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Monday, June 27, 2016

I Always Said I Wanted to Time Travel...

I've often said I wanted to just go back in time for one day.

Maybe a few different days along my timeline.

I wouldn't relive major moments, trips, or celebrations.

I would just want a do-over of a random Tuesday morning circa 1995 with four babies running around (and definitely Ms. Thelma by my side) or a Saturday evening circa 1979 in front of the fireplace with Mom rolling our hair for church the next morning while The Love Boat played in the background.

I'd even sit through a legal pad dinner circa 1985 just to have one more meal with my original nuclear family.

Did anyone else have those?

After a lovely meal prepared by mom, my dad would retreat to his room and return with the big yellow legal pad.

Our lists of offenses would be read off (there are no Miranda rights for wayward teens) and a plea would be entered. It really didn't matter what your plea was because if the yellow legal pad was there, you were guilty.
Your best option was a heartfelt apology and a hearty plea bargain.

After the agreement was reached, you signed your name and the contract went into Dad's top dresser drawer. You know the one. It has more IOU's than a Swiss bank.

Yep, I'd even sit through one of those.

I just want to have one Emily Webb day. You all know Emily, the heroine in Our Town who realizes what we all do just a moment too late. That by the time we realize how precious life is, how we should've treasured every moment, we've already missed it.

I can appreciate my strong upbringing, or my beautiful children, or even an incredible education. But only in hindsight.

I can't go back and fully appreciate in the moment, as it was happening.

And I've always wanted to.

But I felt like I'd entered a time machine last week.

Because I ran smack dab into 17-year-old self on the streets of Pascagoula.

We'll call her Sophie and not only did she LOOK like me, she sounded just like me as well.

In fact, I cut her off after the first three minutes of her well-rehearsed manipulation speech.

"Not only do I know you," I told her, "I WAS you."

Of course, the lithe blonde eyed this overweight forty-something woman with trepidation.

Yeah, um, right.

She borrowed my phone as she called her grandfather with some cockamamie story.

Check.

She played the victim as she explained how through no fault of her own she wound up on the streets.

Check.

She insisted in that drug-fueled rapid speech that she was completely sober.

Check.

Forget, there's nothing new under the sun.

There was nothing new under the roof of my van!

I don't like to engage in war stories. They do nothing to further the kingdom of God.

But this girl needed to know that I'd been there, done that.

So I shared a couple of stories.

The mask fell away from her boyfriend's face immediately.

He got it.

He knew that I understood.

Furthermore, he realized that not only had I seen past the game, I was still actually helping them.

You can always feel that little shift in the spiritual realm when that happens. The whole world appears just a little brighter for a moment.

Sophie was a tougher nut to crack.

She peeked out from behind her mask and quickly retreated back.

She's been running from me ever since.

I hardly know this girl and yet I know her completely.

Pray for her.

She needs an army of prayer warriors.

Saturday, June 18, 2016

Suicide

When someone commits suicide there are usually two distinct groups that emerge in the aftermath:

...the ones that have experienced similar turmoil firsthand and know exactly why someone could take their own life...

and

...the ones who cannot imagine what could be so bad, or how a person could be so selfish, as to take this "easy" way out...

I'm going to share my story in the hopes that BOTH groups will understand suicide a little better and that together we can fight this battle.

Driving home to Louisiana this week to take my mom to have a little minor surgery, I crossed the familiar bridge that goes into Krotz Springs. I've probably traveled over that bridge a thousand times in my lifetime, white-knuckling over half of them.

Quite simply, it was all I could do to not drive my car off the side of it.

I could never understand why.

The desire to drive off the bridge would completely overwhelm me and it didn't matter if I was happy, sad, sober, or high...from the time I could drive, bridges brought about a pounding in my heart so severe I'd literally hold my breath until I reached the other side.

Even after salvation, the feeling was there, albeit not as strong.

It confused me.

By then I was happy, healthy, and serving God.

So why was that still in the back of my mind?

It would finally become clear.

As a child I had nightmares about bridges. I also was molested. I believe that those two events were no mere coincidences in my subsequent battle with suicidal thoughts over bridges; however, even if I was an innocent victim when that door was opened, I later blew it off the hinges.

Sin and manipulation go hand in hand, and as a young teenager, I was well-versed in both.

When caught doing something wrong by my parents, I'd threaten to commit suicide to lessen my punishment.

I wasn't suicidal at all. Just conniving.

But life and death are in the power of the tongue and you can't profess something without it taking root.

Soon enough, the suicide battle became real.

Break-ups, failed projects, financial struggles...suicidal thoughts began to enter more freely.

Drug-induced states fueled the fire.

I wrote poetry about suicide.

I fantasized about it.

It was ALWAYS the last resort.

There were a few half-hearted attempts.

Less a cry for attention than a desire to "temporarily" die.

There were two full-out attempts that didn't succeed only by the grace of God.

Then my life changed.

The drugs were gone.

The depression was gone.

I was serving God.

Yet I still panicked a little going over bridges.

And sometimes, especially after a fight with one of my loved ones, those suicidal thoughts were still so strong.

A decade in the wilderness didn't do much for my relationship with the Lord.

I was, at best, a lukewarm Christian. One with his hand to the plow.

And the house that had been swept clean was getting filthy again.

Then came complete surrender.

And another house cleaning.

I let go of everything. Guilt, anger, hurt, resentment...

Some of those things I'd let back in.

But some had never left the first time.

I was feeling free indeed.

And then my husband and I had a small spat over something so insignificant that I can't remember what it was.

I walked outside.

I remember thinking how glad I was that taking a pill hadn't been my first thought. (For years it was and I hated that. Realizing that was a spiritual battle had been the first step to overcoming it.)

But just then a car came by and the urge to throw myself in front of it was so strong that it literally dropped me to my knees.

In that instant, I understood.

It was a spirit of suicide and it had been with me almost my entire life.

The dreams, the bridges, the thoughts, the attempts...it all made sense.

I immediately spoke to the spirit, "In the name of Jesus, I rebuke the spirit of suicide in my life. You have no place, you have no rights. You have to leave."

There was no show, no commotion...just a quiet conversation between me and what had sought to destroy me my whole life. What came in through sin done TO me but grew in power by choices I made on my own.

There was no evidence that it left right then.

But I had faith.

So I moved on and didn't even think about it again.

Until the next time I went over a bridge.

And nothing happened.

NOTHING.

It wasn't until I reached the other side that I realized the gripping fear or even the slightest inkling to veer off was gone.

I realized then that I had lived with a spirit of suicide almost my entire life.

I knew that the bridge nightmares were planted by the devil as well.

And I understood why, even in times of joy, there was always that little nagging thought. Especially when I encountered bridges.

Suicide isn't something people like to talk about.

Loved ones left behind are angry and confused.

Those contemplating suicide are lost in a myriad of emotions.

They either don't talk about it or they talk about it so much that no-one wants to hear anymore.

We must recognize suicide for what it is, a tool of the devil to destroy lives. An evil spirit trying to take lost people out of this world before they are saved and to take Christians out so that they cannot spread the gospel of Jesus Christ.

Satan is no respector of persons either. He will take out ANYONE he can. All he needs is someone to open the door.

And those doors can be opened easily...unforgiveness, guilt, shame, anger...you can be a victim of wrongdoing and still open the doors to sin by harboring anger and hate in your heart.

Desperate situations cause desperate thoughts.

Desperate thoughts leads to desperate actions.

We need to guard our hearts, our thoughts, our minds.

We need to pray for those who are struggling, particularly with depression.

And if you, or someone you know, has suicidal thoughts or tendencies, you need to rebuke the spirit in the name of Jesus.

As always, I can be reached by private or public message in the comments section below. Feel free to send prayer needs or to ask questions.

No-one should suffer in silence.

Because there is always hope.

On that I will claim to be an expert. Because I was sure that my life was completely hopeless and would never, ever be okay again.

Yet, here I am today with a heart so full of joy it literally feels like it could burst open.

Though the sorrow may last for the night, joy comes in the morning.

It might still be night for you, but morning is just around the corner.

Throw open the curtains!

Saturday, June 11, 2016

Constant Communion

The older you get, the shorter the time between middle of the night bathroom trips.

When combined my husband and I have accumulated over 100 years of life.

Which means there's a well-worn path between our bed and the potty.

Because I'm such a light sleeper I wake up every time he gets out of the bed.

And he wakes up because I have to move four dogs every time I get out of the bed.

Well, truthfully, I don't HAVE to move them but I do.

Because he's the pushover who lets them IN the bed at the hint of the slightest whimper.

He says they'll whine all night if he doesn't.

I say they'll get over it.

But I don't mind.

Because the truth is we both like the dogs being in the bed for vastly different reasons.

Sure there's the love and all but the truth is a little darker.

Remember our aforementioned ages?

He's older and gets quite cold at night. He claims his hands turn blue if they work their way out from under the corners.

I, on the other hand, sleep in a sauna.

Despite the AC set on 63 degrees (aside to the federal government: go ahead and try to regulate the ac units of menopausal women, I dare you!) AND a fan blowing directly on me, I still burn up at night.

And I do NOT want to be spooning.

So the dogs do the spooning for me and I insincerely complain that we can't snuggle anymore because of them.

It works for both of us.

But we still wake up multiple times during the night.

At this time, I should mention that we are often together throughout the day and when we aren't, we touch base via phone.

Our ministry, our church, outreach, even the brick company we manage...we work together and are both involved in every aspect equally.

So we are in constant communication.

Including throughout the night.

I realized this the other night on about the fifth trip to the bathroom.

We were having some random conversation and it hit me.

We are in constant communion.

Even asleep, we are still so in tune with each other that a conversation ignites automatically the moment we awake.

And while this is great, it also saddened me.

Not because our entire marriage hasn't been this way. (Really, whose has?)

But because this is how our relationship with the Lord should be.

And it isn't.

For many people, including me.

Oh, don't get me wrong.

My relationship with the Lord is stronger than ever.

And I talk to Him daily.

Sometimes many times throughout the day.

But sometimes a few days will pass when I'm so busy working FOR Him that I ignore Him completely.

I just forget.

I know, though, what constant communion with the Lord is like.

I've been there.

Going to sleep praying, waking up in the middle of the night feeling your spirit praising the Lord, waking up refreshed and alive....fyi, no pharmaceutical could ever touch the sleep you get in the Spirit....

But I don't stay there.

I really don't know why, except that I just get so busy.

And I don't make time for the one relationship that matters most.

Father, I pray that I will learn to stay in constant communion with You. To go to sleep talking to You and to remain close throughout the night. To wake up praising You and to continue to talk to You throughout the day. Not just when I need an answer or have a request, but when I drive. Or laugh. Or watch a bird fly across the sky. Help me to see You in everything I do. In everyone I help. And in everything I see. When I start to wander off, draw me back in. Hold me tight so that I won't forget that I'm nothing without You and nothing I do means anything if I don't have You. Amen.





God Speaks...in the baking goods aisle of Wal-Mart

I'm not very good with "extra" time.

There's always so much to be done that I don't like wasting time on things like showing up early.

Which means I'm usually five minutes late.

I probably should work on that.

However, I will say that most of my scheduled meetings with other organizations have women just like me and they, too, don't like to leave a single unproductive minute on the clock, so they're usually five minutes behind as well.

The street people have learned me well. They tell the newbies, "Look, dude...she'll get here when she gets here." Which makes me feel a little bad because I should be more careful with my time.

But then they add, "But if she said she was coming, she WILL be here." Which makes me feel good because I know that they trust me to honor my word.

My husband is not so understanding.

In fact, it drives him crazy that I will go find a 15-minute task if I have ten minutes to kill.

Like yesterday.

We were going to meet at the flea market owned by some of our friends to pick up some dishes and furniture for the three new families we moved into apartments last week. They were coming from the woods or shelters and had very little.

So this was important.

But he was in Mobile, an hour away, and I had to go to the UPS store.

Finishing my errands in 15 minutes, I certainly couldn't give up 45 whole minutes waiting for him to arrive.

I needed to pick up a few groceries, including the items to make Sunday lunches for the homeless coming to church Sunday.

So I went to Wal-Mart.

Now, a bit of miscommunication occurred because I thought my husband was going to call me when he neared Pascagoula. He thought, erroneously, that I was going to already be there since I had finished all of my errands.

And we both got tied up with ministry.

He was on the phone with two of our ailing church members, struggling under the weight of extensive health burdens.

I ran into Mickey, an older gentleman who basically lives on the bench right inside Wal-Mart.

I've known him for about a year and a half now, learning his story when we did the homeless census in 2015.

He's been in and out of the hospital for the last few months, dividing his time between the doctors' offices and Wal-Mart, sleeping on a couch at a friend's house at night.

Like many couch surfers, he is required to leave during the day.

I'd gone up to the hospital to sit with him a couple of weeks while he had surgery, but his surgery date had been moved when I arrived. He doesn't have a phone so I wasn't able to get the new date.

So there he was when I walked in and we caught up.

And I discovered that he was trying to get on disability, but had been denied.

Because he owns land.

He also once had a home on said land but it burned down and he's been homeless ever since.

He had no insurance.

So he borrowed my phone to call an attorney that someone had recommended.

Giving her all the information, she took my number down and told me she'd call me back. I assured her I'd get the message to Mickey.

I was in the dog food aisle when she called.

"He needs to put up a tent on his land and claim it as his permanent residence," she told me. "That way it won't count against him."

She then told me he would need someone to help him go through the process because he seemed to have limited understanding.

I offered to bring him to her office for an appointment.

"Oh no. He doesn't need to pay attorney fees for something so simple. We don't want to decrease his benefits."

Shock and awe, dear readers. Shock and awe.

As I moved on to get the rest of my groceries, my husband called.

"Where are you?"

"At Wal-Mart."

(Insert the typical, I thought..but you said...conversation that occurs between spouses...)

"I'm hurrying," I said as I quickly went to get a canister of sugar for the Coffee Room at church.

Scanning up and down the sugar aisle, I couldn't find it anywhere. I was right next to the shelf and frantically searching.

Remembering a previous search for the sugar on the coffee aisle, I was pretty sure it had ended with me realizing coffee and creamer were on one aisle, the sugar was on another.

But it wasn't there.

Did they move it?

I was getting frustrated.

I needed to hurry.

I looked again.

Where is it?

I played out a potential argument of my time management skills.

I imagined our friends thinking I didn't care or wasn't grateful for the items they were donating because it was taking me so long to get there.

And then He spoke.

TAKE A DEEP BREATH. TAKE A STEP BACK AND LOOK.

I did just that.

As soon as I stepped back and calmed down, I got a whole new perspective.

And there it was.

Right on the edge of the sugar display, unable to see even in my peripheral vision at such a close proximity.

I had been just too close to see it.

The message was obvious.

We get so wrapped up in a problem or situation that we can no longer see the whole picture.

It may be our own struggle, or a struggle we are trying to help a loved one through.

20/20 vision isn't attainable with your nose pressed against the screen.

Literally or figuratively.

Take a deep breath. Step back and look....

We should learn to do that with EVERYTHING.


Friday, June 10, 2016

Learned Behaviors

We've all heard of learned behaviors.

Also known as mimicking, it's when a person emulates the behavior of those around them.

Children, especially, are prone to picking up these traits from those closest to them, usually the parents.

My husband and I started discussing this the other day when we found out that Katie, our new, young mother on the streets, was herself raised on the streets as her mom went from man to man.

It is a pattern she knows well, and one she continues to repeat.

We believe with help, guidance, some healthy modeling, and a lot of prayer, we can help Katie to break the patterns that are so familiar to her.

That got us to thinking about other learned behaviors.

And how so much of what we see on the streets is learned behaviors.

But it isn't limited to the streets.

Even in church we see the children emulating the behavior of the parents.

Then the revelation came.

Learned behaviors are often associated with negative choices.

But learned behaviors can be positive as well.

From healthy hygiene habits to your prayer life, what you model in front of your children (whether they're newborn or grandparents themselves) creates learned behavior patterns that they will likely emulate.

Though the impact on their lives decreases dramatically once they are no longer living under your roof, don't completely dismiss your influence.

Got saved after your kids were grown? They are watching. Don't waste time lamenting what could have been. All that will do is destroy your testimony today.

Move on and rejoice that there's still time.

What kind of learned behaviors are those around you picking up?

Do coworkers see you as the calm in the midst of a storm?

What about your kids?

Do you have them brush and floss daily, but forget to remind them to pray?

The  behavior you model will be emulated by someone.

What kind of  behavior will that be?

Thursday, June 9, 2016

How good is YOUR connection?

I've wanted to write all week.

It has been an AMAZING last couple of weeks.

I moved three people off the streets and into apartments. I'm working on two more.

I built relationships with some people on the streets that I'd about written off as hopeless.

AND we are moving closer to our building plans both in town and on the church grounds.

So it has been exciting.

And I've had a lot to share.

Including the call from the social worker at the hospital.

She needed to discharge a homeless man who didn't seem to know (or wouldn't share) where he'd come from.

The psychiatrist ruled him schizophrenic.

I went to visit him to see if he was someone I recognized. (He wasn't.)

Part perseverance with equal parts stubbornness, I peppered him with questions to determine if he was evading criminal charges or truly confused.

He asked his own questions.

"What do you do?"

Thinking we'd already established that I was a minister, I flippantly answered, "Oh I just go up and down the streets meeting people."

"Oh, you're a solicitor..." he deduced.

Wait, what?!! No, I assured him.

I'm a preacher, not a prostitute!

I have GOT to start watching how I word things!

I continued my line of questioning. (Thanks, Dad, for all the detective lessons!)

I finally got the name of a place where he used to live in Leakesville, a town about 90 miles away.

Using my handy, dandy android, I googled it and discovered it was low-income housing for the elderly.

Finding a number, I called and asked if the complex manager could give me any information on a former tenant.

After speaking with him to confirm that she could talk to me, I listened incredulously as she told me he was a CURRENT resident and she'd just noticed that a note she'd put on his door on Memorial Day was still there. Residents thought he'd gone to visit relatives (of which he couldn't remember he had) and she was devastated to learn he'd been on the streets for two weeks before ending up in the hospital.

I alternated being crying tears of sorrow and tears of happiness.

I then called his mother and his sister, and was happy to learn that they are going to become more active in his care, having already known he was suffering from some form of dementia.

So all of this happened and I wanted to SHARE it with my loyal readers, my friends.

But it had rained.

And I live way way out in the country.

So my internet was down.

I had no connection.

It hindered me greatly; I was unable to blog, to check emails, to get on Facebook...

And I was excited when it finally came back up today.

But then it hit me.

What kind of connection do WE have?

Do we go out when there's a storm, only to resurface when all is well again?

Or worse, does it take awhile even after the sun comes out to begin serving God again?

Or do we hang in there, still providing service even in the midst of a storm?

Is it limited service? Or is the connection as strong in the valleys as it is on the mountaintops?

We don't need wires, or modems, or satellites to stay connected to God. There's no excuse for losing connection unless YOU break it.

So what kind of connection do YOU have?

 

Saturday, June 4, 2016

Want to Help?

My husband tells me I don't do a very good job of putting our needs out there.

It is a fine line.

I see the ministry posts on Facebook all the time. I need...I want...Can you...

And my feeling is: If God is in it, He will provide...

So what is OUR part?

I've literally had a need and gone to the mailbox to find an unexpected check before. So I know sometimes you don't have to do ANYTHING.

And then there are times (like last Friday) when I asked about getting someone a pair of glasses and was given a voucher to pay for them.

So there's a line there and despite my fear that social media is crossing that line, I am going to list some needs with some updates, including the THREE families that went from homeless to housed YESTERDAY!

Katie: My little baby's mama! Finally in an apartment. Power won't be on until Monday but a friend and local hotel owner is giving them a free room for the week-end and they will finally have their own place by Monday. I will worry a lot less about baby Kylie now. We are paying rent and utilities but they only have sporadic income for all other needs. Needs: crib, pots and pans, dishes, basic kitchen staples, toiletry items, cleaning supplies, diapers, wipes.

Gail: A new lady I met a couple of months ago who has been coming to church on Sundays. She needs a lot more help than just a new place, but her new apartment is a start. We are paying rent and utilities for her as well but she has no income while waiting on disability. Needs: living room furniture, dining table, pots and pans, toiletries, cleaning supplies, household decor (these low-income apartments need a little TLC and a lot of color to become HOMES), small area rugs, tv antenna, feminine hygiene products, food, cards of encouragement (Contact me for *real* name and address)

Shandra: Signed the lease yesterday on her new apartment. Some physical issues and family problems landed her in shelters for the last three years but she receives a disability check AND has been walking a mile to work three days a week for the last two months. (She says that after becoming temporarily paralyzed in 2011, she thanks God for every step she takes while walking to work.) Her birthday is Monday, her move-in date. Needs: household decor, dining table, dishes, pots and pans. (She is able to do a little more because she has some income and we are paying rent and utilities.)

I'd like to get to a point where I have huge baskets of "Move-In Supplies" (broom, mop, cleaning items, pots, pans, pot holders, etc.) but for now, we are just scrounging! I can get clothing vouchers but these organizations will not let them use the vouchers for household items.

I also have a huge need for funds for IDs and birth certificates. Baby Kylie is 4 months old today and I just discovered, without a birth certificate because it costs $15. (That changed since the 90's!) I'm mailing her form off Monday with a check. I paid out of my own pocket for three ids yesterday because they couldn't move in without them. This is a big hindrance on the streets.

If you have items to donate, please let me know.

If you wish to make a donation, either earmarked specifically for one of these ladies or for general use, please make a check out to: Power Ministries, 14701 Lily Orchard Rd. Moss Point, MS 39562...

Oh, and my BIGGEST need: I NEED A PASSENGER VAN!! I had people on the floor yesterday because my 8-seater isn't big enough! But the worst part was telling some the siblings of a young boy who'd been to church that I couldn't pick them up as well because (even with another car helping me) I didn't have enough room to add more people. It broke my heart and I'll admit, I did the "See? You KNOW this ain't right.." shoulder shrug to my Father when I drove off!

Here's the deal: There are people who think you should help the homeless with everything they need because they are less fortunate than you. Then there are those who think you shouldn't help them at all because they aren't helping themselves.

I used to get mad at both groups. Because they were both wrong.

But there also both right.

Again, it is a fine line.

One only visible through the eyes of the Lord.

My job is not to make it easier for them to stay on the streets. My job is to be a light, to witness, to help when I can, and to provide the tools they need to get out of their current situation. To provide the encouragement they need to WANT out of their current situation. If addiction is the reason they are homeless, then let's deal with the addiction. If it is depression, then let's work through that.

The bottom line is, I'm not helping "the homeless" of the world.

I'm helping individuals.