be true to your self

Whenever I write something of a personal nature I always cringe when it comes time to press the PUBLISH button. I question… is this TMI?, will this chapter of my life benefit anyone else?, and did I put it all in a comprehensible context? This is becoming my guideline for whether or not I make things public.

Then, I get some comment that tells me SOMEONE has identified. Man, that helps me to remain transparent. You never know who will be touched in some way by just knowing they are not alone. I know that I do not need to air my dirty laundry, so to speak, and I struggle with how much honesty is too much for someone else to bear. Many times in my life, I have heard someone share something deeply personal and I have been able to say, “That is me. I feel just like that. If that person can survive and even grow through the pain, so can I.” After all, if you have found your way to the cheese in the rat maze, don’t you want to show someone else where the cheese is? I’m just saying.

My purpose for beginning this blog is to share my experience, strength and hope with others out there. I have a lot of experiences and a lot of hope. I credit God Almighty with any strength I have.

Thanks to every one who encourages me to remain transparent. I once heard some one say, “We are only as sick as our secrets.” I would add to that, be wise about who you share your secrets with and how you share your secrets. God is a good listener and He never gossips.

Been there, now I am here.

Being here in Quincy is playing with my head a little. I went to Jr. High here and that was not a happy time in my life. I was attempting to fit in at first. I tried out for cheer leading. Unfortunately, I was laughed out of the auditorium by the pretty, mean girls. I did not have nice clothes, nor did I have a polished look and none of these “girlfriends” had ever seen me before because I was new in town. Teen years can be so awkward. Besides all that, I was always an outsider in life. Looking back, it seems that I was moving down to the lowest common denominator until I found a group of outcasts who were a little more wounded and messed up than I was. I made friendships with a couple of prostitutes and their boyfriend (pimp). The girls taught me how to apply make up and false eyelashes. Later in life I would learn how to tone down the make up tips I acquired from these beautiful girls.

I did not have much adult supervision in my life because my Mom worked about 10-12 hours a day and by the time she got home from work, she was drunk. My Mom loved me. She was an alcoholic, single mother and she was doing what her disease would allow. Mom tried to warn me that I was beginning to hang with the “wrong crowd” but I found it very difficult to take her advise. She was, of course, correct.

Because of my rebellion and my insistence in cavorting with people that, finally, seemed to accept me I:

• took my first Benny (speed pill)
• had my first drink of wine
• took my first LSD trip
• witnessed my first crime
• became a victim of a violent crime

My Mom was right. These folks were way out of my league and I placed myself in very precarious situations. Even though my Mom was drunk 70 % of the time I lived with her, I should have heeded her advise. Instead, I ran away at the age of 15 after suffering that violent crime. It messed me up for a long time. I went right into hanging with a group of outlaw bikers. I was looking for protection. My brother, Lucky, was the vice president of the club at the time. Little did I know, I was jumping from the proverbial frying pan into the fire. I got more and more messed up and rebellious. My brother tried his hardest to get me away from the club members but I was a very determined little booger. He went to jail for kidnapping a Federal Agent and I continued hanging with the outlaws. Until one of them, the club president, at Lucky’s request, tried to persuade me to go back home to my Momma. This outlaw hung me out of a third story window by my ankles. He had one ankle and a guy named Mousey had the other one. The Pres. told me I needed to go home. When I said that I wasn’t going anywhere, he let go. Thank God Mousey had a good grip on me and dragged me back in the window. Even though I only weighed 110 at the time, I think God gave him super natural power to do that.

I did go home for a little while after that. Just long enough to hook up with another motorcycle club that wasn’t quite as outlaw as the first. These guys had a club house, some good drugs and some pretty bikes and they were fun to drink with. Most importantly, they were protective of me.

God has had His hand of mercy and grace on me all my life. I can count three events in my life that could easily have resulted in my death. Miraculously, I am still here. Today, I am sober, drug free and in possession of my right mind. (Although, some would debate the latter.) God has a plan that NO man can change. I trust that every nasty event in my life has been knit into a beautiful life. I should be full of mercy and grace to all the other wanderers who are trying to find their way in this crazy life. Today, I know that God is my protector. He saved me for a purpose. I try to listen to Him and to heed His calling on my life. He gives me compassion for the so called “losers” in this world. I try to pass on the love, grace and mercy God has lavished on me. If I am able to make a difference in the life of one single person who is struggling to find their place in this world, I will have accomplished much. It is not all about me. I do not, however, want to forget where I have come from.

Looking back, I can see some of what He saved me from and I can see some ways that He has opened my eyes to see Him. I have learned that God don’t make no junk. He is not looking to beat us up with guilt. He loves us right in the middle of our mess and He wants to lift us up out of the garbage we have slipped into.

Thanks God.