Part of the Voice I Almost Lost – Blog #28
by Alana Pierre Curry
Faith is interesting. It stretches us in moments when we feel like we have nothing left. It steadies us when the ground beneath us feels unsteady. It reminds us that blessings are not limited. God does not run out of provision. And often, there is a lesson wrapped quietly inside the struggle if we are willing to look for it.
I have never been homeless. That was by the grace of God. When my daughter was two and her father and I separated, I was bringing home eight hundred dollars a month. Rent was cheaper back then, but it was still around six hundred and fifty. I still had daycare, utilities, food, and everything a growing child needs.
Honesty became my survival tool.
I talked to my daycare provider.
I talked to my apartment complex.
I told them the truth.
I asked them to please work with me while I tried to improve my situation.
And that is when the phrase, “All they can do is say no,” became my inner mantra.
My daughter depended on me. Going back home was not an option because of my stepfather. That is another story I will someday have to write, a letter I still need to give myself permission to put down on paper.
In those moments, I prayed for light.
I prayed for signs of hope.
I prayed for a way forward.
And then something shifted. An opportunity for a promotion opened at work. It did not feel big at the time, and it certainly was not high paying, but it was more. I went from eight hundred dollars a month to twelve hundred. And then, later, to two thousand.
I remember the day my daughter, as an adult, told me she never realized we were poor.
She had no idea.
She did not carry the weight I carried.
She only experienced love, safety, and childhood.
That was a blessing too.
People sometimes look at my story and say, “You were a mom at nineteen and then a single mom at twenty-one.” As if the timeline alone should speak for itself. They say it with an undertone, a reminder of how life unfolded for me.
But what I gained from that part of my life is immeasurable.
I learned empathy.
I learned emotional intelligence.
I learned to be kind, compassionate, and generous.
I learned not to judge others because I knew what it felt like to be on the edge of not making it.
Those years shaped my heart for social services. They became the foundation of why I serve the way I do. When you have lived what others are trying to survive, your passion shifts. It becomes personal. It becomes ministry.
Life does not always move in straight lines. Sometimes the path is rough and unfamiliar. Sometimes you lose things you thought were permanent. Sometimes you are asked to walk through seasons you never imagined.
But what God has for you is for you.
The journey may not be smooth, but you must keep walking.
You must keep going.
You must rise when life knocks you down.
You must believe in God’s timing more than your own fear.
We are blessed.
Even when we do not feel blessed.
Even when we cannot see it yet.
Our job is to keep moving and stay open so we can receive the blessings that have already been written for us.