Category: Food For Thought

Food For Thought · Judeo-Christian Perspective · observations · Opinions · Religious · Supernatural

Sometimes it’s hard to write. (Part 1)

Tori LennoxLeave a comment

I’m in that place where it’s hard to think about a novel much less write or edit one. Between book submissions, taking care of Mom, and nurturing our dachshund through four months of surgeries (she’s doing well now) my creativity is nil. It’s not writer’s block or any such silliness. Emotional and physical stress have temporarily sucked the life out of me. That happens sometimes. Usually during the summer months when it’s too hot to enjoy the long walks that keep me emotionally grounded.

Right now, I take Mir for short walks in the morning and at night supplemented with outside potty breaks throughout the day. That’s a poor substitute for long prayer walks surrounded by nature. That’s my God time when I talk to my Father about random thoughts, praise Him for the life I live now, and thank Him for the lessons I’ve learned over the past few years. Right now, I’m eagerly anticipating next month when temperatures drop enough in Florida to start walking again. Hopefully, when that happens, my desire to write will return.

In the meantime, my headspace is introspective. My mind is more on my faith than on imaginary settings, situations, and characters. My next two or three posts will be more spiritual in nature. Please consider yourself forewarned that you may not want to read further posts for a while. However, if faith isn’t your thing, you still might enjoy reading about subjects you probably won’t hear in Sunday service or anywhere else for that matter. You may decide I’m totally nuts or a heretic, or you may decide there’s more to this world God created and Jesus saved than the “I’m okay, you’re okay, your sins are forgiven, so welcome to Heaven.” feel good sermons so many pastors preach today.

If you’ve read any of my past blogs where I talk about my life or my journey to believing again, the next couple of paragraphs may bore you. If you don’t know me, I took a long, painful, destructive road to get to a place where I talk with God every day because I want to, not because I’m supposed to. By talk, I don’t mean prayer although I do that every day, too. I mean casual conversations like I’d have with you. The gentle, reassuring awareness I’m in the presence of the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob that I feel deep inside tells me that He listens.

Looking back, this isn’t a place the old me ever thought I’d be. It just didn’t fit with my perception of an angry God and an all but nonexistent Jesus. I didn’t get a relationship with my Heavenly Father at all. In fact, I would have believed you were crazy if you told me intimacy with God was even possible a few years ago. However, I’ve been walking and talking with the Lord long enough now to know anyone who says that isn’t crazy. They’ve just spent long enough seeking the Lord to have the kind of deep relationship with their Creator most of us never have.

Moving on, I spent many years seriously involved with occult studies like astrology and tarot cards. Truthfully, I’ve spent more of my life co-mingling my Christian beliefs with New Age beliefs and practices than I have as a believing believer. Like many of us, I desperately searched for identity, purpose, and an end to the depression and worthlessness that plagued me for most of my life. It was a long, difficult journey filled with bad choices and damaging consequences. The downside, I spent a lot of miserable years. The upside, I’m in a good place with a solid spiritual and emotional foundation that isn’t easily shaken. While I’m still working on the purpose, my faith and my relationship with God pull me through the occasional bumps in the road.

The only reason I’ve reiterated things I’ve said in the past is to underscore the fact, while I’ve always believed in God and Jesus and considered myself “Christian” (I was not), I wasn’t raised in the Church or educated in Christian schools. I attended church sporadically the first fifteen years of my life. I spent the next thirty as a worldly believer not practicing my faith. While there were belief systems I wouldn’t touch like overt witchcraft or satanism, I skirted as close to the occultic edge as I could with my spiritual poisons of choice in my quest to understand the human condition, world history, and why we believe the things we believe. I was, and still am, driven by a deep desire to know. To understand. To pursue knowledge for the sake of knowledge. It’s a passion that’s been a curse at times. I just didn’t know it.

I think you’re starting to get the picture I’m trying to paint. I’m a more introverted, scholarly woman. I’ve devoted most of my life to studying history with side interests in everything from medicinal herbs to forensics to art to psychology to physics and so on. In other words, you can’t study history without venturing into the overlapping fields that impact history and I’ve done that.

To my credit, I’ve always attempted to temper my understanding of the past within the context of the culture and time period I’m investigating. To keep my personal moral judgements out of it as much as humanly possible. To understand what seems horrific to me today was a part of everyday life in the Ancient Near East or Dark Age Europe. That’s part of being a serious scholar – not trying to revise history to fit some predetermined narrative – but being open to interpreting the raw information that’s really there.

I also believe in doing your due diligence and I use a lot of sources including articles/books that don’t necessarily agree with my current scholarly or religious beliefs. In other words, all of my sources aren’t Christian, they’re secular, too. I also understand new discoveries are made every day – that doesn’t include the unsubstantiated revisionist or ancient alien theory of the week – and I believe those solid, substantiated discoveries like the DNA results on the skeleton of King Richard III should be taken into consideration. Now that I’ve exhausted that rabbit trail, I’ll segue back to the subject at hand with apologies for my ramblings.

As I’ve started spending more time with God, I decided to start rereading my Bible a few months ago. It’s been a few years since I’ve done that. I made it to Leviticus before I abandoned the Old Testament and read through the New Testament instead. Once I finished the NT, I moved back to the Old Testament and realized I was reading it with a different understanding than I had before. Verses that had always seemed so harsh and violent to me, I suddenly understood in the context of the ancient cultures involved. I suddenly understood what I was reading through the eyes of a loving God who cared about his people in a way that I’d never seen before.

Yes, I know a lot about ancient history from my studies and I know what the biblical atlases, etc. say; but I’d never viewed what I was reading with the clarity I did now. If I was more “religious” and less scholarly, I don’t believe I would have understood why. But I am more scholarly, so it didn’t take me long to realize what had changed: I’d read and/or reread several books that gave me a deeper understanding of the cultures and society my faith was birthed in than I’ve ever gotten from any church sermon, encyclopedia, or biblical commentary.

While I don’t embrace every idea or belief the authors put forth in any book that I may mention, these sources have given me food for thought and ideas to pray about and dig deeper into using RELIABLE, peer reviewed sources. Any author I mention uses footnotes in their books so you can verify where they get their information. Or, at the least, they will tell you where their information comes from. While not infallible, I prefer using actual nonfiction books and scholarly magazines and articles over random sites on the internet or Wikipedia and the like in my research.

Thanks to a book I read recently and the clarity I received as a result, my understanding of so many events in the Bible clicked into place in ways they never have before. I discovered missing pieces of the puzzle that have mystified me for years. While not a plug for The Rabbi, the Secret Message, and the Identity of Messiah by Carl Gallups, this is me admitting this book made me embrace a process I’d started but hadn’t fully completed.

That process is learning to approach my faith more through the eyes of a Messianic Jew from the Second Temple Period than a modern Christian living in America. When I finished that book, I knew despite my best efforts to understand history within the context of the time and culture I’m studying, I’ve predominantly viewed my Bible through twenty-first century gentile eyes.

That’s a surprising confession for me to make since I’ve read a lot of books over the past seven or eight years that have influenced me to have a more “supernatural” world view than most American Christians do. Dr. Michael Heiser’s Supernatural and his Reversing Hermon are two easy to read books that helped strengthen my faith and opened my eyes to the cultural context of the Bible. His The Unseen Realm is both more scholarly, and much harder to read along with his books Angels and Demons. I own all of these books and I can honestly say they’ve helped me understand my Bible better.

However, just reading Supernatural and Reversing Hermon opened my eyes so much and they are my picks for anyone who doesn’t want to wade through his more complex scholarly works. Again, while I don’t agree with everything Dr. Heiser says in every book and that’s how it should be when we examine the evidence and think for ourselves, I’m not the expert in his fields. He is. The bottom line is I respect his research and what he has to say. If I had to sum up Dr. Heiser’s most impactful point, it’s the reality that we can’t believe what we don’t understand, and we can’t fully understand the Bible if we only see it through modern eyes. I don’t remember if those are Dr. Heiser’s exact words, but they are definitely my takeaway from what he has to say so he gets the credit for those words and that idea, not me.

I’ll leave you with that thought.

Until next time,

Calla

Food For Thought · Opinions · Uncategorized

It’s been a long time…

Tori Lennox1 Comment

Just a brief update. I hope to start blogging on a regular basis soon. There’s so much going on in my personal life and in our world that I don’t even know where to begin. Writing from the perspective of a young, pushing 60, I see things with a maturity and a clarity I didn’t have in my 20’s or 30’s. I think part of that is because, while I always wanted to belong, I was always hyper aware I was too different. I still am. The difference between now and my younger days is I’m finally comfortable in my own skin. I like who I am instead of wishing I was someone else.

As difficult as it’s made my life in a lot of respects over the years, I’m grateful I was raised with a very definite sense of right and wrong. One that hasn’t changed as culture has. No, I wasn’t raised in a Christian home. We believed in God, and we went to church sometimes, but any real relationship with our Creator was lacking. However, my parents were honest people with clearly defined values they taught me which included personal responsibility and an awareness that right and wrong didn’t change with culture or the fact I wanted them too.

I don’t mind telling you that I made a lot of wrong choices in my life, and I did a lot of things that went against my values. I paid for every one of them in emotional blood. However, as painful as that reality became, I accepted the fact I created the situation, and I had to live with the consequences. I couldn’t blame anyone else or shirk my personal responsibility.

Obviously, there’s no “fluidity” in my world. I’m grateful for that. The “rigidity” of the values my parents taught me saved my life. If I hadn’t had these beliefs so strongly ingrained in me, I wouldn’t have survived the years of pain, depression, and misery. I’m so grateful I was grounded in something real. Grounded enough that I knew what taking my own life would do to the people who loved me. Grounded enough that I knew suicide was wrong on so many levels. Grounded enough to know if I ended my own life, I was letting my demons win. That idea didn’t sit well with me. I’m a fighter to my core.

I am so grateful I chose to live. So grateful I’ve worked through the things I’ve done, the things that were done to me, the people who hurt me – all the baggage that destroyed my self-worth. The past few years have been worth all the mess that came before. I’m pursuing my dreams and I’m content.

This blog isn’t what I meant to write. Nope, I just wanted to share our new dog had back surgery the week after we got her and taking care of Mir and Mom has taken most of my time the past few months. Added to that, I’ve been editing and submitting novels for publication. Oh, and this year we have two baby cardinals instead of one – a boy and a girl. You know, the good stuff. Didn’t happen, did it? The old muse took over instead.

Honestly, I think this blog poured out because I see so many young people who should be happy in their success and in their opportunities and in the excitement of living their day-to-day lives who aren’t. I see a bunch of so-called “influencers” trying on this and that and discarding it in favor of the next fad in a frantic search for self-awareness, identity, and satisfaction. On the surface this “fluidity” sounds good. In reality it means you aren’t grounded in anything. You have no real identity because you haven’t defined your borders.

Humans aren’t emotionally made that way. We need to know who we are. We need to love who we are. We need to take responsibility for ourselves and our choices. We need to know where we draw the line on what we will and will not do. I personally learned to forgive myself, love myself, and appreciate my talents through my faith. No, I don’t go to church; but I do have an intimate relationship with Jesus. Yes, I know that doesn’t work for everyone and I’m not trying to convert anyone. You have to go on your own journey of self-discovery. I’m just saying for me, the depression and suicidal thoughts left when I finally accepted God doesn’t create any mistakes so I wasn’t one and if my Creator can forgive me all the things I’ve done and overlook the things that were done to me, I can do the same.

I guess my bottom line is, in a world where this is immensely unpopular to say, I thank my parents I’m a 58-year-old woman who is proud to be unapologetically female who would have proudly called herself a mother if she’d been privileged enough to bear children. Honestly, to use pronouns and words that take my gender away from me is to rob me of my identity and my sexuality. No, it doesn’t give me more options. I wouldn’t have a clue who I was if I started playing that game. No, I’m not narrow minded, I understand who I am. I love the fact I’m an attractive female approaching 60 who’s finally confident in being a woman. I wouldn’t trade her for the young woman who didn’t think she was pretty enough, or smart enough, or worth anything but being abused and taken advantage of.

Yes, that girl was prettier than I am because she was young; but she was oh-so-lost in so many ways. I can confidently say the woman I am now is far more attractive in the ways that matter.

In closing, everyone’s path is theirs to choose. However, speaking as someone who has lived a much harder life than she should have, life shouldn’t be as difficult as it is and we’re making it more difficult with every passing day. It’s time to simplify our lives, decide who and what we are, and stick with it. Don’t make decisions you’re not willing to live with for the rest of your life. You may do something you’ll regret the rest of your life if you do. I know I did.

Until next time,

Calla

Food For Thought · Life in general

I’m still here….

Tori LennoxLeave a comment

It’s been a long three months for a lot of reasons. Mainly because I was torn by my writing. I wasn’t sure which book I should finish or whether I wanted to continue submitting manuscripts to publishers. Not because I’m bothered by rejection notices. Actually, the rejection notices were promising. However, I continued revisiting the reason I wanted validation by a large publishing house in the first place for a few weeks and realized it was no longer relevant. I decided to learn everything I can about self-publishing and do what needs to be done to promote my books myself instead. It just makes more sense since I already have several books finished and I have the time to do the work now.

Another reason I haven’t blogged is because I had family coming in from SC in February. Actually, it was Mom’s family. That was a hoot and not in a good way. I ended up getting verbally attacked in a restaurant because mom wasn’t there by her sister-in-law, her daughter, and her son-in-law who seemed to believe I could have influenced her to come with us as she used to do. They missed that Kathy and thought I was either to blame for her staying home or that I could have made her change her mind.

Neither was true and I miss that Kathy, too. But she doesn’t exist anymore. First off, Mom is 93 years old. Two and a half years ago, she had a bad fall that almost killed her. Two years ago, she had her first stroke. A year and a half ago she had her second stroke which led to me leaving my job to come home full-time. Added to that, she has health issues that make her a poor candidate for the covid vaccine, so no shot. That’s the downside.

The upside is despite all of that, she’s doing great. Her mind is sharp, and she has no bad deficits from the stroke. She’s healthy and vibrant. However, she uses a rollator and she doesn’t have a lot of endurance. It takes everything out of her to get ready for an outing. But she’s living her life to the fullest the way she wants to. She no longer does things just to make other people happy like she did before her fall. She dictates her life and I let her unless it’s something unhealthy or potentially dangerous for her. That’s the “influence” I have over her.

You might wonder why I’m writing all of this. It’s because this whole incident made me realize something important – we need to love people for who they are. Not who we want them to be or who they used to be. I was deeply wounded by the attack until I realized how pathetic those three really are. They’re so preoccupied with their selfish wish for what used to be that they’re missing out on the pleasure of what is.

I love spending time with Mom watching the birds and the squirrels. I enjoy watching tv with her. I enjoy going outside to sit in the swing with her. I enjoy knowing she’s still as sharp as she used to be in so many ways. I love the fact she has so much life in her. They should too; but they don’t. Mom’s response to the whole situation was, “They just won’t let me get old.” She’s a wise woman who doesn’t mind being old because she still finds so much joy in her life. That’s a lesson we should all learn.

Another reason I’ve been gone is because, in addition to visiting family (we had another family member down from Tennessee the next week), I was editing my best friend’s novel. It was an “interesting” take on a common theme and, I believe, it would have been great when it was finished. Unfortunately, I received a call from his girlfriend six days ago informing me my friend had passed away three weeks earlier. She found him on his bedroom floor. “They” think he died from a blood clot. While I didn’t cry, I felt like everything inside me was going to implode for a couple of days. I just couldn’t process the whole thing. I was too shocked he was gone. The sad part is I’d sent him an email a couple of days before to check on him and promise to send the rest of the edited manuscript up soon.

My friend was a 58-year-old attorney who’d recently retired due to health issues. However, his sudden death was not expected! We’d spent a lot of time talking about what he was going to do next. We were talking about finally starting that publishing company we’d been tossing around for six years. He was starting to write again and hoping to develop a whole new career path. The last time I spoke with Robert, he was doing well.

Due to conflicting schedules and the fact we lived almost five hundred miles apart, I hadn’t seen my friend in close to twenty years. However, we were still close. We spoke on the phone every month or two and emailed more often. My friend was more than a friend. I loved him dearly. I would have done almost anything for him, and he would have done the same. We’d been friends over forty years.

What started as acquaintance in junior high became casual friendship in high school became deep friendship in college and law school over “Crazy Kate” to eventually a dating relationship a few years later. Unfortunately, although we tried to make it work three or four times, I never felt the degree of love for him that he felt for me and that wasn’t fair to him. However, we both valued our friendship more than a failed romance despite the bump in the road.

Although it may seem otherwise, there is a point to this rambling mess and that’s to treasure the people you love where they are for who they are. Find great joy in your relationships knowing they aren’t perfect and never will be. Don’t take advantage of others’ feelings even if you can. I could have made it work with Robert; but I would have been settling and denying him the depth of love a truly good man deserved. My mom’s relatives are missing out on incredible moments by not accepting her as she is. Honestly, their loss is my gain.

The best advice I can give anyone is spend every second you can with family and friends just basking in the little things. Don’t take for granted the idea they’ll be here when you have the time. Or when it’s more convenient. They won’t. I lost my mother when I was 32 and she was 51. My now “mom” is my ex-mother-in-law. I lost another close friend last year on March 4. She made me want to pull my hair out more often than not; but I loved her, and there’s a huge hole in my heart where she used to be. Brenda was only 66, and like Robert, was found dead unexpectedly on her bedroom floor. Likely from a heart attack. She was much too young to go that way. They both were.

In closing, this is Brenda, my mom, and me. Yes, I have an eyebrow that decided to do its own thing at some point after I’d left home! It’s okay, I still like the picture, and you can laugh with me!

Until next time,

Calla

Food For Thought · observations · Opinions · Political

While we all live in world of hypocrites…

Tori LennoxLeave a comment

Sometimes the hypocrisy of my leaders turns my stomach. If you’ve read my previous posts, I hope you’ve come away with the impression that, while I’m opinionated, I’m old enough to embrace true freedom of speech which means I don’t believe in censoring you because you don’t agree with me. I’m also conservative in my values, believe in definite right and wrong, and personal responsibility. Yes, I’m a charismatic Christian and while I identify with a particular party, I do not vote blindly along party lines. I research and vote for the candidates I believe have America’s best interests at heart rather than their personal agendas.

If you’ve read this far, and are still reading, let me get on with saying what I need to say. I’m tired of hearing my Congresspeople whine about how traumatized they still are by the January 6 “insurrection” or whatever you want to call it. Yes, the situation got out of hand. No, I don’t think the peaceful protestors intended what happened to happen. Nor do I think the majority of them got swept up in the madness. However, I do think radical elements got involved and they should be tracked down and punished. I don’t have a problem with that.

What I do have a problem with is this witch hunt that is continuing to drag on and on according to political and media driven agendas. Bluntly, there was enough intel in enough time to prevent the madness from happening. The politicians in charge of that chose not to take the necessary steps to ensure that so they bear as much responsibility for the debacle as anyone else and they need to grow up, accept their part, and stop the political stupidity tearing our country apart.

However, that isn’t even the main point I want to make which is many of the politicians whining the loudest are the same people who supported the wholesale destruction of their constituent cities by protesting mobs. These same politicians called looting and beating “Peaceful Protests” and refused to do anything to stop the protests and aid the traumatized homeowners and businesspeople living through these nightmares. So sorry, but there was nothing “peaceful” about what happened there. I believe in peaceful protests – the kind where people aren’t injured or killed, and property isn’t destroyed. When those things happen, it’s no longer peaceful and it’s time to end it. I know people in other countries might feel differently; but that’s my opinion.

In closing, the gist of my vent is there shouldn’t be one value system for politicians and one for the rest of us. If the Congresspeople currently in office want my support, they need to grow up. Stop the self-serving January 6 committee crap, prosecute the people who looted your cities under the guise of social justice protests, forget your personal agendas, and put our country first. Otherwise, I, like a lot of other people, am ready to vote fresh blood ready to do what you’re unwilling to do. Namely run our country freely and fairly with true diversity where a melting pot of ideas can flourish.

Until next time,

Calla

Food For Thought · Novels · Writing & Creativity

Today is a day of emotional ups and downs…

Tori LennoxLeave a comment

Not necessarily in a bad way. Just normal. I started this day giving Mom her meds and tucking her back in as I always do. Then I watered my plants and put seeds out for the birds and squirrels. I made a cup of coffee and sat down to read my emails while I watched the critter show through the French doors when I really should be writing.

It’s the day before Thanksgiving for me here in Florida in the United States. We usually share the holiday with Mom’s family. This year, I’m finally getting to cook for us. Nothing extravagant. Just a small meal for two. It’s something I’ve wanted to do for fifteen years; but couldn’t because I worked retail. Let’s be honest, Mom wouldn’t let me because of how I worked. She wanted me to rest up to work the Black Friday sales I hated so much. If you want to see people behaving badly this is the perfect time. Since I no longer work outside the home, I’m getting my wish and I’m truly grateful for that.

It was an email from my best friend this morning that got me thinking about gratitude. Real gratitude. Not the platitude that often masquerades as that emotion. My friend had a leg amputated last year due to illness and nothing has gone right since. He recently developed a staph infection which thankfully is getting better. He’s a dynamic professional, and always has been, so this situation is particularly hard on him. I’m fortunate we’re still so close since we haven’t seen each other face-to-face in close to eighteen years.

Given what he’s going through, it’s hard to offer encouragement without sounding trite. However, the fact he’s alive with hope and something to fight for – namely his health and the opportunity to jumpstart the writing career he’s already started – is something to be grateful for. The fact that he can retire from his old career financially sound with the luxury of starting his new career without needing a day job is another blessing. It’s up to him to find the positive in the negatives and the sweet scent in the crappy hand life dealt him. That’s what we all have to do and that’s what I tried to encourage him to do. Find hope in his situation and cling to it until things get better.

As I sit here musing, I’m grateful I’m home taking care of my mom. It’s hard sometimes. I’m a free spirit who likes to come and go as I please. However, I’m also good at being solitary as long as I get those nature walks. I’m grateful I don’t want or need much at this stage in my life. I’m grateful that attitude ensures I have money to give every month to help other people. I’m grateful I’m no longer young enough to get swept up in the turmoil wracking our country. I’m in a different place mentally and emotionally and I won’t apologize for that. I right wrongs in my own way and I’m grateful to have those opportunities.

In a world where everything is a cause waiting to happen, I prefer my causes to be ones where I can do immediate good. That the tears I cry and the frustration I feel over the state of the world isn’t useless. I’m grateful I have money to pour into feeding people, giving them water, helping them to support their families and put a roof over their heads, and provide disaster relief here in my country and abroad. Having been homeless for a short time a few years ago, my heart is for helping legitimate organizations with boots on the ground that give the hopeless some degree of hope. Even though I don’t materially have what I once had, I have more than so many people and I want to share. Life is about so much more than me.

That’s what I’m truly grateful for – that I understand that now. I’m at a point in my life where I happily give of myself to take care of my mom (my ex-mother-in-law) and I happily give from my finances to help people I will never meet. Feeling that way doesn’t come naturally. Given the abuses I’ve suffered in my life, there is an incredibly selfish part of me that wants to shout “what about me?”. I want this and I want that. I’ve lost so much I’m entitled to have what I want.

Sometimes, it’s couched as more of a “need”. Right. Honestly, I have to remind that part of me that I already have more than I need. If it’s a true need like replacing worn out sneakers – then I replace the sneakers. I’m not that selfless. However, most of the time, that need is an unnecessary want and I know I’ll get more pleasure out of giving than receiving so I give. It takes making a conscious effort to feel that way. A conscious choice. However, that soul tug within me that wants to do my part to make this world a better place keeps me straight and that’s another thing I thank God for. That He reawakened that part of me that I’d shut down somewhere along the way.

If you get anything from this mishmash of thoughts and feelings, please be grateful for the seemingly insignificant things we take for granted.

We have so much to be grateful for in America even when we can’t see it. Cherish your friends and family. Hold them close and let them know you love them. Remember the loved ones who are no longer here with joy for the time you did have with them. Even though holidays are bittersweet, I remember my mother (not my ex-mother-in-law I call “Mom” now) who died in 1996 with a full heart and I wish she was here to hold me. That feeling never goes away. Spend quality time together without cell phones and technology. Hug your pets. Forget the Black Friday sales in favor of family. For the most part, the best prices have already come and gone with those Pre-Black Friday Black Friday sales! I worked retail until recently, so I know that’s true.

Anyways, it’s time to go. Thanks for reading. I won’t apologize for being all over the place. That’s me. I will say, “Happy Thanksgiving!” if you celebrate and I wish you were here if you don’t.

Until next time,

Calla

emotional healing · Food For Thought · Opinions · Religious · Supernatural · Uncategorized

I’ve struggled with this one…Part II

Tori LennoxLeave a comment

In more ways than I expected. No, not with what you’ll think of me if I write some of this. I burned that bridge a long time ago with prior posts. The most trying aspect of this piece is finding the right words to say what needs to be said with integrity. To bear my soul. It’s humbling to admit I was desperate for the acceptance I could never have. Not because there was anything wrong with me. There wasn’t. Nothing beyond my perception I was “damaged goods.” Not because others weren’t willing to accept me. They were. But I never saw that because of my self-perception.

Sharing my experiences as honestly as possible entails revisiting traumatic memories and ripping old wounds open. It’s a necessary evil. Otherwise, I’m just another born-again telling people occult practices are evil because the Bible says so. Nope, not me. While that’s true, that’s not my angle. Knowing that reality didn’t deter me, so why should I expect it to deter you. Most of us are attracted to things we shouldn’t be. I was.

So, if you’ll stick with me through the opinions and backstory, I’ll get to the personal experiences that taught me the error of my ways. They aren’t pretty; but they are real. I have a sneaky suspicion a lot of you are experiencing or have experienced the same kind of things. While I don’t post trigger warnings, I will warn you that I may be fairly graphic in my recollections. Not vulgar, but real. The time for relying on allusion has long passed. We’re so desensitized as a culture that alluding to anything doesn’t get the point across. Sometimes it’s necessary to cozy up to vivid memories that aren’t remotely comfortable. Unfortunately, I can’t “show” you how my involvement with astrology and a so-called “Christian” psychic led me to make decisions that catapulted me into the worst period of my life any other way.

That being said, let’s get back to the story I’ve already started. In this day it’s not usual to have a kid in the fifth or sixth grade (or much younger) reading and comprehending on a college level. Back in my day, it was rare and it wasn’t nurtured. I was one of only two kids in my whole school who were significantly accelerated in every subject and Jonathan’s scores were higher than mine. The funny thing, you’d never know it by our grades. We weren’t the straight A students largely, I think, because we were bored and we didn’t have guidance. Nobody really knew what to do with us, so they did nothing. Why am I telling you this? Merely to illustrate intelligence and comprehension aren’t good indicators of maturity. I was a baby when I started grazing through New Age topics. Ten or eleven years old if that. I had no clue what I was messing with. I couldn’t begin to understand how any of that fit in the real world. I just thought what I was learning was interesting and I was a sponge soaking up everything I was exposed to.

More important than my fascination with dipping my toe in murky waters was my belief anything my Mom read was a must read and, around this time, she was reading astrology books. She read them and shrugged them off as entertainment as most people did in the ’70’s. She bought into the “characteristics” aspect of astrology more than the “prophetic” aspect and took it all with a big grain of salt. Over time, I bought it all. Astrology was more than a passing interest. It was my crutch.

While my Mom knew I was more interested than she was, I don’t think she realized how deep my involvement went. She should have because I didn’t hide what I was doing. But, she didn’t for a lot of reasons. For one thing, by the time she pushed through her busy day, she wasn’t interested in micromanaging my life. For another, she didn’t know my Dad had molested so she thought the reason her once popular, self-confident kid became withdrawn was because Junior High was hard. I’d gone from an Elementary School where we were taught to be respectful and well-mannered to a Junior High filled with mean-spirited, disrespectful hyenas. Not being into sex, drugs, profanity, and mouthing off to teachers made me a moving target for all the kids who were. Yep, bullying existed in the dark ages. I experienced more than my share of it.

While none of that was pleasant, I was tough enough to have navigated the teen-aged angst just fine if I’d still been that same bright-eyed, innocent little girl I was just a year before. Instead, I was a tormented kid looking for something to take the guilt, fear, and shame away. Something that could give me some degree of control over my life was what I was looking for. By the time I was in High School and into college, I’d taught myself to cast astrology charts. I could look at someone and predict their Sun Sign with a fair degree of accuracy based on physical characteristics. My little hobby had become obsessive and I loved it. I felt powerful.

When I was in ninth grade, I ordered a detailed Astrology chart that predicted the rest of my life. With hindsight, ordering that forecast was the worst thing I’ve ever done. My life became a self-fulfilling prophecy. I became addicted to reading every horoscope I could get my hands on in an effort to keep all the bad stuff that chart predicted from happening to me. While my “planetary alignments” were overall negative, that chart promised I still had the power to change these things and it told me a lot of specifics I clung to for most of my life. Concrete specifics like my perfect husband would be five years older than me. I’ve put that one to the test a couple of times and it’s crap like everything in that chart with the exception of the projected pain and misery. While I can’t say my life would have been any different if I’d never bought that chart – it wouldn’t if I’d made the same choices – I can say expecting my life to be unhappy pretty much ensured it was until 2008 when I finally found my way back to Church and healing.

At this point, I wish I could say this was the end of the matter. It was just the beginning. I was like the person who’s first drink initiates their dive into the bottle. My grazing in the “New Age” section of the library vault opened doors I’d never really thought about before. My next big interest was ghosts, hauntings, poltergeists, cryptids, preternaturals, E.T.’s, and eventually Tarot Cards. Actually, all of those were parallel interests going on at the same time I was mired in astrology.

As I’ve already said, this piece has several parts. I’m guessing there will be two more posts in this vein. Definitely one. I apologize for so much backstory; but the experience part of the blog doesn’t make sense without the set up.

Until Part IIl ~ Experiences,

Calla

Food For Thought · observations · Opinions

I just read something that disturbs me greatly…

Tori LennoxLeave a comment

In a world that already disturbs me in a lot of ways. Before I write this post I need to make a couple of things clear. Number one, this is very much an opinion piece and number two, I don’t care how you identify in terms of whether you’re a male who identifies female, etc. That’s your journey and only you can take it. I also need to say this post is all over the place. There is a point and purpose, it’s probably not as clear as it should be here in the beginning. This post is more about just getting my feelings out than doing it in a professional manner.

I’ll start by saying I’m a female who identifies female and I always have. I was a pretty, large breasted female before I was out of seventh grade. Considering the events in my life that occurred both before and after that time, I could have identified very differently, but I didn’t. I’ve always known I was a heterosexual female. As unpopular as that is to say, it’s true. Before you go back to my prior posts and say you’re a Christian, you’re biased, etc., let me say I left the church when I was fifteen. I’ve only been a practicing Christian for the last ten years. Beyond that, I was in theater in high school so I’ve always had gay friends. If I’d wanted to be anything other than what I am, I could have chosen that path. Considering I was molested by my father before I was in Junior High, and by my youth director before I left the church, I could have hated men. I didn’t.

I went the other other way. I just stayed away from boys and men. I was terrified someone was going to try to touch me in ways I didn’t want to be touched without my permission. The fact boys and men couldn’t look me in the eye because they were too busy staring at my breasts didn’t help matters. The sad thing is, in spite of all that, I still wanted a normal dating life. Truthfully, I was torn between knowing sexuality is normal and not wanting anyone to make me feel dirty again. Not wanting to touch or be touched in ways I knew were wrong. So, I was totally screwed up before I was eleven or twelve.

All of that being said, I’m a human being first and a woman second. One who is loosing both her humanity and her womanhood through the rampant depersonalization of our culture. I am not part of the “Birthing People,” or people who breastfeed or people who menstruate or people who go through menopause or people who bear children or any of those other crazy labels becoming so prevalent today.

I’m a fifty-seven year old woman with a solid grounding in reality who believes in right and wrong and in absolutes. I’m also a woman who believes you have the right to believe and feel however you want. However, these new labels disturb me because part of why I think I survived all the physical, mental, and sexual abuse I’ve suffered is because I always had absolutes to hold onto. I knew I was a woman. I knew I was an abused woman. But I also knew I was a survivor and not a victim. That doesn’t mean I didn’t have a lot to work through or it didn’t take many years to heal. It just means I didn’t take my own life because I did have certain values instilled in me that taught me to fight and not give up. When everything is fluid, you have no absolute to hold onto because you and your life are whatever you say they are. I can honestly tell you I would have probably committed suicide if I hadn’t held the personal belief that suicide was wrong for me. I thank God I had those beliefs for they are the very reason I’m still here.

While I’m not willing to call myself a “Birthing Person” or any of those other dehumanizing names, I will claim to have been a woman of childbearing age once upon a time. If I’d ever had children, I could have been a pregnant woman, a mother, or even a breastfeeding mother/woman. I have never been a “People” of anything. I don’t care how you identify – you’re still a human being with human dignities. When you become a “People” you’ve lost what makes you a person. You might as well be a Borg from Star Trek TNG and part of “The Collective” instead of the very special person you were created to be.

Just my personal opinion.

Until next time,

Calla

Food For Thought · General · Novels · observations · Opinions · Writing & Creativity

A Bit of This…

Tori LennoxLeave a comment

A bit of that. With how I feel this morning, that’s how this post will be. All over the place. As I sit here watching squirrels and birds grazing in my patio garden, I’m content in the moment. There’s something about being told off by a woodpecker because the bird feeder is lacking I find funny. I’m not as amused by the ravenous pole-dancing fur ball that loves to decimate said feeder when there’s plenty of food set out for him. I’m also not as happy my tiny titmice aren’t as pleased with the new “squirrel free” feeder as I’d hope they would be. The birds prefer competing with my Kamikaze woodpecker pair for their shot at the feeder. I’m hoping my little friends will grow to appreciate both feeders. I don’t know if that’s going to happen. Time will tell. It usually takes a while for the feather babies to warm up to anything new. They still aren’t sure if I’m friend or foe even though I feed them.

In the interim, I’m enjoying the constant insanity of bobbing morning doves on my patio, obnoxious blue jays dive bombing my mulch every now and then, and my beloved cardinal love bugs who visit several times a day. They have a special place in my heart because Daddy Red watches over his plump little princess from a higher perch every time they come calling. He even feeds her sometimes which makes my heart melt and I’m not really a heart melting kind of girl. Daddy Red likes to feed on the feeder and bathe in the bird bath while he watches over his mate. Little Girl prefers her seeds from a pie plate on the patio and her bath from the puddle accumulating in the seat of a plastic chair. As insignificant as this sounds, it makes me smile since this is as close to the country as I can get living in town and I cherish every moment.

I haven’t written for a while because I’ve gone through some health issues for close to three weeks. It started with a fairly bad autoimmune flare and ended with an unexpected issue that physically wiped me out as much as the flare. As annoying as being useless is, it wasn’t all bad. While I didn’t get my novel submitted as I’d hoped, I did realize I needed to change a couple of things and I got started on my synopsis. So, not all bad. I had a lot of time to think while I rested as well.

The biggest thing on my mind was the contents of this blog and how it might affect my ability to sell my books. I became concerned that my more conservative values aren’t in sync with what people want to hear. That my opinions might be deemed offensive. In the end, I decided not to change a thing. There are a lot of ideas and opinions in this world that offend me and some that, offense aside, are just plain wrong in a reality that has any sense of honor or integrity. Any absolutes. However, other people are entitled to hold any belief they want. I respect that right. All that I ask is to be allowed the same courtesy.

I think that attitude comes from being old enough and grounded enough to realize my life isn’t all about me. I remind myself of that daily. Maybe that I’ve given up everything in terms of my job and my personal income to take care of my “Mom” reminds me of that. Every time I struggle with how narrow my world has become, I’m hit with how much more content I am with my daily life now. I feel a great sense of gratitude to God for making it possible for me to be here with my ex-mother-in-law giving her the life and the dignity she deserves. She’s doing great. It doesn’t matter my boss and my co-workers thought I was nuts for doing it. I’ve walked away from everything I spent seven years building with the conviction even if it’s sometimes scary, you have to find joy where you are and I’m doing that.

Back to the blog thing, I’ve decided in a world where very little is honest or concrete, I need to be both. I don’t blog for the “likes” or the views or the comments although receiving any of those puts a smile on my face. I blog with the hope something I say will positively impact someone out there in some way. I blog because I want to remind myself how far I’ve come from the irreparably damaged woman I used to be. I blog because it keeps me writing and makes me feel like I’m following some part of my calling. While I’m not really out there in the world due to family commitments, my “voice” can be. Even in the darkest years of my life, I tried to help others. Offer comfort and encouragement in a crazy world. I couldn’t heal myself; but I tried to heal others. I’m still doing the little I can the only way I can at the moment. I write these nutty little blogs.

In closing, it’s taken me several days to finish this post because I was slogging through writing a novel synopsis and a cover letter as well as doing the final edit of my first three chapters. I had to make sure my submission was up to snuff. As you can imagine, that’s the hardest part of writing. It wasn’t fun at all; but I was so happy when I finished. Not only finished. I was satisfied with my work. That was a feeling I didn’t think I’d have.

I emailed my novel submission to the publishing house at 9:30 E.T. this morning. What a way to celebrate my 57th birthday! Now, the waiting starts. We’ll see what happen. In the meantime, I have three completed novels to edit so I have my work cut out for me!

Until next time,

Calla

Been There, Done That · Food For Thought · observations · Opinions

A casual observation…

Tori LennoxLeave a comment

I haven’t written in a while because I’ve been consumed with my novel. It’s almost finished and ready for submission! Close enough I can taste it! However, I felt compelled to take a break to work through a statement that set me off. Actually, I’ve been mulling whether I want to write anything about this for four or five days. I decided I did. On the surface, the statement is nothing that significant. More a meaningless variation of a platitude uttered too many times in a day. That being said, this statement probably wouldn’t have bothered me if it hadn’t touched my life and my beliefs. But it did.

I found the statement lurking innocently in the A/N of a fanfiction. Yes, I read, and have written, fanfiction. No, I’m not on a rant against the evils of ff. It’s more a rant against the inadvertent damage we do with our blind mission to “speak no evil” and “hurt no one.” While I don’t advocate insensitivity, emotional cruelty, or hurting someone to satisfy base curiosity, everything that causes pain or offends isn’t automatically hate speech or one of those “sins” you shouldn’t do. While I know my take isn’t popular today, my perspective comes from the fact I’ve lived through what this young woman commented on in her Author’s Note.

It was words to the affect of, “That’s victim blaming. Don’t do it.” I believe it was those exact words or very close to it. Before you get your hackles up because I’ve dared say victim blaming is okay, that isn’t what I’m saying at all. I’m speaking as a Survivor who “victim blamed” myself for years so I don’t believe in victimizing a victim. I also don’t believe in being a victim when you can choose, over time with healing, to be a survivor instead.

This young woman clearly believes what she’s saying and it’s “right” on the surface. I don’t fault her for that. However, it’s also “wrong” when you scratch a little deeper because that attitude silences dialogue that has the potential to educate, share, and heal. Thank God other women, and a few men, were willing to listen to and talk with me over the years. Thank God I’ve been able to listen to, empathize with, and talk with other women who were hurting over the years. If you don’t think those conversations were painful, and sometimes offensive, they were. But they were necessary.

For the record, I’m not talking about therapist or counselors or abused women hot lines. While I’m grateful for those professional outlets, I’m talking about other human beings who’d lived through the same thing. Sometimes worse and sometimes not as bad; but still people with a frame of reference willing to help me navigate the darkness and worthlessness I was experiencing. Ultimately, it was up to me to work through my issues after that. But I couldn’t have done it without the compassion and understanding I would never have received if we hadn’t dared to open emotional doors and speak through the pain. I wouldn’t have been able to do the same for others if it hadn’t been done for me.

While I don’t fault this young woman for sharing the politically correct mindset so prevalent today, I’m writing from the perspective of someone who’s actually lived through what she feels so strongly about. Not someone who has a friend or relative who’s lived through “it” or read about it. Nope. As someone who has survived physical, mental, and emotional abuse at the hands of a spouse, actually two spouses, and being molested as a child and raped as an adult more than once. That being said, I’ve earned the right to my beliefs.

For the backstory, if you’re interested, this young woman wrote a fanfic in which the protagonist is raped. Nothing graphic. Just a blip on the screen to further the story line. Apparently someone wrote a review asking why this character didn’t do something to stop it. The author responded in her Author’s notes at the bottom of the chapter very emphatically that asking this was “Victim Blaming” and don’t do it. She further commented how even the strongest person can freeze at a time like this.

Okay, I’ll agree that victim blaming does exist. However, asking why the victim didn’t do something to prevent this isn’t necessarily victim blaming. It’s not the question itself that’s the problem. It’s the reason behind the asking that may be. Believe me, I asked myself that question for years and, from people I’ve talked with, I can tell you experiences differ from survivor to survivor. From my perspective, I never froze and I was never helpless. My mind was more focused on staying alive and not getting hurt more than I already was. For me personally, I never had a deer in the headlights experience. I also never had a “victim” experience. I had to see myself as a survivor to regain any semblance of self-respect.

For what I’m saying to make any real sense, you should know my first scrape with the “r” word happened when I was 19. I don’t remember much about it since some kind of drug was used and I “lost” several hours. The “friend” who’d orchestrated this event wrote me a letter years later apologizing for what she’d done; but she wasn’t willing to fill in the blanks so the flashbacks made sense. My next brush with rape was in my twenties. I was married and marital rape does exist. The last thing I wanted to do was have sex with the man who’d just beat the stuffing out of me for some imaginary slight like not dressing like a whore in public. (For the record we were both college educated, white collar professionals, from “good” – not wealthy – families so this nightmare should never have happened. Right? Don’t believe that one.) But, I did, and I pretended to enjoy it. In my world I had two choices, I could either perform “willingly” or perform unwilling after being forced.

Since my body was getting used either way, I chose the path of least resistance which was both shameful and degrading. I did it because I was 1200 miles from home, isolated, and at a physical disadvantage. It took me 4 years to escape that situation and it took me another twenty-five years to fully embrace those traumas don’t define me. But, I did, and that’s why I have issues with shutting down dialogue as victim shaming. Being able to share both heals and helps someone cope with the same situation or, better yet, avoid the situation all together.

My general problem with the whole no hurt, no offend, no harm, no trigger, no mention, no whatever culture I live in is important dialogues get shut down before they get started. If I’d lived in the culture I find myself in thirty years ago where no one reached out to me because they were afraid of the consequences of doing so, I would still be the self-loathing, wounded, angry, bitter, suicidal woman of little value to myself or anyone else I used to be. I’m grateful I didn’t live in that world and I’m asking you to take a look at the society we live in now. It’s taken what should be common courtesy and respect for another human being to a place that is both frightening and harmful. It’s a world where you’re reluctant to speak for the fear of being punished for daring to have an opinion that differs from the “norm.”

My norm is a little more compassionate and real.

Until next time,

Calla

A Story for Another Blog or How a Not-So-Good Southern Baptist Became a True Blue Charismatic (Part I)…
Been There, Done That · emotional healing · Food For Thought · Judeo-Christian Perspective · observations · Opinions · Religious

A Story for Another Blog or How a Not-So-Good Southern Baptist Became a True Blue Charismatic (Part I)…

Tori LennoxLeave a comment

It wasn’t an easy journey and I’m not going to recap the whole sordid tale. You’ve read bits and pieces in past posts. (For anyone interested in the whole story, Been There, Done That…Had the Smashed Up Face to Prove It by Calla MacKenna is on Amazon.) Instead, I will say by the time I ended up in Florida thirteen years ago, I was a tired, bitter woman. My ex-husband’s bad business practices had cost me everything from my house to my savings three years before. I say “my” because this man had nothing to do with the accumulation of those assets and everything to do with losing them. However, that being said, it was my decision to allow this man into my life so I’m equally at fault for my financial losses.

Since I’ve admitted that, I might as well admit my ex-husband wasn’t my husband when all this happened. We were “engaged” when we went into business together and we were successful at first. About six months into the business I started seeing signs of what I later learned was mental illness well-hidden beneath charm, charisma, and well-documented past successes. Unfortunately, I eventually learned that while he had been wildly successful in the past, he’d tanked every one of those past endeavors the same way he tanked our business. None of that came to light until many years later when his family set his cons straight.

While losing everything was bad enough, my ex added insult to injury by cheating on me almost from the start. That’s the reason I didn’t marry him. By the time I suspected he was doing this it was too late to kick him out of my life. The business was thriving and I had too much to lose if I rocked the boat including my pride. None of that mattered in the end. The business failed and I was trapped with no way out or so I thought.

Reality was far different.

In life that’s often the case. Our perception a.k.a. “our reality” often differs greatly from the truth of the situation. I actually wasn’t trapped in anything; but, I lacked the life experience to realize this. I could have kicked this abuser out of my life, ridden the storm out where I was, and started over exactly when the dust settled. It wouldn’t have been pleasant; but, it was doable. I didn’t do that. I chose the “easy” way instead. Right. Nothing about the past sixteen years has been easy. Thanks to my ex I eventually ended up in Florida exactly as God intended instead.

If you’re wondering why, the answer is simple. I had nothing, no-one, and nowhere to go. Or, more accurately, that was my perception of my reality. For a person who’d always paid my debts in full on time, this mess was devastating . I didn’t know what to do or how to handle the nightmare I’d stepped into. In those first desperate moments I decided it was better the devil I knew than the hell I didn’t. Fear will make you do stupid things and I was terrified. Scared enough to stay with a man I practically hated. That’s how I thought things were playing out for several years.

I now know God was slowly turning what was meant for evil to good. He had me even when I didn’t have Him. In the end He was steering me where He wanted me to go even if it took a roundabout journey through eight different states. Near the end of the journey I tried to return home to South Carolina. I had a good job lined up and I was a third of the way home when I felt compelled to turn around and return back to the place I’d just left.

My ex had become deathly ill a couple of months earlier. He’d spent two weeks on life support and he still wasn’t fully functional. However, he was still able to harm me physically and he had which was what led me to finally leave in the first place. The only problem with my bid for freedom is there was no-one but me left to care for him since he’d alienated everyone else. I knew he’d die if I left him. Or I felt that way. Whether it was true or not, I couldn’t take that risk even though I wanted to. I tried to. However, I couldn’t live with myself if I left and something horrible happened to him. So, I did what I had to do. I turned around and changed the course of my life forever.

A few months later, we found ourselves in Florida living with my ex’s stepmother. A few months later, we got married even though we didn’t have any real relationship left by that time. As stupid as this sounds, I agreed to make his stepmother “happy” largely because I’d never lived with anyone and I’d never wanted to. To my crazy way of thinking at the time, getting married would somehow legitimize the nightmare of the last few years and erase the shame of failure. It didn’t do any of that. In fact, all it did was add another divorce to my tally and reinforce the fact otherwise intelligent, sane people do insane things for stupid reasons.

Moving on, my ex’s stepmother finally cracked my hard emotional shell enough to become my “Mom.” My real mother died from cancer back in 1996 so I was more than willing to accept love from anywhere I could get it. I gradually started watching the religious stations with her every chance I got. While I was still in a dark place, I was on my way to rediscovering the faith I’d once abandoned. A few months later I started visiting the Charismatic church Mom attended even though it wasn’t my kind of place. In fact, I found the whole experience unsettling and freaky.

I’d heard my real Mom talk about visiting Charismatic churches back in the ’60’s; but, I’d never visited one myself. The only reassurance I had in those early days that I wasn’t taking the high road to hell was the fact I loved, respected, and trusted my second Mom and I knew she felt the same. I also knew she’d been raised Southern Baptist like me. If she thought the nuttiness was okay, then it had to be. Besides, I was desperate for healing and redemption. Again, any way I could get it. This Church seemed a likely place to accomplish that. You see, I’d been embraced with love and acceptance from the moment I walked through the door. But. I wasn’t comfortable.

Reading this, you might wonder what my problem was. That’s simple. Those people said and did things totally foreign to my background. Things most good Southern Baptists would never do like prophesying, laying on hands, shouting, dancing, and speaking in tongues! I wasn’t sure whether to bolt or make the sign of the cross. I didn’t do either. I stayed instead. Every time I entered that sanctuary, I was saturated in the presence of the Holy Spirit and I knew that was where I belonged. I could feel it in my soul. Besides, I might as well give this whole Word of Faith thing a shot. I’d already tried everything I was willing try and I hadn’t ended up where I wanted to go. At that point, I was as close to rock bottom as I could get so I had nothing left to lose. But, I had everything to gain even if I didn’t know it.

However, it took me quite a few years to get from there to here…

Until Part 2, I remain,

Calla