A few weeks ago I was given this bracelet by my aunt. It wasn’t until today that I really took a minute to read and meditate on what it said, “MY STORY IS NOT OVER YET”. 

To most that statement is nothing new. We’ve seen it before, heard it before, and most have even said it before, but for me, it was another whisper from God that he STILL has not left my side.

See, the aunt that gave me this mantra bracelet not only knows my story, but God used her as an important piece to my story.  She is the only person alive who knows who I’m named after. My aunt was actually in the cell with my birth mom and listened as she spoke about her twins that had been taken from her and placed up for adoption. My aunt knew where those twins had been placed, in the home of her sister, miles away, on the other side of CT. 

It was my aunt who called her sister and urged her to allow my birth mom to meet us. It’s been my aunt who has encouraged me through the years and reminded me that I needed to win inorder for my birth moms purpose to not be in vain. 

Today I needed this reminder. MY STORY IS NOT OVER YET. Thank you auntie for always knowing my heart. 

I Feared 15

Today is my first born child’s birthday, my only son. Today he is three years away from being a legal adult, three years away from mommy not being able to protect him from this cold world any longer. As I sneak peeks of my first love going about his day I can’t help but to feel like I’ve failed him in so many ways. I chose to give my heart and the inner parts of me to a man who couldn’t handle them. From that mismanaged decision we created a life that we weren’t mature enough to comprehend the level of responsibility that it would take to be successful. There were times when as a mother my only job was to cuddle and love this new life but instead I chased after and fought for someone to love me, who wasn’t qualified. I put the life that God entrusted me with in compromising situations. I allowed him to see me cry and fight. I allowed him to see me weak with no control of my choices and yet he loved me. As God increased the years of his life he witnessed me learning to love myself so I could love him better. What I didn’t see was the damage I was causing. I didn’t see the pain he was hiding. While I thought I was making the best decisions for his life it would be those same decisions that would later cause him to struggle to love himself. Although I’ve done the best I could do, provided him with all his material needs, I deprived him of his spiritual needs which would have undergirded his mental needs. So here we are, three years away from the worlds definition of the legal age of adulthood and I’m scared out of my mind. This is the age that I watched my twin brother get ripped away from me and our childhood as he would know it. Never to be seen again for almost 10 years. He suffered in silence while being told to be seen and not heard. Since July 7, 2002 I have feared July 7, 2017. I have feared the age of 15. I have prayed that Generational curses would not exist in the life that he entrusted me with. Although I’ve prayed and I’m sure he has heard my prayers, I didn’t completely trust the man I was praying to. So I tried to instill the fear of Sana in him. Stayed on top of his every move. Didn’t let him leave the house. I did any and everything I thought I could do to solidify his chances of never seeing the faces of men who’s souls were trapped behind steel bars, but all he wanted me to do was lay in the bed with him while his head laid on my chest and we made music with our breathing in silence. Today I cried. I wanted fear to be my excuse to throw in the towel because I failed him. Then God sent me a gentle reminder, Train up a child in the way he should go: and when he is old, he will not depart from it. Even when I think I’ve failed he whispers in my undeserving ears;  You can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth you. So, I look at 15 and claim the victory because my father told me that victory is mine and my son, he still loves me. Happy 15 Jamir! You were, are and always will be, the Best Parts of Me.

When Realization smacks you in the face.

I had a miserable Mothers Day. Not because of any real reason in particular. It was just tough. I had watched many television specials and movies about mothers and the joys of motherhoods. Read so many social media post that quoted the word of God as it relates to mothers and famous quotes and memes about mothers, and I was miserable.

As I went through the week leading up to this much celebrated day I could feel the spirit of God nudging my ear because he had something to say.  I attempted to keep busy because I wasn’t ready for my heart to hear the words that I knew surely would pierce it.

On Mothers Day he sat my little self down and tore into me like only he could. See, if I’m being completely honest with myself, and the truth that is mine, I must admit that I can’t relate to all the things that make mothers so great, because I wasn’t able to experience them. Now don’t get me wrong, my adopted mother did the best she could. We lived in a nice, clean home. We dressed nice, went to private schools, had home cooked meals every night, even took summer vacations. My mother (and father) took very good care of us, we never lacked for what we needed. But even with all of those things that we needed, there were things that I desired that were more important to me than the things that I needed.

Webster says that to nurture is to “feed or nourish.” A mother’s nurture is fuel for the soul. Good mothers pour care into the souls of their children much like sunlight and water pour nutrients into a plant. Our souls flourish when we are being nurtured and cared for. We grow, develop, and change according to the way we were designed.

That is what I desired. To be nurtured. You must remember that I was taken from my birth mother at a very young age. While pregnant with my brother and I, our mother was addicted to drugs. After we were born my mother continued to spend the majority of her time on the streets instead of nurturing her young. After we were removed from our home and our mother we were placed in a foster home where unfortunately we were only two of many. Nurturing was almost non existent there as well. By the time we arrived to our adopted parents, I was dying to be nurtured. I was in need of someone that was going to encourage me, support me, motivate me, push me, tell me they loved me, hug me, wipe my tears, ect. Needless to say that’s not what my mom had to offer. She provided me with what I needed, not what I desired.

Without nurture we wither. The “failure to thrive” syndrome and many other childhood problems are directly related to a lack of nurture. In some cases, institutionalized babies have even died from maternal deprivation and a lack of nurture. We were created with needs that go deeper even than our physical need for food. We need the immaterial and spiritual requirements of relationship in order to live.

As I grew up, through middle school, high school, and now adulthood, my desire never changed. Because my mother could not provide me the things that I desired I put walls up around my heart and kept a safe distance from her so that I would not be disappointed.

When my father passed away last May, I literally moved in with my mother for almost a month. During that time, God gave me a supernatural strength. My mother had lost the only man she loved and she was devastated. I had to give her what she needed, the very thing that I desired, she needed to be nurtured. So for a month God gave me the opportunity to nurture my mother.

Now here we are, on Mothers day and the only gift that I desire is to be nurtured, by my mother. My husband continuously asked me what was wrong with me as I moped around. I couldn’t find a way to explain to him what I felt, because I felt empty.

Finally, before the day was over, as I settled in my bed to ponder my day and feel what I was feeling, God took the opportunity to speak. He told me that just like every other person he has allowed to play apart in my life, my mother had a purpose. Her purpose was not to nurture me. Her purpose was to take care of me and she served her purpose. Her purpose was to give me what I needed and introduce me to the person who would give me what I desired, because it was only that person who could quench my desire. “Sana”, he said, “I never intended any of the mothers I gave you to nurture you. The nurturing that you require will only come from me. I will nurture you in the way that I expect you to nurture the people that I will send to you. Honor your mother for the purpose she served in your life because now it’s time to serve your purpose in her life.” 

We often times put a high expectation on the people in our lives that are the closest to us. Even when God reveals that their purpose has been served, we continue to expect from them what they don’t have to give. Looking for people to nurture us rather than the ultimate nurturer. Walking around hurt, angry, and confused with a broken heart. 

It hurt when this realization smacked me in my face. I thought that being adopted would afford me all of the desires of my heart. That there would be a completeness that would overtake me. It wasn’t until Mothers Day that I realized completeness had always been within me…HE had always been with me. I just needed to shift my focus. 

My relationship with my mother will never be that of a Disney story, no fairy tale endings, but my purpose in the life of my mothers will be fulfilled. 


 “Submit therefore to God, resist the devil, and he will flee from you.” – James 4:7

Recently I was doing a heart check of my role in my marriage. I try to do them often as a way to better myself and increase my value as a wife. As I began to check myself, my heart was convicted. I realized that every month or bimonthly Josh and I get into some sort of spat. Most times they start with something small or something that really has nothing to even do with us, but it ends up into a full blown argument. I have always had a short temper so I am normally the one that goes from zero to 100 real quick. After each argument, I sit back and say to myself, “Why did you get so angry?’, Why did you say things that you now can not take back?, what was your angle, what was your trigger point? You can’t keep doing this.” Eventually we make up and life goes back to normal, but is it really normal or have I been making that behavior MY NEW NORMAL?

A few months ago I began to ask God to show me when my trigger is being pulled and give me time to catch it. Last month he gave me my “Ah Ha!” moment.  I realized that it was normally the week of or before I was to be visited by my monthly friend (menstrual cycle) that this spats began. Some months I would be overly exhausted, and other months I turned into a demon possessed women that I was ashamed of. The devil is so tricky. See, the devil aims to destroy marriages. My husband is the head of our household but I am the neck. It’s my role to encourage him, pray for him, instruct our children, keep our home clean, ect. If the devil succeeds at cutting off the neck, then the head can not properly, and completely lead. So what does he do? He uses the very thing that we have been taught as young women is a sign of entering into womanhood, something to be cherished, our menstrual cycle. See it’s a silent destroyer. When you get your period, your mother talks to you about all of the side effects and symptoms that come with it so you will be properly prepared and not afraid. They tell you that you will get cramps, you may crave sweet treats, exhaustion may overtake you and you may have mood swings. But don’t be afraid, there is a cure for each symptom. If you have cramps, take some Tylenol. You crave sweets, just eat a Hershey bar. If your exhausted, get some rest and drink plenty of water. As far as the mood swings, others around us are taught to just ignore them and us. The mood swings was the side effect that the Devil chose to use against me. My mood would make me irritated and annoyed easily. I would respond to Josh with short answers. Lay in the bed and allow my thoughts to run laps in my mind, stressing out about everything from bills to goals I didn’t reach, to people who hurt me in the past, giving myself my own little pity party and then taking it out on the person closest to me, Josh. He had no clue what was going on, so feeling attacked, he defended himself and the spat would become an argument. The neck wanted to go one way and the head the other.

On Saturday we came home form a relaxing four day vacation. We had a great time. As soon as we got back we began to head to our church’s Easter Egg Hunt. It was an absolute blast. When we finally arrived home that evening and began to wind down and prepare for Resurrection Sunday. My smile soon turned into a frown. The reality of unpaid bills hit me. My upcoming schedule began to overwhelm me. Josh kept asking me what was wrong and of course my response was “nothing” which is girl code for “I don’t want to be bothered”. That was not a good response for him so of course he kept asking and pushing and I could feel my adrenaline beginning to rise. It was then that the holy spirit spoke to me and said, “It’s coming”. Just like that I snapped out of it. I refused to allow the devil to take advantage of a symptom that I was taught was normal. I chose to take control. I immediately began to pray and ask God to give me strength over my attitude and my feelings. I then thanked him for giving me insight and putting me in a position to see the devils weapons form before they could prosper.


This got me to thinking over my life. How many times since I was twelve years old had the devil used something so precious to my womanhood to control my words and actions toward my family and friends. How many times could battles have not been turned into wars? How many relationships had I lost because I was blind to his weapons and allowed them to prosper? As I prepare my daughter to welcome her monthly visitor, in addition to the cures that my mother taught me, I plan to teach her about the cure that you don’t have to purchase, it doesn’t require a prescription, it just requires you to listen to the calming whisper of Gods voice and go before him in prayer. It will save you from stress, anxiety, and depression. I will teach her to pray.



“Now did you think you wouldn’t be held accountable?”

“But I tell you that every careless word that people speak, they shall give an accounting for it in the day of judgment. For by your words you will be justified, and by your words you will be condemned.” (Matthew 12:36-37).

Growing up, school has always come easy to me. I always excelled in my classes. At one point they wanted to skip me in elementary school. My parents never questioned my homework, did I study for test, was there a project due., ect. They just knew that I would come home with honors. I wasn’t celebrated, it was just expected.

My twin on the other hand, always struggled in school. I would watch him sit at the table for hours after school attempting to complete the work that I breezed through. It just didn’t come as easy for him. He would constantly get in trouble regarding his school work. My parents both worked full time jobs and neither had the patience that he needed to complete his assignments. So, he continued to struggle and literally JUST passed each year.

When I gave birth to my son I noticed various similarities that he and my twin shared. One of the biggest was his struggle with school. Now, I’m going to be honest. If as a young mother I was busy reading to him, and working on his numbers and math with him instead of chasing after his father, and playing detective, he would have certainly been further along and struggled a lot less, BUT, I didn’t, so here we are. He is now a freshman in high school and he is behind his grade level. I must admit, I saw this progressing from middle school, but I was in denial. I made excuses for him instead of really pushing him to work harder.  A few weeks ago, God began to speak to me through visions. He brought back to me the memories of my twin, struggling at the table. I could vividly see the tears in his eyes and the anxiety that plagued his mind. Behind him I could see what was actually not there, and that was the support from our parents. It became clear to me that God was showing me what could very well happen to my son if I didn’t step in and cut off that generational curse. So I jumped into action. I began calling the administrators, and requesting meetings. Really talking to my son and seeking God in prayer for direction. As I laid before God one evening last week he placed on my heart the spirit of conviction. I mean this thing tore me up. He began to show me the various parts of my son’s struggle that I needed to own. He showed me the time I rang the door bell of my son’s father’s home, and then ran to my car down the street, and watched the door until he came and picked my son up out of his car seat. He showed me how I wouldn’t answer the phone none of the ten times his father called me because I felt like I was justified since he was slacking off as a father. He showed me the times I cussed his father out in front of him or refused to send him clothes for the weekend because I felt his father needed to spend some money on him. Now don’t get me wrong, my son never lacked of anything materialistic. He was well taken care of, but for the first three years of his life my main focus wasn’t on him like it should have been, it was on making his father miserable for hurting me. God showed me all of that AND some and then asked, “Now did you think you wouldn’t be held accountable?”.

See, we think that those actions don’t affect our kids because they were so young. We convince ourselves that they couldn’t possibly remember that, but the truth is they do. When we hurt, they hurt. When we cried, they cried. When we screamed, it scared them. The anxiety they feel, that’s because of the situations that we placed them in the middle of. When we used them as a pawn in the games we played, we planted rejection in their spirit.  We did that…I did that. So now 14 years later, I am trying to repair damage that I did physiologically, that is manifesting it’s self through his school work, and his behavior and I feel like as his mother, the person who carried him within her womb, who had such great plans for his life and even had great intentions, has failed him. What now?

God sent me reassurance through one of his servants. He said that my son will be okay, but as for me, this is not a storm that he will pull me out of, this is a storm that I must weather and it won’t be easy. In fact it will be hard. It will hurt. I’m going to cry. I’m going to scream. I’m going to be angry, but in the end, my son will have the victory.

My First Memory of Life.

“Everybody get on the floor!”, that’s what the officer yelled as the police raided the place I called home. My brother and I were somewhere between 3 and 5 years of age when Bridgeport police kicked in the door of the crack house we lived in with our mother and grandmother. I remember sitting there, aware. Not scared, not sad, just aware. Aware of what had become normal for me. This wasn’t the first time the crack house had been raided and it certainly wouldn’t be the last, but this time it was different. I was aware.

As they dragged several people away in handcuffs, I realized my mother was one of them. She was high and seemingly clueless as to what was going on. As my grandmother held us, high herself, the last officer looked at her and said “next time we’ll be taking them with us” as he pointed to my brother and I and then they were gone. Just as fast as they invaded our “home”, they were gone.

Not too long thereafter, maybe a few days or so, we received yet another surprise visit. Late in the night. I heard a knock on the door and when my grandmother opened it, in they came like soldiers. One grabbed me and the other scooped up my brother. Just like that we were now in the custody of the Department of Children and Families and life as we knew it would never be the same.

This blog is simply a place for me to share my story. To tell my truth. Come along with me as I take you on a journey called life. Some said it was impossible, but God made an impossible life, Possible.IMG_6501

The System Was Good to Me.

Most foster care stories are sad. They are abused, scared, moved from one home to another, mistreated, ect. I didn’t have that experience. After being removed from my home, I was immediately admitted into Park City Hospital in Bridgeport, CT. I lived in that hospital for several months until I could be placed into a temporary foster home.

The home that I was placed into was located at 161 Sixth Street, I’ll never forget that address. We were placed with the Mackey Family. This was where I was introduced for the first time to God. The Mackey’s was a Pastor and First Lady. When were first placed with them they were using their basement as a church home, but not too long after that they acquired a building. At this new church is where I learned to usher, and sing in the choir. It’s the place that I learned how to serve. All of the Mackey kids were involved in the church, no exceptions.

One Sunday I was sitting in church. I happened to turn around and was blinded by a bright light. The light was coming from two pews behind me. I felt like there was an angel sitting right behind me. I couldn’t stop turning around to look into the face of this angel. Immediately after church I wanted to speak to this angel. She was older than me by probably 8 or 9 years. I found out that her name was Sylvia. I was in love. Something just drew me to her. I’d like to think it was the divine plan of God. Sylvia was visiting the church with her siblings. I never knew why she came, but to this day I believe she was sent by God just for me. For two weeks I begged my foster mother, Mrs. Mackey, “can we take her home?, please can we take her home?”. One Sunday we finally did, we took her home to live with us. Sylvia played a pivotal role in my life. She spoiled me. She took me on her dates, she listened to me speak my fears, she held me when I cried, she calmed my very soul. She literally protected me, she was my rock, Sylvia was my angel.

One afternoon, my foster siblings and I were playing in the back yard. I suddenly heard someone call out “Sana, I’m over here Sana, come to the gate” when I ran to the gate before me stood my mother. I birth mother. It had been at least a year since I watched her being dragged away by the police, and now here she was right in front of my very eyes. As I ran to open the gate to hug her, I was cut off my foster mother. She screaming for me to get in the house. “You can’t be here” she told my mom, “how did you find them?, you can’t see them”. I was pushed into the house and for what seemed like hours, I stood at the door sobbing as my mother stood on the other side begging to see her babies. I think I cried myself to sleep sitting at that door and finally the banging on the door stopped and the sound of my mother calling my name was gone. She was gone.

Life with the Mackey’s was good. I can’t remember bad times there. I was comfortable. I was home.

On October 1, 1990 my life went through another shift. I went off to school with my siblings as I normally did, I said by to Sylvia and walked to Newfield elementary school. At Lunch time I was called to the lunch room. The lunch room was decorated for a party. balloons, gifts, the whole nine. I was quite surprised and confused. My 8th birthday was a few days away so surely this was not a birthday party so what was going on?. Suddenly my social worker Ms. Gay walked in the room. She said to me, surprise, this is your going away adoption party. Huh?, Adoption party? “Yes” she stated. Today your going to live with your new family, the Mayfield’s.

I never got to go back to 161 Sixth Street. I never said goodbye to Sylvia. I never said goodbye to the Mackey’s. I was placed in the car where all of my clothes were already packed and in the trunk, and away we went. Next stop, New Britain, CT.

Talk About a Divine Connection

Last night in bible study my co pastor was speaking on Peter, a Jew and Cornelius, a gentile. She was teaching from Acts chapter 10. She was explaining how God used Peter to bring salvation even though by religion, Jews and Gentiles did not have any relationship with each other. But because of God and his divine connection he brought these two gentleman together for the sake of salvation.

I began to ponder this thing called divine connections and began to reminisce on my life, which to me is one big story of divine connection, but one part of my life in particular. Now, I’m going to fast forward my story a bit, but because I am literally writing this blog according to God’s direction, this is where he directed me to, August 2006.

One summer, almost fall day, I found myself in a crazy situation. My son’s father was coming to pick him up for the weekend. Now I knew there was going to be some mess because there always was. This day he decided that he was going to bring his new girlfriend along for the ride. When they finally arrived at my cousins house, where I was staying until my apartment was ready, it seemed like this was going to be an easy send off. But as I strapped my son into the back seat of his car, he made a comment, I’m not even sure what the comment was, but whatever it was, it was enough to set me off. Now when I say set me off, I mean set me OFF. I literally blacked out. He began calling me every demeaning name he could think of, right in front of our son. When he sat down in the front seat and closed his  door, I immediately jumped into the back seat, directly behind him, grabbed the gold link chain he was wearing around his neck, and pulled it until his head was strapped to the headrest. I’m not sure how long I held him like that, or where I got the strength from, but I didn’t snap out of it until my cousin’s husband was able to carry me out of the car. Oh, but it didn’t stop there. When I was able to get free, I took a hammer that I found in the driveway and proceeded to try and bust the windows out the car while I grabbed my son out the back seat. My cousins husband yet again grabbed me up and this time put me in the house.

“Sana, snap out of it!!, what is wrong with you??” My cousin screamed. “Look at your hands, their bleeding all over the place”, “You have got to stop allowing him to have this power over you!”After I cleaned myself up, and looked myself in the mirror, I realized I didn’t know the girl staring back at me. Somewhere along the way, when I thought I was in Love with a man, I stopped loving myself. I sat down and I cried out to God, “God, I’m tired of THIS. I’m tired of being tired, I need you God. I just want to be loved. When are you going to send me someone who loves me for ME??”.

That night I cried and prayed myself to sleep. The next morning I awake to my cousin shaking me, “Get up, you need to go to church” she said. “Girl I’m not going to nobody’s church, do you see how I look? Look at my hands, their bandaged up”, “If you go with us to church this one time, I won’t ask you again” “Okay fine, I’ll go.”

I’ll never forget that day. It was raining and as we walked up to the church I noticed this guy on crutches, talking on his cell phone. As we walked by I turned to my cousins husband and said, “I’m going to marry him.” He looked at me and laughed, “Sana are you serious? You don’t even know him and you almost went to jail for murder yesterday”. We went into church and I couldn’t even pay attention to the message, I just stared at the guy from outside who was now playing the drums. At the end of service, they did the announcements and the lady called up Bro. Josh Cotten, he had an additional announcement to make. Well Josh Cotten turned out to be the pastors baby son. My cousins husband turned to me and said, “you still want to marry him?” “I sure do, and when this is over, I need you to give him my number”, “what? I’m not giving that man your number, girl you in church”. Long story short, I ended up approaching Josh myself and I asked for his number, his response was “I don’t normally give females my number in church, so I’ll give it to your cousin and then he can give it to you” No problem, that works for me.

Josh and I ended up talking later that night, and went on our first date that Friday. Our date conversation went like this:

Me: Listen, I don’t have time for games, so if you playing games then we can end this now. I’m trying to be married.

Josh: Well just know that even if you have a baby by me,  I won’t marry you until I’m ready.

Just like that we were an item. I moved into my apartment 2 days later and he moved in with me. He proposed on July 4, 2007 and we married on August 14, 2007.

Now that wasn’t even what makes this a divine connection. This is what makes me a divine connection. Prior to Josh proposing, he took me to meet  his grandmother, Nana. When I walked in, Nana says to me “I know you already”.  “You do?”, yeah hold on, I’ll be right back. She goes in her room and comes back a few minutes later and hands me a photo. The photo is a photo of me and my twin brother when we lived in Bridgeport with our foster family.

My God. It was already his plan. Joshua Cotten is my Peter, God sent him to me to bring salvation.

But if You Don’t Forgive Others, Your Father Will Not Forgive Your Failures.

ability to forgiveAs I was scrolling through Instagram today I came across a picture that said, “There should be no limit to our ability to forgive”. Instantly my mind went back to a moment when forgiveness was the hardest choice I ever had to make.

When I lived at home I remember my mother would always wake up late at night and she would walk the house. She would check that all the windows were closed and locked, the doors were locked, and we were all in our beds. She did this every night like clockwork for years. Needless to say, I have adapted that same routine.

One evening in 2003, I was living in my first apartment in Marina Village projects in Bridgeport, CT. It was late about 1:30am. My then boyfriend and I were sleep in the bed and my son’s godfather was in the next room sleep with his then female friend. It wasn’t uncommon to find him sleep in Jamir’s room since he often crashed at my house especially after I had Jamir. I woke up and began doing my normal check of the house. I went downstairs made sure the tv and lights were off, the doors were locked, looked outside made sure the car was safe and intact and began walking back upstairs. As I got to the middle of the steps I heard a noise. I thought I was hearing things, but then I heard it again. Something didn’t feel right. I immediately ran up the stairs and hopped in my bed. It seemed like seconds later there was someone leaning over me, yelling “get out the bed, get up now”. When I opened my eyes, there were about 4 men in my house with black ski masks on. They pulled out guns and hit my boyfriend over the head with it. I could hear the same thing happening in Jamir’s room. They dragged me and my boyfriend in Jamir’s room and proceeded to tape our mouths and tie us up. I remember laying there thinking, “wow, this is really happening right now”. One of the voices asked me, “where’s the boy, where’s your son?”, he’s not here, I stated when he removed the tape from my mouth long enough to speak. One of the guys began to touch my butt, and then I heard the same voice that asked me about Jamir say “don’t touch her, leave her alone”. The guys then stated to us “don’t move, don’t try to get away, if you do, we will kill you”. They then closed the door and proceeded down the stairs. I could hear things breaking downstairs and being thrown on the floor. We sat there for what felt like hours. As I sat, I began loosening the rope that had my hands bound behind my back. I knew we had to get out of there. Eventually it was silent in the whole house. I waited a few more minutes and I removed the rope and then the tape from my mouth. I made my way over to Jamir’s bed where I could here my son’s godfather moaning. I was able to untie him and his friend and my boyfriend. I told them that we needed to get out of there and get to the hospital. I slowly opened the door and in the dark, grabbed the car keys off the dresser in my room. I crept down the stairs and scanned the house, no one was there. We grabbed my sons godfather and all ran to the car and sped off to the hospital.

It wasn’t until we got to the hospital that I looked at my sons godfather, his face was bloody, because they pistol whipped him. He was in pain, but I remember him looking at me saying, “you good Sana Mama?”. That was him, always making sure I was okay. He wouldn’t let me call his mother (sorry mama Marie) or his sister (love you Krys) who’s graduation from college was the very next day and he was supposed to be there. At that moment, all we had was each other. No one else was as injured as he was, so they kept him over night for observation.

When daylight came, I went back to the apartment and dealt with the police and the neighbors. My apartment was trashed. As the police dusted for finger prints and took pictures of what had became a crime scene, I just watched in awe. This just was not really my life, it couldn’t be. I made up in my mind that moment that I wouldn’t sleep another night in that apartment. So when CL was released from the hospital, we checked into a hotel. We stayed there until I was able to find another apartment.

One day, shortly after the home invasion, it was the day of the Freddy parade, I was sitting on my stoop. I had come over to do some packing and was now taking a break. This guy walked up and said hello. “Hello” I responded. I had seen him around before b
ut never spoke to him. “You need some help?”, “no I’m good”, “do you happen to have any water?” he asked, “yeah hold on”. I went in the house and came back with the bottle of water. We sat there and talked for a few minutes about how hot it was and how it was so quiet because everyone must be at the parade. Eventually I got up and said I better finish packing before it got dark since I had already turned of the electricity. As he got up and stepped off the stoop, he looked at me and said “I’m sorry”. I looked back at him for a split second and said “yeah, I know. I forgive you”. It was the same voice that asked me if my son  was home during the home invasion.


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A Jailhouse Message from a Jailhouse Messenger.

In 2006 I was summoned to appear in court for an old warrant. I had bounced a check and hadn’t paid it, so the store chose to press charges, drastic right?? Needless to say, I was driving home one day in Hartford from work, and got pulled over. The officer made me aware of a warrant for my arrest. The warrant was for Fairfield, CT, so when after they booked me at the Hartford police station they then transferred me to Fairfield. I was let go on a promise to appear. About 2 days later, I was pulled over again for the same warrant. Apparently the system was never updated, so again I was arrested, this time in Orange, CT and then transferred to Fairfield, CT. After processing me, I was let go on the same promise to appear. The very next day I was pulled over yet again in Hartford. This time they didn’t book me or even handcuff me. They just drove me straight to Fairfield. At this point I’m saying this is a joke. Fortunately my court date was the next day.

The next day, I wake up, get Jamir ready and he, my cousin and myself all drive to Bridgeport for my court date. Now, if you are from Bridgeport you know that the court house is ALWAYS packed. You can literally sit in there ALL day waiting for your name to be called. I walked into the court house about 10 minutes after the start of court and my name was called immediately. I walk to the front and the judge says, “Ms. Mayfield, since this is the 2nd time that your name has been called, you are now being reprimanded to the State of Connecticut department of Corrections”. I was literally in shock, it happened so fast I thought I was being punked. It wasn’t until the marshals began placing cuffs on my wrist did I realize this was real. As they are taking me away I tell my cousin to call my then boyfriend, who was all the way in New York so he could bail me out. When I get to the back of the court house I convinced one of the marshals to bring my phone to my cousin so she could make the call.

So now I am sitting in the cell of the court house. I’m surrounded by all types of females. For some reason I wasn’t scared. I wasn’t nervous, I was just aware. About 2 hours go by and I’m still sitting there. The marshal that I convinced to bring my phone to my cousin comes down and checks on me. I knew he liked me so of course I figure I’d use it to my advantage to get updates on the status of me getting out. He lowers his voice and says, “don’t worry, if your cousin doesn’t come up with your bail money, I’ll give it to her so she can bail you out before they ship you to Niantic, the women’s prison”. Niantic? wait a minute, now this is really real, I’m about to go to Niantic. Who’s going to keep my son?, what about my job? Those were only some of the questions racing through my mind now. As I sat back down on the bench I must of looked scared because one of the women came over to me and started assuring me that I would be okay.

The women proceeded to ask me my name. I told her my name was Sana. “Sana, hmmm, that name sounds familiar. You actually look familiar”. Then she says, ‘what’s your mothers name?” I told her my birth mothers name because there was no way she would have known my adopted mother. “My mother’s name is Alexis, well everyone calls her …..” “Tu-Tu” she says at the same time I said it. She then turns to the other ladies and says “Hey ya’ll, guess who’s daughter this is? This is Tu-Tu’s daughter”. Suddenly I am surrounded by about 6 women. They began telling me how my mother used to always talk about my brother and I. She hoped that we were in a good place and lived a good life. I sat there in tears as these jailhouse women began to pour into me. They weren’t speaking bible verses, they just told me all the hopes my mother had for my life. That she didn’t want me to turn out like her. How she PRAYED for me every night before it was lights out. They couldn’t believe how much I looked like her.

Before I knew it, the marshal was calling my name. My cousin had gotten in touch with my boyfriend and he wired her the bail money from New York. As I was leaving the ladies made me promise to succeed. “Be everything your mother wanted you to be”. Those words really hit me. As I rode home that day from Bridgeport my mind began to think about everything I was currently doing in my life. The clubs I went to, the guys I chose to be with, the clothes I had no business wearing. It was time for me to right these sins. This life was not the life God intended for me to live. I then began to reflect on the week I had. God had to put me in some bad situations so he could sit me still. He had a plan, a purpose for every minute of my life.

The judge thought she was punishing me for a crime, but the word of God says, “Don’t be afraid. Am I in the place of God? You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good.” Genesis 50:19b-20a(NIV).

God can reverse, restore, revive, and renew. Be on the lookout for His plans that are already in motion right now, even in the midst of your difficult time. Trust Him. He can take any circumstance and use it for your good and His glory.