Freedom

"I looked at my hands to see if I was the same person. There was such a glory over everything! The sun came up like gold through the trees, and I felt like I was in heaven. ”  Hariiet Tubman

Harriet Tubman...a slave....knew about being treated less than human. She had been beaten by those who owned her..... not just once....many times. They left scars on her body....and scars on her soul...Somehow she learned to be a fighter. She escaped.....found freedom......found safety. Yet something pulled at her....tugged at her heart....made her risk her life to return over and over and over to help others also know freedom.  

It had been dark for so long...when He finally freed me from the drugs....I walked outside and looked around at the trees, the flowers, the sun, the sky....Everything looked so brilliant...like velvet. The colors....the textures....I wanted to touch everything. It's almost like I had never seen any of it before....

Freedom! It made me see the world differently. It's as if my eyes had been blurred. Everything had been so dark, dim, shaded. I felt like I had been given a new pair of eye glasses that brought everything magically into perfect focus.

Freedom - When I was trapped, a slave to the drugs - nothing mattered except my need to survive from one day to the next, one hit to another. The same with the eating disorder....all I could think about was the addiction....and how to survive. 

I have recieved so many emails and phone calls from people who've read my book...telling me they're finding healing for themselves....and hope for their own freedom....I resisted telling my story. I fought hard not wanting anyone to know what had happened. But now...with every email, every phone call.....I want to tell and keep telling.....I want to help someone else find freedom. 

And I just found out February is Black History month...makes me especially  happy to honor the life of Hariiet Tubman.

She Made a Difference

"What is soul? It's like electricity - We don't really know what it is, but it's a force that can light up a room" Ray Charles.

She was a woman who touched me...an elderly woman who spent the last few days of her life in a hospital bed... I was moved by her gentleness - her gratitude - her kind spirit. She was a fighter....a different kind than me.....but still a fighter. Her friends came to see me....they told me her story - they spoke with admiration...the same admiration I felt when I sat in her presence. 

She had lived in Poland during the war. Her older brother had been thrown in prison. She tried to sneak some home cooked food to him, but was caught and put in prison too. While there, she was beaten and treated cruelly. Finally they released her. The war became worse and conditions in Poland were bad. Parents were frantic wanting their children to be spared. She had been a teacher. She knew the children.  

On her own...alone...she took a number of those kids and escaped Poland, climbing over the mountains. She brought them to the United States but they were turned away. They settled in Mexico. She raised them until they were of age. Most eventually went to live in the United States....she herself came to Canada. 

To look at her....you would never know she was a fighter. You would never think she had been so brave in the face of brutality...or that she had the courage to bring a group of children across the ocean...to a strange land...where she knew no one - alone....

And she couldn't have known how much she touched my life....made a difference...gave me something - gave me a determination not to waste what He did for me. 

I don't want to be afraid to reach out - to make a difference - to take a risk. I don't want to be afraid anymore or live with shame. I've started telling a few close friends pieces of what I've lived. Their reaction is shock - mine is fear that they'll turn away from me. None have so far. 


Some days I feel really confident and strong - other times.....I cringe thinking of people knowing the things that happened.


That elderly woman - her past never went away. It followed her in some ways - pulling and tugging inside.  She befriended a man - similiar to her older brother. He had problems. He couldn't work. He was  like a boy in a man's body. He needed her - but in many ways she needed him. Her friends didn't understand - why would she bother with him? She had the respect of so many - a great woman - a wonderful teacher. I understood.


We're shaped by what we lived....The hurts, the pain, the traumas leave imprints on our heart - in our soul. I don't think they ever completely go away. Remnants linger...they stay affecting us in ways that seem so contrary to who we have become. 

I don't want my past to pull me down anymore. I don't want what I lived to keep me from living my life in complete freedom. I don't want to be ashamed of how far I had fallen.....how bad it had been. My friend told me if people know just how bad it was - they'll understand hope and grace. And if they understand - maybe they'll reach for their own freedom.

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.