Dances With God

The River's Wild

2012-02-13T16:00:00.000-08:00

The Amazon,
Clearly, that is the river I have chosen to wade into.
The bank is close enough to see,
far enough out of reach for safety.

No more rocks to stand on,
I've waded deeper than I realized.
Sun is fading,
That's no surprise.

There are Piranha's I am told
Snakes and Crocodiles
are also in this water,
It feels so dark and cold.

I miss the guarded walls,
the ones I build to keep the package safe.
I miss the ribbons and bows,
the wrapping paper, it's blown away.

Inside this river is turmoil.
Maybe an undertoe
Maybe a water volcano rising
Maybe I have swallowed too much water.

I should have kept closer to the bank.
I should have been more careful.
I should have spoke up and screamed "No!!!". . .
a thousand times ago.

I should have kept the secret.
I should have been more guarded.
If I were really good,
None of this would have never happened.

Oh the buttons do get pushed....
that, to me, is an opportunity.
Shall I grow? Shall I recoil and shrink?
Shall I inhale the river water. . .
Just drown myself and sink?

The games, the noise, the craziness of it all.
And yet, I gave forgiveness to those who needed forgiving.
Or did I?
A distant yet familiar voice screams "please forgive me!"

I should have been a better mother. . . sister. . .friend. . .
everything to everybody and this wouldn't be a mess. . .

A Hornet's nest is what I mean.
The one who needs forgiving is not them anymore, it's me!

Another gulp of water,
inhaled into my lungs,
I think I have to resurface
I feel, I've come undone.

How could I need forgiving?
What did I do wrong?
Why am I responsible?
I wasn't the bad guy! Why?

"If it feels good, do it."
"Let's play the game without regret."
"You asked for this, you dabbled."
"You clean up the mess."

"I don't want to play anymore."
"I just wish I could go home."
It's not like they'll believe me.
They won't listen and now I don't belong.

I can't go back and pretend it didn't happen.
I can't make it go away.
I fooled around. I played with fire.
I am, so burning right now.

Like fire, a forest fire,
no liquid fire. . .
Melted enough to re-shape
He conformed me to believe

I listened to the truths. . .
I even took the dares.
When it was my turn to play my cards.
All I got were stares.

That is until the lights were out
and people were sound asleep in bed.
Me too, asleep, that memory is alive and strong!
God, I wish I would have been at home.

Until I was awakened by the callused hands
and ragged breath with alcohol.
I couldn't find my voice.
I couldn't scream or call!

I couldn't believe it was for real.
A nightmare? A dream gone wrong?
Hands so hungry. . .
Prying, squeezing, twisting, penetrating, invading, bruising

Mouth closed with lips of steele
Not mine, those lips. . . his.
Tongue deep in my throat
gagging, no room to inhale for breath.

Where to escape? No where.
Where to run? No where.
Where to hide? No where.
Where to leave the body of the girl behind?

The river's edge would be nice right now.
The comfort of the sun on shores
where water finds me peaceful
where I am absolved, no longer soiled.

It must be time to heal on a different level. God, this sucks!

I Gave Away a Secret. Guess What Happened?

2012-02-11T21:00:00.000-08:00

I am a dreamer. Not just a daydreamer.
I remember dreaming almost every night.
Some of them are silly.
Some are the stuff that comes up from the day I just finished,
And get all jumbled up and weird.
Usually the latter is when I am working too hard,
stressing and worrying when I should be resting.

Because of nightmares I used to have regularly
which started from the abuse I experienced,
A very dear friend of mine who works with those
who have experienced loss and grief, taught me
how to escape the harm, in the dreams.

With a heightened level of focus, or consciousness,
maybe not completely submitting to a full rest,
I learned to be the hero for myself in my own dreams.
This stopped repeated rapes, attacks of verbal, physcial
and spiritual abuse from happening in my sleep night after night.
Once I learned that, the nightmares subsided and my sleep
became restful again.
God sent her to teach me that. She is a precious gift in my life.

I have dreamed I am at the funeral of someone I know.
Within a week of that time, someone I know dies.
So far, it has never been the person I dreamed it was.
However, the details, down to the spray of flowers on the casket
are the exact same.
I could live the rest of my life without having to dream like that!

Last night, I had a dream in full color.
It was as real as the keyboard I am typing on right now.
I dreamed I was in a room large enough for about 20 people
to gather for a potluck dinner. I knew people were meeting
there and I knew the person who raped me would be there.
I walked into the room, called his name and said, "I forgive you."
I questioned my forgiveness in my mind, the minute the words came out.
Then I heard God whisper, you can truly forgive and be free of him, or you
can keep holding onto this and he will keep haunting you for the rest of
your life. I looked the man in the eye again and said, "I truly forgive you."

Immediately, the scene changed and I was in another room.
This room was more like the entry of a church. It was fairly large.
I walked in and saw a lady whom I have worked on forgiving for 15 years.
This lady was responsible for hiding my son and mother from me for months.
Her initials are I.W., for those of you who follow my blog (and are an active part
of our lives then and now) and need clarification on who I am speaking of.
I walked up to this woman, asked if I could give her a hug. She didn't say anything
so I wrapped my arms around her. She didn't hug back.
I whispered in her ear, "I forgive you".
I pulled away with my hands on her arms, looked her in the eyes,
At first, angry with her for not hugging me back.
I heard God say, "She will keep you in chains forever, if you don't forgive her."
I cried when I hugged her again. My tears were sad ones for her. I know she
lives in the same fear that kept me in bondage for years.
I wrapped my arms around her again and said,
"You don't have to hold onto fear. And I truly forgive you."

When I woke up, which felt like it was right after the dream, I couldn't believe
the relief and freedom I felt. It was like I had been given a whole new start.
I no longer felt the fear I have carried for a long time.
I thought I had forgiven before.
I have really, Really, REALLY worked on this.
Last night, I was given the opportunity to face these people, eye to eye
who caused me more hurt than anyone has since those two times.
I let them off the hook.
Because of that, I let myself off the hook.
I can truly say, Forgiveness is a gift you give yourself.

Where did this dream come from?
Why now, 25 years after the rape, 15 years after hiding my family from me?
I opened up to a person I trust very much and shared a deep fear that keeps me chained,
one that has been locked in "my Trunk of baggage" since I was raped.

Oh, I have written my stories, the short version for you to read.

I have told my story of rape to others.

I helped others find their way out of the woods after being raped
and abused, just by sharing how I found my own way.

It wasn't until I talked to someone I trust very much, got really vulnerable
and said, "I have a secret fear that I have never shared before because I am
afraid of what will happen if I say it out loud."

That person listened to me. That person didn't judge me. That person didn't walk away.
That person didn't think I was crazy. That person mirrored unconditional love to me.
That person held the key and unlocked the door of that prison cell of fear,
and I walked through it to my freedom when I gave my secret to her.

Last night, I faced my perpetrator and the one who hurt my family and me the worst.
Instead of feeling fearful, shameful and angry enough to kill, all I could feel was love.

Two Steps Into the River

2012-02-09T15:53:00.000-08:00

Standing at river's edge
water swirling, swishing, racing over rocks
Some rocks large, other's small
All of them a risk to the foot who doesn't find a solid grip.

I wait on the bank of the river,
watching water flowing,
squinting as the sun sets behind trees,
gazing at the beauty of this "living" water
calling my name.

A slight breeze blowing just enough to distract
and tussle the loose strands of hair around my face
catching me off guard,
I hear the river say, "Step in."

Guarded. . . .
now there's a word I am familiar with.
Brick walls, solid on all four sides,
warding off strangers, who have no business here.

"Step in", I hear.
there it goes again.
I have loosened my laces, removed shoes and socks.
My toes kind of enjoy the coolness of the water.

My heart is afraid of what could be lost.
I don't want to get carried away in the swift current
lifting my feet from planted ground.
Yet, I feel I am missing something very important
if I choose not to respond.

One foot in the water,
I find a solid place to balance as I put the other in.
Knee deep.
Safe enough to get out, far enough in to keep going.

What does this river want from me?
Will I be able to stand when I have finally given in, immersed completely?
What happens if I loose it?
The pretty package, put together all tied up with a bow?

It could float away before I am able to retrieve it.
Then I am left to figure out what's left.
Maybe not even enough strength to care.
Why does trust come at such a price, even if there is no apparent danger?

Knee deep.
Both feet planted.
Not looking at the river bank behind me.
I took the first step beyond the guarded walls.

Wonder what could happen if I keep going deeper, closer
farther into the center of this sacred place.

Maybe there will be swimming.
I like to swim.
Maybe there are others who have done this and survived.
I'm a survivor.

What if it's fun?
What if I really like the way the river treats me?
What if the river really loves me
and washes away the fear?

Did I say fear?
I don't fear anything!
I am big and strong and brave and all grown-up with a kid.
I have a life, I have put together with a little help.

The fear of falling into a dark hole in the water, drowning.
That's it!
I am afraid of drowning and losing myself.
I am afraid.

Knee deep.
Both feet planted.
I took the first two steps beyond the guarded walls.
Where will this journey lead?

I think I really want to know.

Ever So Close

2012-02-08T15:20:00.000-08:00

Aching for arms
surrounding me . . .
pushing away the junk
pulling me closer to the heart beat

I find myself drawn to this space
each time I forget and over extend myself
yet another time. . .
Why do I do that?

Feeling the warmth
The soft, fuzzy, pink robe
The lap that held all of me
The safest place on earth

I pick up one project,
"for the greater good" you know
Then another,
"because work must be done".

And I feel the sweet tender kiss
on top of my head
as that heartbeat keeps a double beat
of my breathing, she is so close.

I love to jump in feet first,
running ...."full speed ahead"
I forget to say "No", OFTEN.
I love to be in the middle of things.

Yet, it is in those arms
soft hands to remove strands of hair
from my face, to uncover
my mouth for a bite of breakfast.

Pushing, running, staying ahead of the game.
"What game?"
Am I trying to beat a ticking clock
whose time is about to run out?

Going back to the place where love began
raising arms high,
being picked up and loved
and held, and kissed and warmed
from the morning's cold breath on the wooden floor.

She is ever so close to me right now.

Stepping Out. . . .

2012-01-22T14:20:00.000-08:00

This is the first post I have written since November 11th. Even then, I realize they have become sporatic. There is a reason for that.
I have used this blog as a medium to write, to network, to find my way through to my own story, to vent, to write a book, to......

Now, I realize the reasoning that has caused a writer's block for me. I have blocked myself in. In my mind, I have decided I can only write a certain way because I have followers who may not be able to deal with, handle well, what I have to say.

My ministry has branched into a new phase. It is an interesting journey. As I braille d my way through my own stories of abuse, my style of speaking changed, the person in the mirror changed, and something happened. I bloomed.

I am a bit more outspoken.
I am less likely to care what someone thinks of me.
I am more capable of being a warrior without regard to who the villain is.

I have found the person who has lived inside for a very long time.
Yes, I posted that I had found my voice.
You should hear it.
There is forgiveness where forgiveness is needed.
There is mercy where mercy is needed.
There is love where love is needed.
And there is a great big BOOM for the person who dares try and take away what doesn't belong to them.

What has it done for my Pastoral Career of Ministry?
I have been invited to churches where I wasn't welcomed a year ago.
I am stepping WAY OUTSIDE MY COMFORT ZONE.

So what am I doing now?
I am Stepping Out!
I am the voice of one.
I am only one.
And I am hear to bring justice to a place where children should be treated with respect, where abuse is NOT tolerated, where bullying (whether by a minister or a playground bully) has no rights to the self - esteem of others.

I am getting ready to launch the website of this new phase in my life.

Some people will walk away.
Some people will baulk this.
Some people will have to deal with fear and try to shut me down.

I will not shut down.
I am here to make a positive difference.
I have come home to my heart!

This is my calling.

More to come later!

Birthday Boy 11-11-11

2011-11-10T17:44:00.000-08:00

My soul-twin, yes I was supposed to be a twin and then there was just me.

He came 10 years later, claims he wanted his own spotlight without sharing with anyone, including me.

When I was 15 and he was five years old, we had Veteran's day off school. He didn't understand Veteran's Day. Instead of telling the truth, I told him he was so special, his birthday was a national holiday. Then when I told him the truth, he didn't believe me. Haha.....how sweet.

My brother...
like to argue,
loves to have the last word, but all in fun.
He LOVES to sneak up behind me and grab my sides and screech so that I jump over furniture while he rolls in the floor laughing.

My friend....
listens when I need to talk,
cries with me during sappy movies,
gets rowled up over anyone else who picks on me or any other sibling for that matter.
prays like a saint,
serves God with his whole heart,

My colleague. . .
yes, he has followed my footsteps into healthcare and ministry.
He works six miles for me, doing the same job, marketing senior living communities.
I have NEVER felt like I have had to compete with anyone. . . until he showed up.
He gets inside my head, knows all my secrets of the trade,
and. . . we shared the same mother who died with Alzheimer's . . . . so He and I share the same passion.

In ministry.....
I have been privelidged enough to attend services where he leads worship, the anointing on him is so powerful,

He sings duets with me,
he travels with us when we go to conferences and other speaking engagements.

He has become one of my dearest and best friends.

Today, he is 10 years younger than me at the ripe old age of 32 years old!

I am so proud of him. I'm so thankful he is part of the Hollis Party of Four!

Happy Birthday, Jonathan David Hollis!!!!!!
I love you with all my heart and soul!

Beginning to see God

2011-10-30T19:21:00.000-07:00

Prayers, promises and proclamations fill my mind as I remember the verses, scriptures and passages I have read.

Knowing each person interprets what he/she reads differently, I am aware the words may not resonate to you as they do to me.

I am also keenly aware of how the process works when I declare the promises of the written Word over my family using the authority I have been given as a Holy child of God.

I have been "in school" for the past few weeks. Being drawn away from my blog, I have taken time to read more, dig deeper and grow in the knowledge of the Lord.

Lessons from this past year have brought me to a new level of awareness in the power of my prayers.
In the red letters of Jesus, He says, "And whatsoever you shall ask in my name, that will I do . . . if you shall ask anything in my name, I will do it" (John 14:13-14).
In order to fully grasp this scripture, you need to understand that the word "ASK" has been translated from Greek text into English. In Greek, it reads, Whatever you "DEMAND" as your rights and privileges. . . "
As a believer, you have to learn what your rights and privileges are.

Over the past year, I have participated in a prayer group for individuals looking to change our lives into the life that operates in the direct will of God.

Not recognizing the trials that soon followed, until now, I see that God has been taking out the things inside us
that do not coinside with the way He thinks.

Recently, in prayer group, it came full circle as we were presented with a real life test. Without remembering our prayers from the previous year, without knowing what the outcome of our prayers through this test would be, we passed.

Not only have we responded differently to the same test we had a while back, we ALL responded the way Jesus would have responded had He been physically present.

That is not to say that I think I have reached perfection. In fact, I am still a long way from that. However, I do know that after this last test, I can see growth.

And since I can see growth and I know what has created that growth, I want to share how to reach that growth potential with you.

In closing, are there areas in your life that need changed? Is there areas where you see no way out, or the light at the end of the tunnel looks as if it has been shut off?

I would invite you to begin remembering who you were created to be, A Holy Child of God. You were created in His image. Once you TRULY grasp that, there are miracles and opportunities waiting for you to come and claim as your own. These words are true: It is not by a thread or some fairy tale you have created that allows you to change God into something or someone you can deal with, but grasping that it is you who needs growth and change that you will be able to see who God truly is in your life.

What weekend?

2011-10-16T16:42:00.000-07:00

This weekend has been a strange one. Not bad. Strange.

I have slept most of it away. I think for several reasons I slept through it.
1-I don't want to do one more thing. I am tired.
2-I don't want to think one more thing. It hurts.
3-I am a sleepy girl.

I could perseverate over the reasons I feel the three things above.
That would only cause me to become more tired.
Truth:

I wish everyone I loved, loved my family the way I do. It would make things so much easier.

I wish work wasn't so stinking busy and full of unrest right now. It would make things so much easier.

I am thankful for my bed and my pillow.

Breast Cancer Surgery

2011-10-12T20:55:00.000-07:00

I don't know if you were around for the recovery of our "nother" mother's heart surgery in 2009.

A short time after she began to recover, when she still couldn't get a deep breath,

her doctor told her she would never be able to scuba dive again.

Why?

Because a nerve to her diaphragm was nicked during surgery.

Prayers and well wishes along with lots of love, but most of all Faith, Believing in Miracles and prayer. . .

and she went scuba diving this past year!

There is no detection of anything wrong with her lungs now!

She has completely recovered, heart and lungs are all clear!

She and "the Dad" have been enjoying life!

In fact, she has been doing what she does best, helping others recover from tragedy.

She is part of the first responders team.

When Oklahoma City was bombed, she was there.

She worked with children in the elementary school close to the bombing, for SEVERAL MONTHS!

I remember because it felt like she was gone forever!

Then after the nation's tragic 9/11 in New York City, She was there to help again.

So many people's lives have been touched because she continues to give her heart away,

being the angel she is!

Now, she needs YOU!

She needs your prayers!

She was diagnosed with Breast Cancer on September 7, 2011.

Tomorrow, Thursday, October 13, 2011

We are going to be with her as she has surgery.

Everyone who knows her is praying for full recovery, healing and the works!

I am asking all of you for prayer for my nother mother.

She's one of my dearest friends!

Her name is Gerry Griffith!

Put her in your prayers.

Please and thank you!

I will keep you posted.

Strolling with Autumn

2011-10-11T19:23:00.000-07:00

Her beauty so intrinsical

captured my heart.

I held my breath as long as I could

resisted until she was so close to being gone.

I could hear her calling my name again.

That siren that won't let me go.

Couldn't take the temptation

So, I drove to meet her.

I had to be with her, a part of her.

I took a walk.

The scent of nature so captivated me,

Taking me back to childhood days

when she held me close.

Even then, I was in love with her.

I took the narrow path, the door to her heart.

The center of her core being.

It was held open by a split rail fence.

The swoosh and swish of a light wind in my hair

was barely heard above her voice, beckoning our rendezvous.

I wanted to feel her arms around me.

She wanted to play.

Tapping me on the shoulder

one leaf at a time.

She captivated me.

I found myself skipping with her,

chasing her deeper inside

until I could hear her giggle in the brook

below the bridge.

She wanted me to see something

Vanishing before me

along the winding trail,

one leaf here, another branch there

she dropped her clothes

just before we arrived at the pond.

And as she stood there,

Head full of colors, yellows, oranges, browns

all beautiful as one would expect of the lady,

She held my gaze as we stood together

by the pond,

and I saw her perfect reflection in the water.

This love affair with Autumn has gone on for years.

She and I have a thing, you see.

At the first hint of her dropping her leaflet earrings outside my door,

I begin the search to see her

in all her amazing beauty just before she's gone

and I am left to wait,

yet another year to see the beauty she will present

and leave behind in my heart.

We took a walk, she and I.

She let me in this time.

Oh, it has been years since I've been this close.

The crushed leaves, already falling along the floor

the smells of earth and acorns

The feeling of water running over my feet

as she washed away the tiredness of summer,

brought me to tears.

That kind of love, that causes your heart to beat

beyond normal capacity

with deep jagged breaths, bringing tears

stinging and remembering why I love her so.

She may be a siren when she calls

but she is so much more.

She reminded me this year

of how many secret memories she holds.

I found myself slip back 37 years ago when it was just Daddy and me.

I think that was when I first caught sight of her.

I was already mesmerized by her perfume.

And it was her perfume that took me back.

After the loving . . .memories of years gone by

flooded into my mind

bringing me home to my heart.

First there was the love of Daddy and me

running through the woods,

chasing chipmunks.

Then there was the days of catching crawfish

and salamanders in the creeks

down the hills below our home.

Next we came to the memory of my mother's voice,

thanking God for the colors of the trees.

She walked back with me to the split-rail fence

before bidding me good-bye for another year

promising the next visit to me just as memorable.

Kissing me on the cheek with a light raindrop,

She stood there, waving good-bye in the branches of trees

and I cried like a heart-broken teenage girl

I drove away with her in my rearview mirror.

Until next year, my dearest Autumn, the siren of my heart,

I will hold the love of our affair in my arms,

I will wait for you to return.

Yes, dear.

For you, I will wait.

All photographs are used with permission by: Amy Scott

The accomplishments of TWO Scorpios This year!

2011-10-11T17:04:00.000-07:00

There is something to be said about the month you were born

and the personality traits you grow up with.

Two Scorpios of several who have touched my life in a great way share birthdays

in November. These two hold true to the way the stars aligned at their birth.

When they have a goal, it is almost impossible to divert them from reaching it!

There are so many people who have walked along the path

with me in my life's journey.

One walked very close with me for two years.

He was my Music Minister when I was the Senior Pastor.

I think the world of him.

And I have to share the results of a successful project he just completed.

I am so excited to Congratulate him on his new Album release.

His CD will be available to you beginning November 1, 2011.

He has written his own lyrics and music.

Please go to his link and check out the sound bites already there

for your enjoyment.

His link is:

www.paulparnellmusic.com

_______________________________________________________________

Moving along, my partner, some of you may have met through the blogosphere.

Amy Scott, has the ability to turn a small craft project into a global ~~threat~~ accomplishment.

Once when I started dabbling in scrapbooking,

she decided she would go all out.

Of course that meant I was included, along for the ride, like it or not.

We turned a room in our home into a Martha Stewart, eat-your-heart-out venue

for every scrapbooker's dream come true.

She received an expensive camera for her birthday.

And so goes the story.

Not one gets away by being a single snapshot thrown into a box somewhere in the attic.

She has added to her "collection" pieces of equipment for this "said" camera

and is going "global" with her project of photography.

In the past few weeks, she has done photo shoots for children,

created books, actually just authored a picture book called "Indianapolis at a Glance"

Amy is currently recruiting anyone and everyone interested in doing

family photo shoots for the holidays.

Below is her website:

https://kaleidoscopeeyesphotography.wordpress.com/

Below is her facebook page. In order to see it, you have to become a fan.

Trust me, it's worth it.

https://www.facebook.com/#!/pages/Kaleidoscope-Eyes/226367760728054

She also has a blog. Below is that link.

http://amyskaleidoscopeeyes.blogspot.com/

I will let you in a lil secret. It makes my heart happy that she chose this name

for her photography business.

Why?

Because I gave her that nickname about 20 years ago.

When the sunlight hits her eyes, there are flecks of all colors in them.

They look like kaleidoscopes.

So, if you haven't already clicked on the TWO Scorpios,

by George, get cracking! Hop to it! Go see what these two have went and done!

Where in Hell are the real Christians?

2011-10-08T19:00:00.000-07:00

My title is appropriate as I see that we are really living in hell and the people I have seen making the headlines calling themselves Christians are making a mockery out of the person Jesus Christ himself was.

The hours, the days, the weeks, flying past me like Mario Andretti, as if life has become a rat race.
Even as I stand still, I feel the rumble of the moments flying past, see the dust kicked up as Medicare makes more cuts, and Medicaid follows suit.

Crazy to think we who work with seniors are going to actually see the wrinkled brows get a face lift from the government. I've become so jaded with the choices made to "save" a dollar here and there, while watching the last of our real "All American Heroes" from World War II, forgotten and fallen to a place where they are no longer considered able to make this country great because they don't even remember their own names.
Yet they sit in chairs, unable to walk alone, reciting stories of their fallen brothers ripped to shreds and shrapnel as shells and mortar came crashing down around them.

And we, have placed them in the back room so the screams of their nightmares don't disturb
the "baby-boomers" who are on our rehab halls, living it up "resort style" from knee replacements of old rugby wounds, while their fathers just home from the wars, work their fingers off in factories, making cars so the children can have a better life.

I'd be remiss not to bring up the fact that we have become a country of rot and ruin, taking God out of schools, children getting shot on playgrounds, snatched at grocery stores, raped behind the church, while we still pretend, when it will make a political statement that our country still believes in a Holy God.

We place that very statement that we trust in God on our dollar bills, yet we hate our brother/sister,
beat our children, run up our own personal debt right along side the debt of the nation while screaming at the top of our lungs we want to be free thinkers and will respect whatever we choose.

I find the new political party running for office, already smelling like a day old diaper,
left behind on the kitchen counter, while mom and dad have had to go to work.
What happens to the people who use GOD as a PAWN in the race to win the election?
What becomes of the man who makes such crude statements that scream hate at others, because
they are ignorant that not all people are the same.
We are all created equally in the image of God.
However, we differ in shape, size, height, color and even sexual orientation.
And these who so desperately need to get a white - nuckle grip to step up to the plate in office
call the homosexual community "a Threat to the Nation's health".
Okay, so now we are not only psychologically damaged, demon - possessed, but also a disease that
threatens to wipe out the country?

Please. . . Bryan Fisher, if there was/is such a thing as reincarnation, you are sure to return to this life
in a country in Africa as a flaming drag queen (where just last week a man was tortured and set on fire and burned alive because he was gay). Your statements are so far below the belt, when you burp them out, I can smell the very flames of hell on your breath.

And even as I type this, I find myself drawn back to the young man and wife, mid - twenties
crying because they could no longer take care of his mother, who in her 50's has the diagnosis of Alzheimer's type dementia. And I, one of many who threaten the nation's health according to Bryan Fisher (friend of Mitt Romney), hold a safe place and bring about a sense of peace just by sharing my story that is parallel to his. It happened with my mother as well, same ages and all. I wonder if that young man and his wife felt as if they should have received a immunization shot because they sat in the room with me.

So called Religious political figures spit and fume on stage about their ideals on abortion (we can all see that while it is a right, it is not a good thing to have to terminate a life), yet I wonder if one of them knew their own wife was pregant with a child who would be born with a homosexual orientation, how quickly they would have her at the clinic they protested and blew up last week? Something to think about. . . . Christian politicians.

I ask you this all you who create a sense of piety, speaking lies around your little shell of a campaign: When you get to stand before a Holy God, enter into the presence of the Prince of Peace, ready to accept your place beside the Crystal Sea, will you be concerned about how much money you can make by taking away Medicare and Medicaid of those who fought to give this country freedom? Will you be concerned with my sexual orientation enough to bash my bones to smitherines? Will you still appear in church on Sunday morning, especially during election season to 'show off' your Christ-like attitude? Or will you just be relieved to find that God has given grace to you even though you and I and everyone else were undeserving?

This rant comes after weeks of watching the down-sizing of one of the largest senior companies due to cuts in Medicare and Medicaid, people who have been loyal for years have been layed off at the 'corporate' level because they are trying really hard to do the right thing and not compromise patient care. That speaks volumes to me!!!! It would seem that if those who run so hard to make a name for themselves in office might consider, downsizing their own team of make-up artists, interior designers, etc... to give a break to the seniors who made an honest days wages after returning home from wars to find there was nothing left but beans and cornbread for supper, that their sweet little brides had to go off to the factories and work until those silk-soft hands had become calloused just to keep the war efforts going. Now we have a gazillion spoiled rotten brats who are expecting resort style living, but aren't willing to give a little to keep those who've made a real difference from ending up in what used to be referred to as "poor houses".

For those contributing to this decay of true "Christ-like" love in order to keep up appearances, SHAME ON YOU! For those contributing to the dissection of humanitarianism in the name of Christianity. . . I look you in the eyes and say, "You say with your forked tongues from the main stream churches that you love Jesus, yet you threaten the very lives and encourage bullying of others who did not make the choice to be who they are because you don't want to be embarrassed in front of your friends. I look you in the eyes and say, you are the very ones Jesus himself said are LUKEWARM and would be spewed from his mouth. SHAME ON YOU!"

This is my sermon for the week, after participating and strategizing budget plans until they squeak, working late hours in the kitchen because we are trying to keep this business of caring for others in excellent form, listening to the bark of being pushed to make the best sales calls possible so we will not be threatened when the money really falls through and there is no room left to care for those sweet people we have promised to provide for, our seniors. . . the real heroes.

If you hear what I am saying and feel this passion, send a big AMEN! If I have stepped on your toes, take two Tylenol and call me in the morning. If you call, be prepared that if you are still standing in the same pious position, your shins may be bruised next. We need to pray for our leaders. We need to pray for this country. We really need to reflect the business of social justice and humanitarianism as Jesus did, if we are to make a difference. However, seeing what I see from where I sit in the office each day at work, I am afraid we may be a bit too late.

Living Life and Learning Lessons

2011-09-28T19:21:00.000-07:00

Since this past January we have been living and learning.

Leaving my position as the Pastor to travel and speak was a leap of faith.

It left me with time to remember what I would do differently, what I'm glad I did do, and what I wish I had done.

My sister's apartment caught fire while she was at work.
She lost almost everything inside, except her sweet dog, who survived without even a burn or smoke inhalation.
Thank God for His amazing hands of mercy.

We traveled to Odessa, Texas in February where I spoke at a conference and taught a class on ethics.
We came home to Empty-Nester's Syndrome.
Our son found his wings and independence and moved into his own place.

In March, my beautiful partner of 20 years gave birth to a kidney stone the size of a pencil eraser.
Of course, they had to do two - T-W-O. . . .2 surgeries to remove it!
Bless her sweet little. . . . . . heart, among other things.

I celebrated my mother's 65th birthday as I celebrated her life
after she passed away five years before that.
It's good to know she is no longer suffering.

Japan had a HORRIBLE EARTH QUAKE.

I began advocating for victims of rape and abuse.

April Showers brought two VERY SPECIAL guests to our home.
Braja and Vodka Mom graced us with their presence.
We were prepared to intertain guests.
We were not prepared to lose our hearts as we did.

May, well I dedicated most of that month
to the rape and abuse victims, survivors and thrivers
sharing some of my stories in hopes that people
who are going through Hell will know,
If you do the work to get through it,
It gets much better.

June, I went to Ft. Lauderdale, Florida

and had a life changing experience in a Miami culture
where anything goes and not much is accounted for
God lives there too!
I also had many moments of thankfulness and a full heart in June.

July brought a few surprises.

All that writing and stirring the waters from
March and May brought to the surface
the fact that I needed to go to the doctor
just to learn I had found my voice.
Imagine THAT!

August hit hard.

WOW! It was a hard month.
I hit rock bottom.
I swam on the bottom for a little bit and slowly rose to the surface.
All is well. It was just a rough month. . . and I'm not sure I can even remember why.

Three weeks ago today,

My dear sweet "nother" mother ( I have two)

was diagnosed with Breast Cancer.

She will be having surgery October 13, 2011.
Prayers are needed and appreciated.

Today, right now in this moment. . .
two days away from my 42nd birthday
I know that if I chose to look back and reflect for the rest of my life
I could peer into the pool and see reflections of sadness, happy moments, regrets, life, love and more life.
We never stop learning until we die.
Things don't stop happening in and around us.
It is how we deal with things in our lives that mold and shape our character.

I want to be that person that stands at the edge of life,
wings ready to carry me into the great beyond
knowing I have lived in such a way that would be pleasing in the sight of God.
I want to know I have dropped the drama and learned to enjoy even the challenges.
I want to know that I never stopped growing before I flew away into the clouds.

Jiggy for Instant Gratification

2011-09-26T20:13:00.000-07:00

America has become an "instant gratification" country.
Push a button and there you have it. . . a completely cooked meal in the microwave after only 10 minutes.

Drive through and get a meal for five bucks at almost any drive through restaurant. No sweat, no cooking, no thought. . . to how much cholesterol we feed our bodies for only five bucks. And for the average American, five bucks isn't really a big deal to waste at a drive through.

Click on a website, get an education.
Go to another and read a million blogs.
Click to skype and visit friends across the world. . . and see them on your screen.

When it takes the computer a little bit longer to re-boot, we often get "jiggy" about it, bent out of shape even, like spoiled rotten, two-year old children.

Remember the tornadoes that stormed through Joplin, Missouri a few months ago? The destruction was sad and so devastating to all those who were involved. There are no words for what those who lost everything and those who lost loved ones have gone through. Their lives will never be the same.

I brought that up because right after those storms . . . stormed across the midwest, we received several severe thunderstorms with high winds and lightening. Nothing around us was damaged and I am so thankful to God for that. However, since that set of storms have come through, our cell phone service will not allow us to talk inside our home!!!!

We cannot get a clear signal for an extended amount of time.

After becoming overly crabby about it, and calling all the way up to the highest supervisor just to get the same excuse. . . "uhm, well, it looks like a tower may need to be moved". . . . to which we respond. . . "yeah, well, in the meantime, we are going to cancel this contract we have had for the past 18 years and divorce you all! In the meantime, we are resorting to empty food cans with a piece of string attached to each one. (Some of you won't get that. It was before your time.)

While we decide on new cell phone service, we are going back to land lines.
WE WILL HAVE A LAND LINE no later than Saturday, I am told by the local phone service.

In the meantime, when I get all cranky about what I don't have at my finger tips. . . for the mere sake of convenience. . . I mean who wants to go stand in the middle of the road at 12midnight to answer a cell phone?
And what neighbor wants to see me without makeup, in a long flannel granny gown trying to yell at the top of my lungs to discuss things that are not anyone else's business . . . in the middle of the road at midnight? NO ONE!!!!

So, back to getting all Jiggy for instant gratification. . . I am reminded everytime I drop a call of the people in Joplin who will never hold their loved one again, who have lost everything and possibly will never regain a life. . . why do I really need to fret over a momentary lack of cell phone service?

The answer is. . . I DON'T! I have constantly been reminded of the spoiled rotten 2-year olds we act like when we can't get on facebook, or pick up the celly to call a friend. . . WE NEED to GET BACK TO WHAT IS IMPORTANT! NOTHING MATERIAL IS IMPORTANT.

So, if you have read this, and you or someone you know lives in Joplin. . . I pray for them and for their healing. . .everytime I drop a call in my house. That means they get prayer at least 3 times a day if not more!

And, please forgive me for acting spoiled-rotten instead of being thankful we were not touched or damaged by those storms.

Loving The Dance

2011-09-18T14:38:00.000-07:00

Educated with the scholars

was not an option,

so she was not

Dedicated to prayer and worship

she inhaled and exhaled the name of God

A proper lady, revered by those

whose path she crossed each day

she was not confined to pride and prejudice

Carrying the nature of God

she lived that way.

Drawn to her, were many people

Why? Many didn't understand

Her love, so gentle held great power

You could feel His touch in her hands

Though not Catholic in her faith

her spiritual walk a steady gait

Compared to Mother Teresa

by those who were strangers

understood the same God

was worshiped by them both, day after day

Melancholy moods of grandeur

met her mind from time to time

Tears of home sickness

streamed down her face

years before it was her time

We could never get our heads around

how she could long to go

Beyond the spiritual realm of us, mere mortals

while keeping home fires aglow

The mention of His name across her lips

cooled the fever of a burning child

she didn't call down fire from heaven

just softly breathed His name

His presence came with healing, meek and mild

Today so many people throng to see miracles

experience their own burning bush

Not the lady in waiting

she loved her Lord in all His majesty

She found Him in the silent hush

My dream, my plea, my hope and prayer

my soul, so longs to go

across the path of stars and galaxies

where He becomes so real

to greet Him with a hug and kiss

and say "thank you" for bringing her here.

to teach His love so pure in form

that you can know it's true

and pray to Him, and chant His name

And be transformed beyond the blue

What I would do to help you feel

His love as she did for us before

whether in her lap or by her side

I wanted more and more

Now I see beyond this flesh

the existence of mortal man

where I too, can experience His presence

by calling out His name

Oh this changes all my future plans

I live daily with this longing

to find His love is more revealed

so maybe I can teach, by example, about His presence

and you will know He is real.

I step in time, sometimes I trip

I falter in some circumstance

Yet I keep getting right back up

only with God, to dance.

Seeking. . .

2011-09-16T14:54:00.000-07:00

Is there ever a day in your life when you want so much more that what you can see and feel,

materialistically? Is there a moment when you just know. . . you just KNOW. . .

there is more than what you have been privy too seeing, hearing, feeling?

I am there!

What merits the favor of you, oh Lord?

Is it that I walk away from everything in my life?

Do I do a list of deeds to get closer to you?

How can I pack it up and throw it all away?

What if the deeds I do don't meet your perfection.

It is love: Love for you, your love for me

It is mercy: Because I am a simple human.

It is grace: Your grace to understand I am not capable of ever doing enough right.

Yet, my soul longs for time,

alone with you

In your sacred, loving presence

Only you can cleanse my life

Only you can give me what it is that satisfies.

hear my prayer, my cry.

I ache with an ache

so much deeper than

blood, skin and bones.

I long to sit in the center of your presence

allowing your light to shine deep,

into the secret places of darkness. . . .

around me, in me.

Look at your servant here, Oh Lord.

I want favor with you;

Not for natural or personal gain

I want favor with you,

to feel your love,

and somehow find a away to reciprocate that Love

back to you and forward

to others who need you,

others who seek for you.

I am but one grain of sand

among all the beaches on the earth,

and yet You know my name.

Call to me.

Whisper in the breeze

Let me hear your voice

in the river as it races

across the rocks.

Open my ears so that I am

able to hear you.

Shedding Skin

2011-09-15T18:31:00.000-07:00

Chasing shadows, dreams and clouds
this longing for you grows
looking for you everywhere, trying to "put" you in a package
the human body, I suppose

You raised me, through my mother
and I focused all my love you her
too young to realize it was you
who gave her strength
it was you, using her arms, her lap, her kisses
to wrap me, hug me, hold me

She left and I thought I had lost my world
I thought I buried the purest form of Love with her
The night you showed up, I felt "her" presence
walk into the room only to realize "she" wasn't there

That's when you told me,
"I have loved you through your mother your entire life."
I realized then, and you became real to me.
And I still look for you with skin on
trying to put you in a nice little package

I know you are alive, living inside others
and I am still wanting to keep you close with skin on.

Searching for you, chasing you
around the globe, trying to
understand why I can't hold
you tangibly.
This need to have you with skin on,
drives me, keeps me running after you.

I searched for knowledge
trying to find out where
you are hiding, even thought
you live inside me too.

You showed up, through a friend
in a book. I learned by reading, why
I would cry a river, as a small child,
with longing, even when my mother was there.
I learned why I missed "her" even though
I was holding her hand.
It wasn't her I was longing for,
but you.

Separated as I cam to be human
from the eternally, spiritual realm you are,
I was longing to come back home to you.

You have seen my agony
my struggle to find you
my need to KNOW you are there/here
You have heard my cry to be held by you
with skin on.

Gracefully, you placed yourself in pen and ink through my dearest friend
showing me your love once again.

And I hear you saying,
"I am here.
I am in you.
I am with you.
I am holding you.
And I can be so much more . . .
to you, in you and through you by simply
shedding skin"

Bring to light, that which is dark. It's Healing.

2011-09-14T15:57:00.000-07:00

This is for the person who needs to know, it is okay to be caught safely and held by someone who doesn't expect a thing from you.

As I was reading through a couple letters, posts and poems, I realized many people feel so alone.

I can't fix that for you, whomever you are.

I can tell you a secret about myself that may allow you to peek inside to see the detail of where my journey has taken me and where I am today.

The journey to becoming whole can be painful. And it is truly a journey worth taking.

I know the feeling of needing to jump, not because I want to die but because I want to be caught.

I know the feeling of wanting to be caught, then running to hide my face. For me the embarrassment of wanting to be caught was so overwhelming when someone came to catch me, I ran, ashamedly to hide my face for fear of looking stupid.

I realize I am not alone in having felt this way. There are countless others who have felt it as well.

Someone said, This must be "normal" for those who have been abused, abandoned, broken, or felt alone.

I say, "Normal" is just a cycle on the washing machine and who knows what normal really is because everyone has a story which leads to how he or she feels about certain things, in certain situations.

It is easy for us to place a stigma on ourselves. It is up to us to take it off. That can be very hard to do.

For years, I placed a stigma on myself as "damaged goods". Later I realized I am the only one who can take it off. It took me years to remove that half price sticker.

Sometimes it only takes five minutes to put that same sticker back on. I hate when I do that. I don't like that it is so easy to find that sticker that I think is thrown away, hidden in a landfill somewhere.

Truth is: I am not half-price.
Heck! I'm not even cheap! Just ask those who consider themselves to be my friends.
In fact, I'm priceless!
I am not damaged goods.
I belong front and center, in the middle of my life, dancing in the dark until the light shines down to bend prisms of exploding colors, to color my world.

And because I have learned to love myself, I do love my neighbor a whole lot more.

Bringing to the light, the fact that I needed healing is beginning to help me get rid of the "I's" in my life and focus on the bigger picture. My healing, It all begins with me. Living my life, is not all about me. In fact, sometimes, it isn't about me at all. It's about holding out my hands and arms, serving others, moving forward for the greater good that God has placed me here to do.

I know. . . and I wish. . . and I can't fix it. . . I can make it matter

2011-09-13T16:29:00.000-07:00

. . . and that is probably the hardest thing to live with.

I know the feeling of huddling
with arms outstretched like wings
trying desperately to protect orphaned children.

I know the feeling of aching bones
looking for five more minutes to sleep
while trying to shut down the outside noise just to sleep peacefully.

I know the feeling of hot tears
streaming constant down my face
waiting for the bleeding wound inside my heart
to be cauterize by the fire that drives me to get out of bed and live.

I know the feeling of active listening,
and not being able to "do" anything to fix what went wrong.
It's hard to watch you feel so tormented and not be able to make it all better.
And I will hold you as long as I can. Maybe, loving you will help. That's all I know to do.

All of these feelings can be summoned at a moments notice. Even though they are memories of experiences past. I place them in a secure place at the bottom of the ocean. Funny how it doesn't even take a hurricane to stir things inside and bring them to the surface.

I know the feeling of standing strong and brave to hold a safe space for you.
I know the feeling of fear and insignificance when even the safe space isn't enough.
I know the feeling of motherhood where you are concerned. After all, that is where I placed myself.
I know that you will have to take this journey and figure this out.
I know I can't always go all the way down the path with you to get through to the other side of the forest.

I know the feeling of waking up every morning, shoulders back, head held high, ready to take on the world.
I wish I could share that feeling with you and it would stick with you, permanently.

I am here.
You are here.
We are here for a reason.
I intend to make a positive difference.
I intend to be deliberate about everything I do.
I intend to continue to step up to the plate and push forward.
I intend to make it matter.

For the Love of Autumn

2011-09-12T16:27:00.000-07:00

Silly me, I can't help but write about what I love. I sang as I wrote this. It may sound elementary to

write love letters such as this one. And maybe, love letters are meant to be simple. Who knows.

I love Autumn and I love singing and writing and crooning and swooning about how beautiful she really is!

Infatuation. . . it's true

some may say

Love at first sight. . . I think

happened one day

I saw pieces and bits of you

floating past my window. . .

all the colors of Fall

red, orange, brown and yellow

The breeze was whispering your name.

I couldn't stop thinking

I'm falling so hard for you

couldn't stop trying

to reach out and catch you

But the wind had picked up

and the colors were mixing

It was dream like, I struggled

to hold on, but missed it

I couldn't hold onto your name in the breeze.

And the wind just blew harder

as I reached the back door step

I looked up, and

saw you disappear and I wept.

How could something so lovely

stay only a short moment

Then all of the colors

so pretty, go dormant?

Will I hear your name in the breeze again?

After all this time

Love must be what I am feeling

You brought so much

to me, inside I am healing

The wind is bringing a sense

of joy and excitement

And the colors are mixing just like they did

I'm thinking of you, again

Oh, I'll catch your name in the breeze this time.

And I'll hold you forever

you won't go so far away

Maybe this time I'll be ready

and I'll keep you inside to stay

No snow flakes,

no blizzards

no ice cycles near us

No worries this time you come by

I'll catch your name in the breeze this time.

Forgiveness Comes in Strange Packages

2011-09-11T21:12:00.000-07:00

I wrote about riding rails or sitting on fences HERE .
I am writing about a recent experience of forgiveness and how it has changed the last couple of days and has re-routed my future. I used what I have, my voice, to slay the giants. By clicking on the last sentence you can go back and read what was ahead.

Short story: I used my voice and spoke to a person who was triggering the abuse from my past with my father's ability to make me feel less than. The most interesting part of that "triggering" was that it was coming from a person in a field that is supposed to be my "safe place".

I was a pastor for two years prior to stepping out into public speaking across the country. Now that I am traveling, I have learned that my home base, my place to land between speaking engagements, can present opportunities for healing in ways I never dreamt.

So, I went to the person who was "triggering" these thoughts and feelings. I confronted and stated that I am a peer not a "less than" not a "child" and to my pleasant surprise was asked for forgiveness, through tears of remorse. Nuff said. I forgave and have moved on with the understanding that if it happens again, I WILL SPEAK UP AND MOVE ALONG WITHOUT HESITATION OR QUESTIONS.

Three days ago, I was sitting and talking to a person for whom I have deep respect. Sharing this experience we began to talk about my father and how I had forgiven him. I stated that I have never been able to move forward and find the great memories that I know are there the way I do with my mother.
We acknowledged the betrayal of my father. You can read that HERE if you haven't. We acknowledged the difference in how they both reacted and responded.
I said to her, "there has to be more. I can't move beyond this point. And because of that I can't take my father down off the cross I built for him. I really need to do this, even though there are times when I think I have. I need to get through this."
So, as we sat there together, I had a conversation as if my father were in the room.
At first, I spoke very matter of fact and angry. The anger teared to fear and betrayal, then just tired and drained feelings. I gave my dad "what for". I dumped the last 25 years of aching out.
When I stopped, the lady asked me, have you ever wondered what your father felt like in that experience.
I responded, "I NEVER THOUGHT ONE MINUTE ABOUT HOW HE FELT!"

She said, "Okay. Let's do for a mintue. He was a pillar in the community. He was a pastor. He walked his talk. He spoke from his heart. He wanted to forgive those who asked forgiveness. I just wander if he could go back, what would he do today?"

I said, "I never thought about it that way."

She said, "So, what if you pretend for a moment, you just received as a parent what you just shared for and with your father. What would you do? How would you respond?"

At first, I was at a loss for words. But then I began to think about it seriously. What would I say to my son if he came to me and told me what I had just said out loud? I began to respond through tears of regret. I began to think of how I would beg forgiveness. For the first time, I tried to look through the eyes of my father. And I wanted desperately to reach out to him, hold him and pull him down from the cross I have hung him on for the past 25 years. I wanted to reach out to him and let him know that I love him and know that he really did the best he could with all he thought was right at the time. And even though I don't agree with how he handled it, I am so ready to forgive him and let it go and love the greatness about him.

Since I experienced that, I have felt so much lighter. I have so much room for more love and compassion, not only for myself but for everyone!

This was the strangest experience I have had with forgiveness. And yet, it has been the most freeing.

Truly, forgiveness is a gift we give ourselves.

So, if my father were alive and read this, to him I would say, "Daddy, it's over. What is important to me now is that you and I move forward in the greatness we were born for. Now, forgive yourself. I love you."

Just a short break . . .

2011-09-08T19:15:00.000-07:00

Hello, beautiful people!
I have been quiet for a week now. I didn't fall off the wagon, dissappear to the other side of the moon, or catch a slow boat to China.

I have been slaying dragons, speaking at an event and getting back into the groove.

God is great!
Life is good!
And. . . people are crazy!

That's all.

As you were.

See you later in the weekend.
Love,

Changing History

2011-08-31T15:59:00.000-07:00

He had gone to deliver food to his brothers, who were fighting a war against their enemies who would take over their country, their homeland if the enemy won the war. He was smaller and less fit to fight than were his big brothers.
Left behind to tend to his herd of sheep, David felt a little out of place. Why couldn't he see what was going on? What was his father trying to protect him from? Why did his brothers think this battlefield was no place for him. David was comfortable in his own skin. He felt very capable of fighting. After all, he had killed a bear with a little sling shot when the bear tried to kill his sheep. He had even killed a hungry lion. Yet, the men of his family found him a little less than able to stand beside them. He wasn't quite good enough. He wasn't good enough in their eyes.

Back to the camp at the edge of the battlefield, David walked among the other soldiers, calling out to one then the other and finally finding where his brothers were camped at. He took them food and messages from him, to comfort them. In return, they told him to scat! Get back home. He had no business there!
David was a curious guy. He wanted to know more. So he kept on asking why no one was brave enough to face a giant in order to win their homeland, their country back. In the end, he argued the point until he found himself in the king's private chambers, assuring the king he could and would do the job.

Out of concern for his life, maybe even fear for the country's destiny, the king placed his own armor on David. Because of his petite stature, the armor weighed David down to the point, he couldn't move freely. David took off the armor and told the king of his victories with his little slingshot. "It only takes one, precise, deliberate shot to do the job. And I've got what it takes."

That day, a ruddy little shephard boy, no one had ever heard of saved the country with his focus, committment, skill, deliberate determination and faith. It changed the course of history.

I have a giant in my life. I am one, only one. I am built with a small frame. But I have a deliberate focus to take out the giant in my life. The giant is fear of the unknown, fear of the jump, fear of what will be when all is said and done. I have been scared that I would sacrifice my future, my career, my family's hearts and feelings, even my reputation.

Today, I do not need the armor of someone who has earned medals, degrees, etc. I have taken out dragons of my past. I have stood up to a multitude of mockers and an angry church and kept my family safe in the past.

All I need is my voice. I know how to use that. I have learned the skill of speaking up and speaking out. I may be petite and I AM comfortable in my own skin. I am focused, precise, using deliberate determination with one statement of fact to wipe the giant out of my life. I will get beyond this lesson of fear. Today, I am reclaiming what is mine. Today, I will change history in my own life.

What about you? Do you have giants to face? Have you ever been here before? What are your thoughts?

He has found the wind beneath his wings

2011-08-30T20:13:00.000-07:00

He's beautiful, and that's for sure. . .
He's one handsome man from the inside out.
Our lovely son, Jody.

I have been waiting for the right moment to write about this.

First, short story for those of you who may not know the background information.
Mom had her forth baby when I was 18 yrs old.
When he was two, our father was killed in an accident.
By the time Jody graduated from Kindergarten, our mother was diagnosed with Alzheimer's.

Sounds tragic? Get's better.
I am a firm believer that everyone has a story to tell. It is according to whether or not you are willing to look for the positives that can come from bad stuff or if you choose to have a half empty glass that fills with yuck.

My partner and I raised my baby brother, whom we were already helping take care of.
He is legally our son.
He is now 23 years old.
In the last six months, he has moved out on his own.
He has a steady job, a great apt downtown, and a hot car.
But those things don't keep you warm at night.
And they sure don't fill the empty places inside.

Just over a month ago, he was invited to participate as a "camp buddy" at a summer camp called "Camp Erin". Camp Erin is for children who have lost one or both parents.
Jody went through the classes, and dove in.

He has been restless about his future. He is a very deep thinker. He doesn't do superficial relationships AT ALL. He would rather spend time with those who share his love for spiritual growth and learning more about the unknown. Just one week prior to Camp Erin, he had sat up with me late one night discussing what he wanted to do, kind of in a funk because nothing seemed to be drawing his attention.
I had asked him if he had searched his heart and soul about what really matters. I asked him if he had ever thought about taking the bad things that had happened to him and the losses of Mom and Dad and making something good come of those things as part of his future path. He pondered that for a week. Still restless, he went to camp.

When he came to our home after camp was over, he laughed about the stunts the little guys pulled at camp. He cried at the pain and grief they felt, as he felt his own grief and pain surface. He found his wings there. This is just some of what he shared with me.

At Camp Erin, about 3 hours into the camp, Jody told me something inside transformed. He spent three days with 6 little boys between the ages of 8yrs old and 11 yrs old who had lost parents, two of them had losses just a few months prior.
Jody said to me, "I saw so much of myself as a little boy, trying to make sense of it all in their eyes. And how could I tell them, it may never make sense, you just have to go through the process and find your way? I didn't say that to them. But I thought it often."

He continued, "It was the most amazing experience to see each one of them open up and talk, laugh, cry and even pitch tantrums, just aching for attention to fill that empty space. And then it hit me, this is where I belong. I am supposed to work with children, like me, who have been orphaned at a young age. I am here to make their healing a little bit easier."

Of course, I am crying at this point. I have watched him squirm, aching to hold the safe place for his own self to heal inside those dark places we could never get to. I watched his eyes as his healing began while he held a safe place for the healing of those children at Camp Erin.

Since Camp Erin, Jody has participated as a camp buddy for children of the same ages at another camp called "Camp Healing Tree". Once again, he came home with the same glow. He said, "It is so amazing. We go there and help these children work through their grief. We play with them. We tell them how incredible they are and make sure they know it before they leave. Yet when camp is over, I feel like we, the adults, have walked away with such an incredible gift as well. The children at these camps have found a way inside my heart and I will keep them there forever.

This is a very small picture of his adopted grandparents (since we first became his parents in 1996.) Gerry works with people, counceling them through loss and grief, works with the First Responder teams and was present to work with the children in Oklahoma City after the bombing. She was also one of the counselors who delivered death notifications to those who lost family members in New York just days after 9/11. She and her husband serve as group facilitators and counselors for children in our city who have lost loved ones. They have played a huge role in helping us raise Jody without too many scars.

I gave you this picture because below I have linked the slide show of Camp Erin. There are a few pictures in there of Jody and the kids he worked with. It was life changing for our son. I am so thankful and happy on the inside my son found his calling and his place to serve.

Oh, and he found the young lady of his dreams at Camp Erin. She is a therapist for children who have behavior disorders due to issues they have had to face way too young. She is contracted out of a big hospital network and works in an elementary school here in Indy. She gets Jody. He gets her. They are so lovely together.

Camp Erin 2011

It seems only yesterday, I held a sweet little boy in my arms, rocking him to sleep, wondering how in the world I was going to explain the slow death of his mother, the sudden death of his father, and how in the world would we get through it.

Today, I stand amazed and in awe that he has grown up so well, in spite of it all.

Grand Maquerade

2011-08-29T19:55:00.000-07:00

Passing beyond the superficial mask,

what lies behind?

what lies beneath?

What lays dormant

only to arise to an occasion

for which is wasn't invited.

Is it a what or a who?

Is it a lie or unspoken truth?

Do I dare open the door for this univited guest?

I do!

Pay attention to that heart,

that wound, that scar

which has ruptured just in time

to show up for the party.

I clearly do not remember sending an invitation.

Oh, "I know" you say.

"It is that thing you swallowed,

silenced, buried, drowned,

in the sea. . .

Rising to the top

It is time to look at it for what it is."

What? Will I dare turn my head

and slam the door

on this uninvited guest

who has come to crash the party?

Shall I put on the mask for the party?

Is this a Grand Masquerade Ball,

and the villan lives inside the walls. . .

the cells, lining my memories with poison?

Poison? Oh, I drank the poison, the kool-aid

I believed in all the man made rules

I bowed to His Holiness. . .

even when he was no longer holy

I bought into the empire of corruptness

not knowing it was corrupt

I helped build it, blindly

thinking I was doing good

Yes, I drank the poison.

Yet I lived to tell the tale.

So, deep, dark, seedy villan

Show yourself.

The waters are muddy.

Let me see the scars you left.

Let me delve into those shadows

You may have done this to my body

You have no power over my soul

You are here because it is time for me to heal

to grow spiritually again.

You are here to be dealt with,

so, let's deal.

I'll watch you walk away from me this time.

I'll not abandon myself for you.

You'll be the one splattered on the floor

Weak and crawling for the door, not me.

As long as there is woundedness to be healed,

let the healer lay His hands on me.

As long as there is room for growth,

water me, and I shall grow.

A Catapillar Jumps

2011-08-28T16:25:00.000-07:00

To the edge of the limb,

out onto the leaf,

she edged her way

outside her grief

Not knowing where

the next breath would be

The air and nothingness

was all she could see

It was a very scary place

Looking into the unknown

like the catapillar, inching forward

Should she back up and be gone?

What would happen

if she chooses to go forward?

Will she fall to her death

or will she fly heavenward?

She cannot see them

If there are wings

To keep her afloat

this life like dream

She has the courage

to take the plunge

But does she have the guts

To get expunged

What happens if

the cloak is de-frocked

because she wouldn't participate

in the abusive mock

Never to busy

to dive deep and grow

she's frightened of his voice

and anger he shows

Abuse? Bullying? Legalism?

All part of a game

To win bigger, better titles

tacked onto his name

There is a better way

why is she waiting?

The wind is blowing

It's time to set sailing.

She's out on a limb

At the leaf and it's edge

No more time for fear

It has made it's wedge

Jump into the air

she hears the voice say

You'll find your wings

on the way down, today

If all walk away,

who claimed to be friends

They never really loved you

It's time to bring this to end

Walk bravely forward

Be true to God and yourself

Don't look back at the vulture

snarling behind your head

Grow deeper with God

Who's core is love

You won't fall to your death

You will rise above.

To my friend who asked for a picture of what defines me:

This was inspired by a very wise friend whose relationship with the Lord transends above to all that is Holy. But the path this friend walks is humble with the heart of servitude in a way that makes God smile very big.

Saturday Evening Post - 1

2011-08-27T21:00:00.000-07:00

If you don't have a sense of humor. . . . walk away NOW!

Facts:

1) I fell out of bed this morning. No Lie!

2) Wearing SECRET deodorant will keep you dry and smelling fresh. The secret is, "you have to actually wear it."

3) I worked with my brother who shares the same secular career path with me now. We are Directors of Marketing for the same company. Along with many other vendors, we hosted a huge health fair for seniors today. More to come on that story.

4) Not all toilet paper is the same. There are many variations and qualities of toilet paper.

5) Whether you wear snickers or Louboutins, standing on a concrete floor for 4 hours will cause leg and back discomfort.

6) If you go to Long John Silvers or Captain D's, no need to order anything but fish. Why? Everything is fried....deep fried. . .in the same grease the fish are fried in. So, regardless of what you choose from the menu, it WILL TASTE LIKE deep fried fish. NASTY!

6) I gave in and went to Captain D's with my brother who was missing his mama today and wanted to remember childhood visits to Captain D's with Mom.

7) Bath and Body lotion can save your life when you need it most!

8) When you have been living on a mostly vegetarian diet, Captain D's at a sporadic moment of nostalgia can kill you!

The story unfolds like this:

After spending a late night in conversation with one of my dearest friends, I finally went to sleep around 2am. I couldn't sleep okay, sue me!

I woke up to the obnoxious Buzzing of my alarm clock at 5:30am. Amy had already left for work. I had the entire king size bed to myself, which I intentionally took advantage of. Every space had been covered by my rolling between the time she left and I woke up.

The buzzing noise woke me up, I remembered I couldn't hit the snooze button and instantaniously began my roll-shuffle out of bed. . . which got a little funny.

As I recall, I tried to untwist myself from the king size sheet to find that I was falling into space, unable to catch myself, I flipped over and landed very strangely. All I could do was laugh so hard. It must have looked so funny. Our dog, Daisy looked over the bed at me with a cocked little head. I said to her, "Daisy, if this is any indication of how the rest of the day will go, I better get back in bed." I think she agreed.

I went took a shower, washed my hair, put my clothes on thinking, put deodorant on after the shirt....so there are no tracks of deodorant right?

I did my hair, applied make-up, put on shoes, took the dogs out, gave Daisy her meds, headed out the door all in a matter of 45 minutes.

I was cooking with gas! I was ready to meet and greet the day!

Half way there, I realized, "HOLY CRAP. . . I never put on deodorant!"

I got to the healthfair venue, and there was my brother, 10 years my junior. He and I have this friendly competition going on to out do each other in sales, marketing and the presentation of our booths. So, we helped each other unload, set up the booths and still had 1 hour to spare prior to the beginning of the senior pilgrimage or should I say pillage of our booths.

I went to the powder room inside this state of the art hospital only to find, the must have spent so much money on art, decor, equipment and furniture that they have chosen the cheapest form of toilet paper known to man. REALLY?!?!?!? It was a HUGE 1-ply roll of see-through paper that looked very much like the soap that melts from a little sheet to bubbles in your hand.

I may as well have had a SEARS and ROEBUCK sitting in the stall. It was like John Wayne toilet paper. . . rough, tough and don't take nothing off nobody kind of paper.

I was appalled! Thank God I carry a purse with handy wipes! That beat all I ever saw!

I exited the ~~outhouse~~ stall to wash my hands to find they have politically correct sinks. . . for the blind. You know, no knobs to turn, cuts down on infection control. . . don't have to search and find anything. The soap dispenser works on a motion sensor as does the sink. WELL PEOPLE, the soap dispenser worked perfectly. . . NOT THE FREAKIN WATER! I stood there waving my hands like I was landing a plane for 15 minutes. Finally before I chose to spit on my hands to dilute the soap, the water came on for 5 long seconds and I was able to get rid of the soap until I got back to my bottled water.

Thank God I don't sweat easily. That could have caused stress!

The memo stated we should wear comfortable shoes. So, I chose a nice black pair of business casual shoes with a thick insole to support my feet. NOT ENOUGH. Half way through the morning, I was so distracted, practicing the YOGA Braja taught me just to keep my hips and back in alignment, the seniors joined in, thinking I was a YOGINNI! NOT GOOD! You don't know how funny it is until you have seen seniors following a practicing YOGA. . . girl, trying to raise a leg without offending someone or doing the downward dog out in the middle of the parking lot of one of the biggest hospitals in the city! The seniors were NOT dressed for it.

The health fair was successful. Several hundred ~~trick or treaters~~ seniors came through to visit ~~pillage~~ our booths, sometimes two and three times to get whatever freebie we had to offer. One lady must have been shopping for an upcoming family reunion. I swear, she kept telling me she needed more chip clips, back scratchers and ink pens for her two disabled sisters, one brother who will be in town tonight, a 3 yr old who just loves things from grandma's friends, three daughters and a son. I finally pulled out an empty box and dumped all ingredients off the table into it, shoved it at her and said, "I supposed you will want me to find a cute little boy to help carry this to your car want you?" NO I DIDN'T REALLY SAY THAT! But it did go through my head while my brother across the isle from me laughed his self silly at my expense. He can read my mind and always knows what I am thinking.

Oh, and one other random comment. I don't care if you are 65 or older. If you are a woman, especially on the larger side in the bosom area, WEAR YOUR BRA! Nobody is going to lust after you. But seriously, it's not pretty when you are flopping and tripping over those things all the way through an event like we had today.

My brother was having a moment of missing Mom and saw a Captain D's restaurant ~~if you want to call it that~~ close by. Those are rare up north. Against my better judgment, I caved in to his sweet face of reminiscense about hush puppies and RC Cola with Mom and took him there for a later lunch.

BIG MISTAKE!

First of all, if you have been on a vegetarian diet and you choose to eat unhealthy foods, or meat, anything deep fried will make you wish you were dead! And never mind what you order, even if its Cold Slaw, it's gonna taste like deep.fried.greasy.fish from that place! I drowned everything in lemon juice and malt vinegar to tried and cover the ugly. ANOTHER BIG MISTAKE.

That started an acid rumble from hell in the pit of my stomach. The greasy hush puppies somehow lost that loving feeling about 5 miles away from home while I was still on the freeway. I didn't know whether I would toss my hush puppies or else. . . (well you know, have a digestive combustion.)

I danced like a puppet with a pole up my backside all the way into the house and decided I would NEVER give in to any sweet memory to eat there again! EVER!!!!!

Oh, and because I have lotion and body creme with me where ever I go throughout the day, I had Bath and Body works lotion in my truck and in my purse. IT REALLY does well in a pinch for deodorant. I guess if you have a hormonal problem, you shouldn't test this in public. However, it did work for me. I smelled like Pomegranates at midnight all DAY LONG!

Well, everything turned out fine. I actually took another shower, applied deodorant and through myself back into the very same king size bed that ejected my earlier this morning! I fell asleep for about 2 1/2 hours and it was so peaceful.

Moral of the story: When your sweet little dog agrees that you should stay in bed, STAY IN BED!

Hope you got laughs and giggles out of this!

Riding rails or Sitting on the Fences?

2011-08-26T19:43:00.000-07:00

Life is a journey, not a destination. ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

Sometimes the act of balancing it all out can be a little tricky.

Enjoying the scenery without getting attached seems to be an area I get hung up on.

My dear friend told me, years ago, "Show up. Pay attention. Tell the truth. Don't be attached to the outcome."

So goes my journey. I begin to learn to balance.

It started out alright. I had parents whom I answered to. They told me what to do and I did it.

I didn't question their judgment or their opinions. I just followed their direction. I kept my eyes on them.

When I became an adult, I began to search for the truth on my own. My own life was a different journey.

Mom and Dad had taught me to pray, taught me about God. However, having my own relationship with God and having my own growing experiences were still about man made rules and man made laws.

So, as an adult, I kept looking to other people instead of doing my own search to find the truth.

The faltering, the swaying, the indecisiveness, the difference in opinions led me to a place where I began to teeter. Balance was no longer something that seemed attainable.

Surely Mom and Dad didn't lie to me. But how could what I learned there, all be truth?

It didn't make sense with the inner voice that was trying to direct my path.

I have slipped and tripped and come to conclusions based on the feelings, thoughts and opinions of so many others. It's not their fault. I have had my eyes focused on the path, not the goal ahead, not God.

I have tried to turn around and run backwards on the tight rope I made for myself.

The balancing act of one who is not trained, cannot be attained without discipline and the confidence to do so.

I have even fell flat on my face because I was so caught up in trying to please others, get approval as I did with my parents, and turned myself into someone else's puppet, at the cost of not being true to myself.

It takes a lot of courage to walk off the stage when all you know is acting.

It takes a lot of strength to say "NO" when all you know is "YES, whatever you say."

Sometimes coming down off the tightrope, or even the fence can be painful.

It's worth it.

To show up and pay attention is not enough.

I've done that.

It caused years of unlearning what was seared into my head.

It has been through unraveling the knots and lies and fence riding, and tightrope walking and acting on stage

to get to a place where I get to have my own relationship with God and with others.

Even if I have to face the mess someone else has created that I allowed myself to become a part of,

I can take responsibility by being true to myself, pay attention to the voice inside, show up and use my voice of truth for me, and not get attached to the outcome even if it looks like there is a mess left over that doesn't belong to me.

Humans are created with a void, a vacuum.

That vacuum can only be filled in a spiritual way when we recognize our need for God.

It is in participating in a relationship with Him, that our lives find harmony.

That may look different to every person that reads this post.

I learned the moment I stopped filling that vacuum with the accalades of others including my parents, the need to be at the top of the group, the addictions we can find ourselves with, etc. . .

the moment I came to the place where God was the only one who could satisfy that empty place,

things begin to change.

I am now learning to stand at the edge and find the strength to dive into the unknown,

knowing that I will either grow wings on the way down, or there will be a soft place to land when I get there.

Stucco

2011-08-25T20:08:00.000-07:00

In living color, I walked in
to find everything had been upgraded.
It was irritating to find the space heater from 1960 had been replaced with HVAC.
It was even more appauling to know the tiny ringer, washer had been removed from the kitchen.

I kept trapsing the house that hadn't been mine since I was four years old.
Looking for any piece of resemblance of my childhood.
The only thing left was the outside plastered stucco walls
and the galvanized pipe-hand rail that went down beside the back cinder-block steps.

I peered over the small back yard to find my play house had been cut in half
and converted to a dog house.
The NERVE!

I began looking around the yard for toys that maybe
I had left outside and somehow, they had gotten stuck in the dirt and managed
to survive the last 38 years.

The overwhelming feelings of seeing it all,
watching it all in full color,
wandering through the little house,
looking for Mom, aching for Mom
crying for Mom. . . .

I woke up at 3am, mid panic attack
Realizing it was only in a dream that I was
trying to get my life put back together from the beginning
in my first house . . . . and couldn't even find a trace of my mother!
Why do I feel stuck to that house like the stucco on the walls?
And why can't I just let it go and know that my mother is GONE?

Closest Thing To Crazy - Letting Go of Memories

2011-08-23T23:00:00.000-07:00

I remember it!

He yelled one more time

and she sat there at the table looking helpless

So, I grabbed the bowl as has yelled, "Can you just shut-up?"

As I let go of it, the bowl slid down the table from the end where I was sitting right to his plate and shattered!

He hadn't touched more than two bites.

I was sick of it.

She could never do enough.

He always wanted more.

I remember it!

He left the driveway, leaving tread marks in the street.

Headed for a dead end road, to beat down the dragon who had already beaten us.

He came back in an hour and I knew he never stopped by the house.

He says the dragon was gone.

I know he never had time to get there and check it out.

He didn't want to know the truth. He would have had to face the facts.

That was something he wasn't wired to do.

So, we took the smashing blows of the tail of the dragon, while he coasted through his own nightmare.

I remember it!

She lost her mind.

She mumbled and stumbled and fumbled through the days.

Endless days, sleepless nights.

She laughed at ghosts. she cried at shadows dancing on the wall in the moonlight.

She talked about crazy things that could have never happened.

But did they?

I remember it!

She finally soared.

Finally no more pain, no more contests, no more sadness.

She took her wings and left.

And I stood there like a mute child with no words and no way to comfort my own cold soul.

I remember it!

The day none of it made sense anymore.

Life? What was life?

What was it like to feel the warmth of the sun on my face without a thought of what I had to do next?

What was it like to hold a new baby and really feel the joy it used to bring?

What was it like to laugh hysterically and let go with the kids and run and play?

Where did I go?

Oh yes, I remember.

I'm still standing at the dock

Waiting for the tide to come and drown the memories.

Waiting for all to be grown and cared for.

I have been standing here so long, the children are grown and gone and my hair is turning gray.

I have waited endlessly to make sure every last dragon was dead, every bad nightmare was squelched.

I have stood here and forgot to feel.

Now, it is catching me by the throat.

It is that nasty feeling, creeping up that bothers me the most.

What next?

I cared for the parents.

I even buried them.

I've raised the kids.

They are doing well.

I've got a life.

I've got a 20 year marriage.

I've sat here in the corner of my mind waiting for the "all clear" signal that it was safe to come out of hiding.

I have gotten lost in the dreams of childhood with my Mother.

I have left my body and ran for cover.

Now I am standing on this dock and it is cold.

I want to come inside for hot cocoa or coffee.

I want to curl up in a blanket by the fire.

I want to forget I was so coddled as a child, I can't live without her.

That's the hardest part to deal with.

And now that I recognize this hardest part,

I find this is the closest thing to crazy that I've ever been.

I was in love with the idea of having my mother around forever.

I thought her lap would always be available.

I thought her hugs would be endless.

I thought her love would always smother the scary monsters under my bed.

I must have been crazy for thinking that!

This is the closest thing to crazy that I have EVER been.

I Think He's Falling For Her

2011-08-22T16:10:00.000-07:00

I stood there holding tight to them
Memories of his childhood
How can I get this one right?
What if I hold on too tight?

Is he gonna grow up
without a suitcase full of baggage?
Where will his journey take his heart
Or will it all be torn apart?

How can I support his dreams
and make them all come true?

Yesterday I realized
He's the one who's really wise
He let go before I cut the strings.

Today he is a grown-up man
Facing the world, it's in his hands
And I have nothing left to give but love.

How did my son grow up so soon?
When did he take the time to bloom?
Was I too busy passing time on memories?

I wish I were the perfect Mom,
Enough to give to my own son.
I need to know he's gonna be alright.

Hold him close, don't let him fall.
That was my main protocol.
And now his heart is in someone else's hands.

I pray she knows how much he's loved.
I want her to be proud of us,
If he should ever ask her for her hand.

Someday when not there for him
I hope she holds him just as close
if his dreams should come tumbling to his feet.

And when he soars, wind fills his wings,
I hope she flies along beside of him,
together into the sunset, endless love.

That little boy and little girl
Set off this week to save the world
And every life they touch will heal.

Blown To Bits

2011-08-21T21:21:00.000-07:00

Starting all this writing as a way to process,
a way to grow, to learn, to network, to become
Better at something than I have been before
Hopefully not worse

Emotions get tapped into when I read and write
some more than others,
Friendships born of wit and wisdom
creating a circle, a bond, some forever branded in my heart

Being the eldest of four, the orphan of two, mother of one, and wife of one
I came looking, searching, my soul.
I came to journal, to see what I could do with a list of words
Words that flow from deep inside

Words that no one gets to see on my face
The float along behind my face,
imprinted in my mind, or like the wind,
blown from the vortex of my brain, lost forever.

I have grown. I have learned. I have sought. I have found.
I know what it takes to look like a grown-up, outside
feel like a child, inside
look like a professional to my colleagues
fall apart like an old swing set on my blog

What you see of me here is not who I am on the outside
You get to see behind the lines, I may be a warrior, yet I am a child.
You are privy to the deepest thoughts,
You are the stranger my secrets are safe with.

What will I become?
Where will I fit in?
How will I stay put together?
Is there enough room in the world for all of this?

If I tell you everything, does that make me a loser?
The scars are hid from the view of everyone but you.
The secrets too dark to share with the priest are buried
along side my parents, with regret I cannot lie.

They told me, they showed me, they taught me THE WAY.
I held a safe space for the others to cross the swinging bridge.
Now I stand out in the middle and the rope begins to unravel,
When I fall, how far till I land? Will I land on something soft?
Do I have to keep being strong forever?

Can I crash and fall apart and start over like the others did?
Is there a true authentic me?
Am I waiting on the next big thing?
Are you still here listening?

Being the Big Sister, the Mom, the liaison between good and evil,
the soft place to land, the voice for the ones without one,
the rock, the river, the glue. . . .
it does something to the heart for which I cannot find words.

I have listened to rants and rambles. I have heard the sermons.
My brain has many stories filed in a classified cabinet.
I held them when they ran out of strength. I sang until their tears turned to joy.
I put them back together when they were in pieces.

I do many things. I am many things.
I rant. I ramble. I give you a sermon. I share my stories.
I am tired. I am tearful. I am falling apart.
I am strong. I am fierce. I am courageous. I am brave.
I am larger than life. I am confident. I am a girl.
I am a mother. I am a wife. I am a Pastor. I am a Spiritual Counselor.

My shoulders are broad, they hold others while tears are shed.
My arms are strong, hugs are always available.
My lap has held the children and adults when there was no other comfort.
I have held the safe space of silence when grief was to heavy for words.

I am ready to lean on the shoulders of someone else for a while.
I am ready to fall into a lap and be held and cry until there are no tears.
I am ready to find comfort in silence without being alone.
I am ready to be molded and shaped and made new.

I pray for strength. I ask forgiveness for my fragility.
I ask for unconditional love. I pray for true authentic friendship.
I pray for safety to land and be replenished, to start anew.
I feel blown to bit and really need the security of knowing, this too will pass.

I am the Angel's keeper

2011-08-18T17:08:00.000-07:00

Standing there, she looks like heaven

Drawing from the vile

The liquid magic to make him better

Flicking the shringe, it's her style

I watch her hold him closer

as she pulls away the patch

that hides the scars from surgery

When she's done, there'll be no scratch

Old man don't think she's foolin' you

she's hiding those big wings

She holding back, You must agree

She's here for greater things

Arm around his shoulder

His head falls to her chest

She feeds him a bite of breakfast

She loves him, gives him her best

Then she comes home to me at night

Eyes tired, she needs a bite to eat

Her bath is drawn with bubbles and daisies

I remove her wings and rub her feet

So many lives are touched by her

Too bad they just don't know

She's an angel, here to heal them

Her wings, they just don't show.

She falls asleep, and I wonder

where does her strength come from

talking in dream land I hear her whisper

"Oh lord, your will be done".

It's then that I remember,

Her mission is her call

She may look like another nurse to you

But she's an angel who didn't fall.

Breathe and Worship

2011-08-17T15:51:00.000-07:00

Legs crossed, torso errect

with arms stretched high above my head

hands meeting palm to palm

I inhale, taking the first deep breath of sunrise

Hold it

Exhale slowly, allowing all worries to dissipate

Inhale again, asking God to breathe strength

into my soul for yet another day

Owning my weakness is a beginning

Overcoming it, or learning to deal with it

well that is another,

I'm trying to get there, but it's not easy

Slowly standing I place me left foot firmly

On the inside of my right knee

Deep breath in with prayer

God, please let this pass from me

Each deep breath is really not deep at all

I'm trying to reach that cleansing breath

where relief comes and my body can relax

this is just a start

So, I meditate my way through it,

"Like a tree, planted by the water, I'll not be moved.

I'll get through this, I will."

This is my mantra

When truth is told from our lips to our souls,

we begin to believe it.

When we believe it, our faith can rise to a new level

Then we can accomplish what needs to be done.

I just need to breathe with ease

I need to know the difference between anxiety

and shortness of breath from Asthma. . .

And how not to be anxious when my breath is short.

So, I inhale the words of God

into my soul I take strength

Into my lungs I inhale fresh air

While doing both, my body. . .my temple

worships my Lord, my God.

FALL (ing) For Her

2011-08-15T16:20:00.000-07:00

The sweet feeling of a cool breeze

comes across the pavement to greet me.

On the wings of a leaf

comes the scent of her in the air.

I wonder does she know what she is doing

Is it something she does on purpose, that thing she does?

Staying so far distant, unable to be reached or touched,

Yet so deep in my heart,

I can smell her perfumes and spices.

Oh, she has several flavors.

She wears each one well.

The one that always does me in

has a hint of cinnamon mixed with it.

The colors she wears, are stunning.

You can't buy clothes like that around here.

Oranges, greens, yellows, peach,

even the brown is so rich, it smells like hot chocolate.

There is a glow about her.

She is almost sexy yet looks like a holy mother.

She has a way of keeping me under the stars

far past my bedtime, next to a glowing fire.

I long for her to bring me close to her

The way she has done before.

I want to be wrapped in her garments,

soaked in the mist of her spices and perfumes.

She is much like a siren with her wooing of me.

Most any day of the week when she is here, I am inside happy.

When she leaves, she takes with her - EVERYTHING!

Nights are dark and cold.

Days are dull and gray.

Depression sets in.

And the cycle of longing, aching, wishing for her

it starts all over again.

But while she is here,

I will welcome the chance to be in love with her

I will be awe struck by the beauty of her

I will respect her even after she's gone.

I.do.love.Autumn.

a tear or a breath

2011-08-14T10:15:00.000-07:00

Is this Asthma or Anxiety?

I'm still trying to figure out what the trigger was.

It happened quick.

I heard the steady thump - thump

Mimicking a toy bass drum

pressure changed in my ears

the beat got louder

Chest tight, breathing...next to impossible

I find myself bent over

hands on my knees

Fingertips blue, veins bulging bigger than ever

I just need one deep breath

Tears begin to trickle

I purposefully breathe slow

Inhale through my nose

Exhale through my mouth

Repeat until better

Was it tears or breathing that brought relief?

Was it exercise or stress that caused it?

Is this Anxiety or Asthma?

What The Heck is a Liebster?????

2011-08-11T17:03:00.000-07:00

No really? What is it?

I received an email from a really good friend today who told me I had been nominated for this award. So, I'm like all giddy and excited because you know, it's like, been a long time since I have been award for something via blog.

And let's face it. Obviously, with the way I am shamelessly, devouring the English language right here in front of you and spitting it out again onto this post, I must put more into what others think of me than I feared!!!! YIKES! No really! YIKES! I thought I had gotten past that mountain! I thought I was BEYOND giving an honest day's pay for what any of you think of me! I was certain I had arrived!

But, alas, I looked into the mirror and saw it! The joy! the excitement! The sillyness of receiving an award. And then I read through and found out what it means.

YES PEOPLE! I GOOGLED IT! The Liebster Award: This award goes to those who have less than 200 followers on their blog. It is a way to get more traffic across my blog and recognize others who may get more traffic as well.

"The Liebster Blog Award is designed to bring additional recognition to those bloggers with less than 200 followers. If you receive the award, you should link back to the blogger that nominated you and nominate five more blogs. Also, don’t forget to let them know that you nominated them."

Funny, I have been excited that I have finally came to a solid average of comments over the last couple months, even though I don't get much traffic. I was glad someone was finally listening to me.

So, here is the scoop, send folks my way! I.MEAN.IT! Send them! I NEED TRAFFIC! If I am ever going to get published and critiqued in a way that shows me worthy of the Pulitzer Prize, or whatever that prize is you get for writing good books, I need some help here!

On a more serious note: My dear friend, MEL at Less Than Perfect is a lovely person. She is a social worker. Let me clarify, her specialty is working with those who suffer with Dementia of many types, including Alzheimer's Disease. She is the right hand lady of my favorite Physician who took very good care of my mother. But, that is not why I love Mel. I love Mel because she has the ability to put people at ease when they feel like their world is falling apart. Her blog is INCREDIBLE because Mel writes about life and her family and her life experiences that got her where she is today. You Betta go check her out! I.LOVE.HER! Oh, and we are very good friends who didn't know the other one blogged until recently! We have gone to lunch. I have tried to buy her business as the skilled marketing director I am. What do I love most about her? She DIVES DEEP when it comes to conversations. She is NOT superficial. And quite Frankly, I don't do superficial. Life is too short!

Now, I am supposed to nominate 5, F-I-V-E people for this.

But you all know me, I am a rule breaker! I nominated SIX!

OH and don't get jiggy about it!

Why? Because it's my blog post and I am in the mood to break the rule!

* I nominated THAT JANIE GIRL from the wild west. She makes me laugh. She makes me cry. She rocks! I met her and her husband when we were in her part of the world a while back and I love them!!!!! Her post today is really funny! Go check her out! Oh, and her photography is pretty awesome too!

* I nominated IMMERSION BLOG-APY. She is a poet and don't know it! Lori is pretty amazing. Now that girl can share life experience in some poetry that will rock your world and make you think, if you have the ability to dive deep! It's like therapy in a blog post. She is good! Go read her work! NOW!!!! I haven't met her and her family yet, but hopefully we will some day! I don't know how many folks follow her. And quite frankly, I don't care. It doesn't show on her blog. But if you don't follow her and you are real and love real "heart" work, maybe you should become a follower.

* I nominated DECKSIDE THOUGHTS because of her ability to make me shut up with one picture. No. Really. My family don't believe it either. I know. It's a miracle. Cheryl takes photographs and sometimes when the mood strikes, she will write poetry or prose below the picture. It makes me STOP. LOOK.and LISTEN. I love her work! GO SEE FOR YOURSELF!

* I nominated A BRIT IN TENNESSEE. This lady, Jo, posts the most beautiful pictures, stories, history, etc. She lives in the most enchanted place in Tennessee. Every time I go to her ~~blog~~ place, I want to come in for a spot of Tea and Crumpets. I want to curl up by the fire and forget the world. Her ~~blog~~ home so comforts a place in my soul, I want to stay there. And when the music starts to play, I swear it makes me cry. Why? I DON'T KNOW! IT IS A SAFE PLACE I GUESS. Are you satisfied now? Go.See.JO.

* I nominated "THE COMFORT ZONE". I Broke the 200 rule to do it! WHY? Because Mrs. E provides a safe place for EVERYONE! She is a lovely lady with a lovely family. She writes on all topics controversial when it comes to allowing freedom to LOVE and LIVE and PURSUE HAPPINESS FOR ALL PEOPLE! Go see her.

* I saved my favorite to break this rule!!!!! SHE is my favorite because I have been in love with her for 20+ years! We have made a life together that has included joys, celebrations, sadness, tears, life, death, struggles, pain, gain, acceptance, judgment and the ability to overcome the voice of another's stupidity. She is my wife, my love, my confidante, my dearest and best friend in the whole wide world. MEET the 1st lady, MRS. AMY SCOTT at KALEIDOSCOPE EYES!

To Mel, thank you! Mel, I still think it's kinda quirky and funny and interesting that we have known each other for so long and not known the other one blogged. Guess that goes to show you, you can always learn something new about another person. Mel, you are dear to me. I am so glad we have chose this road of friendship. ♥

Protect and Respect

2011-08-07T20:49:00.000-07:00

Some days she is only eight years old,
playing with her baby dolls after lights out.
Lining them up against the wall
they protect her from the monsters under her bed.

Other days she all grown up.
She may be the one caring for you, if you are lucky.
Getting things in order to pass her pills,
Or maybe she is helping crack the code in your brain for seizures.

I watch from the side lines and notice the details.
She wouldn't think of me as one seeing the details.
When it comes to her, I don't miss anything.
I watch close, listen carefully, and sometimes hover to protect.

It's not easy watching someone have to put on a mask
after you know it took years to find courage to take it off.
It's not fair to see someone finally use their voice to say,
"I don't have to participate or listen to this anymore" and be ignored.

I watch and do my best not to play the co-dependent role
of fighting the dragons, she needs to slay.
Yet, I know when she reaches out a hand, or signals for my help,
I'm not even a second away.

I don't mind being 'the bad guy'
When it comes to her safety and well being.
Watch closely or from a distance.
But don't overstep the boundary of her safety.

Tested

2011-08-04T19:22:00.000-07:00

Beginning August 1st, I realized I would be visiting physicians and specialists more than I visit friends.

I was apprehensive. Having words of mixed conversations floating around in my head, I felt as if I were stuck in the mire of what "is" and what "could be".

Words like: High blood pressure - Auscultatory Gap - Pnuemonia - Acute Bronchitis - Asthma -Vascular Dementia .....have been a part of the consistent vocabulary used by physicians I have been seeing since July 15th.

It all started with a consistent blood pressure of 146/102, a diagnosis of Pneumonia and Acute Bronchitis. It has led to a complete physical with "the works". I have completed a cardio work-up including: Cholesterol check, Carotid Doppler Ultra Sound (to see if my Carotid arteries in my neck were clogged), and a Stress Echo test.
From those tests I learned:
* I have an elevated cholesterol number and have started taking medicine and changed my eating habits to
    improve that number. With those two changes, I may very well be back at the normal range within a year.
* My Carotid Arteries are completely normal and have NO sign of blockage at all!
* My Stress Echo ~~caused me to pop a lung~~ was a success. The Cardiologist told looked at the pictures of
    my heart pounding away then looked me in the eye and said verbatim, "You have a beautiful young heart.
    It looks younger than your age. It is completely healthy."
The biggest answer I learned from those tests:
* It doesn't matter that my father's heart was 80% blocked on one side and 90% blocked on the other,
    causing him to have a quadrupal bypass, that was his heart history. It doesn't have to be mine.
* It doesn't matter that my mother and my paternal grandmother may or may not have had Vascular
    Dementia instead of Alzheimer's Disease, that doesn't have to be where my story ends.

I still have 3 appointments left, all of them next week. One is an annual test. One is for my lungs. And the final is for my follow up from all these tests.

My bestfriend (AKA nother mother and part of our family) was funny, sincere, a smart-alec (cos I needed that at the time. She and I can do that with each other and it actually helps.), she was compassionate and she understood my fears. In all of that, I felt wrapped in arms of love.

My other Nother mother shared with me the science side of the tests and how cool it would be to see all these things on a screen. She let me know it wouldn't hurt. She told me often she loved me and that whatever the outcome, we would move in forward motion to get it taken care of.

I have a friend whose prayer is as deep as a canyon. I wanted peace in my soul for these tests, because of my underlying fears of history says my fate might become. She sent me the most incredible email and shared that all generational curses have be broken and cannot touch me. I have passed through the generational fire and have come through without even a trace of smoke on me.
THAT was worth coming home to read, and then write about! She said many more things and those things I hold dear inside because I am beginning to clearly see the vision God has sent before me that is My Own Journey.

My siblings, let me just say are THE BEST IN THE WORLD! Those three beautiful ~~children~~ adults were as relieved as I was to hear the cardio reports. We are rejoicing together. It has been an equal fear among all of us as to "who will get something next and/or who will die next". I think we need to let that go now. We are all taking care of ourselves. It is in the hands of God who goes next, not ours.

So, what can I say about tests? "PASS OR FAIL, YOU HAVE TO BE TESTED IN ORDER TO HAVE A TESTIMONY."

As I said in another post, "In order to know the strength of the anchor. . . you have to feel the wind of the storms."

A Different Kind of Drummer

2011-07-28T16:19:00.000-07:00

A tiny, yet noticeable increase in tempo
brings the drum to center stage,
the temple has held it there for years
winds come and go through collapsible chambers
trying to slow the pace of the drummer's beat.

As the increase comes to a crescendo,
the chambers open and stretch deep
to fill complete yet not enough,
So water begins to fall from the blue tented windows.
This allows as a relief valve for the temple and all chambers
to re-gain some semblance of rightness to rhythm.

After a while, the water stops, the windows look brighter.
The air chambers rise and fall normally
and the drummer slows the beat of the drum.

This is as poetic as I can get to what it feels like inside my chest.
I don't think it feels as good as I tried to make it sound.
But, I wanted and needed to write and there it is.

After a consultation with my doc yesterday, August will be the month of
Forward Motion.
Hopefully, at the end of this month, we will know what my heart really looks like on the inside and out.

I will have a clear glimpse of my lungs and even my brain. . . WOW. . . except for the lungs, it sounds like I will be traveling to see the Wizard of OZ.

We are ruling out everything: Starting with Stress, any stress-inducing lung issues, blood pressure, thyroid, cardio issues, heart and artery blockages, then I will go for a brain CAT scan to see if there are any old scars or signs of blockages, etc.

Ssshhh....I don't like to say it out loud, but she kept saying she wanted to rule out Vascular Dementia and that is what the doc in Texas had started talking about.

The great news is: If it is headed that direction, we can fix it with meds and a change in diet. YES!!!!!!!

(IT ALL MAKES ME SOUND VERY OLD. BUT I'M VERY YOUNG AND DON'T LET ANYONE TELL YOU DIFFERENT.)

I will post results as they come in. Until then, I will continue to do what I do.

I read this today and it seems to fit for the moment:
If you want to know how good "the Anchor" is, you have to feel the storms.

For that I say, "YES! I'm learning well. God is my refuge and strength, a very present help in times of trouble."

Janie Needs Rain - People Need Love

2011-07-25T17:41:00.000-07:00

I met THAT JANIE GIRL and THAT MAN SHE LOVES when we were in Texas for a conference back in February 2011, at the beginning of this year.

I told here we were not far from her and her husband's home.

When we landed on the tarmac in the desert, I thought surely we were sitting on the lid over hell.

It was so dry,even in February.

There was no sign of greenery.

The grass crunched like plastic astro turf.

I wondered if there was ever a monsoon season on this side of Texas.

Over the summer, she has caused us to giggle.

She has held our gaze with her photography.

She has brought tears to my eyes with her stories of love and loss

and more laughing until I cried and tears ran down my leg.

Janie has a way about her.

Today, she posted about the lack of rain in Texas and New Mexico.

She didn't just post words. She brought it alive in pictures.

I know it's hot there because we were in Texas last week and the temp was never cooler

than 95 degrees at night and 106 in the day time.

It hasn't rained in a very long time.

Every piece of desert land is dying.

I wonder how many people are within a click of anyone of us,

with parched souls, feeling like the pictures of Janie's desert,

all because they need a monsoon of love to rain on their heart.

Maybe they need a touch from God.

Maybe they need to see God through you and me.

Maybe. . .

Just maybe, they need love.

And they are so thirsty,

they go and do anything to fill that empty cup in their heart.

Do we stop and take pictures of them drying up and dying?

Do we even pay attention?

Are they even able to hold our gaze for more than a minute?

I wonder,

if you were thirsty for someone to just notice you were there,

someone to take the time to see you and say,

"Hey, what can I do to make a difference?"

I wonder if any of us would stop to even try and make that small difference?

Our crops need rain!

The land in Texas needs watered very soon.

The community around us need love soon.

Both are going to turn into a dry and hard desert of nothing

if we don't come together and make a difference.

So, I leave you with this song we used to sing at the church I was pastor of.

I ask you to do your rain dance.

Get on your knees and pray.

Do whatever it is you do to get God's attention

and let's pray for a monsoon of water for West Texas and New Mexico!

And while we are at it,

Let's pray for God to show us how we can rain down showers of love on the people

in our communities.

The costs of loving you

2011-07-24T21:34:00.000-07:00

Have you any idea what the cost is for loving you the way I do?
Is it possible to last this long without you around and find a way to the other side of sadness?
I guess it is.
I've done it.
I keep doing it. . . over and over.
Because the journey to the other side makes it seem like you are so far away and I need you close.
So I swim the chasm back to find you, only to remember. . .you've crossed over.

I find myself intrigued with the idea of you shopping with me, as an adult.
I find myself day-dreaming about how we used to giggle over silly things.
I find myself remembering how your perfume used to gracefully come and go
as you entered and left a room.
I find it hard when I recall how your hand resting on mine could calm ever fear.
And now, just the memory of that brings a lump to my throat as tears
race down my face for first place winnings on the floor.

What's with all this nostalgia all of a sudden?
What's with this sad reminiscence of you?

Whatever the cost of loving you, it is worth the broken heart for having you in my life while I did.

I just find myself wishing for you right now.
This big grown up me, who wishes we could shop together, would really trade all that
for just one more hour on your lap.
All curled up, listening to your heartbeat.
That was the most comforting sound in the world.

When this feeling of grief for you overwhelms me, I cry.
I ache.
I wish for you.
I scream into my pillow.
I sing while tears form a pool in the corners of my eyes.
I miss you.
I want you here.
I try to put this broken heart feeling down in words.
There just aren't enough words for that.

Just a bad dream

2011-07-23T19:14:00.000-07:00

Touching my brow as I slept,
she never saw me awaken.
I had known she was there
before I felt her touch.

She has a way of stopping in unannounced.
Nothing was different tonight.
The room would have been dark
except there was the street light glowing from below
making funny images on the ceiling.

My heart gets heavy when she comes.
I don't mean for it to.
I want to see her each time she visits.
But it causes the ache to arrise from no where and I miss her even more.

We took a walk down the hallway.
I realized this was where "we" lived.
It wasn't a house. It looked like an institution.
I didn't try to get out. I accepted it as my life.
Somehow, I recognized that she and I were in the same situation.

I was sad because I wasn't able to keep her from losing her mind.
Now, I was losing mine.
We couldn't talk out loud. But we communicated clearly telepathically.
I could hear her thoughts and she kept telling me I was okay.
She wouldn't leave me.

I began to cry. I cried until I woke myself.
I was drowning in my tears.
I rolled over to sit up and catch my breath.
It was all a dream.

This crazy dream came on the heels of my trip from Texas.
The day I was to speak at the church conference,
I was so dizzy, I had to go to the doctor.
It was last week, July 15th when I spoke.
That morning, I sat on the side of a gourney.
Dizzy, wheezing, feeling like I was going to be sick.

After an EKG, a chest X-ray and a shot of two steriods,
I was told I have Pneumonia, Acute Bronchitis, Inner Ear Infection and an irregular heart beat.
My blood pressure was steadily 146/102 the whole time I was there.
The doctor made me promise to follow up when we got home.

He told me the irregular heart beat could cause Vascular Dementia if it wasn't taken care of.

THAT WAS A STATEMENT THAT HAS CHANGED THE COURSE OF MY LIFE!

I have an appointment next week and one the following week after that to get everything tested.
I will be a good girl.
I don't want to have dementia like my mother did.
I think that is where the dream came from.
It made me sad.

I'm glad I had the choice to wake up.
I wish I could have changed the course of my mother's life.

In a manner of speaking. . .

2011-07-06T17:56:00.000-07:00

I wonder how often I came across compassionate? loving? kind? gentle? today.

Did I make a positive difference today?

Was it in word or deed,
that I showed someone else a brighter pathway?

When I had the chance to hold someone else's pain,
while he or she took a break to regain
courage, did I do the right thing?

Was I careful with my words?
Or did I use them as daggers to pierce the heart
and feelings of the person causing me pain?

Do I choose to stand at the edge of the fire
when someone needs a friend?
Or am I frightened of the feeling and run from
the flame?

Can I hold my own, in disagreeing
without making the other person feel less than?
Or do I need to belittle. . .
because I feel little?

What are your thoughts? How did you fare today? In a manner of speaking?

A humble apology is always best

2011-07-05T21:07:00.000-07:00

Leadership poses opportunities for growth that sometimes catch me off guard.
I guess that makes it even more about a growing opportunity.
As a mentor, I really try to keep it real in every area of my life when it comes to who I am.
I do not wish to give off a false pretense of someone I cannot be consistently.
Otherwise, that to me, would be living a lie.

I know there is a season and a time for everything.
A time to be silly,
A time to be serious,
A time to share,
A time to be silent and listen,
etcetera, etcetera etcetera. . .

Some of the most basic principles of humanity include:
Love, compassion, forgiveness, honesty, and humility.
All of these are qualities I strongly believe are a MUST among leaders.
If we cannot lead by example, then we should not be thrown off guard by those we teach when the go wandering off in some strange tangent.

Recently, I watched as a teacher was so in desperate need of hearing an apology, there was a sense of begging for one.
As I listened to the student so obstinate about giving the apology, I heard the student say, "I came to her and told her she had seriously offended me when I really needed her to understand and she wouldn't. Now, she is wanting an apology from me and I cannot seem to find it in my heart to go and apologize."

This broke my heart. We teach what we need to learn the most.
The teacher has taught that forgiveness is conditional if the person needing to apologize doesn't feel he or she has done anything wrong, then the teacher refuses to apologize.
How can the teacher beg for an apology from that same student a year later when that student has learned that forgiving is conditional? The student realizes the teacher's need for an apology but is not willing to ask forgiveness.

Here are my thoughts.
If anyone comes to me and says, "you have offended me", that doesn't mean I am automatically guilty.
However, even the best of intentions can cause pain to another human being. If a simple act of kindness by offering an apology or asking forgiveness can sew seeds of unity, I should apologize.

In one breath, we beg for world peace and in another, we have a hard time being humble enough to do unto others as we would have done to us.
To this I say, Shame on us!

What are your thoughts about this subject?

ghjkl

Freedom Fighters!

2011-07-02T20:18:00.000-07:00

Beating the odds. Gaining freedom. The things people go through to get to the amazing places they are today, it leaves me in awe every time.

Here are three short stories about Freedom Fighters.
1. I have 2 nother mothers. This one had Heart Bypass surgery a year ago this past May. A nerve was clipped that attaches to her diaphram and lungs so she was unable to breathe normally. Her docs told her if she ever went diving again, it could kill her. She is ONE OF A KIND! She beat the odds. During the year of her recovery, she found a new doctor who embraced her want to recover completely. she exercised, embraced Yoga, changed her eating habits, swam the perimeter of her lake, which is HUGE (like ACRES HUGE). Her doctor cleared her for diving again. This week she and her hubby are scuba diving at the deep end of the ocean. She just reported that she has successfully dove three separate times and has had no challenges breathing.

Doing what she loves MOST!

2. My beautiful sister came face to face with every dragon she has ever had to face last September. The end result almost cost her, her life. She fought for her freedom. She fought for her sanity. Today, I am happy to report she is living a normal, healthy and happy life!

My sister with the Love of her life!

3. This sweet gal and I went to Ft. Lauderdale, Florida for a conference. I shared in an earlier email with you that I spoke 3 of the five days. She and I taught a class on Relationships. We have been together for 20 years. We were told our relationship would never last. We were wrong for loving each other. We would never amount to anything together. Well, for those who blew those horns of doom: SURPRISE SUCKAS!!!! Here were are 20 years later! In love! In Love! IN LOVE!

Happy July 4th! Let Freedom Ring!

Snakes, Alligators, Skunks and The Love of God

2011-06-28T18:36:00.000-07:00

I never knew holding a snake was on my bucket list. At least not until I held a Python in the Everglades.
Okay, so it was a side trip we took while in Fort Lauderdale, Florida. The trip was over the top. I cannot say enough positives about it!

Instead of boring you with a bunch of words, let me get back into my groove with some pictures.

I held a baby Gator (Man! Those horizontal stripes make me look fat!)

Held a conversation with a Peacock

Fell in love with a Skunk

Faced my fear of snakes and held a Python (all of this in the Everglades)

Then what I really went to Florida for:

Before services started-Amy took pics of this church

Spoke of God's amazing love, grace and forgiveness Thurs night, Fri night and Sunday.

Introduced a stripper, a drug addict, a guy from a nudist colony, an alcoholic and an amazing drummer to God and HIS love. And on Sunday afternoon held witness as the local pastor baptized these beautiful people in the ocean.

It was more than I ever dreamed it could be.

I cannot tell you how it feels to hold a young person (my son's age) in my arms while she cries her way through her baggage of drugs, prostitution and exotic dancing while recognizing God loves her right where she is. It is was all I could do, not to cry as hard as she did when she hugged me, kissed my cheek and said, "Thank you. Your story just changed my life".

That was a God thing.

It was amazing when the guy from a different walk of life (a Nudist camp) than I had ever encountered hugged me(he was fully clothed) and said, "Because of you, I actually want to get to know God. I need that kind of Love and Grace in my life."

That was a God thing.

It was amazing when a lesbian couple walked up to my partner and me and said,

"We want to be where you are in 20 years. We didn't know a long term relationship was possible. You ladies are our mentors."

To all of these beautiful people I met:

You have enriched my life just by allowing me to pay it forward.

I was able to share my story of how I made it past the abuse, the loss and grief and found my way.

And you shared your time with me so I could love you just as much as I had wished that for myself a long time ago.

To each of you, I love you with all of my heart!

And. . . God is LOVE. He loves you too. . . and so much more!

Meet The Team

2011-06-21T20:00:00.001-07:00

For some of you, this poster and what it says may raise many questions. So, I have decided to take this opportunity to answer some of the frequently asked questions, ahead of time.
1) Pastor Sharon, I thought you were a minister to the GLBTS community? Thank you for asking that question. Yes I am. I believe anyone who loves the Lord with all his/her mind and has no other Gods before Him are half way there. To get the rest of the way there, we are to love our neighbor AS we love ourselves.

2) But the poster says you are speaking at an Apostolic/ Pentecostal church. How can you do that and be an affirming pastor of the GLBT community?
Well, what part of #1 did you not understand, is my response.

Let me explain something. NO ONE CHOOSES to be gay. NO ONE! It is NOT a choice! It is a born orientation. That does not mean that person has a devil or few living inside him or her. That is simply how they are created.

3) How is a GLBT Pentecostal church different from a main stream church? We have taken a stand against legalism. I do not believe your dress code is going to get you any closer to God than your relationship with Him. I was raised in long dresses, long hair and no make-up around other ladies who dressed the same. I sat next to many of those same ladies who claimed to be "spirit - filled" while they worked overtime to sew seeds of discord and strife and gossip and hurt and pain among the entire congregation. I also sat next to clean shaven men who never wore anything but long pants, and suits and ties, most of them were the most judgemental, wife-beating, child abusing men I have ever met. I can assure you, in my experience, that does not come from the God I love and the same God who loves me.

On the other hand, I have sat next to a couple of teenagers with piercings in every possible place, gothic makeup, tattoos all over, who were just looking for unconditional love. When I was able to share about the love of God with them, it was as if someone had just introduced them to the thing they had been looking for all their lives. Two of my fav teenagers, who continued to look and dress like that served in my congregation and their community high school and made a HUGE difference in the lives of some other kids a lot less fortunate.

4) Who are these other people on the poster?
From left to right: Me, Mark Alan Howard, Minister of Music (who sang for Tammy Faye Bakker after the split. And before you judge Tammy, let me tell you, she saved this boy's life from a life of misery by loving him just the way he is. . . light loafers and all. She in fact, saved the lives of many young men by introducing them to the Lord when they were ready to turn to drugs and suicide because they were condemned to hell for being gay. Again, don't judge) Next is Janice LaCount. . . so much to say about this lady. She is one of the pioneers who brought music to life. It's like listening to an old Aretha Franklin crooning the greatest hits with the love of God seeping at the verses of every song. She is pretty amazing when it comes to music. Janice has traveled the USA her entire life singing. We are very lucky to have her perform in concert at this event. Brian Grizzle is next. WOW. . . I met Brian in February 2009 when he visited my church conference. We have been like kindred spirits since that time. Brian and I grew up just hours away from each other. Our families went to the same churches and yet we never met. However, he and I came a long long way to come out of our shells and the closets we had been buried in. And last but not least, Randy Duncan was a minister in the United Pentecostal Church who was asked to step down over ten years ago because of his orientation. He and Janice LaCount had grown up together. They both had a journey to walk. They paved the way for the younger ones of us to have a GLBT ministry.

I feel blessed and highly favored to have been able to walk down a paved path and have served with these wonderful people. This week, it's all about the Love of God.

Conference

2011-06-20T20:22:00.000-07:00

Hi to all of you, bloggy friends!

I will be out of commission for one week. We are attending a conference. Since I will be speaking three out of five nights and we will be teaching a class on relationships in addition to that, I will personally be out of commission.

For those of you who pray, say prayers for me. This is a new place I have been invited to speak at. My theme for speaking will be God's Love. Of course, there are many places to go with that and I do intend to hit as many as I can, while not losing the attention of anyone.

It will be fun filled, refreshing and hopefully touch a lot of lives.

If you are interested in seeing more about this conference, check out the poster below.

My Inner Child makes me laugh sometimes at funerals

2011-06-16T19:38:00.000-07:00

There is nothing I like better than laughing out loud, really hard!

I'm talking cramped jaws, aching sides, holding my stomach, rolling on the floor laughter.

The time this kind of laughter hits me most is when I am at the wrong place at the wrong time, for example a funeral. Grief does really weird things to people. And it usually makes me laugh really hard. I know! Blame my Dad. He's dead and can't whip us for blaming him. (Oops, see what I mean. Funny thing is his sense of humor would cause him to laugh with me, even at that last comment about him).

There is nothing more disrespectful than snickers and giggles coming from a strange place in a Funeral Parlor, or for you Yankees up here, the Mortuary.

I have found myself, parked close to a casket at times when grief was overwhelming just to hear people's comment about the deceased. It lightens my heart sometimes.

I swear, there are old ladies who get paid to go to funerals and say funny things.

I wasn't exempt from the screaming fits of laughter at my mother's funeral. I know I wrote about this a long while back. But I am just in the mood to stir things up a bit and have some childish fun.

You know what is worth getting in trouble over?
Being 10 years old, hiding under the "thingy" that holds a casket (in the south, they are sturdy tables with a table skirt around it.) and grabbing them old ladies' legs while they are standing at the casket gossiping about who is lying there, dead, and unable to defend herself.

The comments from those old gals, get me started laughing and I literally pee down my leg before it's over.
Some of them are:

1. "Well, you know she never did look good in pink. I'm glad they buried her in black."
(Like being dead is supposed to make you look better?)

2. "Oh, looky here! She looks just like herself"
(This one is the one that makes me cackle. I want to respond with: "What? Were you expecting her to look like someone else?")

3. "They say if you touch 'em on the forehead, you won't worry about 'em anymore after they are dead."
(I want to respond, "Well, you idiot, if you are still worrying about 'em now, it's a little too late. All the worrying you think you are gonna do won't bring 'em back!)

4. "Did you know she always wore a wig?"
(This causes serious self control on my part. Because of those old ladies mean spirited gossip, I always want to step up and pull the hair of the person on the corpse and say, "Na-ah! You lied.")

5. "What were they thinking? She never wore that shade of lipstick?"
(I know what I'm thinking, "Like she gives a rat's behind now! Really???")

When my mother died, the four of us grieved in our own unique way. However, each child was terribly crushed to have her gone. I thought my chest would crack open and black oily grief would gush out.

Guess it's a good thing that didn't happen. My southern old relatives, who still carry a loaded 12-gauge shotgun in the back windows of their pick-up trucks would have come running over and yelled, "Look Bubba, I think we just struck Black Gold, Texas Tea."

What I can say is when we walked into the funeral home in the south, I was appalled to find the same gold tapestry drapes hanging on the cinder block walls behind mother's casket that were hanging there 16 years ago when my Dad died.
Oh, and to make things worse, those lights they put above the casket, should ALWAYS have a pink glow to them. If not, they will cause the corpse to appear. . . . . DEAD!

We had a memorial service for Mom here in Indy because she had lived here for 10 years and made some friends. Besides, we wanted our friends to be able to come as well. Then, because most of Mom's friends were still in Alabama, we had a viewing (that just sounds wrong....viewing) for her friends and family there.

The Mortuary here was very much modern and updated. The soft pink hallogens above the casket made Mom to look as if she were laying there sleeping.

The Funeral Parlor in the South was a different talk show. There was the WHITE cinder block walls with GOLD tapestry drapes (from the 70's or 80's). The lights were, I am NOT LYING, the brightest hallogen lights you could find. And they were clear! They must have been spotlights for when rednecks go deer shining. (Don't ask, if you don't know, you don't need to. I hate it!) So, when we got to the casket, Mom looked like she had been killed on the flight from Indy to Alabama. Seriously, she looked dead!!!!!

After the initial shock of it all. My sister (who has the same laughing problem at funerals) through tears said to me, as tears rolled down her face, "Sis she looks so bad!"

I said, "Yeah, that flight really did her in."

Our oldest little brother, Jonathan added, "Well, she never would fly on a plane because she said it might kill her."

And. . . there we stood, all bent over, holding our sides, laughing while tears dripped on the GOLD SHAG carpet of the "Funeral Parlor" in Alabama.

One glance at her face and then up at the lights made me want to say, "You know, with those lights, no wonder she has a deer-in-the-headlight look!"

So there you have it! Invite me to a funeral and I lose control of my adult self and the child comes running to play. You may find me playing under the casket, looking for old lady's legs to grap. Or I might be up on a ladder changing light bulbs to see if you are paying attention. Who knows.

I do know this, I officiated my first funeral, which was a funeral of a friend. When I was wearing the pastor's hat, there was no laughter at all. My inner child was sitting on the front row watching me as if I had placed her in time out, daring her to move. It was a very tearful and sad moment in which my adult self was VERY present.

Where is an inappropriate place you have found yourself laughing or responding awkwardly?

On Wave of Love She Comes to Me

2011-06-15T16:25:00.000-07:00

Is there a language brave enough to embrace the sounds that form words

to interpret the connection between a Mother and her daughter?

I've never been that far around the world to find out.

Is there a sound brave enough to give in to waves that cross the ocean to build a bridge stronger than the love between a Mother and her daughter?

I've been to the ocean a thousand times in my life, and never once have I found a stronger bridge.

Is there a wave so great that it could spill over into the depths of my soul and drown the memories that have been created between my Mother and me?

......Could be? I don't think so.............

We share a life time of little precious moments -

a tea party here.......a bed time story there -

We made up songs for each other-

She sang to me everyday-

As her only child for five years, I held her attention as if I were conducting and orchestra.......

She listened intently and love steadily......

She held me up......She calmed me down.......

She praised my accomplishments.......She held me accountable........

She wiped away my tears..........She laughed at my silly ways.........

She hugged me tight and I could hear her heart beat.........

She pushed me to grow as an individual so that I stepped to my own beat....

The wave has come to drown every memory of her life........The little girl she once was.......the teenager who grew to fall in love......the lady who came to be a wife.......who came to be a mother........who raised me up........and now she lays down at the mercy of the waves......crashing into the walls of her mind......tearing away at her memories.........

But they will never take away what we had.......for I have vowed to hold them close........

I have sworn to keep them safe.......I have written them all down for the world to read long after she and I have slipped away as soft as the breeze that gently carries a butterfly.............

I cannot hold onto her.........I cannot let go............

I feel her hand slip into mine and I hold on as if it were my connection to life

She pulls it gently away to brush away something from her face that does not exist........and I stare into her eyes looking for what might be a glimpse into her soul.........and another wave breaks her concentration and takes her out to sea.........Yet I hold her in my heart and soul.............

There are no waves strong enough to carry that away................

Do I forgive or ask forgiveness?

2011-06-14T20:09:00.000-07:00

(There is a blurred line between children and their fathers who abused them. There is a need for acceptance. There is a need for love. There is a grief over the relationship, even when it may have been twisted. I wrote this wrote this letter to my father several years ago, in hopes it would bring my mother back from a deep fog of Alzheimer's Type Dementia)

My dearest daddy,
I miss you so much! There are so many things I wish you would have never said to me. There are so many things I wish I would have never done to you. I feel like I wished you dead so many times that it finally happened. Payback is hell, daddy. I am living in hell. It all ended when you died. Oh, I breathed for the first time in ages when you stopped breathing. But daddy, it’s been the most aching place to be in the big lonely world without you. Mama couldn’t stand it. She checked out. She comes around long enough to love on us occasionally. It’s like she knows she can’t end her life but in her own way, she has stopped living.

I have been raising Jody and I feel so many times that I am letting him down. I don’t always set a good example for him to follow. Does he know that God is as real to him as you taught that God is real? Daddy, sometimes I am over protective like Mama was with us. Other times, I say bad words in front of him. Mama or you would have never done that. You never one time did.

Daddy, is it true? Am I worth saving or will I go straight to hell? I feel like this is it. I am here. I pray with him every night before he goes to sleep. I have taught him to talk to God as if he were sitting in the room. Jody says that he has invited God to live in his heart. I believe that God is in Jody and everywhere that Jody is. I believe that because Jody is the essence of love. I feel it in Jody.

Daddy I can’t seem to find my way back to that night, the night you died. I want to know if things would have, could have been different. I want to know what to do from here on. Daddy I thought you were the reason our family was a mess. Now I feel like you were the glue. Without you we all fell apart.

I look for ways to put us back together. I feel like we were the humpty-dumpty family. We fell off the wall and broke into a million pieces. I love our family daddy, including you. We are like scattered little pieces. Each as individual as stones in a river. We all have a story to tell. Mama is in her own world. Sometimes present, sometimes not. I hold a really good job and pretend I know who I am. Jody, is the joy of my life. He looks like you. He laughs like you. He loves and forgives like you. He is everything you ever wanted in all of us. He is love. He is why I keep on looking for the greatest things in life.

Daddy, I miss you. Almost twelve years later, and I miss you so bad. I am so sorry for causing you any pain. Oh and just so you know, because of you, I am a better person. And I forgive you for condemning me. You gave us your best. You gave us life.

Age 50 with Alzheimer's Type Dementia

2011-06-13T21:12:00.000-07:00

A phone call away
and she tells us she has decided to volunteer herself
to be slaughtered to death by crucifixion
what do you say to that?

Was she crazy?
Was she in a cult?
Who knew?
We didn't.

Always suspecting some underhanded scheme
I never trusted her pastor
Never go to a store on Sunday without his permission
Never take anything,even gifts without tithing on them

The madness she carried after Dad's death
drove her over the edge
We drove 12 hours one way to see
if she really was to be hung on a cross or not.

I know it sounds crazy and it was.
But it was her truth.
She was dillusional.
She made it up.

Was it her way of saying "I can't live like this anymore and I want to die a hero? a Martyr?
We don't get to know those answers.
It was 1996 and she had her first HUGE meltdown.
She was 50 years old,
Half June Cleaver, Half Jackie O'

Beautiful and losing her mind.
Two little boys at home
Two girls who were long gone.
She felt isolated, alone
She grieved herself away

She checked out
Did we cause this?
Should we have stayed?
Was it my fault?
Should I have paid more attention?

No answers there either.
Just a battery of tests and nothing left but
a looming diagnosis of doom.
Mama was a fifty year young, widow with
four children, the youngest in Kindergarten,
the oldest age 26.

Mama was diagnosed with Alzheimer's.
I would have gone through my abuse again,
if it meant saving my mother's mind.
She was my best friend.
How could I lose my only person who held all my secrets, good and bad?
How could our only parent left, check out and leave me without an instruction manual
on how to raise siblings.

It was the beginning of a journey that lasted 10 years.
It wasn't all bad, that journey.
But that's another post.

And if I could do it all again,
I would still love and cherish every moment with her.
She was the closest thing to heaven in my world.

The Pastors Soap box about Gays

2011-06-12T22:13:00.000-07:00

The first five years of our relationship involved a lot of learning, growing, and understanding ourselves and each other. The hardest part for both my partner and I was the judgment and condemnation to hell for being totally in love with each other. Both sides of our families were rooted and grounded in a belief system that decided who could or couldn't go to heaven and hell.

I heard a lot about how I was going to hell for loving another lady. I did the "rehab" work to become saved, delivered and healed. My partner did as well. First and foremost, our relationship with God comes first. We prayed. We cried. We went to counciling. We talked to the pastor. We REALLY did the work. Oh. . . and I went for an exorcism with some VERY EXTREME right-winged Christians who judged the world as if somebody died and made them God. And at the end of all of that, we were deeper in love than we had ever been. We came through with some scars and yet, we thrived! In fact, the more people made decisions to excuse themselves from our lives, the more we loved each other.

What I would like to say to anyone who is struggling with bullying, trying to come to terms with who you are or who you love, anyone who has thought it would only get worse if you can't change your sexual preference, it does get better.

It does get better. It really does! We are two very successful women, with careers, a son, a life that we have made together. We are part of ministry that welcomes everyone,including the GLBT community. I believe it is extremely important that people know there is a safe place for those who are not what the larger part of society considers normal.

And for the record, statistics have proven more children are sexually abused by straight people than of the GLBT community. In addition to that, just turn on the news and see how many of those stories and scandels are being uncovered from right underneath the roof of a church. . . not just any church, the mainstream churches who cast GLBT's into the pits of hell.

We live in a world where children, teen and adults need love and safe places.

We live in a world where teen suicide has risen to a level of painful numbers. Those who have taken that step leave holes in the world and we can't bring them back. And there are teenagers and others who hate that they cannot change that they love someone of the same sex. I welcome you to step into this safe place. I am not the one who goes flying a rainbow flag. You will not find a rainbow sticker on either of our cars. You may meet us face to face but never know we are considered or labeled lesbians. We really don't fit the stereotype. Which is another topic. We box people in. We label people like cans of food in a grocery store. It's not just with the GLBT community. It is also that way in churches across the country. We say people who don't participate in every activity of a church has backslidden. People who don't make a certain amount of money are less than others. People who make a lot of money or are born into money, we call them stobs. People who go to Walmart at midnight in their hair rollers, slippers and pajama's are white trash. People who wear their baseball caps backward or sideways are gangsta. Our society as a whole has compartmentalize humanity to a point, division has caused more killings, wounds, scars and abuse than I can write about here.

It is time some of us, all who are adult and have decided not to live in a life full of fear stand up for our future generations. We have beautiful children who are growing up and many not even born yet that need to be able to stand on solid ground with who they are and that they are safe.

I am only one voice. But I have a big heart and a booming voice when necessary. And it is past time to say out loud that we must make a positive difference!

It does get better. God loves you! He created you!

Winds of Change

2011-06-11T19:04:00.000-07:00

Who knew the changes I would experience after moving so far away from home?
Not me. For sure!

There are times when I look back and think to myself,
If I had only stayed home and helped more. . . .
If I had just been there more for my mom. . . .
If I had been a better big sister for my little sister. . . .
If I hadn't left my little brothers. . . ..

or

I should have done this. . .
I should have been there. . .
I should. . .

Some days I have found myself waking up to make a vow and say:
"Today, I promise not to SHOULD all over myself".

I had broke off the second. . . engagement with the second guy. . . eight years older than me, just before I moved away from home.

The first engagement was to Mr. Hard Body, a guy I had fallen in lust with!
MERCY!
He was about 5'11''.
He was solid as a ROCK!
Ripped like Mr. Universe and owned a gym.
Tan. . . year around!

I had started dating him when I was 18 yrs. old and he was 26.
We both worked out at the gym. Our physiques complimented each other well.
I was Isis. He was Shazaam! (haha, that just made me laugh.)

No, seriously, we were a couple of hard bodies all over each other.
I loved him. I was not in love. He was.
After 3 years of good sex, bad communication, nothing in common to talk about and one miscarriage, I called it quits.
He had given me everything in his heart.
I gave him all of my body.
It was all I had to give.
I didn't even have a grasp on my heart and soul.
I didn't know how to be in love.

After SEVERAL other short-lived relationships, I met another guy.
He was completely opposite of Mr. Hard Body.
He didn't have any muscle mass at all.
He wasn't fat, but he did have a soft belly, even if it was flat.
There were no pecs. There was nothing physically attractive about him.
But he was so incredibly REAL!
He was sweet!
He was a gentleman!
He loved me.
He loved my family!
He loved to take me roller skating! (That sealed the deal. . . almost!)

I never slept with him.
We never got beyond a kiss.
I was determined to do this relationship right.
I talked about life and he shared with me as well.
We went to church together.
We were as close to a solid relationship as I had ever had.
Then. . . he asked me to marry him. . . . 3 months after Daddy died.

There was ABSOLUTELY NO physical chemistry between us!!!!

I said yes to his proposal and immediately felt like I did it out of needing security and not love.
I back tracked within the next few months.
Another heart broken.
Oh Snap!!!!!
I was getting good at being a heart breaker.
There was a pattern going on here!
Mr. Hard Body had even called me an Ice Princess!

The next thing you know, I had moved 650 miles away from home.
I dated 3 different guys within nine months after my move.
There was never any chemistry between us.
I knew I must be completely broken.
I went to therapy. I did the work. I went to church. I met with the pastor.
I went to the doctor. I read books. I did everything I could think of not to become an ICE QUEEN!!!

During all that time, I had been learning about the city I lived in, through the first person I met on the day of my arrival to Indianapolis.
There had been an immediate connection between us.
I needed a good friend.
She needed a good friend.
We had both broken off 3-yr relationships and engagements after a miscarriage.
We had both been molested and raped as minors.
We had both been through hell.
Our stories were parallel.
Oh, and we drove the same kind of car.
Mine was silver.
Her's was gold.
We worked through a lot of "stuff" together.

She was a good friend. We had so much fun shopping, going to museums, job interviews, trading clothes and purses, etc. She loved to get her mani-pedi's. I loved to go along.
I loved to shop for expensive clothing when it was on sale. She loved to go along.
It has become the best friendship I have ever had.

Just over one year to the date of our meeting, we hugged and I went to kiss her cheek, she went to kiss my cheek and we kissed! WE KISSED!
I had kissed my friends on the lips before. . . girls and boys alike. Just a harmless peck.
Not with this one!

OH MY GOSH! I kissed a girl! AND I LIKED IT!
It was the most amazing kiss I ever had.
Funny thing is, she felt the same way.
And that was the beginning of a relationship, now 20 yrs old.
But that is another story!!!!

You have to know there are good things between the bad stories I have shared with you.
Just so happens, she is the love of my life!
I asked God about this relationship. We were both torn about it for quite some time.
He is okay with it!
He said he created her just for me.
So there!

(It has been with the help and strength of the Lord, my best friend and love of my life, and a few amazing friends that I have been able to get through the journey I am getting ready to start writing about. If it had not been for my love's amazing ability to be a wife, mother, sister and friend to my family and me, I may have lost my mind already. Oh wait, some of you have just read this and may think I did lose my mind already. NOPE. . . I didn't. Oh, and another thing, I didn't fall for a girl because I was raped. So let that one go too!)

I need these arms of Love

2011-06-09T21:11:00.000-07:00

The first time I heard my sweet angel sing, she was barely eighteen.

She was as cute as a daisy, as sweet as sugar and as sincere about these arms of love as if she had experienced being held there.

Twenty years later, we still run to those arms often.

Each time, I remember the time the love of my life introduced me to this song.

It was the best description I have ever heard of running to the strongest arms I have ever felt.

There are moments when I feel like a whiny little girl, a tired toddler, or a scared adult.

There are more moments when I just want to feel those arms because I love to dance with Him.

It doesn't matter what the occasion is,

I always find peace in these arms of love.

People will let us down. Bad things happen to innocent people. GOD DIDN'T DO IT TO THEM. Bad people do bad things. Good people suffer. And while He has given us free will, His will for us is that we still run to His arms of love.

Find yourself

2011-06-07T18:13:00.000-07:00

I went back,

looking for myself.

I had to come forward. . .

I was in the present.

Wounds heal and turn to scars.

It doesn't mean those scars don't get picked at.

I have come to grips and found my way to the other side of this journey,

There are moments when triggers, acting as long, dragon, finger nails

pick at the scars of my past.

Occasionally, they are re-opened in a memory.

What works for me is remembering the real dragon is dead.

Even when I can still smell his fiery breath, feel his claws, or see is shadow,

The real dragon can no longer hurt me.

Often it takes a good long look in the mirror,

Reflections with a trusted friend,

and usually tears come with it.

For those who are currently doing the hard work,

going through daily life, trying to figure out which end is up,

where the light switch is, and how can life possibly get better,

I want YOU to know this:

You are loveable.

You do matter.

You do make a difference.

You deserve the best.

You deserve to heal.

You deserve the opportunity to do what it takes to turn those wounds

into scars.

This photo is compliments of

KALEIDOSCOPE EYES

Stop by and check out the photography over there

I HAVE A VOICE!

2011-06-06T17:06:00.000-07:00

There came a moment in my life when I realized the past is a memory. However alive the dragon in my nightmare seems to be, it is only a memory. I have learned to see myself the way God sees me. . .

WHOLE.

I chose to publish this post due to the recent flow of emails I have begun to received from those who have been sexually abused and need to know there is life after abuse. For those of you who are struggling recently from this kind of trauma, hold on, sweet soul, hold on. The future does get brighter. You get to determine that. And you have to do your homework to make it happen. I am just one voice of many who has made a FIRM choice to stand and be silent no more.

No one deserves to be abused. . . regardless of the situation!

If you have been a victim of abuse, don't be afraid to raise your voice. The sooner you do, the quicker you will heal!

Raped

(written: January 29, 2006)

With tear-stained eyes I stood there staring

Soiled, from the mess he made.

I couldn’t believe I was still alive

My soul could not be saved.

It only took a moment,

And my innocence was gone.

But he kept on coming back for me

And cut me to the bone.

My God, why must I keep that memory

Could it not just go away?

Because of one trigger in a news flash

And I am way back there, today.

I soak and try to drown the filth

I wash the blood away.

And yet when I look in the mirror

Deep down, it’s there to stay.

Images of sweet dreams

Turn into harsh nightmares,

I awake to find I’m dripping wet

From sweating and running no-where.

I can still smell his smoky breath

I can fill his painful thrust.

My stomach feels the bruise forever

There is no one to trust.

I stand there waiting all alone

I can hardly breathe

I’m covered in blood from chest to toes

I crumble to my knees.

What did I do? I asked myself

To make him look my way

I would like to disappear somehow

I’d like to run away.

I find myself in a heap

Clutching clothes and wringing hands

I ache inside, I have been torn

By my Dad’s best friend’s bare hands.

How could he rip and tear at me,

While I begged to be set free.

Why did he find such pleasure

And such bad use for me?

I can only speak but for myself

When I hear of another person's pain

As only one can know, who’s been there

We are never quite the same.

When those memories come washing over me

Like waves crashing on a shore.

Time helps to heal the wounded places

And he can touch me no more.

With the help of an amazing support system, I have found the other side of this journey. You can too!

Late Night Dancing

2011-06-05T14:33:00.000-07:00

A night unlike others from the past was waiting to greet me last night.
Earlier in the evening, clouds had rolled in, bringing thunder, lightening and torrential rains.
The show was amazing.
I had sat with my son, both of us mesmerized by the art work at the hand of God,
watching the light show, clouds rolling each time the atmosphere was lit by the electiricity of the presence of God, so close by.

Later, when we closed the doors and windows, sleep would not come.
I lay in my room, lights off, door closed, not even the sound of wind blowing (except the ceiling fan).
Memories arose to greet me as if they were working night shift just to pull me into the past.
A text, way after late thirty greeted me with an overwhelming sense of sadness.

Why couldn't I distinguish the difference between the then and the now?
Why was the blur of past and present running together at this late hour?
What would I do about it?
Writing was not an option.
There was a block. A mental note of weariness reminded me of just how tired my heart has become.

Then came the tears.
I sat in the middle of our king-sized bed, alone, knees pulled to my chest.
With my arms wrapped tight around my legs, I counted my heart beats and let the tears fall.

It was then I remembered what the name of my blog really means to me.
So, instead of waiting for Him to summon me to the dance floor,
I rose from the bed, took the bundle of myself and extended my hand.
Waiting for me in the loft was the presence of a Holy God.

I had no words to offer. I had only brokenness, memories that needed to be put to rest.
Only the glow of his Holy presence lit the room as I felt myself lean into His strong arms.
There was no loud noise, no amazing revelations, no visions of grandeur . . .
just the comfort of His arms around me.

My eyes had no need to focus on the reality of His world,
and the present state of my human body in this realm.
All I needed was to BE STILL and KNOW He was there.

We danced, He led me into a soft, safe waltz of healing and cleansing.
Tears continued to fall and He so graciously allowed me to BE, right where I was.
Carefully but firmly He held me, let me cry and through His soft whispers, I was gently
reminded of how He had gone back to my past and separated what was from what is now,
and what He will continue to do and be in my life.

He sent an angel along after the dance and together we dove deep into the abyss of things past and present.
We talked through the memories and what is real.
We discussed triggers and how they can cause us to forget we are no longer the victim but the survivors and thrivers, simply watching the events play out. . . without having to be taken captive as victim again.

When I laid my head to rest, I stressed as far to God as is humanly possible,
feeling His strong arms wrap me in love, I fell asleep and awoke to Him kissing my forehead with the Sun.

For anyone who has been down the road of abuse, or any event that has left scars, I can tell you what continues to work for me. It is those late nights with tears, I can dance with God and know He is in control. I don't have to be in control. All I ever have to be is what He made me to be.
Each day, I will continue to be the best "me" I can be, reflecting His light and love to others.

Nothing Coincidental

2011-06-03T22:45:00.000-07:00

One of many things I have learned is when you lose something or someone you have held close and treasured, your memories are triggered when another loss occurs. For example. You may go to the funeral of a stranger to comfort a friend of that stranger's family. In the middle of that funeral, you may find yourself sad and even tearful. Funerals are one event that brings up loss.

People come and go from our lives. I do not believe any of them are coincidental. Each person gives us the opportunity to love and grow. Moves and people who move in and out of my life, for job reasons, career changes or any other reason can trigger my losses. I have learned to accept that and allow it to be, without getting all "jiggy" about it. It wasn't that easy in the beginning. I didn't recognize it as such. This is one of those times.

Right after I moved here, I had to re-learn to trust my gut instinct.

This was written from what I experienced in the early to mid 1990's after my move here.

Touch me. I ache for you to reach out to me and let me feel the way your hand feels on my arm. I want you to be brave and put your arm on my shoulder. Can you make eye contact with me without thinking that I am a bad person or that you are?

Do you know that I long for you to lock your gaze with mine and look into my soul. If you can hold my eyes with yours then maybe I will be brave enough to look at my own reflection and see that I am not ugly. Maybe I will see that there is more to me than fear, rejection and ugly scars. Maybe I will see that I am not a bad person.

I need your help. I am begging you to show me the difference between bad touch and good touch. I am hoping that somewhere deep inside of you there is a part that has not been touched in such a way that causes you to be unable to distinguish the difference between good and bad touch. I need your guidance. I need you to be the unbiased; a very honest friend who is willing to risk it all to be truthful with me and let me know what is okay.

After being violated physically and emotionally, I became unable to distinguish the difference between good touch and bad touch. Sounds crazy doesn’t it? It feels crazy to me. One day I was able to hug my mother and father, my friends and family without feeling anything but arms, warmth and love. It took abusive mental and physical contact and my being at the wrong place at the wrong time the fear of feeling the temperature of another person‘s hand on my skin. So if you get in my space to hug me, I will be brave and hug you back. In fact, I will ache to be held by you, as a trusted friend. I will not stay in my body long enough to hold you though. I will escape before I will let my body betray me and let it feel something that goes beyond the physical boundaries between friends and family.

Why do I do that? I believe that I do that because once upon a very scary time, a person close enough to be my father, (my father's best friend) went way too far, past a warm and fuzzy hug. He caught me in a vulnerable position and he abused my trust. And then he used my body to satisfy the cravings of his own dark soul. And as he did those terrible things, he used manipulation, his human touch, his very warm skin and made mine feel like it would explode with desire in one part while he rip and tore at me in other parts. And he listened to me as I begged him to just be my friend the way it was that day and all the days before that terrible night. As he listened to me, he sneered at my fear. He even took my fear to a higher level by threatening to do more harm than he already had intended.

I have killed him so many times. I have forgiven him so many times. I have hated him so many times. I have loved him so many times. Now, I just wish I could forgive myself for not slipping out of my body sooner than I did, just so that I couldn’t - wouldn’t have to feel the sexual desire that he was trying so hard to get me to feel. I wish that I would have fainted from the pain or checked out entirely just long enough to keep my body from feeling that sick pleasure. At the time, it was the most horrible experience I had ever gone through in my life. Nothing could have been worse.

ghjk

Run Baby, Run

2011-06-02T17:50:00.000-07:00

I had a ticket to run and I ran.

It cost me. It cost me big time.

One thing I learned from the experiences I have recently shared was, my home town was a cemetery. When I go back there, it still is, for me. So, I don't go. I don't even send flowers. I just stay away.

Just after Daddy died, skeletons started popping out of closets everywhere. The people who hid so well behind their Sunday best, praying for predators that the truth would come out, started to lose their robes of self-righteousness. They started to see the glimmer of light.

You would have thought this would make me happy. It didn't. It was too late to rejoice. I had been serving too much time in the hell they put us in to be happy they finally put pieces together. One by one, kids started to come forward with their own stories. I guess that was because we had opened Pandora's box.

The more conversations were had, the more people started coming and questioning my sister and me if we would go back to court and stand with them. The heat in the South on a subject like that is worse than the heat in Mama's kitchen in July. It scorched to her those requests. Raw was the only way I could describe myself. Inside and out.

Mama had found her way to a social circle of ladies at another church. She had taken the oldest of my little brothers and placed him in the private Christian school there. My baby, (little brother) was in pre-school and loving it. She balanced herself in a pretty independent position as a widow with little boys. It really was a good look for her. The more ingrossed she got into her new life, the more I grew empty. Some of the same people from the old church were going to the new one. I couldn't stand beside them and sing hymns. I was still waiting for lightening to strike and God to kill them.

I took a vacation for a week and ran 650 miles away to Indy. That vacation turned into a permanent move.

I came home, told Mama I was leaving home, cried for two straight weeks every night when I tucked my baby boy into bed, knowing I couldn't take him with me. But I knew if I stayed I would end up hurt or worse. I was smothering and no one could / would help me. At that time, this was the only way I knew to help myself.

Two weeks went by, I squeezed my baby, Mama and my oldest little brother and my sister, packed my car and cried all the way to Birmingham, Alabama. . . not even half way to my new home.

I had no clue what I was going to do when I arrived in Indy. I had enough money from my savings account to spend the next couple of months looking for a job. So, that is what I did.

Funny, I sit here writing this and I didn't realize it back then, but what I learned, that is so cliche is: "you can run, but you can't hide." Your past will catch up to you. Why do you think I am writing about it now?

My first deep breath to freedom

2011-06-01T21:02:00.000-07:00

One experiences life and death, uniquely, individually. The feelings are just feelings, not good or bad. I believe it is how we react to them that builds up or tares down our character.

I wish I could say this post would build up the character of who I was at the time. However, history is something that is part of who we turn out to be. This is part of my history. It is part of what spurred my journey to continue to search for the voice inside that called from a deep place. In it's naked form, as ugly as it may sound, here it is.

The night was November 24, 1990. I was at a concert, an hour and a half away from home. It was a Southern Gospel concert in a small town in Alabama. I was listening to a song that touched something very deep inside, at the same time, something was happening in my little home town miles away that would forever change the history of my family, perhaps cracking the shell of what we thought was a normal existence inside our tiny bubble.

My father was walking home from a place he would study, meditate and pray at, down by a creek. The creek ran through a pasture full of cows. Where I come from, that was the closest place to God my dad could find to communicate and get answers to many of life's questions.

On his way home, he walked through a neighborhood of people who knew him well. He had stopped to chat with a widow at the end of her sidewalk. Later, he passed along a dark curve and was hit and killed by a drunk driver in a pick-up truck. The estimated time of death was approximately 6:30pm. It was at that same time I was hearing a song that I was going to come home and share with him. It was one that we could both relate to. That would never happen.

I had seen him the night before when we dropped off my baby brother. I had taken my sweet baby boy with me to spend a couple nights at my aunt and uncle's home in the same town the concert was at. We decided it may be best to bring him home as he had shown signs of wanting his Mommy and Daddy. I wasn't at the house for very long. My last words to my dad as we were standing in the living room to leave were, "Daddy, I love you." He told me he loved me too. I went to hug him. His hug wasn't what I wanted. It was loose and almost formal, as if he were going through the motions. Truth is, I don't think he knew how to respond to me even three years after the court trial. I think he was still trying to find a way to redeem the relationship that had been ripped apart after those horrible moments of intense pain. I felt that way. I can only assume he must have felt it as well.

I had respected him afterwards because he was my father. The two of us had made several attempts to find things in common and try and make-up. Things were never the same between us. He would go into fits of rage and yell at me in his booming voice telling I looked like a slut in my jeans. Or he would say things like, "if you only knew the Lord, you would know you are dressing like a prostitute. You know better. I raised you better. You are going straight to hell." If I had a dollar for every time he told me I was going to hell for wearing a pair of jeans, I would not have to work right now. Those were his convictions not mine. I had come to understand that even a snake can wear a dress, go to church on Sunday, sing in the choir and look like a saint but still be full of the devil. I had come to understand that God truly looked and saw the wounds in my heart. I wished dearly for God to love me and love the pain of those wounds away.

When the concert was over, I went to a friend's house to find everyone acting peculiar. My uncle, who lived close by pulled into the yard and came inside. This was an uncle I love dearly. He loved and respected me. He was my friend. It was he who delivered the news to me that my father was killed not even a mile away from our house. While time of death was early evening, he was found around 10 o'clock PM. The drunk driver never stopped after hitting him.

My first reaction, after asking through tears if my siblings and mom were okay, was a deep cleansing inhale of a breath. My first thought after that breath was, "he will never yell at me and call me a slut again." I know that sounds horrible. I wish I could tell you it was different, that I cried tears of sorrow over this loss. That would not be the truth.

It was the first time in several years that I would recognize my self worth did not depend on the opinions of my father. It was the first time I realized it might even be possible to re-write my own life story and do something constructive with my life. I was free. I was free. I was free.

(There are so many things that happen to a family when a parent dies. Our family, as dysfunctional as it had been, was fractured from that death. And yet, some of us finally had the opportunity to begin healing.)

What's so great about Nineteen Eighty-eight?

2011-05-31T18:39:00.000-07:00

The year was 1988.
I was almost to the 1st anniversary of post high school graduation.

A lot of time had been marked, standing in place, waiting for the wind to change.
On May 27, 1987, we had filed in like prostitutes, to the large courtroom where we would point out our perpetrator, tell a crowd full of hypocrites and strangers what had been done to us, and try to act brave and strong.

We were crossed examined by a criminal law attorney hired to do a circus side show and make us look like liars, hookers and whores. I was barely seventeen. The other girls, twelve (my sister) and thirteen(the perp's daughter). To say the least, it was painfully grueling and took the last little bit of self esteem and stamina right out of the three of us.

We had gone from being victims to criminals by the time we all took turns testifying.

Of course, Daddy had forgiven his ~~best friend~~ the perpetrator, who had been brazen enough to show up to church one Sunday and ask forgiveness for "his sins" (no he didn't admit anything). So, Daddy thought it would be un Christian and two-faced to show up to the courtroom for this particular trial.

We had been urged on by the District Attorney of Georgia to hold our heads high, tell the truth and help put this pedophile away. My parents did not go to trial with us. We did it alone, completely alone.

The next few weeks, prior to the trial, my mama quit making us go to church where we would have to face that man. He used it to his benefit in front of my Daddy and all the other ~~Pharisees~~ church members. He would asked for prayer every Sunday that the truth would come out during the trial he was about to face so he could put this nightmare behind him.

As it turns out, the truth came out, answering his prayers. He was sent to prison, you know, the place where he would be somebody's girlfriend the minute he dropped the soap in the shower. I guess I don't have to say here, "Be careful what you pray for". . . especially if you are trying to pass your lies off as truths.

The very next day, May 28, 1987, I walked across the stage on the football field of my high school Alma Mater to receive a diploma I don't even remember being placed in my hand. It was all a blur. Of course, no one at the school had any idea what we had just gone through. It was the family ~~church gossip~~ secret. Since our church was in another town just across the Georgia line, no one had to know.

After the trial, my sister and I spent our summer and the following year reeling from the pain and anguish and the aftermath of the whole experience.

Just when I thought the sun would NEVER set behind the big green pines of East Alabama or the Magnolias would burst with bloom again, my mama had another baby.

Daddy (age 50), who had been through a quadruple bypass surgery a few years before that decided his stomach and heart couldn't take going to the delivery room with Mama (age 43). So, I jumped at the chance. I wanted to see this baby first. Besides, I figured in the past year, there had been a lot Daddy couldn't handle. However, I had been to hell and back, without so much as an invitation. I was up for the challenge. I wanted to greet this baby with all the love I had left to give.

I was eighteen years old by now, so the fine southern doctor thought I was old enough to be a witness to this miracle we call birth.

We didn't know if the baby was a boy or a girl. We all had our own preconceived image of what this child's life would turn out like. Mama, Daddy and my sister wanted another boy. Mama had always wanted two boys and two girls. Daddy, well, I can only guess that he didn't want the hassle of having to manage raising another girl with all he thought he had gone through. My sister, she wanted a brother. She thought if it was a boy, he wouldn't risk the chance of being molested as a child. Me and my little brother (age 8) wanted it to be a girl. Both of us decided, Jonathan was king of the castle and another brother would be competition. I also, wanted a do-over. I wanted to show my parents how to protect a baby girl from the things we had gone through. I wanted to show them how to stand beside her and not bow out for reasons I don't understand.

At twelve:twenty-seven AM on April 27, 1988, I watched a tiny little prince crown and find his way out of my mother's womb. Let me say this, it was the BEST birth control any eighteen year old could experience. On the other hand, I got to help with everything: The doctor caught him and handed him the nurse, who handed him to me. At which point, we introduced him to Mama.

Under careful instruction, I got to clean him up and carry him out to the rest of the family for his debut. Then we went on to the nursery.

I remember when I first held the little prince in my hands. I looked at him, tears rolling down my face and said, "I swear to you, as long as I live, nothing or no one will do anything to hurt you. I'll take care of you myself."

All 19 inches, 5 lbs and 7 oz. of him fit right in my arms. He went from screaming his little head off, to snuggling and closing his sweet eyes.

That spring night, at midnight, the sun came out again. The Magnolias began budding and the pine trees stood taller than ever. I knew the wind had changed in the right direction.

Our sweet baby Jody had brought the miracle of HOPE and LOVE back into our hearts.

(Just so you know, there really is a silver line behind the storm clouds. There really is a sun waiting to shine past the rain. You just have to hang in, have the courage to persevere and look for it.)

You Are Beautiful

2011-05-26T18:56:00.000-07:00

This post is dedicated to the beautiful people in my life who are so deeply connected to my heart and soul.

To my blog followers, be patient, read through this. . . it will be worth your time.

There are very few people whom I have allowed in my personal space where all the secrets are kept. In fact, I could probably count you all on one hand. It wasn't until I chose to start blogging my stories that I began to let strangers in on my life. Half my cousins and nearly all non-related people in my life at this point do not get in this space.

However, some secrets are poison if we remain silent. The ones I have recently shared are old memories. Only on an occasion when I am extremely tired or when my family has lost someone do these ugly dragons raise their heads. I just remind the dragons that they are memories and have no power over my life. And. . .then move forward. (That only came after intense therapy, prayers and safe arms to be held in.)

Today, I want to thank my two "nother Mothers" for your patience, your friendship, and especially the safe place you both have held for me as I processed all those old wounds. You two are the ones God sent to me when I couldn't share my pain with my own mother. Between the two of you, I have learned balance, ability to park things until they can be dealt with, perseverance, accountability, and so many other things. There aren't enough words to describe all that you are in my life. I know, without you both, I truly wouldn't be where I am today.

I want to thank my dearest and best friend, my lovely partner of 20 years for your ability to help me keep it real, your willingness to hold me through the night terrors, the tears and the pain caused from those old wounds. I want to also thank you, my dearest love for celebrating every success and happy moment of my life with me. I want you to know, I love you more now than I did the first day you looked at me with your Kaleidoscope Eyes and stole my heart. You are an angel.

To my dearest sister, what in the world would life be like without you, little princess? I don't even want to know. You and I have come a long way, baby! I am so proud of you, for so many reasons. I admire you so deeply for your ability to get back up and try, try again. . . even when you don't see any hope in sight. The truth is, you are my hero! YOU ROCK!

To my oldest, younger brother, regardless of what you say, we were supposed to be twins! You just wanted your own grand entrance and waited 10 long years to make it. I am so proud of the man you are. I love you so much! I love your spirit of competition with me in our secular jobs! And I can't put into words how deeply I feel connected to you, spiritually! You are the one person who is always willing to be my prayer partner. I love you so much.

To my sweet boy, (the youngest brother) You are a gift from heaven. Thank you for choosing me for your Mama. You have changed my life in all ways lovely. When I look at you, I see every possible dream you will ever have coming true in your life. You really do get that God is love and you live it, everyday! I can't find enough words to tell you just how amazing life has been and continues to be with you here. Once baby brother, most of your life my son, and now one of my dearest friends, I love you, sweet boy!

To my spiritual friend who talks all things God and all things life with me, thank you for seeing the light in me and reflecting it back when I needed to know it was still there. I love diving deep with you and God.

To my blogger friends, thank you for providing a place for me to express my secrets to you in a way that I never could find my voice for, while growing up. You all are special to me. Some of you are still new. But hang around, we will get to know each other well and enjoy the journey together. To those of you who have followed me for a while, and take time to come by and visit, I want you to know. . . I love you and I pray for you daily. You are always in my thoughts. My prayer is, "God, bless them (your name inserted here) really good today! Open doors for them. Help them make their dreams come true. Keep them safe. And most of all, let them feel the Love you shower on me everyday." That is my prayer for you all.

This video is a song I have known for years now. The words are written on the screen, so it is easy to learn if you wish. I learned it from one of my nother mothers. The song is one that I have sang to my family and now I want you to hear it from me. Here it is: Dedicated to the friends and family who have held my secrets and loved me where I am.

Free. . .from the past

2011-05-21T08:07:00.000-07:00

I worked really hard to run away from the portions of my life where abuse existed. I physically ran 650 miles away from home. Racing past all the ghosts, the monsters under the bed, behind the bushes and everywhere else.

Just so you know, you can run from your past, but you cannot get PAST it until you deal it. You have to do the work. What that looks like for you may be different than what it looks like for me. What I know is true is that I am happy to have dealt with it.

What I have written about for the past week is heavy stuff. I am walking away from it, not because it has caged me in, but because I want you all to know, that girl in my past is free from the abuse, free from the pain caused by people. I had to become my own hero. I learned to rely on God. Then He became my hero. It is with a happy heart that I share this with you.

I like the words of this song.

Listen to your children

2011-05-20T07:00:00.000-07:00

The journey begins. From a past that used to haunt me, now a present where I am happy with the lady in the mirror, to the future where the sky is the limit, my stories unfold here.

Will Anyone Listen?

(I ached to talk about this for many years. My father died three years after I was raped. My mother was diagnosed with Alzheimer's five years after he died. However, prior to that she had shown signs for at least two years. This is how it felt. . . just aching to talk to my parents. I was seeking shelter. I needed to be the kid. I needed them to be there.)

Dad laughed at me when I tried to tell him my secret. He shrugged me off and told me to ask forgiveness and start dressing like a lady. So, I took my secret to Mama. I didn't get into more than two lines to my story when she put her head in her hands and began to cry. Apologizing for not protecting me, she continued to tell me what a failure she was. It was so painful to see her like that. I just shut up.

I never saw my mother as a failure. She was no where around. How could she expect herself to just suddenly appear and swoop down to rescue me? All I wanted from her was to have her listen to me, validate my story and tell me that it was all okay anyway! That's all I wanted. But now, I had gone and caused her so much pain that she couldn't even listen. Now I needed to make her feel better so I pretended it wasn't really that big of a deal and told her some fabricated crap until I had her drying her eyes and moving along to another subject.

It was that way with the few, I thought would be safe to talk to. Don't talk about it. Shut up and it will go away. For some it was, " just ask God to forgive you and go on with your life".
Well, if my calculations were right, I didn't need forgiving, I needed for someone to just listen to me! That's all. I needed for someone who loves me to sit there and listen and maybe wrap an arm around me and tell me I wasn't the whore Daddy kept saying I was and that I was really a good person inside and out.......

I wanted to tell my mother to get up and be my Mom, I needed her! Didn't she know that I need for her to wake me up to the smell of breakfast in the kitchen? Or come to my room, brush my hair off my face and wake me up like she always did? Selfish isn't it, for me to wish for that when she couldn't even control her own mind and body. She was already fading from Alzheimer's Disease in her early 50's. I must have been out of my mind to think of such silliness!

Unraveling

2011-05-19T07:00:00.000-07:00

The journey begins. From a past that used to haunt me, now a present where I am happy with the lady in the mirror, to the future where the sky is the limit, my stories unfold here.

Locked Away at Three years old - still caged at Seventeen

The incessant rapping of tiny hands, pounding on the wooden door of that primitive shed, accompanied by the clanging rap of a padlock against the metal bracket, echo in a far distant corner of my memory. Beyond the noise of that cadence comes the wails of a three year old voice, in a sing-song cry to be emancipated from the prison of solitary confinement. Mixed with the wail of this ballad of fear is the taste of salty tears, rushing down a petite little face. Ocean blue eyes peek through the cracks of the door, searching desperately for any sign of help. All of this brings an unbridled anger from the pit of my stomach.

        It's an old recorded memory, eventually fading as the wails turn to whimpers and the drumming slows to a hush, leaving a pitiful sound of silent sobs. What happened out there? Why was she chosen for this game of captivity? It was once her playhouse filled with dreams and fairy tales. Later it became her prison. The silence of being alone out there, knowing a house full of guests, including her parents, left her feeling isolated and alone. In this moment, she realized no one knew where she had been locked away. She was so close to everyone yet so far away from safety.

       No one would have ever guessed that little house minus the picket fence could have a different story. No one would conceive the notion that maybe deep inside the corner of her mind, she hid the key that could unlock the door to the playhouse. She had spent so much time and energy covering her first encounter, like a fresh grave needing to be filled with dirt. Unless her memory unlocked the truth, she would never know why the need possessed her to be everybody's hero.

        Shards of memory, pieces of a lost childhood and a lot of ego create the nuance for manipulation. Watching the scene unfold escalated the drive of passion inside her. It wasn't about the others. No thoughts of their feelings during the struggle were mentioned. It was about how she was perceived by others that mattered. Impressing those she admired was her goal for putting her life on the line. The evidence became valid when she didn't waste time trying to rescue everyone and couldn't. She would grow angry. All arrows of guilt pointed to her for getting the terrorists roweled up so she could save the mentors she was trying to impress.

         It was the heroine who had been looking for a hero in the beginning. When that failed, she managed to create a story she could live out, by becoming the heroine of those she admired the most. The look of assurance from those eyes created euphoric feelings of justified satisfaction. Everything would be okay then. It was through telling her story, receiving validation and forgiveness which brought her renewed hope and the drive to get to the next day.

          At this point, she would become restless with what came next. Realizing the beginning of a relationship was created through this bond of security, she wasn't sure how to continue. Would there be a reason to get to the next experience? Would there be a chance for that relationship to grow? She wasn't sure, but she had to try. This initial feeling measured like the first hit of cocaine. Each hit after that was never quite the same with that person.

          Often she wondered why the need to tell her story to so many people kept her in this vicious cycle. The cycle would start with quiet depression, followed by her need to find someone to listen. The adrenaline would rise to a higher level with each conversation while she found courage for the whole story was told. Depending on how the listener reacted, she would either fall into depression or the release of emotion would become the venom releasing more poison into her soul. Toying with telling all or saying nothing, she began to come unraveled. She was looking for a hero. She was looking for someone to rescue her from the ruble of her life. Each earthquake left her aching for the refuge of somewhere to hide.

          I stood on the sidelines watching it all from a distance. Sure, I cheered her on. I even offered advice. But advice wasn't what she was looking for. She was looking for something deep, something to fill the empty places, the cracks in the floor. She was looking for a foundation.
       I didn't know how to give her that. So, I kept my distance. I stayed far enough away so that I didn't feel her pain, but close enough to watch her story unfold. For years it was ugly; hopeless without a doubt. She finally ran away hoping to avoid further calamity. However, six hundred miles away, when she fell asleep at night, reality crashed through in disturbing dreams. She would find herself back at the old home place with tornadoes spinning out of control, chasing her down. In every storm she found herself protecting her family. Pulling them to shelter, covering them with her own body, she would survive another twister.

        Aching for relief, looking for safety, longing for hope, praying for something to believe in, she would wake up to another sunrise. Each time she would realize she was still there trying to fight her demons, slay her dragons and grow up.

        Occasionally she would catch sight of me watching. Quickly I would turn my head or look down to avoid eye contact. She tried to pull me in a couple times and I resisted. Her pain was too intense. I couldn't take the chance of seeing the whole truth. I don't know how I would have survived it. Eventually, I offered to help her create a fairytale life. She liked the idea of that escape. So, I began the story.    Back and forth the short waves came. It really was crazy trying to lasso thoughts. She didn't know why she was always alone feeling isolated. Her connection was frayed. No one was hearing what she was trying to say. She wanted to get on with life, purpose and fun.
                Tired of being up all night, every night, she hated going to sleep. When she woke up it took too long to get back into a moment. Once she accomplished that, the short waves of lassoing her thought started all over.
                Sitting in front of a rolling screen, she could hear bits and pieces of all these lives. Was she really being true to herself or was she compromising her life by living through the stories of other people? The random thoughts kept twirling away until her body crashed across the bed in a comatose state of slumber. She could hear the screaming child inside the playhouse scream, "What the hell? What the hell?"    It was like she had died or something. Everyone kept moving forward. She was trapped! Trapped inside her own mind!
        "This is not what I signed up for! This is not what I said I wanted! And who the hell is it that keeps my emotions switching from one feeling to another? What kind of game is being played here? What is the score?" This was the voice she could hear coming from her own throat.
         "I've been keeping tabs on you. All the things you have done: regrets, successes, joys, and mistakes. I keep them all recorded." It was her adult voice she heard saying this. "And when you get too quiet, when there is no noise to drown me out, look at yourself! What do you see? Have you accomplished anything?"
         Screaming from a dark memory, a seventeen year-old voice was heard, "I survived! I survived!"

None of these voices were separate entities. However, they each represented a time and space in my life where I was traumatized and how I came to cope.