Somewhere in the in between

Hi, my name is Corinne Louise Vanderford Moore.

If you’ve found me here, it’s probably not by accident. And if it is, it’s by God’s grace, and I pray it finds you well.

To undo all that I’ve taken on is where I begin. This is a story of truth, pain, suffering, joy, peace, faith, miracles, and wonder. Here, I will begin to unravel my story. I am not who I once was, and I am not who I am yet to be. I am somewhere in between.

God’s unwavering passion in chasing after me is one I cannot fathom. Though raised in a home of faith, church, homeschooling, and Bible study, I didn’t quite understand what it was that made others have that “Ah-ha!” moment with Christ. I knew Him. I believed in Him. I never once thought I was too far gone to be saved. But it wasn’t until I was 33, in Lewisville, Texas, in 2024, when I was baptized and began a journey that would forever change the lives of me and my four children. And for the better.

A recurring theme you will find is that each Child of God I mention is here because they said “YES” to Him, which allowed me to say YES.

It all began with one woman who said YES to God.

It started over breast milk for my second-oldest son. After I had my sweet Kashton River, I was struggling. Kashton wasn’t gaining weight, and I was distraught, trying to figure out what I was doing wrong or needed to do better. I had yet to make any friends since moving, and this didn’t feel like a great start on top of the beginnings of my new home life. Rebekah, sitting next to me, introduced herself. She told me about herself and mentioned another woman in the group.

Just before I had arrived early, thinking I had missed it, Rebekah came in and became a crucial part of my story of finding Christ. Little did she know, when she overheard me talking to the lactation nurse and offered to help me supplement because she had an oversupply, that this moment would change the trajectory of our lives. Her whole life had led to this moment, this interaction, this time. This was the moment when her heart, that God had shaped, would change mine. Because she said YES to Him, I was able to find my way home.

As time went on, my home life became worse. I was alone. Very alone. Addiction, alcoholism, infidelities, and enabling flooded our home. What started as a beautiful promise quickly smothered under the reality of a broken world filled with broken people. Control and abuse entered our lives, and darkness felt as if it couldn’t get any darker.

In October 2022, Rebekah and her husband invited my children and me to a Fall Festival at their church. I was so excited—I couldn’t wait. But then, a sense of dread washed over me. My partner was out of town for work, and he’d already been giving me a hard time about cheating on him. I couldn’t ask him if I could go; he would get mad, and he would never let me see Rebekah again. I wanted to get out and spend time with good, healthy people, so I lied. I lied to him. To this day, I don’t think he knows. Or if he’s reading this, well… now you do.

And it was the best time I’d had in years. Joy. Pure joy. The kids laughing and playing festival games, face-painting, chaos—but in the best ways. It was living. It was free. It was light.

One day, Rebekah invited my family over for dinner—lasagna, I remember it well. They had enough to feed a family of 20, given to them after having their sweet child just a few weeks before Kashton. I quickly texted her back saying “YES!”—excited and eager, hoping that if my partner met them, maybe he’d be more comfortable. I asked if we could go, but I was criticized for wanting to spend time with them. I was accused of cheating, and they must be swingers, he said. Accusations, an often occurrence, met with reasoning stemming from his past insecurities.

I wished I hadn’t texted so quickly. I pulled out of the driveway with the children, heading alone, worrying about how I would excuse him from the dinner I had already agreed to attend.

When I arrived, I made up an excuse about why my partner couldn’t be there. And then, I remember telling Rebekah, “I’m tired of lying. I don’t want to lie. I don’t have any friends, and he constantly accuses me of cheating. It’s always easier to bail on you last minute than end up with him upset at me.” I explained how addiction had a hold on the home and the struggle I was facing. She listened—never judged, always supportive, always kind. Her light found a way through a very shut door, shining a light that peaked through the other side.

Here, safety began.

As time went on, I continued to confide in Rebekah. She always encouraged me with positivity, offering me an invite no matter how many times I bailed last minute. She loved on my children and never once made me feel bad for not being the friend I wanted to be. I apologized frequently and was always met with, “I love being your friend.” Often, not knowing or realizing, the words I needed to hear more than ever came at just the right time.

I became really sick throughout 2023 and was hospitalized due to kidney stones, bothched surgeries and going septic. Rebekah remained consistent in my unpredictable world—the one constant I had in Lewisville and, to this day, one of the most trustworthy women I know.

During my hospitalization, my partner came in and berated me. He told me I should thank him more for all he did, that I treated him like crap, and that I should be more appreciative of all he did for the family. I cried, attached to a pump on the wall with continuous pain meds, 33 blown IVs, I couldnt even get out of bed and was in for 11 days. I then started begging him to look at the texts where I thanked him over and over again and raved to his family and friends about how he had been stepping up. He refused to acknowledge it. He insisted that I never gave him enough credit.

Three doctors walked into my room and saw the clear unsettledness and asked if I wanted him to be removed. I declined. Sadly, the fear of him leaving was worse than him being there. I declined, knowing it would be better for him to stay with me than the children. .

I felt, for the first time since he left rehab, that this could not be our life or new normal. I remember trying to find reasons and excuses for what was happening. I reached out to his sister and explained the situation, as they had experienced something similar back at the house before he came up. It was written off as stress and quickly dismissed. For me, it lingered.

Rebekah decided to come visit me in the hospital. She brought me a smoothie, I believe, if I remember correctly. She sat with me, held space for me, and I talked. I went through my past—the good, the bad, the ugly, the abuse, the failures, and the successes. She had invited me to group Bible Study, and I remember looking at her across the room and thinking, she’s nuts—there’s no way that will work. She told me they had childcare, and I said I would pray about it. Which I did. And eventually, I signed up, along with the kids.

I was discharged from the hospital and went home, where he had taken time off work to help me recover. I had a stent placed and was still in severe pain, with another surgery needed.

On January 21st, 2024, while I was still recovering and he was still off work to take care of me, our home escalated to a point I had never imagined. I found myself in my bathroom, texting Rebekah, asking if I could please confide in her. Quickly, I followed up with, Never mind, I’ve got it figured out. She responded, Of course, you can always talk to me. Then, I sent her pictures of handprints already bruising into my arms, where I had been grabbed and thrown into our fridge. I had fallen on my wrist and tailbone. Afterward, he threw a full hospital pitcher cup of water in my face as I was reaching for the front door, trying to get out.

My part, you ask? What did I do to “deserve” this? If I had a penny for every time I’ve heard this, whether it was about myself or others, I wouldn’t need a job. If you ever find yourself wondering this about abuse, please take a moment to understand that no matter what anyone says or does, we are in control of our own actions. No matter how ugly, undeserving, or harsh the words are that come your way, the responsibility for someone’s hands, feet, and mouth lies solely with them—not with the actions of another.

But for those who still ask, I will expand. He shouted at me, accusing me of not respecting him enough, that I hadn’t shown him the proper honor as the man of the house. He claimed I had fooled him into believing I was some wonderful woman, but through his addiction, he had become incapable of seeing my struggles, which I had placed entirely on my shoulders. Then, he came up to me, chest-bumped me, and yelled that he wasn’t touching me, over and over, as he pushed me back. I tripped over a toy and fell. He leaning over me, screaming, saying how he wished all the kids were dead. In self-defense, I slapped him. That was enough for him to back up, and I managed to get up and go to the bedroom to grab the boys’ things. But as I started back toward the front door, he grabbed me again, threw me into the fridge and onto the floor. As I tried to gather myself and head for the door with my keys by the tv at the front he spent his time filling a hospital cup up and grabbed them and came at me as I grabbed the front door handle and he threw it on me.

That evening, he texted me and admitted he was sorry for hurting me, that it wasn’t his intention, and that he was sorry for dumping water on me.

I immediately applied for school and for disability. I started researching women’s shelters, and my sister-in-law and Rebekah saved the pictures I had sent.

The next day, Rebekah checked in on me and asked how I was doing. I was embarrassed and hurt, trying to convince myself I was okay because he had said he was sorry. Was he? Was this really an apology? And what would the repercussions be? He wouldn’t let me go get my wrist looked at. I felt trapped in a hole with no way out. Once again I find myself with a cycle I swore couldnt be on repeat.

Then my phone dinged. It was Rebekah. She asked if I would be interested in signing up for a program called Restore 1.0, a group for women going through difficult circumstances. There was one spot left, and her friend would hold it for me if I wanted to go. I paused. I opened the link, and my eyes flooded with tears. I silently talked to God, gently and quietly, fearing that the light I felt might be seen. The program offered childcare and dinner for all ages I read… Again, I talked to God, gently, silently, feeling that familiar pull.

“Just say yes.”

Without hesitation, I knew it was God speaking to me. I said YES.

I had no idea what this would mean for my life—neither did she—but I was told to say yes and go, at all costs. Don’t back down, don’t bail, attend all of them. Despite the fights, arguments, accusations, and being deemed untrustworthy, I still went. My life got harder and harder each time I went. I missed one class, the self-portrait one, because I was hospitalized from finally being able to get medical care for my wrist and the fall. But I kept going.

Through Restore, I found new purpose, new strength, and new friends. Because of Rebekah’s YES, I have job training, friends, freedom from a home of abuse, and my children are free too. Sparrow has brought so many women into my life that I will never feel alone again. I am seen, I am heard, I am valued. I am a child of God. I have a mentor, resources, and knowledge. There is faith, hope, and guidance. There is light—so much light.

There was a dinner that Restore put on. A commissioning dinner to showcase all the hard work the participants had done and I reluctantly asked for “him” to go with. He threw a fit about having to go but finally went. I watched him look around and listen to the women and meet their husbands as well as watching him look at the art. His face.. I could read it well. It was who I believed he once could be. What I hoped was inside of him under the addiction, under the bitterness from the chaos he creates. He got in the car and looked at me with tears in his eyes. He said one thing I ever will believe through our whole 3 year relationship, and that was that he was so sorry for giving me such a hard time about this place and that he was wrong for that and sees now why it meant so much to me and he was proud of me.. That, that night was the only true moment I believe was ever real and it was the last time I ever saw that man.

A year later, I was invited to teach a class—a self-portrait class. I am forever grateful for missing that one class a year ago. The child of God I would have drawn then wouldn’t be the one I will be drawing today. And to have the opportunity to walk alongside other women, sharing stories and battles fought, is one that washes over me with peace. I am right where I belong. I got to share my story with others. I got to be vulnerable I got to have tears and also healing by knowing Im not alone. Our stories connect each of us.

Don’t get me wrong, my walk is still hard. But I have joy. Joy that my story is and will be redeemed. My pain, just like yours, isn’t lost on deaf ears. It’s important enough to be spoken about, believed in, and shared. Rebekah still is walking with me, supporting me, speaking up for me.

Rebekah’s heartache, trials, "failures" (in her eyes), her sins, hard work, struggles, and successes—God used all of it. Every single part of it led her to meet me at just the right place, at just the right time. Not what was behind or ahead, but what was in between. Each of our stories gets redeemed.

We can speak up, we can talk about the pain and heartache. But here with heartache we will also be sharing how we won. Our story doesn’t end here this was but a chapter. But our beautiful story will continue and the blessings of Rebekah will continue on for generations because of all she gifted me and I will pass along in hopes to be a light just as she was and is to me.