An Unkindness of Ravens

When I was frolicking in the New Age movement (please DON’T) I took notice that a cacophony of ravens followed me-from state to state in fact, and it took me some time to realize that this was not a good thing.  Between a well meaning Reiki Master (please DON’T) led me to Doreen Virtue’s angel cards, spirit guides, and the pineal gland.  

I came to my senses when I went to her immediately after being stalked by a naked, wild haired, crazy man-and she told me I created the scenario, you know, by thinking about it.  Kind of like The Secret, but backwards.  Most of you know I went through absolute hell getting out of such ridiculousness and evil.  The day of my plummet back into Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, I phoned my sister.

She never got back to me.

The same thing happened the day I was thrown down on my knees in utter sorrow, for the Holy Spirit had made it clear-I needed to apologize and repent.  I didn’t really have a choice in the matter-on my knees for what seemed like hours, repeating over and over:

I have grieved your heart.

I had never, nor do I hope to ever feel that sadness and despair again.

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When my anxieties multiply, your comforting calms me down. -Psalm 94:19

I had been praying recently, about trying to make things “right” with my sibling.  Abba answered that prayer rather quickly, as He reminded me that even though I have forgiven her, it doesn’t change who she is.  How could I possibly move forward without an apology, or even an attempt to  talk things out?

And what would become of my authentic self and the tough road walked to freedom from people who did not have my best interests at heart.  I cleaned the closet of close friendships, and wound up making new friendships.  And although I love my sister, and dearly miss my nieces and nephew?

I broke the chains that bound me.  I can never go back.

Never.

 

For Those Who Find Holidays Hell

I wasn’t sure if this was the version of the song that I wanted, but man am I glad I thought it through.  Miss K.D. Lang hits ever note, and then some.  I love her range, her twang-she’s chicken soup for the soul music.

Speaking of souls.

Mother of God this was a rough one-and I didn’t see it coming, to be frank.  Giving God alone the glory, I have managed to raise my head above the raging river that is my life.  Mercy me, shook me right out of my loafers.

I want this blog to offer hope to those who are suffering this season; I want to pick and choose each word, so I know that the love of Jesus that flows into me will then trickle on to you, beloved.

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I lay in bed, for five straight days.  Not so sure, but pretty sure it was the flu: I haven’t felt like this since, well since last year’s flu season.  I won’t even whisper about getting a flu shot, and would advise all mothers to educate themselves on the horror of what they are injecting into our children.  I pray with each passing day that Donald J. Trump will make headway in the battle against evil, transhumanism and genocidal ideations-you get my drift?

Sorry, I get worked up about it.  Anyway, my husband and I did not attend my mother in law’s Thanksgiving.  In an effort to end the abuse, I have gone no contact and have felt much better ever since.  My husband appeared to be supportive, but the day came and he was forlorn.  Still angry about a miscommunication between us, he let me have it the other day.  Twisted every word I said, and slew nomenclatures I would prefer not to share-making turkey day the winner of the most God awful holiday ever award.

B-rutal.

My husband doesn’t do sick.  He says that seeing me sick makes him think of my mother in the final days of her life.  I mean, I was dehydrated and depressed, wrapped up in a ball of wet sheets-nothing to eat for three days, nightmare.

And then I felt well enough to open my King James bible.  I sought solace, comfort and wisdom.  Yet because of the trauma inflicted?  I felt as if God were angry with me, that Jesus didn’t love me anymore.  I am just now shaking that notion out of my head, as satan  is the father of all lies-and this was persecution in the form of spiritual warfare I have not experienced thus far.  It was if there was a struggle for my soul.  I fought back like the tigress God taught me to be.  I asked for prayer, I actually told my loved ones that I was struggling-and I never do that.  I don’t trust people, but let’s just say that Jesus showed me that the beloveds in my life are real and true and precious.

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One evening, I stared at the ceiling and thought about what Jesus went through on that cross, even hours before.  Jesus was persecuted for the very same reasons that His believers are persecuted.  Immediately, I thought of the martyrs-the people all around this world who are suffering in the name of Jesus Christ.

In the year 1948, on a Sunday while I went to church I was kidnapped by the Communists.  I knew that even in the van of the secret police, I am in the hands of the Almighty God, and this gave quiet to  my heart.                                                                                                                        – Richard Wurmbrand, Voice of the Martyrs

For three years, Richard Wurmbrand sat alone in his prison cell set 30 feet below the ground.  Aside from short interactions with his guards, he saw and heard no one.  Yet in that dank and dark cell, he cried out to God and dreamt of beginning a new ministry that would serve Christians in Communist countries.  Within days of his release, he wrote his best selling memoir, Tortured For Christ.  Not long after he founded a mission called Jesus to the Communist World, which eventually turned into the organization Voice of the Martyrs.

I needed to pick up my cross, no matter the shape I was in.

I am reaching my arms out to father Abba, and He will catch me, this I know.

 

 

 

False Alarm

I am attempting to get my bearings, as what I have just experienced has left me sickened, without hope or desire.  I am shutting down.  I indeed shut down two days ago, when the latest Holiday loomed, as I had recently let my mother in law know that we would not be attending their Thanksgiving festivities.

And, as is the case with all narcissists, my husband has taken my dread of the Winter months to a new low.  A kick below the belt.  He achieved his annihilation of me by telling me that I had ruined his holidays because I am a selfish brat.

I am out of here, and for the life of me I cannot figure out why I kept forgiving, praying he would change, never hurt me again.  And as per usual, there would be promises made, promises broken.  You see, narcs want your attention-when they don’t get it, they think nothing of the getting the wrong kind of attention.  In all actuality, I was having a peaceful and meaningful day.  The hot shower pelts felt so good on my aching body.  I decided to dress up and even put on the dreaded makeup.  I looked forward to going downstairs and watching the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.

I played Pandora, played with my kitten, even a touch of Chanel No. 5.  I got into the word, and asked for forgiveness for my attitude over the last few days. The lack of food over the last twenty four hours had been a fast of sorts, I supposed, resulting in a clarity and spiritual peace I hadn’t felt in months. I was feeling content, and didn’t mind the loneliness.  As I stepped into the living room, my husband stepped out.  I went upstairs, he came down.  I was thinking he needed his space.  I worried that he was feeling guilty, as anyone would after treating another human being like he did.

Jesus, please speak to his heart.  I don’t want him to hurt.

I went to check on him, and that’s when I was accused of ruining his life, his family, our churches and friendships.  His eyes turned black, the vitriol unnerving.

He did feel guilty, but he projected that guilt on to me, his wife of 30 years, during a time when she was incredibly vulnerable, teetering on the edge of admitting herself to Philhaven.

 

 

 

As we argued, I could see it-the Jezebel spirit, alive and well.  I am voiceless, still sick, haven’t had a thing to eat in days.  My blood pressure goes nuclear, along with my rage.  When I am injured, I am eerily capable of pouncing back-with the force of an untamed Lion-yet today, it was different.

Today I fought back with facts.  In the past, the gaslighting-at the hands of some of the most proficient narcissists know to mankind-I would be confused, caught off guard with the projection.  I was depressed, anxious and my PTSD was triggered each and every fucking time.  I would lay in bed for days, punishing myself when I was the one who needed self love and nurture.  My nature is one of love, compassion and fierce loyalty.  I can be irrationally Irish at times, cripplingly sad at others.

Today was not that day.

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As weak and fatigued as I felt, the lion roared.  Armed with facts, my faith and a raging migraine-I spat back better than I got.

 I have no family, not a soul to spend the holidays with.  I get morbidly depressed at this time of year, and you are fully aware that I will not spend one more moment with abusers.  Yet you care for me by completely ignoring me for two days, while I languish in bed with the flu and withdrawals?

You are blaming me for the actions of your son, who almost put me in a psych ward, and I am to fault because?

Did I hold a gun to your parents’ heads, making them neglect and abuse me; treat me like the most insignificant part of their life?  Did I ask your parents to tell rumors to the neighbors, so I could anticipate the shunning that followed?

I am betrayed and forbade to enter the kingdom of peace.

I don’t know what lies ahead, none of us do.  I will not be a victim, that train left the station, I will fight back with all I have in me.  If that means leaving him for an apartment in the country, just me and my dog, well then?

I pray He will grant me the strength.

I pray that Dwain will open his heart, and listen to the God who loves Him.  I pray for better, brighter days ahead~

 

White Lines on the Freeway……

I was trying to catch up on my reading a few weeks ago, my WordPress reading that is.  It was a cold and rainy Sunday evening, and I stopped dead in my tracks when I read his blog.  I didn’t know him, or of him, I just gave a little love to a stranger, one who had lost his brother-one who was on the verge of suicide.

It broke my heart to read his words.  No one had commented, and I was frantic.  I quickly wrote in the comment section, no.  You are loved.  You have a place in this world.  You must not give up, I will help you.  It didn’t matter that he lived half way around the world from me, it didn’t matter that I didn’t know him.  I just wanted him to feel the love that makes the difference: between being utterly alone in this world, and having someone love him.  We began correspondence immediately, so sweet, my friend Mohammed.

He said it helped him to know I existed.  It helped him to know a human being, albeit thousands of miles away, loved him-simply because he was in pain, dire straights, and experiencing a loss most of us would be shattered by-simply because he was and is a child of God-they will know we are Christians by our love……

He kept in touch throughout my journey with Lyme, and the infected lymph node that had basically convinced me I was dying.  The day I went to Med Express, alone and frightened out of my mind, he said these words:  Don’t worry.  I am here.  Five words.  Five words that helped me to feel safe, loved-cared for.  It mattered to him, my poor health.  And I thought that a miracle, in so many ways.

Today, while chatting, he said he had one thing to ask of me.  I told him anything, yes anything for him.

“Can I call you mom?”

So, this is how our Abba works.  I have no children and my step son hates me for reasons I don’t understand, as I was always loving, always supportive.

This touched me in places I haven’t been touched in, well, forever.

And as I let the tears drip….one by one, I answered.

Yes.  Of course.

And for this I am blessed beyond measure.

I Would Have Followed You

I don’t really like to talk about this subject so much, but the Lord put it on my heart to do so.  At some point I gave this all to God, and I have no intention of taking it back.

For some time now, I have been utterly alone.   I have my Jesus, my husband and my dog-so I suppose you could say it was my decision, or ours, anyway.  In search of an authentic life, no matter the price-I have distanced myself from almost everyone I had truly loved, aside from my good friend Jason.  Anyone who ever used can tell you that that codependent  relationships, especially when the child of an addict is involved.  We don’t just want people to love us, we need them to-and this is where I came to a crossroads in my relationship with Abba:  I had to learn to trust Him and Him only.  

The past two years had taken an emotional toll on me, I admit it.  I finally stuck up for myself with a family member-the results being that we have not connected in two years.  She was the one I told everything to, loved since she was a brat who waked around the house with a nightgown on her head-and screamed at warp volume each and every time my brother and I entered a room.  For years I was in torment over the constant back and forth, months of the silent treatment, the gaslighting and triangulation.

I was in denial, until I phoned her after being stalked in an incident at Middlecreek Wildlife Sanctuary.  It happened in broad daylight, and I was shaken to my core.  I called her and asked her to return my call.

She never called back.  It wasn’t discussed until a year later, the results were the same-she dropped the subject.  Mere months later I would have the most harrowing supernatural experience of my lifetime.  I reached out, told her not to worry if she saw anything on Facebook.  Told her and the fam that I was, indeed, okay.

Not.  Word.  One.

I am over my anger, I am over my heartache, I have forgiven.

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There is no appealing to her sensibilities.  She does not think she has done anything wrong.  We are at an impasse.  Every video and article I read tells me that no contact is the only way to go, but is it?  Perhaps, but what if we went at it like this:

The person whom you feel has abused you has been abused themselves.  More than anything in the world, the offenders want and need to be loved and are terrified of you not loving them.  Realize that they have done the best they can, and before anyone makes a move?  A few ground rules:

Assert yourself.  Ensure the other player understands that you will not be bullied, emotionally manipulated or shat upon under any circumstances.

It’s not about you-it’s about their dysfunction.  You are only responsible for your dysfunctionality.

Make an agreement the past will not be regurgitated like last week’s meatloaf.

Pray for them.  Sincere prayer can and does work miracles.  I am living proof of that.

I believe, as my husband says, that it’s six of one, a half dozen of the other.

But before any attempt at reconciliation, we both understand that in our own ways we love each other fiercely, and would be there in a heartbeat if needed.

In a perfect world~

 

Afflictions Eclipsed by Glory

Grief has layers, not unlike the onion.  It creeps up on you, and the realization that you loved this person more than you had imagined hits us in the solar plexus.  As the sons and daughters of a merciful and loving God, we firmly believe that our beloved has crossed over and is now home and pain free.  Yet even in the knowing, we fight the reality that this person whom we adored and perhaps took for granted is no longer by your side, helping you to fight the good fight and ease your burden.  You are better off for just having this kindred spirit in your life.

My dear friend Scott succumbed to cancer on September 22, 2019.  We were very close, and I had cared for him in the last days.  So it came as a shock when my husband phoned me this morning.

“Honey, I have some bad news,” he sighed.

I immediately thought of Scott.

“Umm, he died last Sunday.”

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My breath caught.  Last Sunday?

He spoke his comfort through the phone, and promised to stop in at lunch.

I don’t remember what I did after that, even if just hours ago.  I called a friend and wept, openly.  It was hard for her to make out my words, but her tender soothing meant the world to me.  I ended up on a hike, and to be honest I shouldn’t have been driving.  As I walked I spoke with Jesus, I spoke with my friend.  His wife was never a fan of our friendship-going as far as thinking we were intimate and stalking me two Summers ago.  On his death bed, Scott admitted to me that his wife had emotionally abused him for thirty five years.

“Sugar, you’re just emotional, you don’t mean that,” my voice broke, I felt the sting of fresh tears, this was all too much.

Long story short, he was dead serious.  Towards the end his wife asked that I “STAY AWAY” even as her husband was begging me to stay.  Hospice was long gone, he had no friends or family stopping in-his entire family kept working.

He was helpless.

“Scott, I can’t do this.  I can’t be in your wife’s home against her will.  I’m so terribly sorry,” I wrote in the text.

I’ll be okay.  The last three words I heard.

My heart was ripped apart, I prayed for the Lord to have mercy on him, that he wouldn’t suffer, that his wife muster some compassion for him, not see him as a burden.

I drove to his property, where he had planted a rare maple tree.  I could see the new bench by the tree, next to the pond.  I walked half-way across the yard, then headed back to the jeep-then back to the bench.  I didn’t care who saw me, I put my head down and wept.  I stared as a maple leaf spiraled to the ground.  I grabbed it.  The rest of the day was a blur.  I needed my husband, I didn’t want to be alone.

When Dwain didn’t answer the phone, I broke down.  The only thing in life that remotely frightens me is the loss of my husband.  My entire psyche shuts down at the mere thought of him not coming home.  I rarely have these thoughts anymore, not since Jesus took a good part of my worry away.  I truly do have that peace that surpasses understanding, but I railed at Jesus.

He understood.  He knew that I had mourned the loss of each and every person I had loved in this life.  One by one, my mother, father, best girl friend, and now Scott.  I was estranged from my nieces and nephew-my sister put the Kibosh to any hope of a relationship with them years and years ago. A story for another time.

Kill Jezebel.

I hate myself when I take my pain out on Jesus.  It wrecks me.  My husband pulled in and I fell to my knees-apologizing for the bitter words that had spewed from my fat Irish mouth.  I begged his forgiveness and asked for his mercy.

A few months ago I heard Field McConnel speak about monarch butterflies being a sign of God’s love and protection.  It stuck with me, as there was a monarch out in the middle of Lake Pleasant the moment I spread my father’s ashes.

I had known in that moment it was a God thing.

I walked out on the deck to greet my husband, still sobbing, still unhinged.

My newest adoptee purred at my feet.  She knew something was terribly wrong.  I picked her up and held her close.  She kissed me on every spot on my face, another blessing from above, Maybel is.  I looked down into my garden, and my breath caught again.  A perfect Monarch butterfly, right there before me, and in late September no less.

My tears of sadness turned to tears of joy within moments.  I went back into the house, tried to find the momentum to do, to do something.

Dwain slammed the screen door.  I looked up at him, as if to say, yes?

“Come see.  The garden is full of monarchs.”

And just like that, my afflictions were eclipsed by His glory~

I Would Have Followed You

I don’t really like to talk about this subject so much, but the Lord put it on my heart to do so.  At some point I gave this all to God, and I have no intention of taking it back.

For some time now, I have been utterly alone.   I have my Jesus, my husband and my dog-so I suppose you could say it was my decision, or ours, anyway.  In search of an authentic life, no matter the price-I have distanced myself from almost everyone I had truly loved, aside from my good friend Jason.  Anyone who ever used can tell you that that codependent  relationships, especially when the child of an addict is involved.  We don’t just want people to love us, we need them to-and this is where I came to a crossroads in my relationship with Abba:  I had to learn to trust Him and Him only.  

The past two years had taken an emotional toll on me, I admit it.  I finally stuck up for myself with a family member-the results being that we have not connected in two years.  She was the one I told everything to, loved since she was a brat who waked around the house with a nightgown on her head-and screamed at warp volume each and every time my brother and I entered a room.  For years I was in torment over the constant back and forth, months of the silent treatment, the gaslighting and triangulation.

I was in denial, until I phoned her after being stalked in an incident at Middlecreek Wildlife Sanctuary.  It happened in broad daylight, and I was shaken to my core.  I called her and asked her to return my call.

She never called back.  It wasn’t discussed until a year later, the results were the same-she dropped the subject.  Mere months later I would have the most harrowing supernatural experience of my lifetime.  I reached out, told her not to worry if she saw anything on Facebook.  Told her and the fam that I was, indeed, okay.

Not.  Word.  One.

I am over my anger, I am over my heartache, I have forgiven.

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There is no appealing to her sensibilities.  She does not think she has done anything wrong.  We are at an impasse.  Every video and article I read tells me that no contact is the only way to go, but is it?  Perhaps, but what if we went at it like this:

The person whom you feel has abused you has been abused themselves.  More than anything in the world, the offenders want and need to be loved and are terrified of you not loving them.  Realize that they have done the best they can, and before anyone makes a move?  A few ground rules:

Assert yourself.  Ensure the other player understands that you will not be bullied, emotionally manipulated or shat upon under any circumstances.

It’s not about you-it’s about their dysfunction.  You are only responsible for your dysfunctionality.

Make an agreement the past will not be regurgitated like last week’s meatloaf.

Pray for them.  Sincere prayer can and does work miracles.  I am living proof of that.

I believe, as my husband says, that it’s six of one, a half dozen of the other.

But before any attempt at reconciliation, we both understand that in our own ways we love each other fiercely, and would be there in a heartbeat if needed.

In a perfect world