Jealousy

Prov.6: 34 For jealousy is the rage of a man: therefore he will not spare in the day of vengeance.

Today’s topic is jealousy. I grew up with five older siblings, me being the baby of the family. I don’t know what it was like when my mother announced she was pregnant, AGAIN. But as years progressed, I heard the stories.

My brothers’ could really care less, since my oldest was now ten. My sibs would have been 10, 9, 7, 5, and my sister 3. She was the one most injured by a new arrival because she was no longer the baby. Arriving on my mothers birthday really put a wrench in her baby-hood. I was now the baby, born on a special day.

It began before I could even walk, this jealousy thing. My sister had a babydoll stroller and thought I would fit in it perfectly. I didn’t, it broke and she held it over my head for life!

When I was three, her and my brother (yeah, THAT one I speak a lot of in earlier posts) both decided to push me on the swing. It was all fun until they pushed me so high I thought I was going to go right over the top!

The next too high push and I jumped! Yeah, a three year old, jumping off a moving swing is NOT a good idea! Especially in our small chainlink fenced yard. I landed on the top of the fence with my wrist, snagging it on the x formation at the top.

It pulled and tugged and I went to the ground with blood oozing everywhere. Instead of picking me up, they ran into the house to get my father who I believe was asleep on the couch. I was blanking out. My father carried me in the house and all I remember was hiding under the desk in fear of getting a whooping.

Instead, after a phone call to my mother, he went after my bro and sister to lay a whooping on their butts. I cringed, blacked out a bit. This is one of my first near death experiences. I remember my mother coming home, being placed in the car, and driving to the hospital.

To me it was a long journey. Down to Hanover Street, over the bridge, to the Hospital. I distinctly remember the sensing of the water; I remember the lights of the street lamps flickering by as we drove. I remember being comforted by the trails of lights surrounding me. I awoke in the hospital with stitches in my arm.

In later years I told my mother of what I remembered; the lights, the water, the motion and being comforted, she said we didn’t go over the bridge, the hospital was about three or four blocks from where we lived. I still to this day claim an OBE! Out of Body Experience. (to be touched on at a later time)

Song of Solomon 8:6 Set me as a seal upon thine heart, as a seal upon thine arm: for love is strong as death; jealousy is cruel as the grave: the coals thereof are coals of fire, which hath a most vehement flame.

The jealousy was evident from birth. I don’t know who wanted me dead more my brother or my sister. Her claws came out when she handed me a cigarette at seven (I know this because it was BEFORE my grandmother died in 1974). She didn’t want me being a tattletale so she gave me cigarettes, gave me my first joint around ten, gave me drugs, alcohol and continued to make me an addict like the rest of the family. I had no control over it because I was just struggling to fit into a dysfunctional family.

Her jealousy showed when I got my first Buzz Bike (two-wheeler with a banana seat). Her birthday was two weeks before mine, but we both got bikes the same year, she thought mine was nicer with streamers and a basket.

She was jealous every Christmas when my mother tried to dispel the jealousy by getting us the same thing. My sister always took the better of the two! I got a BabyAlive with a dented face, a Barbie with a permanent bend in her hair (from being in the box wrong?) She even went as far as popping my baby’s head off because I accidentally marked her baby with a pen in an argument. (Yes, it WAS an accident!)

She was the pretty sister; I was the cute one who would eventually grow taller than her by two inches. She was the spiteful sister, I was the forgiving one. She hated, I loved; we were polar opposites.

Even when it came boyfriend time, she wanted to flirt with mine to prove she was the prettier of the two sisters. Little did she know, her ugliness shined through all that beauty. She wanted lots of kids; I wanted to be the good aunt.

I rejoiced and was happy with each of her six births, and was there for her with each miscarriage. I was the one looked up to, while she was just there, pouring out the drama so everyone would accept her. She was in the hospital with her second child when I announced my long awaited pregnancy (after I tragically lost my first child thirteen yrs. prior.) She pretended to be happy but was angry that I had stolen her limelight.

I was determined to get over the past, while she clung/clings to it.

Even up to the day I left Baltimore ten years ago, she let me leave while she was angry because of a rock I placed on her beautiful oak table. I have forgiven it all and chalked it up to sibling rivalry, but deep in my heart I know, she will never let the jealousy of my birth go.

There’s so much more to tell…so little time. ‘sigh’

Rom. 11: 11 I say then, Have they stumbled that they should fall? God forbid: but rather through their fall salvation is come unto the Gentiles, for to provoke them to jealousy.

Claustrophobia

Pss. 55: 1 Give ear to my prayer, O God; and hide not thyself from my supplication.

Now why would a child have claustrophobia? Well as you can imagine, it was my brother again. While I didn’t have the most perfect mother and father, they were great and well rounded compared to my brother, who on too many numerous occasions tortured me.

Yes I had four brothers but my older brothers were always off doing their own thing. The youngest of the four was a loner. Often we teased him calling him a ‘peez pot’ because he wet the bed. We could often be heard taunting him because his fear of the third floor. Dark and brooding, it sat at the top of the old wooden spiraling staircase not without its creaks and shadows. We got our digs in but it was me he targeted to harm in retaliation.

I guess making my life miserable helped him in overcoming his fears or he got pleasure out of seeing his sister squirm. Maybe in some way he got off on it. I can’t tell you how many times we would ‘pretend’ wrestle and I found myself pinned to the floor by a menacing brother laughing and cackling in my face! Pinned to near suffocating the life outta me!

Tell no one!

I remember a closet that separated my sisters and mines bedroom. It was a long closet of about eight feet, but only about two feet wide. My mother often used the closet for seasonal clothes, and at Christmas, it is where our toys were locked in.

One day my brother thought it would be funny to lock me in there, knowing there was no room for me to move around in and also the fact that I was afraid of the dark with all the ghost stories we had heard about the house.

The floor of the closet was weak and my mother told us to never go in there in fear we’d fall right through to the first floor. It had been a second staircase and previous owners closed it off, placing down a plywood floor. I was trapped. Suffocating amid the roaming ghosts who had frequented the staircase, and remained locked in the closet, now with me.

This is where anxiety attacks started haunting me. I started breathing real heavy, my chest was tightening and hands were grabbing at me trying to pull me to the back of the closet. I couldn’t scream because the air was so tight in there, no circulation, no vent. I died.

Not really but to a kid locked in a tight space, my limbs were numb and I succumbed to the darkness. When my sister walked past the closet and heard noises, she wouldn’t dare open the door, in fear of the ghosts and all. That is when I heard my brother laughing outside the door and telling her he had locked me in there.

The door opened with a whirlwind of air to my depleted lungs. They found me atop all of the rubbish lying in the back, kicking my legs as if I was running; running to nowhere. I have no idea how I got to the back but as you can imagine a child’s mind what I came up with.

I came out of the darkness filled with a hatred for my brother and knew this would not be last time he’d try something stupid like this. He was out to kill me and make it look like an accident, I was sure of it. The gun incident in later years was proof.

Other occasions where he’d sit on me, knock the wind out of me, try and molest me, hurt me; the kid was what we deem nowadays a monster. A living breathing monster!

Tell no one!

My family thinks I’ll take all these stories to my grave, you know, family loyalty and all? Well, being a writer, the ‘tell no one’ rule flew out the window with the cuckoo family. I made it out alive and am here to tell anyone! Anyone who’ll listen that is. 

2 Sam. 22: 33 God is my strength and power: and he maketh my way perfect.

Fear of Heights

Mark 5: 33 But the woman fearing and trembling, knowing what was done in her, came and fell down before him, and told him all the truth.

Some might ask, “Why are you so afraid of heights?”

When I was a kid, my brother (yeah, THAT one) and sister thought I was put here to get all their frustrations and anger out and by teasing me relentlessly, it made them feel better about themselves. My brother would never admit his wrongdoing, my sister felt guilt and admitted it in therapy many years after the damage to me was already done.

The height issue came in when I was real young, I’d say about eleven or twelve. We lived in a three-story row house in the city, and if you stood outside, there was only one house on the block that was as tall as ours.

My two brothers shared the third floor, a big room with three extremely tall windows in the front. My one brother, the neat freak we called him, had put a blanket in the center of the room separating him from the dirty brother.

Looking out those windows made you think of death! It always felt like the house was swaying to and fro, so getting up close to the window really put a fright in me, but none other than the time we were making paper airplanes and flying them out the window to see how far they’d go.

I was enjoying tossing them out, and running down the steps to see what a mess we were making of the street. I couldn’t bend out the window too much to watch because of the swaying, but one time I did. My brother came up behind me quietly, pushed me and yelled “RAH!” at the same time.

I saw my young life flash before my eyes and of course I began screaming and hollering, it’s what I did to defend myself. With no parents around and my sister in the other window laughing hysterically, I went downstairs to my room and just sat and cried. My whole body was trembling like an 8.0. earthquake.

They didn’t care; they got their pleasure, so what if Joni was scared to death! Death! Something I wanted, but never got.

Another time with the heights was when we had a school trip to the City Fair. I had always refused the Zipper on our many trips to Ocean City, but my friend talked me into riding this one time (or lest I be thought a big sissy.) So I got in the caged seat and up we went, and around we went and I could feel my stomach churning, but a brave face is what I wore!

Suddenly the caged ride stopped. We were at the top overlooking the city and everyone below looked like tiny marching ants. We swayed, we rocked, I feared. After twenty minutes at the top, besides getting in trouble with the school, I knew something serious was happening below. We were broken down. Our time of seeing the important school friendly booths was coming to an end. That is why the Catholic school called for the trip, so we could see the educational booths, not ride rides!

I was seeing the school bus loading up. I could see my life flashing before my eyes. I pulled out my cigarettes and began smoking. You know, like in the old movies, give me one last cigarette before I die? That was me, and as long as we were smoking, my friend wouldn’t rock the cage. Flick the cigarette, rock, rock, rock! I smoked the entire TWO HOURS we were at the top of the Zipper!!!

The ride churned to life and as we began our descent, the operator was letting us know we’d get a free ride for all our troubles. Around we went, screaming to get off. I used really colorful foul language for a Catlicker! (That is what the public school kids teased us and called us.)

We came to a stop to be let off the cage of death. More colorful language flew out of my mouth at the operator! I knew I would never ride that piece of death-metal ever again!

Another incident with the height issue arose when we all: a few of their friends, my brother 18, sister 17 and her boyfriend 18, and I 14, decided to go to State Park for a hike and a swim. The cooler loaded up with beer and we were on the two-mile trek to the waterfall where we would go swimming. A secluded tree-lined path  guided us to our destination.

Yes I was now an alcoholic drinking, smoking, smoking weed (and more) full blown by the time I was fourteen! State park was a quiet retreat for swimming and drinking teens. We arrived at the waterfall and kids were already there sliding down the metal run-over like it was a sliding board, I refrained, fear of heights and all that.

There was this really tall piece of concrete sticking up about thirty feet out of the water that my brother and his friend were jumping off of, it looked like fun so I thought, be brave Joni, be brave, jump!

I climbed up the wall, thinking I could overcome my fear of heights, and alcohol makes you think some crazy things. Up I went and stood out on the tip of the slab, preparing to jump. My brother had come up behind me. I didn’t hear him coming because the rushing waterfall was pretty loud. He came up behind me and pushed me off the edge. I dropped the thirty feet to the water and about ten feet underwater, where my feet touched the rocky bottom.

Shaking and trembling I swam to the edge of the waterline where we had been sitting. When I surfaced they were all looking in the spot I went down, thinking I had drowned because I didn’t surface right away.

I got out of the water, began crying and realized I had sobered up, ever so quickly. I didn’t speak to my brother the entire way back to the car. I was mad! I was reaching my end of my brother’s antics and one day I knew I’d get him back. (the B.U.T incident (previous post) was sweet justice in my eyes!)

Pss. 73: 16 When I thought to know this, it was too painful for me;

Where Was Your Mother?

“Where is your mother?” screamed Grandmom as she walked in the front door to find me dangling from a rope, on a makeshift swing my brother and sister had made, forcing me to be their guinea pig. I dangled from our third floor railing, which ran straight to the first floor where I hung, doe eyed looking at grandmom, then darting my eyes upward and tugging as a sign to ‘pull me up’.

Instead, I was lowered to the floor where my mean grandmother stood, waving her finger at me, scolding me and yelling, “You kids are animals! I’m telling your mother when she gets home!”

And she did. My mother was out at the time, who knows where, and as always, my brother, sister and I got into mischief. Whether it was condiment fights, wrestling matches that brought me to tears, or just plain old name calling. We were the animals in grandmoms eyes. My other brothers were out making their own mischief I imagine, because after all, we WERE animals!

I remember one time placing a ladder out the second floor window to my cousins’ roof next door, so we could climb out the window. We didn’t know danger; all we knew was mischief and being up to no good.

Where was my mother…

When my sister and I were having yet another giggle fest? She was sleeping, awakened by us and ready to whip!

Yeah, a WHIPPING! My sister crawled under the blankets so she didn’t feel the WHIPS me, I didn’t have a thick enough blanket. The fat black extension cord went across my back and legs like glass! I cringed, I cried, I bled, I bruised. All for laughing.

Pss. 25: 18 Look upon mine affliction and my pain; and forgive all my sins.

Where was your mother when you took that first drink?

I’ll tell ya. She had gone off to the ladies room. I was sitting in a smoke-filled bar at a table my father, mother and I were sharing.  My dad went to the front of the bar to chat up some of his shipyard friends, mother went to the ladies room, and there was her whiskey sour, just sitting all alone, looking like a normal breakfast drink with all that orange juice. No harm no foul in me taking a sip, is it?

It was delicious! When my mother returned her glass was empty, my dad rejoined us at the table, but had to return to the bar to get a refill for my mothers drink. No one the wiser. Thus began my drinking, sneaking drinks days, I was nine.

Where was your mother?

Well she was always somewhere, either work, dragging me to the bars to meet my dad after work, or at bingo in my younger years before the trips to the bar. I was the youngest of six kids, so while my brothers were all being neglected; no baseball or football games for my mother and dad, my two oldest were enjoying the drug scene being the hippies that they were, my sister was off finding boyfriends and roaming the streets AWAY from the drunken mother and father and brat for a sister.

Where was your mother when..

My brother was stealing my clothes? She was getting a lock for our drawers, buying a trunk to lock up all of our undergarments, and moving hell and high water for my father NOT to find out or in her words, “he’ll kill him if he ever finds out.”

So what? The pig deserves to die, were my initial thoughts but in later years I had to come to a place of forgiveness, whether I liked it or not, for my sanity’s sake!

One time, when I was sixteen and pregnant, I remember getting so peeved at my bro for his actions, I took all my underwear, placed them in a paper bag, set them on the sofa with a note B.U.T.T!!! Bra and Underwear Taker! He was so mad he flew off the handle, went and got his gun and chased me up the stairs in anger. I ran into the bathroom and he came banging on the door putting a big dent into the wood.

My other brother arrived home in time to stop him, calmed him down, and I got out of the bathroom and left the house for my boyfriends house and awaited for my mother to come home to do SOMETHING about him!

Tell no one!

How frustrating to live in a house, with drunken parents, a pervert for a brother, and no one to care if I was going to live or die at any given moment. My pregnancy was my saving grace. Had I not gotten pregnant, I for sure was heading down a suicidal path.

After I lost the baby at nine months pregnant. I dove! Dove more and more into drinking and drugging. I was 16.

I LOVE YOU MOTHER AND DAD!

Job 14:22 But his flesh upon him shall have pain, and his soul within him shall mourn.

Men Are Pigs ~ Part II

I know this sounds kind of harsh. Buy you have to understand where I’m coming from. After reading my first entry on the subject, you get just a smidgen of the idea. That is just one small particle of the strong feelings I have toward men. They’ve never really shown me otherwise.

Job 33: 20 So that his life abhorreth bread, and his soul dainty meat.

As a child, men always made me feel like I was a piece of meat and you know how men love their meat, don’t you? I was followed as a child by grown sick pedophiles, I was ogled by the construction men, I was fondled by a shipyard worker, molested and my childhood into adulthood I was raped mentally over and over again.

I HAVE moved on in life and forgiven many, but shaking the ugliness of it all is quite hard since men don’t feel the need to show me anything but their daily hypocrisy and lewd fascinations with women.

I remember one time as a child of about 12 when we (my sister, mother and I) had spotted a car across the street that had been sitting there for quite some time. In my area, we basically all knew each other and recognized cars that just didn’t belong.

On this day, the car stood out because recently the news had reported two little girls abducted, gave the description of the car, and the white four-door, with out of state tags just sent off some strange vibes showing up on my street.

I hadn’t seen anyone near the car in hours and as my curiosity grew and grew, I felt compelled to look in the car. I ran across the street, looked into the sedan and saw that the back seat was missing and ropes and other stuff lay strewn on the makeshift seat.

Since my mother was a ‘tell no one’ kind of person she made me come in the house. We stopped watch and I waited until she said I could go back out. Later, we saw that the car had gone so she thought it safe.

Nightfall was nearing, and she gave me a quarter to go to the corner store to get some candy before it got dark. The neighbors and her were all on the front steps and could see my friend and I all the way down the street.

We started down and not a moment as we walked I could feel someone behind me, we crossed the street, he crossed the street. We looked behind us and he was tall, bearded and grungy and I felt fear right away. My friend and I picked up the pace.

We got to the store and told Mr. Claude that a man was following us and we were scared. He took us to the back of the store to hide us, telling us to not make a sound. We stood there shaking.

The creepy man entered the store, looked around, almost came to the back where we were and Mr. Claude was quick to ask, “Can I help you?” The man looked around again and said, “No.” and he left the store.

Mr. Claude was a protective man, always looking out for us kids. He liked me because I always made him smile and his granddaughter and I shared the same name.  I trusted this man with my life!

He wanted to call the police but then thought about how it would sound, a man followed two girls? Is that against the law? That day and age, it wasn’t. Mr. Claude looked out the door, surveyed the area, and gave us candy while we waited a little longer before going home. I couldn’t shake the feeling that the man was the same man in that strange car earlier.

Mr. Claude watched us all the way up the street, waiting for me to stand on my steps and wave down to him that we had made it home. We had never run so fast in our lives. Our parents were still sitting out on the front steps; darkness had swept the street. As we played tag, as us city slickers often did, I noticed at a glance around the corner sat the strange car.

I quit the game as we all decided it was time to go in. I looked for the car every day after that and it was never to be seen in my area again.

I don’t know what it is about me, I always felt like a magnet for predators. Was it my blonde hair? My blue eyes? What? What made me stand out to men? I know, they saw my purity, my light. I was like a lighthouse with a beacon leading all men to safety. They saw in me their steak for the evening!

These incidents never stopped, especially as I grew and matured and ‘filled out’, if you know what I mean.

Deut. 32: 38 Which did eat the fat of their sacrifices, and drank the wine of their drink offerings? let them rise up and help you, and be your protection.

Men are drawn to women, whether they claim to be Christian or not, men see a pretty girl they ogle her. They see her half naked, they lust, they see her alone, they see their meal and go after it, whether it’s a click on the internet, or a young girl alone (or not) walking down the street. She has a target on her head because she is a beautiful female.

Today in 2013 girls are even bigger targets. Men are fed their meal through media so much that the need for it rises physically and they go after it. To them, they feed. To us, we cower and turn into prudes. (some of us anyway) Some women need to feed the men, and they do but men don’t want tainted meat, they want the raw uncooked meat and THAT is what they go after.

I crave the Lord.

Pss. 27: 4 One thing have I desired of the LORD, that will I seek after; that I may dwell in the house of the LORD all the days of my life, to behold the beauty of the LORD, and to inquire in his temple.

Men Are Pigs

“Tears are words that need to be written.”
~ Paulo Coelho

I don’t come to this conclusion lightly. I was raised to know no better where men are concerned. Had I had one positive influential man in my life maybe I wouldn’t have formed this harsh position.From a very young age men treated me like their toy.

My mother used to meet my dad at a bar after work on occasions, occasions meaning two or three times a week. In one instance I wanted to play the pinball machine but the age limit was sixteen and I was about nine.

A man my father worked with said I could play with him. Little did I know that he meant literally. As I watched my mother and father smoking, laughing and drinking from their barstools, I approached Ken at the pinball machine not five feet away. I just wanted not to be bored in the bar!

I stood at the pinball machine and Ken stood straddling behind me readying himself to show me how to play. My hands on the buttons right and left, Ken’s hands on top of mine. I felt something hard in my back like a pool stick jabbing me, I wriggled and squirmed but thought it was just a pain in my back. It wasn’t.

I lost the game and Ken offered me another quarter, if I reached in his pocket to get it out. I thought nothing strange by that request so I went fishing. I couldn’t find a quarter; he pressed my hand firmly into him and the pool stick that was in my back, surfaced in his pocket.

I tried pulling my hand out immediately upon feeling flesh, but he was bigger and stronger pressing harder and harder my hand into his penis. He whispered, “Get the quarter baby, get the quarter.”

My eyes of fear darted to my mother and father, laughing, singing and my mother’s eyes caught mine. I looked at her as if to scream, HELP ME! Something wet was now in his pocket with a hole and my hand was released and I ran to the stool behind my mother.

“What’s the matter? You don’t like pinball?”

Tears were welling in my eyes and I said I had to go to the bathroom. She wouldn’t let me walk all the way in the back, through beer drinking drunks, so she said she’d go too.

“Don’t tell your father! He’ll kill him.” That’s what I was told after I told my mother when she kept insisting something was wrong after many days of my feeling violated. I saw the man many times after that but never again did I play pinball when he was in the bar. She knew something was wrong, knew something had happened that night, and after I finally broke down and told her, she said, ‘don’t tell’!!!

Isa.27: 11 When the boughs thereof are withered, they shall be broken off: the women come, and set them on fire: for it is a people of no understanding: therefore he that made them will not have mercy on them, and he that formed them will shew them no favour.

I wanted him dead but I remained silent. Tell no one. That is what I learned when men were abusive pigs to me, even if the pig was my own brother throwing me on the bed demanding me to ‘rub his balls.’ Don’t tell!

Man after man relentlessly tried, none was ever again going to be successful in breaking me; that is until… I would never see men as the upstanding pillar of strength. That bond was broken after years and years of immoral behavior being displayed by men. Porn is what men were about. My brothers loved looking at naked women, they loved masturbating and being self-fulfilled. Men thought of women as whores who belonged in bondage and enjoyed seeing them in bondage too. This was my childhood shaping of men.

How many times had my brother stood at the foot of my bed, playing with himself as I lay sleeping? Waking up and being yelled at was not an option. Tell no one!

Isa.32:9 Rise up, ye women that are at ease; hear my voice, ye careless daughters; give ear unto my speech.

After the advent of the internet, men could now feed their lusts more easily. But I’ve noticed men don’t stop at ogling women, they’re pigs and a naked girl of sixteen, eighteen, or twenty is just as satisfying as a woman with falsified breast. I think of the GROWN men who make comments about a very young and undefiled child like LeeAnn Rimes or Taylor Swift saying, “Man, she’s hot! I’d like to…” You get my meaning, right?

Nowadays, the media feeds us the degradation of women, and children being raised now feel this is how women are. Women are whores waiting to be taken by men and shown who’s boss.

Rom. 1: 26 For this cause God gave them up unto vile affections: for even their women did change the natural use into that which is against nature:

Magazine cover after magazine cover, airbrushed women after airbrushed women, tv shows, cheerleaders and scantily clad children are being forced in our face and no one, not even the President is doing one thing about it. Man has lost my respect.

Titus 2: [3] The aged women likewise, that they be in behaviour as becometh holiness, not false accusers, not given to much wine, teachers of good things;[4] That they may teach the young women to be sober, to love their husbands, to love their children,

Women need attention and man has showed them that if you’re half naked, you’ll get their attention. Do you wonder why I trust no one? Even after I became a born again Christian, I asked God to show me men who could be respected and trusted, just as recently as four or five years ago, He’s showed me a few.

Thank you Jesus! Now come and wipe the leftovers off the face of the earth. They are not here for me to judge! Their sin is not MY sin. (my new mantra)

Luke 18: 43 And immediately he received his sight, and followed him, glorifying God: and all the people, when they saw it, gave praise unto God.

Trust No One

Pss. 25:2 O my God, I trust in thee: let me not be ashamed, let not mine enemies triumph over me.

Yeah, this was said numerous times on X-Files, but this was my motto years before X-Files came along! I just don’t trust very easy because I have been fed lies all of my life, never allowing me to open up and place trust in anyone.

I couldn’t trust the Catholic Church, they denied me my confirmation; a confirmation that I was the first in my family ever to be denied. I couldn’t trust my brothers and sister; they were too busy feeding me cigarettes and pot to keep the baby blabber-mouth quiet. I couldn’t trust my mother and father; they were too busy dragging me, the baby of the family, from bar to bar while they filled their need. (Wonder where I picked up the habits?) I couldn’t trust the very few friends that I had because they were too busy stabbing me in the back.

So who did I have to trust as a child? I’ll tell you quite frankly, it was God! He was the only one that I could put my trust in and not once did He ever let me down. Not once! This is why my faith became solidified. I had found that I could trust no one but I could always trust Him.

Ruth 2:12 The LORD recompense thy work, and a full reward be given thee of the LORD God of Israel, under whose wings thou art come to trust.

Now if any of my family members were to read this blog, they’d sit in shame of all my tales but they know them to be true, but yes, they are ashamed. They are like the ostrich sticking their heads in the sand, struggling through life but never getting it off their chest harboring ill feelings to each and every family member left surviving.

I am the baby of six children. I have four brothers and a sister and only one of us made it out somewhat sane, but he too has his own issues, his own view of the truth. They all say I was spoiled and given everything. I was the baby, I was taken everywhere because I was too young to stay home alone and have parties.

By the time I was ten my oldest brother was turning 20, served in the marines, married and out and about in life. The next in line brother was 19 hanging out at the house smoking pot and greens that permeated the entire house drawing a blind eye from my drunken parents who were in bed. My next two brothers all suffered their own delusion and couldn’t wait to get out, but the youngest of the brothers wanted to molest his sisters first before becoming a sofa sleeping lazy bum. He went on to a better life with marriage an illegitimate daughter and a nice house, but all my family is about possessions.

Pss. 16: 1 Preserve me, O God: for in thee do I put my trust.

They let me down. Trust was broken and even in my twenty-year marriage, where I trusted my husband; he too let me down and still does to this day with the neglecting of his now almost 18 year-old son.

Gee, I can’t figure out why I trust no one, can you?

I looked out at the intimidating world wanting to be out there and that is what I did, left my hometown, my husband, and shacked up with a man living in Texas. Granted my parents have been married almost 60 sixty years, two of my brothers have long marriages, my two eldest brothers both have failed marriages and one is a squatter living home to home drug addict, while my eldest brother is in Tennessee somewhere trying to look normal.

And still, I go on after ten years with this man and still, trust no one but my Lord and Savior.

Pss.18: 2 The LORD is my rock, and my fortress, and my deliverer; my God, my strength, in whom I will trust; my buckler, and the horn of my salvation, and my high tower.