Tag: Abuse

Joy for Today’s Mary Magdalene’s

October 27, 2017

China-doll paint sultrifies the little-girl-face beneath layers of makeup no child should wear. Neither mask is a right representation of the shattered child that lives within. With one last look in the mirror to make sure her night work costume is right, Mary reaches for the most important part of her pre-work routine; knowing that without it she couldn’t do the kind of work required of her. This small bag of white dope, her one treasure, is the only thing in life that she looks forward to. The ritual of powder in spoon, adding just the right amount of water, and cooking up the witch’s brew, comforts her in daily repetition; with its promised relief from pain, the one true thing she can count on. Anticipation rises as the dark-brown fluid fills the syringe and Mary trembles as she lightly thumps bubbles upward and squeezes the plunger to let the air out. Expertly, she wraps red-silk-sash tightly around her upper arm and inserts the needle in her favorite vein. She pulls back the plunger, watches it fill with blood, and assured of hitting the mark, she pushes the plunger in. Releasing the sash, she melts in ecstasy and total relief.

These few moments of escape from grim reality are the only Heaven Mary believes she will ever taste or deserve. Mixed with drug-induced dreaming, shards of reality sift in and Mary drifts back to remember the day when her child’s world was smashed and the dark settled in. Mary is only seventeen and though her initial shattering took place three years ago, those three years stretch long with the trauma of a lifetime. The child Mary was at fourteen died suddenly, in a distant time and lays buried deep in memories, covered by filth. Mary doesn’t mourn for her. She hates her and chides her! Mary believed what her mother said and knew she’d gotten what she deserved. She shouldn’t have done whatever she did that invited her mother’s boyfriend into her bedroom. She shouldn’t have frozen in fear. She should have screamed! She should have fought! There must have been something she could have done! How could she be so dumb? So bad? Mary’s mother told her she was born to be a whore and no whore was going to live in her house! Mary found herself on the street, with no where to go. She had no money, no food, and nowhere to sleep. Mary was small back then, alone, and afraid. Mary was still alone and afraid, everyday.

Cold night settled in on that distant day, as Mary huddled on a park bench shivering in fear. Like an angel from Heaven, he appeared with kind words and easily, gained desperate Mary’s trust. With flattery and promises of care and protection the man lured her into a world no childlike mind can conceive or mentally handle. On that frigid ink-black night, Mary stopped being a child and became a commodity. The life her mother predestined for her by her words and actions came to pass. Mary became a whore, even though she was still just a child. No longer part of the world of decent human beings, Mary found herself being sold daily as an object of sexual abuse. Mary was no longer regarded as human. Mary became a sex-toy. In the confusion of her new life, the one thing she knew for certain was that it was her fault. After all, if the police came, she would be the one sent to jail. While the influential men who bought and used her, were kept safe and sent home to their wives. Mary could see how bad she was in the condemning stares of people on the street; especially the women. They looked at her with the same disdainful eyes belonging to her mother. She was lucky the man gave her food and a place to sleep. He was right, he was good and she was undeserving and inherently, bad. The things he taught her that pleased he and the other men twisted her princess-meets-prince fantasies and hopes of true love into personal degradation. Mary quickly learned to despise men. Her heart filled with inexpressible hatred. She wanted to hurt men in the same way that she hurt and it wasn’t long before she became adept at taking them for all they were worth. Bitten at fourteen, Mary at seventeen dreamed of becoming Queen of the Vampires. There was no other dream possible for her.

On a night that seemed like any other night, Mary’s life took a different turn. She sat down on the same park bench where her fate was sealed three years ago and on that bench, Mary found a pocket-sized Bible. She looked around asking for the owner but no one came forward to claim it. Mary didn’t know anything about religion but she knew for certain that she was a sinner too sinful for a holy God! That little book wouldn’t likely do her any good. However, the small book was bound in leather, with pages tipped in gold, and it might be worth something. Mary tucked the Bible in her purse.

Several days later, Mary rediscovered the Bible she’d forgotten about, when she was cleaning out her purse. Curiosity drew her in and she began reading. Mary was shocked and caught her breath, as she read of another Mary who was also, a prostitute. “In this Holy book?” she asked herself. Mary Magdalene was a woman of sin, just like Mary and Jesus loved her! Jesus loved her when the rest of the world despised her and Jesus changed Mary Magdalene’s life. She became one of his most devout and closest followers. Mary began to cry as suddenly, a rush like warm wind enveloped her in love. Mary fell to her knees in response, as words not of herself came pouring from her lips. “Jesus, save me as you saved this other Mary! Please, save me Jesus! Please take away my sin!” Mary fell into a heap of happy tears and then into a peaceful sleep. In her dreams, Jesus came and wrapped her in a new white robe. In His kind voice He said, “Mary, I’ve called you from a life of great tribulation to walk with me in a new way of life unlike, the only life you’ve known. This white robe is your dignity, stolen when you were only a child, and I’m returning that dignity to you. Follow me and leave your old world behind.”

When Mary woke up, nothing had changed but everything was different. Mary wasn’t the same. Mary was loved and she knew it. Mary was no longer alone and her old life changed because her new life was directed by God; and He opened the doors that allowed Mary to escape her life of degradation. Through faith, Mary received strength to change old habits and build a different life. Just like Mary Magdalene, she loved Jesus with unquenchable devotion and never looked back with longing on her old life of sin. Protected by her Heavenly Father, Mary became the lady she was intended to be. With her old life of sorrowful degradation behind her, Mary lives a new life characterized by joy! With Jesus living within her, the dark things of her past brought into the light became a light and it shines as a beacon to all other Mary Magdalene’s

The Recluse (Part XIV)

April 29, 2016

“Maria! Did you see what happened? You shouldn’t be playing match-maker! Our strange neighbor isn’t even a believer and Oscar, our brother, is vulnerable!” Tony can’t wait to begin correcting his wife after the last guest leaves. Oscar’s interest in Estelle is the perfect excuse for him to vindicate his extreme separatist views. His perspective comes from his damaged psychology and an unmet need for protection as a child but being in deep denial of his broken state, he is able to twist many scriptures to suit his need for safety from the dangerous other. Maria knows this about her husband but for years, her efforts to help him look within and face his problems rather than project them onto others have been unsuccessful. Maria’s answer is soft, “Tony. All I did was invite two lonely people to a dinner party. It’s up to God, Estelle, and Oscar after that. They are mature adults, Tony.” “Estelle isn’t a Christian, Maria! It’s wrong for Oscar to become involved with her and you…you set him up to sin!” Maria squelches the urge to criticize in retaliation, “Tony, I can’t control everything and neither can you. Maybe Estelle will find faith in Jesus and maybe God will use Oscar to lead her to Him. It’s up to the Holy Spirit, not you or me.” Tony is exasperated as he always is when he can’t force his control in a situation that causes him to feel threatened, “Maria, I love you but you are so naive when it comes to people and what they are capable of! I know first-hand what kind of evil lurks in the heart of a woman like… like that Estelle! I don’t want that… that poison infecting my daughter or my friend! How can you trust like that!” Maria pauses from clearing dishes and sternly gazes into her husband’s red, flustered face, “I trust God, Tony. Do you?” Tony answers by turning on his heel and fleeing from the room.

Propelled by a force he doesn’t understand Tony dashes out the front door and slams it behind him. The night is muggy and heavy like his mood. Storm clouds rolling in reflect the street lights eerily as if validating his suspicious mindset. Tony walks fast to keep up with his racing thoughts as he clenches and unclenches his fists. He knows he has to keep moving or he will start breaking things. Old memories flood his brain and remind him that he might even hurt someone in the way he had hurt people in the past. Walking it off is the only way Tony knows to ‘be angry and sin not’ when he can’t get control of a situation and feels compromised. As a young man, he’d learned to gain control by going out of control and ruling people through fear. He knew now how wrong his actions were but he can’t get a grip on his own fear and it reigns over him. “Trust? If she really knew what I went through…God, I trust You…or I try my best… but I don’t trust people…I mean, You know what people are like! There is no evil they aren’t capable of! I don’t know how to get around that reality…”

Thunder rumbles over-head and big, cold drops begin to pelt Tony but they can’t cool his rage. Driven by memories of his mother and junky girlfriends, he begins to run as if he believes he can outdistance the storm with his past. Flashes of an old world he’s locked away inside and is vigilant in hiding break into his conscious thought. Those memories and the emotions that accompany them are overwhelming. “Maria, you are a good woman, innocent and you have no idea what some women are capable of…things even the world won’t speak of because no one wants to think of mothers doing those things…” Tony feels a sob come up into his throat. It breaks through his effort to keep himself from crying and exits his body in an agonizing scream. “GAWWWWD! Why did they do those things to me? Why did my mother…why did You let that happen!” Tony upon saying these things immediately feels guilty for his anger. “How do I get rid of this anger? How can I trust You, Father and still keep my family safe? Father, help me…”

As the rain begins to pour, Tony’s rage gives way to feelings of utter helplessness, not unlike the pain he knew as a small boy who had no father. A boy who had no one to protect him from the mother who should have kept him safe but instead abused him and shared him with women more demented than herself. Heroin is a cruel god that demands even the sacrifice of the faithful’s children. “Oh Jesus! Please, help me learn how to be a real man…help me figure out what that means. I’m failing everyone who depends on me…and I’m failing You…” Tony being fully submerged in his secret inner world, forgets how far he’s come since Jesus came into his life and is overwhelmed by his stock-piled, emotional pain. As if crying with him or for him the rain intensifies, soaking him to the bone and threatening to drown him.

Tony can’t ignore the weather any longer and begins running back home. As he approaches, he sees the lights still on, guiding and welcoming him. Maria meets him at the door with a towel, helps him get out of his wet clothes, and taking his hand, leads him into the kitchen where a cup of Chamomile tea waits for him. Neither of them speaks but each is pre-occupied with the same problematic thoughts. Maria caresses Tony’s hand in an attempt to show understanding but the truth is she can’t fully understand and it is beyond her ability to heal his heart and mind. Tony struggles to regain composure by stuffing his past back down deep where he hopes no one can see and for emotional relief, practices that by which he has so aptly learned to cope, begins re-projecting those horrifying images onto others. He takes a sip of tea and thinks to himself, “This wouldn’t be happening if that strange woman hadn’t entered our lives. I’m going to have to do something about her so our lives can return to normal. It’s up to me to keep us safe.”

To be continued.

For previous posts in this series go to https://joyindestructible.com/the-recluse-series/

The Recluse (Part VII)

March 5, 2016

Alisha is wide awake a full half-hour before the time either of her parents usually, rouse each other to get ready for work. She can’t wait to get over to Ms. William’s house and gather more clues to solve “The Mystery of the Lone Lady” the mystery/fantasy game she created in her twelve-year-old mind and is obsessed with. The lines between fantasy and reality are as blurred in her thinking as her definition of person and object. At twelve, Alisha views life as a wonderful, exciting, movie unfolding before her and because of her inborn nature and the special status her parents have always given her, it is no stretch for her to place herself in the seat of movie director. Life in Alisha’s view is simply a matter of controlling the script and directing various personalities to move here or there and nudging them into her desired action. It has worked so well with her parents that she accepts it as her rightful station in life. Alisha manipulates with ease and without conscience but also, without malice. She is simply, a twelve-year-old girl who is as alone as the woman she’s become fascinated with and she is caught up in her imagination. She is only, playing a game and has no real feelings at all for Estelle.

Tony hears unusual rustling noises that are unusual for this time of morning. Being a vigilant protector, there is no hesitation as he jumps out of bed to investigate the source. Following the intrusive sounds, he finds Alisha dressed, polished, and pouring a bowl of cereal in the kitchen. “Mi jita! I never see you up this time of day! Que pasa? “ Alisha brightens when she sees her father and runs to him for a hug. “Oh! Hi Daddy! Didn’t Momma tell you? I’ve got a job! I’m going to be working at our neighbor’s house. You know, the lady next door who is alone all of the time? I’m going to do chores for her and she’s going to pay me with art lessons. Isn’t that great? You don’t have to worry about me being home alone, Ms. Williams won’t be alone, and I’ll be learning so many new things! Aren’t you proud of me, Daddy… mi papacito?” Tony could never be anything but proud of his daughter but he didn’t like the idea of his precious Alisha spending time with a woman he didn’t know. “No. Your mother said nothing and I’m not sure I want you spending time with a stranger.” Alisha notes the expected resistance and meets the challenge as she’s done so many times before with great success. “Oh….Daddy, she’s no stranger! She’s Ms. Williams our next door neighbor. You always say that we should love our neighbors. How can I show her the love of Jesus if I don’t spend time with her?” Tony thinks his daughter is amazing and melts into the familiar twisting around Alisha’s finger, as if into a warm hug. “Okay, you win but I want you to keep your Iphone with you at all times and call me if anything seems wrong! Call me anyway, every hour or so to check in and know this! If I don’t hear from you, I’ll do the calling, and if you don’t answer, I’ll be ringing the door bell!” Alisha placates her dad with more hugs, sweet kisses, her biggest Hershey eyes, and sparkling smiles. She scoots back into her room to wait for her parent’s departure and watches television as she waits for the clock to display 9:00 a.m.

******************

By 8:30 a.m., Estelle is up and dressed. She takes a few moments to inspect the dress she’s chosen, a burgundy-print, summer dress that hugs her slim body modestly and ends in a soft ruffle just at the knee. She loves the juxtaposition of an autumn color in a summer dress and also, notices how it sets off her green eyes. At forty-seven, her arms are still beautifully slender but she chooses to cover them with a sheer, white, summer shrug. She also, takes note of a few grey hairs at her temple and wonders how long it will take for all of her dark brown hair to fade. Estelle can’t deny that she is a beautiful woman or the fact that she longs to be loved by a man and even have children but she also, believes it a fallacy for her to indulge herself in such fantasies. She stiffens her back, straightens her dress and hair one last time, turns from the full-length mirror and then stops dead. “What have I done? Why? Uggghhh….but I’ve done it. Too late now!” Caravana jumps from Estelle’s bed with a concerned, “Meow?” and tries to comfort his mistress. Estelle bends down, scoops him up, and holds him close on her chest as she rubs her cheek on his. “My Caravana! You are the only man for me. Love of my life and my son too! Where would I be without you?” The old, white Tom jumps to the floor just as Estelle hears the door-bell ring.

Estelle walks curtly toward the front entryway, stops to straighten herself one last time, and breathing deep opens the door. “Hello, Ms. Williams! I’m here! I’m not late! Aren’t you glad to see me!” Estelle lets her breath out in a huge sigh and reservedly responds, “Good morning Miss Alisha. Yes, I’m glad you are on time. Please, follow me into the kitchen.” Alisha starts to skip but Estelle simply, stops moving; and with one green-eyed- hard-stare, Alisha’s skip stops and without missing a step, blends into the walk of a mannerly, young woman. “This is where I’d like you to start Alisha. These dishes in the sink need to be rinsed and placed in the dishwasher and the countertops wiped down. The supplies you need are under the sink. Surely, a girl your age knows how to do dishes? I have a few calls to make. I’ll be in my office and when I return, I expect this work to be done.” Alisha knows how to answer, no matter what she is really thinking inside. “Yes, Ma’am!” Then when Estelle leaves the room, Alisha looks at the mess and whispers her real feelings. “Ewwww…that’s not for me!” Alisha plops down at the breakfast bar and loses herself in her Iphone.

“Alisha? What are you doing? Why is my kitchen still dirty?” The little girl puts on a sad face and walks over to the sink in hopes of making herself appear small and helpless in comparison to the mess. “I tried Ms. Williams… but… I have this cut on my finger, see?” Alisha holds up a forefinger wrapped in a Band-Aid for a not-too-close inspection. “It stings so badly when it gets wet! I just can’t make myself do it!” Estelle’s hands land on her hips in exasperation and she starts to respond in the way most natural to her in such situations, by just doing the work herself. She takes another look at Alisha standing helplessly and petulantly beside the sink full of dirty dishes; and in a flash sees the image of another woman superimpose over Alisha. Suddenly, drunken Emma has taken Alisha’s place, with her favored Bourbon and Coke sloshing in her glass in one hand and a cigarette in another. In an echo across time Estelle hears the familiar, “I just can’t do this anymore, Estelle! Your mother wasn’t meant for this drudgery! If that dad of yours wasn’t so lame, I’d have the kind of life I was meant to live!” The visage of Emma wobbles, slurps, takes a drag and Estelle feels that old impulse to run and fill her mother’s need, do her work for her, and hope for approval in return.

“Ms. Williams? Are you alright?” Alisha with real concern for how weird Estelle is behaving asks. “Ugh. Yes, I’m fine… Alisha.” Estelle answers while also, adjusting to being here in 2016 and not back in 1986. She takes another look at the little girl and like a long-sought piece of a jig-saw puzzle falling into place, understands Emma in a way she never could see before. No wonder her mother never seemed to know she had arms and legs of her own. She never had to use them. Estelle took another look at Alisha and with a resolve that feels cathartic for herself and also right for Alisha coolly states, “Life is full of difficulty, Alisha. Sometimes, we have to work around our pain in order to fulfill our obligations. There are rubber gloves under the sink to protect your hurt finger but I expect you to finish your job.” Alisha is shocked by this kind of answer and feels anger rise but then quickly, squelches it when faced with the unmovable expression of Estelle. “Yes, Ma’am, I will.” Alisha opens the cabinet beneath the sink, dons the gloves, and goes straight to work. Estelle grabs a cup of coffee to sit, watch Alisha work, and try to understand what just happened. “What’s going on with me?” she thinks to herself. “How can this little girl stir up so much from the past?” Sipping slowly, she watches Alisha’s now concentrated effort in her kitchen. Such a beautiful child, so intelligent, with so much promise, a little girl on the cusp of adolescence not much different than she’d once been…or probably even, Emma. Beautiful Emma, the helpless Queen. Had she been doted on and coddled as she suspected Maria coddled Alisha?“ It might be part of it but surely, not all of it. Nothing, especially human beings, is that simple but still, people can only become what they have opportunity to become.” Estelle’s thoughts stop here because she doesn’t want to delve any deeper into the questions surrounding her development, her stilted becoming.

“Alisha! That looks wonderful, dear. I’m proud of you. Now, let’s go out back. We’ll have an early lunch and then I’ll teach you the basics of drawing.” Alisha first inspects her finished task and is surprised by an unusual feeling of accomplishment when she sees how nice everything looks. Then she falls into her old habit of needing to be in charge and complains, “But…I don’t like drawing. I thought we’d paint or do some sculpture! Something exciting besides, I can’t draw a straight line, my Daddy says so.” Estelle replies firmly, “No child, we will start with the basics and the basic when it comes to creating fine pieces of art is drawing. There are no straight lines in nature but I will show you how to draw a nearly, straight line by a simple technique. We will also, explore circles, ellipses, and learn to connect them with straight lines to form images. Drawing is no more difficult than making beautiful letters. You simply need to learn how to do it. If you want to draw dear, you can learn to draw.” For the third time in two hours Alisha responds with a respectful, “Yes, Ma’am.”

Estelle and Alisha dine on fresh cucumber and cream cheese sandwiches and lose themselves in happy chatter about Caravana, the flower garden, and all the beautiful birds. Alisha forgets all about solving “The Mystery of the Lone Lady” as she is beginning to see her neighbor through eyes of respect and as a real person rather than a make-believe character. Estelle also enjoys this warm moment in time, feeling her somber thoughts float on the warm summer breeze and the uncomplicated conversation of the delightful, young girl. They move seamlessly from a lovely lunch to drawing lessons and soon, Alisha is enraptured in discovering the magic of line, as this lesson begins to uncover her inborn creativity. Estelle feels an inner awakening in the connection of pupil and teacher, as she guides Alisha’s self-discover by her own talented thoughts and expert hands. Alisha’s finished pieces are a reflection that is partly herself but also, partly Estelle, her new teacher. They are the expression of a burgeoning relationship and each of them is filled with new happiness as they inspect them together.

The sun begins to dip and Estelle realizes that it’s time for Alisha to return home. They say their goodbye’s and agree that Alisha will return day-after-tomorrow as Estelle, holding a tired Caravana, closes the door and notices the silence reclaim her home, as she has never noticed it before. Again Estelle asks, “What is happening to me? What is going on here?”

To be continued.

See previous posts in this series at http://www.joyindestructible.com/the-recluse-series or simply visit my Home Page and look for the drop-down menu just under the Header. Click on “The Recluse Series” and find posts listed in ascending order.

The Recluse (Part V)

February 20, 2016

See links to previous posts in this series at the bottom of the page.

Estelle is in rare form on this early July morning. In fact, any long-time neighbor who might happen to see her standing defiantly on her front porch with hands on her hips as she glares at the Hernandez home next door would be shocked. She is always mindful of who is out-and-about and did everything she could to not be seen for more than a second. Estelle is definitely beside herself as she prepares for an unwanted confrontation. Caravana fretfully, tries to distract and comfort her by rubbing her legs and meowing but Estelle is in vigilant mode; unaware of herself and his presence. She’s had enough! That unattended child next door, that little Alisha, had spied on her for the last time! When Mrs. Hernandez came home this afternoon she was going to get a piece of her mind! Estelle mumbles to herself, “How ridiculous for an eleven or twelve year old child to be home alone all day! It just proves that religious people have no common sense no matter how perfect they think they are!” It riles Estelle to see that little family pile into their car every Sunday morning, rain or shine, to go to church but during the week, leave that little girl home alone with nothing to do but bother her! She was definitely going to let them know about it!

With a set plan of action in mind, Estelle and Caravana go back inside the house and Estelle tries to focus on her work. However, instances of catching Alisha spying on her over the last couple of weeks keep bubbling up in her mind. Anger is meant to block all other thoughts and prepare the threatened one for battle with super-focus on the enemy. Estelle is very angry and simply can’t think about anything else but the events that have violated the safety of her privacy and her pending confrontation set for this afternoon. She gives up on work after several failed attempts to accomplish anything cohesive and begins pacing in her office. Her pacing turns to wandering from one room of her house to the other. This tear Alisha made into the fabric of Estelle’s cloistered world is fostering greater tearing and in each room she enters, unwanted, long denied memories assault her. Images of daily life with her mother overwhelm her and exhausted she enters her bedroom, closes the door, and collapses on her bed. Estelle’s room doesn’t look like a magazine. Everything here is a scattered eclectic mess. A room cluttered with objects from childhood mixed with her adult things and nothing ordered into any cohesive purpose. Undeveloped would probably be the best word to describe the décor of this room in this perfectly decorated house.

Estelle curls into a fetal position with Caravana spooning himself into her stomach. She mindlessly caresses him while in a transfixed trance, overwhelmed by images and feelings of the past. Those memories are so intense that if she tries to move she won’t be able to because her body is shut down, giving all its energy to her overloaded, flooded brain. Flash after flash of instances when Estelle so desperately needed her mom to be there for her. A mom who was always present, who she could see and touch, but was emotionally absent. Emma had been so overwhelmed with herself that she seldom even saw her little girl. Estelle wonders if her mother had ever really known what she looked like. In this moment of sensory overload and the emotional flash-backs accompanying it, Estelle feels the full weight of abandonment and suddenly, understands why. She’d spent her entire childhood in a state of emotional abandonment! She acknowledges herself as an invisible child whose emotional needs went unmet. In fact, all of her childish needs were secondary to the gaping need of her mother. This paralysis she experiences is the frozen terror of a child left all alone in the world.

With a vehement surge, the chocolate eyes of Alisha Hernandez fill Estelle’s visual field. A child left all alone; a child whose eyes hold the same cold hunger as the eyes of Emma. Those eyes that see others as interesting or uninteresting objects to be moved this way and that for pleasure or to fill needs. Objects that when failing to produce pleasure or serve a useful purpose are then discarded without a thought. “The eyes of a cold-hearted queen” Estelle thinks out loud and in an instant, understands that ‘Queen and her personal servant’ was the description that best fit the relationship she once had with her mother. Another flood of memories come; memories of a desperate little girl trying so hard to please her mother, make her happy, and make her notice her existence. She feels that deep sadness that often overwhelmed her as a little girl and that deep, insistent desire that someone, anyone, especially her mother would notice she was hurting and ask her why. No one ever asked that question and Estelle longs for it now with the same intensity of pain she carries with her every day, in silence.

“Caravana! You are the only living creature who has ever cared about me!” The old, white tom cat responds by stretching, gently patting Estelle’s face with his paws, and then lifts himself up to lick her tears. Estelle’s tears are rolling now. A deep fount of long-stored-salt-water bursts open and the normal mute-hush, of this ghostly house, shatters in the crying shrieks of an abandoned child.

Estelle falls into a debilitated sleep that lasts until ended by the sharp slam of a car door.

 

To be continued.

Part I: https://joyindestructible.com/2016/01/16/the-recluse/

Part II:  http://www.joyindestructible.com/2016/01/23/the-recluse-part-ii/

Part III: http://www.joyindestructible.com/2016/01/30/the-recluse-part-iii/

Part IV: http://www.joyindestructible.com/2016/02/14/the-recluse-part-iv/

 

Sustaining Joy

February 18, 2016

Every day new worlds rise! And old worlds fall apart.

I am told this is only, a matter of perception.

What do you do when your world is taken all apart?

Is good attitude, a positive thought of deflection,

Able to override calamity? Or mend a tattered heart?

Is faith only energy? Form of magic imagination?

 

I believe that true faith hurts and bleeds very red.

Because when Lazarus died, “Jesus wept”.

Then He called him and raised him from the dead!

I know that in Jesus, my sad soul is kept.

Though my old world crashed down upon my head!

Jesus is here with me; my need is met.

 

Herein lies my joy! Whether I be happy, sad, even mad,

If I be abandoned, crushed, battered, or stoned,

Should persecution come, the enemy steal all I’ve had!

Jesus paid the ultimate for me; my sin is atoned.

Even though in this world I find little to make me glad,

He understands; in my heart never be dethroned!

There He rests, keeps me warm, when all’s gone so bad.

 

 

 

 

Under a Cold Sun

February 12, 2016

Virtual sun-shine, so brilliantly cold!

Ruling the land without sympathy.

Some lives don’t matter! I’m told,

Rid the burden! Despise empathy!

Toward the unborn, those too old…

State decides whose life is worthy.

Drones obliterate in sums untold.

A bloodless click! A war so stealthy…

Beware silent attack! Horrors behold!

Non-endangered, Power’s Wealthy.

By Mandate, bread turns to mold…

Individualism? Deemed unhealthy.

Comply or force into collective fold.

No God above the State Authority!

Truth? Twisted interpretation sold…

State owes none, no accountability!

Arbitrary law enforced on the bold,

Who speak, Truth to Power Wealthy.

Manipulation: souls bought re-sold…

Chaotic border keeps covert slavery.

Organs bought or stolen; living gold!

Old woes revisited, intensify misery,

Beneath a virtual sun burning so cold!

 

 

Hope Purposed in Twilight

January 12, 2016

Such a sickly, small child, one in whom the light of life seemed as twilight, soon to fade. His mother wonders how this could happen to her. Her dreams of being loved unconditionally by the child she bore, shattered when this four pound boy made his entrance into the world, too soon. She longed for a strong son, who one-day would take care of her but this child was proving to be a bother. All the clothing she’d received from friends and relatives were much too large and she’d been forced to bring him home dressed in doll clothes. Her mother and sisters said she should be grateful that she was able to bring him home but when she compared her son to her nieces and nephews, she experienced no feelings of gratitude. Her son was such a weakling that his cry resembled that of a small kitten. He was difficult to hear from the other room and she resented him for that. How would she ever be able to get anything done? What must people think? Surely, his condition had nothing to do with the cigarette smoking she was unable to completely, set aside during pregnancy. A lot of women drank wine when expecting and surely, the few times she’d over imbibed weren’t enough to hurt her baby. It just wasn’t her fault! She felt herself cursed to receive such a defect. This puny runt of a son was just another example of how badly life treated her; another disappointment to cope with.

At age eighteen, Marissa was little more than a child herself and her love of alcohol kept her emotional maturity at about fourteen, the age when she first began drinking. She was the youngest in a large family and though her sisters doted on her, she had too little attention from tired parents who were also, grandparents. Marissa drank because she was lonely and she fell into other bad behaviors because of her need to belong to the drinking crowd. She became pregnant on purpose, thinking she’d find the emotional connection she yearned for in a baby. All of her dreams of motherhood were the fantasies of a little girl and her self-care during pregnancy was childishly, negligent. At eighteen, Marissa was frozen in narcissism and would remain forever, as a selfish child unless someday, she should decide to stop drinking, grow up, and develop into a whole person.

This isn’t good news for Marissa’s child. The tiny infant she left sleeping beneath too many blankets, while she sat drinking, smoking, deeply immersed in self. Suffocating, Adrian struggled to breathe beneath the weight and heat of the blankets, as his mother sought relief in the love of her life, Jack Daniels. The small boy’s twilight was quickly fading into night when one of Marissa’s sisters rang the door bell.

Arianna became an angel the moment she entered the room; an angel sent to save little Adrian. Wanting to see the new baby, she pulled the heavy blankets back and found the meager baby not breathing. Marissa began to helplessly, scream and cry in fear for herself, while Arianna tilted the baby’s small head back and breathed her life into his lungs. Miraculously, it was enough and Adrian began mewing his pitiful cry. This would be the first of three times that Adrian would face death before the age of five. Each instance brought about by the irresponsible actions of a mother who would forever remain a little girl.

Adrian was born with all of the odds set against him. No one looking in on the first years of his life would hold out much hope for him. This small child born as a sensitive in a harsh environment was doomed to suffer intensely. Many would say that abortion would be the greatest kindness to bestow on such a child. No greatness was evident in this child that seemed to be born to live only, in a moment of twilight. It is true that if he hadn’t been born, he would not have to experience pain or anguish. However, if he’d never been born, the world would suffer from his absence. For by his suffering, Adrian learned great compassion for abuse survivors and coupled with his inborn sensitivity, it gave him the empathy of insight into the suffering of others. He became a powerful counselor, teacher, and mentor to adults who also, survived abuse and neglect as children. The greater purpose for Adrian’s life could not be accomplished if his early years had been years of health, love, and comfort. God watched over Adrian despite the dysfunction of his mother and sent many angels at just the right time, to save him from death, to nurture him, to love, and value him. These angels enabled Adrian to survive and also, find his way to a saving faith that gave him the purpose and strength he needed to heal his trauma. In Jesus, the person not the religion, Adrian found the nurture he lacked from his mother. In mirroring Christ and seeking to live as He lived, Adrian found his purpose in serving God first and from that position of power, serving others. By faith, the power of choice, and hard work, he overcame all the odds; and rather than growing up to become another generational link in the curse of family dysfunction, Adrian became a blessing to many people. A child of twilight purposed in hope and filled with the divine light of God!

Hope for a Little Girl in the Dark

January 3, 2016

Caste into the outer darkness by the forces of illness and neglect, a child grows in the absence of the comfort and nurture that ensures a child’s becoming whole. Suspended in isolation with nothing but childish, undeveloped thoughts and the voices from the outer-world (of the family) to keep her company, Ester gives into sleep. In her dreams the door to freedom opens and allows her to escape the loneliness of her dusky room. If it were not for sleep and dreams, the vacuum would consume her and she would evaporate to nothing. However, the benevolence that surrounds Ester, the presence she can feel but not name, enters her dreams and speaks the loving words she so desperately needs to hear. Ester has a destiny greater than the one assigned to her by poor health and negligent parents.

Floating in the void of aloneness, Ester knows nothing different and is unaware of the threat to her existence. The void wants to swallow her whole before the world knows of her but Ester has a gift; the ability to fight the void by the power of imagination. The presence never leaves her and though the isolation she endures would destroy most adults, Ester never feels lonely. The warmth of divine love surrounds her and keeps her alive in her dimly-lit room and fills her dreams with joyful images, experiences, and even a sense of self. In the world of flesh and blood, Ester is small and weak. However, in the world of her benevolently guided dreams, Ester is very strong.

In this gloomy room, Ester will face death and win. Even though she’s been in bed for many months and her legs are too weak to support her, she will learn to walk again. She will leave this room one day and enter the real world because the One who loves her has predestined it so. Though Ester will embrace the void for a short period of time, in a wrong-headed effort to subdue and overcome it, the void won’t be able to destroy her. Instead, the emptiness she will for a time internalize will make greater room for the filling of the Spirit of God, who hovers around her, limiting evil and working all to ultimate good. Though Ester has no definition now, of either the loving presence or the void, she knows each as her constant often, only companions. Though she is nothing in the world, even valued little by her parents, God will be glorified through her. Her life, her very existence will be a testimony of Jesus; when she lets go of the void and knowingly invites Him in. Though the world views Ester as having no identifiable purpose, as only a sick little girl wanted by no one, God has predestined His purpose for her in Christ and her purpose will be completed. The void will be filled by the divine light that is Jesus and Ester will know the outer darkness no more.

Joy for the Broken!

December 7, 2015

Sharpened shards of shattered thought do haunt;

Twisting perception, by imagination into madness;

Deflecting sanity and chanting the same old taunt;

Removing all superfluous hope and joy in gladness!

Don’t peer long into the darkness; evil’s eyes gaunt!

Disease does spread! Infecting hearts with sadness;

Manufactured misery; malignancy; it produces want;

Woe to the child raised in such black-holed madness!

Inheriting the wind in the brokenness and the haunt,

Of past generations, all ownership of future madness!

Do you hear it? The Devil’s gleeful and jeering taunt?

Destroying good, tainting childish hearts by madness!

This is his goal: Destroy them by generational haunt!

Only, Truth can break the cycling of abuse sadness!

By one mind at a time and re-writing life in new font;

Upright sanity found in Christ, He restores gladness!

Enlightens! Shines bright in dark eyes emptied haunt,

By ancestral ghosts, trapped in hereditary madness!

Jesus is the Way to end mad jeers, every devil taunt!

Heals sick minds by His Truth; Rejoice with gladness!

As old ghosts die and God’s Love fills all inner want!

Joy for the broken in Jesus! Truth ends the madness!

 

 

Joyous Rest

November 24, 2015

Empowerment entwined in purple stems of lavender, growing on the east side of the old, grey wash house. Expertly cut and crushed to fill heart-shaped sachets’, then tucked beneath my pillow to assure restful dreams between lightly starched sheets sprinkled with rain-water. Moon beams filtered through sheer white Pricilla curtains, to guide my thoughts toward a gentler land, filled with peace. This the greatest gift my grandmother gave me out of her love; a taste of the Heavenlies, safe from the turmoil of the oppressors, the controllers who ruled my childhood through chaos and emotional terror. Her sweet gift a demonstration of the ability given to those who belong to Jesus; the ability to rise above and find refuge in He who is seated at the right hand of God. Her gift enabled me to survive the destruction of my childhood and also, prepared my heart to receive Christ and find refuge from a sin-torn world in Jesus.

I am much older now, my childhood is far behind but the world hasn’t changed. The oppressor still does his best to force a bit of fear in my mouth and bridle me with terror. He wants to ride my life’s energy and use my talents, as he works to force me to submerge my purpose into his but my life is hidden in Christ. The good works I am to accomplish are predestined in Him. They unfold before me each day and by obedience I walk to fulfill my Father’s Will for my life. There is no agenda for me to create or adopt, no warlike crusade to embark upon; I am to live a simple life in Christ. When the oppressor breathes heavily down my neck, in my spirit I fly to the Rock that is so much higher than I and I find strength to continue. In Jesus I rise above the fray and find life, love, peace, and joy in a place even better than the refuge created for me by my grandmother. This place of safety and healing is available to all who belong to Jesus. It is accessed through trust in God, prayer, and time spent in God’s Word. Strength and hope are found in Jesus (now, sitting in the seat of God’s good works) who has gone ahead to prepare a place for us; our Heavenly refuge that we visit now but one day will be Home. I believe that every room in my mansion will be filled with the scent of Lavender. Oppression will be forgotten and, and every heart filled with love, joy, and peace. There will be no temptation for one human being to control another because Jesus will be recognized as Lord of all and God’s good work on earth fulfilled. That which was predestined at the founding of the earth will be completed and those called and chosen in Christ will enter God’s eternal rest.

Ephesians