as a clerk in the mental health unit. I had a very flexible schedule which allowed opportunities to call my son Tim who was in foster care. Our phone visit times were dictated by Brian, Tim’s caseworker. As an inmate in prison, nothing could be counted on. Unexpected raids, riots and lockdowns often prevented me from calling Tim, however any failure to call as scheduled would be written up by Brian in his reports as intentional on my part.

Sick of being described as an “uncaring mother who doesn’t bother to call her son when scheduled,” I’d obtained the most flexible work schedule possible. Soon I’d learn this job also had its drawbacks. I wasn’t making enough money to call Tim even when I was available.

Students like Edith, however,kept me from a better paying job like tutoring. Her mental health needs meant she didn’t live with the other students. She was Thin and anxiety made her awkward. She often asked for help with homework outside of class.

“I don’t understand this,” Edith jabbed at her paper. She was seated next to me in the day room. she crossed her arms. I leaned forward to study the work. Edith was learning basic math.

I decided to help her, as I picked up a pencil and wrote a number. “This is how you start,” I answered. Tensing, her shoulders rose, elbows dug into her side. I set the pencil down calmly, smiled.

Edith pushed the paper with a finger, huffing, “How did you know? How did… How did… How did…!” She squeezed her eyes tight, pursed her lips. She was winding up to a frustrated outburst. Lucy, sketching nearby, disappeared from the room with her things, eyes rolling. Edith didn’t notice. Winding up, she shook her head, teeth clenched.

Edith’s tension was contagious. A tiny woman, Edith took a room hostage, an emotional terrorist. She had few friends. The day room had gone silent, an army of heads turning at the noise, irritated at the disruption. Someone hollered, “Shut up Edith! You’re stupid!”

Edith’s eyes popped open and spinning in her chair, she studied my face. Her shoulders sagged as she rushed out, “Thank you for being nice to me!” blurring the lines between gratitude and desperation.

Edith had low standards. An absence of cruelty isn’t the same as the presence of kindness. While students like Edith were a big reason I didn’t want a job as tutor, my depression was another. School started early in the morning, lasted all day, five days a week. I was emotionally unstable so failure seemed certain for me. I feared being fired.

Do you struggle with anxiety and asking for help? Is it difficult for you to help someone even when you love them?

The following spring in May 2015, Jae urged me again to become a school tutor. This time I agreed. I met with Ms. Shaibley, an experienced DOC teacher. She immediately hired me and became a role model for me, an example of strength and grace in a hostile environment.

My new job meant moving out of the mental health unit. I was relocated to Tubman and here, in this new room, my personal transformation began, even though I was unaware at the time that I needed to change.

God orchestrates every detail of life and all falls into His plans. He was about to reach out to me, raising my awareness that I didn’t really know Him like I thought. A good friend loaned me a book about the Holy Spirit. I read it, intrigued and wondered, “Is this true?” I knew of the Holy Spirit, the third Member of the Trinity, however I was unclear about the Holy Spirit’s role. This book spoke of power, power given to us.

I read, “But you shall receive power (ability, efficiency, and might) when the Holy Spirit has come upon you, and you shall be My witnesses … to the ends (the very bounds) of the earth,” which is in Acts 1:8.

I still felt skeptical and uncertain. In past I’d relied on my church and parents to teach me. Why had they not mentioned this?

The author continued to cited the Bible and referenced the original Greek language. The author encouraged readers to seek the Holy Spirit, His power. I whispered in my heart, “If that’s real, I want it,” but I doubted. Where would I get this power if I didn’t have it already? Who was it for? Another week and I returned the book, dismissing it. A seed, however, was planted in my heart that would soon blossom, changing me in ways I didn’t know was possible.

I began my new job and my negative bias against students was confirmed immediately. Leah^* sat in the back of class and slept every morning with her head on the desk. “Ms. Shaibley, can you help me?” Leah whispered one day, raising her sleepy head an inch or two.

I was busy grading papers but my attention was caught as Ms. Shaibley crouched beside Leah’s desk. “What can I do for you, Leah?” she asked, searching Leah’s tired face. Leah pushed up, frustration creasing her forehead.

“My meds make me sleepy,” Leah complained, “but I have a directive to take them. I take them at breakfast, then I have this class.” Leah paused, sighed. I froze, listening. The room emptied of noise and people. Ringing began in my ears as Leah continued, “Can you help me, Ms Shaibley? Maybe switch when I take them?”

I didn’t wait for her answer. I felt embarrassed and guilty. My eyes lifted to the rest of the room. Who else did I misunderstand? Who else was hurting? Stung at the thought, I returned to grading papers with fresh eyes.

Evenings I called my children. The previous summer, after receiving a more flexible job schedule, I’d requested more phone visits with Tim. My request was immediately rejected, and visits terminated altogether. My request was seen as suspect and attributed to my crime as evidence of my evil character. Eventually Brian had insisted my phone calls with Tim be supervised and visits were restored.

Tim’s newest foster mom Melissa agreed to be a “supervisor” of our phone visits as soon as Tim was placed in her home. This had never happened before as previous supervisors were chosen by Brian from his office. I soon understood why Melissa was so eager for this assignment.

“Hi Holly! I’m so glad you called,” Melissa gushed as soon as she answered the phone. “I’m so excited to meet you! I told all my friends about you, Tim’s mom. We are going to be greaaat friends, I know it!” Surprised, I hesitated. Past phone supervisors had only listened.

 “Um, thank you,” I managed. “Is Tim there?”

“Oh yes,” Melissa cooed. “Timmy-kins is sitting right here, aren’t you honey bunny?” She paused for a breath. I heard Timmy meekly mmm-hmmm in the background. Returning to the phone Melissa marched on, “Tell me all about you, your day, prison! I want to hear all about it and then I’ll tell you all about myself!” I imagined Tim somewhere in her house as our minutes ticked