What is love, really? And how do you know if you’re on the right track, if you are loving someone enough, or …in a way that tells them they are loved?
Love is patient.
Love is kind.
Love does not anger,
nor does it boast.
This is what we find in our bibles, and make no mistake-God meant what he said, but how many of us can rise to that place? For me? Love is compassion. Love is validation. Love may take it up a notch or two-as lovers are passionate, and the frenzy can make us crazy. My husband and I still rant and rave, but at the end of the day? Love, somehow prevails. I remember not so long ago the days of begging him to love me, and now the tables have turned-love doesn’t hold anything over your head, and if you wax and wane poetic, but have no understanding or compassion, what does it amount to? Dust. Dust in the wind.
True love allows the other person breathing space. It listens, nods its’ head in sorrow, puts you in the shoes of the lovee.
Don’t you speak over my words. My reality is hard won, and I won’t trade my newfound jewels for stones-not today, not ever~
I thought you would enjoy this blog, as there are so many new avenues we will be able to take in order to help make America Great Again. I have taken notice that GOOGLE has now taken me out of their search engine-I will see you in court. You can bookmark and by the grace of God, I am still in the Duck Duck Go Engine.
I volunteer in a local Emergency Room. I was scheduled for yesterday afternoon, 12 to 4, and no matter how hard I tried? I could not muster the enthusiasm to take a shower, let alone go to work. I picked up the phone several times to call off, but something made me put down that phone, and I am here to say, Praise God I did.
Used to working the morning shift, I had no idea what to expect. As I approached the double doors a sense of purpose filled my veins, and what I was about to walk into was the most horrific day of my entire nursing career. Every room full, I immediately went to Room 14, as I heard wails of agony and pain. The man in the bed was in his nineties, and he was hysterical.I introduced myself, but he couldn’t hear me, he was too far gone.
I asked his son and wife what was going on. His son shook his head, wiped away a tear and told me that this was NOT his father. He was a good Christian man who was beloved in his community and family. His dad was strong and stoic; I could tell the family was terrified.
“Oh Jesus, take me now. I am so sorry. I am dying. My legs are on fire. Please, take care of my wife and children….my grandchildren, OH MY GOD, WHY? I AM DYING, PLEASE GOD, I DON’T NEED GOLD WALKWAYS, JUST TAKE ME NOW………”
This went on for another twenty minutes. I spoke to him, loudly and clearly. What have you seen? Why are you so frightened? You aren’t dying, your stats are perfect…..he was white as snow, tormented…..and then I knew. I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt what was wrong.
“The Diablo. He is making me curse Jesus, think terrible things about my Lord. I deserve to die, TAKE ME OH TAKE ME JESUS,”
I closed the curtain. The nurse administered a sedative. I asked the family to shush.
“You have no authority here, Satan. No authority. Drink the blood of Jesus demon and be gone. Jesus is here, God is holding you. Drink the blood of Jesus……”
I was convinced the doctor and nurses would think me insane and fire me as soon as I walked from beyond the curtain. I waited and continued to pray out loud. Within moments he calmed down. Enough to listen to me.
“Who is the father of all lies? Satan is toying with you, but once God has you no one can ever take you away. Do you understand me? God loves you, and so does your family. Listen to me…….”
I retreated for another warm blanket. As I walked passed the gawking nurses, (and I mean every single one of them had their jaws open) I didn’t make eye contact. I couldn’t. I walked back into the room. He was given another sedative.
There are things that I cannot divulge, but may I say this?
Praise, Glory and Honor to the Most High, and thank you Jesus, for your love and strength.
I walked Bob out to his car with his oh so thankful family. He was dapper and strong, laughing at our jokes, and he kissed me on the cheek…….
“I don’t know how to thank you,” his son and wife said. It wasn’t me they owed any gratitude, it was our heavenly father and Yeshua. But they knew that.
And as I walked into the ER, prepared to be told to leave, the doctor said this:
“You are worth your weight in gold. You couldn’t pay someone to do what you just did.”
I kept walking, straight to the nearest empty room. And I got down on my knees and wept.
Yes, I am well aware of the fact that I used this song in a previous blog this week. I am so enamored of this woman, and it appears as if she wrote the words for all of us, and none of us at the very same time. What I do know is that she knows the pain of betrayal, and possibly the pain of rejection, loneliness and addiction.
So, this is part two of my testimony. There will be an ending, as with all things-but I haven’t written it yet as my life has just begun to unfold. When you accept Christ, you die to this world. I wish I knew that as a child, banished to the kingdom of naught. It is more than enough that I know this now.
I write this blog in order to come alongside my brothers and sisters, the words written by the Holy Spirit and all glory going to God-my writing has taken on a life of its own-I am just the vessel in which He uses to communicate His message of hope and goodwill to all of His children.
“People” have never, ever understood me. Until I read Ezekiel I had no clue that the reason I didn’t fit in was because I was literally not a part of the game called life-I had no interest in popularity, no interest in money, not one iota of interest in what others find interesting. And although there have been times of extreme emotional pain? Each day in bed, each bout of depression and each earth shattering scenario has made me the person I am today-and I like her. I like her very much.
As a matter of fact? It wasn’t until very recently, and due to my salvation that I realized that God doesn’t make junk. My mother had some mental health issues related to her own upbringing. As a young child, I recognized the importance of pleasing her-and I did everything humanly possible to make her realize my profound love for her. I cleaned the house and took care of her Saturday hangovers. Oh, the joy I felt when she called me her little angel! That all changed when I reached the age of 11 and wanted my own friends, my own life.
“Only whores play street hockey,” she said to me one morning as I was placing her Tylenol and coffee on the side of the bed.
I didn’t understand. My heart crumbled into a million pieces and I had to do a double take-this wasn’t the mother I knew and why in the world would she call me a whore? The answers lay in her own insecurities, her need for control and her Borderline Personality Disorder-not officially diagnosed, but I know it wasn’t Narcissism because later in her life she changed, dramatically, and I knew we were loved.
My relationship with her in my formative years was indescribable. I remember picking her Tiger Lillys, telling her I loved her, begging her to love me-but as I grew her resentment of me took on a life of its own. She verbally abused me on a daily basis, then wondered aloud why I had no self esteem. This is when the shameful voices began, so ingrained that I distinctly remember the day that they stopped.
It was a few years after I got sober. I sat down at my computer early one morning, and instinctively knew that something had changed. But what? I called out to Jesus and asked Him, what is happening, am I losing my mind?
No. I was regaining perspective. Gone were the taunting, cruel and unusual whispers of persecution.
You’re a piece of shit. You can’t do anything right. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Lose some weight you pig, why can’t you touch anything without it turning to crap? Nobody loves you, why would they? You don’t deserve love, no whore does.
It was constant and I drank to get rid of the ghosts. I drank to feel something but less than, to quiet the rage and the thoughts that led me to weeks in bed at a time-depression so severe I often thought of offing myself-I just didn’t have the courage.
A few years ago I went to a doctor’s appointment-a specialist. I had been measured at 4’11” my entire life. When the nurse called out 5’1″ I thought she was talking to someone other than myself.
“Umm, can you take that again? I hardly think I’ve grown two inches in the past year,” I laughed.
She did take it again and with the same result.
It finally hit me like a ton of bricks. The shame, self loathing and mocking voices had kept me hunched over. As I grew in my recovery and healing, I stood straight for the first time in 50 years. My self loathing had been so horrific that I had literally crippled myself.
In tomorrow’s blog I will address my rebirth as a born again and how Jesus took me by the hand and taught me the greatest lesson I have learned.
Keep hope alive, dear ones. God is real and true and loyal and He wants you to know that above the din and darkness of this world? There is nothing but love awaiting you.
Before I alarm my readers, I want to say that I wrote this in December of last year. If you are a regular, your eyes would be bugging, you’d be thinking –
For crying out loud? Is she left unattended on a regular basis, and if so, why?
That reminds me of the time my step son was pulling into the driveway one day last Spring. I was in the garden as he turned into the driveway. And then, I wasn’t. Yep, stepped on a rake-just like you see in the movies-and knocked myself into a concussion. To this very day? I mind my business around them, try not to get too close. Sneaky bastards.
This is the season of my content. And that is precisely what I was thinking as I stood in my garden and thrilled to the Monarchs and hummingbirds. I was feeling pretty overcome with emotion, gratitude on a level that is hard to put into words. This was all I had dreamed of and more. Not just the garden…
And then, all hell broke loose.
I bent down to watch a particular butterfly, caught by her beauty and grace. It took approximately three seconds for me to realize that a mother effing praying mantis was eating her head. There were muffled cries, lots of cursing mother nature, and, inevitably? The hysterical spraying of said praying mantis with dawn dish soap I usually reserve for my roses.
On that note, have a fab Sunday and hope you enjoy~
Life goes along at warp speed until something stops you dead in your tracks: As was the case Sunday morning, after a full weekend of loving and socializing, the enemy came to take his due-you don’t think he isn’t out there trying to devour everything good in your life? Au contraire, mon amies! But here’s the good news-call out to Jesus, and you are free. He can’t hurt you if you are covered in the full armor of God.
But what about those times when evil does strike? Well, Abba will protect you in ways you couldn’t imagine, and that’s why I’m alive and writing this blog-my Lord and Savior sent His angels, and they protected me from a massive head injury and internal bleeding.
Just out of Dwain’s truck, exhausted from a weekend of frivolity, I could barely pick up my feet. I had promised my husband that I would collect the myriad of dog toys that lay around our yard, at the whim of my golden retriever, who thinks he has to entertain the grasshoppers and blue jays with his cacophony of babies. It’s so sweet, until it isn’t.
I had my purse in one hand, my drink in the other, AND I was carrying six, that’s SIX dog toys to boot. We have concrete stairs, no railing, and the stairs are ridiculously dangerous. It did not escape my mind, while sitting in the ER, that I had traipsed up and down said steps while drunk, high on cocaine, and worse. Never once even tripped. But yesterday was different. My boots caught on Jesse’s blue elephant, and down I went. I had no hands to put out, and I landed on my noggin.
I immediately called for Dwain, who could hear me, but couldn’t find me. Pain so severe I thought I would vomit, I remained perfectly still until my husband arrived on the scene. I am an EMT, and a CNA-I have volunteered in the Emergency Room, with hospice and prison ministries-I have seen it all and maintained my composure. This is the precise reason I am prone to freaking out when I get hurt-I simply know too much.
Head injury? I was out of my mind hysterical. It didn’t help when my husband picked up my head and his eyes bulged out of his-
“My GOD, is it THAT bad?,” I wail. He didn’t answer, he was too busy putting my ample white behind in his truck, grabbing ice and driving like a bat out of hell, towards the ER I had recently walked out of-after calling out the employees no less. As I walked in, I immediately placed my eyes on Dawn, who calmed me as she directed me towards the door. I knew where to go all right. I just didn’t know if they would help me, or hurt me. They had so much power at that moment.
A friend of mine, Katie, was the charge nurse, praise God. She gave me a hug and an ice pack, told me the doctor would soon be in. As Dwain sat on the bed, this came over the PA System:
ATTENTION: SEPSIS ALERT IN THE ER. SEPSIS ALERT IN THE ER.
“Fabulous,” I murmured. And then it hit me, we were the only people there, aside from an 83 year old man with a dizzy spell. What the Harry???? They were talking about me for crying out loud! I couldn’t figure this out as the knot on my head was the size of a peach, but the wound wasn’t bad, it bled very little.
Dr. Ammons didn’t waste any time checking me over. I was told it would hurt like hell for a few days, but that I was extremely fortunate as if I had hit one inch below, I could have had serious eye trauma. If my cranium had hit a few inches lower? I could have knocked out my front teeth. But I knew about head trauma, and I was frightened. I kept what I knew to myself, forgetting that my man is a first responder.
And so it was, that I woke this morning with a shiner the size of Texas, and a headache to beat the band.
And because of His love? I’ll be strutting my stuff, sooner than you can say the words accident prone.
One of the very best tunes I have heard in some time-this music soothes my soul. I love old things: antiques, vintage clothing, the elderly, and I am reminded of simpler ways, kinder times.
Oh, hold on a second! My husband is lecturing me about my absolute drive to come to the truthabout our world, our society, our government.
“I don’t know why you do it to yourself.”
“By the way, Tom Hanks is a pedophile,” I retaliate.
“Tom Hanks is a pedophile?” (giggle, guffaw, belch)
I say this with a lightness in my heart that hasn’t been seen since the day I married my man. I know we are winning the war, the insidious little somethings that gradually grow and eventually manifest into full out plagues. Sex trafficking. ANTIFA. Pedophilia. Corruption. Hellyweird…it’s getting to the point that people are waking up, and it encourages me.
Waking up was a process for me that, had I known what lay ahead? I would have run for the hills.
Ah, Lord, I know I’ve been changed; I said Ah Lord I know I’ve been changed. The angels in Heaven done signed my name-lyrics I relate to, believe me. Here’s a little secret that I have been holding on to, wondering in what manner to bring it up in my writing-the closer you come to Jesus, the more you love Him? Well, the more transformed you become. I knew something was drastically different when I found myself loving my irritating, self righteous neighbor. I am convinced she sells information about us all around this block, if you can call two square miles of countryside a “block.”
Yes, out of the blue, right after I became sober, the Grinch’s heart began to soften. It came as a huge surprise because when I got sober-I got good and pissed. At everything, really-I was a whirling dervish of RAGE and despondence. Grief had crept up from the grave, and I went back and forth between crippling sadness over everyone I have lost thus far-especially my father-and the urge to beat the living crap out of anyone who even looked my way. It’s like someone took you blanky, for crying out loud. EVERTHING bothers you, my husband’s chewing was so irritating to me that I came close to sending him packing. You cannot, and I REPEAT, you can NOT grieve, well, anything or anyone if you are using. And when us addicts have to face pain, what do we do? We medicate as quickly as possible. Here’s something many don’t understand: alcoholics and addicts are extremely compassionate, empathetic and sensitive. I know this for a fact. I also know that I had, out of self preservation, put up an unsightly wall-against others, including myself.
When I was baptized by water last Easter, I wasn’t expecting any change, as I had been baptized as a child. When I was saved, my life began anew-so I recommitted myself on a Sunday, in ice cold water-in front of a full church. I was utterly and completely alone-no husband, family nor friends attended. The air conditioning was on high, and I embarrassed myself by running from the altar, after having my clothing thrown at me by our Worship minister. Not a pretty site. Did I mention I had a sinus infection at the time?
Ah, I have totally veered off of my original point. You will absolutely believe, deep in your soul, that Jesus is in and with you-when your heart begins to soften. You stop thinking that you are any better/worse than the next guy. I repeat that often, I am no better nor worse than my brothers and sisters. You begin to put others first, and might even find yourself wanting to help others every chance you get-and it feels good and right and perfect. The rage diminishes. The cravings vanish. Jesus sought after you, and you allowed Him into your very being.
So, if you think you’re turning soft, or that the hormones are raging-just call out to Jesus-then you will know beyond a shadow of a doubt that He will answer~
I wrote this blog last Spring, while in the heat of the horrible moment. Devastated by an argument with my step son, I simply could not see the forest through the trees. There was never an apology rendered, but I have forgiven Bud and he knows this. I like to call this phenomena Grace-but really I just did it for myself and my husband.
Dwain, interestingly enough, has not forgiven him. Yet there have been great strides towards healing, and rather than trying to be his son’s best friend? He has risen to the challenge of being a father, i.e. no more tolerating arrogance or disrespect. I believe we are all closer as a result of his temporary insanity.
When God puts you to the test, and you pass with a combination of trusting His wisdom? Oh my dear friends, this is when the miracle happens: a peace that surpasses any understanding-inner joy and self love come out of hiding. Often, the hard part is recognizing the blessing. With practice and determination, you can take the gifts from above and pay it forward. Grace abounds, indeed.
I have been having what some would call “hearing hallucinations,” and I know they are real, as real as the grass in the yard, the puffy clouds on the horizon, and the Spring peepers who cry out their mating call at this time of year.
Okay, how do I explain the inexplicable? I’ll have to go back to the early days, circa 2013, after an incredibly stressful demolition of our church, by Christian Hypocrites who simply took over, spewed their venom and caused one of our pastors to turn to Atheism. I was distraught over what I then thought to be the end of my life as I knew it. I got sober in this chapel, every single person knew my story and they showed me love and grace, not harsh ostracism. The travesty is, we were beginning to do some amazing spiritual work……we were in sync, and you could feel the Holy Spirit-lifting us up and out of our day to day lives. And then: Kaput.
I began to experience a strange, but lovely thinning of the veil, if you will. I began finding feathers in crazy places-different colors and hues. I collected twenty of them and put them in a crystal glass. No explanation for how they came to be in the middle of my bedroom floor; no cat toys missing pieces, no feathered anything to be blunt. I did not realize they were feathers from the Angels at the time, no not until the last feather was gifted me: a large, purple beauty, somehow I knew that this would be the last one, and it was. I have brought these feathers to bedside vigils, to give others the hope of better days to come, when we are once again home, the complete and unwavering love of God, His mercy and forgiveness.
Shortly after the last feather appeared, I had been toying with the New Age. I came out of that nightmare unscathed, but now things were getting downright eerie. Five minutes before I was stalked by a half naked man, causing me horrible PTSD symptoms, I heard my angels wings. So loudly, I turned around as I expected to see a Vulture, or other huge bird looking at me. Instinctively, I knew what it was. I believe I was guided by the heavenlies that day, and I have good reason: the Conservation Officers were doing their annual trail checks that day, and I had the good fortune to run out of the woods and into the arms of the officer who took the case.
One day, I was absolutely driven to get up off my buttocks and take a picture of my back yard. It was a dreary rainy day, and there was nothing to see…..but listen to myself I did. As I brought the camera to my eyes, I saw 6 or 7 white crosses-along the garden plot. If I took the camera away? Nothing. Each time I brought that camera into focus, I saw the white crosses, and I felt protected, if not a little shaky.
Yesterday, while getting out of the shower, I heard those wings again. I knew the angels wanted me to know they were with me, which scared the bejeepers out of me. What now? Why now? I had to sit for a spell and calm myself down.
So, it is evening and my husband and I are preparing dinner.
“Honey, you know if you need to talk about the Bud (formerly known as my stepson) debacle, I know how much you’re hurting. I want you to know that I am here for you, and if you need to vent, please do so.”
What he said next was so crazy making, so vile and putrid and everything that goes along with the loss of a child.
“I text him, last week. I jacked him up and he said there will be no apology forthcoming.
No apology? That man-child stood in my garage and screamed cruel and untrue things, called me a freak, told me the whole family thought I was a freak. And, as it turned out, he was plenty pissed that I am on SSI, as “it’s not fair I have to pay for her income with my taxes.”` He was this close to hitting me and when I went to go inside, he came after me and I just waited. If he hit me, then I could go to court, get a Protection From Abuse-hey, I’ve suffered worse things, believe me.
I have made the decision that he is dead, dead to me for all intents and purposes.
You see, what seemed to irritate him most? That I had suffered CPTSD, and depression. Apparently he thinks I made it all up; that after owning my own businesses and working (often two jobs at a time) for 40 years, I just decided, as if upon whim, to close shop, be lazy and ruin my husband’s life. How could he be that cold?
And then the inevitable kick in my aching groin: “Bud will be at mom’s for Easter, with his gal pal extraordinaire, the woman who was the icing on the cupcake of his disaster, the woman who so eagerly took what was not hers, her best friend’s boyfriend. Don’t get me wrong, Bud is responsible for his own actions, but being the raging narcissist that he is? He will never take accountability. He ruined his own life and he should have thought about that before he let his penis do his thinking. Sorry, I’m a bit rough around the edges today.
Father, forgive him, he knows not what he does.
She talks to angels, they call her out by her name.
When I was younger, I was appalled at how many pills my mother took. She was extremely ill, emphysema, cancer, osteoporosis. She died at 59, after the doctors mistook an ovarian cyst to be scar tissue. I wish I had known then what I now know. Mary Lou had every symptom of Ovarian cancer, the extreme bloating, constipation, pain and upset stomach. When the doctor came in to the waiting room, I had to be held back by my siblings-the jerk never listened to her, I was there when he did an exam after her complaining: he felt her stomach and abdomen-she was fully clothed, why bother right? I was there when he told her she was “fine, absolutely fine.”
What shocked me, after her death, was the bottles and bottles of Ativan-she took 4 a day, and I thought that to be too much, too addicting, too sedating. Now? I take Ativan daily. As a prn. Ironically, the first time I ever took one was the day of her funeral. Surrounded by friends, I fell asleep on the couch-and didn’t wake up until the following morning. What addict is going to turn that away? It was easier to let the melodic pull of oblivion take me away, to dreamless sleep and few cares, if any.
Today I take 200 mg. of Zoloft, 2 mg. Suboxyne for opiate addiction (down from 8 mg. and let me tell you, it was rough, really rough to taper) and one Trazadone for sleep. My husband thinks this appalling, but I have fought hard to maintain an appearance of normality-in an increasingly abnormal world.
I can tell you that as a nurse, EMT and hospice worker, I could not get into the Suboxyne program soon enough. I was in a dirty city, walking the streets of dilapidated houses, children in various stages of undress, and very scary men, who gathered on street corners to deal their goods, help a friend in “need.” I asked a few of them, but as white on rice as I look? They didn’t touch me with a ten foot pole. Looking back, I think they thought me a cop.
I was working as a private duty nurse, and volunteering at a local hospice. I was starting to face withdrawal from OxyContin, and I didn’t want to be the girl who steals patient’s pills. My cousin by marriage (not a normal person in that family) ran a methadone clinic, and rehab. I had attended that rehab until our fearless leader Tony called me out on missing a class, in front of the entire room. When you quit drinking you are wired out of your mind, so many emotions coming from one heart-it’s maddening and exciting at the same time. I told him off, asked why he allowed drinkers and cokeheads to use in our meetings (was this even remotely fair to the others who were serious about recovery?) and slammed out the door. He wasn’t going to use me as an example when people were slumped in their chairs, or re-dusting the entire room, like the energizer bunny on crack.
Anyway, back to Scott. I called him from my locked car that very day. I told him where I was, and I asked if I could come to the methadone clinic to talk to him. He shut me down, but two minutes later? I heard a commercial about Suboxyne: it has served me well, saved my career and, most likely, my life. My advice to anyone starting the program? Start at a really low milligram, that way you won’t have to detox every time you take a step down. I ended up calling my girlfriend one morning, I literally couldn’t move, I was that weak.
“I can’t take it. Would you please take me to the doctor?”
The good doctor had taken me off, cold turkey. We had argued about my use of cannabis, and I stormed out-only to return a week later, begging for mercy. And, thankfully, that is exactly what I was given.
What I would like to say is, don’t let anyone convince you to go off of any medication you may be taking for your mental health, especially if the plan is working. Do I like having to take meds on a daily basis? NO. But one day, perhaps, the stigma will stop. No matter, because I have come to the point where I just don’t care what others think.
It’s not their body. It’s not their mind. It’s none of their business.