Like Some Heroine….

Every other Sunday, I work at our church Welcome Center.  I genuinely like my coworker, (names have been changed to protect the criminally insane, mainly me) Alice.  When we began working together, about two years ago, she frightened me to death.  I feared she may be judgmental, and I’ll be honest-she intimidated me-two years ago, that is.

When I first began attending Hosanna, I wasn’t in the best place at that time in my life.  I hadn’t dealt with my poor self esteem issues, and was not aware that my PTSD was eating away at my life, making me cripplingly insecure, and a people pleaser.  I tried to hard.  I wanted everyone to love me.  I had just come from a very broken church, and the grief enveloped me to the point where I am sure it showed.

Alice is pleasant, and I admire her status as a cancer survivor.  She likes things done her way, so we have fallen into a pattern of her doing the desk work, and me doing the people work.  I know she means well, but I am beginning to tire of her putting me down.  I am beginning to feel as if I should protect my heart, as she criticizes almost everything I do-but here’s the catch-she’s my sister and I love her, so therein lies the rub.

I told Alice about a picture of one of the congregants cats, who had just passed away.

I don’t do any social media.  You have to be very careful being on the internet, it is very evil and you are swayed way too easily.  You have no idea what goes on, (she is shaking her head as if I am a toddler) and we (Christians) would do best to stay away.

I mentioned that I wrote a blog on WordPress, a Christ centered one at that.  She mumbled underneath her breath.

I wanted to say something, yet gone is my rage.  I find it impossible to remain angry with some folks, and what is the point of harboring resentment?  I need to speak up or shut up.  I will pray for a way to approach her-say my peace and be done with it.

I believe she would be horrified to think she has hurt me; and I know I enabled the behavior simply by allowing it.  I want to give her the benefit of the doubt, she is kind and compassionate-yet today it kind of stood out, and gone are my paranoid ways: as a sensitive and intuit, I found it excruciatingly difficult to discern between being oversensitive and just plain hurt.  Over the past two years, Jesus and I have been working on my self esteem, values and perceptions.  I now know that I am okay, worthy and pure in God’s eyes.  This has changed not only my persona, but my boundaries.

I have found freedom in authenticity.  It has been a tiring, painful journey to get to this stage in the game-where I have tired of the human punching bag role in life.  I think myself equal with all people, no better, no worse.

How is Jesus working in your life?  Anyone have a similar experience?  I’d love to hear your thoughts~<3

One Spinal Cracker

 

A few days ago, I told y’all the story about my unpleasant encounter with a woman from my exercise class, the trainer actually.  I called her Harriet.  

Harriett was hysterical after my factual retelling of the day when Mrs. Hoffmaster, my Kindergarten teacher, told me I would have to come for a few days during the Summer, to learn how to skip.  Yes, you read that right.  As I am regaling my audience with the story of how I was almost left back a grade, I was oh so rudely interrupted by Miss Thang.

“Oh no, Michele, that couldn’t have happened,” she is shaking her head, as if correcting a small child.  She went on to argue that she was a teacher for blah, blah, blah years-well, you can just imagine.  Stunned at first, I rallied for the cause and told her (nicely, I thought) that YES, INDEEDY DO, I GREW UP IN PHILADELPHIA, NOT THIS AREA.  WHO ARE YOU TO CALL ME A LIAR????  Ok, I didn’t say that part, but I argued with her until she shut her pie hole.

The women next to me mouthed, What the fuck?  I, on the other hand, had absolutely no problem saying WTF out loud.  As my face is my tell, I can only imagine the look I gave her.  I expected the situation to rectify after she apologized to me: needless to say, that wasn’t exactly an option.

On Thursday, I brought a carrot cake to class for the September birthdays.  I love to bake, and the ladies in Bands love to eat-so it works out nicely.  It was the first layer cake I had ever made, successfully that is.  I strategically parked next to the church (where class is held) so I had less of a chance at dropping my masterpiece.  🙂

While in class, I updated my girlfriend as she hadn’t been in class that day.  We both took notice that Harriet would not so much as look my way-let alone offer an apology.  Afterwards, Sherry and I stood outside, next to my jeep, and finished our convo  about the “incident.”

You did the right thing, sticking up for yourself, she said.  I think she owes you an apology, at the very least.

At that very moment, the diva walked past us, and gave me the oddest look-her eyes bulging out of her head-behind her prescription sunglasses.  At first I thought she may have overheard us, but I had nothing to hide.  And then it hit me, she was outraged that I had parked so close to her church.  She couldn’t believe the depravity, I mean, who did I think I was, anyway?

Here’s the rub.  Just last week she had confided that she thought she may be developing Alzheimer’s, as her father had died from the ravaging disease.  Knowing what I know, I asked her what type of personality he had.  I know that certain personality types are much more prone to dementia, especially the Narcissist.

She thought about that a second before answering.

Total narcissist, had to control everything freaking detail of our lives.  Just a very unhappy man.”

Oh, Harriet…

 

 

 

ThanQ

I woke this morning and turned on my pc. Gravitating towards reading a blog or two, I was stuck on my stats: 3,000 people read my blog entitled, FUQ, and the comment section was a veritable mine field.

I was given love and support, and I also had more than a few trolls (blocked immediately) who cursed me out for being “naïve” enough to believe in the “brainwashing” to begin with. And now, I am at peace in the knowledge that what I am about to say may indeed ruffle even more feathers. So be it.

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As last night unfolded, I sunk into a funk and put my computer away. In the shower, I cried out to God, for wisdom, peace and understanding. I sat and brought out my devotionals; and to His glory? He led me with wisdom and Grace.

The title of the devotion for December 13? Perfect Wisdom. Below, in its entirety, is the entire writing.

The wisdom of this world is foolishness in God’s sight.
-1 Corinthians 3:19 NIV

The world has its own brand of wisdom. Unfortunately, it’s a brand of wisdom that’s often wrong and sometimes dangerous. God, on the other hand, has His own brand of wisdom, and it’s a wisdom that will never lead you astray.

Where will you place your trust today? Will you trust in the wisdom of fallible men and women, or will you place your faith in the wisdom of the infallible, all-knowing, loving God of the universe? How you answer that question will profoundly affect the course of your life.

I did some research on the theory that Q is a Psyop, but quickly realized that every article naysaying the phenomena had either false information or character assassination by proxy.

QAnon is a marvelous tool for research, but there are bad guys on the military channels as well. “Disinformation is necessary” were my three most hated words yesterday. Huber failed to show up at Comey’s testimonial yesterday, but for good reason. It occurred to me that Trump is the ingenious mind behind all of this rhetoric, and I trust him. I truly believe he was anointed for such a time as this. I also know that you can’t let the enemy in on your plan, and I have accepted that fact.

This morning I am trying to apply what I have learned, and that is that God is our source of knowledge, Donald Trump’s presidency is the most transparent of our time-he leads us to Q for that very reason. The infographs are full of the God’s honest truth, and I owe him and the other Anons so much-in terms of waking me up and leading me to be a better Patriot today and in the future: I love my country and its people, I know what I personally need to know.

And so it was that I went to the infinite wisdom of God this morning, as I walked among the creeks and streams.

“Abba, is JFK, Jr. alive?”

What happened next was so surreal, I thought I may be dreaming. On a dark and dreary day, fog so thick you could slice it with a knife, my attention was directed to a Tiffany Blue feather, sparkling in the sun, directly in front of me. That’s right, there was no sun

Go with God for answers. Do your own research. And, as Q would say-think for yourselves.

Because the world is deceptive, it is dangerous. The world can even deceive God’s own people,and lead them to trouble.
– Warren Wiersbe

I Walk Alone

I chose this particular video because of the dichotomy between what he is singing and the thousands upon thousands of fans that beg to differ. Yet he is alone, and the more money, power and fame you have? The more likely your chances of being utterly and desperately lonesome.

I have walked alone my entire life. I never, ever cared what others thought, and when my mother would scream, “Shut up!!!! What will the neighbors think?” it drove me so bananas I would inevitably run out into the front yard and scream:

“I don’t give a flying F*** what the neighbors think!!!!!!”

And the real truth was that I didn’t. I cared what my family thought to the point of piercing codependency, but that is another story for another day. In my mother’s last coherent moments my siblings told her they loved her, and she responded with an I love you too. When it came down to me? She stared blankly back in my direction, and closed her eyes. I carried that scene with me for years, and the sad fact is that when my mother passed, I had an identity crises…but I came out stronger and my walk seemed righteous, invigorating and free.

I walk alone to this very day. Sure I have close friends, but on a day to day basis? I am alone. I enjoy my company thoroughly, and I enjoy the man who walks aside me, unfailingly-He carries me when my knees grow weak, and the weight of the world pushes me down.

Today Jesus taught me the importance of following Him, and no one else. No man’s words can speak His truth.

I will put my spirit in you, and you will live.
Ezekiel 37:14 NIV

She Killed it With Kisses…

 

My cup runneth over…it is well with my soul-even after the email I just received from a member of my family.   Are you SURE you don’t have BPD???????

Jesus Mighty, Mary and Joseph.  When will this end?  When do I get to stop apologizing for breathing?  For being a modest success and overcoming alcoholism and addiction to opioids?  I am no longer the black sheep, but I am sure as Hell the Scapegoat-and that shit is over, whether or not the narc “approves.”  My poor brother is worried.  He thinks my anorexia led to Borderline Personality Disorder.  Stop the madness, step off and WHAT THE HELL YOU TALKING ABOUT, WILLIS?

I know.  It’s a holiday weekend!  We must ensure she not enjoy it, maybe terrorize her with a new diagnoses?  Yeah, that sounds good.  Not that he knows what he’s doing, but I can tell him what he’s doing wrong, and that would be talking to our sister.  He is concerned about my anger during his last trip to my home, in which he stated, flat out:

“I don’t believe you.”  Courtney, you can wipe that demonic smirk off of your face.  Are you proud of the person you have become?  Are you right with Jesus?  Why have you deemed therapy a no-no?  Why did you call me two years ago and beg me not to go no contact?  Why did you admit to keeping the children from me?  Why did you admit keeping me from family vacations?  Why do you care?

I can answer every one of the questions, but rather than do that, I will stop reading emails, taking phone calls and feeling guilty because my kin is a psychopath.

I have earned this time of relative happiness.  My husband has been through enough.

Consider this your CEASE AND DESIST.

Your opinion doesn’t matter.

Nothing you say is true.

Deep down inside?  You are a coward of epic proportions.

Step off.

You have been served.

 

 

A Preponderance of Joy

I hate to complain. My mother used to complain all of the time, I think it’s an Irish thing-it is also a narcissistic thang, and I try not to fall into the rabbit hole, if you catch my drift…:)

It is Sunday, November 25th-and I have been in bed for two entire days with the flu. These past few days are among the most harrowing of my life; and I have had some batshit crazy times. This was a perfect Trifecta,(premenstrual, full moon and the fact that I knew I was getting sick, which makes me semi-hysterical to begin with) and I had to hand it to Jesus this morning, when I cracked my first joke since the FUBAR that was my Thanksgiving.

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All kidding aside, it began soon after we left the Thanksgiving dinner our church holds annually-to feed the homeless and those facing hard times. I was in high spirits, I had made a new friend whilst cutting approximately 2,687 pies-and with a head cold, thank you very much. I was trying to figure out why Dwain and I weren’t in our traditional holiday cat fight, when, to no one’s surprise-it all came crashing down.

I had a blast volunteering at our church’s annual Thanksgiving meal for our community. I was delighted to be assigned pie duty (not so delighted after slicing approximately 2,657 pumpkin pies) with a jovial woman I immediately bonded with. I had that lift in my loafers as we head out the door, bound for my in laws and we were still doing quite well.

The Mother of All Bombs occurred, and right in front of the entire family.

I was so bored watching football with the guys, but no women had formed any coffee klatches, so I wandered over to my sister in law and her sister in law. As a follower of independent and conservative news, I know how important it is to try and warn folk about what is coming. The good and great news is that we are winning, the white hats, that is…evil is being stomped out of America, and I feel a responsibility to warn others. It’s some heavy stuff, so I went with the lighter news.

“Guys, there is going to be a ton of shit hitting the fan in the near future, and I’ll start this with telling you that JFK, Jr. is still alive.”

I went on to give facts, which were met with “FAKE NEWS!!!!” and a few attacks on my credibility. I simply stood up, placed the pillow back where it belonged, and went to sit with my husband. Because of the “trifecta,” I was a walking nerve end. I had just told my husband that I had an uncomfortable encounter with his sister, and he yelled at the football game, like-right in my ear. Which led me to shriek, because it frightened the life force out of me.

I shut down, completely: grabbed my coat and head up the hill to our home, which held my beloved fireplace, dog and pc. I took a shower and got good and cozy. I sat there for a few hours when I realized that I felt like a dog crapping bones, and I knew deep within that had I lingered on that couch? I would remain there, petrified to the leather, Kombucha in hand.

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I went up to my sleigh bed, the sun shining clearly, a beam of light hitting my braided rugs. Just as I had make myself comfortable, my husband walks into the bedroom.

“What’s going on?,” he says, softly at first.

What’s going on is, I have the flu and I was just publicly humiliated by a stranger, at my own Thanksgiving, my hormones are screaming kill her, murder her and it’s full moon.

Perfectly. Good. Explanation.

And then, as if in a slow motion nightmare, my husband says this:

“I defended you down there all day!!!!”

Guys, if you are reading this, never-and I mean NEVER tell your hysterical wife that you defended her for any reason, whatsoever.

I wanted to know why he “defended” me, but he isn’t giving. He storms out of the bedroom, and down to the settee. I am absolutely stricken with rage. Alas, I am too weak to do much about this; but the next day I feel well enough to look for apartments. My husband tells me he is “headed for a nervous breakdown.” I take lots of nighttime cold medicine, and sweat through the pain.

I cry out to Jesus. I give my weary heart over to Him. Take this, Jesus, I can’t deal another second. I end up having restless leg syndrome, and my husband and I break out laughing hysterically-even though it’s 3 a.m. and neither of us has slept a wink.

And now? Merely 24 hours later?

I have managed to make the bed and don fresh underwear.

Hey, it’s a start.

B.O. and Bad Sushi…

I don’t know where to begin.  Ahem.  I don’t blame this on anyone but me, and I have come to the place of acceptance, and laughter-and a deeper understanding of my profound love for my husband.

The morning began with a decision.  Dwain had gone target shooting with his son, (thank you for your prayers, dear friends-that situation is healing) and I was left alone, looking at the darkened sky, hearing the rolling thunder.

“Should I risk driving to church with the jeep top down?”

I knew darn well that every time I stayed home because of the “weather” I missed out on relationships, the lunches, the shopping.  I decided then and there-I was going to chance it.  My friend Leeny awaited me.  A sinus infection had kept me away from the every other Sunday service (we are members of a church in Lititz, Hosanna A Fellowship of Christians) I had promised her, upon learning of her recent health scare.  I just wasn’t about to let her down, that’s what it came down to in the end.

At the service, just as the preacher began his sermon on the prodigal son, thunder shook the chapel-the congregation laughed.

“The Holy Spirit has joined me,” he chuckled, to the delight of the crowd.

All I could think, was crapstastic.  And oh, how tastic the crap became.  I left the church, in a light Summer frock, no jacket-to buckets and buckets of water.  On the way to my jeep, I see a poor woman fall-flat on her poor face-right down the backdoor stairs.  The EMT in me assesses the situation and kind men pick her up and set her on her feet.  Prognoses?  Possible broken nose.

I run as fast as I can in heels, on slick parking lot, without killing myself.  I open the door, the jeep has at least 2 inches of water puddled on the floor.  It’s pouring and I am chilled to the bone.  I see that traffic isn’t moving because a big, black truck is trying to come towards us-he is going the wrong way!  Son of a BITCH!!!  

Now I’m in full panic mode.  I reverse and try to go the other way.  It won’t work.  I see the car in front of me move, so I do a U-turn and try again.  This time the truck is coming alongside my vehicle.  The parishioner is asking if I want him to help me put the top on.  I just want to get the mojo out of there, and I brush him off.

“JUST GO!!!,” I scream.

And just then, it hits me.  The “parishioner” is my husband.  Later, he will tell me that when he hit the Pretzel Hut (a local ma and pa burger joint) he realizes that I am at church with the jeep top down and it is raining cats and dogs.  He says he drove 100 mph (frowny face indeed!) on slick roads to come to my rescue.  When I get home, he apologizes profusely, saying had he not gone away with his son, I wouldn’t be shivering and, well, drowned is the only word that comes to mind.

I tell him he’s ridiculous.  He needs to spend time with his son.  I am not a child, I am accountable for my own actions.  In the shower, I beam and my heart swells with love and gratitude.  I take my time in the shower, jump into warm clothes and my favorite bunny socks, take a little bit longer with my makeup.

I nuzzle up close to my man, and he is pleased.

“You smell like B.O. and bad sushi,” he gushes.

And he laughed and laughed and laughed, until I found the little piece of flesh, on his inner thigh, and twerked it-as hard as I could.