May 29, 2008, 4:00 p.m. I went to get my driver's license renewed and was right in the middle of answering questions on the computer exam. Somehow I missed the sign to turn off my cell phone in the Texas Department of Transportation facility. I think it must have been too big to notice or something. How glad I am I got that phone call in spite of the eagle eye and the warning voice I received from an employee as the ring sounded its joyful reveille. I answered with a "hello" , and then I heard the exuberant voice of my teenage son, who triumphantly announced, "The Supreme Court has ruled. Mother, we're free! "
How can I describe my feelings in contemplating deliverance after a very long nightmare? The Supreme Court of Texas has upheld the decision of the Third Court of Appeals that Judge Barbara Walther's court had acted improperly in keeping our children, and the State is ordered to return them to their parents. It was a joyful, yet uncertain feeling. What did it really mean? I had heard so many theories, opinions, expectations, remarks, criticism, broken promises, even bold-faced lies, what could I really expect now?
A few days pass as the judge, CPS, and the attorneys attempt to negotiate the terms of release. Finally, after an endless eternity of waiting, we learn the outcome of negotiation. I must pick up my children between the hours of 9:00 a.m. and 5:00 p.m. I must repeatedly sign several documents with a notary present, donate my thumbprint twice for each child, smile pretty for a picture along with my children as I hold a cattle tag, and agree not to leave the state or even to travel more than one hundred miles. I must agree to take parenting classes so I can learn how to be a good mother, and last but not least, I must give my address so that CPS can graciously monitor my family in their unannounced "gotcha" fashion.
Okay, so be it, whatever it takes to get my children back. I feel concerned, but peaceful. I have long since forgiven these people for their outrages against us, but that cannot change the level of confidence I am able to offer them in the future. I am not thrilled at the thoughts of further investigation of a non-existent allegation. I am grateful to be getting the children back, but I would rather be left alone unbothered to gather my innocent ones and begin the long and tender healing process, the rehabilitation of mind and body and soul.
June 1, 2008, 4:25 p.m. My youngest daughter, six years old, calls and tells me that she gets to be with me tomorrow. She is the youngest one at a facility in Converse and tells me that she has been told the youngest gets to go first. I tell her I am looking forward to it so much. What a delightful sparkle in her voice. "Mother," she announces jubilantly, "I am going to be the first one up in the morning. " "Wonderful! " I reply, "And I am going to be the first Mother up in the morning so I can be ready to come and get you the minute they say I can. "
June 2, 2008, 10:00 a.m. Suddenly, we receive word that all of the mothers can go get their children without waiting for a specific appointment. Our attorneys e-mail us the proper forms, and we are gratefully and anxiously ready to go NOW, even if we have to walk. But we have a deadline, 5:00 p.m. Oh, sure, we can pick up the children over the next several days, but who wants to wait until tomorrow? Which mother is willing to have her child be last? We receive word that our children at the shelters have been told that their mothers can now pick them up, and if the mothers don't show up, they just can't make it. Little does anyone know what a tender and heartrending situation that presents. How can we expect young, vulnerable minds to understand the reason for any delay? Our children are scattered all over the state of Texas, so how does a mother choose which child to rescue first? Oh, the pressure! Indescribable.
Both of my teenage sons have already insisted that I get their two little sisters first, so I have already traveled to San Antonio, the city nearest their location, to wait the moment of reunification. I have decided to begin with my youngest child, six years old, then travel one hour, retrieve my eight-year-old, and then go for the two boys, five hundred miles away. But, there is a very big challenge facing me. There are simply not enough vehicles to go around. I have always belonged to a caring and sharing environment where honest people look out for each other, lending vehicles and such back and forth to fit the needs. It is our way of life. It is efficient to share, and fulfilling to think of others.
How could we have known that the State would steal our children and that we would need enough appropriate vehicles to serve one hundred and forty-four mothers all at once? Now, with such tremendous need, I am faced with one of the biggest tests of my life. How much do I really love my neighbor? After all, these are my own flesh and blood children, and their well-being is my first duty. Oh, horrors! --the thought of the children suffering, wondering why Mother isn't there to get them; the pain of the children's fear and sorrow in watching their companions leave one by one. No! I will not let that happen. Surely, I am justified in demanding service first for their sake, right?
I weigh these things over carefully in my mind as I watch my friends leaving to retrieve their children. No matter how deep the pain, I cannot bring myself to jump in front of someone else. How can I possibly feel good about rescuing my child and alleviating their pain at the expense of another mother's child? I believe that is how every mother feels, but somebody has to be first, and somebody has to be last. Finally, I am the only mother left in the house. All the vehicles have been filled and gone, the minutes are ticking by, and I am weeping. It is just too big for me. There is no way I can endure that kind of suffering, the pain of the awareness that my little ones would feel the hurt of betrayal from their very own mother, the hurt of being forced into an unexplainable and compromising circumstance beyond my control, yet knowing that I will have to take responsibility for my choice in the matter, and by so doing, I must take upon myself that gnawing pain of knowing that my children are suffering and I can do little about it. There is nothing to do but to place my burden at the feet of my loving Heavenly Father. He will bear that for me, and now I know that He will take care of everything. How do I describe a heart-broken smile? But since the Lord helps those who help themselves, I am not going to give up easily, so I continue earnestly looking for solutions.
1:30 p.m. Who can I ask for help? I call some attorneys I know. Two don't answer. Another one, a hard-core advocate of justice, is already driving two mothers in his own vehicle to pick up their boys near Amarillo. That is wonderful and encouraging. We have made many good friends who honestly care and go above and beyond the call of duty in helping those in need. Think; think; think. Where else can I turn? I have got to pick up those children today no matter what. What about a kindly CASA friend? I call her; no answer, so I leave a message. What next? I think of all the good fathers, brothers, sons, nephews. Everyone is already doing their very best to help the mothers gather the children, so many good people volunteering time, money, vehicles, without any thought of reimbursement. My very own sons, nineteen and twenty-one, are working hard already to assist the sudden demand, and they are out running vanloads of mothers around the state. That thought makes me happy. It brings joy to my heart to see them helping anyone in need, not just their own mother and brothers and sisters.
1:45 p.m. Think, pray, cry, smile. My phone rings. None other than my darling six-year-old daughter is calling from a shelter that allows one phone call per child per day. Her voice is broken and frantic, "Mother, where are you? When are you coming to get me? I am one of the last ones left here. " How do I process that? I feel so desperately small and inadequate to care for this precious child. It feels like someone has taken a sledge hammer and smashed my heart into a thousand pieces, yet I feel the courage and reassurance of Someone much greater than I, so I tell her to hang on and smile, that I am coming very soon. My next thoughts are getting more radical. No matter what, I have to get my children today. My first instinct is to take off walking and thumb a ride. Surely, someone will stop for a lady in a pastel dress lugging a briefcase filled with birth certificates, medical records, school records, pictures, proof of parental custody. My next idea, a little more rational than the first, is to run door to door in the neighborhood and plead with each person I meet to either lend me a vehicle, or take me to find my children.
2:00 p.m. Hey! What about a taxi? How much will it cost? I look in my purse and find fifty dollars. Next, I find the Yellow Pages. T, t, t, ta, tax—there it is, taxi. I call three numbers before I get a real person with a real voice. I am a little hyper by now. "How much will you charge to take me from San Antonio to Converse? " I can hear the fingers whisking over a keyboard to obtain the information. "Fifty dollars, Ma'am. " Hmm, spend all my money just to get to my first stop? Then what? I wonder about taking a gamble. If I can just get over there, by the time I fill out the paper work and pick up my littlest girl, surely something else will work out.
My phone rings, a friend of mine. "Maggie, you have got to get over here to Gonzales. Your eight-year-old daughter is really worried about you not making it. She is so afraid to be left alone here overnight. If you don't hurry, she is going to be the last one here. " I hang up the phone, and I also hang my head in exquisitely painful concern. "How do things like this happen? " I ask myself. "What does a Mother do with a crisis like this? " There is no way I can call my daughter and console her. She is only allowed one phone call per week, and today is not the day. It feels like the weight of all time is hanging on the present moment, and those moments are ticking away, and I have miles to travel and children to rescue before 5:00.
2:30 p.m. It feels like I have exhausted all of my resources, and I don't know where else to turn. In great need of assistance, again I ask my Father in Heaven to bring to my awareness someone who can help. Within a few moments, the name of a good man of our faith comes to mind, someone I know is in the area. I am one humble lady by now because I know that there is no deliverance besides the Lord, Himself. I am dependant on Him for every breath, every ability, every idea. I call my friend. What a blessing to speak to a nice person who is anxious and willing to help. I ask him if by chance there is one little car left over in the vicinity, and he tells me he will come immediately. Soon, he arrives, and simply says, "I am at your service and will take you wherever you need. "
3:15 p.m. We arrive at the shelter in Converse, and after anxiously waiting a little while and then wading through the paperwork, my sweet, little girl, tearful but smiling, is handed over to her mother. We load up, and she parks herself on top of me with her giant-size bear cub hugs, and we depart the facility with great rejoicing.
She remarks in a matter-of-fact tone of voice, "Mother, you must've got my message to the Judge so I can go home with you today. I sure wish she would call me because I want to tell her a sermon. " The next thing she wants to do is call her older brothers and check up on them. She has been denied any kind of communication with them for two months because they were accused of being "perpetrators" , and now, she is very anxious for a reunion.
3:35 p.m. Since we have not been allowed any cell phone numbers to our children's CPS caseworkers, before I leave Converse, I ask my first daughter's caseworker to call her co-worker at my next stop to tell her I am coming and that I must pick up my daughter today. She sends back a message that she will be there only until 5:00. My friend sets his GPS for Gonzales and steps on the gas because it is roughly an hour's journey, and the paperwork process takes about half an hour.
3:45 p.m. We are en route to Gonzales, and I get a phone call from friends who have already picked up their children from that facility. "Maggie, your daughter is really suffering. Are you almost there? She is going to be a basket case if you don't pick her up tonight. " During the next twenty minutes, I get another five calls telling me essentially the same thing about my eight-year-old daughter. Though the thoughts of the apparent situation are rather alarming, still I am feeling pretty confident I can make it in time, thanks to the Lord and the friend He sent to help me out. But then we get lost.
This experience of losing our way for a while on this most crucial time-sensitive mission for the sake of a child brings a tender memory to weigh upon my heart, and I find myself in deep contemplation of the depth of trauma upon my sensitive and vulnerable eight-year-old daughter. May 5, 2008, would have been the day of my first visit with this sweet and precious little girl after she was taken by the State. There is a unique detail about her in that she was the first child on the first bus taken April 4, 2008. I was absent during the Raid, traveling out of state. My daughter was numbered among the first group of girls taken without their mothers, and even after the rest of the buses arrived at the temporary shelters with both children and mothers, the first group of girls was still not allowed to be with any mothers. I had heard through reports of friends that my little girl had been greatly suffering over the traumatic events, and I was tenderly cognizant of her intense need to at least visit with her mother. Finally, after thirty-two days, I had an appointment to meet with her.
Because of various circumstances, including financial strain, carpooling, organizing our visits with other mothers, finding new addresses, being new to the area, getting lost on the way, I end up getting to my destination one half hour late. If I had been in the nervous habit of biting nails, my fingers would have been stubs by the time I arrived. I had already contacted the caseworker previous to my arrival and had asked her in an urgent, pleading tone of voice, "Please, I need you to listen with your heart. Because of circumstances beyond my control, I am going to be late, but I must see my daughter today. Please, for the sake of this child, will you have patience with me and rearrange this visit today? "
The caseworker reacted in a coldly professional manner, saying her day was booked until 5:00, and made a comment indicating her suspicion of my sincerity, saying that it appeared odd to her that I would be late for my visit. I replied that I was well acquainted with the mother whose one-hour visit followed mine, saying that I was sure the mother would be glad to share her hour with me for the sake of the child. The caseworker did not seem to understand that kind of mentality and appeared confused at the probability of such an arrangement. I assured the caseworker that I was confident the other mother would feel fine about sharing because we loved each other and would do what was best for all of the children. I told her I would call the mother and make sure it was all right and then call her back, but when I tried to reach the caseworker again, she was conveniently unavailable.
So, there I was a half hour late. When I arrived, I found the place beefed up with security. The shelter property was fairly deep inside, accessed by a long lane beginning at a gate near the highway. We were not allowed to drive inside the property, but were required to park outside the gate where we were exposed to the gaze of busy traffic, as well as the media. The security officers behaved in a brusque and professional manner, and I had the strange feeling that I was viewed as a criminal. They wanted to see the license of the driver and questioned the identity of all the people in the vehicle, taking down the license plate number as well. I felt oddly scrutinized, as though it was suspected I might pull out my weapon any second and blast them away for deterring me. Perhaps it was the guilty conscience of government officials that required that type of security to protect themselves against us dangerous mothers. I really don't blame them for being worried because all mothers on earth have that certain inborn, God-given instinct. What does a mother grizzly bear do when some idiot fools around with her cubs? Can you imagine what it takes to control the brute beast instinct that rises up warmly inside a mother when her children are threatened? I don't think the State has any idea the self-discipline it has required to refrain from swatting these pesky intruders.
I submitted my identification to the officer, and then I waited fifteen minutes in severe anxiety, realizing that my remaining half hour was wasting away. I could only imagine my little daughter inside of the formidable fortress, anxious and distressed, expecting the long-awaited visit from her mother. I could visualize her in tears questioning my delay, worried over my safety, heartsick with loneliness, traumatized by memories of bad guys with guns. Finally, an officer approached our vehicle and flatly told me, "Mrs. Jessop, they have sent word that since you are late for your visit, you will not be allowed to see your daughter today, and we would like you to leave now. " There was no explanation about the fact that I had been waiting for fifteen minutes.
I was crushed, but not about to be defeated. I called the shelter manager and insisted she get the CPS caseworker on the phone. Then I pled with the woman to reconsider for the sake of the child. She replied that her decision was made by doing just that, for she felt it unfair to my child to only have ten minutes with her mother, and questioned me again saying, "Why are you late? I would think you would care enough about your daughter to be on time for her visit. You will just have to reschedule. " I could not bring myself to believe that the woman was going to let my daughter think that her mother "just couldn't make it" , and I expressed my concern about that happening. The caseworker replied again that it was not in the best interest of the child to see her mother at that time.
I hung up the phone heart-broken. I felt the frustration flare up inside of me, but then my emotions defaulted to a defense mechanism I often employ, and I broke out in a laugh, incredulous at the injustice in my life. I rather suspect I confused the poor officer who watched me intently, obviously expecting some kind of a nuclear reaction and preparing his self-defense at the onset. Striving to maintain a resemblance of dignity, I remarked, ‘Well, it won't do any good to get angry, will it? " He enthusiastically agreed. I searched his face for any expression of kindly understanding, and observing a small glimmer, I clung to a spark of hope, just one last solution to an impossible situation. I held up a picture of myself that I had planned to give to my little girl, and I asked the officer, "Well, if you won't let me visit my daughter, at least will you take this picture of her mother to her? " The officer immediately stiffened, and replied coldly, "No ma'am, I can't do anything like that. No ma'am. "
As we drove away from the facility, a chilling numbness wrapped itself around my heart, the harsh reality of unpreventable injustice, and I felt helplessly appalled at the inhumanity of gross misunderstanding. I knew that the state employees didn't really have anything against me personally, but it was painfully obvious that we were victims of an intrusive and manipulative invasion of a government entity out of control, a nameless, faceless monster, bloated with horrendous pride and vindictive prejudice, fed by the hateful sap flowing en masse from the venomous fangs of anti-FLDS crusaders. The evil demon, motivated by anger, jealousy, lying, hate, money, power, and corruption, had wound its vicious tentacles in and out, around and among hundreds of unaware, yet corruptible human beings, servants of the vast domain of the State of Texas. What a shame that people in responsible positions would be foolish and gullible enough to allow themselves to be "educated" by
contemptible snakes and their lying propaganda against us, and then without conscience, form biased and inaccurate opinions without taking responsibility for their own actions, apparently incapable of searching for truth, allowing themselves to be controlled by the Master Puppeteer. We know the CPS is not the instigator of this despicable crime. They simply and detestably fall into the identity of the wicked tool, a destructive sledgehammer, slathered with the murky grease of religious and political corruption, intended to mar and destroy an unpopular religion, wielded by none other than Satan himself.
These were my reflections as I traveled along that infamous stretch of road that day a hundred years ago early in May that should have been my first visit with my little girl. The ring of my cell phone interrupted my thoughts again that day, and a shelter employee announced that my daughter wanted to speak to me. I was overjoyed with the opportunity, and I resolved then and there that my frustration would not be demonstrated to the view of my impressionable child. I called her name warmly with as much cheerfulness as I could muster, but there was no answer. After a few moments, the shelter employee spoke up saying that the little girl was unable to speak because she was crying.
Really? Crying? Whatever for? I felt the anger boil up hotly, and I grappled intently for a few moments with the powerful and conflicting emotions of anger versus forgiveness. Then I said, "Hello, Sweetie! They won't let me see you today, but everything is all right. We must not change how we act because of how they act. Let's make the best of this and be happy anyway. I don't get to see you, but I am thankful I get to talk to you. "
Then I could hear her sobbing, and I wanted to join her, but I knew that wouldn't help her at all. There was no way we could carry on a conversation, so the only thing left to do was sing. So, with purchased courage from the unlimited Source, granted through the channel of gratitude, the heart-broken mother serenaded her heart-broken daughter.
In a world where sorrow ever will be known,
Where are found the needy, and the sad and lone;
How much joy and comfort you can help bestow,
If you scatter sunshine everywhere you go. Slightest actions often meet the sorest needs,
For the world wants daily little kindly deeds;
Oh, what care and sorrow you may help remove,
With your songs and courage, sympathy and love. When the days are gloomy, sing some happy song;
Meet the world repining with a courage strong;
Go with faith undaunted through the ills of life,
Scatter smiles and sunshine o'er its toil and strife. Scatter sunshine all along your way;
Cheer and bless and brighten every passing day.
After the song was finished, I asked my little girl if she would like to sing. She replied in a thin voice, broken by emotion, "I want to sing for you, Mother, but I just can't," and then the sobbing increased. About then, the shelter employee who was monitoring the phone call announced our time was up. I think both the mother and child cried themselves to sleep that night. The next day I got a surprise phone call. Someone must have been very kind to arrange it for us, and there was my little girl again, only this time, her voice was strong and clear and full of hope and courage. "Mother," she announced happily, "I have a song for you! " I was overjoyed to see her resiliency from the traumatic experience the day before. Then she sang for me high and clear in angelic tones, "God Be with You Till We Meet Again. " Oh, I had a great deal to be grateful for than night.
I process this tender memory as my friendly driver finds our way again this moment in history, June 2, 2008, and our race with time continues. The impact upon my heart increases its weighty compression as I check my watch, realizing once again that I have until 5:00 to retrieve this same little girl at Gonzales. I get another phone call, and another friend informs me that out of seventy-five children at the shelter, there are about twenty left, and my daughter is painfully lamenting the fact that I have not arrived as yet. 4:35 p.m. , I arrive in Gonzales, and after a hurried effort to expedite the paperwork, my little orphan, fearful but grateful is handed over to her very thankful mother. Yes, it is a time of great rejoicing with two kidnapped children returned at last, yet I can hardly bring myself to leave the place, knowing that there are more children waiting the arrival of their fathers and mothers. As we go on our way, the first thing my eight-year-old wants to do is to call her brothers. She, too, has missed them keenly, and she is ecstatic with her new-found freedom of enjoying an unmonitored phone call.
There is not room enough in the small car to consider getting the two boys five hundred miles away. I find I have to land and regroup and find another way to complete my task of gathering my children. My good friend who has been so wonderfully instrumental in preserving my sanity this day makes sure I find my way to a stopover location, and then without any ceremony, he quietly and graciously hands to me three hundred dollars. Words cannot express my gratitude for our good men. What a blessing it is to belong to a favored bunch, to have that common bond of understanding so characteristic among our people, that certain something that is only obtained by giving without expecting anything in return, creating a level of trust and confidence that is not generally understood by others.
Phase One of my mission is complete, but now another experience, surprisingly extreme, presents itself. Once again, circumstances beyond my control demand that I leave my girls behind and go fetch the boys. The needs are such that there is simply not enough room to bring them along, for there are still more mothers needing to make the long trek along with me to collect our sons. I find a very trusted friend to care for my little ones and midst the fearful pleas of those two little girls, begging me not to leave them for fear the CPS will get them, with a raw and bleeding heart, I part with them once again. 
It has taken everything I have in me to leave them, though as to their safety, I have no doubt. There is nothing I can say to quiet their fear of being dragged away from Mother again. The only way I can find peace and reassurance is to recall the comforting words, "This, too, shall pass away. " This is the longest ride of my life.
June 3, 2008, 12:00 noon. I reach the facility in Amarillo and find two very fine young men long past ready to depart the very accommodating shelter that had been "home" for six weeks. Although members of the staff have indeed reached out to the boys, it has been difficult for the captive "men" to consider the circumstances desirable. After another paperwork ritual, we are ready to depart and make the long journey, returning to the two girls as quickly as possible. Again, I find it difficult to leave, knowing there are still young boys waiting to be retrieved by their families. It is a tender thing to a mother's heart to witness any child with longing eyes and deep and anxious and lonely expressions.
Just as I expect, the first thing the boys want to do is call their sisters and brothers to determine their safety and comfort. We travel all during the night, reaching our rendezvous point June 4, weary but grateful. How does a mother describe her relief to see her children finally together after an excruciating ordeal?
June 4, 2008, we travel to the Ranch in Eldorado. It is important to know what the children will feel, how they will view what was once a very happy home. Is it even possible to return here or is it unfair to the children, considering the healing process they must go through? I cannot bear to think of them enduring additional trauma by recurring nightmares of the past, increased by memories associated with their surroundings. After traveling most of the night, we arrive here at 4:00 a.m. Though the blazing sun is soon to rise upon the brand new day, in the minds of the children, just as I 
suspect, it is as though the sun has set permanently upon a horrific scene of crime and disaster. It is not with sweet and pleasant memories the children recall this beautiful place. There is a strange and unpleasant feeling, a haunting sensation hovering over their minds and hearts, and soon is heard the tearful and woeful expressions of my children, releasing the burden of tender feelings. "I can't stand to be here. I remember the policemen and the officers, and the big guns. This is where Angie Voss came, and that is where Sheriff Doran stood. Oh! I can't look at the Temple because it makes me cry. Mother, let's get out of here before the CPS comes to get me. "
Worn and weary after traveling so many hours, so many miles, experiencing a stress indescribable, yet we are unspeakably thankful for our blessings of togetherness. We attempt to rest after a long and arduous journey, but sleep is not easy for little ones afraid of the uncertainty of tomorrow. "Mother, don't go to sleep. We can't stay here. Let's go right now. " One thousand, five hundred, twenty-four miles have I traveled to complete my mission of gathering my children. By now, we look like homeless waifs, orphans unclaimed by our political parents. The State of 
Texas, and her almighty papa, even the governor himself, has invited me to find another state in which to reside, yet I am bound by red tape to remain here under the scrutiny of Rick Perry's Doberman pinscher, the CPS. If I only could, I would walk to safety beyond the borders of Texas; but I smile at that thought because my shoes are gone, lost somewhere over the last thousand miles, as I transferred vehicles seven times. But I am alive, and I have my children, and I am unspeakably grateful for that.
The children find comfort and security in visiting dear grandmothers of the community who have also, in bygone days, survived a Raid against Innocence in Arizona in 1953. How deeply these sweet and gracious ladies, well-seasoned by experience, are able to relate to the suffering of the children. We leave the Ranch for now, uncertain whether we will ever return. Where do we go next? Unknown. Never have I experienced the state of homelessness. Once a delightful place, our home was our heaven, a shelter from danger, a covert from
harm, a beehive of industry for active children. Home was a warm and happy place designed for pure contentment. The sweet sounds of home included the prattle of cherubs, the amusing chit-chat of cheerful, personable children, pleasant conversation of warm-hearted and unselfish adults, the wisdom and honor of the tried and proven elderly. Home was an institution of learning, a garden of life, an altar of worship. Strife and contention was not an issue, quarrelling unknown, anger and bad feelings unthinkable. But now, our home is just a house, our sacred land--just a piece of property, marred by intrusion and desecrated by corruption. How does a mother bring again the lovely past to children betrayed? Not knowing the intent of the State to continue to "rescue" my children, how can I offer them complete comfort and security? Oh, how I long for a big, soft, warm rocking chair to gather them close and soothe away the hurts and fears with songs and stories, hugs and smiles, loving reassurance and gentle rhythms of consolation.
Our Father in Heaven knows the answers, and He will provide the tools of rehabilitation. He alone can heal all wounds, mend broken hearts, revive tattered feelings, and replenish sinking spirits. This He will do as we turn to Him in gratitude, trusting in Him to assist us in returning to innocence once more.
Truly, the Lord has watched over us, continually providing His protection, though He has required intense experience of us. There is an increase of understanding 
available in every event of life. After two months of existing, one moment at a time, I look back and rejoice in the lessons learned. How well I have seen that the depth of character is not earned by complaining over tests and trial or by seeking avoidance of pain. That deeper understanding of self-worth, the growth of self-respect, the 
higher level of self-discipline, the greater dignity of self-denial; all of this is available only to those who submit themselves to the perfect will of our Heavenly Father. When people truly desire to become like the Master who suffered, bled, and died on Calvary, He will put them to 
the test. History does indeed repeat itself, and anyone who will study it can see that those who claim to be true followers of the Lord, Jesus Christ must and shall suffer persecution from those who are in opposition to Him. When the Cup of Iniquity of the unrighteous is filled, He will come out of His hiding place and right all wrong. He shall deliver the innocent and bring judgment upon their oppressors.
I have heard that Governor Perry's palace has burned nearly to the ground. That is an unfortunate situation. I do not wish harm to anyone, and I hope no one was hurt. You know, it's interesting. On May 6, 2008, the day after I was refused my first visit with my eight-year-old daughter because I was late for the appointment, I was so heart-sick about it, that I was determined to speak to the governor and ask him to listen to us mothers, thinking that if he just knew the truth, he would tell the CPS to give us back our children. I thought that the governor was bound not only by law, but also by the commitment of his high office and just plain and simple decency and moral courage to protect the innocent within his own state. I had the faith that if I could just get him to listen to me, he would help us. So, I brought up the web site of the office of the governor and looked at his picture, and I thought to myself, "He looks like an honest man. Surely, he will listen to reason. "
So, I called the governor's office in Austin, and I wearied several receptionists telling them my story, pleading with them to make sure the governor would get my personal message. His private secretary suggested that I send him an e-mail, and she assured me that she would print it and get it before his eyes. So, I sent the governor my urgent plea. In essence, I stated my knowledge of our innocence and the lamentable fact of our being falsely accused and grossly misrepresented. I asked him to meet us on fair terms and to listen to our side of the story. I told him it would take a long time for him to hear the shocking and tearful accounts of hundreds of men, women, and children, as they recount the incredible atrocities that had been cruelly and unlawfully inflicted upon them. I told him that we would be writing our stories, and that we intended to present the truth to the world. I asked him not to ignore the honest pleas of one hundred and forty-four mothers, who were depending on him to exercise justice, and I begged him not to turn a deaf ear to the terrified cries of our vulnerable children. I urged him to take responsibility and do the right thing, so that he as the chief officer of the State of Texas could be held in honor and respect by all people. I beseeched him not to stoop so low as to listen to lies and prove himself to be without backbone, and go down in the flames of dishonor. No response.
I was greatly disappointed to hear the governor's recent comments wherein he praised the CPS for the great job they had done. Apparently he is still unaware and misinformed as to the truth of the matter, for if he really knew the facts of what has happened to contaminate the State of Texas forever, he would not be so sure in his misdirected praise. When I heard that the governor was offering to take responsibility for state officials stepping over legal lines, I held my breath expecting him to get struck by lightning any second. When I heard that his house went up in smoke, and I compared that to the smoldering demise of his character, not to mention his career, the shameful burning of political and moral honor, it is apparent that he is beginning to take responsibility.Nearly every day, my children ask me to call the judge. My six-year-old often instructs me, "Mother, get the judge on the phone. I have a sermon to give her. " I always ask her if she thinks the judge will listen. "Of course she will listen to me because nobody told her the truth yet," is her reply. "So, what will 
you tell the judge? " "I will tell her to never, never again take us away from our mothers. I will tell her to not try anymore funny business. I will tell her that Father knows best. "Yes, indeed. Father knows best. He intends families to be together. And I say, along with hundreds of honest people, dear friends of mine, who are still innocent,
"Father, forgive them, for surely, they know not what they do. Help them to search out the truth before it is too late for them. And if they really do know what they do, I pity them. "
