The Abused

The Abused – Cleaning Up the Mess

Many times the abused will hide from family. They will be withdrawn. They will tell people who asks how things are, “we’re fine.” They are afraid to tell anyone what is truly going on behind closed doors. They wear long sleeves in the summer time to cover the bruises on their arms. They wear long pants or skirts to cover the bruises on their legs. They wear their hair long to cover the bruises of hand marks from around the neck or the back.

They want to leave. They are afraid to leave. They are afraid to make that initial jump. Fear. It’s a powerful thing. There is something that will conquer the fear – it is faith.

If someone is attempting to help the abused, the cycle has to be broken in some way. The abused cannot be allowed to whine, “I really want out”, yet, do nothing towards getting themselves out of the situation. If the abused is not making an effort to pack, get her things in order, to walk away, there is nothing anyone can truly do because the abused will just go back for more.

They’ve learned to live in it. It’s a way of life. They fear money problems. They fear they won’t make it on their own, especially if they have small children. Many fear because they will not be making enough money to support themselves and the children that the abuser will get custody of the children. Many fear the aftermath of what the abuser will do to them once they are gone. Will he come after me? Will he kill me? Will he hurt my children?

The abused has to break the chains that bind them. They have to work harder than most. They have to develop healthy learned behaviors. It’s basically like teaching yourself to walk again.

I have a dear friend, which I finally got to visit not long ago. Her marriage has been dead for a very long time. She’s stayed with the abuser for the children’s sake, for one, and because she had been screamed at from the pulpit that she would go to hell if she wasn’t a submissive, obedient wife and of course, divorce was out of the question.

She got a taste of happiness, joy, and freedom from oppression. There wasn’t anyone telling her negative things. People were complimentary and supportive. She saw there is truly another life. She saw a life she wants.

Getting her to break her chains has been difficult. She wants to leave; she is going to leave, but the “what ifs” keep spewing from her mouth. Finally last night I asked her, “you believe in God?”

“Of course”

“You gave this problem to God and He has answered your prayers with an out, right?”

“Yes with all my heart I believe that.”

“Then WHY are you talking out of both sides of your mouth and worrying about the little things, instead of letting God open the doors for you? Don’t you think He wants better for you than what you are living? Why aren’t you sticking to the plan and working it from your end?”

“Yes, you are right. I promise I will do it.”

I don’t want her to tell me I am right. I want her to be right. I want her to show me that she wants out. God and friends will be there to help an abused, but somewhere along the line, the abused has to help by preparing and doing for themselves even if it’s just getting their paperwork together, if it is possible. (Car titles, insurance papers, birth certificates, income tax information, etc.)

The abused has to read and study. They’ve got to renew their faith in themselves. They have to rebuild that self-esteem. They’ve got to develop the attitude “Yes I Can” do anything that God decides is right for me! I have those three simple words embroidered in a frame hanging in my office. It’s a reminder of where I’ve been and where I’m going

I think if we find a scripture that befits our needs, recite it everyday, cling to it, it will make us strong. Philippians 4:13 is my favorite scripture, “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.”

Getting over my abusive past – not just from failed marriages – but from childhood as well, has been a journey. It’s a journey that is still on going. I learn more about myself everyday. I pray, if you are in an abusive situation, that you will begin your journey to freedom. Do not look back. It’s forward ever, backward never. The path may not always be easy, but it’s a lot better than living in an abusive relationship.

When we drive out of her driveway, all she is going to see in her rear view mirror is a big white cargo van pushing her home. I know she is going to blossom and be a thing of beauty. It may take her a while, but, time is on our side, and at least, she will be alive to share God’s blessings that He has in store for her.

The Abuser Part II of a Series

The Abuser Part II of a Series

For the most part, the abuser, comes off as a sweet charming person. Abusers are not only men! I’ve had to counsel several men who were so kind and “wimpy” that they were the abused.

I’ve found that the abuser is normally a “closet case”. What do I mean? Simply that if you met him on the street you would think he was the most charming wonderful person you could ever meet.

They are proficient in details, cool, collective, and everyone likes them on their job. They are the center of the crowd. They always have a smile or a kind comment for someone.

“Closet case” is one that once the doors are closed, the abuse begins. Many times the abuse is only verbal. Degradations, name-calling, belittling to name a few are a few of the ways a person can be abused. Words come out like “you are stupid”, “you have no friends”, “no one is going to love you the way I do” or “no one will put up with you the way I have.” Lord I hope not! I hope when an abused gets out of the negative relationship that they find peace and someone who WILL truly love them. Because, if being abused is love, I don’t want any part of that!

Fear and dread of being alone with him sets into the mind. Fear that the verbal abuse will escalate to something more – and many times it does.

The abuser is a bully. He takes out his own inhibitions, his own failures, his own sadness, his own inadequacies, and hate on people he can control.

The abuser may have learned his actions from his childhood. It may seem “normal” to him. Or his actions could be a learned behavior – a behavior that makes him feel superior.

No matter how the abuser learned – NO ONE deserves to stay in an abusive relationship! If anyone, Preacher, Priest, counselor ever says you have to stay – tell them to go live with the person for a while – I’ll bet you money – they, too, would be ready to get out! Remember, those giving advise are human – Pray it out. Find a way out. But GET OUT. Get out before one of you ends up dead!

My brother has told me many times, he thought of the relationship between Anthony and me. I had to leave a very precious part of my life with Anthony – but as my brother said – “If you wouldn’t have got out, you’d either be in prison or dead.”

I beg of you, to get out of relationships that are not good for you. There are women’s shelters, there are friends – even if your family isn’t supportive of you – there are ways to get out.

I do not believe that God wants us to be abused. I believe that through the abuse we grow – if we want to grow – in strength, courage, spiritually through prayers and supplication. I have no doubt that you will be a better person – if ONLY for yourself. Your life is worth more than staying in the chaos.

You are a special someone, God doesn’t make junk. Take care of your life. Never allow abuse. Stand up for yourself. Get out if you need to. Study, read, and educate yourself – and in the interim – I’m going to be praying for your safety!

Pass a good one!

The Abuser - Part I of a Series

The Abuser - Part I of a Series

Once upon a time about twenty years ago, I was married to a man named Anthony. Anthony was every girl’s dream of the knight in shining armor. He came into my life when I needed someone to make me feel special. After dating for almost a year, we married. That courtship and dating, to this day was a dream. It was the most wonderful time of my life. I believed I laughed more during that time – smiled so much that the muscles in my face hurt. I could have written the world's greatest love story.

The wedding was small, a family affair. I had previously been married and didn’t want any thrills and pomp. Just his family and whoever in mine could make it. There was the ceremony, a pachanga (party) afterwards with fajitas, tacos, brisket, and all the trimmings. It was much more than I could have asked for.

A week after the wedding, Anthony didn’t come home from work. I called everyone I knew asking about him. His family said they didn’t know anything, which I knew was a lie.

A week later, Anthony came home – drunk, reeking of liquor and high on crack cocaine. HOW on earth had I missed the sign? How did I not see he was on crack?

I took my first beating that day for asking where he’d been and blowing up over the drugs. Drugs was something we had discussed many times and he knew – he knew – that I was adamantly against drugs of any sort. He knew I didn’t want it around me in any manner.

I felt I had made so many mistakes in my life that I just couldn’t face anyone that I’d made another mistake. I tried to talk to family about it. “Oh maybe it’s your imagination, you married him you better stay.”

After another beating, I went to the Sheriff. He said, “That’s the way it is in the valley, if you don’t like it, get out.” I realized without a job, without money, without anyone to help me, I was stuck in a no win situation.

Months passed. Each time my family would visit I felt refreshed. When they left I was deflated. I also had to endure questions if I had told them anything – meaning had I told them of his behavior. I would swear no, but he didn’t believe me.

One night, I got up and went to the bathroom – I got on my knees and prayed for God to guide me – to show me a way to a better life – and if I could survive the move I would never allow another individual to go through what I’d been through.

God heard that prayer. I was assisted in and out of a cab by the driver, I was too beat to move much on my own. I was assisted on to a plane which took me back to familiar territory. I wasn’t welcomed home by family. I had friends who helped me. Garry was accused of being my lover and that was very far from the truth. Cindy brought me blankets to keep warm, Kathy offered me love, a listening ear. Others helped as well. I got strong. I got a job. I made it in life. I studied battered women, I read every book I could get my hands on, I studied the batterer, I studied behavioral patterns and I prayed. I refused to allow this to ever happen to me or someone I loved, ever again.

I believe that a person’s passed, makes them what they are today. Through my experiences, I have been able to assist others – working in Women’s Shelters, acting as an expert in Murder trials of those who have been battered, of counseling clients – letting them realize that the abuser was just that – and it wasn’t always anything that they did or didn’t do, I’ve been so blessed in my journey – so much so that I wouldn’t take away the pains and hurts and tears I had – because it made me strong and who I am today.

God says we are to rejoice even in the turbulent times. I wasn’t rejoicing too much back then – in all honesty – but I rejoice today as the victor of a battle. I will rejoice in helping anyone get out of a bad relationship. I will rejoice even for the difficult times they are going through.

Rejoice. That’s a strange word when things are tough. Jesus said, “Cast all your burdens on me…” I think that if we did that more often than trying to carry them on our own shoulders life just may be a little easier for us.

I’m praying earnestly today for any individual who is in a bad relationship. I’m praying they will find the courage and strength to get out, before it is too late. I’m praying that they, too, will grow from the negative – to take those limes and turn it into limeade – to take the scraps of their lives and make a quilt to wrap themselves up in. And in the end, let them rejoice and be victorious.

Pass a good one.

Three Numbers

The Three Numbers

The Three Numbers

Ever glance at a clock and there are three consecutive numbers – like it’s !:11 or 2:22? Ever think about when folks die, it’s usually in threes?

My grandmother used to tell me that folks died in threes – because it was the way Jesus died – the one on each side of Jesus and Jesus. I never really paid a lot of attention to that, but I’m beginning to think she is right.

A few years back, Jess and I were weighing a business decision after Hurricane Rita had hit. We weren’t as devastated as most but we surely had our fair share and probably a little more of damages. It seemed every time something happened – it happened in threes. Three trees went down at once. Three properties were destroyed. Three animals died.

Times were very stressful. It seemed those three consecutive numbers would pop up during a time when I was afraid of something, frustrated or stressed. Each and every time there were three consecutive numbers. Threes. I sloughed it off to oddity.

Late one still night while the house was quiet, I was fervently praying and telling God I felt so alone. I was pouring my heart out about my fears and anger and desires. As if I’d turned on a radio a voice as clear as day said, “I’ve been telling you I am with you. I’ve given you the signs – we are the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost.”

The THREES!! God had been telling me all along that He was there with me! I have never looked at three consecutive numbers the same since that day.

God says even in our troubled times, He is there with us. He loves us. He protects us – even sometimes from ourselves!

Isn’t it wonderful to have a little sign from God reminding us of His presence?

Pass a good one!

Death

Death

I’ve had some very close family members and friends die. I thought for the longest that their deaths were so devastating that I couldn’t go on without them. My grandmother used to say, “you rejoice at death and cry at a birth”. I never really understood that until I got older.

Death comes in lots of forms. It is something that terminates us from the world we know it. We have death of friends or love ones, death or the ending of jobs we really liked, death of a pet and even death of a relationship.

I believe death of a loved one – should be like my grandmother said, “rejoiced”. I love when I hear “we are celebrating the Home going of” so and so. I close my eyes, I can hear the trumpets sounding, and I can hear the family and friends shouting with joy – welcoming the person home.

Someone once explained to me, years ago, that death was like a ship going to sea. There are people standing on the wharf – as the ship sails – people watch until there is nothing more than a spec in the horizon. Someone says, “There she goes.”

Then, on the other side of the world, there’s another crowd gathering on another shore. They are waiting patiently. All of a sudden, seeing a spec on the horizon, someone shouts, “THERE SHE IS!”

I’m thinking that is going to be pretty close to what death of a human is like.

Death of a relationship however is another story all in it’s on…many times that death cannot be resurrected. It takes two people working to mend the fences and rebuild the relationship. One cannot do it alone. It’s sort of like a team of oxen that pulls the load together. If only one ox is pulling and the other is standing still, the load is a heavy burden for the one oxen working and pulling.

I believe that death of a relationship may be harder to get over. We often question “what did we do wrong?” or “What could I have done differently.” We brow beat ourselves. Many take on the burden that “if I’d have done this or that differently, just maybe.” I’ve heard Preachers say, “You just aren’t being submissive enough.” I think the submissiveness should be to God, not the devil. We do not have the power to change another person’s thoughts, desires, nor attitude. The change has to come from them.

When relationships die, many times, if the relationship is between a couple, the powerful one will dominate, possibly control, possibly be abusive whether it is in words, actions or deeds. No one deserves to be abused in any manner. It’s best to walk away, with the grace of a woman and not the grief of a child. Accept the ending, not as the end of life, but the beginning of learning who you really are, what God’s purpose for you really is, and walking the walk.

When a relationship is dead – it’s dead – I firmly believe that. And, I do not think that there is anything more frustrating or heartbreaking than to see relationships fail.

I’ve heard Preachers pound the pulpit saying that God abhors divorce. Maybe. But I don’t believe our God wants us to be unhappy either. The one oxen working will eventually lie down – either from tiredness or boredom or giving up. In walking away, or laying down, there is renewed hope of finding one’s self, of having a closer walk with God or saving their own life.

There is one awesome thing to remember about death of a human -when a Christian dies on earth – he has a Heavenly home waiting for him! A Christian on earth is only preparing himself for the real life – the real deal – the life ever after. In life, we exist – we eat, sleep, breathe, pay taxes, do as the law says, have a little fun now and then – but, when we make it to Heaven, what a day of rejoicing that will be!

Death as we know it, will be no more. If you’ve not opened your heart to Jesus Christ, I pray you do so. Jesus said, “I am the way, the truth and the light, no man shall come unto the Father, except by me.” I’m looking forward to the Home Going!

Pass a good one!

Honey

Honey

Several years ago, after my divorce, I started a small sewing and alterations business out of the house. I also taught sewing, in my house – with no more than 6-8 students at a time. My Saturday morning class was my favorite one. We’d make huge cat-head biscuits, saw mill gravy and sausage. We’d feast out, and sew. I think they even learned more than the rest of my classes did.

One of my student’s, became a very good friend, as did her husband. Willie Mae and Honey are like family to me. I’ve always said, “we are born into a family, but family is what you end up with in the end.”

I found my house on Park Street. Honey wasn’t too keen on the idea of me being in that neighborhood, because it was close to the River where he worked as a longshoreman, and he knew the elements there. Honey wasn’t one to tell a person what to do, but he had a way of talking to you and sharing scripture with you that would help you figure out what was right and what was wrong in what you were doing.

My days and nights for the first years living there were turbulent. Prostitution, drug dealings, shootings, it all took place. Honey once told me that he was wearing out his knee pads praying for me – because I was” just crazy enough not to take anything off of anyone. “

Honey also told me, “when you get older you pray the prayers you should’ve been praying all along.”

Honey passed a few years back. But the legacy in my life he left will never be forgotten. He was my “let’s go to Breaux Bridge and get cracklins” road buddy. He was my prayer warrior. He was my angel on earth. He always knew when I need him.

One day, while away from my office, he showed up with a fruit basket. My new secretary, Judy, had not a clue as to who he was. To her, he was a well dressed, nice black man. “May I tell her who this is from?” she asked. “Sure, her Honey.” He said with a big ol’ smile and turned and walked out. Now, Judy knew I was married. She had all sorts of thoughts conjuring in her mind until I got back.

“LinMarie, I don’t really like working for someone who is having an affair, I don’t think I want to get involved in that.” She shyly said.

“Ok that’s fine.” I said nonchalantly.

“Well these are from “your honey”

“OH wonderful did Willie Mae come with him?” You could see the real confusion until it was explained Honey was my angel.

Do you have a friend, who will stop what they are doing when you need to talk? Or one that prays for you even when you don’t think you need it? If you do, then you are truly blessed. If you don't I sure hope you find one!

I had such a friend in Honey. He would sit on the front porch of his house early in the morning reading his Bible. I would sometimes go over early just to hear the word and what he was going to teach me that day. Many times, Willie Mae may have already gone to work or still been sleeping. It was my time, with my friend – my praying friend – my angel on earth.

I miss him so much. There isn’t a day that goes by I don’t think of him. I miss sharing the sweet potato pie or the coconut cake – but most of all – I miss his singing and hearing him pray. Honey died praying. What an inspiration he was to all who knew him. And, on the days, when I need to think smart – I wear one of his hats that Willie Mae gave me. I’ve almost worn that hat out wearing it so much. It’s a material thing, but it’s something that keeps me ever so close tangibly to Honey.

I want to be a witness like he was for others. I want to be a helpful praying friend. I think that’s what we all are suppose to be. I want to be able to be a person that through the spirit can guide people when they need it or until their feet can get back on the ground. There’s always someone who has more difficulties than we do. Let’s not forget to be prayer warriors. Remember the Burl Ives song, “Central’s never busy, always on the line, I can talk to Heaven almost any time, tis a royal service built for one and all …..” Pass a good one!

Staying In The Lines

Staying in the Lines


Most all parents and grandparents proudly display the “art work” that the little ones bring home from church or school or day care on the refrigerator. Though I don’t have little ones who regularly bring me “art work”, I treasure what I get and I'm still guilty as charged of doing the same.

I love getting "art work" from little ones. My little buddy, Brendyn, loves to draw - and color - and cut - and paste. For a five year old, he is learning to "stay in the lines". The more he colors, the better he gets. He “practices daily”. He experiments with different colors, adding some blue with yellow and learning it makes a green color. He tells me of different "colors" or "paints" that he likes to use. He amazes me at how serious he takes his “art”

He comes from a line of artists - his grandmother and his uncle were proficient artists- but that doesn't make him an artist in his own right, yet. With practice, he will get there. Just as going to church doesn’t make us a Christian, Brendyn’s family background doesn’t make him an artist. He still, however, signs his name to each piece as if he were Rembrandt.

Our life is like a canvass. We can chose to have vibrant rich colors showing our life to be full and an adventure or we can chose the dull, drab colors which will show sadness and sorrow. We can paint our world as we chose. We are the artist. Jesus was an artist – a carpenter. I think that any form of working with your hands makes you an artist. The song says, “He is the potter, I am the clay…mold me and make me…”

Just like Brendyn, each day a Christian learns to “stay in the line”.

Life is a process of learning. We learn by education, by reading, studying God’s word and practicing what we’ve learned. We learn what God’s expectations are of us. We learn to “stay in the line” and we learn to let God mold us and make us what he wants us to be.

Perhaps we can learn from Brendyn, to "stay in the line" and keep our lives on track. We are never too old to learn to be better at life, to be better people, more caring, more understanding and more loving - and we can learn, even from a five year old. Pass a good one.. ya’ll.