Living Free

"Life loves to be taken by the lapel and told: I'm with you kid, Let's go." 

Maya Angelou

My nine yr. old does everything with passion. She makes everything look so awesome. When she eats - it's with gusto, savoring each bite as if it were her last. When she sleeps, she makes her bed look so cozy that I just want to crawl in beside her. And when she laughs, her face completely lights up and her whole body laughs with her......

She's also my kid who finds $10 bills on the ground in the supermarket, and spots trinkets and treasures no one else notices. Hiking through the woods, she's the one who shouts with glee, don't step on the frogs. Frogs? What frogs? She points. There in the brush - almost invisable  - tiny frogs....

Life through my nine yr. old's eyes is rich, exciting, nothing to be missed, everything to be enjoyed. I love that. I love watching her....I love being a part of her world...of her discoveries....every experience an exciting adventure....

Living life with enthusiasm...living life as if everything is a miracle...a fresh new experience..full of wonder, full of joy.

I've spent most of my life living the opposite - moving cautiously - fearful -trying hard to be invisible - believing I had no right to exist, no right to live - no right to the wonders and thrills life offers. I've tried to live without being seen, or heard.......

My daughter has never been abused, never beaten, never called names, never left alone for hours, never criticized, never shamed.......My nine year old is teaching me how we're supposed to live our lives. Free. Full of joy. Excited.

I want to live like my nine year old - looking at life with fresh eyes - I'm discovering some of that freedom as I 'voice' what happened - all those horrible things - the years spent wondering if death would be better than life....

I survived. I survived for a reason. I survived to tell - I survived to live free - to not be afraid anymore. There are days I feel like my nine year - days when just smelling the earth feels better than anything - or feeling so energized that I need to dance around the house with the girls or belt out songs that my neighbours can hear me singing.....

When I think of where I was, how dark life had been, how empty and painful - and then I think of where I am now - I'm stunned at the transformation - I remember standing on the rooftop ready to jump to my death - or sitting in that fire not even trying to get out - or the many drug overdoses, or being held and raped thinking I would die in that house.....how did I survive?  I don't know. I have no idea - but I did survive.

Somehow He saw worth where I saw none. Somehow He knew.... I want to live like my 9 yr. old. He's given me a 2nd chance - a chance to live my life with passion - to live each day of my life as if it were my last.

Survival

"I preached to gangs on the streets of Manhattan, Brooklyn and the Bronx - and miracles began to happen." David Wilkerson

     Living on the streets taught me how to survive.  I learned to fight - to get my needs met.

     I rarely had money. When I did - I spent most of it on drugs. A few social workers went to bat for me - arranged to get me bus tickets, food and even clothes. And there was a guy who worked in the kitchen of this Greek restaurant. I'd go see him usually after suppertime. He always had packages of leftover food for me and bones for my dog. When it got really cold out, I went to this downtown shop and the owners let me sleep in the back of their store.

     Surviving. I got really good at it. I figured things out - how to live - how to get by....How to fight for what I needed.

    But there were things about living on the street that was too hard - things that nearly broke me - the creeps, the jerks, the slimy individuals who wanted to take advantage of anyone vulnerable. I felt like prey to them - an animal being stalked - I kept my distance but sometimes, in my naivity, I trusted the sleekness of their words......

     I used to go to this downtown Christian bookstore to shoot up.Their bathroom was clean and they never hasseled me. They were kind and always let me use their washroom. I wonder if they prayed for me. I bet they did. 
     A social worker helped me get off the streets. She set me up in my own apartment. She even managed to furnish it.  One night I sat on the coach in that apartment wanting to shoot up. I was already pretty stoned.  I accidently dropped the lit match. Within seconds the sofa became engulfed in flames. It spread rapidly through that little apartment including all around the doorway. 

     I sat on the floor stunned - listening to the crackling sounds of the flames and the popping and crashing as things broke from the intense heat. I kept coughing from the overwhelming black smoke filling the room, but I didn't move. I didn't try to get out.  I heard a clear voice tell me he knew and I knew so burn baby burn. I kept asking him to tell me what I knew but he just kept repeating he knew and I knew so burn baby burn. 
     Later - I found out that whole apartment had been gutted by the fire. Completely destroyed. The apartment below and the ones next door were not touched by the flames at all.  

     Survival. The streets taught me that. Grace. That's what God taught me. I lived because of His grace. I survived the streets, the fire and so many other horrible things. His grace. It went so far down to pull me out. 
     Survival. I learned to fight on the street. Grace. He taught me love.