Category: observations

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 · 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

emotional healing · General Quirkiness · Judeo-Christian Perspective · Life in general · observations · Opinions · Religious · Supernatural

I’ve struggled with this one…

Tori LennoxLeave a comment

In the, “Do I or don’t I” write this piece sense. It took me a few days to finally decide that, Yep, this one’s kind of out there, but it’s true so I’m going for it. I’ve been honest about my life and my journey from self-loathing to self-respect in so many ways. But, I’ve never shared this part largely because it’s easier to speak about abuse than it is to speak about “Spiritual” or “Supernatural” beliefs some of which seem foolish with hindsight. Not foolish that I believed certain things on my spiritual journey. That’s what a “Seeker” does. Foolish because I let my beliefs control me when I believed I was controlling my beliefs.

I’ve also debated opening up about this aspect of my life because it’s not only out there; but incredibly long. More than one blog long. Probably a two or three-parter. However, I’ve made allusions to “my journey” in terms of my spirituality and stated outright that I came by my Christian beliefs the hard way. However, I’ve never shared that much about how I went from practicing a form of “Christopaganism” to my current belief system. I think it’s time to weave that story with the same candor I’ve tried to exhibit in all of my posts.

The sad part of my story is I considered myself a Christian while I dabbled in Occult practices. I didn’t comprehend it’s one or the other. The two don’t mix. Like it or not, when you try to have it both ways, you’re going to favor one side over the other. I’ll let you guess which one. I’m not saying these statements because I’ve heard or read them somewhere. I’ve lived the events I’m writing about so I’m not just sharing beliefs. I’m sharing experiences. I can assure you the lure of Astrology, or psychics, or Tarot Cards or whatever soul poisoning dabble you choose isn’t worth the price you’ll pay down the road. It wasn’t for me.

My dance with the dark side started in elementary school as a smart kid with a fearless mind and a thirst for knowledge that continued for most of my life. The dark, musty downstairs “Vault” of my small town library was a treasure trove of resource books that entertained me for years. There were tomes on everything from gardening to true crime to history to travel to the 19th century Spiritualist Movement and everything in between. I grazed through all of them; but I was drawn most to the books about hauntings, the preternatural, and the Spiritualists. I devoured every ghost hunting book Hans Holzer wrote. I read about Atlantis, Lemuria, and Mu as well as the Order of the Golden Dawn. I digested the writings of Edgar Cayce. I became fascinated with UFO’s, crop circles, and ley line theories. Don’t get me wrong, I pursued other interests like medicine, history, quantum theory, FBI profiling, forensic facial reconstruction, and history among other things. As I’ve already said, I liked knowing a little bit about some things and a lot about others. Unfortunately, for the most part, the “lot” wasn’t the right stuff. My favorite dance was with Astrology, Tarot Cards, ghosts, ET’s, and things that go bump in the night all under the guise of knowledge.

Despite all that, I considered myself a Christian. I would have corrected anyone for suggesting otherwise. I believed in Jesus. There were things I didn’t do because they were “wrong.” I had the guilt, the condemnation, the rules and regulations without ever having the relationship with the Father or the Son. Forget the Holy Spirit. He was just a word. I believed I was right. The occult interests I dabbled in weren’t my “religion.” They were just passing fancies I found interesting and I had “rules” in place to protect me.

Those rules were laughable. For one thing, I was already in a dark place from the time I was molested the first time. To even think I could wallow deeper in the dark without being affected takes a serious disconnect from reality. You can’t. I believed I could read about witchcraft as long as I didn’t read the spells or chants. I could read about other religions if I didn’t read the rituals. In fact, I could read anything I wanted to read as long as I kept the wrong words out of my head. Right. I was playing with things I didn’t fully understand although I knew enough to know words have power. Looking back, there was something in me that drew a line in the sand I couldn’t cross. One that said I was willing to dabble this far; but not cross the line. While I’m grateful for that restraint, I went too far.

Far enough I didn’t like the dark and I didn’t like to sleep. I was born an insomniac. My mind was always churning. The fear of the dark came later. About the time I learned there might be things to fear in the dark like that cold, malevolent presence I encountered at the top of the stairs one night in my family home. It should have clued me in when the “whatever” departed and let me pass when I cried out to Jesus. It didn’t. Not really, I brushed it off as “one of those things.” Not my brightest moment. I don’t claim to know what that was or why it happened. It just did. I don’t even claim to know what it’s intent was beyond the fact I felt like I was being pushed down to a kneeling position and I didn’t like that even more than I didn’t like it.

For one thing, I was standing on the top step of a second floor staircase, not the landing, and that wasn’t safe. For another, the whole experience was terrifying. For the third, I don’t like being forced to do anything so there was a degree of anger in the fear. While I’m grateful the story ended with me walking safely to my bedroom, I wish I’d had enough sense to be scared back in the right direction. I wasn’t. Not beyond putting my Bible by my bed and reading it. I was fourteen or fifteen at the time and already too damaged for that degree of common sense to bleed through the youthful arrogance. Added to that, the hamster was already galloping around the “if I can control my life, I can control the pain” wheel in my brain and had been for several years by then.

As my occult interests expanded, my boundaries became more defined. I had enough sense to know I was flitting where I shouldn’t go and I needed to do more than just not read certain words. So, I decided what I would and wouldn’t do; but, I didn’t give up my quest. Knowledge is seductive and I wanted to know. That mindset is dangerous. It can take you places you’re not meant to go. But, as I said, I had boundaries. Right. I thought I knew everything when I knew nothing.

I understood I wasn’t going to play with Ouija Boards. I’d heard enough spooky stuff about that to steer clear. Crystals didn’t interest me. The idea of channeling or automatic writing scared the hell out of me. Literally. The idea of something overtly having control of me that wasn’t me wasn’t anything I wanted to tangle with. I wasn’t interested in astral projection. I didn’t know what would crawl in when I crawled out. I wouldn’t dabble with anything involving Satanism, grimoires, spells, or blood sacrifices. None of the yuck stuff that ended up in horror stories. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t joyfully prance around in shadowy areas I considered “safe.” I did and it all started innocently enough with imitating my Mother’s interest in magazine horoscopes.

While my goal isn’t to freak you out, real life is messy. Most of us drift into things without realizing we’re doing it. I dabbled in things we consider mainstream now like astrology and tarot cards. I consulted psychics a few times in my life. I did more than that as I’ll share more in depth in the next post. In closing, I wasn’t that stereotypical weird Goth kid everyone knew something was wrong with or the woman who cut herself in private. I wasn’t an addict or an alcoholic. None of that. I was a very normal, very average woman with a love for learning. Or so I thought. In reality, I think subconsciously I was a woman searching for some way to end the pain and find a degree of peace and happiness anyway I could find it

Until Part II,

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

Novels · observations · Writing & Creativity

Once upon a time a girl wrote fanfic for The Mentalist…

Tori LennoxLeave a comment

And she loved doing it. While that passion has faded, for a few years it was a big part of her life. The part that got her back into writing and expressing herself. That made her believe she could write again. She’ll always be grateful for that gift and maybe, just maybe, she’ll return someday to finish those tales still waiting for Jane and Lisbon to get their loving closure. She’s certainly tempted every time that random positive review rolls in.

Obviously, that “girl” was me and taking those beloved characters for a creative spin gave me purpose in a time of great pain and betrayal when I was struggling to find a glimmer of the woman I’d always been in the woman I’d become. While I’ll always be grateful for the escape the show and the writing gave me, for the most part, I’ve moved on. I’m in a different place in my life. I know who I am and it’s far more pleasurable to read fanfic than to write it.

While I saw a lot of evils in fanfic and experienced some of it as a writer, I don’t regret any of the time I spent writing my fantasies. I grew a lot as a writer and as a person. For a while, I had some wonderful imaginary friends and I grew a tougher skin where my writing was concerned. I also learned to stay the course in spite of the trolls. There were a lot of trolls. There still are and they’re horrible people in my opinion. I saw so many potentially good writers abandon writing thanks to them and that hurt my soul. Honestly, I contemplated doing that myself on several occasions.

However, I should admit I invited the trolls in several ways. The first was by responding like the thin-skinned writer I was. My stories were my babies and I was fiercely protective of them. The second way I invited the trolls is I didn’t work with a beta largely because my writing was my escape and it was freeform. I wasn’t trying to present a polished piece. I couldn’t at that time if I’d wanted. I was simply trying to get back into the process after many years away. I wrote an A/N to that affect and acknowledged there would be a lot of mistakes, etc., because I was just trying to get the piece out while I could. The third way I invited the trolls was by pushing the envelope on my characterizations of Jane and Lisbon by putting them in difficult situations and having them act accordingly. The trolls, and the genuinely affronted readers who didn’t believe people could act differently in unusual situations, had a fit with all that. As put out as I got with the stupidity, when I look back I see how much I grew during those times as both a writer and a person. The biggest thing I learned was to take criticism better whether justified or not.

I still read fanfic and there are some wonderful writers out there. At this point, I only read in a couple of fandoms that don’t include the one I wrote for. I actually gave up reading The Mentalist fanfic many years ago when I didn’t want other people’s ideas unconsciously creeping into my stories. I did that because a reviewer pointed out that my story was similar to another author’s story in a way that strongly hinted at plagiarism. After checking out the referenced work, I realized they were two totally different stories based on the same familiar trope. Other than the fact we both started with a “nothing new under the sun” idea, neither of us had taken anything from the other. Added to that, I started posting my story before she did so I wasn’t the one who would have plagiarized anything in the first place. I didn’t bother pointing any of that out. I posted an A/N announcing I would no longer read The Mentalist fanfics so any similarities to anyone’s story was coincidence. I kept my word and no one ever tried to accuse me of plagiarism without actually saying the words again. However my love of reading TM fanfics was tainted from that point forward.

On a more pleasant note, every now and then I get a review that strokes my ego and makes me want to finish the story they’ve written about. I got one of those yesterday. There’s nothing like someone telling you of all the fanfic they’ve read, you’ve done the best characterization of Lisbon they’ve ever read. It makes you want to go back and roll in that story until it’s done.

However, sometimes reviews come in that are doubt-edged swords. I had one of those the other day. The reviewer told me how much they enjoyed the story then informed me Lisbon was much harsher than she’d ever been on the show and she didn’t believe she’d be the way I portrayed her. However, she still thought it was a great story in spite of that. I wrote her a very nice response thanking her for her review and for appreciating the story. I also shared with her that, while I agreed with her assessment, at the time I wrote that story I followed my muse which dictated that was the way the story flowed.

Where I am now versus where I was at the time I wrote that story is huge. My feelings would have been hurt back in the day. Now, I really appreciate that someone is still reading my stories and enjoying them. I also appreciate she took the time out of her life to let me know how she felt. I genuinely appreciate her opinion and stand by the fact that was how the story downloaded in my mind characterizations and all. I remained true to my vision and that means not everyone is going to like it. However, that’s an integral part of telling a good story – remaining true to the vision.

Anyways, once upon a time there was a girl who wrote fanfiction…now she writes novels.

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

Been There, Done That · emotional healing · Food For Thought · observations

When the going gets tough, the tough keep going…

Tori LennoxLeave a comment

Or we lose everything. I believe that with all of my heart. I haven’t posted anything relevant to emotional healing in a couple of months because I’ve been in a dark place that has nothing to do with Covid-19, work, or any of the normal stressors we’ve all been wading through. I knew I couldn’t share encouragement when I was drowning in negativity. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying I’d given up in the midst of the battle. I hadn’t. I was temporarily overwhelmed by a sea of grief and depression caused by events beyond my control.

On June 9th, 2020, I caught my purse in the door and twisted wrong on my way to the car. By the time I arrived at work. I could barely walk. I spent the next five weeks out of work in incredible pain. Three months later I’m finally coming out of the inflammatory flare and resuming a more normal life. If that wasn’t enough, my five year old dachshund was hit with sudden onset Addison’s disease. She was in a severe crisis at the same time I was barely mobile. Allie ended up in the veterinary hospital for a couple of weeks receiving the appropriate treatment. While I checked on her every day, I couldn’t see her because of Covid-19. Not until she took a turn for the worse and her Vet called me in to see her. To make a long story short, five weeks ago I was holding my pup on my lap discussing treatment options on a Tuesday night and unexpectedly putting her to sleep the following night. It hurt so bad to lose that dog I thought my heart would literally burst. Thankfully, I was off the next day and I was fine. However, by the time I got to work on Friday, I wasn’t. I suddenly couldn’t talk. Actually, I could talk, just not coherently. My speech was garbled. While I knew what I wanted to say, I couldn’t get it out coherently. I scared the heck out of my bosses. Eventually, we determined I hadn’t had a stroke. I’d just finally reached the end of what I could take.

Between my Mom’s fall in October, the bedroom/bathroom renovation, working full time, Mom’s stroke, her recurring kidney infections/hospitalizations, and taking care of her, the Covid-19 shut down, my illness, Allie’s illness and losing her, and mounting medical bills my body finally reached it’s limit physically, emotionally, and mentally. The inability to talk was the physical manifestation I was done.

It was also an embarrassing experience I had to come to terms with. No, I don’t think anyone should be ashamed of being depressed or overwhelmed. Or of seeking treatment for those conditions. Both responses are normal parts of life for most of us. However, it isn’t for me. Not any more. I spent most of my life in a negative haze of depression. I had no joy. I was suicidal at times. I have no problem admitting I had the pills in hand more than once. Only my fear of being separated from God stopped me from taking them. That and the fear I wouldn’t take enough to actually kill me only cause irreparable physical damage. Yes, I think too much. Even while contemplating offing myself. Yes, I’m laughing at myself and my inherent weaknesses. When I finally fought my way out of that haze a few years back, I decided depression was a state of mind I didn’t have to accept. Not as long as I acknowledged I was prone to slipping into that mindset and I chose to actively fight it by finding something positive in the negative. However, my go-to strategy didn’t work this time. Losing Allie, even though her passing was peaceful and painless, catapulted me into a state of debilitating emotional pain and depression. It also made me combative and impatient. Overwhelmed. Angry. Short-tempered. Not a very nice person to know. Being in extreme physical pain didn’t help. No, that’s not an excuse just a fact. I didn’t even like myself very much which didn’t help my overall state of mind at all.

Over the past couple of weeks I’ve started exiting that dark head space. To do that, I had to make myself find the silver linings in my recent experiences. It wasn’t easy; but, I had to do it. Find those something positives and say them out loud. Over and over until the positive loop started overriding the negative loop already playing in my head. I had to start with the fact that, in the midst of my grief, I still have Stinky to love. He’s my fifteen year old dachshund and the “brother” Allie liked to aggravate. I’m blessed he’s a happy, healthy boy. I’m also fortunate he never really bonded with his “sister” because of their different temperaments so he doesn’t miss her at all. Next, I had to accept new medical bills aren’t the end of the world. They’ll be paid before I know it. Getting out of debt is something I’ve been working towards for a while so I’ve just had to accept that it’ll take a little longer than originally planned. And, finally, while I’m still in mild pain, I’m grateful what’s wrong with my back isn’t anything that can’t be managed with treatment and diet. I don’t need surgery. Lastly, while I still have some occasional blips with my speech, it’s improving every day as I let go of the things that stress me.

In closing, I want to say struggles are a part of life. How we each handle those struggles is what sets us apart from the crowd. Don’t accept being depressed, overwhelmed, or lost. Get help if you need to. There’s no shame in that. I’m grateful for the short-term medication that helped me get control of my emotions to the degree my speech was pretty close to normal in a couple of weeks. I wouldn’t have been there without help. I also want to encourage you not to give up the fight. Whatever the battle, it’s temporary. I can’t promise the struggle you’re going through won’t last days, week, months, or even years. I can promise you’ll emerge on the other side if you don’t give up the fight. I can also assure you, as long as you still have breath, you can rebuilt your life and find some degree of happiness. I know that from experience. I’ve started over so many times it would make your head spin. There’s nothing wrong in that either. We all try. We all fail. If you’re tough enough, you start over again.

I want to encourage you to do just that. Fight the battle, whatever it is, and never give up. When it’s finally done, start over again. Embrace joy where you find it. Understand happiness truly is whatever YOU make it. Where you finally end up might not be the ideal life you imagined. But, it will be the life you make it and that’s a wonderful thing.

Stay strong and I’ll “see” you soon,

Calla

Been There, Done That · emotional healing · Judeo-Christian Perspective · observations · Religious

Life is an ever evolving journey meant to be embraced with joy…

Tori LennoxLeave a comment

Even when your reality is anything but. For most of my life I’d read something so saccharine with a cynical snort and a tragic dose of wistfulness. I think a lot of us have that attitude. I just couldn’t find a whole lot of joy in my life. If you’ve read some of my past posts, you know my story isn’t pretty.

I lived forty-four of my fifty-six years on the cusp of suicide. I wanted my life to end; but, I wouldn’t end it. The only thing that stayed my hand was the possibility of being eternally separated from God. Even though I wasn’t remotely Christian during most of that time, I did believe in God. He was enmeshed in the very fiber of my being whether I wanted Him there or not. I didn’t. Not really. You see, my God was a God who punished my every transgression. He wasn’t a merciful Jesus who forgave my sins and loved me anyway. I was wrong.

For most of my life.

Please don’t miss the significance of what I’m about to say: how I viewed God wasn’t His fault. It was mine. However, He was still my Father and I loved Him. I now know I identified with the vengeful aspect of God the most because I viewed myself through a similar lens. Without mercy. My concept of right and wrong was absolute. There weren’t any shades of gray in my black and white. Under the right circumstance, that’s a good thing. It keeps you resolute to your moral convictions in a world of every changing values. In this instance, it was a bad thing. My rigid self-perception meant that since I couldn’t forgive myself, my God couldn’t forgive me either. Even for the things I had no control over. I believe a lot of you are in a similar boat.

We’re both wrong.

God’s capacity for forgiveness is far greater than we can fathom. While I know that’s true now, I didn’t back in the day. What I did know, as screwed up as I was, is that I couldn’t imagine a life without my Creator in it. I knew that was possible if I took my own life. Whether my belief was true or not, I can’t answer. Opinions go both ways. All that really matters is that fear was enough to stay my hand when I had the pills in hand. It’s a question I still can’t answer with any certainty. Ultimately, I think only God can answer that one since only He is privy to the influences operating on and in a person’s life in those desperate moments.

Moving on, like my past couple of blogs, this one isn’t for everyone. If you’ve made it this far, you can see this piece is overtly religious. I struggled with whether to start a separate blog for my “spiritual” pieces since I’ve tried to straddle the fence between generalities and my personal beliefs as much as possible in the majority of my posts. In the end, I decided I’m not two different people so I won’t write two different blogs. Instead, I’ll tag my future pieces with strong religious overtones as “Judeo-Christian/Religious” instead.

This is one of those blogs.

While I had a clearly defined purpose when I started this a few days ago, that original intent has fallen by the wayside. I don’t work from an outline. I write from the heart. From where I am mentally, spiritually, and emotionally in the moment I’m writing. Honestly, in this moment, I’m struggling to survive the past ten months and come out on the other side. If you’ve read my past posts, you know I’m the primary caretaker for my 91 year old Mom who’s been through a lot since she took a bad fall in October of last year. She’s had a stroke and battled several serious infections since February of this year. Fortunately, she’s doing well and has been for a couple of months.

Now it’s my turn to push through my own physical battles. On June 11th, I twisted wrong and sent myself into a very painful inflammatory flare from hell. I couldn’t walk two feet for almost three weeks. It took five weeks total get the flare under control enough I could return to work. We’re still trying to figure out what caused this. If that’s not enough, I had to put my beloved five year old dachshund to sleep this Wednesday due to a rare illness she couldn’t overcome. Today is August 1st, 2020, four days later, and my world is still crazy. On Friday, I developed a speech disorder that has scared the heck out of everyone. I haven’t had a stroke. I’ve had all that checked out. But, again, we don’t know what’s causing it beyond stress. Between Allie and myself, I have medical bills I will only be able to pay with divine intervention which I fully expect to have.

You might wonder why I’m writing all of this.

Honestly, it isn’t what I started out writing or intended to write. The truth is, I’m writing this to strengthen myself in my faith. I don’t have a choice. Not if I remain true to my beliefs. God doesn’t promise me I won’t have pain or bad things won’t happen. He only promises He will get me through them. He also promises, if I’ll let Him, He will take these bad events and use them for my good. That’s the promise I’m holding on to as I struggle through the pain of ending Allie’s suffering and my own physical, mental, and spiritual pain. Something good is coming from this.

I’ll let you know what it is as soon as it manifests.

There’s a lot more I’d like to say about how a Southern Baptist girl from South Carolina suddenly found herself a full-blown Charismatic Christian. But, that’s a story for another blog. Honestly, my conversion wasn’t sudden. It took me about a year to get over being spooked by certain aspects of the faith I’d grown to love. It took me a full ten years to get the gift of tongues so it hasn’t been an easy journey. But, it’s been the most meaningful journey of my life.

I’m going to end this blog with the Bible Scriptures I’m standing on to get me through this moment. Whether you’re a believer or not, I think they’ll help you. Oh, and if you’re a believer who thinks the Old Testament isn’t for us or it doesn’t apply – you need to rethink your stance! These verses apply to any believer…

“When I am afraid, I put my trust in you.” Psalm 56:3 (NIV)

“Cast your cares on the Lord and he will sustain you; he will never let the righteous be shaken.” Psalm 55:22 (NIV)

“Let us come before him with thanksgiving and extol him music and song.” Psalm 95:2 (NIV)

“Your love, Lord, reaches to the Heavens, your faithfulness to the skies.” Psalm 36:5 (NIV)

This is just a handful of the scriptures I’m standing on right now. A couple of the others are Isaiah 53:5-7 and 1 Peter 2:24 for my healing. Pull out your Bible and look them up or do the Google thing. They’re powerful promises we all need. As for that debt that will be paid, I’m looking at Matthew 11:23 since I’m casting that debt into the sea.

However, the looking is the easy part.

To stand and stand again is a little harder; but, it must be done.

Until next time,

Calla.