Wednesday, April 30, 2008

Back home

So I got back yesterday afternoon. Very tired and exhausted, but in a good way. It went exactly how God wanted it to that much I do know. The ego in me wanted to do more, but I had to do and say only what He wanted me to say. I pray I did so. Meaning said enough or didn't talk too much.
So I am back home. I am facing a challenge of a different sort. Maybe I will write about it later. For now it is in the Lord's hands and a few people who will cover me with prayer while I wait and refuse to fear. (Easier said than done) god tells us not to but I am, but than I remember who and what I am and that it all belongs at the feet of God. I just need to not keep going back to pick it up again. What a struggle.
Anyway, I am tired today and going to just rest in everything God has given me. Maybe I'll write more tomorrow.....

Friday, April 25, 2008


I love my friends, and I have a lot of them. However as most people know there are those friends that are just that friends. Than there are those that are closest to you and know you better than you know yourself and vice versa. Most of the later is usually a very small circle. I can count those in my life on pretty much one hand. I would lay my life down for them, do virtually anything for them to help them.
Tonight I face a conundrum. I lave a friend i love and would lay my life down for and she needs help. However, she is across the country in California. What do I do? She really needs the help and support of a sister in Christ. i don't have a lot of money and would have a lot of arrangements to make in a short period of time. Again, what do I do?
I have made a plan and am going to do it. Tomorrow it will play out when I fly into San Diego airport. I am taking the last I have and go and help her. I think that is what a close friend. I am not doing it to gain anything and I expect nothing. I love her and she needs help end of story.
I am reminded of the story on the Bible where a group of friends tore off the roof in desperation to where Jesus was teaching and in a make shift basket lowered their friend down through the roof so that Jesus could heal him. What did Jesus do? Healed and helped their friend. Now I am not comparing myself to Jesus here in no way do I even come close, but it we were back in those days I would tear the roof off and lower her down.
The next best thing I have is an airplane and a shoulder to cry on, and hopefully help her through this time and let her know that she is worth it to me, the world, and to God.
So if you are reading this please pray for me to have the wisdom to know what to say and pray for her to have whatever is oppressing her to be not only lifted but thrown as far as the east is from the west.

Tuesday, April 22, 2008


If history is any reference than I have a great deal to learn. I have to learn to love deeper, forgive more, not judge people for where they are in the moment, and give more of myself to others that need help. I need to learn to be a better sister (older and younger). I was a horrendous sister all the way around and in many ways still am from what I gather. I am not sure how to do this, but through God and His word I am learning. Emotions run cavernous and burns hot, I love them both I just do not know how to articulate it to them in ways they will be received with the intent they are meant. I tend to be a very gruff and up front people. One gets what they see with me. I also need to learn to discipline that side of me.
I call it fervor. I have a lot of it for all sorts of things. I believe that God comes first in all things, then family, than everything else. Sometimes my vehemence gets the best of me. I am working on that too. I am not ashamed to admit I am a work in progress, than again aren’t we all?
I am very arcane with how I feel. I don’t like to let people know how I feel because I always think that it can then be used against me. So I keep them to myself. Vulnerability is not a major sturdy point for me. Yes, I have been egomaniacal at times; however, I feel that is something that I am overcoming. I like to give rather than receive. I enjoy watching people’s faces when I do so. Even in New Orleans there was nothing in it for me, it was all for them. I may have structured the drives for whatever was needed and synchronized everything, but when I was complimented I would simply say those who donated were the real hero’s I am just the driver. Nothing more nothing less. I just get things from point A to point B. The houses I helped gut or build had no gain in it for me, it was all about the people we were helping. I enjoy it more than words could explain.
So I guess I need to work on conveying my feelings more too. ARGH, that could cause some serious anguish, I like my comfort zones.
So much to work on I guess that just goes to prove I am human being and make human faux pas just like everyone else in the world.
Ah well, those are my thoughts for tonight.

Saturday, April 19, 2008


Grace what a delusion! Or maybe it was called Praying Hands, you know the classic painting? The old man sitting at a table with a loaf of bread with his hands pressed together in prayer. She sat under that. That was her position at the dinner table. On the other wall was the picture of all the fruit sitting on a table. That one was called Half Bushel. She always thought it would be more appropriate if she had sat under that since she felt like such a basket case. Their wallpaper was the old stuff, ya know actual paper. Also with the fruit on it, gold fruit with pristine gold stripes. That helped add to the illusion that everything was as perfect and polished as the pattern itself, even though its hue was tainted yellow and peeling, caked with years of lingering smoke that never found an escape except to seep into the walls, stuck in time. Locked in the particles of the paper until released and replaced by a new modern décor. It fit the criteria for a typical Midwestern dinette in the 1960’s. Only problem was they had an atypical house and the wallpaper stayed until the late 1990’s. Stripping that wallpaper off was difficult at best, because it was the real stuff. The kind that actually stuck once hung. It was as if that paper was trying just as hard as she was to hold on to everything that it has seen transpire there through the years, like that same prayer before dinner. They said it so fast that she did not even realize what she was saying until years later when she slowed it down in her head and tried to figure out what the words were she was saying. The unsullied ornamentation of that house was nothing more than an aberration. All the crystal, china and silver in the world would not make up for the secrets that encamped in the thick stale atmosphere that only an inhabitant knew existed. It hung in and around everything. Permeating everything it came in contact with, nothing was immune. Yet if it were mentioned it was quickly extinguished and passed off as a selfish, disconsolate, emotionally aggrieved child. It was unseen except by the wisest spectators. She would silently pray, the only way she knew for that audience member to appear, to rip off the veil. Expose the murky shadows that only linger in corners or under stairs as seen on movies or read about in books, except in her case that was all there was. The sunlight that would shine in through the huge bay windows in their should have been plastic covered living room, the ones no one ever really sat in unless there was company over. It was also primped with gold paint and yellow gold shag carpet. The sun would break into tiny particles and fall dead just as it hit their window sill. It was incomprehensible to her that anybody had a different life or existence than she did.
She often looks back and wonders how she could have ever arrived at this point in her life. Her journey here was as they say an uphill climb both ways in the snow. Clichés are too passé’ even for the most experienced adventurer. Every detail was as clear as if it were lying just on the other side of a two way mirror. Touchable on the surface but anything more would have killed her she was sure. Her own parents are amazed at her memory. It is all Technicolor in her head, but it has the feeling of a monochrome plain. Don’t get her wrong, it’s not all bad. Maybe it is just exacerbated because it is her life and not that of a television sitcom character. Every problem solved in 22 minutes, 30 with commercials. In her case she knew she was born but for the life of her could not figure out why anyone much less God would have wanted her here, and grace from a seen or unseen force was something far beyond her since she never knew it from any human.
The year was 1969. A terrible mistake was made and in august of 70, the faux pas was born. She was given a name but nothing formal, lasting or grounding. She had a case number assigned to her and was put up for adoption and sent to a foster home until someone wanted her for good, and for bad for what it’s worth. If she had known then what she knows now would she still have come forth? She often wonders.
So her life began. She came to know in her late 20’s that it all happened in a motel room in a small Kansas town half way across the state from where she was born. She wasn’t even good enough then to get at least a middle class HOTEL. No she got a neon flashing, psycho looking, just off the highway MOTEL. There is a difference between the two.
Let me recede for a moment. The first few days of her life she was in a maternity home with the woman who gave her this life. She was told that she was a fairly content baby. However, there were times that she was inconsolable. Usually this happened at night. There was a nice young nurse who after trying to comfort her with no success, would take her to her mother so she could hold and feed her. At that point she would instantly quiet. Her name was none other than baby girl J, as in Jane Doe, no identity but a case number. She was still a nobody. She was then placed in a foster home. There they considered adopting her themselves, because they said “She was such a happy, content baby girl, who smiled and gurgled a great deal. One of the best foster babies they had ever had.” They were told that she was most likely spoken for. Most likely being the operative words.
Fast forward to the day in the MOTEL. She was taken by a social worker to this hick motel and placed in the custody of two people who had never laid eyes on her before, for two hours to decide if they wanted her or not. The social worker didn’t stay she did a drop and leave. Maybe she needed to get something to eat. After all what was more important than the safety of a defenseless child or her own grumbling stomach. Well the grumbling won out. She did nothing but cry and scream the whole time in what her parents described as “a blood curdling cry.” Interestingly enough from the moment her conception was known a social worker was involved in her life as they would be again later on. The worker returned and the people decided why not, we’ll take her. What a great way to make a lifelong commitment. They took her the rest of the way across the state to her 3rd new home, all the while she continued my whaling at which point her new mom asked her new dad if he thought “this was an omen of things to come”. “Oh Elizabeth she is just not sure what is happening.” “Ok Albert but if she does not stop this soon no one will have any peace.” Already she was to blame for something else. They changed her name to Amy and a completely new beginning as they say began. Or should she say a completely new person was born that day. No one understood that to change a name even as an infant changes so many things inside little minds that it sends everything in them into warp speed. So she was referred to by friends and family of her parents as “special”, or “chosen”, she love that one. However, she must have known that something was not right. The new voices were not the ones she had heard before; the touch was different and things did not feel right. In a matter of hours those changed as did everything else. She went from happy and smiling to crying and screaming. Somewhere in those few hours she got lost and some people lost her. She would not know until later if the wrong path was taken. Yet, somehow an innocent, infantile mind knew that things were going to be severely veered off the intended or not so intended natural course of human beginnings.
Oh to be alive in such a time. Childhood escaped her. She did not feel like a quote normal kid, but more a mini adult. She learned very young that to pretend to be stupid was beneficial to her. Little was expected and trivial things were enormous victories. Yet, she observed everything in the seen and unseen realms. To grow up in the smoke tainted house with people who had no genetic connection to anyone and survive defied all means. She knew at a young age that there was something missing from her life – what? Some said God; others thought that she was just an emotionally disturbed child. She could not figure out what was absent even with earnest thought through a young mind. She urgently needed answers to a vast number of questions. No one had them; she had to find them on her own. At least that is what she thought. What she really needed to know was that she mattered to someone somewhere. She thought “what is my reason for being here in a world where the one who birthed me didn’t want me and the ones who brought me home seemed to want to blame me for all and any problems anywhere?” In her mind it came down to what she called the dreaded “L” word, love. Was she still loveable even though she was damaged goods? Was she worth anyone’s love even if no one seemed to want her? She decided that she wasn’t but yet kept trying to find and get it.
Her journey began as another one always ended.


OK, this is guts.. I am going to add the prologue to the book I have started years ago. I really have to be inspired to write. I do have other chapters written, but I have only shared the prologue with ANYBODY. No one has seen the chapters, and they won't until I am more comfortable. GOT THAT MAR!!! HAHAHAHA

Sunday, April 13, 2008

Even as a little kid I knew I was different than most. I was not consumed with being the most popular or fashionable. None of that mattered much to me. Oh sure I wanted to fit in as all kids do, but I was not the type of kid that would tell my parents I would just die if I did not have a specific shirt or pair of pants. Case in point: even in my latter elementary school years I still liked the show Captain Kangaroo. I really liked the character Mr. Green Jeans. Why, I could not tell you now or even what he looked like. However, my mom thought because I liked him so much I would like a pair of green jeans. She brought them home and was so proud. I took them gratefully, but was screaming inside about how ugly they were. I mean big square pockets in front and back and just ugly. I never wore them and they stayed buried on the very top shelf of my closet way in the corner. As a matter of fact I found them years and years later still scrunched up there in an old pillow case. So I cared to an extent about fashion but it was more geared to what I liked and was comfortable wearing. After all I was a tom boy in every since of the word.
Our family did not really talk during dinner because the news was on, and God forbid if we spoke during the weather. Mom just about had a cow on anyone that did. That was one of her obsessions and still is to this day. But, I was the type of kid was would hear the undercurrents of things being talked about on the news. the murders in the bigger cities, racial undertones about it if it was a black or Hispanic that stood accused. I didn't understand why people made comments about people of different skin color, why was it a big deal? I didn't get it. We were still people right? I heard and saw the horror of the end Vietnam War and wondered why we as a nation were there, and why all these people had to fight. I really wanted to know these things and knew I was not going to get the answers at the dinner table. So I just kept wondering night after night.
In history lessons in social studies class as it was called in elementary school we learned about Martin Luther King Jr. and all he did for our country. Even at that age, I knew if I had been alive then I would have helped some how. I would have been in Selma Alabama marching across the Edmund Pettus bridge, and march on Washington. I would have sobbed when JFK was killed, and applauded John Jr. as he stood straight and saluted his fathers casket as it rolled by. I just knew it. I don't know how I just did.
In middle school I would go to the art museum in our town it was free to get in, and just walk around and look at all the paintings and other art. It was then as I walked through listening to classical music on my walkman that I had the realization that I was listening to music written by a deaf man (Beethoven) and looking at paintings painted by a blind man (Claude Monet). I thought that everybody thought that and I was just behind the learning curve because I just then got it. I found out later that most adults don't ever have that kind of deep thought awakenings.
I guess I always wanted to fix the wrongs in the whole world. I had been jaded and turned cynical to the fact that one person can't do that. In many regards I feel like I still can change the world, I can do my part anyway. Even if it to just light a fire under someone else to also help in their own way in where ever their personal passion lies. One voice turns to two, 2 to 4, and it just keeps growing until multitudes are all in one accord with helping someone some where in the world even in their own back yard. Distance does not matter it's the effort that counts.
Yet.... I have my days where I feel like I am accomplishing nothing, disappointing everyone and not doing my part. My problem is I want to help everyone everywhere. All the AIDS orphans in Africa, the war in Darfur, the victims of hurricane Katrina or other natural disasters, the remaining families of our fallen war heroes, basically all the plights of those less fortunate then I. Even as a young kid I wanted to do that. However, people would say "you can't change everything, you can't change the world by yourself." Why? Why can't I, and can't I at least try? I don't want to do it for any recognition or accolades, I just want to do it because I can.
I think what I am getting at is as a child I always knew I had to have been born in the wrong era. I wanted social justice for everyone because I heard of all the injustices and intolerance's every night on the news or in comments adults would make. Without understanding why the comments or undertones were wrong I just knew they were. I wanted to make everything right with the world even if everything about me was all wrong.

Friday, April 11, 2008

Lightning storms

Lightening storms seem to sweep through my life at different times. Some are way off in the distance like those you see in the desert south west. Others are deafeningly loud so they shake the ground all around.
Maybe I was just electric and called all of these dangerous and exciting things to me. Maybe fires were always starting around me to protect me from the world. Or I put the fire ring around me to keep everyone else at bay. I don't know, I just know that as far back as I can remember I was walking around in a group of people and had never felt more lonely.
People didn't seem to want to talk to me about what I want to talk about. They want to talk about the weather and I want to know about me.