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.

Everyday Heroes Hidden in Plain Sight – Pt. 2

Courtesy A. Squires

I entered the plane breathless for the moment I could deplane. As my new friend's story unfolded, I found myself dreading the moment we'd land as much as I dreaded Hurricane Sandy's turbulence. 

The plane lurched and bounced. We each grabbed at the other's hands, drew back a bit, and let out nervous half giggles-half sighs when the plane evened out. For a few minutes, I had forgotten I was afraid.

An expectant mom weaved to the back of the plane trying to beat the waves of morning sickness chasing her to the lavatory beside us. We groaned kindred groans silently praying the plane would fly smoothly for her sake as well as our own.

"May I ask what you do for our country?" 

"I've just gotten back from Iraq.”  Her calm tone implied it was about the same as a trip to the grocery. She spoke of warm relationships with Iraqi people. She alluded to successes and failures experienced while there.

Courtesy D. Scott

Confidence oozed out of her pores. The fraidy cat in me blushed over my tendency to develop the vapors with the least provocation.

A spring deployment to Afghanistan overshadowed anticipated Christmas celebrations with her family. The light in her eyes dimmed a bit. She admitted to some apprehension about the future and explained how her family would care for her children and foster tot. She winced when she spoke about the hardships of being away so often and so long.

I waxed bold and asked specific questions about women coping with the rigors of life in the field. She laughed, “You'd be amazed at what you can do with eight ounces of water and baby wipes!”

I told her about my inner fraidy cat. My idea of roughing it involved trendy lugged soled hiking boots and a walk over to the glassed in elevators at an Embassy Suites hotel. She rewarded me with quick, easy laughter that captivated my motherly heart.

The plane gave another jolt. Again, I had forgotten all about hurricanes, turbulence, and plane crashes. We agreed our present circumstances were claustrophobic at best. 

Courtesy T. Parker

She chuckled and told me about her favorite way to fly. In a helicopter. The kind with no doors – for easy out and easy in. She talked about the freeing sensation of flying low and fast with the wind against her skin. Her words made me dizzy.

To everyone else on the plane, she was just another weary traveler thankful to be headed home before the storm shut the airport down. To me, she was an everyday hero hidden in plain sight. One who commiserated with my flying phobia even though she liked flying on door-less helicopters.

Courtesy Mad Penguin Creative

I did what was, for me, a heroic thing. I told her I was a person of faith and asked if I could say a prayer for her right then and there. Tears flickered and threatened to dampen her lashes as she nodded o.k.

I wrapped her in a motherly embrace and thanked the good Lord above for honoring me with the cramped, claustrophobic seat in the back of the plane. How else would I have met the hero hidden in plain sight? I thanked him for my friend in passing and begged him to follow her with peace and protection now and through all the days of her long life.

I asked him to bless her family and their time together. Lastly, I prayed Godspeed over her and her soldiers while asking God to bring peace to troubled lands through the work they do.

Courtesy Mad Penguin Creative

 
As the minutes ticked down, we talked about the longing for comforts of home. I asked about care packages and gathered advice about items to include and ones to leave out. I promised our chance meeting would make a difference even if I didn't know how just then.

The gentle touchdown came all too quickly. I knew life would carry us on to where we were headed. I would soon be a faint memory in the rear view mirror of her life. She, however, would be indelibly inked on the memories of my heart.                                                                                  

Courtesy B. Creasy - 2010

I am combining an effort to honor this soldier with the Twitter campaign honoring the memories of the Sandy Hook, NJ shooting victims. My friends at Home Educating Family's blog offered the chance to share my vision with you on their site.  

Join me in #26acts of kindness for men and women in uniform. Fraidy cats can accomplish some awesome things when we work together!

To visit me at Home Educating Family's blog for more information, click their link below:
Home Educating Family

Prayers for a Zombie in the Midst of an Apocalypse pt. 2

Courtesy Mad Penguin Creative

It was time for newbies to mingle. Putting my game face on, I slipped into the venue taking little comfort in knowing I would recognize a few faces. Truth be told, I went to the social because I figured I owed it to my brother-benefactor to squeeze every ounce I could out of the conference. My heels left tread marks on the carpet between my room and elevator given the force required to get me there.

Noise square-danced around the multistory atrium as it echoed and bounced round and round and up and down. Have hotel architects never heard of sensory processing disorder? I'm neuro-typical and was becoming dizzy with the effort to make sense out of the cacophony of sounds. Between noise and nerves, I was nauseous.

I wandered aimlessly through the hall bobbing and weaving, speaking and nodding but not lighting anywhere. Finally settling into a chair near an animated group of trendy gals, I strained to hear their conversation. We made chit-chat about who was from where and regional accents. I began to feel like the invisible grandmother in the room.

Courtesy D. Scott

I soon realized I had plopped right down into the middle of a group of women who had business relationships and were ecstatic to see one another since they lived in far flung places. Ooooooops! I watched them for a bit admiring their hipness and energy. Again, I wondered, “What am I doing here?” As quick as I could, I made excuses and wandered some more thanking the good Lord that supper was about to be served.

So it was I began to pass my time going from break out session to meals and back to my room. Here and there I snatched comfort at seeing a familiar face who knew I was a fraidy cat in the midst of a life altering apocalypse. In those moments, I could be real: real vulnerable and real transparent instead of trying to be the trendy grammaw in the room full of hipster blogging moms.

I was doing o.k. really. I was meeting and mingling without anyone running away like her hair was on fire. I even managed to be glib enough to elicit laughter when I felt I needed to. No one knew my real life, the one I left behind at home, had fallen apart only days before my plane took off for Allume. I was safe behind my mask. 

Mary DeMuth's break out session filled quickly. I arrived at the door and stumbled to the front. It was standing room only. I slumped against the front corner wall with a bird's eye view of the speaker and slid down to the floor. It was a good thing because I was gonna need that line of sight when she started to pray. And, it was gonna be a good thing I wasn't standing because I might have fallen down in shock.

Courtesy and in Loving Memory of Christina Jones Hooker

The wall behind me hummed from the energy building in the room. I wondered how she'd speak order into the building chaos. Magically, the room fell silent. She made a few jokes about being a writer who'd never published a best seller and asked us to join her in prayer.

I don't promise that the following words are verbatim, but they are as close as I can recall given that my mamma taught me you can't take notes while someone is praying.

Mary's voice was feathery around the edges as if she was just nervous enough to make her voice all but quake. Either that or she'd just run up a flight of stairs to be on time. But, this is what she said:

Dear Lord,

I am praying for the woman whose life has recently been affected by trauma and for whom words have been destructive. I pray that you would break the power of those words and help her know she is not defined by them.

It's a good thing my mamma wasn't there and that the good word says "watch and pray" sometimes because my head snapped up, and my eyes popped open. I kept watching Ms. Demuth to see if she was gonna return my open mouthed stare.

Courtesy Mad Penguin Creative

Common sense told me I wasn't the only one in that group who found her words uniquely personal, but my heart said she was gonna open her eyes, look to her right, and point directly at me as she continued to pray. I heard what she said after that, but I didn't really take it in because God took up where my ears left off understanding her words.

It was as if he said:

I see you. I see you right here in the middle of all these cool young women. You are right where I wanted you, and I gave Mary these words because I wanted you to know I care enough about you to have a total stranger pray for you and not even know it. I am going to break the power of the trauma of your separation and the words that triggered it. You are not defined by those words. I defined you before I threw the stars in space. I brought you to this place in such an unorthodox way because I didn't want anyone or anything else to confuse my point.

Courtesy Mad Penguin Creative

I see you fraidy cat, and he does too. I know the power of traumatic words that define your days and tell you who you are and what you cannot be. You are defined by the God who created you not the angry words banging and clanging in echoes throughout your heart and soul. He wants to break the power of those traumatic words and set you free.

I had to get on a plane and fly to Allume to hear God's voice. I hope you heard it right here on this page in this hidden corner of cyberspace. Come back again and walk with me a while? You are gonna be amazed at who I met and what I heard the rest of the weekend. It sure amazes me! 

Courtesy B. Creasy - 2010

Psalm 40:5 (Amplified Bible)

Many, O Lord my God, are the wonderful works which You have done, and Your thoughts toward us; no one can compare with You! If I should declare and speak of them, they are too many to be numbered.