Jesus, Baby……



Yesterday, while taking time to speak to God, He whispered some terrifying words: Go and help the homeless, it is time.  I have prayed for a ministry, and have always felt an aching pain within my soul at the plight of the men, women, children and dogs who litter the street with their vulnerability.  I have often thought, there, but for the Grace of God go I…….and yet the idea of being in downtown Lebanon, alone, sent me reeling in fear.  PTSD or not, these are dangerous times.

“Oh man, tomorrow?”

Yes.  Tomorrow. He replied.

I felt a lurch in the pit of my stomach.  Earlier in the week I had been thinking along these lines, and immediately my friend Jason came to mind: the heart of a lion, combined with the strength of a cougar (I mean, he hiked the Appalachian Trail, twice.)  He works hard as an organist for his church, and having the male element involved, well, that calmed my nerves a bit.  Alas, he has a very busy schedule-working by day with autism, Down Syndrome and Intellectual disabilities, he spends the evenings practicing his music, pouring his heart and soul into that organ.

So, it was with trepidation that I set out on my first day of ministry.  I packed water, toilet paper, granola bars and soap.  This was just a trial run, I told myself.  But failure wasn’t exactly an option.

As I drove through historical Lebanon County, I was reminded of just how desperately I am in need of His grace.  Stopped at a red light, praying for God to lead me, to give me the right words, I was literally HONKED out of my prayer zone.  What the?  The light had just turned green……why, this is my BIGGEST PET PEEVE!!!!!!  I honked back in righteous (?) indignation.  The guy behind me flapped his visor (is this a new way of giving  someone the finger?) and yelled at me.

I then proceeded to drive approximately 10 miles per hour for the next three blocks.  And, you know, the Holy Spirit working inside said………

“Get off my jock you shit head,” I screamed in the most unladylike way imaginable.  Nice.  It never fails……..if I begin to take myself a bit too seriously, Abba is always there to remind me that all the Glory belongs to Him.  I am but a lowly servant, and if anyone needs His forgiveness, well, it’s me.

Pulling into the parking lot of the Downtown Market, my eyes searched the scene for someone I could minister to.  At first I thought He was leading me to a man on the corner, whom I thought was surely in need, but when I caught up to him he had walked into the local TempForce, and I wasn’t about to follow him.  How embarrassed would he have been if, while standing in line for a job, I indiscreetly handed him a roll of toilet paper?  No, not my guy.  I crossed the street and immediately saw that God was leading me to a man, sitting on a fire hydrant…..his belongings?  A shirt and two lottery tickets.

“This is my first day of ministry in town.  Can you lead me to people who are in need?”

He was proud, I could tell right away.  I introduced myself to the dark-skinned man, his hair lightly silvered.  He told me his name was Marcella,  and then he did the strangest thing:  He began to minister to me.  He spoke of how he didn’t consider himself homeless.

“I don’t look at it that way.  God provides.  I am from Puerto Rico, and one day, in His perfect timing I will go home.”   His hands shook as we parted.  I gave him a bottle of cold water, but he turned down the granola bar.  We prayed together, and hugged one another, each of us clinging to the other.

“If you come next week, I am craving an orange.”

It was all I could do to get back to the jeep before sobbing  a lake of tears.


The Rabbit Hole – April 22, 2017

I am sitting in my bedroom, the rain knocking sweetly against the old tin roof, dwelling in this space-with Jesus, and the feeling cannot be described in words.  It’s been a long day, and I am drained, yet I am over the moon euphoric….these moments are so rare, yet more precious than any worldly thing that could possibly compare.  The journey has recently become a bit brighter, and I am overwhelmed with emotion.

Did you ever notice that God so richly blesses us after a lesson, or trial that He has allowed in our lives?  I am now, just into my fifties and realizing the incredible ways in which Yahweh shows his love, like a father who’s child has pleased him by learning, growing.  Jesus weeps when we weep, and God doesn’t enjoy correcting us-quite the contrary.  He wants His children to be at peace and radiating the joy of knowing Him…it can be seen in the people who have a peace that surpasses all understanding, because we know that Yahweh is in charge and Jesus lives in us.

I can tell you it’s been a trying couple of months and I have felt mildly unnerved about 80% of the time.  Coming out of the New Age turned out to be an amazing way in which to connect and strengthen our bond.  He tells me to lighten up, literally, constantly.  When I need it the most, Jesus will strike my funny bone and we will laugh and laugh and laugh.  I am a hot mess in heels and we laugh at that too.   I believe he enjoys my escapades, at least those in which I humor him by, say, pouring cat food into my brownie mix, or putting my purse in the refrigerator.  (HOLY HORMONES………) I took a walk around our property today, noticing with excitement that our pear orchard is cross-pollinating and the trees look healthy.  My husband has worked hard on our vegetable garden and we are getting the rains for that and my perennial gardens.  I am at peace with myself for the first time in forever.  We are going on a family vacation, our first time in 25 years of marriage (that’s a story for another day, another mood.)  Dwain, my husband, is happy with his move to Lezzer Lumber, and we can breathe a bit until my Social Security Disability hearing.

I heard I picked the only female judge.  I hear she makes people cry.  I can hear him, Jesus, laughing at my expense as we speak.

I Put a Spell on You………………. 11060012_971825489522822_3731756336227851706_nWe’re gonna talk about men here, so if you are of the male persuasion, don’t get you socks in a knot.  It’s all good- we love our men, but they drive us bat shit crazy.  Indubitably…………….

I fell  incredibly hard for the man of my dreams, whom I have been married to for almost 25 years.  Yeah, count ’em.  As a matter of fact, I put him on such a pedestal that I thought of leaving him the first time I saw him sit on the toilet.  Seriously.  He was all I ever wanted in a man….which was the male essence, the strength and humor I found in him.  And his green eyes……I could swim in those eyes.  But let me tell you brother, if there is a creature on this planet who can make my blood boil, it is this man I love.

For instance, we had a super duper, extra special nuclear argument just this very weekend.  He has started a new career, and found a fabulous job.  I am very proud of my man.  He is working long hours and at the end of the day he would like me to present myself as Marilyn Monroe/Julia Child and the energizer bunny-in that order if you please.  He wants me to be all wifey and shit, and sometimes, well, actually often, I come down with a cold or sinus infection that I have no control over.  I was never sick for a day when I drank, but sobriety, Lyme disease and an undiagnosed immunodeficiency disorder have plagued me for the last ten years.  So this is how the dog fight started.

It is Friday and someone is trying to break into my home.  Pounding on the door, jiggling the lock, looking in the windows…..why it is my husband, Dwain!  I thought he had a key…..I am in bathrobe and slippers because my brain is exploding with a sinus migraine……I open the door, he looks at me with fire in his eyes………

“What the hell is your problem?” I demand.

“Actually, I was having a good day until…………………”  I have no idea what he said because I had hightailed my ass up to my woman cave and went to bed, leaving him to rant and rave about the injustice of me not being all sparkly and all when he walks through the door at 5 p.m.  I did not speak to him again until the next day when I called him at work.

“Seriously!!!!  What is your problem?”  I was angry at this point and he knew it.  He hadn’t kissed me goodbye, and for Dwain, that means that something has upset his sensitive side…………..and I was going to get to the bottom of it.  Sherlock Holmes has nothing on me-I will beat you down to get the information I need, relentlessly picking until committing Hare Kari is your only option left.

“I am writing you a text,” he said.  Before I could say word one he had hung up the phone.

Now I have passed the pissed off zone.  I have PMS.  I have a migraine.  I have a husband who is about to be shot out of a cannon, because I am SO angry that I can’t think straight.

If he could have seen my face when I read said text, I don’t think he would have even entertained the thought of coming home:  YOU HAVE BEEN SICK FOR A WEEK AND THAT’S NOT NORMAL.  What the Venus Fly Trap?  Am I unworthy of compassion?  Am I asking too much, do I not work my behind off cleaning the house, feeding the cats and dog, cleaning out litterboxes, grocery shopping, gardening and painting the house?  I was seething.  Another day went by and we weren’t speaking.  I usually succumb to my husband’s apologies….but there were none.

Oh, (I thought out loud) you want a piece of me?  You’re gonna get a piece of me.”

It was Sunday morning before we spoke again.  I went to get baptized and figured he knew where the church was.  I sat in the front row, in tears, looking up each and every time the church doors opened.  Nope, no Dwain.  You can well imagine how hurt I was, but I didn’t (he certainly didn’t) know just how pissed I was until I came home and read the card placed strategically on the steps to our home.  I had sent him two texts, two emails and a facebook message explaining (for the 3,789th time) that I was abused as a child and his maltreatment of me when I am under the weather is a trigger.  I sent him two articles: one about PTSD, and the other about childhood neglect.

“Wow, I don’t think we ever talked about how bad your childhood was……..”

Really?  In what universe did I not tell my husband about my childhood?  Do men listen, do they grasp any reality but their own at any given God forsaken moment?  And then it happened.  I slapped him.  Hard.  I felt awful, but why do we have to be screaming, whirling dervishes of angst before we can get your attention?

Riddle me that Batman.



The Rabbit Hole

M is for Manifest……………….

Sorry I haven’t written for awhile………………….my PTSD has run amok and I am just now able to breathe, think, create.  I am writing a series on coming out of the New Age, and whilst on my morning hike I thought of how I was taught by my Reiki Master to think only positive thoughts and that we create the situations we find ourselves in.  I could never come to peace with that notion.  Do children bring abuse or molestation upon themselves for thinking negative thoughts?  Do parents bring about the loss of a child simply by worrying about their safety?  I think not.

Because I have mental health issues, (depression, PTSD, GAD, ADHD) I was terrified to have a thought, let alone a negative one.  For a year and a half I stuck by this “positive manifestation” nonsense, and I am here to tell you that no matter how hard I tried, I could not think of asking God to bless me a little more why don’t you?  I am quite blessed in many ways, too many to count.  I have a lovely home in the country (yes, our house needs work, and a ton of it, but I have a roof over my head), a good man for a husband (he drives me crazy in seven different languages, but basically, he is a decent soul) true friends and a flare for the creative.  I have my faith and that means so much to me.  I have family, and that doesn’t necessarily mean blood.

Speaking of PTSD, mine was initially triggered by emotional abuse at the hands of my narcissist mother, for which I have forgiven her completely.  At nineteen I was date raped by a man who then went out to the quad and played Frisbee with his friends-leaving me to cry, disassociate and clean up the mess.  In 1993 I was hit by a drunk on a Harley, leaving me for dead on a country road in the middle of the night.  Trigger number three.  And then, last June, while walking on Deer Path Trail in the Middlecreek Wildlife Conservation Park, I was stalked by a naked man carrying a metal detector.

Hiking with my golden retriever, I heard a rustling of leaves when we turned the bend towards the water.  “A bird,” I thought out loud.  As we reached the more treacherous part of the trail, I was hit with the paranoid thought that someone was following me.  Standing at the railroad ties that bridged the mucky quicksand, I turned around.  There he was, his wild red hair and nakedness enough to put the fear of God in me.  I motioned to my pup, who immediately got the message and ran with me, jumping over rocks and tree limbs in our path.  My heart was in my throat and I didn’t look back, just ran until the clearing……I emerged from the woods a nervous mess, distraught and breathless.  Turned out there were Conservation Officers doing trail checks (Divine Intervention) and they set out, guns at the ready, to find the perpetrator.  They found him masturbating, and trying to throw away the evidence……no charges were filed.  He wasn’t even warned.  I ended up being the one to chase him at speeds over 100 mph., just because they couldn’t get his license plate.  Harrowing……….

I shut down that day.  Completely unhinged, I went to said Reiki Master and asked that she pray over me.wonderlandcatgfairy002_vectorizedb

You know you brought this on yourself, right?”

I should have throat punched her right then and there.






Morning Song


The whirling dervish on the run,

the narcissist who blocks the Son.

The hypocrite I see in you-

the heart you beat

’til black and blue.


I take my burdens, wrap them up-

seek your Grace as I set out~

to the Living Waters you provide-

the lush green grass and

peace within.

Step out of darkness-see the Light;

hold on fast and right the wrongs.

This is my morning song.