interior Grl: There is Purpose For Your Life

By Anna A. Toq

A candidate reflection of hope and encouragement in the face of adversity. Chronicling God's mercy and grace as a transcends from one generation to the next. While reminding us that God has a purpose and a plan for our life, even when all hope seems lost. The purpose of God's still stands even in the face of opposition. There is nothing, nobody, or adverse circumstance that can separate us from the love and will of God, as it pertains to His plans for our life. Through God's redeeming love, we can find new life and the courage to trust Him, put the past behind us and live again. "For I know the thoughts that I think toward you," says Yahweh, "thoughts of peace, and not of evil, to give you hope and a future."  -  Jeremiah 29:11, World English Bible 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Toq Solutions Ministry-Class
• Release date: Sep 11, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223101758

Anna A. Toq

Speaker, Freelance writer, and Principal Consultant @ Toq Solutions Consulting Service, LLC. Anna is a graduate of Valdosta State University; she holds a Bachelor's of Science degree in Organizational Leadership and Assoicates of Applied Science degree in Business Management with her concentration in Human Resource Management. She lives in the Midwestern United States; where she gets to wakes up each morning to a beautiful sunrise, breath taking views, and a chance to marvel daily at all of God’s wonderous creation. 

Book preview

Cover design by Roseline Siaway.

Thanks Rose, for your hard work and support with this project!

You made your grandma proud. 😊

We would like to extend our sincere appreciation and gratitude to the children, friends, and close relatives of the interior Grl. Through your support, by sharing your knowledge and memory of the interior Grl, life and customs of your neck of the woods; you have helped bring her story to life. Thank you most kindly for making time in your schedule to answer questions and give insight into the life and world of the interior Grl.

THANK YOU!

In Remembrance of:

Evg. Anna Mahn Lu

aka – interior Grl

her legacy and ministry.

*Acknowledgement

Special thanks to Mrs. Nancy Land and WEC International’s Canada office. We sincerely appreciate the information on Liberia Inland Mission’s early days in the interior regions of Liberia, West Africa. The information supplied has helped fill in some gaps in the story of the interior Grl.

THANK YOU!

*NAMES OF CHARACTERS have been adjusted out of respect for their families.

Content

Prologue

interior Grl (iGrl)

In Isolation

III.  Despised Wife

IV. Beyond the Parallel

V. He Speaks i Listen

VI. Gotcha!.. Hold it Right There

- Intermission

- Part II

VII. The Voice of Truth

VIII. What’s the Hold On?

- Curses

- Covenants & Coverings

- P.I.Fwd

- iGO!

Prologue

It is July the 6 th , 2017. The time is now 5:52 a.m. I have been awake for about 2 hours. I have lay here, tossing and turning; with hopes of going back to sleep. But I know the reality is... Not going to happen. We must get up in an hour anyways and prepare to greet the day...The perks of sharing a room and bed with a restless sleeper with a constant urge to kick in her sleep.... Somethings never change. I take to the kid’s bed across the room and let the kid, as always, have mine. In the prospects of catching a few more zzzs before the alarm clock takes the rest away with the coming of daybreak.

After every unsuccessful attempt to balance the weight of head, hips, and the boat inherited for feet; I find myself shifting to a new position. Finally, although crammed like a sardine in a can, I make progress in settling into the kid’s bed. As if taking a step back in time; I am brought face-to-face with her. In the hours I have been awake, staring beyond the ceiling into the heavens; thoughts of the interior Grl keep coming to my mind.

Periodically, I am brought back by the slumbering sounds of life all around. I glance at the black and white photograph of the interior Girl. This image of her which hangs on the opposite wood paneled wall right across from the kid’s bed. Increasingly, the story of the interior Grl has become intriguing in the last couple of weeks. For as long as I have known my own name, I have heard many stories about the interior Grl. There, in response to my name's call, echoes along with it her name and legacy.

Yet, it is recently in the last week, embarrassingly, that I have begun to go beyond the black and white of her story. To get an internal understanding of who she was as a person. Her perseverance for as long as I can recall, has been a source of inspiration, encouragement, and motivation. Above all, it is the courage, and ultimate triumph of her story, that motives and strengthens my faith to stay in the fight until the final round. Giving hope that, perhaps, I too - in time, will overcome.

A single mother left with five children and a womanizing deadbeat for a husband. It was from this point of view my journey and research into the life of the interior Grl began. A journey of introspection that began not long after the birth of our daughter. A joyous moment that was turned into a nightmare; that led to living life in the pits of despair and poverty. This isolated state of existence causes you to sink deeper into post-partum depression, and the endless cycle of rumination. Allowing time for deep contemplation into all that had led up to where you are within space and time.

Sleeping in my parents’ den, converted into a bedroom with wooden panels that embrace the walls. An eye sore that drives you up the wall – no pun intended, each time you think about it. Could be worse, the only thought that has kept things in prospective. Over time, I have worked my way through the pain and trauma of the experience. Adjusting to my new reality as a solo- parent, there was a deep desire to celebrate the interior Grl and single mothers everywhere...This thought eventually brought about a realization, No, you don't know her. To truly celebrate her legacy, you would need to know her or the person she was within.

In black and white she stands. An elderly woman with a stern and uneasy expression on her face. Many assumptions can be made just by looking at her expression in this photograph. That is how it is when we judge by appearance. We do not know the truth until we look past the exterior and shift our focus inward. At the heart of the matter, problem, situation, or experience; we begin to find answers. Possibly, insight, wisdom, and understanding amongst others.

It is here, in the interior of our hearts, that we begin to see the truth of whatever or whomever we are trying to understand. Assessing and asking, we continue to seek answers in hopes of finding proof. A pivotal point where we must either accept or reject what it is we find. Either as the absolute truth or a perplexing mystery with no definitive answer.

In my search and quest to understand more about the interior Grl, I have found that her story is grand, as it is great. I feel as if I have struck gold each time I think of the many hours of research, conversations, and investigation into her life. A priceless treasure taken for granted; for so long. Yet, throughout her story, there is one resounding fact. A truth that speaks, repeatedly echoing into the canyons of my mind. Eventually cementing its way into my understanding.

It is this truth and where it stems from that has brought about the encouragement to put in black on white, the truth of what I have come to understand of her story. A story and life comprised of many ups, downs, setbacks, setup, and ultimate comeback. Above all, what makes the story of the interior Grl unique, authentic, and original. It is this element that resonates with every utterance of her name. Confirmed in each moment of everyday that I am awake that indeed her story is one of - God's grace.

To some, whoever they may be (haters, frenemies, instigators, or gang stalkers) this element of God’s grace, through lenses of darkness may not be - so special. So, if this is your point of view...Sorry?... Not sorry...The story of the interior Grl, compiled in this journal, is intended to be shared amongst people who may find themselves feeling or living as a reject or wallflower on the outskirts of society. Perhaps they may feel as though their life will not amount to much. So, why bother trying? Others, who may be caught in the generational traumas and cycles of sin and death...If anyone is in Christ, old things pass away, and all thing becomes new (1 Corinthian 5:17).

There are times in our lives when we come to a breaking point or a crossroad. Alone and broken; we are left, yearning, and wandering in complete silence. Left, with no words to speak, much less write. In lonely isolation we sit. In a dark, cold valley we wait, questioning the purpose of our existence. Day in, day out, this question of our existence looms like dark clouds, filled with showers of sorrow. Like a quiet stream down an embankment, silent drops of tears like rain drops strickle down in bitter droplets of loneliness and sorrow. All the while, as the storms of life rage on across the landscape of our lives.

A tempest that leads us day in and day out, from one today into another tomorrow. Even after the storm has passed and all is calm, we continue to silently sob, questioning, existence. Why am I here, Lord?... Why am I going through all of this? ... Is this the end of me? In these difficult times we may be tempted to run away, numb the pain, or avoid the truth of whatever situation we may be facing or where we are in the annals of time.

In our human nature we want to take the easy way out. Only to find from where we are, there is no easy way out. The only way out is, well- through. In going through our struggles, trials or temptations, we continue to look around for answers as to, How do I get through this?. We want a quick fix, so we can move on with our lives. This is where I was for a very long time. It has been in the past few months, a sense of comfort and the assurance we are going to make it through has come.

Where there is life, there is hope. - J.R.R. Tolkien

The interior Grl has motivated and been a source of encouragement in my isolation for a very long time. Yet, for so long, I took it for granted and left her story to linger in the backdrop of existing... She has been a place of comfort in my internal monologue within my assessment of this experience we call life and living. It took some time to value and recognize the significance of her story. Through the eyes of grace; most importantly, God Great Grace.

It was in isolation, adjusting to life post discard; unable to speak, that silence became an opportunity to tone my habit of simply listening. A practice that proved to be a source of healing in my journey to rebuild and construct an internal understanding. As the Voice of Truth ministered hope, and healing. Through dialogue with her children, friends and those who knew the interior Grl personally, bits and pieces of the life stolen from my being were restored. In my time of researching the life of the interior Grl, engaging in deep conversation and chit-chatting, like a breath of fresh air; a sense of revival and rejuvenation flow intermingled in the exchange of our words, bringing along a renewed appreciation for life. Connecting you with reality once more, where there was once a deep disconnect from the natural world.

Under the guidance of God’ grace you are encouraged and taught valuable life lessons on how to live, speak and above all begin again. This understanding with time has sparked the desire to take up the challenge and put into print the story of the interior Girl. In remembrance of the interior Grl (iGrl) and Voice of Truth, I am internally, eternally, and forever grateful!

‘For in Him we live and move and have our being.’ As some of your own poets have said,’ We are His offspring.’  – (Acts 17:28, BSB)

I

interior Grl

(iGrl)

Each morning for the past five years, I have carried her image around in one way or another...Or, maybe even longer. For a long time, I kept a copy of her picture in a small manila folder in my computer bag. At the beginning of my journey and to where I am today; I have turned to her story for motivation. Numb to life on the outside, not able to connect with my surroundings; I had gravitated to this picture of hers.

A simple and priceless heirloom. This photo was pulled from amongst all the other photographs in the family photo albums. Relics of years gone by left to their own amusement; of all the memories collected over time. Tattered and tucked away, the photo albums lay collecting dust. This black and white photo was my favorite. Even though there were other photographs of her in living color. This one had a more vintage feel and appealed to my senses. I have had her picture on the wall in the room, for five years now. Why am I just now interested in the interior Grl?

This question has lingered in my mind night and day, for the last couple of days. Up to this moment of sitting down to write these words. I did not want to destroy the original photograph of the interior Grl. So, I made a copy, which now rests humbly against the wood panel walls in my bedroom. Wood panel interior decoration, another vintage work of art. Expect wood panel interior decorating does not appeal to my senses. Makes a person wake up each day and work even harder toward the dream of homeownership - with more modern interior decorations. Varnished wood panels, not happening.

I had set out on an epic quest to make things right. Not just for our situation, but for all women and girls, who have been, mistreated, disposed, or abandoned in one way or another. Taking it upon myself, I set out on this mission. With my adrenaline pumping, to offset the heaviness in my chest, the cutting sensation in the pit of my stomach of injustice. Enough, is enough! In my attempt to make things right these words, The same thing happened to my mother. became a resounding theme throughout my mission. It was a struggle to unite the few women, single mothers, their daughters, and girls that I knew.

Setting out on this mission there was no doubt in my mind. Based upon the evidence in plain sight. I was so sure of myself - maybe too sure. That, I would get support from my church and our community. After all, if there is one thing our community has, it is lots of women, abandon girls and children.... Truthfully, it’s a lot...Ignoring the rejection, humiliation, embarrassment of my situation; the hurt, and brokenness within, I set out on this epic mission of love.... Or so I thought...

Not considering internally, I was just at the beginning stages of an internal healing process. A long-drawn-out healing process, that was only beginning. Yet, I felt as though I was strong enough and this recovery process would be a quick fix. In no time would shake myself out of it and bounce back to the me I was before. Only to come to this realized there was more healing to be done.

No matter where I turned there it was; a reminder of what I had become. The laughing and lies same to have permeated into every area of my life. And could not see my way out of the situation. Through it all, I kept ignoring what I was seeing and feeling on the inside. It was as if I was having a bad dream. A nightmare that I could not escape. It was in the summer of 2013 that I asked to share this great idea I had in mind; at the church I was attending at the time.

It was then I found myself at the receiving end of a rude awakening. That maybe I had lost the respect and support of my church family. Perhaps fallen too far from the good grace of those I once looked up to. They wanted or seemed to want no association. Shocked and slightly offended, I could not believe the reaction to my request to speak on Youth Sunday.

I had this great idea and new-found mission and wanted to share it. My request to speak or make a brief announcement had not been a problem in the past. I had always gotten a warm invitation to do so. So, why the sudden hesitation and interrogation? I can remember bits and pieces of the phone call and my final words from the receiving end of the phone call in the spring-summer of 2013. I hope it is not something controversial? The voice on the other end of the line asked.  Greater is He that is in me than him that is in the world. I found myself on trial. Regarding the question mark hanging over my integrity.

This was not a question of whether I could speak or not. But rather if I should be allowed to speak. From one person to another, my request bounced around. Until finally, to cut to the case, I pick up the phone and called the Pastor. Only to be further instructed to contact the Youth Directors. At which point I expressed to the minister; I had already reached out. Now it was up to him to decide.

AFTER A MOMENT OF HESITATION, the Pastor agreed to my request. Finally, we can get the show on the road. On Youth Sunday, with my speech ready and topic well-rehearsed, I entered the church. There I stood, with my chest pounding and stomach in a tight knot. Taking a deep breath, I stepped up to the podium.

Once upon a time those that would have been welcoming with outstretched arms and a warm embrace, now only stare from a distance. As if I was a stranger they had never met. I made eye contact with the wolves in sheep clothing, that had masqueraded around town on social media in the arms of my husband. Observing in silence as they sat with a sheepish grin on their faces.

In silence, all eyes in the congregation were fixed in my direction. Everyone sat attentively waiting to hear what I had to say. It had been a year. I had not said a word about my condition at the time to many people. Standing at the podium, I watched as people began to squirm in their seats. Others begin to exit the room; before I could even open my mouth to utter a word. Suddenly, I began to feel uncomfortable.

Yet, I was on a mission and carried on with my speech. Some people nodded in agreement at the reality and the truth of what I was saying. Others who made assumptions about what I was going to say, before I started speaking; sat in perplexity. They sat with their heads bowed trying as best as they could to avoid eye contact. I carried on with my speech. Until I came to the end.

At the end of my speech, like a lone ranger a lady stood up. In the deafening silence that filled the sanctuary of the church, you could hear her hand clap. For a moment it felt as if I was standing on a cliff above a valley on one side of Mount Nimba, and she was standing on a cliff on the other side of this valley. In a room filled with sixty or more people, you could hear a pin drop and the dryness of her hand clap. There was a deafening silence of deep contemplation that fell over the room.

A sentiment gathered from the expression on the faces of members in the congregation. From the Elders, Elders Wives, Pastors, Pastor Wives, Deacons their wives and girlfriends; I knew in some way, what I said resonated with each of their lives. The Lone Ranger with the dry clap, after church she came over to where I was. Following through on her show of support, she asked for information on the organization for single-families I had in mind. To which I made known the organization was still coming together.

Given my condition at that moment in time, I had endured an onslaught of phyco-emotional and other forms of abuse silently for many years.