🎶You Make It Feel Like Christmas 🎵

Dennis and I are coming up on our 47th year as husband & wife. December 14th, 1974, was when it all began. That's more than a few years! In all of our "disagreements" (let's be real...ARGUMENTS), we have stuck like glue to each other. We've never given up on each other. It's true that humanity is broken, at best, but that doesn't mean there is not a whole lot of good in us.

Just a few days ago, someone very close to me, said, "I don't like Facebook because most of it is lies. People create posts and  pictures of themselves that leads one to believe they are so happy, and in reality, they are miserable." 

I get it. I really don't want anyone thinking otherwise of me, either. Do you? But, I have never believed anyone that has told me they have a perfect marriage, never disagreeing on anything, always happy. The simple truth is, we don't become strong without challenges. We don't learn to truly love another, without weathering the storms that can change a person in the blink of an eye. Dennis is my rock, even when we don't like each other. I depend on him as much as I depend on myself. Some things I must weather alone. I must deal with my own insecurities, my own weaknesses, my own imaginations. Yet, I know he will always be there for me at the end of my battles. Even THROUGH my battles. And he can always count on me to be the stone around his neck. WAIT! Uh...what I meant was that he can always count on me to weather whatever storms he must face, by his side. Around his neck...😉😂

Some years ago, after our girls had both moved to North Carolina, I allowed a melancholy spirit to attach itself to me during the holidays. I didn't want to decorate for anything. There seemed to be no reason for festivities. I remember one particular Christmas I voiced my discouragement with the putting up and taking down of decorations. I didn't want to. Didn't see the point. It was just me and him. My rock said, "But I enjoy it. And so do you, once we get it all up." That gave me purpose. Knowing that, yes, there was still someone to enjoy the holidays with, and he was right there in front of me. He makes it feel like Christmas.

Now, we have a couple of grand-girls that put a lift in our steps and a twinkle in our eyes. They more than make it worth climbing up and down on ladders, circling a Frasier Fir Tree numerous times while stringing lights, garlands, and ornaments. Not to mention the smiles we get from our girls, now women with their own families. 

Our oldest granddaughter, Reagan, helped with decorating this year. She's 5, and is the most patient little girl this Grams has ever seen. Patient with her Grams wanting everything perfect. But it is with only a look from her, and the ornaments I don't particularly like, goes on the tree because she wishes it. Expensive glass balls she handles with such care. Less breakable ornaments, she finds a "perfect" spot for, and beaded garlands she loves to trail behind her as she walks/runs around the race track in our home that she is so accustomed to as a baby learning to walk, then run. She makes it feel like Christmas.

Love is a choice. Happiness is a choice. We forget that, sometimes...

Happy 47th year of counting it all blessings when various trials come your way, DW. You make it feel like Christmas.

Still loving Christmas, here you'll find me...in Mary's World.

The Season of Mixed Emotions

 

Fall...it's most likely my favorite time of the year. It clears out the heat of long summer days, and ushers in the cool breezes that stir the quickly changing colors of our backyard leaves. Thunderstorms that bring rain, sometimes drizzling rain, sometimes torrential rain, always bring with them a sense of peace. Of solitude. Of grounding strength. This time of year always calms my spirit and causes a refocus for the days ahead that will hopefully bring in some snow that will mound as it falls. Snow that our littles and their parents, can make snow angels in. And build a snowman in. It's rare, here in North Carolina. But one can always hope. Right?

While the last months of the year bring family gatherings that feast at a Thanksgiving Table, and opening gifts during the Christmas holidays, they can also bring with them a melancholy spirit. Especially when family has grown and have others to consider being with during these festive times. Gratitude says enjoy the days you are given, while jealousy tries creeping in because of feelings of least importance. Least resistance has made it easy for those with too much to organize (on that ever growing totem pole), to place you at the bottom. Yet, when we take a step back and take a good hard look, this could actually be seen as a good thing. Even a great thing. Without the security, the balancing anchor, at the bottom of the totem pole, all would fall over. Scrambling to put it all back together would rob one of the joys of these beautiful holidays. 

Steeped in tradition, most of us desire to have our loved ones close on the actual day of Thanksgiving, and Christmas. What makes us not want to share those we love, especially when these holidays are all about love? Is it because of traditional values? Or is it because we desire family around us on these special days? To celebrate these actual dates set so very long ago? Why does it matter if we celebrate on those particular days, or days before (or after), as long as a slice of time is carved out for us to be together? 

This blogger is grateful for any day she gets to be with her family. But, something about Thanksgiving and Christmas, just leaves a hollow spot when not with family on those days. I've tried shaking it, but oh my, how it clings to me! 

I'm not going to place my life along side those that have less (or more) than me, or those that have lost much (or gained much) in this life, even though I could, and would be ashamed I am even making this a thing. But, this is the life I live. Yes, it could be soooo much worse. However, that fact doesn't diminish the feelings of loneliness any of us feel. Rich or poor. Young or old. We all have our own set of emotions we must deal with. Our own "why". So, let's compare (if we must), apples to apples. 

After thinking about this, I have decided that:

This year, I will refuse the temptation to mourn, or be jealous of the empty days. Instead, I will create a life outside of what tradition has wrapped me in. Maybe I will find a soup kitchen to volunteer my time in. Or make my "years ago" usual pumpkin and apple pies, and take them to a family that struggles to get by day-to-day. Maybe my husband and I will visit Cracker Barrel for Thanksgiving, sit and play checkers outside until our table is ready, and when finished stop by the neighbors and visit. So many ways a person could turn their complaining into gratefulness.

Counting my many blessings, here you'll find me...in Mary's World

The Semi-Saga of Recent Days

Disclaimer:

I should have flown the friendly skies, instead of being cared for on my life's journey, if you know what I mean. Hint: United Airlines verses American Airlines

I don't even know where to start. Maybe I'll just report on the interesting trip home from Missouri, where I've been for the last 5 days. Oh, wait. Make that 3 days. The 4th day had been in Charlotte, NC, after my Saturday flight had been canceled 30 minutes before boarding. The plane had been struck by lightening, either on its descent, or once it landed. Either way, that's not a great thing. And the 5th day, I spent half of it in that same airport thinking my rescheduled flight would actually get me home. Nope. The second half of the day was on the road in a rented car. But, let me back up so as not to confuse you. Too badly...

This past Saturday I was scheduled to arrive in Raleigh by 5:17 PM. That clearly wasn't going to happen. Even though I had a full schedule of clients to get to on Sunday, with few spots to put them (in the next several weeks), it looked like I was going to need to work on normal days off. Difficulties arise, right? No problem. 

As I move toward the line forming at the information desk, where I was told I'd have to go to get another flight booked, first-born daughter, Lindsey, was sitting at home in North Carolina (I think...she may have been getting groceries for all I know). She messaged me, to say no cars were available for me to rent, so she was going to book me a room at the Hilton. It was probably best since I was ready for the day to be over, AND I would have to drive in the dark. In the pouring rain. In the lightening filled atmosphere. She did all the virtual leg work; the least I could do was to obey and move forward by way of shuttle to the luxury bed awaiting me. I just want to acknowledge, right here, that my husband does worry about me. I didn't think he ever did. But he was clearly concerned about me walking outside the airport by myself. Even a bit nervous, I think, about my navigation skills. He really didn't need to be, but I found it endearing that he was. He wanted to take care of me, but couldn't, 'cause I left him back in Missouri, helping his sis with important things needing done. AND...we have a couple of daughter's that are always watching out for us.

So...ya want to know how to tell a country girl from a city girl? Hand her a bill for a sleep over with the price tag of $236.42. Country, and very conservative, girl says, "Say what? Does a dinner and breakfast come with that?" City girl just hands it over with a nice hefty tip.  Oh well...they DID give me an awesome nights sleep. Which I desperately needed. No breakfast. Just bed. And TV. And, I did have a very awesome grilled cheese sandwich with fries, the night before, charged to my room...so all was good...

So...I'm now booked for a Sunday departure and should be home by noon! Whoop!!! I'm excited! EIGHT (8) MINUTES before boarding the plane, an announcement comes over the loud speaker. You couldn't really hear it because a siren had been going off for nigh on what seemed to be an hour. It was probably more like 15-20 minutes. It just seemed much longer because it was so loud, and I was pretty sure we were under a terrorist attack on the west end of the airport. Then, I saw an American Airlines attendant's mouth moving, so I knew she was making an announcement. I just didn't know what that announcement was. Neither did any of the other passengers. We just looked at each other, shrugged our shoulders, and sat wide eyed while waiting for our plane ride. Until...I saw people leaving that had been standing in line. So, I go up and ask what was going on. "FLIGHT 1894 HAS BEEN CANCELED," she yelled. Well, great!

Not willing (without having an alternative) to spend another $236, I asked Lindsey if she could see if there were any cars available to rent, while I stood in another line that circled the airport, to get yet another flight booked. While I waited, Lindsey was booking me a car rental. It took her all of 4 minutes to rescue her momma, once again. It was booked for pick up at12:44, but was ready for me by 11:30. I should be home within 3 hours, given good traffic movement and no crazies on the road.

MEMO: The night before, no cars at all were available. Out of the 7, or more, car rental businesses at the airport, NO ONE had a car to rent. Holy wow! I really doubt I would have tried driving in all that stormy weather, anyway, so it didn't really matter that there were no cars available. I just found it interesting...

The story gets better, now. *Whew...

I make it to the booth where my car was being held for me. Imagine, if you can, a young girl sitting behind a large plexiglass, wearing a mask (or 3...couldn't really tell), and using the lowest tone of voice possible when she spoke. Add to the mix, a hard hearing, emotionally bankrupt, (the last week had been excruciating), 74 year old woman, that was also wearing a mask. The girl seemed to be rattling off so many instructions, half of which I actually heard (didn't care, really, I just wanted a car). I have no idea how I was charged (but NOT charged), for a full tank of gas at the tune of $57. Alrighty. Just give me some keys or point me in the right direction. It's time for me to be home. Ugh! Can this day get any more complicated? 

Turns out it was a really nice, smooth riding, Buick. I was able to travel at 80-85 miles per hour (shhhhh) most of the way. It was a straight shot, mostly. I did drive very carefully, always knowing the distance between me and any other car. It seemed like the road just opened up for me. And everyone else was traveling at the same speed. Well, most people. Not all, I suppose. It was a beautiful day outside and I was ready to be home. Past ready. I did have one small stretch of only going 60-65 miles per hour. Seemed like I was crawling. The car was mostly soundproof, and must have had great tires, because it felt like I was riding on a cloud, slowly drifting along, waving to cars filled with people as I slipped past them.

Just to be clear...I don't normally drive this fast. It could be a recipe for disaster. But so could driving 55-60 on an interstate where cars are moving much faster. Okay. I'm done with that news.

When I pulled into our driveway, our neighbor across the way, waved and shouted, as he clapped his hands. He was glad to see I had made it back safely. I strolled across our newly paved street and went to fill him in on the latest happenings in our family and a tad about the trip. Still asking when Dennis is coming home. I think he's missing his shootin' the breeze buddy. 

I returned the Buick that evening, after Meg and Reagan watched Bray's ballgame. Happy to have a couple of girls watching out for their momma, there was no problem waiting. AND, I was HOME!!! Super glad that part of my journey was over. Once I actually got to The Raleigh Hertz drop-off, the attendant informed me, because I had not refilled the 1/4 of a tank of gas I used, she was going to have to charge me $9.99 per gallon to fill that baby back up. The multi-protected person at the Hertz counter in CHARLOTTE had told me I wouldn't have to fill the car back up because I had pre-paid for the gas (remember the $57 charge?) The Raleigh attendant decided some compassion was due me, and (hopefully...I'll know in a couple days), she corrected the mistake and only charged me $15 for the gas I used. Again...*whew

 Are you up for a little back story? 

The day Dennis flew out of Raleigh, NC to Springfield, Missouri (3rd time in 2 months), I dropped him off at the airport at 4 AM, came home, ate some breakfast, and headed to the salon for a full day of clients. As soon as I was finished there, I decided to go shopping for a shelf needed for some new spa products I was adding to the salon's retail line. After securing my find, I headed home. While waiting in a merge lane for traffic to slow, a car across the median came flying out of nowhere, rammed the backside of another car heading the same way I would be going, consequentially catapulting her car into mine. Took me out in a matter of seconds. I was unharmed, just couldn't get out of my car, since the driver's door was bashed in at the hinged part and shoved into the front fender.

Lindsey closed down her photo shoot in Raleigh, to come get her mother. I just can't believe how much our girls are willing to sacrifice for their momma. They worry about me I think. This was the first wreck I can remember being involved in since 1996. The one in Texas, where 3 young, and very drunk boys slammed into the back of our vacationing van full of people, ended a bit differently that this one. Yet, neither that accident, nor the most recent one, was my fault. I really am a good driver, despite that earlier account of driving from Charlotte to Cary. 😁

Side Note: There WAS that one time my back up beeper (that warns when I am getting too close to something), went off, and I just kept backing up. The tires were barely moving. Really. I was just trying to turn my car around on Meghan's narrow street that was lined with large plastic trash cans. I bumped one over. Don't believe anyone telling you any different. I just bumped it. That's it. Anyway...

Back to that day when the car hit the car that hit me. That was a Saturday to remember. Still working on getting my car back, or a new one...2 weeks later. But, I've been in Missouri. Soooo many wrong reports circling that accident. From the onset, the police officer got 2 of the insurances written out wrong, got my phone number wrong, then the middle car's driver, was suing MY insurance instead of the perps, etc. etc. Guess since the perps insurance was wrong, she'd take her chances with MINE! What the what?! Took me 2 days to find out the perps real insurance. But I did it! I've given my statement to 3 different insurances, but yet the one that is having to pay for this mess thinks I was hurt and needs "more information to send to Medicare" before they can process my claim. WHAT????!!! I wasn't hurt, and I don't think Medicare is going to care about your report.

Well....there is so much more that has happened in the last couple of months, actually the last year, but I'm thinking it was about time. Seems like life has been so very good to us, for such a long time. Not that it isn't still. Oh my! I (we) have so much to be thankful for. To be grateful for. These happenings were just little bumps in our road. True, there may have been a couple of mountains to move, recently, but mostly, just bumps. My sister used to say to me, "Mary, is this just a bump in your road? Or is it a mountain that needs your total attention?" They're just bumps, Beck. Just bumps. Mostly...

Except that time Walmart fired the wrong guy (my husband) and caused us to be without insurance and sent us a check to clear out all his PTO time. He didn't even KNOW he had been fired. He went to work, as usual, and wasn't allowed to clock in. So he went to the office to find out why. What a shocker. They had meant to fire another guy, but instead fired the best employe they may have ever had. Thirty plus years in and they fired him. Accidentally...How does one mix that up??? Anyway, everything was reinstated, and all is well. That was a few years ago. But, that's another story.

Okay...I'm needing to get ready for Enterprise to take me to the rental I will use until a verdict comes down on my abused Equinox. Wondering what this day will bring, I am at total peace and looking forward to seeing my Dennis tonight (hopefully). He is also flying with American. And boy, do I have a story about that initial trip! 😂 Can't say our lives are boring! Enough for today!

With grit and gumption, as always, here you'll find me...in Mary's World

The Restless Dream Land

Weird back-to-back dreams last night. All having to do with the salon. Yes, I'm going to share them, because they are seriously kinda funny. In a scary kind of way...

Dream #1:

I get to the salon. Many, many (maybe 20+) people (don't ask how they fit in there...it was a bigger place than I have now), were waiting for me. No appointments made. Just waiting for me to arrive. Expecting what, I'm not sure. I tell them to get out. 😂 I'm kind, like that. 😂

They had made a mess of the place, having brought in food and drink, and a bazillion kids. As I'm cleaning up after tossing their complaining whinnies out, I find almost ALL of my plastic color gloves in heaps on the floor, and strewn virtually everywhere. Good thing I believe in stocking plenty of everything I need to do business with.

Dorothy, a gal down the hall from me (who now works for me, I guess), told them not to leave, this was "a community effort". Oh yeah, Dorothy? Last time I checked, I was the owner and actual boss of this place. But she had already told them "WE" would charge $240 for them all. 😳. I think it was way back in the 1900's that I charged only $12 for anything.

Now...those of you who know me, know that wasn't going to fly. This bit of news didn't sit so well with me, simply because I couldn't believe she had decided it was her place to include me in a price she believed to be good. As I come face to face with her, looking her square in the eye, I say, "I charge $240 for ONE person, not 20! Her eyes widen...and I turn to walk away. Ugh! That was pretty mean of me. I guess in dreams we become who we really are inside, without control. Maybe?????End of Dream #1...

Dream #2:

A very faithful client of mine (we'll call her Carrie, to protect the innocent), had come to the salon for her monthly color services. We had decided to do a full head of foil on this particular visit, along with the retouch. Her husband had come with her on that day. Being the patient man that he is, he sat calmly scrolling through his phone, as I worked. Don't even know if that is relevant in this dream. But he was there, regardless.

Just as I finished putting 150 (or thereabouts) foils in her hair, and clipping the front foils from her face, the sconces on each side of the mirror started smoking and catching fire. I grabbed a paper towel so I wouldn't burn my fingers while getting the bulbs out before they exploded. Too late. They shattered just as I reached for the first one. Tim (we'll call him), just sat and watched it all. He's a very calm(ing) guy.

My mind was telling me I still needed to get the retouch product on Carrie's hair. Fire blazing, I turned to whip up the formula, Carrie and Tim left. WHAT?! ...Dreams are so crazy... 🙄

Next thing I know, some guy that is also in my employment, I guess, came up to me apologizing all over the place about Carrie's hair. I just looked at him and blinked. First of all, I didn't know who he was. And secondly, why is he apologizing for Carrie's hair? What in the world was he talking about? Then Carrie shows up, begging me to forgive her. Which, in real life, I'm pretty sure she wouldn't do, simply because there would be nothing to apologize for. But there she was, blazing red roots and the now, non-existent highlights of which I had just done a fabulous job with. Whoever this guy was, he had finished my job for me. Really finished it... End of Dream #2

So, you may be wondering what the moral of these two stories, er, dreams are. Or why I felt the need to share them. Me too. If anyone has any idea(s), besides me eating 7 Chicken and Cheese Taquitos last night, please divulge in the comments below. Maybe God just thought I needed a good chuckle. 😂

P.S.

I'm looking for anything. And, as always, here you'll find me...in Mary's World

Facing the Darkness: Heading Up...Volume 3

 

Even though I have not told everything I encountered during my walk on the dark side of life, I think perhaps I have shared enough. Until I feel a necessity, a God prod, those memories will be still. 

It's been almost 3 months since my last entry of Facing the Darkness. My last look back on the life that almost killed me. Physically, mentally, and spiritually. And, I am now anxious to share how God delivered me. How He called my name and set me in a place of real living. A place not free of trials, but a place of peace while walking through anything life places in my path. 

I will never forget the drive down Rush & Linda's (brother & sister-in-law) lane, coming "home" from a long day at Miami Beauty College. I was crying. So very lonely, still. I had asked God to guide me, to protect me, to please never leave me, to take charge of what was left of me. I had offered Him brokenness, and He was carefully picking up the pieces of what was left of me. But the journey I must take to get to the place He had pre-ordained for me, was not going to be easy. As I cried, driving down that lane filled with potholes, I simply said, "If only I could sit with my Father (meaning my dad). He would know what I should do." There was an immediate response to my spirit, that said, "I am your Father. You can talk to me anytime you want." There was an instant calm that came over me, even though I wasn't sure I would know any answers. I couldn't explain it any further than that. Still tears, yet instant calm. 

Only a few days after my return to Oklahoma, back in 1973, either my sister, Becky, or brother Ken, (maybe both), had asked me, "If you could do anything with your life, what would it be?" Since I had always dreamed of becoming a hair and skin care specialist, that was my reply. So, they contacted other brothers and sisters (I had a bunch), and they all agreed to secure me a place in the local beauty school. Even back then, it wasn't cheap! Yet, they were there for me. For their little wayward sister that had gotten her foot stuck. They knew I needed something to put my hands and mind to, to keep me from wandering back into the very dark abyss. I will also never, ever, forget the times my brother Ken, would find opportunity to stick a wad of bills in my hands, "to put gas in your car" or "in case you would like to go to lunch with someone".  Just remembering these times, has brought tears to my eyes, this morning. My heart is so full, because God put me in a family that loves unconditionally. I never felt I deserved them. I never felt deserving of what they selflessly gave up so I could stand up. I will be forever grateful. They grabbed me out of a pit so deep, so dark, and faced me toward the light of God's saving grace, His provision (with their hard earned dollars). That is how God chooses to provide. He uses His own family. We are His. We are His hands extended. And my family was willing...

I had just begun attending Commerce Community Church with a few of my family members, when a traveling minister came into town. After the meeting one evening, my sister-in-law and I were visiting with him. He asked us to come to where he would next be holding a tent-meeting revival. It was an old-time-sawdust-floor tent revival. We agreed to go on a Wednesday evening. This would turn out to be another event that has been burned/seared into my conscience. I was a new convert that was still wearing mini skirts, and looking much like a street walker. Linda was a lady that just loved looking nice. You would never catch her out and about without dangling earrings, red lipstick, hair properly fixed, and dressed to the nines, with matching heels.  

I was pretty bold/stupid/naive in those days, and being a new convert, I wanted to hear EVERYTHING, regardless of how I was dressed. So we marched our colorful little selves right up to the second row from the front. Sat in the middle of the row so we could easily hear the preacher speak and would have no problem seeing him. We were early. But then...the tent began to fill with its attendees. Little did we know we would be sitting in a pentecostal event where the women mostly wore long dresses, no makeup, and had long hair wrapped up in a braided bun on top of their heads. We felt as if we had walked into a black and white picture and a spot light had been turned on us, as we sat there, innocently, in vibrant living color. Linda immediately reached up to her dangling earrings, and with one smooth motion, pulled them gently off her lobes. Well, my ears were pierced, so that wasn't going to work for me, and I really didn't care. Still very young in Christendom. 😉

It was there that I met my forever husband-to-be. My eyes were on him the minute he pulled the tent curtain back, and walked to a seat directly in front of me. He was tall. He was blonde. His shoulders were broad, and his hands massive. I loved his hands! Every time he raised them in worship, I stared. I could feel the tender strength they embodied. He introduced himself to me 3 times that night. Every chance he got, he turned, reached out his hand for mine, and re-introduced himself. I think I must have confused the poor lad. Or he just wanted to hold my hand. Or look at all the color I brought to the room. I'm not sure. Maybe he just couldn't believe I was wearing a mini skirt to  a revival. 

The following week, the minister came to dinner at my brother and sister-in-laws house. One of the first things he said to me, as he sat down to eat, was "Do you remember the guy that sat in front of you at the meeting last week?" I said, "Yes. Dennis?" He confirmed that was his name (didn't have to, cause I remembered), and then said, "He asked me to set him up with you for a date." My heart may have jumped just a little. Dennis' church was having a pizza get together the following week where I agreed to meet up with him. I remember watching him chew on a drinking straw. I think I was really just taken with his lips. We've been together ever since that night, with only one little blurp along the way. It was right after his birthday, and I had given him a bracelet with his name engraved on the underneath side, along with a secret message. I had pooled my tips together to buy this very special gift for him. That moment in time lasted only a couple of weeks before he was back asking for me to go out with him again. Seems like several members of his church, along with another churches pastor, thought we would be a bad fit, and said he should break it off. That is a story I may talk about later. Or maybe not. Not sure...

My beautiful husband and I have been together for the better part of 47 years, now. I think we might make it. Like most marriages, we have had our tough places, our awesome sauce places, and our soul searching places. But we have had them ALL together!!! No partner should ever say, "I need some space," and then separate to "clear their head", or "see if we are meant to be together" kind of thing. That is ludicrous. How does one work things out when they are separated? Makes no sense. The only time I think one partner should leave the other, is when the marriage vows have been broken through mental, physical, or infidelity abuse. 

I will end this session with letting you know that I have no idea what a "honeymoon" is. Unless it is a description of choosing happiness, over sadness, and not just for the first month of being married. Our first date was July 3rd, 1974, and we married on December 14th, of that same year. Our first night of wedded bliss was in a local motel room, so we could move from our consecutive homes the next day. He had to go to work the following day, so a destination trip was out of the question. We had very little money, anyway. Dennis had sold $200-$300 in bonds, to pay for wedding decorations, pictures, and the wedding cake, and I had just graduated beauty school a few months before and was working for peanuts, as they say, then quit to move to Granby, MO. We would be living on his income for awhile. We had each other. That was enough.

 I will say this. We were both fairly new Christians. Ironically, we both gave our hearts over to God, in 1973, having never met until the following year. He came out of a world of drugs, and I from a world of loose living. What a pair! But God was moving us toward His purpose for our lives. Little by little.

I have no idea when the next entry will be, nor what it will be about. I'm just taking my cues from the Lord, who seems to have a mission, where my life's journey is concerned.  

As always, here you'll find me...in Mary's World

Facing the Darkness: Heading Down ...Volume 2

So...I have changed the title of this "novel". It began as, "My Journey to the Light". It is now, "Facing the Darkness", since that is what I did. Yes, it led me to the truth that lives in the light. The light that God instilled within my being, at conception. The light that I turned my back on as life continued to whip its furry upon me. 

This is actually the 3rd entry, even though it says Volume 2. The first was a preview of things to come.

My last entry most likely left you with either feeling sorry for me, or scratching your head wondering how in the world I could stay, knowing the abuse of a very conflicted husband was inevitable. Regardless of the threats. Well...I was raised to be an obedient child. Children were to be seen and not heard, and girls not even seen, if possible. That stuck with me through most of my young adulthood. I have no doubt our parents loved us deeply. It was just the era I was born in. Looking back, it now seems those years to be an entirely different world. And even though women have advanced by leaps and bounds and for the most part, have the respect of their husbands, during the 60's & 70's, there was still that naive little girl inside of me that bowed to her oppressor. Feeling trapped. 

Thinking about the wedding vows, I wondered why the male even bothered repeating them. That does sound harsh, doesn't it? It's just how I perceived life to be. We girls were expected to honor the vows, but it didn't seem as though the guys had to. Those vows were for the "weaker" sex. And being the weaker sex, we respected the men folk as the stronger ones and we had no place questioning that. Things began changing when the women folk began their journey into the work place, leaving their children for others to raise, as they helped "bring home the bacon." Only problem was, they still had to fry it up, as well as tend to the children, do the laundry, clean the kitchen, etc., when they got home. The family unit was about to be broken, or rearranged, at the very least. Progress, they said. It took a lot of years for men to finally realize that if their wives had to work outside the home, helping them with the financial part of the marriage, then they needed to help with the children & the house work, just to keep things running smoothly. But that's now. And this story is about then...the late 60's and early 70"s. Mostly...

The years spent in darkness wrecked me. I didn't feel repairable. I felt numb, without hope, lost, and very bruised. I had no one to lean on. Coming out of the abusive marriage, I was at a crossroads, of sorts. Which path do I take? I chose the wrong path, as I absorbed all the compliments given by various men. No one had ever told me I was beautiful. That I had a great smile. No one had told me I was too good for a place such as this. It was amazing to me. Little did I know it was only a ploy to get me believing yet another set of lies. Lies that would cause me to believe this was what I was meant for. No commitments, just fun. I really did think I was living the life. A boyfriend got me an interview at Roger Miller's King of the Road Hotel, working as a cocktail waitress at the Roof. This was a lounge located on the actual roof of the hotel, where singer/songwriters, like Charlie Pride, Dottie West, Ronnie Milsap, Tanya Tucker, Charlie Rich (The Silver Fox), and Kris Kristofferson, to name a few, would come to preform. I got to meet so many of these music stars, serving them and their friends from the bar, and of course all the locals who came to listen and drink. It seemed safe to me. No one ever threatened me or spoke with anger to me. They all seemed to actually love who & what I was. I looked forward to my job, my friends, my life. Until about 3 years into it and finding out this "no commitment" deal wasn't something to be desired. This life I found myself to be enjoying, was a life of loneliness. A life where others used you for what you could do for them, not because they valued you. I had walked out of the frying pan and into the fire. Then God began to call my name.

Letters to my sister was a common occurrence once I began my downward spiral. She was the one person I knew I could trust. She had always been my protector, remember? The letters were desperate letters, to which she would always respond with, "Mary, Jesus is the answer you are looking for." At the end of myself, I remember writing to her (a letter I still have, by-the-way), that ended with, "Please HELP me!" Yes, I was a bit dramatic, but the cry came from deep inside me. She called me. Told me to start packing, that she, along with my brother and sister-in-law was coming for me, to bring me home. She was hoping this was the right decision, I learned later on. She, nor my brother and his wife, had any idea what they were going to do with me once they got me back to Oklahoma. All they knew was they had to get me out of the dark pit I had fallen into. I couldn't even bring myself to start the packing process. That's how torn I was. Linked to the life I was living yet knowing I needed/wanted more for my life. Somewhere deep inside of me was still that innocent little girl needing someone to really love her for who she was. 

As my family packed FOR me, I sat in a corner and cried, never lifting a finger to help. I was so deeply lost. Once again, Beck rescued me, and we started the long road trip back to Oklahoma. As the years flew by, I began to realize just how much I WAS loved, and how God's grace had covered me in many instances all those years of walking down a path that would take me to the end of myself. That's where He meets us. When we finally give up our rights to ourselves...

Remember the gold trimmed Family Bible that sat on my coffee table? After my encounter with it, that one eventful afternoon, I began questioning how God could use me for anything. Total sadness surround a feeling of defeat, of a life filled with failure. I was certain He couldn't, and the dreams wouldn't leave me alone. They were continually consistent, and all happened between the years of 1971-72. 

Most of the terrifying dreams were of water rising up around my feet and I knew I was going to drown. When I was a mere 9 years old, one of my prankster brothers threw me into the deep end of a swimming hole we used to go to at the end of a hot day. "Sink or swim," he had said. I was sinking...going down for the 3rd time, when my sister, my protector, swam out to me and grabbed me. I've been afraid of water ever since that day. 

So many dreams about rising water. In one such dream, I was walking across a bridge that covered a large expanse of water. Water as far as the eye could see. The problem was that the bridge stopped somewhere far away from the shore and hovered over the water with no support at all. When I got to the end of the bridge, with no place to go, it began crumbling into the water and I went in with it. As I was swallowed up, I realized I had a baby in my arms that needed saving. I stretched as far as I could, with baby in between my hands, lifting her head just above the water. I knew she was safe. I had this dream night after night. Same dream. Always. This dream usually lasted 3-4 nights at a time. Recurring from time to time. At that time I had no idea what it all meant, but now I know that it was God showing me that I would be okay, and that I was worthy of saving. The baby was me. I was about to be reborn. Given a fresh start, with all my sins against myself and my God, forgiven and made whole.

Another dream that kept coming was one where I was walking alone somewhere in a wooded area. The ground was mostly sand. All of a sudden, the ground opened up and swallowed me. I begin to try and climb up the sides of this sandy pit. As I put my hands to work, reaching above my head and digging my fingers into the walls, the sand began to fall in on top of me. The more I tried getting free, the more it swallowed me, until I was completely buried alive with nothing but darkness to comfort me. I was so afraid I was going to die there. They say you can't feel pain in a dream, but I felt as if I was suffocating. Without actually hearing the words, I knew to turn to my left. To look away from my situation. What a wonderful surprise! An archway filled with light that came streaming into my grave, stood waiting for me to pass through it. I simply turned and walked out. Free! That's all it takes, folks. We just have to turn from where we find death all around us, and walk away.

As I'm reliving these dreams, I am reminded of the constant companion dream I had as a child. Any time I was afraid, any time I felt in danger, I would simply lift myself up off the ground by waving my arms in the air until they lifted me up into the sky, far above the trees and far away from danger. Those dreams always gave me hope. As I soared above the tree lines, I could look down and see the confusion of my enemy. Even then, God was making a way of escape for me.

God never left me after being brought back home to Oklahoma. Soon after arriving, I took a job in a local bar (it's all I knew, besides factory work...which I hated). It was an "okay" job, but nothing like I had experienced in Tennessee. Here, all the girls put their tips together and shared them at the end of the night. The seasoned waitresses knew how to manipulate and I could see what they were doing. I was given all the tables the first night. "Training" they said, as they stood at the bar and giggled. They worked very little the first week of my employment there, yet was allowed to take home tips I had earned throughout the nights of working my hiney off. Since I knew how to work a table, the tips were good. Not as good as I was used to, but good. I decided being made a fool of was for the naive, and I wasn't going to allow it any longer. So, I quit. No notice, no phone call to my employer. I just didn't show up. That night, the establishment was raided and all the girls were taken to jail. I still don't know the full story on that one, but the irony was more than a coincidence in my opinion.

As the years went by, any time I found myself sinking back into a pit of despair, God would visit me in my dreams. One such dream that I had when facing depression, was of my Mother. Any time I would have flash backs of the years lived in Tennessee, I would experience terrifying nights. The demons I faced were extreme. Satan had lost his battle with me and God had pulled me to Himself. Just beginning my journey into the light, the darkness I had lived in for so many years, attacked me with very frightening images while I slept. Some would call them night terrors. Whatever they were, I would wake up screaming. Blood curdling screams...but then Mom arrived.

I was with a bunch of people I didn't know, yet followed them into a cave that appeared to be a house. I was left alone and trapped, with no way out. Then I "heard" my Mom calling my name. It was just knowing she was calling out to me, rather than an actual voice saying my name. I looked out through the muddy tunnel that was gradually filling with water, and saw her surrounded in light with her hand reaching out to me, beckoning me to come to her. Showing me the way out, she stood with a gentle smile on her face. I couldn't believe my mom was there, yet there she was asking me to come toward her. "Mary, come this way." Mom had been deceased for many years, living with her Creator, yet she appeared to me in this dream with instructions on what to do. On how to survive. Again, I had no idea what that could mean. As a young Christian, the choices of days gone by, haunted me. They invaded my new life as I was being renewed from the inside out. I believe God had sent her to show me what needed to be focused on. I needed to follow the light. Not the darkness. Darkness hides our deeds, light exposes them. Good, or bad.

All these dreams were metaphorical, of course. God was entering my world to pull me out of that sandy pit that sought to consume me, up out of the dark waters that were drowning me, but saving the new life that was mine, and then called to me through my Momma to come up out of the dark, smelly cave that I had willing walked into. What do the metaphors relate to, you ask? 

1) The sand pit was the life I was living, and as I tried to free myself from it, it only encompassed me more. I was trying to do it on my own, and clearly that wasn't working.

2) The partial bridge that ended in the middle of the sea, was the road I was traveling at that time. It was leading me to certain death. Death of who I was created to be. The baby was the spirit God had placed within me during the knitting together time in my momma's womb. God was helping me save that part of who I was born to be. He was giving me a second chance at getting it right.

3) The muddy, water filled "cave" was once again, the choices I had made that resulted in me being trapped in a lifestyle that produced only loneliness at the end of the day. There's always a way out, we just can't see it when we are bound and blind. And the consequences of seeds sown, must also reap a harvest that takes time to destroy, so a new crop can come up. My mom was sent as someone I trusted to be a gentle soul, with only truth spoken, or implied. The fact she was encased in light, was symbolic of the place she now resides, with God. I never felt more loved than in that dream, even though I was about to die. All I need do was to choose to obey her, because she was sent from a loving God.

4) Dreams of flying, when I was a child. I just think was a way of escape for me. When I couldn't outrun my problems, I found a way to rise above them, not allowing them to hurt me. I wanted to stay there forever.

Welllll...that's enough for today's snippet of doing life without the life giver. I promise this will all be over soon, and I will get on with posting lighter content.

As the years fly past me, I want more and more to help someone, anyone, that may be having thoughts of suicide, or giving up, or having feelings of worthlessness, or having virtually no hope. I want to be one that reaches out a hand of hope, one that brings truth into dark places, into the dark recesses of the mind, and position them face forward into the light of redemption.

Travel with me, here, in Mary's World...

Facing the Darkness: Where It All Began...Volume 1

If you haven't read the Preview edition of this story, it may make this entry a bit more understandable. It was posted in January, so if you'd like, just search for the January post, then come back to this one. 

This may be the hardest part of the telling of my life's journey. Exposing the life I lived before surrendering to Christ. Yes...even worse than the physical & mental beatings I took for 4 and 1/2 very long years. And that is why I am having a difficult time remaining faithful to the telling of this story, and have decided to give a little more insight to the time spent in my first marriage, before moving into the years of choice. Let's pick up where we left off in January, but heading back, as if looking in a rear view mirror... 

I suppose one could say the beginning of anything would be birth. But I'm on a mission of shining a light in the dark places that unfolded in this life, as I journeyed back to the light. The light I had yet to walk in, but I knew was there. My purpose for telling these stories is to give others hope in their journey that may be filled with questions, with fear, with hopelessness. When one has been blinded by fear & hate, the darkness becomes home and the only familiar place that will in turn, bind them. As if they were in chains, without any hope of escape.

As a child, I was sexually molested by a male family member. Occasionally, he would try to get me to go with him to our barn loft only a hundred feet, or so, from our house. He "wanted to show me something." I felt it weird that he wanted to hold my hand as he led me to a place I learned to fear. Had it not been for a very protective sister, it could have been so much worse. It is said that one cannot be in two places at the same time, yet she sure did try. I don't think anyone else was aware this was happening...just my protector. She also had been violated by an older brother, so she knew what to watch for, but it just wasn't something you ever would want to talk about. Especially when coming from a large Christian family with roots deep in ministry.

Later, once I had graduated high school, I married the first guy that asked me. He would become my second, but much worse, abuser within the first two months of marriage. We had moved out of a cleaned up shed that was on his parents property located in Peoria, Oklahoma. We slept there, but ate at his parents because we had nothing to cook with, clean with, or bathe with. It was a shed. 

He had been hired by a tire and lube company in Pryor and so we packed our suitcases and left. The first time there was physical abuse came on a day I had laid down for a nap. I slept through the time I was suppose to pick him up, and since he had left the car with me to go for groceries, he had no way of getting home. The anger started the moment he saw me. It didn't matter to him why I wasn't there on time, it was the fact I "did nothing all day" while he worked to support us. It started with a slap across the face, followed by an immediate hug and begging forgiveness. He didn't mean it, didn't know why he did it, would never do it again. Crying...whatever it took for me to give him another chance. Then he began blaming me for his outbursts. If you would just...if you didn't always...if you would just focus on making me happy. It was all about him being abused, not him being the abuser. Many were the nights I took a beating from his hands, his body. He would throw me on the bed or the floor, straddle my chest and begin with a choke hold as he questioned me about things I had no idea what he was talking about. He would let up for a minute, still crushing my chest with his body, slap my face from side to side, then back with the choke hold. Many times he would choke just long enough for me to either completely pass out, or just to the place I was whispering for him to please stop, because I couldn't breathe. I blame those terrifying experiences for a loss of memory of certain time frames in my life.

We eventually moved to Baxter Springs, Kansas. That's where he became unleashed, as it were. Usually he was drunk when the beatings happened. But not always. He was a jealous guy, and if there was any remote possibility of betrayal he could imagine in his head, he would go into a rage. I couldn't look at another guy, speak to another guy, or come within close proximity of another guy, without him being certain I was having an affair. Going to the grocery store was like running a race. I had to be back within 30 minutes or it was interrogation time. He was a very angry man, and I was terrified he would carry out the threats made of killing me and my family if I ever decided to leave him. "I WILL find you," he had said. That, along with beginning to believe his lies that the beatings were my fault, was why I stayed with him as long as I did. Four and a half long years. I was so afraid. Terrified of him, actually, never knowing if tomorrow would come for me, because he had gone too far and I had slipped from this life into the next.  

There are so many stories I could tell you of day-to-day living with this guy. From being forced to do his bidding, to watching him with other women he would bring home to parade in front of me. To mocking me, belittling me. But when in public, he was the nicest guy you'd ever hope to meet. Everyone thought he was the one to look up to as a role model. He was loved. Except for the times he wasn't. Those times were filled with drinking and being just plain mean to his friends. And, at home he was a monster. Once, he literally destroyed the entire interior of the house we were renting. Everything. Every kitchen item, every living room item (he actually threw a can of hairspray through the tv), every bedroom item. It's still so vivid in my mind. He dumped and smeared makeup I had, all over the dresser, and wiped every piece of my clothing (which wasn't that much) all through that makeup. No window, mirror, or door, was left unscathed. He literally destroyed our house. But, I'm getting ahead of myself.

I had left him after a night of fear as he forced himself on me. Some would say a wife can't be raped by her husband. They would be wrong. Covered in bruises from the waist down to my knees, I was barely able to stand, without shaking, the next morning. When he left for work that morning, he thought I was headed out to work, as well. But I didn't go to work. I went to my brother and sister-in-laws. I wasn't planning on going back to the house for any reason, simply because I was afraid he would show up and trap me. We lived at the end of a long, private back road where one never knew if a car was approaching, or not, until it pulled up outside of our one, and only, door. But a couple of my older brothers said they would go with me, keep the monster away from me should he return, and we would together, gather my belongings. Once we arrived, none of us could believe the damage that had happened to the place. It appeared as if someone, or someTHING, had came in with a vengeance. I don't remember if I was able to salvage anything. Replaying that awful day in my head, I don't think we left with anything. That was a day nightmares are made of! I can only imagine what my brothers were thinking.

He came looking for me. And once again, talked me into going home with him. I couldn't tell you why I went back. Just his touch caused me to shiver. I had left him several times, and gone back. Back to the bondage he offered. Maybe it was because I really felt it was my fault he was like this, just like he had said. Maybe if I would just try harder to be a good wife, everything would be good. It had to be my fault. I know this because he constantly told me it was. I became a pretty quiet person. Afraid to speak. It wasn't until he began threatening death to me and my family, that I stayed put. After the destruction of our cabin, he rented a place not more than half a mile up from it. It was a converted hen house. A narrow building with a tiny bathroom just big enough to shimmy into and out of. A tiny kitchenette provided the one entry door the house had. There was a small apartment sized stove and a very small sink with a tiny window above it, in that room where love was suppose to bring people closer together as meals were shared. There was no room for a table of any kind. We just ate on the floor where we slept. I think it was his mom who provided a mattress for us, just so we wouldn't have to lay on a hard floor all the time. Someone gave us a small end table and a lamp. That was it. No closet, no dinning area, no shower (or tub). We had to wash up with just a washcloth, in the kitchen sink. Then he began accusing me of his infidelity. It was somehow my fault he was cheating.

During those years, I wasn't sure what was reality and what wasn't. Those waters were very troubled. He would throw full cans of beer at me, call me awful names, threaten me, accuse me, whatever he could do...he would. I was constantly questioned if I had to go anywhere without him. One day, after work, he was filling his car with gas and saw me go by on my way home from work. I had pulled up beside a co-worker (male), to tell them their back tire was going flat. He accused me of flirting. It was a bad night.

Many days I would fall asleep at my work table because I'd had very little sleep. I wore my hair long so it could fall over my face to hide the bruises, but it also gave me a chance to nod off at my desk with the hope of not being noticed. It was only because of a very compassionate boss who knew the signs of abuse, that helped me decided I'd had enough. If I was to die at his hands, so be it. I couldn't live another day in fear that I would not see the next day. That decision caused an immediate, and very heavy weight, to be lifted off my shoulders. I no longer cared.  He couldn't believe I could "just stop loving" him. I  told him he had beaten any love I ever felt for him, completely out of me. One just can't grasp what true freedom is, until they have been in debilitating bondage to another human being. I had been in a prison far worse than death, and had decided I would rather be dead than to stay there. I felt as if I had been buried alive and had given up of having any kind of life worth living. Until that one decision that lifted all guilt of leaving an abusive marriage

It went from bad to worse once I was free of this guy. Oh, the physical abuse had stopped, but I had been mentally abused for so long, living in fear, that once freedom came my way, I didn't know how to live. I had come to believe the blanket of lies he had laid upon me. That it was all my fault and that I was so ugly, no one would want me, and that he just allowed me to live with him because he felt sorry for me. On one occasion, he had grabbed me by the hair of my head and slammed my face into a mirror. "Look at that. Who would want THAT?!" 

What I wanted, and felt I needed to do, was find out HOW anyone could be so violent to another person. And what the attraction was, to cheat on a spouse with another married person. Especially when they had vowed to love and cherish each other until death separated them. In my quest for truth, I took a major detour that landed me in the heart of deception. Before moving to Tennessee, I had moved in with one of my brothers, his wife and son. And even though they gave me love and the comforts of home, it wouldn't be long before I felt the need to move away. To get as far away as I could from the monster I had just left.   

Here, I will leave this journeys story until another time. Please remember, as you follow along, that I did rise up from the ashes. Life was just waiting for me to choose it.

Until next time, as always, here you'll find me...in Mary's World.

Facing the Darkness: Preview

Have you ever felt as though you just might be slipping back into an abyss you had already been freed from?

I've heard that God designed our brains to be able to shut out cruel and unjust events that were once a part of a persons existence, just so they could see their future as a brighter hope. I've also seen the quote that floats around Facebook, from time-to-time, as well. It says, "Never look back, you're not going that way."
Ummm...not sure I agree with that.The not looking back part. Maybe that quote would be better served up as, "Don't LIVE in the past. Step into the future." Maybe the quote was meant as, "Never look back (so as to DESIRE it), you're not going that way." That would make better sense.

However, when we remember from whence we came, as we are stepping into the light and becoming who we were designed to be, we can straighten ourselves a bit better. It's because of those dark days that our aim can swing more true, and our hearts become so full of gratitude for the place we find ourselves to be now. I think it may be healthy (in some aspects), to never forget, and on occasion, look back at the days we have allowed to be stolen from us. We just can't stay there long. 

I don't lay blame on anyone for the days I spent in the darkened abyss. I blame only myself, for it was of my own free will that I landed there. Naivety helped get me there, but it was I who chose to remain. Only because I believed a lie. And when I had gotten to the end of myself, where I could no longer breathe, I called out to the God who rescues, "Please don't leave me now."

All I can say is that it was  an amazing morning (early afternoon), for me. I worked nights, until 2 AM, during that time in my life, so many, many years ago. My "mornings" were actually early afternoons. I was sitting on a much too expensive couch that had been purchased with the money I made at Roger Miller's King of the Road Hotel, where I was employed. Working the lounge of the Roof (the actual enclosed with windows, roof of the building and quite beautiful), it wasn't uncommon for me to bring home a bag full of tips. A rather large bag. When you serve those who lose all common sense, while enjoying the music of the rich & famous artists, and ordering one right after the other of those mind altering spirits, it's rather easy to get them to leave a wad of cash...just for you. So, money wasn't an issue for me in those days. But, I wasn't quite the person I was designed to be, either.

Along my journey, I had purchased a Family Bible. Ah...I knew it, you say? Nah. The only reason of purchase (at least in my darkened brain) was because it was pure white, and trimmed in gold. It would look awesome on my glass coffee table, with its gold knobbed corners. Don't gag. It was the early 70's and glass with gold trim was very "in". My apartment was laid out where I had to go through the living room to get to the kitchen. I did eat, on occasion. 

I was miserable that morning (early afternoon). Sick of who I had become. I had literally just sat up in bed, looked into the large vanity mirror, and the first thing coming from my lips was, "I hate you!" As I dragged myself out of bed and past the coffee table with "the Book", I stopped. It was time to see what the inside of that book looked like. I just slipped my fingers into the book and flipped it open. Right smack dab into Isaiah 59. The first 3 verses leaped into my mind, as if an arrow had been waiting to find its mark. Out of that HUGE Bible, it was these verses that I "accidentally" turned to. 

Isaiah 59:1-3: "Surely the arm of the Lord is not too short to save, nor His ear too dull to hear. But your iniquities have separated you from your God; your sins have hidden His face from you, so that He will not hear. For your hands are stained with blood, your fingers with guilt. Your lips have spoken lies, and your tongue has muttered wicked things." Tears began to roll down my cheeks as I sat alone with the God who saves. The God who knew me. My heart responded with, "Please don't leave me now." My eyes and my mind were very attentive to what they had just read. I could have sworn I heard His voice in that empty-of-life, room. I was fully awake now, and there was an instant need to flip past those pages that exposed what I had become. Let me stop for just a second here, to let you know it's not that easy to run when God is speaking into your heart. Try as we might, we won't get far. We may run, but we can't hide. That next random flip of the pages, landed at Isaiah 1:18. "Come now, let us reason together, says the Lord. Though your sins be like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they are red like crimson, they shall become like wool." What in the world?! It's as though someone knew me from the inside out. And that's all I could handle that particular afternoon. My heart was racing, as the tears flowed from my eyes. The book closed as the last 3 years flooded from the dark recesses of my mind and memories came oozing out as I sat and cried on what money had purchased for me, but could not give what I needed. The love I was looking for wasn't to be found where I was looking. Wasn't it the most ironic thing that God used the thief, the guy I was "doing life" with, to tell me what a nice look it would be for that large white Bible to have a place on my coffee table? Don't you see? God rescues us, no matter what avenue He must take to do it. He uses whomever is available even when they don't realize they are being used by God for a higher purpose. He simply meets us where we are. Somewhere in the darkness.

Let's take a short look back, before the day God grabbed my attention. One of the beginning wake-up calls came as I was sitting across the table from one of my friends. It was during an early breakfast, after work. It was 3 AM, and Faith (ironic name for this friend), who just happened to be one of the foulest mouthed gals I had ever ran into, was about to speak into my life. We were sitting across from each other, at a local Denny's restaurant. I couldn't tell you what we were talking about. I don't remember that. The thing that found a lodging place in my mind, was what she responded with. As she leaned back and laughed, she said, "Wow! You have got the foulest mouth of anyone I have ever known." I couldn't believe my ears. I was truly taken aback. Shocked, actually. I had thought SHE had the foulest of foul mouths. And to have her say that about ME, shook my world. But it would take more than that to pull me back. To get me to take a good hard look at myself.

I had been raised in a Christian home, that had imperfect people living as Godly a life as they could. Lots of rules. Lots of discipline. Lots of work. None of which should be declared bad. Some pretty awesome people came from that home. We weren't without fault, or without strongholds that would eventually need addressed in our later years. But, it was our life, and the goal was one of raising young lives to grow into responsible citizens. I think Mom & Dad succeeded. A few of us strayed (ya think?) from the straight and narrow, but, we all came back to it. Eventually. And we were all very responsible individuals that carried our own weight and the weight of others, in many cases. We worked together, we played (when there was time) together, we went to church together. Yet, we all needed rescued at some point in our lives, simply because humanity does not understand the way of true love, until they meet the One who gave up His rights to himself to show us the meaning of real love. He's a personal God that knows us from the inside out. Can you agree?

So...back to my beginning question. "Have you ever felt as though you just might be slipping back into an abyss you had already been freed from"? It's so easy to make declarations of the knowledge of Christ, the commitments we have made to Him, only to have it become a new form of Gnosticism, which claims that special knowledge is the way to God. However, true love is the only evidence that one is following Christ. When someone is unkind, someone who is suppose to be holding your heart as if Christ were holding it, uses words to pierce that heart, strong feelings of dislike for that person arises. Possibly even hate. Yeah, that's a strong word. But it causes a storm to gather overhead, yes? Now you must deal with what seems like a wicked and evil force that has laughed in your face. 

We are imperfect people that must aright ourselves from time to time. What we need ask ourselves is this: Am I arguing doctrine and heresies while pointing fingers at sinners? Am I living in fear of loss, condemnation, darkness? Am I sharing my love with only those who love me in return? Do I constantly defend myself from those who judge me? 

Here is what Paul says about love: "...love does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, is not easily angered, and holds no record of wrong." ~I Corinthians 13:5    Wow...that takes a minute or two (or an eternity) to think about.

We all want to enter that room that holds all these truths, but when we do, we have to leave all that we treasure behind. All our rights to ourselves. Be honest. Isn't that all it comes down to? Demanding our rights to ourselves. Demanding love where none is given? Taking care of number 1? Well, we can't be in both rooms at the same time, in the same way that darkness cannot be in light, in the same way that fear cannot be in love. We cannot serve two masters at the same time.

I think I've given us enough to chew on for awhile. The abyss awaits those who choose it. So does freedom...

It's sticky. It's Murky. It's frightening, to go back and relive in our minds what was. But sometimes it's necessary. Just to remind ourselves we aren't the same person we used to be. That alone makes it so much easier for me to "hold no record of wrong", simply because there is no darkness in light. Once truth has been revealed, forgiveness becomes truth. 

Want more of my story back from the darkness? It was a long journey. Many stories to tell. Not sure if I can, actually. 

Still, I'll try, here...in Mary's World.