Redemption and Forgivenss - A Bully Tale (Pt 2)

Courtesy Mad Penguin Creative

I choked back bitter anguish. How long until relief would come? In the mean season of 2009, a collective spasm grasped our country as ever climbing unemployment numbers spiked. We escaped a second round of homelessness by the skin of our gnashing teeth.

While our family lived in two states, I longed for the day we could shed ourselves of this cursed house on this cursed cul-de-sac. Escape via relocation was out of the question because of plummeting real estate values.

October 2009

I would have rent my clothes and smeared myself in ashes but for fear of seeming crazy. Just when I thought things were as bad as they could get, I tumbled in the backyard breaking my leg in three places.

Waiting in the rain, first to be discovered and then for EMS, I had one sickening thought:  I do not feel safe for my son with two good legs. How in the world are we going to survive this onslaught of bullying now?

We survived on homeschool lessons, T.V. and computer games. The isolation nearly killed us both. He didn’t venture outside for the entire six months I was recovering. But for friends offering an occasional respite for him, we were on our own.

Courtesy Mad Penguin Creative

Anguish over lost dreams tormented me: tea, scones, friendship and all my other fairy tale cul-de-sac dreams lay in ruins. Anguish over my behavior that awful day and the awful things I said haunted me. Even more haunting were fears my son would never be the same.

In those days, I forced myself to pray with the boys because I did not want my doubt to sully their futures. No matter how I struggle, I want to plant relentless faith in them. I fought off the impulse to shake my fist in God’s face and ask, “Why? What did I ever do to you?”

We asked God to bring relief and to restore our cul-de-sac dreams. Oh, how I wanted to pray, “You smite ‘em, God, because if you don’t, I’ll have to as soon as I can walk again.”

Courtesy Mad Penguin Creative

Instead, we prayed for the cul-de-sac gang asking for restoration of their hurting souls. Wanna know the cold hard truth? I prayed those prayers thinking they had a snowflakes chance in you-know-where of being answered.

Son #2 got bigger, faster, and stronger reaching six feet at age fourteen. I’m sure those changes were great equalizers. He went away to camp and came home renewed in spirit. The specter of bullying lost its hold during the week away. His love of heavy metal music and the easy way he moves around in that community fostered respect where once there had been only disdain. Go figure?

With the hindsight of newly emerging maturity, he was able to deconstruct some things about his past.

Mom, you know how Aspies have a hard time deciphering and using sarcasm for humor? Looking back, I think the kids weren’t always trying to be bullies. I think sometimes they were just trying to tease and joke with me the way they did each other. I didn’t understand. We get along so much better now that I do.

Mad Penguin Creative

In that moment, I realized my heart had become a dried out sponge – as hard and brittle as if it had been left out in the New Mexico desert to dry. His words were the first drops of water dripping over my weary soul. And yet, I remained cautious and skeptical despite the number of uncomplicated interactions he continued to have.

As Christmas breaks approached this year, apprehension again gnawed at me. How would ‘those’ kids be with time on their hands? Trust doesn’t come easy after the worst, most miserable failure of your life.

Son #2 bounced in the back door. I smiled to myself rejoicing at the simple sign of healing. My irrepressible Tigger had returned.

Mom! Guess what? I just had an incredible conversation. You won’t believe what’s happened. He apologized! He told me how sorry he is for the way he used to treat me.

Courtesy Mad  Penguin Creative

Out poured the story of one young man’s courage as he faced his former victim and owned up to their hurtful past. He said he’d come to faith in Christ. That rebirth of soul compelled his sincere apology.

Tears, filled with both redemption and forgiveness, poured down my cheeks as I took in the enormity of it all. My youthful nemesis had become my brother in faith. His actions spoke more clearly than his words. The power of both echoed through our home.

A few days later, I asked my son to forward an email. I let my fellow Christ-follower know that we had prayed for him even during the worst of days. I applauded his courage in addressing his hurtful actions. I wished him well and told him he remains in our prayers. Now we rejoice in what Christ has done vs mourn  the pain we knew before.

I pray he will carry our mutual experience with him into the future and use it for the sake of others.  If his recent courage is any indicator, I would say he will serve the body of Christ in exemplary ways 

Courtesy Mad Penguin Creative

If I told you the truth, I’d admit I have a new cul-de-sac dream. It doesn’t involve tea and scones. It involves two young men standing together, tormentor and victim of his aggression, telling other young people about their shared journey. And, if that’s my daydream, can you imagine how much better God’s plan?

John 13:34,35 (The Message)

Let me give you a new command: Love one another. In the same way I loved you, you love one another. This is how everyone will recognize that you are my disciples—when they see the love you have for each other.

To read Part 1 of this story - click here.

To read the series re being invisible and homeless in America -
click here.

Redemption and Forgiveness - A Bully Tale (pt 1)

Courtesy Mad Penguin Creative

Hush now. Gather round. I’ve got a story to tell about redemption and forgiveness. Redemption I hoped would never come. Forgiveness I never wanted to extend. And the worst, most miserable and embarrassing day of my life. 

That oughta be juicy enough for you to shut off Facebook and Pinterest for a while, huh? 

I’ve lived in this house four long years now. When I got here, I thought it was God’s answer to loss and abandonment. I thought it was a Heavenly version of HGTV: Restoration Jesus Style. If you’ve followed along for a while, you know how that dream turned to a nightmare in no time flat.

It wasn’t enough that the economy failed leaving us at risk of losing a home and enjoying a second foray into homelessness. Nope. God wasn’t finished with me even then.

2008

I walked up and down this cul-de-sac asking God to let these new neighbors become friends. I envisioned tea, scones, and Bible studies around my dining room table. Then, life became bitter without the sweet.

I changed after we moved here. I changed because of bullying. I watched my happy-go-lucky son with a George Lucas-like imagination dry up and die on the vine at the hands of bullies.

I’d stand at the window and watch – desperately praying for God to give my son the skill to meet his challenges. I was loathe to intervene lest I be accused of being one of ‘those’ homeschooling helicopter moms.

Courtesy A. Squires

They were four years older. The deck was never stacked in his favor.

He changed. Rage filled him. He became dishonest, foul-mouthed, and disrespectful. In the worst of days, I was afraid we’d lost him forever. I thought there was no way he’d ever come back to us.

He spent long hours outdoors and was thrilled to find a creek in the backyard. After the bullying started in earnest, he vacillated between spending weeks and weeks indoors with taking a chance on going outside. 

If it was a good day, he came in calm and happy. If it was a bad day, life was literally hell on earth.

I knew I’d hit almost rock bottom when I could no longer bring myself to look up as a car passed while I was in the yard. The folks I prayed to meet were now the ones I wanted to avoid at all cost. 

Courtesy Mad Penguin Creative 

All I wanted was to get off this God-forsaken street. God blocked every avenue of escape even when my husband found work out of state after a five month layoff.

I hit rock bottom on a day like any other. Son #2 decided to give the kids another chance. While he’d had a lot stomped out of him figuratively, relentless optimism egged him on. I held my breath and waited trying not to watch. I tried to give God my burden. Something in my gut knew trouble was afoot.

Even now, I burn hot and tremble remembering how long I let it go on. He was not in physical danger, but the emotional beating was more than I could bear another second of another minute of another day.

He'd saved money for a laminator and made ID cards for some friends. The bullies were mocking him as they played keep away with one of the cards. He was nearly beside himself. He was calm compared to me.

I flew out the door screaming like a banshee. In an instant I decided to use language I knew they’d understand. I was no longer the ‘safety patrol mom’ as they had so mockingly called me behind my back.

Courtesy Mad Penguin Creative

Anger shook me so hard my voice trembled as I spat out my message. Any remaining dreams of warm and fuzzy social teas  died in the fire of my rage that day.

Three long years have passed. I have never spoken to any of those now college-aged children again. My family and I did what we could to mop up the damage and prayed the light would come back into our son’s eyes.

Often, I did what I knew I had to do. I’m telling you the ugly truth now: I did it through gritted teeth and a burned out heart.

Oh, fraidy cat, you’ve never seen me like this before have you? I’d never seen me like that either. I can’t wait to tell you the rest of this story.

If you’ve ever swallowed bitter tears while praying for your enemy, the rest of this story is one you might want to read. If you’ve ever choked back the prayer, “You smite ‘em, God, because if you don’t, I will . .  .” I know this one’s for you.

Since I know you love a cliffhanger, see you tomorrow

Luke 6:28 (Amplified Bible)

Invoke blessings upon and pray for the happiness of those who curse you, implore God’s blessing (favor) upon those who abuse you [who revile, reproach, disparage, and high-handedly misuse you].

To read the original story of how bullying affected our family, click here: Fear and Loathing in the Hood

To read Part 2 of Redemption and Forgiveness, click here
Redemption and Forgiveness - Pt. 2

To read the original post about our move to this house, click here:

Deja Vu All Over Again

Imperfect Child with a Perfect Purpose

2006

He was still shorter than me when he wore spy shades to church while sporting his tattoo art. The designs were his own, courtesy of tattoo markers. Yes, I am 'that' mom. I bought them. At that juncture in his young life, he had considered a variety of careers: monk, world champion hang glider, poker champ, chemist, hypnotist and comic book producer to name a few. I figured this too would pass.

This Sunday, he was caught between potential careers of tattoo artist and detective. The glasses had little mirrors that allowed him to watch the folks behind us. My good friends sat there watching him watch them. After the service, Shane chuckled, “That boy is always going to march to his own drum, isn't he?” Then, they compared tatts.

The tattoo stage had long passed when the season of bullying sucked his soul dry. I guess, however, it's no wonder he found the beat of heavy metal appealing. Our older son only listened to Classical music until he was in high school. They say no two kids are alike! We are the picture dictionary example of that truth.

2011

When I began the series, “The Gentle Art of Kamikaze Parenting”, I felt as if I was treading on ice so thin my feet were under water as I was writing. What did I know about parenting to tell you about it? If you knew 'the truth', you'd scoff at me. I don't have all the answers, but I have learned something in this mean season.

You can rule by an iron fist when they are little. The older they get and the more tense life is for them, the softer that guiding instrument must become. Did I want my son listening to some of what he listened to? No. Could I stop him? Theoretically, yes. He's under 18. Practically, in this day of instantaneous media connectivity, no. You don't realize that when they are 3 and 8 and 10. You think you will always be able to keep your fences intact.

By the time they are 14, you realize it is time for you to put your trust in an Almighty Creator God and the job you've done as a parent. There aren't enough software management programs like Net Nanny or Covenant Eyes to keep a computer savvy kid away from what's out there. We set our limits, explained the consequences, then began to pick our battles as parents.

Courtesy Mad Penguin Creative

Long hair? Ok. As long as you are obedient, speak respectfully, and keep your language clean. Short of those 3 parameters, you go to the barber shop. We made good on that promise. So, when I said we set our boundaries and then picked our battles, I meant it.

Heavy metal music? Sigh. Even tho' it made our hair curl, we chose to use it, and are still using it, as a teaching tool. We examine lyrics and talk about how angry, lonely, and hopeless some of them sound. We talk about how Christ is the answer to the questions contained in the indecipherable (to us) lyrics.

We look for Christian bands whose music is tailored to reach out to disaffected youth and compare the hopefulness and truth in those lyrics. We take him to local concerts to meet local youth who comprise those bands. It was and is a full tilt campaign designed to prevent Satan from finishing the job the bullies had started.

Front Row Center- Winter Jam 2012

Our 'unsocialized', homeschooled, socially 'impaired' Aspie kid can walk up to any band member anywhere and begin to expound on the intricacies of the music they have in common. He never meets a stranger, and unlike the bullies on the block, they never call him strange. In fact, his pics with some famous bands have now earned him some fairly respectable 'street creds' with the kids who used to bully him the most.

As I was praying with Isaac one morning, an incredible thing unfolded. It was as if I felt the Holy Spirit surround me. As my words sought the Lord that morning, my heart cried out in fear of the music and the anger and the history.

Into all that soul-chaos, it was as if God said, “I've got this. I've got this kid. He's mine. Satan cannot undo what I have begun. I have a good work for him to do. This thing you fear so much, this music, will be the very thing that enables him to do what I have ordained for him to accomplish. He will be my voice to angry, disaffected kids that will need someone like him, vs someone like you, on their side. He will 'get them'. He will speak my language for them. I've got this. He's mine.”

Fencing - 2012

I wept uncontrollably. Me? Mine? The imperfect mother of the imperfect child? How could this be. A calm I cannot explain filled my soul.

So it was that I became another version of 'that' mom. You know, the one that did not want my kid to talk to 'that' kid because he might sully my kid. We were at a local fast food joint. My heavy metal kid, always on the lookout for a kindred spirit, looked up to see what could have been Alice Cooper's younger twin walk in the door. Son #2 literally vibrated with excitement. Me, not so much.

Boy, oh boy. We are getting to the good part now. Son #2 is about to take me to the woodshed as he reaches out in love to someone I'd rather have run from. I can't wait to tell you how I watched God's promise begin to bear fruit in my son's life. I can't wait to tell you about Son #2 and the Rocker Dude.

Courtesy B. Creasy - 2010

Matthew 25:45 (The Message)

"He will answer them, 'I'm telling the solemn truth: Whenever you failed to do one of these things to someone who was being overlooked or ignored, that was me—you failed to do it to me.'

Imperfect Parent, Imperfect Child

Courtesy Mad Penguin Creative

The smile melted and slid off my face as the words slapped me and then hung in the air taunting me. I looked around wishing there was a place to hide. I wondered how many around me heard the cautionary words another mother directed at her son as mine walked up. “Remember, if he uses foul language, you call him on it.”

I eased into the group wondering if I should stay or go. In that instant, my entire day changed. Happy chatter filled the air as the other mothers exchanged greetings and pleasantries. No one seemed to notice my heart laying in pieces in the dirt around me.

Yes, it was my son she was speaking of. Yes, I was a failure as a mother because my son had what she considered a potty mouth. “Why,” I wondered, “did she have to invoke caution in such a public way? Could she not have taken her son aside privately? Was it necessary to announce, in such a passive aggressive way, that I was a failure, and my son one of 'those kids' you'd rather your child not rub up against? Will her child always be so perfect,” I wondered further. “If he slips beyond her iron grip, how will she cope? Will she look back and remember today and how she made me feel?”

2009

It was the most hideous of times. Son #2 had been bullied and tormented till he was beside himself. Tsunamis of anger threatened to wash him away for good. My happy-go-lucky son had disappeared. His last days of childhood destroyed by the tempest that engulfed him. We had been horrified at the changes and helpless to erase the damage done. One day he was safe and life was happy. The next, he'd come inside trembling with anger and spewing vile about his tormentors. He never knew if the day would be safe or scary. After a while, he quit taking chances. He just stopped going out to play.

The day came when he told us about his new vocabulary. “I talk to them the way they talk to me. It is the only way I can make them leave me alone.” If only my 'friend' could have been with me that day. Perhaps she would have seen my son, my foul-mouthed son, in a different light. Perhaps instead of publicly chastising us among our homeschool friends, she would have put her arm around me and told him how glad they were to see him. How glad they were that we had sought refuge among friends where we would be safe and accepted. No matter how we struggled.

2010

We feared we would never get him back. He gravitated to heavy metal music – the kind that would cause many Christian, homeschooling moms to shriek and run if they saw us coming. He wanted navy blue hair down to his waist. He was only 14. We hunkered down and wondered how much worse it could get. We cried out to God, “If you don't help us, no one can.”

With fear and trepidation, we sent him off to camp the 1^st time. Terrified of the potential outcome of sending our angry, head-banging, metal-head to a Christian camp, we spoke at length with camp staff and church staff. They agreed to keep in touch during the week. The fraidy cat in me was adrift in a sea of panic. He couldn't take much more rejection. What if there was more rejection?

He came home with clearer eyes and some of his former energy. He had been the “Tigger” in our household until it was bullied out of him. The return of his 'bounce' gave us hope. Maybe we had turned the tide? We still had much work to do to tame the lion of anger that possessed his soul during the months and months of bullying.

Courtesy Mad Penguin Creative

We joined a church gym to give him an outlet for his energy. The senior citizens that populated the place looked at his long hair, surly scowl, and middle-of-the-school-day presence. Their looks said he didn't have to open his foul mouth for them to know him. He was one of 'those kids'. It was the park all over again. We were judged wanting, my desperate son and I.

The miracle began to happen in bits and pieces. He'd run to hold the door for a couple as they arrived or departed the gym. From under the hair that hid his scowl, he'd allow a pleasant, “Hello.” They'd take a second look and harsh countenances began to soften.

Before long, the grandpa's were asking to play pool with him when his workout was finished. The desk staff would break into a smile when they saw him coming. They knew him by name. Some would reach out and pat him as he walked by. He wasn't one of 'those kids' afterall. Every gesture was a band-aid to my crushed heart. I watched him begin to flourish as he became everyone's grandson.

Oh, fraidy cat, this story is not all told. Do you know this kid? Have you been that parent? You don't have to explain a thing. All fraidy cats are welcome here, especially if you've been rejected on the playground of perfect parenthood.

2011

This son of mine has taught me something I want to share with you. His story isn't over. He's still a work in progress; aren't we all? You'll be amazed at the rest of the story. I can't wait to share it! When I do, I pray you'll see hope where you may now only sense dread. Love you long and strong. See you tomorrow?

2: Corinthians 2: 7(Amplified Bible)

So [instead of further rebuke, now] you should rather turn and [graciously] forgive and comfort and encourage [him], to keep him from being overwhelmed by excessive sorrow and despair.

 Courtesy B. Creasy - 2010

Galatians 6:1 (NIV)

Brothers, if someone is caught in a sin, you who are spiritual should restore him gently. But watch yourself, or you also may be tempted.

5 Things I Wish You Knew About Me (Because I Homeschool)

We homeschool because it has been the best choice for us, but....

2007-only half of the birthday crowd

I do not look down on you if you make a different choice. Among my friends are families with siblings attending homeschool, public school, and private school at the same time. I trust you as a parent to know what is best for your family and your student at any given time. Can you trust me to make the same decision for my family and my child?

I hold our homeschooling privilege with a loose grip because I realize life changes in an instant. So, I try to prepare my child for the fact that I may not always be his teacher. Whether life changes with choice, tragedy, or graduation, this season will end. He will move out of 'my' classroom and into the world. I want to do my job, so his future teachers will say I made their job easier. 

I wonder why you ask me about socialization (before you even get to know us).

No, I did not choose to school at home because I think your child will somehow sully my child. Did my children, because of their learning challenges, need a different kind of structure than a traditional school setting would provide? Yes, they did. I did not 'shelter' them by providing that. In fact, I often demanded more of them in the way of socialization than would have been demanded during a traditional school day.

2009

Both my boys would have qualified for some sort of 'resource' LD program if not a self-contained class room program in traditional schooling. Their only peers would have been students with the same challenges. We had the freedom to move around our community. My sons learned to interact with a variety of people in a variety of places in a socially appropriate ways. When Son #1 was in 6^th grade, he stunned a Walmart employee by handling an exchange and refund without any help from me. Son #2 now ends his PE at the local gym by playing pool with Octogenarians who break into a smile when they see him coming.

The next time you see a homeschooler and wonder how we define socialization, remember: your child's socialization does not end at 3:30p when the school bell rings! Our socialization is not dependent on the ringing of a school bell. Instead of asking, “What do you do about socialization?” just ask us what fun things we do. Then you'll hear about it without ever having to ask 'the question'. 

Courtesy Mad Penguin Creative

If you know a homeschool family that is floundering, do not assume that all of us flounder all the time.

We are just like you. We fail at some things, succeed at some things, and swim like mad to stay afloat most of the time. Are there folks who should not be homeschooling? Of course there are. Just like there are teachers who should not be in the classroom, public or private. Don't expect us to be super-human anymore than you expect your local school faculty to be super-human.

Applaud me when I succeed, empathize with me when I fail, offer me assistance when the struggle is long and hard. After all, we all want the same things for our kids no matter what schooling model we have chosen. I want to offer that same encouragement to you in the midst of your schooling years. Sadly, I often feel that you won't let me do so because you disapprove of, or are threatened by, my choice. Does it have to be that way?

I didn't take the easy way out just because we have the luxury of doing school in our PJ's on rainy, sick, or stay-at-home days.

There are days I look at you in your late model car and go-to-meeting business clothes and wish we could trade places. I wake up wishing I could open the door and shoo my kids out when the big yellow bus drives by. Yea. True confessions. Compared to my days, your days look pretty glamorous. Sometimes, I want a piece of that.

Courtesy Mad Penguin Creative

It's a scary thing knowing there will be no one but me to blame if they reach adulthood and fail to launch or flounder when they do. We sacrifice a lot for this choice that requires all my attention and most of my time: vacations, the latest in technological gizmos, clothes from brand name stores. I wouldn't trade any of it for the chance to know my sons the way I do because I have been their teacher. But, I want you to know taking the less traveled road is not glamorous nor is it always rewarding.

I want you to encourage your children to get to know mine so that they can encourage each other.

Does it ever occur to you that our children might have something in common even though our schooling choices are so different? Did you know your children often tell mine that they are 'weird' or 'dumb' because they homeschool? Did you know my child is bullied because he is the only homeschooler on the cul-de-sac? When you ask me about socialization, I want to tell you about that dynamic. Instead, I bite my tongue and think of something conciliatory to say that won't hurt your feelings even though you and your children have hurt mine.

Courtesy M. Horrocks

Teach your children to value their neighbors no matter what their educational choice. Encourage them to be friendly to mine by being friendly with and accepting of me. I promise, I look for ways to extend that courtesy to you even though you haven't asked. Tell your student that it is ok to tell mine, “I wish I could do that too,” or “Do you ever get lonely or bored?” The truth is if asked, most kids would say that would like to homeschool at least for a while. And, our kids do get lonely and bored...just like yours.

I am your fraidy cat friend. I know that, like me, you are getting thru this fraidy cat world the best you can. The next time you see me, it's ok to say, “Hello.” Who knows? It might be the beginning of something wonderful. For both of us.

2010 - Courtesy B. Creasy

Love you long and strong. See you soon?

I Peter 4: 8-10 (NIV)

Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins. Offer hospitality to one another without grumbling. Each of you should use whatever gift you have received to serve others, as faithful stewards of God’s grace in its various forms.

Fear and Loathing in the 'Hood

This story was originally posted in June of 2011. There is an amazing and nourishing update as of the winter of 2012. Be sure and click the link at the end of this article. You'll be glad you did.

Hi. My name is Carol Anne. I'm a fraidy cat. It's been about 16 seconds since my last gut-gnawing moment of fear.  If there is a 12-step program for fear, I'd like to know.  I can't find the wagon much less climb on board.

The day has cooled as evening storms abated. The neighborhood kids are out playing hide and seek. Even the 15-16 year olds. Mine is not.  I mourn his isolation and ostracism every moment of the day.  All I ever wanted was to live in a neighborhood with kids. We finally found one. Within 3 months, he went from being an outdoor kid to one who went months on end without leaving the house. It wasn't worth the payoff.

My stomach is in knots fearing the moment he realizes they are out and about. He's had a good day. His yearbook team gathered for an end of the year ice cream sundae party. I wish that were enough. But, he's a kid who wants to be with other kids every chance he gets.  What kid isn't?

Courtesy T. Parker

Most likely, he will saddle up and try once again to find a way to connect with kids who have demeaned and bullied him till he is beside himself.

He is still optimistic and hopes again today that they might be different. Because, some days they are. You can never figure out which day they will tolerate him and which day they will torment him and run him off.

He's told them he has Asperger's and just doesn't think like them.  Of course, that only gave them more ammo with which to torment him.  Even the kids on the street who have siblings with  far more complicated diagnoses than he has have no empathy.

The sadness and anger are enough to break me.  He was a twin.  I wonder why God kept his sibling and prevented my 14YO from having even that sense of belonging.

When I know he is headed out that door into the path of his tormentors, I sometimes feel like I need a crash cart loaded and ready to go because I am about to drop from the weight of wondering how it will go today.  It drains my energy and my hope.

What a difference 2 years make.

A neighbor has opined that we 'shelter him' by homeschooling.  Funny thing, in our homeschool community, he is appreciated and accepted and safe.  No one has ever bullied him no matter if the function included 5 or 100.

When I approached her about her son's role as a bully, she yanked him into the house while tersely assuring him that he was not in any trouble. Then, she spent twenty minutes telling me why it was my fault that my son is bullied. Who is sheltering whom, I wondered.

My Aspie and I have changed. He is no longer the happy go lucky outdoor kid he was.  He is sad and depressed. He has bouts of anger. He has gotten mouthy.  He has learned to react with hostility to protect himself.  He has begun to search the internet for answers to why he is different and how to cope.

I'm no longer the friendly outgoing person who could make friends at the dentist or grocery store. Oh, I still make friends in unlikely places like that.  It's just in my own 'hood that I've become a different person. I no longer look to see who is passing, so I can throw up a hand and share a smile as they drive by.  I no longer look for ways to extend the wave and smile to a concrete get acquainted conversation. 

The home I looked forward to moving into has become a prison as I sit and map out ways to escape to other 'hoods and friends.

Courtesy B. Creasy - 1010

I'm afraid of who he will be because of this life experience. I am afraid he has lost the person he was in the process of becoming when we moved here. I tell myself we will both be stronger and more empathetic. And yet, tonight I don't  feel more like either one.

My name is Carol Anne. I am a fraidy cat.  Your fear might have a different name or set of experiences. All the same, I'm willing to bet that you know exactly what I'm talking about.

Psalm 139:14 (NIV) I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well. 

To read the update, click and read:  Redemption and Forgiveness Pt. 1