Standing in my demolished kitchen peering down in defeat at curdled milk glued to cups and sour smelling pots, I wondered where Jesus was in my beautiful hot mess. Carrying around a wounded heart that was spilling into my home, I did not want to wallow in pain and defeat any longer. My duties as mom were seeming like the meager dishes of a minimum wage job and my job satisfaction was rating a one star. The Daughter in me felt I needed to humble myself… but I was not feeling that “the last shall be first” joy. I wanted to see what it felt like to shout the victory cry of that more than a conquerer Girl.