progression and obedience

another year passed. it was time to move again.

she did not ask about reuniting this time.

she moved in with a lovely, gentle woman in a narnia house in a new neighborhood.

many things remained the same. some things grew worse.

he was not truthful in much. he told her what he thought she wanted to hear.

she knew that he knew that she knew. he lied anyway.

she knew he didn’t go see the former lady friend to simply visit.

the lady at the park was likely a new source of sympathy. or money.

they went to a meeting where another man of god told of being raised from the dead.

the man looked into his eyes for a long time.

“it’s not too late for you,” he said. he did not respond.

she went to the local pool one weekend.

she finished a lap and rested on the edge of the pool.

she was so tired. no one could see she was crying in the water.

papa god began to speak.

“it is true that you would be further along in your relationship if he had made better choices. you have done all that i have asked you to do and more.

i need you to keep moving forward. your destiny depends on it.”

she sighed. it was true. all of it. she agreed.

she did not know what that looked like. she just said, ‘yes.’

things grew progressively worse with him. different than before. tenuous and tense.

soon, there was another conversation with papa god another weekend afternoon.

he was more serious this time. there was deep concern in his voice. concern for her.

“he can no longer have access to you until he is submitted to me. his negativity is killing you.”

he was right. her whole body was inflamed. her strength was depleted.

it would take several months to walk this out. but she did.

when the next move came, it was different than the others.

this move was thirty miles away.

he had no license, no car. there was no regular bus service.

he had no access.

this move brought her rest. she began to sleep at night. she began to heal.

she began to move forward into her destiny as papa god had promised.

there was progression through obedience.

it was a good move.

stinky garbage

she settled into the new place. again.

the neighborhood was sketchy.

drug dealers lived down the street.

she adapted. she was skilled in adapting.

conviction pricked at his soul for choices he’d made, things he blamed her for.

self-focus produces stinky garbage.

when he visited, he came wanting. he expected things.

food. money. sex.

wrong expectations are heavy yokes.

disappointment in wrong expectations is destructive.

he did not visit just to see her. he didn’t know how, and he had little to give.

he flipped words around to convince himself he was doing right.

somehow the blame frequently landed in her lap.

he told her she was selfish.

he spoke destructive words often.

sharp word knives pierced her heart.

she hardly remembered a time when he spoke kind words to her.

she nearly forgot who she was, how wonderful she was and to whom she belonged.

papa god reminded her.

she was smart. beautiful. creative. amazing. kind. generous. loving. gracious.

one friend referred to her as the graceful, glorious one. she liked that a lot.

his pain was so deep, his soul so broken, only hurtful words came out.

she tried to take a break from him. he became more anxious and fearful.

she saw in part what the little boy inside had experienced, how the man became so tormented years later.

she loved him well. he knew this.

sometimes he asked her why she put up with his shit.

she told him she saw more in him.

she told him she loved him. she showed him. often. even in the pain and destruction.

sometimes he would say he was no good for her.

she told him he could change that. jesus could heal him, make him whole.

he had passion. he was smart. he was funny.

she told him he was brilliant.

and on it went.

until it could not go on anymore.

real stability



while he was in jail, she was ordered to move away from him.

she moved in with a couple who needed extra income.

the wife was absent from the interview.

the husband said it would be fine. he was not truthful.

it was not fine.

the wife despised her. would not speak to her. did not want her in the kitchen. did not want her in the house at all. ugh.

she stayed in her room. her secret place. it was safe. it was peaceful.

there were issues.

the husband was afraid of the wife. the wife was angry, jealous. it was a mess. she prayed for them.

when they thought their money issues were resolved, they asked her to move out.

she began to look for a new place.

then they asked her to stay. she said no.

they reduced the rent. she stayed.

they asked her to leave again. she prepared to move.

roller coaster.

they asked her to stay again. they reduced the rent more.

she stayed again, buying time.

she knew she had to move.

she tried talking to him about moving back in together. he responded in defensive anger to avoid the topic. he would not commit. there it was.

he agreed to help her move.

on move day, he was unpleasant, surly, unhelpful, complaining. ugh.

these were common denominators whenever she asked anything of him.

he felt guilty and he did not like it.

it took more and more energy to be around him.

at the end of move day, he went off on her. loudly. always loudly.

it didn’t matter what it was. it just made her so tired.

she sobbed in exhaustion and frustration.

papa god said, “he is not worthy of you yet.”

she nodded her head in agreement.

he was right.

she knew he was her real stability.

it was enough.



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

admissions and explanations

he spent thirty days in jail.

he called her first when he got home.

caller id showed his name on her phone when it rang.

curled up in a ball crying, she let it go to voice mail.

she trembled as she listened to his message. then she was relieved.

he sounded normal. he begged her not to call the police. he just wanted to see her.

she called him back.

they arranged to meet. there was still love. there was still commitment.

they met the next evening at a park.

he rode up to her car on his bicycle.

her heart leaped when she saw him. he looked alive again. he looked good.

they cried as they embraced.

some tears were for sorrow, some for regret, some for loneliness.

after the embrace, she studied him.

his head was shaved. he was thinner.

she touched his left cheek with her right hand.

then it began to pour out of him. he was sorry for what he put her through.

in his darkest moments, he’d had little to no strength to resist the demons.

they told him he would not sleep without the little pink pills.

medications-342438__340 — photo credit: pixabay

each night, they fed him the same lie. the stronghold grew stronger.

each night, he went out to get the little pink pills.

sometimes he bought them. sometimes he stole them.

he got caught at one place. they banned him entry for a year.

he swallowed the little pink pills every night.

every night, he took more of them. twenty, thirty, fifty, eighty. he lost count.

he knew they were trying to kill him. they almost succeeded.

those little pink pills were never meant for sleep. they were only for allergies.

he had swallowed almost enough to die in the bed next to her.

one more night, and it might have been the end. he knew that. he said it.

he knew papa god saved his life by sending him to jail.

mercy saved his beloved son and daughter.

they wept together as he told the stories.

little pink pills laced with witchcraft have killed many.

they would not kill him.

he found little pink pills for months. they were hidden in secret places.

they were in the kitchen. they were in the bathroom. they were in the closets, they were in compartments in the car.

he destroyed them as he found them.

and he never took them again.

anger in the kitchen

anger was always hard for her.

anger. be angry. sin not. right.

as a child she was never allowed to be angry, to express feelings of empowerment.

she learned to stuff it. when she tried to express it, she was slapped. better to stuff it.

this was the same in some ways.

he did not care about breaking the restraining order.

he cared that she had not sent him to prison for two years.

he would not hear her side of stories they shared in the darkness.

she had no voice with him.

he said he was sorry. sorrow was absent.

he cared that he had been caught.

he was never really sorry.

he told stories about his jail time.

it was like a movie to him. glamorous. exciting. dangerous. stupid.

he took her into the city to the jail. he showed her his cell window.

he thought he saw her at the courthouse across the street one day.

he had. she testified and obtained a restraining order.

he said the other inmates talked about how they wanted to beat or kill the b*%*#*s that put them in jail.

he said he didn’t do that.

he said he talked about how sweet and kind she was.

she said nothing. she did not believe him.

he thought he was okay as long as he was a little bit better than the other guys.

he was never sorry for any of it.

his heart grew hard. he padlocked it shut.

he began to place blame elsewhere. his father. everything his father did was to blame now.

when that did not work, he placed blame elsewhere.

he blamed her.

her anger. it was still there, waiting to be released.

it was coming out, sometimes like a tea pot or a pressure cooker, a little steam at a time.

she was still patient, kind, longsuffering, forgiving.

but when the longsuffering ended, it ended.

then the steam came out a little more forcefully.

it enforced boundaries.

anger.

anger is good. productive. righteous.

be angry. sin not.

mercy

picking up every shattered piece seemed impossible.

jar-1902652__340 — photo credit: pixabay

where to begin. so many questions. uncertainty. fear.

god. he knew what was needed.

he had the plan before she knew she needed one.

worship was needed. worship was first. worship would carry her through this storm.

god sent a gift. a friend with concert tickets. worship concert tickets.

that friend showed up on time. they went. they worshipped.

god was still good, still on the throne. he still loved her. he still loved him

then came the grand jury. then came reduced charges. 30 days. restraining order.

then came feelings. anger. betrayal. loneliness. irritation.

why was the sentence so short?

why did she have to be the one to move?

and god help her. she missed him, that man who was really in there.

god. he showed her. mercy triumphs over judgment.

her heart shifted. the question came. what would she want for herself?

mercy.

he called her after 30 days in jail.

he broke the restraining order.

she went lower in humility. ‘father?’ she asked.

‘mercy,’ god said.

she did not turn him in.

mercy.

Definitions of mercy:

a: compassion or forbearance shown especially to an offender or to one subject to one’s power; also : lenient or compassionate treatment <begged for mercy>

Source: Meriam-Webster Online Dictionary

b: compassion for the miserable. Its object is misery. By the atoning sacrifice of Christ a way is open for the exercise of mercy towards the sons of men, in harmony with the demands of truth and righteousness ( Genesis 19:19 ; Exodus 20:6 ; Exodus 34:6 Exodus 34:7 ; Psalms 85:10 ; Psalms 86:15 Psalms 86:16 ). In Christ mercy and truth meet together. Mercy is also a Christian grace ( Matthew 5:7 ; 18:33-35 ).

Source: Easton’s Bible Dictionary

the aftermath

she sat in starbucks resting after giving her statement to the police.

out the window, she saw several officers drive away.

he was handcuffed in the back of their car.

it was over. he was gone.

relief washed over. she inhaled deep breaths.

my god, how had they arrived in this place?

ugh. the bank next door was on lock down. could it get worse?

police-862341__340 — photo credit: pixabay

she finished with the police. charges would be filed. serious charges.

she worked the rest of that day. it was a good distraction.

in her office, out loud, she tearfully proclaimed god would restore, somehow, some way.

he had to. he must. there were promises.

at home, the apartment seemed smaller, darker.

she walked the dog, and ate some dinner.

those twenty minutes played over and over again in her mind.

the tears flowed, the sobs came.

she asked god what to do. he said, “forgive.”

there was a movie for that. she watched, curled up in a ball crying.

he was safe now. no more nightly trips. the bars would protect him.

prison-553836__340 — photo credit: pixabay

he would not die but live.

she would live, too.

twenty minutes

twenty minutes can seem a lifetime.

that morning, he was in a rage, either still or again. it didn’t matter.

he drove her to work. she went into her office.

he sped away, tires screeching.

then he called her cell phone. she ignored it.

he called the office phone. once, twice, multiple times harassing her.

he was coming back and demanded she come outside.

not wanting to create a scene in her work, she agreed.

when she went to see what he wanted, he commanded her to get in the car.

she got in the car. with the door barely closed, he drove away.

clearly, what was going on with him had escalated to a new, extreme level.

in a matter of seconds, he had driven the car back onto the highway.

her attempts to escape the car were futile.

each time she tried, he reached across her body and held her back, pulling the door shut.

she screamed at him to let her out; he continued to threaten her.

he turned off the highway on to a side road with less traffic, less people to see, less people to help.

he had kidnapped her.

at one point, she realized the screaming she heard was her own voice.

how would she escape? she had to hear.

she quit screaming, going deep to the well of peace within.

she recalled jesus’ words. “no harm will come to you.”

he became quieter, too.

then, he revealed his need; it was money.

he drove the car to the bank. she was to get money for him.

hands shaking, she walked up to the atm.

to her horror, it was not over yet.

he appeared behind her to see her bank balance.

she quickly took her card back without taking cash out.

he grabbed her hand, bending her fingers backwards.

she pulled away, walking backwards until she was in front of the café windows.

the police gathered there almost daily.

she looked to the right through the windows for them. they were there.

tears streaming down her cheeks, she motioned with her hand for them to come to her.

she mouthed the words, “help me!” to them.

in a moment, it was over.

half of the officers took her to safety inside. the other half arrested him.

in that moment, mercy and grace had come to save not only her life, but his, as well.

increasing tension

los-angeles-1396606__340 — photo credit: pixabay

months had passed since his evening trips began.

tension increased daily.

peace was rare those days, laughter even more so.

she found solace at work.

his actions had profoundly affected his mind, his rest, his sleep.

he did not sleep. he did not rest. he was not well.

rage was his constant companion.

his face was dark, his features angry.

he did not speak.

asking questions was futile.

the situation grew worse.

one morning, an ugly demon took over his body and his voice on the commute to the city.

this demon was fear.

it taunted and threatened her.

she shrunk closer to the passenger door, looking straight ahead.

tears ran down her cheeks as it threatened to throw her out of the car.

she did not respond.

it told her it would make her disappear, that no one would ever find her body or any trace of her.

silently, she thought, ‘jesus, help.’

the tipping point was approaching.

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Dio (God) is forte (strong) and presente (present) in every pasticcio (mess)