And then I cried…

Insanity does not run in my family but the way I’m feeling lately I think it may very well be starting with me.

I’m broke – so broke that I’m behind on all, and I mean ALL my bills. I’m tired – tired to the point of feeling worn beyond my years. I try to sleep to separate myself from my worries, if only to seek solace in my unconsciousness, but sleep does not come because my mind keeps racing – it just won’t turn off the noise of my life. So I try to pray and for the most part all I can say is JESUS HELP ME! He knows all the details so why bore him. He knows I need help but sometimes He just wants us to ask. So because I am so ashamed and feel sorry for myself I cry. I cry uncontrollably to the point where I feel like I’m losing my mind. I cry because I know I’m supposed to put my troubles to God and have faith that He will deliver me in His own time, but my faith is weak, so I ask His forgiveness as I cry.

I cry a lot now, mostly in the shower when I think no one can hear me or wouldn’t discern the noises mixed and muffled among the other shower related ones. Or when I lay my head down to sleep praying to God for a miracle, the tears trickle down my cheeks, slow at first, then fast as though in a rush to soak my pillows as if to keep me awake even longer with the mundane chore involved in replacing the wet with a new one that’s dry. But why bother, it will soon be wet again.

I don’t like crying. Some say it is good medicine for the soul. Some call it therapy. I say yes to both, for the flood of tears releases pent up emotions which I cannot process and for which I have no solution. But crying makes my head hurt. It makes my eyes puffy. It makes me feel ugly and helpless. I don’t like feeling weak. I don’t like having to depend on others to help me. And I most certainly don’t like bothering God with my little problems. Why can’t I be tougher? Why wasn’t I born into a rich family?  Why am I alive?

I remember when I was younger that my tears used to be of a broken heart — of young love – a boy. Or my tears would be for the simple sadness for the loss of a loved one. Very rarely were my tears of joy except when a lot of blood sweat and tears had gone into a major accomplishment. But now my tears are of deep sorrow: the loss of a marriage that was based on a lie; the loss of all the love that I gave but never got back in return, at least not truly; the loss of all my possessions as I start all over from scratch; the loss of my feeling of safety as I now feel like I must live my life in hiding to survive for the sake of those that remain to put the pieces back together – my children. Alas, I cry because this is not the life I expected, not the life I imagined, not the life for which I asked. I cry because the overwhelming sadness I feel only surfaces when my strength is low and my will to survive is being challenged by forces beyond control.

I survived a lot. But in retrospect the key word is SURVIVED. At the hands of the one I loved I was assaulted, raped, cursed and left to hide in shame – to retreat in fear. But I did not retreat. I hid only long enough to resurface to face him — to tell my story IN COURT. The first day I saw him I trembled inside for all the horrid memories surfaced so fast as if to burst out of me and into the sky. But I prayed and God gave me the strength to press on, to face my fear, to face the monster of a man who promised to be my everything but instead caused me to lose it all. I faced him that day then never saw him again. The trial ended with a hung jury and then I cried.

How could they after seeing all the images of my attack, after hearing me pour out my soul, after hearing him tell so many lies, have the nerve to say, even partially, that what he did to me was okay? How could I face him again for a new trial? My lawyer’s answer to my questions astounded me to no end. She said that because I am articulate and able to explain myself well and obviously have a hire level of education than he does it is quite possible that all those attributes, though desirable, may have worked against me. Some may think that I used my intellect to get him to do this to me. Huh?

The irony is that I don’t consider myself that intelligent, at least not to the level to which she eluded. I never even finished college, although that was for financial reasons, yet I never finished! And since when is it a crime to be intelligent? I was furious! I could not believe what I was hearing — And then I cried. I cried so much my chest hurt…as though my heart was about to burst. But reality soaked in. I had kids depending on me to care for them and keep them safe from all the chaos that was now spinning uncontrollably all round me, around us. So I picked my self up, prayed, put one foot in front of the other, prayed and kept on praying. They needed me to be strong and the only way I could do that was to hold on to God. I needed him to carry me for my legs were weak, my heart was frail, my spirit was broken, my soul was sore. I ached all over emotionally — the agony was unbearable — And so I cried. I cried out to Jesus to save me.

A few weeks later I got a call from my lawyer. My ‘so called husband’ was arrested for possession of a weapon. No one knows for sure what he planned to do with that gun but you and I both could justifiably imagine what he planned to do. He was coming for me — To shut me up; To end the nerve I had to speak ill against him – me a little black girl from the country, how dear I speak ill of him to an open court? Him, a white man of much more significance than I ever could be – at least I’m guessing that’s what he thought for that’s the way he treated me in the end. But little did he know that while he was planning to shut me up, God was planning for him. I cried out to God and HE saved me – HE saved me from my husband, HE saved me for a purpose, HE saved me because there was a job HE needed me to do. He needed me to stand my ground and fight for my right be treated as a human being and not be silenced by violence. I am not a rag to be used and tossed aside; I am a human being who did nothing to deserve the poison which he spewed from his mouth upon me – the verbal abuse (while pregnant), the mind games, the constant trying to get me to spend more time with him and less time with my family or friends.  The good Lord knew all and answered my prayers.

So today I am thankful. Thankful for it is my belief that God allowed these circumstances to befall me to draw me closer to HIM. He saved me so I can sing of HIS mercy to others, so I can teach HIS love to my children, so I can remember each day that life is a gift – a precious gift we should never take for granted.  I still cry on the tough days, when the burden seems too much to bear; when my mind feels frazzled by the frustration single parents know all too well; when my body is so tired I can barely get out of bed. But I am also learning to sing — to praise the wonderful name of the ALMIGHTY, for without him I would not be alive today. I am safe in the arms of JESUS , I need not fear for HE is with me always – even when I cry.

Contents written: 12/9/2014 | Copyright 2014 Moylom Enterprises

Looking up…

She looked up and saw that I was there – – in the room, close by. There for her if she needed me: her mom, her comfort, her guide, her provider, her protection. So she lay her head back down and drifted off back to sleep confident that she was safe – – no reason to worry.

So, like her, I too lift my head up and see that you are there. You are my LORD, my heavenly Father, my strength, my comfort, savior, my provider, my guide. I have no reason to worry.

You know everything about me: the good, the bad, the awful but you love me anyway. You’ve shown mercy and blessed me in so many ways my mind can hardly comprehend. And like the diligent father you’ve scolded me when I’ve done wrong. Your unconditional love floors me.

My humble desire is to always find favor in your eyes so I may one day see you face to face — to be with you,  my heavenly Father,  forever.

“Even Here video.wmv” 

Contents written: 12/2/2014  |  Copyright 2014 Moylom Enterprises

A beautiful thing…

So this week I witnessed something wonderful. My daughter and I saw a caterpillar crawling along the wall by the kitchen window and deduced we may have brought it in with us when we picked flowers earlier in the day. So we decided to take care of it — give it food and water and a place to live – a covered bowl with air holes into which we put leaves and water in a bottle cap.

The next day, to our amazement, the caterpillar wasn’t moving! It had crawled under a leaf and appeared dead. We were both a little sad but I decided to touch it just to make sure. Fantastic, it was still alive! Upon further investigation, it turned out it had shed its skin and its shape was slowly changing. We kept observing for a few more days, all the while doing the touch test to make sure it was still alive. Amazingly, shapes of little wings were becoming visible. It was transforming into a butterfly.

I wasn’t sure how long the entire process was supposed to take, and kept forgetting to do the research. And then TODAY we saw the butterfly! It was healthy, and beautiful. My little munchkin wanted to do the honors of releasing her into the sky and so she did. And then our little ‘foster child’ flew off ready to live the next chapter of its life. Transformations are wonderful. Nature is wonderful. Life is wonderful. There is still beauty amid the chaos you just have to know where to look. Enjoy!

Contents written: 8/23/2014  |  Copyright 2014 Moylom Enterprises

War of the terrible twos…

I have three kids: nineteen, seventeen and two. I also have a dog, age eight, so technically I have four kids. Of the four, my two year old is by far the biggest handful. She’s loud and boisterous, plays really rough, tosses clothes and toys and anything else she can find and has the really annoying habit of running off DIRECTLY TOWARDS THE STREET! These are the things that annoy me the most since I fully expected, from previous experience, to deal with the issues of tantrums, fights for independence and resisting authority. The problem is, I’m struggling to stay sane since she’s throwing so many other behavior issues at me that I didn’t have to deal with with the other kids (boys), at least not until later. It’s almost as if she is developing at a much faster rate than the boys and now that I’m much older and slower, albeit wiser and more patient, she is throwing so much at me at once I’m feeling out-matched and overwhelmed.

There are days I can DEAL and keep all the madness in check: barking orders, explaining consequences for bad behavior, doling out punishment for ignoring aforementioned consequences, and of course executing executive orders since I am the president and commander in chief of my household.  Then there are days I have no problem with her at all: she’ll be sweet, kind, respectful, and an absolute princess, which leaves me with a euphoric happily-ever-after feeling that I’m doing okay as a parent. However,  there are times I can barely get out of bed just from sheer exhaustion and I have no fight in me at all. I’ll look at her having a meltdown over WHATEVER and all I want to do is have a meltdown of my own…just lay on the ground flailing  around as I scream at the top of my lungs. Come to think of it, I might have to try that one day…

Well it’s safe to say that I’ve met my match with this little girl. She has made me question my sanity, and hers, on many occasions, and she has already learned how to push my buttons in ways that only her father (separated, soon to be ex-husband) knew how to do and that worries me tremendously. This behavior she exhibits at age two is the exact behavior he exhibits at age forty two which leaves me bewildered. Is it possible that his upbringing was a hit and miss, leave him to do whatever he wanted, no behavior correction type of parenting? Or was he just incapable of being trained despite his parents’ best efforts? Is this how my daughter will be in the next forty years regardless of my best efforts to instill values, decency and self control in her now? Or did something happen to her father to flip his script which transformed him into the monster he became? Either way I’m worried and I think for good reason– her genetic makeup is fifty percent his!

My mom, a hard-core christian, has taken it upon herself to pray consistently for her (and me) because she believes it’s only the mercy and love of God that can keep my monster child (my words, not my mom’s) calm and transform her into a decent human being despite having genes that give her a predisposition to be beyond control. Her brothers (from previous marriage) and daycare teachers think she’ll be just fine and say this is just a phase she’ll soon outgrow (from their lips to God’s ears). And I say, “This is war!” It’s messy, it’s exhausting, it’s ridiculously frustrating, and I’m not sure who’s going to ultimately win. I guess only time will tell and I am extremely grateful for that since I still have time to mold her. But in the mean time may God help us!

Contents written: 11/22/2014  |  Copyright 2014 Moylom Enterprises

Love + Heartache = Agony