It isn't even that I have always wanted to go to those places; in fact, most times I haven't, but to know that I was not allowed, that broke parts of me that were destined to live beyond.
Saturday, December 15, 2012
It isn't even that I have always wanted to go to those places; in fact, most times I haven't, but to know that I was not allowed, that broke parts of me that were destined to live beyond.
Friday, November 09, 2012
However, I have learned to appreciate the good in life. I had a very precious friend and mentor teach me to seek out the good. You can always find a reason to be mad, depressed, disappointed, whatever...just remember that while you are busy complaining about your man, your job, your kids, there is a wife waiting on a husband who won't ever come home, there is a person losing the only means they have to feed their family, there is a mama saying goodbye to her baby as he gets his Angel wings...
Some people get it twisted, they have allowed themselves to get so sucked into darkness they assume that anyone who sees the sun must be a liar or crazy, and that's ok, what is that quote? Something about "out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaks".
Never the less, what I love is that something that started so small and so awkwardly is spreading like wildfire. I just hope that someday it spreads so much that it suffocates the ugliness some people choose to sit in. As I see each new friend of a friend post their list and celebrate their lives, their man, their children, their talent, their whatever, my heart is full of such complete and total satisfaction! I am thankful to each of you.
Thursday, November 01, 2012
Thursday, October 18, 2012
Friday, October 05, 2012
Leah Sams, Jeniffer Carver, Angie Keeling, Abby Stalcup, Dawn Bynum, and Heidi Scott were my lifeline. They called or texted me, always at the time I needed it most. They answered when I would crumble and listened to my broken heart. They spoke God's word to me to combat satans lies. They were HIS voice.
My community group, led by Stacey Griffith, rallied around me and the kids. They showed up here with everything from groceries and delicious meals to furniture and appliances, NOT because I asked, but because they saw a need and simply took care of it. They were HIS hands.
When I stumbled and fell, they reminded me that I was more than a moment, that I was loved, that my existence mattered. They were HIS heart.
I am here, and alive, and more aware of what love is and who God is because of the way those people lived God's love out. I could have died. I could have given up. I could have believed the lies the enemy told if those people chose not to act. So often we simply say "I'll pray for you" and yes, prayer is important, but sometimes people need to see and feel and hear.
I can tell you that is it almost impossible to comprehend the love of God when the people who claim to follow Him do not live out that love.
It is almost impossible to believe that you matter to the Creator of the universe when the people in your every day life do not notice you exist.
You are the only Jesus some people will ever see or know...what are you teaching them?
I want to challenge each of you to look around you, pay attention, if you see a need, realize there is a reason you see it. Be God's voice, His hands, His eyes, HIS heart. Choose to be the difference.
Wednesday, September 26, 2012
Despite hilarious rumors about where and when my Stephen came from, there is a story behind it, a rather intriguing story which I cannot wait to tell our grandchildren...
In the entirity of our lives, there have been countless occasions where Stephen and I have been in the very same place at the same time, yet we never connected. It is facinating for me to think of all the times I came so very close to the man who would someday hold my heart without ever even saying hello.
We both spent our childhood in Bristol, and both attended the BEEP classes due to our genius mental status :0)
We partied around the same people thoughout middle and high school.
We both attended ETSU at the same time.
Our children were in the same class at ETSU Little Bucs, at the same time.
My best friend Dawn, is the wife of his close friend Jody.
We listened to Old Crow Medicine show together at the 2004 Bristol Rhythm and Roots Festival on Sept. 19, 2010
We both were at Stateline for a fundraiser after our friend Kenny McClanahan died in June of 2010.
We have countless facebook friends in common, one of which, Jody Bynum, led to our eventual first conversation on May 14, 2012. I have never been more thankful for my crass sense of humor and smart mouth!
Two years ago, I was certain my life was over, I was so deep in a sea of misery I was drowning. I had in many ways given up, but God did not let me, and many of you did not let me either. You encouraged me to change my focus, to trust God with my heart, and I did. What a wild ride it has been, but I'd do it ten times over if it meant I got to end up here! I love you Mr. Johnson.
Saturday, September 22, 2012
who lie to children or manipulate children in pursuit of their own selfish agenda, or defense of their pathetic pride.
You should read the "I love the way" one. It addresses this issue specifically. From the outside, you see simply and only what I allow you to see. You can infer or guess or imagine all you'd like, but it does not make it reality. You are left with only brief glimpses into the life you will never be a part of. So, read on, soak it up, maybe you'll learn something.
In the meantime, life goes on without you.
Wednesday, September 05, 2012
all about a broken home
You can tell any story
so long as it's not our own
You can share any heartache
let the tears flow like rain
You can share any heartache
so long as you don't say my name
You can paint any picture
colors spread so painfully
You can paint any picture
so long as they can't see me
They show up, hose in hand, ready to save and protect.
Sometimes, they put out the fire, the family cheering in the background, thanking them for their bravery.
They are heroes.
But sometimes, sometimes, they show up and the fire is out of control and they must stay back and watch it burn, knowing there are people inside. Knowing they have all the right tools if they could only get close enough. Knowing if they don't everyone inside will die.
They are helpless.
And even worse, sometimes they show up, their only mission to check the scene so the coroner can recover the bodies.
They are tired, broken, nothing that they imagined when they began the journey to be a hero.
No matter the task, success or failure, they are still firemen.
In parenting a child with mental illness, sometimes I come up with clever solutions to get us through the crisis.
Sometimes I must sit back and watch my child suffer, waiting for the moment I can intervene and help her, knowing this new burst of flames may be the one that consumes her.
And sometimes, I just have to step aside while others clean up the aftermath of the monsters that were bigger than me or any tool I had.
Either way, I am still a Mama. It's just that sometimes Mama's are not bigger than monsters.
I believe in dreaming. I believe in reaching farther than you think you can. I think that we are all endowed with the gifts, or have the ability to locate what it is we need to accomplish the desires of our heart. Who am I to say that you should not dream your dream? Who are you to say I can’t have mine?
Saturday, August 25, 2012
A few years ago I came home to find a five year old girl and a caseworker sitting on my porch. The caseworker asked if I could keep her. She was sitting there with her curls flying all over and the bluest eyes I have ever seen. Her clothes were too big... her shoes too small. None were weather appropriate. She walked right up to me and asked if I was her mom. I told her that she could call me whatever she wanted. She said "I want to call you Mom!"
Over the next few weeks, the most horrible stories poured out of her little mouth. I grieved for all she had endured. I reported each allegation to Department of Children's Services, who only responded two years later after I contacted a State Representatives office myself. Even then, it was just to tell me that I did not understand the system.
I tried so hard to hold her close... hoping to somehow make the monsters inside go away. In my ignorance, I thought that my loving her would be enough. It was not long before the tantrums began... some lasting up to 12 hours. She would beat her head, peel off her skin, and pull out her own hair. She would talk in different voices, and scream her head off. I would hold her and cry. I called her caseworkers, her therapist... but received no help. No one knew what to tell me.
Over the next three years I got her in with countless professionals... looking for answers. Again and again... Nothing! "Keep up with the treatment plan," was all that I was told. I knew that it wasn't working. Sometimes I sat up all night... praying for God to please help me find the answer... to please let me help my little girl. From Him as well... I heard nothing.
As time passed on she became sicker, and I more tired. She also continued to get sneakier. Family pets were killed, my toilets were continually flooding, my home destroyed, my things stolen. But, giving up was not an option for our family. I knew there had to be something we could do to help her heal.
In August, a therapist finally mentioned Reactive Attachment Disorder (RAD). She was evaluated and found to be a severe case. "OK... this is it," I remember thinking to myself. "Now we can finally get somewhere." Knowing what was wrong, we called a meeting to ask for help getting the treatment we needed. For the first time I was hopeful.
On September 11 my baby was born. On September 18 we had the meeting. As I sat there, I no longer had any arguments for their concerns about my other children's safety. Twice I had to get up to vomit. I asked if we could just get her treatment. "Not now, there's no money." I was told that the intensive cost around 10-15k. I got up one more time because the room started spinning and I didn't want to get hysterical in front of all of these people. Minute by minute I saw my little girl slipping away. When I came back they were making "pick up" arrangements for that afternoon. What??? I was so lost that I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t believe what was happening.
I picked up my newborn son and went home to pack her a bag. I was told she could get the rest of her things later. I cried the entire afternoon. The caseworker called to tell me not to tell her until she got there, meaning... I would not have time to tell her goodbye. At around five o'clock, they came and told her that she had to go. We were only given a few minutes with her. I told her that I loved her very much, and that I would always love her. She said, "But remember, you are my only mom". As I cried, I told her, "When you lived with your birth mom, you thought that was the only kind of mom in the world. Then, you came to me and saw that not all mommies hurt you. Now you will be going to a new mommy...an even better mommy that can help you get better until you can come home to me." I lied.
A few minutes later, I walked my little girl to the car and hugged her goodbye. I stood there for what seemed like forever, wanting to pick her back up... to carry her inside... and pretend that none of this had happened. I stood there as the car pulled out of the driveway. That was the last time I saw her. It took me three weeks to finally pack all of her things, and to this day I continue to find little things of hers. I was dragged along by the foster care agency for months. While sending me to training for dealing with her disorder, and praising me for learning so much so fast, they were secretly making plans to have her adopted by the respite family. As in many times in my life, my ignorance and naivety cost us both greatly.
It's been years since I've seen her, though I picture her daily in my mind. I've resigned myself to waiting until she's an adult. Then I can find her and tell her how very sorry I am. How very badly I wanted to be her mommy. I write her a letter every year and put it away, so that one day, she will know that she was always in my heart, that I always wanted her. She was never disposable to me. She was in every way my child.
I was asked recently to talk to WJHL by the Children's Advocacy Center. For those who know me well, you know I have used their amazing resource for many of the children who come into my home. I fully hold them responsible for my family being so together! Anyway, Here is the story. At first I was a bit embarrassed, I guess the old victim attitude surfaced. You know the "its my fault" sort of thing. Then I got to thinking about it more. I never abused a child, I never hurt or starved or neglected a child, why should I be the one to feel bad? So here it is. . . A little of my life, the motivation for what I do. . . the reason I try to encourage each of you to reach out to children. . .
April is Child Abuse Awareness Month.and there are some disturbing statistics right here in our region. Last year in Tennessee, 15 hundred children died as a result of abuse and neglect. There were nine deaths in Northeast Tennessee, five of those in Sullivan County alone. News Channel 11's Lara Moore sits down with an abuse victim as she talks about her trauma for the first time. "I grew up in a very abusive environment because of my father." 26 year old Jessica Hacker's childhood memories are of watching her father abuse her mother. "My mother left my father, she tried to make a better life for us, but because of child support laws, he was able to find us and pursued custody. When I was eight years old, we were sent to live with him for a two year period." It was then that Hacker became the target of his abuse. Teacher's saw Hackers wounds and reported them to children's services. There was an emergency hearing and her mother regained custody despite the fact that Hacker refused to testify against him. Hacker says she was terrified to testify against her dad. She explains, "My dad actually said, if you tell what happened I will kill myself and your stepmom, which he actually did two days later." The tragedy has motivated her to protect other children. Today she has three children of her own and is a therapeutic foster parent, taking in children who have experienced her same nightmare. Hacker says when she was a child the court system was not concerned about the kids, but only about the abuse. Now she works closely with the Children's Advocacy Center , a program she says gives kids a hand to hold while they heal. "That is the difference I see most in a children's advocacy center is it's not, look at all these things that happened and look at all these pictures. It's how can we get this kid to where she can smile again."
What to do if a child discloses abuse -Believe the child, no matter how hard it is. -Temper your reaction. -Report the abuse -Be understanding -Never blame the child To report child abuse call 1-877-54A-BUSE
Lost were my stepmother’s hugs and kisses, her macaroni and tomato dinners, the hours spent playing beauty shop with her, the relationships of siblings separated, having my parents at my high school graduation and other monumental events, my innocence, the ability to live unafraid, trusting, and in peace, the ability to feel normal, the ability to have him see that I have chosen a man who would never hurt me as he did, the chance to show him my new baby girls, and most of all, the ability to let him know that he was forgiven for all the bruising of my body and soul. The list goes on for days but these are the ones that seem the most intrusive in my thoughts.
While I have regained some of the losses, the wounds are deep, cutting into every part of me. With time I imagine they will heal and become scars, a permanent reminder of just how much damage love gone wrong can do.
you're making too much noise.
So... your head is underwater
just breathe easy, it's a choice
Um could you please focus
Try not to kick so hard?
Damn, We're trying to save you.
Don't you see you've came this far?
We've been standing here for hours
putting our world on hold,
you've hardly said a thing
except "help the water's cold"
Help yourself! You know you can
Stop the tears from flowing and dry your little face
Yes, We see that you are drowing
We just wish you'd do it with more grace.
There's none who can sing it to me
the lyrics blanketed by too much pain,
too much sadness,
to much forever trying to be more than how I am.
No one brave enough to dig through the shattered pieces and broken dreams
They might get cut. I'm already bleeding.
My fault of course, if only I could let go,
but how to you let go
when your body so vividly remembers every unkind touch?
I don't know the answer to that.
I can play,
smile while dying inside,
die while no one notices,
but my body screams out in protest.
Sleep evades me.
Food will not go or stay down.
Waking up at night screaming about things I don't remember.
Crying in the daytime about the things I do.
And then my tears begin to fall,
for all that I will never be,
for lyrics that will never be found,
tears cried only by me. . .
It's me, the hot young miss that's got your mans attention
Just writing to apologize
So sorry dear that you have to pay for my sins.
That your love has strayed to me
So sorry dear that every time I kiss him,
he wonders who it is, you are kissing
Every time I lay down with him,
you get accused of doing the same
Everytime I call his name,
He wonders what name escapes your mouth
Over and over again,
you will pay for my time with him
without even knowing I exist.
His paranoia will drive him crazy when he's with you
realizing even the sweet ones are capapble of reaching out
Are you reaching out?
Probably not, but it doesn't matter.
either way you lose this game you don't even know you are playing,
I get the attention I want,
You get to pay for my sins
Wednesday, August 22, 2012
When I am sad, I disappear.
I appreciate when someone notices I did.
But if you don't, I will be back, in my own time, and will never hold it against you.
I love and am very passionate about a great many things.
I wish at times I wasn't.
I make the best pancakes in the whole world.
I prefer texting to talking because if I am texting you, don't have to hear me say, stop touching your sister, be quiet, don't lick the dog, etc...
My babies are my world.
I am the most kind and gracious person I know, UNTIL, it comes to my children. Then I forget Jesus and all my manners.
Hermit crabs fascinate me beyond measure.
I sometimes spell words wrong, or create words to combat my ridiculous spelling hangup.
If I could hide in the shadows all of my days, I would be quite happy.
If you need someone in your corner, I'm your girl....
Creativity is my forte'
Kristine has become a most excellent lifeline to me in this Radical world.
For those who don't know. RAD, Reactive Attachment Disorder, is often referred to as, a Radical life, and the children, a Radish. It's an attempt by overly tired mama's to make something very ugly a little better.
I worry too much.
I am a college graduate, stay at home mommy to six.
I organize my food and arrange it before I eat it.
I cannot eat a sandwich which isn't made correctly.
I'm incredibly all or nothing.
I LOVE words.
There is no situation you put me in, which I will not adapt to.
I am a resilient little focker.
I could watch elf five hundred times and still laugh all the way thru.
Havarti cheese is my favorite.
I often learn things just so I can say I know how to do them, and never do them again, like how to thread eyebrows or make cakes using fondant.
Tuesday, August 21, 2012
For far too many years of my life, perhaps all of them, I was definitly a glass half empty kind of girl. I found, noticed, and focused on things that were stressful, ugly, or harmful to me. From relationships to my very thoughts, I was in every way, simply ugly.
Depressed. Angry. Bitter. Yep, me in a nutshell!
I was so busy seeing, worrying about, crying over, being pissed off about everything that was wrong, that moment after moment the beautiful, precious, fun, wonderful things were missed.
It was about two years ago when I finally came to a place where I was simply exhausted of living that way. I sat in my car and asked God to please give me a new heart, to please help me get my mind right, to please help me be the woman He wants me to be.
It was by no means easy. There are still days when my fears, sadness, or anger try to come back in. However, they find a "no space available sign".
I have spent the last year being very specific about being thankful for what I have, or even the bad things that I do not have. It has truely changed my world.
Several months ago, I decided to make my grateful lists public. I decided to share the way I was choosing to see the world. Note, choosing. You have to choose to see different. You don't suddenly feel like the world is full of sunshine and loveliness. You choose to see the sun through the rain clouds.
I'll admit that when I first started it was painstaking for me. Most times I was posting what it was that I was thankful I DIDNT have. "I'm thankful I don't have herpes. or I'm thankful I wasn't eaten by wild dogs today."
In time though, I started getting to the end of my day and replaying those moments that made me feel good and peaceful and joyful. My list quickly moved to "Grace. My babies laughter. People who love me" and on and on.
Please know that during this time, I was getting divorced, I was struggling with something very awful that happened to me, I was grieving over things I may never be able to share with you. My circumstances were the same, if not worse. It wasn't that life got better and I got grateful. I was grateful and life kept coming.
You have the ability to set the pain standard in your life. You have the ability to decide how frustrated, angry, depressed, or whatever you are. There is no one saying "oh she got cut off in traffic, that's a 3" or "she lost her job, that's a 5" or "She was diagnosed with cancer, that's a 10". One of the most difficult things for me to accept is that I am in fact responsible for how I see the world and how I allow the bad things to affect me.
Now don't get it twisted, I am one crying woman. I am easily able to get sucked into ugly. BUT for the first time in my life, I quickly recognize it as ugly and run as far and as fast as I can away from it.
With those things gone, I am able to see the sun. I am able to live and laugh and play. I am able to have a grateful heart. A grateful heart is a happy one Ladies and Gentlefish and Mama is HAPPY!
Curious and brave,
He draws her out of her hiding place.
His name is Stephen,
and it seems he has found keys
to doors and places
buried so deeply within her,
she had forgotten they even existed.
His name is Stephen
and he makes her smile,
and her eyes dance.
His name is Stephen
he makes yesterday irrelevant,
and tomorrow hopeful.
Her name is Jessica
and she has one foot stuck in the mire of society,
the failure of ambitions,
the tears of dreams lost.
But no worries my sweet friend,
because her other foot is holding fast in. . .
and all that means
His name is Stephen,
her name is Jessica,
they will conquor the atmosphere.
They have time.
I remember standing there and watching the fireworks, hearing the star spangled banner, and tears rolling down my face. Each tear stinging the places where gravel still held tight to my skin. I was standing in the middle of thousands of people and feeling more trapped and alone than ever in my life.
I remember realizing that day that I was no longer free, but a slave to someone who meant so much but hurt so big. I remember wishing that at that moment, I could be anywhere but there.
Five years later, after stories most of you will never hear, much less believe, I found myself standing on a mountain top. I found myself free. I was OVERWHELMED. My heart could not fathomtfat freedom it felt.
Instead of running my tongue across the place in my lip which still holds a piece of gravel, I took silly pictures with my daughter and neice. Instead of cringing in expectation of the next hurtful word, I reveled in the kindness of my Stephen. Instead of crying out of brokenness, I laughed in gratitude. I simply was.
July 4th is a day of freedom for me. It is a day most of you will never have the slightest clue about, but will always be one of the most important days of my life. Mama is free. No more fear, and swinging arms. No more "you made me's" or "if you had not's".
She is free. She is free to laugh and be silly. She is free to dance and twirl about. She is free to dream. She is free to simply be, and more than anything, she is free to tell her story. She is not bound by those secrets anymore. . .Independence day indeed!!!
For far more than food,
but for my very existence,
for freedom from swinging arms
for being somebody's someone.
Lack of essential nutrients? You betcha.
Officially, I would say, at least since June 4, 2007,
though as I am growing and learning,
as I am realizing what good,
I think I have most certainly always been starving.
And this means what?
When someone has been starving, when the very basics of human existence have been denied them, it is simply logical that when given those things, they would grab hold of them as if they may disappear at any moment.
It is a given that they may stuff their face a little.
They may not display good and proper etiquette.
But really, how could they?
The very thing so many of you take for granted was denied them. It was denied them so very long that they simply chose to believe food did not exist, and if it did, they most certainly couldn't have it.
If you have never been hungry, you simply see a plate of food. You can afford to make sure your napkin is in place, and you are using the right fork.
They only want to eat.
Mama is eating.
She is napkin in the floor, hands covered in food, lips smacking, EATING....
It may not be gracious.
It may seem abrupt.
It may seem that she has lost her mind and manners.
But all she knows is that the very thing she prayed for,
was handed to her,
and right on time.
She's diggin in!
Monday, August 20, 2012
Babies who couldn't be born.
Children who could never live in a home.
Creatures who would never make it.
They were born.
They have a mama who adores them.
It isn't that I don't see the impossiblity of situations, or that I don't understand the very long road ahead of me. It's that I know that the very same God who gave me my babies, the one who breathed life into me, the one who healed my broken heart far before any man came along, the one who gave me the patience and wisdom to be tenacious when other's gave up, that God, He says you're a liar.
When you have struggled and fought, when you are tired but have reached your destination, your friends will be happy for you.
Your friends will celebrate with you.
They will thank God for what He is doing in your life.
They will praise Him for bringing you out of the darkness.
People who are not your friends will try to drag you back down with them. With words so covertly spoken as to make Mark Anthony jealous, they will cut, or try to, your joy. These are people who need a crisis, they need something to be wrong with you so they feel right. Get away from these people. Far away. You do not need them.
Thursday, June 14, 2012
I'm not precisely sure how to even start this one. There is so much back story I feel needs to be told, that will appear random until we get to the here and now, so please be patient.
In 1997, there was a multitude of revivals which occurred at the churches I attended. There are two which stick strongly in my mind.
Before I tell you the first, you must know that due to the abuse I suffered as a child, I was told I would be unable to have children. My uterus was also turned the wrong way, making it even more impossible. Babies were a solid no for my life.
Carrie Southie, a missionary from South Africa came to Glad Tidings for one of the revivals. At the end of the night, she pointed me out and asked me to come forward.
She, having never known me, begins to tell my story. She talked about the abuse I had suffered and my broken heart, she talked about how God could and would heal me. Then she placed her hand on my stomach and started praying. She says "I curse this barron womb" and began crying and laughing and says "oh thank you Lord for healing her". She looks at me and says "you are gonna have babies and babies in the Lord, and babies and babies of your own". She says that my story is one that will be told all over the world to bring healing to others. She says my broken heart will let others know they are not alone, and that God is able. She says, "my only regret is that I can't take you with me now, but it's not time."
I didn't understand, but her words have stuck in my mind. Only a few weeks later I became pregnant with my Rachel. Two more babies followed. Babies of my own. Then came the multitude of children I have had the blessing to mother. Babies in the Lord.
He is able.
A few weeks later, Mark Evans preached at a second revival. He also called me up front. He is rather comical in his preaching, and I wish I had the actual thing he said recorded, but he said that he saw me in an airport and asked me where I was going and I said China. Then he saw that my tickets said something else, and the departure gate listed another country, and he says "which place are you going", and I said "all of them". He then talked about how I was going to go all over the world telling my story and what God had done in my life.
Fast forward 15 years, which I have spent struggling, falling, and at times, literally fighting for my life.There are several moments I should have died, and many more that I wanted to, but I'm still here.
In the past couple of years I have began writing. I am blown away by people's response. I am humbled that they take the time to read, and honored to have said anything that brings healing to their own hearts. I know that isn't me. I know it's God. I literally dream the words of most I write.
I hate change. I hate different. I don't even eat small M&M's. But for the past couple of years, I have been sooooo restless. I know my house is no longer my home, a feeling I understood even prior to my divorce.
I don't know where I am going. I only know I am not supposed to be here. I don't know where my stories will end up, but I know I must keep telling them. I don't know how, but I know the one who does.
Friday, May 25, 2012
My phone went haywire on me today and I had to take it to the Sprint store to be worked on. I actually ended up making three trips before they decided it needed a hard reset. I left it with them for a couple of hours. I requested they save my pictures and contact info because I had just made a couple of bird videos and didn't want to lose them. Two hours and lots of stressing about stupid things on my part, I head back to the store.
SO I pick up the phone and head home. As I'm scrolling thru my phone, little kids around mind you, as in on the couch with me within eye shot....I go to my photo gallery to watch the last Harley video. It says I have 133 pictures and the beginning picture is of that lovely rainbow we had the other day....Ummmmm I didn't take pictures of the rainbow....so I open the folder. And what do I find????
Vagina. Lots and lots of pictures, 132 in fact, of some womans business in photo after photo. Different poses, same vagina. (I giggle everytime I say that) YES I'm Serious! So I freak, shoo kids away, and try to delete them. The only way I can figure out how is to do each one individually, and I swear I have no interest in looking at 132 pictures of up close vagina. Dear Lord bless the gynecologist I have no idea how they do it!
I load up the kids and head back to Sprint. I go into the store and up to the counter. The sales clerk, who just saw me about an hour earlier, says,"Hey honey is your phone still not working?"
I said "Oh yes it working fine."
"Well good, can I help you with something?" she asks.
I hold up the phone, picture number two on the screen, and say," Um I think someone has lost their vagina"
She stammers and says "what?"
I said "well I dropped the phone off and just went to my picture album, and it's full of some woman's vagina"
The woman seriously looks at me and says, "Are you sure this isn't your vagina?"
"Nope," I reply, "I think I'd recognize it."
"And it isn't anyone you knows vagina?"
I can hardly answer that one I'm laughing so hard I'm crying.
"Nope, no mam, I do not recognize this vagina, though I doubt I will ever forget it!" I dropped the phone off, there were some parrot videos and pictures on there, that's it. These aren't mine. I was trying to delete them at home but cant figure out how to do it other than one at a time and I don't want to look at each picture. I imagine someone is gonna be very disappointed later when the go hunting for goodness and find a parrot" Geez! Only me......
They tell us that God is bigger.
They tell us that they are imaginary nothings.
I wish that I lived in a world were monsters didn't exist, but they do. In each of our lives, we will from time to time encounter monsters.
some you can't quite put your finger on,
That at times,
Seem to overtake you.
Some even come in the daytime.
Some leave quickly.
Others hang around, ever present and menacing.
Regardless of whether they stay or go,
they leave reminders behind,
a something that sometimes you can't even put into words.
Someone who knows me told me monsters didn't exist. They deemed me crazy, attention seeking, and emotional for talking about what the monsters did.
Someone who cared about me threatened to whip the monsters ass so I had nothing to worry about, forgetting about those inside wounds that stay after monsters leave.
Someone who loved me saw that I was afraid. Someone who loved me listened to my story. Someone who loved me sat up with me all night until the sunshine came and I wasn't afraid of monsters anymore.
I will love the light for it shows me the way, yet I will endure the darkness because it shows me the stars. Og Mandino
I then deleted most of the words on the quote, leaving only a few, in the same order as the original."I love the way" is all that I left. It was all you could see on my wall as a title before chosing whether or not to read further. It was a tiny glimpse, and an innacurate one, of what I am writing about. Some cheeseball country song is what comes to mind as I read those four words together that way. There is no telling all the different thoughts that came to the minds of those who saw that post. The words, taken out of context, can be used to create many things. If you google them, there are thousands upon thousands of results, but only a few that are the actual quote by Og Mandino.
This is one of many of the problems with social media. We see tiny glimpses of someone's life. We can take those pieces and parts and make them into anything, especially when we have decided beforehand what is and is not truth. What a very dangerous thing to do. I say, if you are gonna look, look all the way through.
Tuesday, May 22, 2012
In those moments, there would always be something beckoning me onward. "Don't lay down sweetheart, not here, not yet" I would cry out in anger, "please just let me stop, please just let me lay down, I am so exhausted, I don't want to feel this way anymore".
Over and over again though, I never seemed to get to a place that I could stop. So kicking and screaming, I moved forward, sometimes alone, and sometimes carried by people who loved me.
I did not travel gracefully. I did not travel without complaint. But I kept going.
And now it seems, I have arrived to a new place. My mind and body exhausted, my heart overwhelmed, I am here.
And this place, it is a place I had become too afraid to dream of. There is a beautiful light I can see in the distance and a joy that is slowly sweeping away the darkness.
Dreams live here. Hope is not a question but the natural result of having seen how far I have come already.
I love this place.
As the light shines brighter I am finding the most handsome and exquisite gifts, always there, I much to blind to see before.
I may just sit here awhile and let the sun rise.
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