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New Venue for My Writing
I’ve opted to place all of my blog posts on www.noomizo.com
If you’ve not signed up for this site, I would encourage you to as it has some incredible articles in addition to many other topics of interest. Following is a link to my first article. Earlier this month, I was asked to join the writing team for Noomizo and will be focusing my attentions there. Mind you, the journey will be no less than that of my blog; however I am opting to share my survival story in a manner which may potentially reach more women who may need to hear my story as it relates to their own personal journey.
You can find me there and subscribe to my RSS feed when new posts are uploaded. It is there I hope you’ll join in my journey to recovery as well as other topics of interest I delve into.
http://www.noomizo.com/index.php/daughters-constructing-or-destructing/
The Dealer
Early evening ushered in like any other, so it seemed. A soft cool breeze filtered in from the north delivering the subtle news that fall was fast approaching. Dried leaves from mature oaks gently rustled about slowly falling to the ground as thousands of grackles had begun to make their way south. It appeared to be yet another uneventful evening; however, it was the impending experiences of this night in 1988 which would inevitably awaken the darkness of my eyes and change the course of my life forever.
A mutual acquaintance from work had recently introduced me to Billy whom I had taken an immediate liking to. Billy stood a modest six feet tall with biceps and an upper torso any man would envy. He was fun, exciting yet in a sense, dangerous; a character trait which intrigued me. The kind of danger I could see lurking in his eyes like that of the ocean; beautiful to gaze upon yet teaming with hazard below. Billy and I quickly began a courtship based primarily on one commonality……cocaine.
This particular evening, we found ourselves in a state of boredom, wanting to party but needed to locate an available supplier. For me, this was not a daily activity but as I later learned the same did not ring true for Billy. Friends and family warned me Billy was a no-good thug but I refused to listen. I was convinced their impression of him was wrong, but even if they weren’t, I was confident I would be the only woman who could change his ways. It is clear my displaced affection for Billy was as blinding as the darkness of this October night; all that was about to change.
After having made a few calls while I dressed, Billy and I set out to drive across town with the hope of scoring. An undeniable fear began to take hold of me, a fear I quickly dismissed. Driving through the early night, I noticed the sky began to take on darkness like none I had seen before. Streets became rough and narrow with every passing block, displaying familiar grandiose oak trees like that at home, yet I knew the safety of home was far from my reach.
The road in front of this house bore no lights, nor did the house itself short of a dim lamp glowing from a small back window. The rousing moon shone itself upon the white painted house revealing weathered flecks of paint and the pier and beam on which it stood. Billy parked the car two doors down, turned off the engine, left the keys in the ignition and prepared to exit.
“Stay here,” Billy instructed. It was apparent he had been here prior to tonight and I would have been wise to follow his direction, unfortunately, curiosity got the better of me.
“I don’t feel safe…..alone……here. I’m going in with you,” I replied.
Having paused for a moment, Billy said, “Not sure if he’s gonna like it, but come on.”
Approaching the house, I spotted a woman sitting on the porch delicately positioned in a rickety wood rocking chair slowly toggling back and forth. She paid no mind to us; rather, she sat there mindlessly staring forward. A coarse wool blanket nestled in her lap and what appeared to be a second hand cardigan draped over her slouching shoulders covered in a tumbled mess of unkempt hair. At the time I didn’t pay much attention to her; who she was, what she may be doing or even acknowledging her presence. If I had, my instinct would probably have been to run back to the car and stay where I was told.
Dressed in my red high heel shoes and looking like I had just been to the salon, I cautiously began taking each step toward the front door shadowing Billy. The other side of that threshold bore little resemblance to anything I had ever seen before. Decayed floors had been resurfaced with stolen plywood; scores of rolled newspapers lined walls to block the wind; beer and Coca-Cola cans tossed about; putrid smells of rotting food; and in the midst of this filth I spotted a baby carrier.
There he was, perched in his antiqued recliner to the left of the front door…the dealer. “Hey man,” Billy offered. The dealer merely nodded his head at Billy then turned my direction. His eyes cut through me like a twister rips through a lumber yard, dissecting every essence of my being. I had never felt such a winter chill as I did at that moment. By the look in his eyes, I immediately knew this man was cold, paranoid, suspicious yet full of fear. The feeling was mutual.
“Hi! How are you?” I asked in my best North Dallas trying to be cool voice. He never said a word – just kept staring with his eyes locked on mine, sizing me up and down trying to determine whether or not I was a nark. Having broken the stare out of sheer intimidation, I glanced to the right of the dealer and there in his hand resting all too comfortably was a loaded and cocked handgun. Without a doubt, I knew he would not hesitate to use it given the perceived need to. It was that moment I found myself wanting to run back to the car but fear cemented my red high heels directly into the plywood which they stood.
“You got it?” Billy inquired. The dealer merely pointed to a back room which Billy and I proceeded to venture toward. Down the short hall I noticed a bathroom on my right. Inside housed another occupant whose mission in life at that moment was clear. Her arms and thighs blackened, bruised and swollen. The swallow of her neck was leathery, emaciated and aside from the click-clop from my red high heels the only noise I could hear was the smacking of her lips. She had comfortably nestled herself onto the toilet, propped her foot up on the side of a filthy bathtub attempting to insert a needle into the vein between her toes. Though she never looked up, I could see her eyes were hollow, saddened and full of emotionless tears hindered by the sight of her own reflection. Instinct told me she was not the person we were to see regarding our vital purchase.
Peering into a bedroom at the end of the hall stood another man who briefly scanned me with his ruthless eyes, quickly closing the door leaving no doubt I was not welcome. “You need to hang here. Don’t ask, just do it.” Billy quietly yet firmly commanded. This time, I didn’t raise any objections to his direction. What seemed to be an eternity was probably only two minutes until Billy emerged from the back room, sheepishly grinning with a look of score on his face. “Let’s go” he said.
Stopping back by the dealer to pay our respects, I found myself frozen, yet again, at the icy breeze coming my way. Few words were exchanged between the dealer and Billy. Those words were a distant concern as my focus was redirected to the enormous brown rat crawling ever so slowly across the top of my pretty red shoe – neither a scream nor flinch uttered, not so much as a whimper. I didn’t want to disturb that shiny gun nor the man in control of it.
I couldn’t get out of there fast enough. I wanted to run to the car and never look back – but look back I did. Gazing at the woman on the front porch as if for the first time I could see she was knocking on deaths’ door. She appeared old though was probably no more than 5 years my senior. I realized then if I ever came to this house again, the woman seated on that porch would eventually be me.
“Oh my God! Get me the hell out of here, NOW!” I cried.
“I told you to wait in the car, but nooooooo you had to come in!” Billy shouted.
I was in no mood for I told you so,”Just shut up and drive.”
As we drove away from the dealer, those particular oak trees couldn’t disappear fast enough. Somehow, the score didn’t seem so important anymore and within a very short period of time Billy wasn’t either. That night, not only did I leave behind the dealer for good, I left a part of me on the porch of that ratty old house, a part I have never missed.
Learning to Deal
Part of the mystery of doing a blog is wondering who is reading it, if anyone at all. When it comes right down to it, the purpose of blogging for me would be for the sake of sanity. A place to voice and process my inner thoughts. I’ve never been one to just sit and ponder life’s lessons. No, I have to get it down in writing as it will inevitably result in those “ah-ha” discoveries that keep life moving in a forward direction.
Since October 2010, there have been tremendous shifts in my life – situations that demand my attention. As the months have unfolded, I realize and admit that the “junk” I still have to work through is less than desirable but necessary nonetheless. The problem with life’s lessons is that they tend to be preceded with pain, hurt, sadness, or some facsimile thereof. The most recent lesson for me has been that of learning to process emotions rather than stuffing them away – an extremely unhealthy characteristic that has manifested itself in some of the ugliest ways. No matter how hard I tried, I have never successfully expunged feelings in a healthy manner. To do this, one must first actually DEAL with them….and that’s no picnic.
In the coming days, weeks, months, years….whatever it takes, I am committed to delving deep into the resources I call my life. I can say with complete certainty that it ain’t gonna be pretty! But if you’re joining me by reading this, then I pray you’ll hear my heart and join me on this journey we call life.
The Necessary Tools
I remember my first apartment. It was to be MY first home – living on my own, scary yet exciting at the same time. I was 21 years old, newly divorced, and living in a one bedroom apartment that was so small you could poo, shower, and wash your hands at the same time. But it was all mine, and I was satisfied with that. My mother stopped by one day with a house-warming gift. I was so excited…that is, until I unwrapped it. The gift was a set of tools. TOOLS? What the heck? Where’s my crockpot, a set of pots and pans, dishes, or maybe even a pretty little something to put on the shelf? Tools? Oh my God…what was she thinking? Mom informed me that I needed to be equipped to take care of myself and to have the tools to fix things as needed. Up to that point, who needed a hammer? When I wanted to hang a picture on the wall, I multi-purposded a high heeled shoe. As for the screwdrivers…what’s wrong with the kitchen knife? Never in a million years would I understand how important these tools would become and how they would set me up for a lifetime of self sufficiency.
As life progressed, these “tools” for self sufficiency would prove to be quite useful as well as destructive in ways I never imagined. It took me 23 years to realize that self sufficiency has little room in a marriage – a successful marriage that is.
More to come….
Friends
I guess I’m getting older. I mean…we’re all getting older, but the past several months I have found myself pausing to reflect and examine more so than ever. Take for example “friends.” Let’s first start with the ever popular Facebook friends. I’ve been thinking that there really should be a category for Facebook acquaintances. Let’s face it…all those people are really your friends, are they? Would you hang out with every single one of them at their home? Have you ever had dinner with them and actually taken time to invest in their lives? Do you know their history, their challenges (aside from the occasional Facebook posts, that is.) Do you know their heart, their struggles, their sin? I mean REALLY know them? Probably not….at least not most of them.
Recently, I did a sweep of sorts on my Facebook friends list and decided to establish a criteria basis of sorts for each, just to see who I really considered to be a “friend.” The questions were this: 1. Is this person a blood relative that I like – yes, I have relatives that I don’t particularly care for and don’t care to hear about what is going on in their life. No offense, just don’t. 2. Is this a person I would call at 2:00 am if I needed them? The results were amazing. Not only in the number of people I removed, but in the results that followed soon after.
I went from well over 200 (which by most accounts is a small number of “friends” to around 50 people. I’m thinking I need to create another set of criteria for the 50 and narrow it down some more. After all, friends are those who you not only invest in but also invest in YOU.
Just a thought…
Final Words To My Bent Tree Family
As many of you were made aware today, I have resigned my postion at Bent Tree effective immeditely. Several of you were witness to the events that took place with my health last Wednesday which has thusly required me to evaluate what is in the best interest of my health and my family.
Allow me to preface the fact that 13 years ago, I was diagnosed with epilepsy which was brought upon by two major head injuries I sustained – one from a car accident and another as a result of being hit in the head with the butt of a gun during a robbery. It has been a very difficult transition for me to come to grips with the fact that my physical limitations are in fact real and play a significant role in how I should be living my life.
I have placed a tremendous amount of pride in what I want to do and my contributions to society rather than what I should do to take care of myself and my family. This past Wednesday brought about a new understanding that I have attempted to deny for so many years. I have been selfish with my ambitions and lack of acceptance regarding physical ailments.
It is time for me to put my relationship with God first and to be still and listen for His guidance. I know in my heart that He will use my epilepsy for His glory at some point. Secondly, it is my obligation to put my family second and position myself to be in the best shape possible to give them all they need and deserve.
Reaching this decision was a difficult one because I love being at Bent Tree and seeing the work God is doing. I love with all my heart so many of you who I have come to know on a much deeper level than merely co-workers (and you know who you are!)
When I got home today, I began reflecting on what, if anything, I would want to be a lasting reminder of my time there. It’s not the work I did, the relationships I built, or even the laughter and “off color” humor I unintentionally brought about at times. No, none of that. I pray you will take time to refllect on my words and hear my heart in the manner which it is intended.
My heart broke over and over today with the most wonderful words of affirmations and prayers that I received from so many of you and the phone call I received this afternoon (John Paine.) It was the genuine hugs that I received and the tears that flowed from those that I least expected. Honestly, I never saw it coming. I thought I would merely walk in, say goodbye to a few folks, gather my things and head home. But what I received was a much greater gift than that – it was the gift of knowing I would be missed and that my efforts there were viewed and considered to be a valued contribution.
My prayer for you as a staff is that you will take time to affirm one another – regularly – to know and to feel the value that each of you brings to the common goal of the Kingdom. I pray you will tell those you serve alongside how valued they are and demonstrate by your actions that the term “family” is a genuine one – not just a word.
My only regret is that I never knew how much so many of you seemed to care. So much of the time I felt invisible. Part of that lays on my shoulders – the other part lays in the fact that there is tremendous segregation amongst the staff. I pray the next person who leaves finds themselves in a state of conflict when comtemplating the act of farewell, rather than being surprised by the love I hope they feel.
I want to thank those of you who kept hugging me even when I began to let go first. My time at Bent Tree has been one of tremendous personal growth that will forever be locked in my heart, and I thank you for that.
It’s never truly “goodbye”….it’s “see ya later.”
Michelle
A Comforting Touch
| Can you imagine going years without experiencing the touch of another human being? No hugs? No tender moments of reassurance that you matter, let alone exist? I can’t. Recently, I had the honor of experiencing firsthand the power of touch. It was a moment in my life that will forever change the way I process, perceive, and especially pray.
December 13, 2008, presented an opportunity to serve those less fortunate, namely, the homeless. I had decided a few weeks earlier to volunteer my 12 year old son, Aaron, and I for Operation Care Dallas Christmas Gift being held at the Dallas Convention Center. Leading up to this day, I found myself reluctant, not wanting to attend, or maybe just plain lazy – justifying it by thinking they would never miss our presence. I could have never been more wrong. Aaron and I were registered to serve in gift delivery. Coats, blankets, whatever was available. Upon our arrival, the volunteers at this particular station were numerous. I decidedly asked Susie Jennings, the founder of Operation Care Dallas, where it was she needed us most. To my immediate dismay, she directed us to the foot washing area. Overwhelmed with anxiety, I longed for my desire to stay home to have been our reality. I understood washing the feet of homeless individuals to be a very humbling experience but I was in no way excited with our new assignment. Realizing I was setting an example for Aaron, I was resolved to “deal with it;” otherwise, I ran the risk of planting negative seeds into his head about sacrifice, service to others, and overcoming ones’ fears. “Do as I say, not as I do,” has been replaced with “Live by example.” Drats. As the ten o’clock hour rapidly approached, I began to prepare my assigned station. Baby wipes were unwrapped, the lotion stocked, foot powder at hand, new socks folded neatly as the ever important box of latex gloves closely governed my various paraphernalia. Thousands of homeless began pouring into the Convention Center, heading straight toward the coat and blanket distribution – a place I longed to be. As I nervously stood there waiting for my first “assignment,” Aaron wrestled with understanding his duties as a shoe runner. I was quick to offer his service in this capacity rather than the foot washing that befell me; an overly protective maternal judgment which will assuredly not be repeated in years to come. Enter Charles. A tall, thin man, maybe 6’2”, with soft, kind eyes and ashen skin around the age of 65. I soon learned Charles had honorably served our country in Vietnam. A tracheotomy valve inserted in his neck resulted in a muffled, whisper voice as he gently plugged its hole before each sentence. His right foot was a stump, as injuries in Vietnam forced a partial amputation. I prayed he would not detect my nervousness. Little did I know that he, too, was struggling with my presence. Looking into his eyes, I could see the shame he seemingly carried for his perceived deformities. Immediately I knew it was not Charles who should be ashamed, but me. Ashamed of my selfishness, my lack of desire to serve in whatever capacity God would have me, ashamed of neglecting the fact that Jesus himself washed feet. Who am I to question His purpose for me? Humbly, I began to clean Charles’ feet. Still sensing a bit of apprehension on his part, I began with his amputated foot all the while reassuring him, “It’s okay…please let me serve you…” As each touch was met with renewed sincerity, he slowly began to receive my offering. It was beautiful to see the joy this man derived from my attentiveness as I continually gazed upon Charles’ growing delight. Without warning, he opened his eyes locking them on me. They were tired, yet soft. Sad… yet full of joy. Heartbroken… but filled with hope. He sat upright in his chair then reached down with his left hand toward my right cheek. With soulful gentleness, he began stroking the side of my face like that of a loving father toward his precious daughter. It was I who then dropped my shoulders, closed my eyes and drank in his loving, sincere touch. How long had it been since last he reached out to another and was met with genuine acceptance? How long had it been since I reached out to someone who desperately needed it? Neither of which I could answer. Having experienced a newfound bond with one another, he sat back in the chair as I began applying lotion. Beyond immediate repair, his dangerously cracked skin drank in what moisture it could. Seeing the condition of his ingrown, fungal toenails, I commissioned the on-hand podiatrist to inspect the damage. Upon completion of his examination, I continued by applying more lotion, carefully yet firmly massaging his aching feet. As weighted shoulders began to lighten and sweet eyes rested peacefully, I watched as Charles’ lips parted and a long, relaxing breath quietly seeped through the tracheotomy hole. It was a sweet, sweet sound like none I had ever heard. I can’t directly speak for Charles with any level of authority but I can comfortably say without reservation, he relished in the experience he’d had with us as we did with him. The power of human touch is absolutely amazing. I sit back every day and think of Charles. What it must have meant to him to experience the fulfillment of a simple, yet long awaited touch. I pray our time together brought to his life a sense of love, acceptance, and peace, even if but for a brief moment. I find myself reflecting on the power of Charles’ touch. A man that most would deem destitute and hopeless, who selflessly reached out his hand to me offering his heartfelt thanks with sincere kindness and overflowing blessings. As for Aaron, I pray his life will take root with a heart to serve. Upon leaving the event, he immediately stated his desire to return again next year. Two days following the conclusion of Operation Care, the Dallas metroplex was covered in a wintry blast of arctic air and precipitation. Arriving home from Bent Tree Monday evening, Aaron’s tear-filled eyes and broken heart met me at the door remembering the faces he had served Saturday. He listed them off, one by one, name by name, wondering if they were blessed enough to have gotten a bed that night in the shelter. Yet more questions I could not answer. There were only two things I knew to do to bring him comfort. The first was to pray and the second was to offer a comforting touch. |
Monday June 22, 2009 – First Day in Kompong Cham
Monday Morning:
4:00 am came in gently. No barking geckos, no barking dogs, no roosters crowing, and no bad attitude. Yes, the beauty of the morning danced in with sweet welcome and sense of purpose. After a brief overview of the material, Hannah had a complete meltdown and heavily questioned her presence & desire to be here. Having prayed the night before for similar things, thought, feelings, I had hoped her morning would resemble mine. It was not to be…
As students began to arrive, I asked Hannah if she would like to take the first class. She did. I can’t begin to explain the God-sent awakening, the beautiful transformation that unfolded before my eyes.Hannah found her “sea-legs” and there was no stopping her! Yeah God! The students were eager & hungry to learn. We were met with great smiles and gently repressed laughter. When one laughed, we all joined in. To see their excitement is to watch your child take their first steps, or to explore nee & exciting territory. I can’t wait to see what unfold in the days to come.
Following our beginner English class, the entire staff gathered in the meeting hall for praise, worship, prayer, & Bible study. It was like none I have ever experienced. I’ll share more about that later. As for now, the day feels complete and it’s 10:00 am.
Monday Afternoon:
This afternoon was sweet, sweet time with students & staff. So much laughter & fun. They love to smile and all of them truly flow from within with the love of God. I had some special time with Bun Lang today. He is the mechanic and driver here for HOPE and has very broken English. We spent time together walking around and pointing to various truck parts. I would pronounce them in English and he would repeat it. Then Bun Lang would stop and write them in English with Kumai translation next to it. He was so delighted with his new found English words that related to his job.
So much of the day was spent in fellowship with the staff. They were anxious to inner act with us, laugh with us and to learn. Mondays for them are spent planning for their week followed by short visits to the field. Our evening intermediate class begins at 4:30 pm – 6:00 pm. They whipped through the lesson plan with ease and we found ourselves dumbfounded with next steps. We will have to plan for the unexpected ore. Meals have been fantastic; though the boiled chicken is a little tough and bony, but I know it’s because all of the farm animals are SO skinny here! Regardless, I am so grateful for the meals here as so many go hungry. Not so much the W.R. staff, but much of the population goes without.
One of the first things I noticed here is the resourcefulness of the people. In Texas, we tend to think we need a truck to haul stuff around. Well, I’m here to tell you otherwise…As I was standing on the balcony yesterday watching the traffic go by, a man on a moto was transporting (on the moto, mind you) a fully assembled queen size wooden bed with frame, head-board & foot-board. Cambodians carry everything on motos – and I mean everything!
Some crazy stuff I saw on a moto (just to name a few):
- six Cambodians (on one moto)
- 4′ square cage of chickens
- 3 half dead pigs heading to the slaughter with the legs still twitching
- 50′ of PVC pipe
- mobile grocery stores
- fully assembled queen size beds
- hand-carved doors
- huge stacks of crops headed to market strapped to back of moto 6′ tall
Daddy’s Little Girl
When I was young, I had so much sadness in my heart. The majority of it was due to desires and expectations I had of my father that he was unable to meet. I loved him so, and all I ever wanted was to feel like I meant more to him than anything in the world…just to be Daddy’s Little Girl. In the midst of my sadness, I had a tendency to enter into self-destructive behaviors in order to hide and mask the pain. If I’m laughing, then no one will know how sad I am. If they’re laughing with me, maybe I’m helping to shroud their deep-seeded pain as well. When I say their, more often than not I am referring to the boot-scootin’ dance hall, beer drinking junkie I used to be. I was parading around for years as if everything was “fine.” While it worked rather well amidst a fallacious lifestyle, I now find myself faced with new challenges. How do I hide, mask, or laugh away the pain when those who surround me today can see right through it? No more dance halls to scoot about, no more long-neck beer to guzzle down or red-neck cowboys to hide behind.
Today, I learned my father has prostate cancer.
Just when I reach the point of feeling like his little girl…he once again breaks my heart by being human.
Michellewhitehead's Blog 