I Bow Down to Pray……….

TRIGGER WARNING:  This video is upsetting to most, graphic content and possible trigger for those of us suffering from CPTSD.

I was so nervous heading to Villanova for my first year of college.  I was a jock/nerd in high school, and I was petrified people would see through me.  I had a humongous crush on the guy in my Calculus class, and the girl who sat beside me and I would giggle every time he came into the room.  One morning I decided to follow him, in hopes that I would get his attention.  He did notice, and later, in the quad, he asked me if I would like to go out to a party later that evening.

Weeks later, Michael and I are dating.  He was the epitome of the Big Man on Campus, and everyone knew him.  I was achingly thin, still suffering from anorexia, and the idea that he wanted me on his arm, at all the big frat parties, well-heady stuff my friends.

It was late Spring and pretty much everyone was out and about.  Michael asked me to come up to his dorm room, and I didn’t think, I just acted.

“Want to come up and help me pack?”  He asked on our way to a calculus final.

Later, while in his room, he raped me.  No easy way to say it.  I know that I said NO at least twenty times.  I was bleeding, disheveled, crying.  He grabbed his Frisbee and went to play with his frat brothers, while I-stunned and reeling at the fact that he had taken my virginity, taken my trust and all that was good and holy and true~

I washed up in the dormitory bathroom.  He didn’t acknowledge me as I walked to my car.  I lived in nearby King of Prussia, and headed for home.  Coming into the hallway my mother gave me a cheerful hello.  It was all I could do to acknowledge her.  I couldn’t make eye contact, because she would know.  She would know I turned out to be what she had always told me I would be: a promiscuous woman, a disgrace to the family, the black sheep that never had a chance to be white.

 

I Think it Strange You Never Knew

I took what I wish I could tell you was my last drink in the beginning of October, 2007.  I ended up in the hospital after a suicide attempt, which is another story for another day.  What sobered me up was a combination of my husband’s frailty, my will to live and a gift-the blessing of clarity that comes from Jesus.  I won’t even try to tell you that this road has been easy.  We addicts push down the truth, and push our loved ones away-fact-and until we achieve sobriety?  Well, there will be no healing, no peace, no end to the pain that holds us in bondage.

Months afterwards, I was hiking in two feet of snow with my golden retriever, Dylan.  A shining star and beloved pet, it hurts my heart that I wasn’t with him for the first 5 years of his time on this earth.   I was here, but I wasn’t present, and I have no memory of what could have been the best years of my life, had I not succumbed to the melodic pull of oblivion.

So I am trudging up this hill, and I am overcome with love.  I feel forgiveness surround me.  I cry out to God and confess the absurd backslide I have taken with alcohol and pain medication.  I cry out to Jesus and I tell him to take my life, it isn’t mine to begin with, take it Jesus, mold me Jesus, cry with me and then I’ll get tough, I promise…….

“I have been here with you from the very beginning of time.  I have cried your tears, tasted the salt of your remorse, and I will deliver you from this travesty……”

I think it strange, I never knew….

 

Killing in the Name of……….

I wanted to write about a subject that many are tuned in to, and many run from.   A few months back, as I came out of the New Age and in to the arms of Jesus (He always had me, I just needed some redirection) I came across a video about 9/11.  It opened my eyes to an entire world I knew nothing about, and for the most part I wish I had never been enlightened.

We are in the end times, peeps.  I have done countless hours of research on this subject, and what really terrifies me is this:  who do people turn to when, as a matter of fact, we can no longer trust the powers that be-the government, the elite, the alt left pushing for a NWO?  The Nephilim, the BEK, aka Obanje children……the prophecies of the bible are being fulfilled left and right.  Black Eyed Children, also known as the Nephilim, or-a result of fallen angels bedding human women, are rearing their ugly heads all over this world, the illuminati is real, the music and movie industry prove this time and time again.

I am no longer frightened as I know  that I am covered by the blood of Jesus.  I know not to answer the door to hollow, insistent knocking.  I realize I can rebuke any demon in the name of Jesus, and their authority will vanish….I even know about deliverance, and it’s a ministry I am learning day by day.  The mark of the beast, or chipping, is on the rise.  Talk of cloning and demonic activity, the Watchers and Satan’s dominion are every where you look.

My point is this:  if you had to choose between good and evil, life and death, purity and darkness~wouldn’t you want to be on the side that wins in the end?  Desperate times call for desperate measures.  You can call me crazy, but that won’t bother me one bit.  These phenomena cannot be called conspiracy theories any  longer, and the prevalence of evil in this world has been prophesized for thousands of years.

The powers that be in this day and age-the federal government, the Pope (skin crawlies) and even Joel Osteen closing the doors of his “church” to the downtrodden and terrorized in Texas-it’s all in God’s book.  If you want to see it, that is.

In this day and age whom will you serve?  As for me and my house?  We will serve the Lord.   Run to him, his loving arms are wide open……..he’s been whispering, isn’t it time to let Him into your heart?

You Give Love a Bad Name……

Holy MOSES if I see one more self-professing “Christian” judge another self-professing “Christian” I will lose my Holy water.  Yes, this is the year of Satan, MK Ultra and Reptilian forces beyond our control.  Yes, it is probably the end times, but we could have 50 more or plus years to get through, and God is judging the judgers.  Holy CRAP ON A CRACKER, make a joyful sound for crying out loud.  WHY ON THE PLANET URANUS WOULD ANYONE WANT TO BE A FOLLOWER OF CHRIST WHEN THEY SEE YOUR JUDGMENTAL BEHIND LOOKING DOWN AT THEM?

Why can’t we show joy?  Love?  Acceptance?  What the H E DOUBLE TOOTHPICKS is going on around here?  Look, my dog has an awesome discernment, and he says, lose the attitude……..show some love and for God’s sake…..JUMP AROUND.288748_1804316207133_119400213_o

Welcome To My Monday Morning…..

 

I was scrolling through social media this morning.  Holy Nothing to See Here folks……the floods in Texas, my God those poor people….and then I came across a video of the Wayne Music Festival.  The concert I had been so looking forward to……..the one I had to avoid in order to give my brother a drama free experience whilst reconnecting with band mates and thousands of fans.  I remember my husband telling me that he said to Craig, Wouldn’t it be funny if you’re in the middle of a set and you look out and see your sisters in a knock down, drag out…….no, not in this world or any other would that be remotely humorous.  So, I stayed home and cried all day.  My poor husband.  My poor brother.  My poor aching ass cheeks.

I made a pact, more like a plea deal with God awhile ago, in which I told Him I would suffer any humiliation, tomfoolery or dumheight (PA Dutch for hijinks) if He would allow me my husband and family’s safety.  Let’s just say God hasn’t reneged on the deal, and in accordance with said theme, I have bemoaned the following:

Not feeling well, fighting a cold for weeks, I came home from church on my knees yesterday.   All I needed was the girls room, a cup of coffee and a minute to myself.  It was no surprise when I sat down with said cup of joe that all hell broke loose.  The cats were hungry (NOT), the dog was itchy, and my husband was doing some electric work (STOP THE MADNESS DWAIN, YOU ARE NOT AN ELECTRICIAN!!!!!!!)

“I’m going to pee, call my brother, and then I’ll be in the hammock for the duration of the day,” I announced. 

I go to sit my butt down under the shade trees and see my husband struggling for dear life.  We are withered nubs of nothing after fighting an unholy war with the fleas of the tristate area-yes, they all got their PARTY AT TEAM HOFFMAN!!! invite, and we were still reeling from a weekend of flea bathing, frontline, and other anti-bug weaponry.

“Need any help?,” I half heartedly asked Dwain.

Yes!  If you could just hold on to this fishing wire, I am going to pull some_________through this hose and finish the _______.  I am not fluent in manspeak, but I knew one thing:  the chances of this happening were between slim and no way in hell.  My husband has not finished a household project in some twenty plus years, yesterday was no exception.

Honey!!!!  Hold it LOOSELY……..DON’T BREAK THE LINE…are you PULLING HARD ENOUGH……pull it until it won’t go….GENTLY honey……..then, #$%@^*****!!!

I lasted all of three minutes.  And then came Pop, his father, ready, willing and somewhat able to assist in the melee!  There was a shop vac involved, and I heard Dwain tell his father to wait until he was ready before he turned on the………

“OK.  GOT IT!!!!!!,” yelled Pop……the vacuum turned on, and Dwain, on his knees at this point, mumbled, “I didn’t say I was ready……”  at which point I started laughing, that insane, melodic belly giggling that only surfaces when you have lost your freaking mind…..

 

 

 

The Pilgrimage…….

I am just a big ball of tears today.  Weeping, blowing my nose, weeping again.  This is nothing new to me, and I have long given up thoughts that my emotions make me weak or unworthy.  This is how I roll, and it is AOKAY with Jesus.  Actually, crying is such a sweet release, but, like today in church, as our Pastor was speaking about his hike on Spain’s El Camino trail-I sometimes wish I could turn it off.  What led to this great display of angst?  While praying, Tony asked that we ask God if there is something we need to let go of, and that is when I broke down.

Call me an Empath, Sensitive, or even a crybaby…..call me whatever you will, my heart breaks in half, not just at my own wounds, but at the great gaping wound that is humanity.  I cannot BARE to see another man suffer, not an animal, not a fly for crying out loud.  I cannot stomach it, and therefore I give it to Him and weep like a child.

We all have things that we need to release, and on this great Pilgrimage of life, some things are easier than others.  Why do we find it necessary to hold on to things, people or places that destroy us?  Because we think we cannot let go.  This morning I wept for the loss of my sister, but there were people in that community who could have wept, could have laid down in the aisles and screamed to the heavens for mercy, because the pain and burdens they are carrying are way too much and often we forget that Jesus is right beside us, weeping, holding, carrying and praying for us.  Tony had some questions he thought would be answered on this journey, and one of them was why does God heal some, take their thorns and throw them into the abyss, and not others?  He came back to Lancaster County with answers, but not for that question.

It is my hope and prayer for each and every one of you that you know this in your heart of hearts:  you are worthy of God’s love.  He will take that aching and turmoil, he will mold it into something that will not only bring Him glory, but bring you to a place of peace, understanding and love~but you must give it to Him first.

Let’s Do Some Living…….

I went for my annual mammogram the other day.  I always go to Heart of Lancaster, and up until two years ago I brought my mother in law with me-my first experience, 17 years ago, left its mark on my psyche.  The tech found a spot on my breast, which she told me about.  Panic ensued.  It was a Saturday and my husband was golfing.  She had no business giving me that information, and it wasn’t until a follow up ultrasound that we found out it was a benign cyst.

So, the squeezing and pinching (3D is a new fresh hell, but I am thankful for the step up in early detection.)  I lost a very close friend to breast cancer.  Before we knew it, the cancer had metastasized to her liver, then brain.  She died a painful death, and none of us, not even her family, were allowed to see her in the final days.  I still weep over this loss, in the jeep, in the shower, right this very minute.  She was light and love and laughter….and she left us forlorn, with unanswered questions and mile high grief.

After my mammogram, a little voice inside my heart (aka, the Holy Spirit) led me to the volunteer office.  I couldn’t get there fast enough.  One thing led to the other and now I am reeling at how fast this happened.  If God wants you to minister, you cannot walk away from your mission-the Chaplain asked if I would like to work at the front desk in the mammography department, escorting and comforting nervous women who are about to have a vice grip on their precious girls.  I didn’t hesitate, of course, I answered.

What happened next made so much sense to me, I had to shake my head and smile at Jesus, because he knew my isolation and pain over the past few months.  In the chaplain’s office again for a follow up orientation, she asked this question:

“You can say no, but would you like to volunteer in the Emergency Room?”

Shocked, then crippled with insecurity, I said, “Yes.”  On the way home I spoke to God and told him I was NOT THE PERSON FOR THIS JOB.  I didn’t want to be caught in the fetal position with my pants down, if you get my drift.  Anything and everything could trigger me.  I had many, many reasons for doubt, and then He spoke to my heart.

My precious child, my good and faithful servant-what have you not suffered in all the years we have known each other?  Am I not the Alpha and the Omega?  Do you think I would call you to something I would not give you the strength and courage to do?

Stopping into the ER to have my TB test read, I asked the head nurse what a typical day is like.

“Some days are slow.  But because of the heroin epidemic, we have days where it’s nothing but overdoses, one right after the other.”

Walking back to the jeep I looked up in awe and celebration.  The good Lord has given me a ministry I have plenty of experience with.  No, not heroin, but just about everything else has piqued my addictive curiosity.  I know the damage this does, as I know heroin addicts, and because it is so cheap in this area, no one really bothers with pills any more.

For when I am weak, only then am I strong.

Time After Time………..

As I sit here at my pc, fresh off the phone with my bestest and closest friend, I weep.  These are not tears of sadness, or remorse.  Not droplets of anger or regret.  These are the purest kind of tears, joyous weeping.  It happens far from often, but when it does, oh, the love that pours out of your heart cannot be contained within four walls, four states, no, not even four football fields.  It is this insurmountable, unabashed joy that comes as a gift in the form of ecstasy, relief and release.  You are full, in your heart and soul, of the peace that comes from being loved.  Wholly, truly, and for real-you are loved by God, you are loved by Jesus, and if you are one of the luckiest girls alive-you are loved by your tribe, the circle in which you surround yourself.

I am blessed with an incredible group of friends, time tested, die hard, youpissmeoffbutiloveyouanyway amigos-oh, by the way, I piss them off, not the other way around.  There is Dot, my beautiful friend with an amazing gift for generosity of the spirit.  She does not trust just any one and our friendship was formed in a church we dearly loved, and later trauma bonded over.  She is the friend who brings bags and bags of food at Christmas-home made delicacies from her kitchen…….and with that, because she knows how poor you are and also knows you hike, thick socks, handwarmers, a warm and cozy sweater, because she worries you might not be warm enough.

Tracy is my sidekick, partner in crime if you will.  She has a kick ass sense of humor and her heart beats for justice, love and mercy.  She is the friend you call when all you can do is cry, and she will cry with you and tell you a story involving one of her antics and you will belly laugh until you are crying once again, but laughing-crying.  I call her Hollywood because she knows more people than my husband, and that is a shit ton of people.  I tease her because she is so humble.  Her popularity never goes to her head, and she has compassion for my plight-my depression, anxiety, my recovery from alcoholism.  She apologizes if we haven’t been in touch, but she need not-the time we spend together means the world to me, and I know you are there.

Shari is my newest compadre.  We have been associates for years, and she is also my hair stylist.  Back when I first moved here, she did my hair-even for my Victorian wedding.  The do was so spectacular-lots and lots of braids, swept up to form the most elegant display.  I remember my mother, who stayed at the Lantern Lodge with dad the weekend of my first wedding-I went to her hotel room directly after, excited and bouncy and feeling regal.

“Is THAT how you’re going to wear your hair?  I don’t like it,” which upset me for about one millisecond because my mother never liked the way I wore my hair.  Either my hair was in my face or if it was up it should be down……you know mothers and daughters.

Anyway, God has answered my prayer for a bestie that gets me because she is me-you know, the friend you share so much in common with that the theme to the Twilight Zone starts playing in her head.  Shari and I agree on almost every thing, and we each have a mean streak that makes us laugh at ourselves.  Maybe not a mean streak, more like a temper. We are both red heads and recovering doormats, and I am blessed beyond measure that we have found each other again.

And lastly, but far from least is my next door neighbor and gal pal extraordinaire Donna.  I met her when they moved in next to us some 26 years ago.  We have been friends ever since, and she is the friend that knows everything, the good, the bad and the downright criminal-but loves you anyway.  This kind of friend is a rarity………she has been by me through rough times in my marriage, taking care of and then losing my father, alcoholism, relapses and family drama.  She is the friend that talks to your husband when you have downed a half bottle of vodka and you are frightened out of your mind.  Fall is our favorite season, and we both love old things, angels and gardening.  We are die hard conservatives who talk politics for hours, and once in a  while she will actually make me leave my abode when she knows I self isolate and haven’t been out of the house since the Clinton administration.  I love her like a sister, and she is the friend that made me weep those tears of joy today.  She has been overseas for a few weeks, and with the tragedy in Barcelona, I have been on pins and needles.  I sighed in huge relief when she drove up her ridiculously treacherous driveway yesterday, because she is safe and needed at home.

This is my love letter to you, Dot, Tracy, Donna and Shari.  My life is so much richer with you in it, and for that, oh for that I am overjoyed.

Middle Aged, Angry Ninja Housewife

This is a scene from Kill Bill, actually a medley from Kill Bill I and II.  This is one of my favorite movies of all time, which is shocking because I hate violence.  Speaking of violence, I am on a mission to seek, maim and destroy every mother effing tick in the tristate area.  The following is a true story, and names have been changed-you know, to protect the homicidal.

I have been after mon amour to rip our hideous, pet-destroyed, smelly, eyesore of a carpet for 3 years.  There were many excuses, (we’ll steam clean it, it’s your fault-let another cat in why don’t you, and my personal favorite:  there is a dip in the middle of the dining room, it will show) and it came right down to it last Sunday evening when, in the midst of a flea war, we lost our collective minds and raised a white flag.  Well, the white flag wasn’t raised until the next day, ’cause….you know, I am stubborn and chit.  So, I am vacuuming like my mother in law is coming over to take pictures.  It is hot.  I am bothered.  And then it began.

“Honey, don’t put any more diatomaceous earth down.  It’s all over the place and you are causing yourself more work.”

I stopped the vacuum.  (I was all tangled up in the chord, not a good look when you’re trying to win an argument) I look at him, long and hard before I speak.

“I have been asking you for 3 years to pull out this piece of shit, and as God as my witness-if I have to take it out one square foot at a time, I will do it myself.”

In all actuality, I have been doing it myself.  Literally cutting, exacto knifing and ripping out the carpet, one miserable day at a time.  So, Dwain insinuated that we have a flea infestation because of the cats.  As all of my cats, with the sole exception of Maya Angelou-who is not fixed-are living on the streets.  Yes, I cried.  THOSE POOR CATS ARE ALREADY LIVING OUTSIDE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (OK, so they are fed twice a day and have seven acres of gardens, pond and trails to meander)  They aren’t inside and that was my point.  I grabbed my bible and books, I pounded up the stairs.  I went to bed at 6 p.m.

I have become a silent killer.  I will stalk you down and mutilate you by way of cedar chip, flea powder, teasel oil and any other ingredients I can find.  I will vacuum you up and spit on your grave.  I will crush you in my puny little hands and make you wish you had never messed with the likes of this mad woman.  Oh, I forgot about the argument.  You are wondering why I haven’t bombed the house?

“Honey, I’m going to rip out the carpet tonight.  Then I’ll grab a few bombs from Good’s and we’ve got this.”

I run to Target.  I buy flea bombs like I am purchasing the Hope diamond for crying out loud.  I come home to battle, I take up my cross and before I can even take the merchandise out of the bag, I hear:

Honey, about those bombs………..

Color me hysterical.  Bang bang.