The Soul of a Family

Image result for blank faces of peopleThe soul of a mother is her mind, her will, and her emotions.  The soul of a family is the familiarity they share in those areas with their mother.  

I once had a family. I dreamed of them long before they existed, and I planned for their lives to be all cookies and milk.  

Now they have come and they have gone. Their lives included as much cookies and milk as it was possible for me to provide. Then they were stolen willingly. Gone as though they never were mine at all. But I am still here… alone.

I look back over my life and wonder what it would be like IF… But I know it would be no different because all of the “ifs” are impossible–since I was true to myself already and could not have possibly exercised any of the “ifs” I can think of now.

Entitlement is a powerful word. It means to have a right to something, and that makes sense and seems correct; however, entitlement can be twisted through a belief that one is inherently deserving of a privilege to just take that which belongs to another. My mother, my ex-husband, my sister, and my friend all feel entitled to take up threads of my life and start pulling the strings as if they were their own.

My life has been invaded by entitlement believers. I can’t help but notice that each of these people have money.  Each of these people uses their money to win the hearts and lives of others through gifts and entreats. They have to know that they are stealing love and relationships that belong to another.  

I remember the first time I ever saw someone unrelated to me do this to another. She actually stole a dying woman’s daughter and grandchild–while making noises of how sorry she was that they woman was dying. I watched her do the whole thing, and I was powerless to do anything and dumbfounded as well. 

I can’t help but notice that each of these people have money.  Each of these people uses their money to win the hearts and lives of others through gifts and entreats. Their demonstrated abilities to appropriate anything and anyone they want have been devastating to me with a deepening, penetrating, fiercely painful force that has reamed out my insides and laid siege to my heart. 

They have stolen things and moments and love that I can never get back. They have left me bleeding and dying in the emptiness of my own soul. And I do nothing about it. I just accept it as–that is how it is.

Sometimes, like this morning, it comes to a head, and the reality of it begins reaming out my insides again. My heart hurts beyond medical ability, spiritual ability, or any other ability to sooth its oozing pain. I was on FaceBook, and I saw all of the family photos from Thanksgiving.  

I saw the family I gave birth to and raised, giving love, companionship, making memories, sharing, enjoying, and joyful in the house of the man they call, “father,” who made their childhood anything but cookies and milk.

With the flash of each photo’s invasion into my heart and my mind, I felt more sickened and more defeated and more rejected than I ever thought possible. Given the ravages of time that has passed since my three daughters began this horrible tradition of including their husbands and families with their father–leaving me out–in much the same way they would do if I had died–which I have wished and wanted for myself, but it never comes.

Given the ravages of time that have passed since my three daughters began this horrible tradition of including their husbands and families with their father on Thanksgiving–leaving me out–in much the same way they would do if I had died–I have wished and wanted to die, but it never comes.

My self-sacrifice and my determination to protect them from the effects of domestic violence have culminated in a tragedy, whereby the horror of violent abnormality continues as though it were normal.  

I am guilty. I pretended like it was not happening, and afterward, I pretended like it didn’t happen. So they have followed my pretense, and because I was treated as less than human by their father–they now see that as normal too. My grandchildren and great grandchildren are all oblivious to the unreality of this family, this horrible Thanksgiving ruse.

Now they have generational photos with a man they call, “father,” who tore our home and family to pieces with violence that cannot adequately be described. A man who abused them and inexplicably beat and broke their mother–body and soul–almost to death–while destroying furniture, treasured things, and even Christmas trees along the way.  A father who could only be contained by calling the police. A father who hated the four of us with a hate that inspired him to start a fire in our garage while we all slept.  A father who could not support us–who wanted no time with us–who refused, after our divorce, to see them unless I brought them to his apartment. A father who often called to say he was coming, and never did…

He is now the head of this beautiful family–and I am left with nothing because in taking my family–it feels like he has stolen my soul as well.  

He is the birth father of this family, but he did not raise them. He did not suffer through all they needed to grow into the strong women they are. He ran from us all–until they began to bloom, and then he began to cultivate them–and I saw myself as powerless…  

They have made their choices. And I was not the recipient. Instead of self-pity, I push this away and work on focusing toward joy, peace, and all that Christ has done for me.

However, the pain, I normally keep at bay, has sparked a bonfire and invaded my heart today, and it has succeeded in soaking every inch of it. Nothing I do to try and get free is working; not even confession. It is a lump in my chest that will not go away because my heart has gone from red to dark, dark burgundy, and it is darkening still.  

I trust in God; I trust in God; I trust in God; I trust in God; and still… I trust in God…

I walk in the shadow of a soul;

I draw the curtain back with words,

Which spawn new joy each day;

I receive His salve for my heart;

And I look forward as I travel the Narrow Way.

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Faith Begins When The Will of God is Known

117 Bridgeview

It is by grace through faith and not of human works, struggling and inventing endless ideas to try and fix circumstances beyond our control that we succeed.

In the summer of 2003 my life became without form and seemed to be an empty place, as I felt darkness closing in around me.  In the month of June that year I lost my home; I lost my car; I lost my job; I lost my lifestyle and I lost  much of my possessions.  I even lost the companionship of my little dog for a time as he went to live with friends until I could figure out what to do next.  I could no longer keep my horse in the stable where I was boarding him, and I had no idea where to begin looking for a situation for him.

The truth that God has given us everything we need for life and godliness through our knowledge of Him, as He tells us in 2Peter 1 of His Word, is exactly the life raft I needed.  He specifically shows us how to tap into to all that He has for us.  This, I discovered, is worth selling all you have in order to buy the field where the treasure is buried.

When I look back, sometimes I marvel that the forgiveness and joy I now have in my heart is so utterly complete.  I know I did not accomplish this alone.  I know it was the precious Holy Spirit.  I don’t have one negative feeling toward anyone.  I have only love.

I do not have any bitterness or resentment in my heart for what has happened to me.  God has shown me how—instead—to comfort others with the same comfort  I have received from Him.

This year in June, 2015, it will be twelve years since I found myself one step from being homeless in this natural realm here on earth.  However, wisdom has shown me I was never homeless in the Kingdom of God.  I just needed my Lord to show me that I was running hard and fast on the wrong road.

I needed my Father to remind me that only He could lay the foundation of my future.  I needed to trust Him and to run seeking first the Kingdom of God so I could begin receiving all that He has for me.



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What Does It Mean to be a Parent?

What does it mean to be a parent?

by Ann Dillard, June 16, 2013,, RePosted by Permission
             I have no natural children and I always thought that I would have. It was my dream as a young woman to be married to the same man all my life and to have many children. You see, I love children. I love working with them, teaching them and relating to them. I am a giver to children and a lover to a man. But you can’t be a lover to man, if he doesn’t know how to separate being a parent and being a husband, or if he isn’t a ‘real man’.  HA!

         I always knew the relationship begins and ends with the man and woman(husband and wife) that children are secondary to this relationship…as in this observance is one of the most powerful and influential ways children learn to relate and especially to that of the opposite sex.

Fortunately, early on, I realized that if I was unhappy in a marriage with a man whom I came to lose admiration for, came to loath his habits, his character, and his life-style, that this was not a man whom I would want to have children with. So, I didn’t. I got out of the marriage, instead of bringing a child into it. Unlike some women, and also some men, who ‘think’, if we have a baby, it will make everything better, as this rarely is the case because a child’s needs only serve to make things more obvious and extreme. Therefore, in many cases worse, and I instinctively knew this.

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18th Anniversary of the Violence Against Women Act


White House Blog
RePosted by ShariLee Beynon a/k/a AmmaLee

On September 13, 1994, President Bill Clinton signed the Violence Against Women Act (VAWA) into law. This groundbreaking legislation was the result of many years of dedication by women’s advocates and the incredible leadership of then-Senator Biden.

I was working as an advocate in Florida, and I remember it well. For those of us on the frontlines, that was the day everything changed. No longer did we stand alone in the fight to end rape and battering. Finally, we had validation from the highest levels of our government that violence against women was a national crisis and a high priority. From that day forward, our local hotlines were inundated with calls from victims who felt they could finally step forward and seek help.

Over the next decade, advocates and policy-makers developed powerful alliances to implement the new law. In Florida, VAWA funding helped start domestic violence task forces in rural communities where services were nonexistent. In the isolated mountains of Tennessee, VAWA brought medical and crisis services to rape victims. In Michigan, legal advocates helped victims obtain protective orders. In West Virginia, in the first case prosecuted under VAWA’s new federal crimes, an offender was convicted of interstate domestic violence and kidnapping after beating his wife to unconsciousness and driving her around in the trunk of his car for six days while she was critically injured. Read the rest of this entry

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“Let God be magnified, who has pleasure in the prosperity of His servants” (Psalm 35:27b).

“I call heaven and earth to witness this day against you that I have set before you life and death, the blessings and the curses; therefore choose life, that you and your descendants may live” (Deuteronomy 30:19)


Some friends of mine have a refrigerator that has a timer in the door.  If you open the refrigerator, and it stays open for a preprogramed amount of time and then closes—it will not open again for a preprogramed amount of time.

The manufacturer added this feature in order to keep the food from spoiling.  It allows the refrigerator to reach a desired temperature before it is opened again.

Let’s say that you just bought  one of these  refrigerators, but you did not know about this feature, and when you attempted to reopen the door right after it shut, you found it would not budge so you grab a nearby tool and begin to leverage all your strength to pry it open—what do you think would happen?

I can tell you what I think . . .

I think the door would be ruined, or at the very least,  I think that the seal around the door would be ruined, and you would have the aggravation and expense of replacing it. Read the rest of this entry

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