She Sits Alone

They clung to one another as one clings to a bit of debris in a storm-tossed sunken ship

That went down into the dark, cold abyss

they clung to one another as a child clings to a stuffed toy or a security blanket

Each drawing from the other what they didn’t get from their alcoholic or absent parent…

Two abandoned, wounded children, united in unholy matrimony…

A union of tension, unspoken words of grief buried too deep to even acknowledge…

Skeleton closet material for sure…

Abuses of all sorts…haunting the next generation…until someone stood up and said….

NO!!!

They clung to each other through the sibling rivalry that was more hidden abuses

They clung to each other through the teenage rebellion years

 through the drug addiction and yet another generation of alcoholism

they clung to each other through teen pregnancies

 through the deaths of children and grandchildren from drug overdoes

They clung to each other through old age..til one passed, leaving the other

To sit alone…with the memories of all the abuses never talked about

She sits alone…with all the memories

She sits alone, still in denial of how bad it really was…

She sits alone, a wrinkled old woman, with her made-up god and her made-up stories.

She sits alone and wonders where she went wrong…

She sits alone, waiting for her turn to meet her maker

She sits alone and wonders what could have been…

 if only

She, herself, was the one that said

NO!!!!!

Yom Kippur

What/Who am I to You, Yahweh?
King of Kings, Lord of Lords,
The Great I am that I am
Elohim above ALL Elohim
Why do you care for me?
As dirty and sinful as I am?
As many times as I fall
flat on my shameful face
because of these stubborn
ingrained
mindsets
behaviors
tumultuous feelings
manifesting as
 pride
 arrogance
selfishness

self this, self that

self-pity
self-rejection
self-centeredness
self-focused
self-neglect

self
self
self

deliver me from the bondage of

self…

You and only You can free me,
 forgive me
 purge me
 renew me
  regenerate me
 heal me…

resetting my soul

before all the trauma
drama
chaos

hijacking my heart
my brain,
my very soul

morphing me
into this self-absorbed
wounded animal,

 nursing my wounds…
creating a barrier around my heart
self-protecting
even from You, my Deliverer

Will I, even I?

be written in Your book of Life

or Your book of the dead?

Sukkot for The Woman at the Well

Sukkot with the Woman at the Well

Powerless…

over others opinion…

 of her…

she again found herself 

ostracized

rejected

dejected

alone…

while

others 

celebrate the most joyous feast days

together

Sukkot …

the feast of Tabernacles

the time of the Messiah’s birth

the looking forward to His return

when He will rule His Kingdom…

with an iron fist…

and a balance of love…

she

alone…void of love…

while others celebrate 

joyous…dancing, feasting,

reveling…

with one another…

she…

Woman at the Well…

despised Samaritan…

  faces yet another commanded moadim

alone…

every season, 

every feast day, 

she wonders…

and wonders,

hopes

 prays

this time it will be different

this time someone will take notice

of her poverty, of her loneliness

and love her

accept her

give her a place 

at their table

at their camp

at their fire

like He commanded them to…

but…

again…

not this year…

not this time…

not this moadim

not this feast

she, alone…

will face another void of love…

and turn…

to her Savior…

her Beloved…

and seek His face…

His love…

His acceptance…

because

she

too

belongs

to the King…

MDSW2022

My Father’s Daughter

My father

A child in a grown man's body
selfish, self-absorbed, fearful, hypervigilant
arrested development rendering him immature
stuck in another time, another era
that of a child, rejected, abandoned by 
his own parents...alone, in a house of death
as he calls it...
built by his grandpa's own hands...
a place I called home...
till I fled as a teen...pregnant
fearful, self absorbed, 
filled with the same stuff...
that of arrested development...
stunted maturity...

addicted, afflicted by the same haunting
sins...of our fathers handed down...
alcoholism, shame, rage, pain...
addicted to food, to anything
to numb, to hide, to die...
a slow death 

Yes, you are your father's daughter...
I hear Father say...
but...I want you to be 
My daughter...
filled with My characteristics
Let Me give you a new heart
with a right Spirit
Let Me empty you of all the dross
and fill you with My love...

Exodus 34:6
Berean Study Bible
Then the LORD passed in front of Moses and called out: “The LORD, the LORD God, is compassionate and gracious, slow to anger, abounding in loving devotion and faithfulness,

Source: https://bible.knowing-jesus.com/topics/Sins-Of-The-Fathers

JPS Tanakh 1917
The LORD is full of compassion and gracious, Slow to anger, and plenteous in mercy.

Nehemiah 9:17
They refused to listen and failed to remember the wonders You performed among them. They stiffened their necks and appointed a leader to return them to their bondage in Egypt. But You are a forgiving God, gracious and compassionate, slow to anger and rich in loving devotion, and You did not forsake them.

The Biblical Role of Women Part VIII

GRACE in TORAH

IMG_2794

Role of Women Main Page

It’s been a while since I’ve written under this title. Actually, I had planned to leave the original series with seven posts; but further study and the popularity of this series, has led me to conclude two things:

  1. The Creator, in these latter days, is restoring the role of women to HIS original design.
  2. Women are desperately seeking the freedom to live out their God-given purpose within the perfect and holy boundaries of the Torah (Bible).

I’ve received many emails in regard to my original seven posts. Some were cries of elation and jubilation at the prospect of real freedom and balance. Others were notes of skepticism or a fear of women taking over the assemblies. And a few were a mixture of both, but with a heart set on openness — a sort of  “let’s wait and see.”

In light of this…

View original post 3,815 more words

What To Do With Step 6 & Step 7 In Celebrate Recovery?

Celebrate Recovery at First Baptist Dallas

The men at First Baptist Dallas Celebrate Recovery are currently working Steps 6 and 7.

Step 6: We were entirely ready to have God remove all these defects of character.

Step 7: We humbly asked Him to remove all our shortcomings.

Principle 5: Voluntarily submit to every change God wants to make in my life and humbly ask Him to remove my character defects.

I’ve worked the 12 Steps seven times now, and I must admit, after writing my inventory and sharing it with my sponsor, these two steps seemed like “blow-off steps” to me, leading up to the big showdown called “Amends.” But, after so many times through the program, I have now come to see sweet rewards in these two steps. I like to think of them as the “prayer” steps.

My root causes for entering C.R. were pornography and racism. I am blessed to be sober from…

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The little Girl Who Wasn’t

She wasn’t wanted, she wasn’t loved

 (Or if she was no one remembered to tell her; to show her).

Once she thought she was….

And she would laugh and go to meet her daddy in the evening.

But then a stranger came and took her daddy’s place.

(Does it matter if he looked the same or not?)

Soon she learned to hide in the evening time.

Soon she learned that little girls are only safe when no one but God is around.

(Does God even want me?)

So soon she learned that little girls must not exist, if they will survive.

(And somehow she will survive.)

So the years went by and the little girl who wasn’t became

A woman who couldn’t live; because she was lost in the tower of survival.

The little girl who wasn’t became a stranger to herself….

Deep inside the tower walls still lived the little girl who once was,

The little girl who dared to hope in hope.

(Not quite brave enough to hope in life itself.)

 One day Life came to love her…and love her…and love her.

Then the tower fell down, and

A still frightened, but hopeful little girl came out.

The little girl who wasn’t became the little girl who is….

And the little girl who is became

The daughter of Life.

(Copyright April 2013, PG Morrison. Not to be copied without permission)

The Last Husband

img_20190111_113019 The faded flowers of bouquets sent as a peace offering are now merely tattered remnants of empty apologies

 

 

The bridal suite was exquisite, the adjourning bath with jacuzzi enviable. My Mary Kay bridesmaid attentively and artistically created a beautiful portrait of my then young face. The hairdresser created a beautiful hairdo, weaving together a creation worthy of a princess. That is how  I felt that day. Like a princess. Hopeful that the hard life behind me was just that, behind me. Faded like a distorted photograph of a former life.

Close friends came and went, oohing and aahing over the gorgeous fit-for-a- princess wedding dress, the expensive wedding suite, all the amenities that came with it, such as the luxurious bathroom equipt with a jacuzzi.

I was a nervous bride. I was trying hard not to be irritable, not wanting to be a  Bridezilla. I was supposed to be full of joy, wasn’t I? Wasn’t this suppose to be my day, the day of joy, celebrating finally finding the right man for me? The man I would spend the rest of my life with? So, why the deep sense of impending doom? “What is wrong with me” I kept wondering.

Looking back, I realize that the God-given gut instincts were at play… the instincts that I wanted so desperately to ignore, could not be ignored.  Those red flags that I ignored while engaged to be married to this man; all ignored. After all, everyone loved him, approved of him, encouraged me to walk through the rest of my life with him.

Not trusting myself, I trusted others. Some of those that I trusted were the annoying ones coming in and out of the bridal suite that fateful day…

Today, nine years later, we are divorced. Five years ago, it was final…Today, I struggle picking up the pieces of the shattered illusionary dream of wedded bliss, forever after, growing old together, walking on the Florida beaches in retirement, holding my Lovers hand…

this is what I would write to him today in a letter if I could…

To My Last Husband,

I still miss you…I miss us…the us I thought was the reality. I do not blame you for everything, it takes two. I have to own my part in it…I ignored my God given gut instinct. I could not hang in there while you figured out that you were an abuser and that the therapist was actually colluding with you. I could not stray while I was being destroyed physically and emotionally by the gaslighting and the verbal bullying. I tried, I kept leaving and I kept coming back, believing that this time it would be better, this time we can make it work.

 

Yes, I had a part in our mess. I kept trusting that you would get it, that you would make us safe again. But, you chose the colluding therapists, you chose to keep playing the game. It took me a while to figure out what was going on. All the accusations that I was the abuser threw me off, I started to believe you. I did not know that standing up for myself and reacting with outrage toward you was not abuse. I started to believe you and the colluding fly monkeys, that there was something wrong with me…that I was mentally deranged. delusional was the word you loved to say about me. After all, wasn’t me, as you loved to point out, that was on medication. You, being a very intelligent pharmacist, knew all about my medications. You feigned being so concerned about my welling being that you wanted to come to all my appointments and tell them how concerned you were.  I now realized what you were up to. My therapists told me you called them to let them know all my behaviors and how concerned you were about me. You were so good at manipulating that even the male therapist that worked in the local men’s battering program was almost convinced that it was me who was doing the abusing.

I could go on and on about all the things that came to light after I entered into the local Domestic Violence Shelter. I could write a book about the short time we were married. The 12 step inventory I found with the handwritten confession of all your abuse. Then the divorce papers with all the wonderful husbandly things you were still doing for me….yep, convincing. I had to laugh when I found out you were soliciting funds for the new housing program for victims of domestic violence while me, your wife, sat in a shelter for victims of domestic violence in order to save myself from complete mental breakdown from your abuse. The irony of it…

I miss my beloved Jack Russell Terrier. I must say, if I had been treated as well as you treated my dog, I would not have had to flee from your house. Yes, your house, After all, you reminded me quite a few times that it was your house. You never put my name on anything. You controlled everything.

I sit in poverty now. On disability. The trauma almost destroyed me completely. Funny, I sit here thinking back on our early days. I remember sitting in my living room, you across the room, so innocent, like the good Catholic man you portrayed yourself to be, saying “Poor poor baby, you have been through so much. You will never have to work again, you can heal from all the trauma of your past. You can write another book, go back to college, finish your degree,, take art classes, you can go to spas and have manicures and pedicures and just be pampered.

I am sure that you meant it.

However, after our extravagant honeymoon in Key West, where I was treated like a royal princess, things changed. Drastically. No longer were even interested in spending time with me. Suddenly, we were like strangers sharing a house. I felt uninvited, like an intruder. I had no idea the darkness that resided in that house your grandfather built I had no idea that your grandmother invited gypsy tea leaf readers that and had rented to a witch. I had no idea that you saw what you called gremlins. I had no idea that you also saw hooded creatures lurking at night around your bed. No. I had no clue that I had no clue. I didn’t know that I didn’t know about the darkened world of the occult. It almost convinced me to kill myself.

Thank you for the letter you sent to my parents admitting that you abused me causing me to leave you…so sad that my father still didn’t get it, nor my brother either, but, what could I expect from them, after all, they sure did their share of abusing me when I was growing up. They liked you and thought I was the abuser, they believed you above me. You sure were good with getting folks to collude with you and be your flying monkeys. Dad always said birds of a feather flock together. Maybe that is why the churches are so toxic.

I am grateful for the time I had with you. Even though at this point in my life, I will most likely not complete the college degree I at one time pursued, I have a Ph.D in narcissistic abuse syndrome, domestic abuse, and narcissism. Although at times  I truly did not want to go on living, Creator has a purpose in mind for my life. I lived to tell my story. You are only part of that story I lived to tell and an education that most will never have.

I am grateful for my time with you because I learned these following things:

Money does not buy happiness. Botox and fillers do not make a wife more attractive and cannot compete with addiction to the illusionary world of porn. Your porn problems were there before I ever came along. Your gambling addiction was there before I came along. Just because a person is sitting in 12 step meetings for years and not drink or use illegal drugs does not equate true recovery. I learned that narcissists fool most everyone, even experts. Most believers are clueless about domestic abuse, therefore will re-victimize the victim due to their chosen ignorance. I learned who my real friends are. Living the high life using credit cards can be a sign of gambling addiction.  I learned that abuse can be part of a person’s gambling addiction. I learned that you are a very broken person using the only coping mechanisms you know. I learned that we are all broken children in need of His healing power.  I learned that marriage is a serious covenant and that most of us do not understand what marriage is.  I learned not to believe people just because they verbalize a profession of faith in  Christ. I learned that I need to love myself and listen to what my God-given instincts are saying and not listen to humans that are so easily fooled by master manipulators. I learned to trust my Creator. I learned that I am very valuable and you were not worthy of me. I learned that Yeshua is my real husband and that He is my Provider, Healer, and Protector.