Praise Him in the Storm—Your Help Is Coming.
​
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Through all of it, I still kept my grades up. I’ve always loved school—probably because it was my only escape. I was so torn. I still talked to God, and I still prayed, but I was still hanging around inappropriate places for a girl my age because I was surrounded by older women. At that age, getting drunk in bars or frat houses or "happy hours" felt like a little bit of fun at first. But it wasn't fun for long. It was very empty.

I still wasn’t healed from the fact that our mother had abandoned us. I wasn’t healed from what happened with my dad. I wasn’t healed from losing my younger siblings. And I deeply missed my old church family from my hometown; I lacked a wholesome group of people to turn to for support.

My mom just went to work and partied. Work and party.
God, I needed somebody.

To add a whole other level of heartbreak, I had broken up with my boyfriend. He would actually come to that college town to party because it was somewhat close to our hometown, and he’d stop in to see me. It actually made things worse because, to be honest, he wasn't really there to see me. He was there for another reason.

I felt exactly like I did back at my old house with my mom—all the drugs, the chaotic people coming in and out. It was the exact same environment, just a different town. I didn't have my local church nearby, I had nobody checking on me, and I was floundering.

I was so heavy-hearted I can’t even put it into words. One night, I was counting up my tip money, knowing I didn't have anywhere near enough to move out. Not knowing what to do, I went into the bathroom—the only place in the entire trailer where you could get an ounce of privacy. I shut the door, fell out on the floor, and just cried.

I told God, "I don’t know what to do. I can’t live like this. Help me."

Right then, the most amazing peace settled over me. I can’t even explain it, but I felt the literal presence of God. I suddenly felt so still. And clear as day, I heard a prompt in my heart: Call your Aunt Harriet.

Aunt Harriet was one of my mom's God-fearing Christian sisters. In fact, she was the very one who had traveled to find me and tell me my mom had left us the first time. I called her right away and asked if I could move in with her. She didn’t hesitate for a single second. She said yes.

My dad started sending some extra money so I could attend a private Christian school where Aunt Harriet worked as a teacher. From that exact moment forward, my life dramatically changed for the better. I honestly don’t know where I would be today if I hadn't stopped and turned to God for guidance on that bathroom floor.

Living with Aunt Harriet was incredibly therapeutic. She had schedules. She cooked real dinners, packed our lunches, and gave us snacks. For the first time in a long time, life felt normal.

I threw myself entirely into my schoolwork. I worked so hard and studied so constantly that I managed to completely finish high school while I was 16 years old. I turned 17 shortly after. I just wanted To be able to say that I finished high school at 16. 🤣
.
It was a school where you could go at your own pace, and I ran with it. In fact, I studied so much that the pastor eventually had to come into the room and force me to take breaks because I would try to stay inside between classes just to study more.

Because Aunt Harriet lived in my hometown, I was finally back around my old friends. I have to tell you, I had some really good friends who deeply respected the fact that I didn't party and didn't want that lifestyle.

They are still my friends to this day! We would hang out, and they never tried to talk me into doing anything wild. One friend in particular, Patsy, actually helped me study and would just hang around with me and do nothing. She was the absolute best friend ever.

I’d like to say a little bit here about religion—because religion is not God, and it is definitely not the love of God. As much as I appreciated going to that Christian school, it was a very legalistic Baptist school.

The guys had to have their hair cut above their ears, and the girls were strictly forced to wear skirts or culottes. I had to get a whole new wardrobe because mostly I just wore jeans and t-shirts.

We weren’t allowed to dance, so there was no prom—just a year-end awards ceremony.

I'll brag on myself a little bit here because I truly worked my tail off:
I won every single academic award there was.p, except one.

The only one I didn't get was the Pastor's Award for an outstanding student. The pastor actually pulled me to the side and told me, "Pam, you completely deserved this award. But this other girl worked so hard reading all these extra books just to be able to graduate at the deadline, so I gave it to her."
I didn't care at all; I really liked her and thought she deserved it, but it was incredibly nice of him to tell me that.

But looking back, I realize I had thrown myself into school strictly to escape my trauma. And I have to say this about the Christians in that place: they didn’t really reach out with love. It was more about making sure you conformed to an outward look.

I just want to say to any Christians reading this out there: you need to be loving people, not worrying about what they look like on the outside. The Holy Ghost will handle what needs to be handled in a person's heart.

Young people just need love. And this modern generation has it a whole lot harder than the generation I grew up in. God help us.

After all of that safety and healing at Aunt Harriet's... I guess I still hadn’t learned my lesson good enough. Because right after I graduated, my mom managed to talk me into coming to live with her again. She had moved to Virginia.
You can only imagine how that went.
 
I appreciate you reading my stories. I share them to show God is faithfully with you wherever you are. Even when we drift away, He never does. His love is always with you. 

He loves you.

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Prior Story Here
Part 62: The Scenic Route and the Ditch

EXPLORE MORE

About Pam Herrick
​
Spirit Flow Art

Gallery

🤎

Enjoy this YouTube shorts video reveal of woman praising God in the storm
​and the Peace with the Lion of Judah after the storm. God is good! 

A prayer in paint for America… and for every nation.
​
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​As I painted this Lion of Judah, my heart wasn’t simply thinking about a holiday.
It was praying.

I prayed that God would bless America
with His wisdom, His peace, and His hope.

But I also prayed for every nation
represented by the people who visit this website.

Over the past months, I’ve watched friends
from Kenya, India, Indonesia, the Philippines, South Africa, Europe,
and many other places become part of this journey.

So while this painting was inspired by America’s Independence Day,
my prayer reaches far beyond our borders.

May God’s peace, hope, and love reach every heart.

​God bless America.
And God bless you wherever you’re reading this from.
— Pam Herrick


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EXPLORE MORE 

Spirit Flow Art

Gallery
​
About Pam Herrick

🤎​

Enjoy this powerful Lion Of Judah video art in prayer over the nations,
woven in with the beloved flag of the United Staes of America. 
​

Even in our darkest moments, God never leaves us.​

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​
Then came the parties. My mom was partying, my aunt was partying. I started going out with my aunt to different places, and it all just pulled me further away from God. It did absolutely nothing for my pain; I was still just deeply hurt.

We were living in a college town, and since we were hitting all these parties, guys were coming onto me all the time. I feel weird saying this in this story now, but I was only 15 years old. I had older men hitting on me and trying to grope me. It was a lot to navigate.

One night at a party, my aunt left with some guy. I was stuck there. Another guy offered me a ride home; he had been playing the guitar and singing, and he seemed really nice, so I said yes. On the way back, I realized we missed a turn and said, "Hey, this is the way to my house."

He just looked at me and said, "Well, I want to take the scenic route. I want to show you something."
He parked his van beside a lake. It was actually really beautiful, and at first, he started to kiss me. That was alright, I guess, but I was really too young for all that mess and I wasn’t very good with boundaries yet. But then he started getting carried away. I started saying no, and the next thing I knew, he was trying to rape me. Honestly, it’s a good thing he was drunk. He was big and strong, but because he was clumsy, I managed to escape the van.

I started running down the dark road. I didn’t even know where I was. I was terrified. Suddenly, I saw headlights coming. I can still feel my heart pounding just thinking about it, because I thought, Oh my God, he’s coming to get me. I dove straight down into the ditch to hide. As the car passed by, I saw it wasn't his van, so I jumped up and started running after it, waving my arms.

It was an elderly Black man. He stopped, looked at me, and said, "Oh my God, are you okay?" I told him what happened, and he safely took me home. I really love that man for that night.

But the wildness didn't stop. Other nights, it seemed like all anyone wanted to do was go out. I was trapped in a life I didn’t want, in deep pain, with nobody being a positive influence. My mom's friend had officially moved into the trailer—it was a total mess. Sometimes a guy friend from school would come over to visit; there was nothing romantic there, he was just a friend, but he felt so sorry for me. He actually told me, "My mom said you can come live with us." I felt too weird about it, so I didn't do it.

So the partying went on. I would go to the college town and drink sometimes too—I didn't do drugs, but I would drink to escape. I remember walking from one fraternity house to another and getting pinned up against a wall by two guys. I was fighting to get away from them, and they were just laughing at me. I remember thinking, Oh my God, what is going to happen to me? I finally broke free and ran off to somewhere, I don't even remember where. I just remember escaping.

I was going to school during the day, eating my only real meal when I first got to work, and then coming home to a trailer where you never knew what you were going to find. Strange guys were constantly coming in and out. To make it worse, my brother was mean to me there too. Looking back now, I know he hated me being there because he was just as messed up, angry, and upset as I was. We had absolutely no stability.

Part 63 coming soon…

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EXPLORE MORE

 About Pam Herrick
​
The Girl Who Chased Horses

Gallery

​🤎

Lion of Judah shorts video below. I hope you can see yourself comforted in this image, safe in the presence of the one Who loves you! By the way, I just created my art business card on it at the end. I’m proud of all the work and thankful God is using it to spread His love! Here is link to my Facebook post for my card. HE’S GOT YOU! Please share with anyone, you know that might need the encouragement or enjoy the art. Thank you so much. Blessings! 💛

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​He is with us in our darkest hour.

You know, I realized I completely forgot some major things that happened before we went back to North Carolina where my mother eventually left us, and before I finally landed at my father's house in Florida. I kept thinking when I was telling these stories that something was missing. Almost all of my siblings have the hardest time putting the pieces of our timelines together. Except for my older brother—he actually has a perfect, uncanny memory. But for the rest of us, we usually have to count things by the houses we lived in—like when we were in the White House, or when we were in the greenhouse—because we can remember the structures, but the towns and the exact ages get blurred by the trauma.

I am actually the oldest female. My oldest younger sister is 8 years younger than me. The next sister is 10 years younger, and my little brother is 12 years younger. So when I was 15 years old, you can do the math on how old they were: they were only 7, 5, and 3 years old.

I had looked after them since I was only 8 years old. My mother and stepfather actually left me overnight to babysit my oldest younger sister when she was just an infant—and not only her, but their friend's two-year-old, too! They left me completely alone, and they paid me with candy bars when they got back. I can still remember my mom saying how responsible I was, which actually made me feel a little bit proud at the time, but a whole lot was being put on my plate. I can still remember my baby sister crying in the night, and I would be the one to go in, get her out of the crib, and walk her up and down the hall to comfort her until she stopped crying.

When I left off at age 15 in my story, my mom actually decided to get back with my stepfather for a brief time, and we moved to a town called Churchland, in Virginia.

This is the town where my running actually started. I began running just to deal with the heavy emotions of everything—but I wasn’t running alone. I ran with my Afghan hound, Sage. I loved that dog so much; he was my friend. While everything else was spinning out of control, we would run together. Outside of those runs, I walked to school as well there because I was too shy to get on the school bus. I absolutely hated being there. I didn’t know a single soul. At the time, I was still with my boyfriend, so I had to leave him behind, and that hurt deeply. I didn't have my driver's license yet, so I had to completely depend on other people just to take me to see him. He still lived in North Carolina so he was a whole state away. 

We weren't in Churchland for very long, but while we were there, things got incredibly bad.
My boyfriend cheated on me. One of my friends told me about it, and I cried so much—I cried for a whole day nonstop, just unable to stop the tears. And then, I had a miscarriage. I didn’t even know I was pregnant. I went to the bathroom because my stomach was hurting so badly, and there was a lot of blood. A very small fetus came out. Not fully formed, but recognizable.

I was entirely devastated. I cried even more, and my whole body just shook. It was just horrible.
One of my aunts happened to stop by—the very one whose trailer I went to live in later on. She walked in and said, "Oh my God, what happened?" I told her, and she tried her best to comfort me, but she was only there for a little bit before she had to leave.

The next day, I was still really upset. My mom was getting ready to go to work, and I tried to tell her what had happened. I was desperately needing some comfort, some love. She just ignored me, kept putting on her makeup, and brushed it off. She told me it was probably just a blood clot.
I said, "No, Mom, I saw it."

She just tried to tell me no, it wasn't. She gave me no comfort whatsoever. She just went on about her business and left, and I went back to my bedroom and just cried with my dog.

There was a lot more that went on there, but that was my most tragic memory from Churchland.
After that, my mom decided to leave my stepfather again and go back to her boyfriend in a completely different town in North Carolina.

The whole family went. Once again I found myself in a town where I didn’t know anybody. It was from that house in that new town—where my mom eventually just vanished and left us. While we were there, I did manage to get my driver's license, and my ex-boyfriend started coming to see me again. Looking back, it was kind of stupid of me to take him back, but I really loved him.

I realized I hadn't told you where the running and all those heavy emotions actually started. There were a couple of towns and some really bad things in the middle of the timeline that left me in even more of a mess by the time I landed at my father's house in Florida in part 60. I was a teenager in a massive crisis, and I truly needed comfort.

Honestly, looking back, there was no one really ever there for me. Except Jesus.
🦁

Little did I know my life was about to get worse. 

Part 60 here:  My Mom Just Left Us

Part 62 coming soon 💙🍃

I know this story was heavy. But it shows God was there all along, even in the dark places. Especially the dark places. I was learning to turn to Him more and more.
If you would like to follow my continuing book,
you can read my art and story blog here: Blog
Or see The Girl Who Chased Horses page where you can find new stories as I write them,
here: The Girl Who Chased Horses
For encouraging art visit my gallery here : Gallery
Blessings,
Pam

​I created the art in the video below just for my story. It is the Lion of Judah in the sky and my beloved dog, Sage, running over the bridge. 

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God is close to the broken hearted

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                                                                                            🤎

So, the last time I wrote, I left off when I was 15 years old and said I would return with the story. It’s been years since, and I’ve often thought of starting it, but every time I do, I kind of get overwhelmed thinking back. Because I would have to say—and there are tears now, actually—it was the hardest time of my life. To revisit it isn’t the easiest thing.

As a teenager, to see your whole world dissolve around you... I even felt like a failure because I tried so hard to protect my siblings, and everything was completely beyond my control.
My stepfather left, and then the environment with my mother obviously got worse. The drugs got worse. The crazy people around the house got worse.

I can remember one of my mother’s friend’s brothers coming to one of the parties. He was high on PCP, and my uncle was there. The guy tried to stab my uncle! My brother and my boyfriend went out and fired a warning shot, but my uncle—I can’t even remember how he got a gun, but he did—he shot the guy. Luckily he didn’t kill him; he got him in the shoulder. I can’t remember honestly if he hit him in the head or if the guy hit his head falling, I just remember that it hurt him really bad. Although he didn’t die, it messed him up mentally like he couldn’t function right.

My uncle had to go to court over and over again. We thought my boyfriend, my brother, and my uncle were going to go to prison. It ended up there were enough witnesses there to see everything that happened, to prove that it was self-defense because that guy was the one attacking everybody. But anyway, extreme things like that happening around my house were common.

At the time—and actually until the day my mother died—she was a respiratory therapist at a hospital. I’m sure she took all kinds of drugs from there, but one of her favorite things was she would bring home tanks of laughing gas. Everybody would sit around on the living room floor taking hits and then just passing out from it.

I’m not innocent; at that particular time, I did it too. I never did the harder drugs, though. And I never did them like everybody else. I did them recreationally, but I actually quit all of it. I completely didn’t want anything to do with any of it and turned my life over to God—which is a really hard thing to do in that environment.

So, back to the painful part. My aunt comes and tells me that my mom has left and nobody knows where she’s at, and that my stepfather is taking my siblings to live with him, and that my brother and I have to find a place to stay.

I called my father who lived in Florida. And this is a part of the story that makes me cry too, because my father said I could come, but my older brother couldn’t. Even though my older brother had always been mean to me—always thinking of himself and leaving me with the responsibility of everybody (it seems like everybody left me with the responsibility of everything)—anyhow, I loved him. I didn't like to see him get hurt. But my father was adamant that my brother couldn’t come. Knowing the part of the story that I told you—that I didn’t do the drugs like everybody else and my brother did—my father had his reasons. But my brother really needed him.

So he asked my grandparents. My Grandma Betty Ball, my most favorite person in the world, wanted him. But my grandfather there wouldn’t let my brother come either, which broke my grandmother's heart. All our hearts were broken. So much was going on. But my father‘s father—that grandfather—did let my brother move in, so at least he found a place to stay. He was 16.

So I go to live with my father in Florida. As you can imagine, I’ve got all kinds of emotions in me, and my father kind of just expected me to... I don’t know, just step into a perfect world and function. I wasn’t in a place mentally to step into a perfect world and function. In fact, one of the friends I met at school had some pot and offered it to me. Where I came from, I took some for comfort.

​I guess my father knowing what all was going on—actually, let me take that back, he had no idea all that was going on—but he did know that drugs were around. Anyhow, he found my stash in my bedroom closet and went off on me. Him and my stepmother.

But my father, he was right up in my face. Physically, like, the energy of him hollering at me and telling me how disappointed he was in me. The energy hurt and it scared me. I was at a place where all I needed was someone to love me. I needed someone to understand how much I was hurting, and no one was there.

I can remember after that happened, after that scene happened, I decided to run. I guess I picked that up to deal with my emotions. I would run usually 7 miles a day. So after that confrontation, I just put on my shoes and ran out of the house.

This was in Tallahassee Florida, and there was a large hill that I would run up. I never made it before all the way up, but I started running and I ran as hard as I could until my legs just couldn’t even take one more step. I was at the top of that hill. And then I just bent over and started crying, breathing in, gasping for air, not knowing what to do. Not knowing how to help the pain. Hating how much I was missing my sisters and brothers. I wanted to be home.

There were other things that went on in my house there with my dad and my stepmom where we had arguments. Everything, honestly, all just seemed to be based on expectations. I was a high-functioning teenager, and I don’t even think my dad had any idea of what I went through at my house and how much I actually managed the home.

I was in a crisis. I lost my environment. I lost my community. I lost my home. I lost my brothers and sisters. I felt like I lost everything, and then I’m expected to be this perfect little girl, and no one could see the pain inside.

With all that said, I don’t know how long it was that I lived there with my dad before things came to a head. But I remember going back and calling my mother. I don’t remember how long it was, but she eventually let people know where she was. She had moved in with one of my aunts in a college town—Greenville, North Carolina—in my aunt's trailer while she went to college there. Anyhow, when I called my mom and told her what was going on, she asked my aunt if I could stay there.

And I packed my bags. I was coming home. Although that wasn’t really my home, it was a college town, but at least I would be back in North Carolina.
​
I think I’ll start the story again here, because once I got back there, it got bad again. It got really bad.

I’ll continue the story soon in part 61.
​
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​
Explore the beginning story if you did not read it, on my about page here:
About Pam Herrick 

Or the actual Part One Blog post here:
Part One – Bryan's Story 

And to find comfort through art, visit my gallery here:
Gallery

For anyone going through a hard time.
You are not alone.
You are seen.
You are loved. 
You matter!

​🤎

​Watch the visual story of this prophetic painting unfold in the video below. Cutting back-and-forth between a woman walking through deep shadows and the powerful embrace of the Lion of Judah, this Spirit Flow artwork illustrates the true source of our protection. Let the unfolding text messages – there is always hope, never give up, you are not alone, and you are loved – serve as a visual prayer of comfort and healing for anyone navigating family, trauma, grief, or abandonment.

A Story About Friendship, Courage, and Creating Something New
​
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🤎

Faith Is a Bridge:
A Story About Helping Each Other.

​A few days ago, I did something I had never done before.
I made a video with narration.

That may not sound like much to some people, but for me it felt a little intimidating.
I had thought about doing it before, but never quite worked up the courage.

The funny thing is, it wasn’t my idea that finally pushed me forward.
It was a friend.

I met Shannon Guillory on YouTube.
She writes poetry unlike anyone I have ever met.
I call her a speed poet
because I still don’t know how anyone can think and speak that fast. 😊


I loved her poems.


She loved my art.


At first I offered to let her use my art with her poems.
Then we started talking about making videos.
Before long, we found ourselves asking the same question:


“How do we actually do that?”
Neither of us knew.
So we learned.
Together.


Somewhere along the way, our separate ideas became a collaboration.
Her words and my art began to unfold together,
taking us on a journey of faith, hope, healing, and believing.


And perhaps that’s exactly what friendship is.


God never intended for us to walk through life alone.
We encourage each other.
We teach each other.
We help each other become brave enough to try something new.


In a world that moves so fast, we need moments of peace
 Moments to slow down, reflect, pray,
and remember that God is still with us.


And if you feel alone today, remember this:


Jesus is your friend.


Sit with Him awhile.
Talk with Him.
Trust Him.


He cares more than you know.


🤎

Explore More Stories, Art, and Encouragement


The Girl Who Chased Horses
(Ongoing Book)

Gallery

​About Pam Herrick


Below is Shannon’s beautiful poem,
“Faith Is a Bridge,”
followed by the video inspired by this collaboration.


🤎

Faith is a Bridge 🌉

To reach faraway lands…

We dream beyond ourselves.

And above… to realms
where God is seated.

Faith is the Bridge 🌉
that stands in the gap.

Where prayer is the spoken language
on a heavenly map.

Faith is what I have.
In myself, in you, in humanity.

Where healing isn’t out of reach.
It is only the size of a mustard seed.

It is a child’s belief in goodness and miracles ✨️
from a Heavenly Father who loves us ♡

Faith can move mountains ⛰️
answer prayers 🙏
make the impossible possible.
Bring healing, hope, and strength.

We walk by faith and not by sight.

FAITH IS OUR ASSURANCE.
OUR positivity.
Our Gospel.

Now faith is the substance of things hoped for,
the evidence of things not yet seen ✝️💜

Poem by Shannon Guillory
Art by Pam Herrick

🤎

Watch our collaborative video inspired by Faith Is a Bridge below.
Lion of  Judah, childhood wonder and awe,
with a woman, a horse,
and of course, a bridge. 

🤎
​
Some of my art is available as fine art prints and gifts.
I’m adding more all the time. If interested, click button below. 

All along, through every fire, a little bit of beauty for ashes became.

​🤎

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Part 59:

For weeks now, I’ve been rereading my older stories.

Especially the ones where I promised I would continue telling the story where I left off from when I was fifteen years old.

Somewhere along the way, I stopped telling the story.

Not because I ran out of stories.

And not because I stopped caring.

Life became a long season of survival.

For years I lived in an environment that slowly chipped away at my voice. Not all at once. Just little by little, year after year.

I still wrote occasionally. I still shared pieces of my heart.

But the girl who once told her story so freely grew quieter and quieter.

Looking back now, I realize the stories never left me.

The voice never truly left me either.

It was simply waiting for me to find my way back to it.

But reading these older posts, I found myself missing the voice that shared those stories.

Not because she had life figured out.

But because she was honest.
Hopeful.
Broken.
Healing.
And deeply aware of God’s grace.

As I reread these stories, I realized something else too.

All along, through every fire, every heartbreak, every failure, every prayer… a little bit of beauty for ashes became.

So I think it’s time.

Time to return to the stories I left unfinished.
Time to continue where I said I would.
Time to run back to that fourteen-year-old girl and pick the story back up from there.

Not because the fire is over.

But because God has been in every part of it.

And maybe someone else walking through fire needs to know that too.

After all these years, I think my voice is finally coming home to itself.

​I pray you find yourself in a healing path.

🤎

Explore More Art and Stories

About Pam Herrick

​The Girl Who Chased Horses
(Part of Ongoing Book)

Gallery

🤎

Watch this Lion of Judah video with the song singing
every day of my life, I will run to You!