The Sweet Truth

Sad thing...
how little we know the people around us
how we assume who they are by what we see
judge them before they even open their mouth
put them on trial before we even discover their own private history
we don't know their pain
their suffering
their childhood
the failed relationships
the loneliness or isolation
we know nothing about what sorrows they have known
and yet in a single glance
they are seen, weighed and declared unfit
with our own reckless discrimination


If I am overweight, I'm never given a chance
some people only see "obese"
they take one second to see me
and immediately sum me up
on the scales inside their head
and I am simply a lump of fat
unable to utter a single syllable in my defense
and already I'm on the chopping block
they look at me and say "she's lazy"


I think it's unfair to not even get to know me
leaving my history unread
like a dusty book on a shelf
that nobody ever believes is interesting enough to pick up and read
the old saying about not judging a book by its cover...
yeah
maybe that's me


I've faced a lot of fear in my life
fear of people...
people can be cruel
even when you're a kid
especially when you are poor
even more when you are kind of awkward
or if you have to move to another town
and face a whole new school
and you come to a bigger city
from a small town with a funny name
and then sprinkle some shame on there
like your dad being in prison
and your mom has to work all the time
and you are so broke
your mom doesn't even have lunch money
and you're eating weird things
like a cold corn dog in your lunch box
or a boiled egg and a cherry tomato
or maybe another jelly sandwich
'cause the peanut butter is gone
or maybe you eat nothing but the heels of the bread
because the jelly and peanut butter are both gone
or maybe you don't even have bread
so you just go in there and wish you had a lunch
while everyone stares at you and asks questions..
It was easier when the school campuses were open at lunchtime...
at least I could pretend to go home and eat...
nothing so embarrassing as having to explain why you aren't eating
not to mention the clothes...
sneakers bought a size or two too big
that way I could wear them even longer
I think my least favorite ones were that horrid green
kind of avocado
whatever it was called,
I must have worn those shoes a long time
it seemed like forever
funny now when I look back
tragic, and yet a funny twist
the ugly shoes matched my wretched coat
ugly green with big gold buttons
big and fuzzy like a teddy bear
I must have looked like a small furry monster child
green shoes and horrible green coat
I recall the pain and shame I felt
sitting at the baby-sitter's house
being taunted and made fun of
relentlessly
by a brat of a kid
and his older sister
she was two grades older than me
the both of them
dancing around as I sat in the chair
in the middle of their living room
as they were singing a made up song
about my ugly coat
and him hitting me repeatedly on the head
with my own flimsy notebook
while I ducked and tried to cover my head
with my hands
tears streaming down my face
which was red with shame


I felt so helpless
there I was
supposedly being cared for
in their house
and while I was being tormented
the mother was not even aware
how evil her kids were
pure evil
they lived for nothing if not to torment and hurt
anyone smaller or more helpless than they
like wild dogs
prey on the young
the wounded
the hurting
or anyone different from themselves
I cried and that seemed to encourage them even more


I don't recall much else after I snapped
I was so angry
my sister just sat there and let them do it
I knew she was helpless
and could not stop them
but I was angry for that
her not protecting me
I was left to the wolves
nobody to offer protection


I exploded
I stood up and yelled at them
"I HATE YOU!!!!"
I don't know if I even took my notebook
but I opened the door and took off running
I ran and ran
up and out of that awful place
leaving the demons behind me
I screamed I never wanted to see them again
and cried and ran and ran
I ran to my little poor home down the street
it was empty
hardly even furniture in our cold little place
not much to eat
I think I made myself a piece of bread with sugar sprinkled in it
locked up the front door
and went out the back
up the road and down to the little gutter
behind the Dutton's house
and I crouched down there
wiping my eyes with my furry green coat sleeve
feeling very alone...


I never wanted to go back again
I was cold
and hurting
and angry
crying and trying to eat that stupid sugar sandwich
that stuck in my throat
and wouldn't go down past the lump there


I felt so betrayed
So humiliated
so wronged
an 8 year old child
out of place in the world
moved to a new city
strange and unkind
out of little Munday, Texas
away from everything familiar
no friends
no family that could help me
alone in the world


Daddy was in jail
I could not grasp what he had done back then...
I must have blocked it out after being told
or else I did not understand what I had heard
it's kind of common for children to ask "what?"
when they don't understand what they've heard
and then be told again in a louder voice
and they will simply say "Oh"
even though they do not really understand
I think it may have been like that for me
At any rate
there were no rescuers
no one to stand up for me
and I felt it down deep
I knew then I was an outcast
an outsider
a continual victim
and then and there, I took it to heart
Maybe the only thing that brought me comfort that day
had been the little sugar sandwich
maybe that is what sparked my relationship with food
in an unhealthy way
At any rate, food became what felt good
or what made me feel a little better...
it was associated with happiness
and even comfort


every birthday party meant ice cream and cake and all kinds of goodies
every Christmas meant fudge, divinity, pies, cakes and candy
every camp out meant hot dogs, hamburgers, barbecue and marshmallows
every Sunday meant some kind of snack in class
every weekend meant cooking out
every Thanksgiving meant turkey and dressing
every Halloween meant plenty of candy
every county fair meant candied apples and cotton candy
every holiday at school meant cupcakes, punch, coke parties, pizza parties or candy


and the love for me came
in candy coated goodness
plates full of happiness and joy
wrapped up in tin-foil inside a pie plate
or wafting through in the air around me
as pots and pan cooked on the stove
and something delicious baked in the oven
close my eyes and breathe in the smells
of heaven on earth


family get togethers
with warm pumpkin bread
and cakes and pies lined up in rows
everyone happy and talking and eating
a smile on the faces of everyone
maybe the only time I felt liked was when we were all eating
and eating and happiness went hand in hand
love and acceptance and feeling good
...all of that was tied forever with food


My sister came and found me at last
on that terrible, awful day.
I wasn't really all that good at running or hiding anyhow...
probably my stupid green shoes and coat that gave me away...
anyway, I was made to come back
to where the two demons were then forced to apologize
It seems the angry father giant had awakened
and he had punished the two with a pretty good spanking
(which was really the only reason they were saying sorry)
I heard their words and saw the tears in their eyes
but knew the tears were only anger at their dad
they secretly hated me because I had caused it
and I knew they would try to hurt me again
if ever I slipped up enough to give them the chance
(and I never did again)
I knew I should probably feel bad for them
for getting the spanking from the angry big man
but I felt only hurt and alone
even though they got spanked...
At least they had a dad there to spank them
mine was locked away
and I was stuck wearing ugly shoes and matching coat
and they could wear something better
so I had no pity.
Selfish of me...
but at 8 years old, maybe grace and forgiveness was not so easily understood
or maybe it was only then that I would understand what it might cost...
When you are so young and vulnerable and helpless
and you are taken advantage of...
perhaps only then, when it cuts so deep
and affects your life afterward
molding and shaping you into who and what you are
and will forever remember
maybe, that is when you can know best
how horribly hard it is to forgive...
You had done no wrong to cause it.
You were innocent...
the only crime that day was wearing ugly clothes
no fault of your own
you are poor
you wear what has been handed down to you...
And then you are wronged
you are discriminated against
you are made fun of
you are made an outcast for sport.
Forgiveness?
I knew right and wrong then
and I knew I had been wronged...
it hurt and I could not defend myself
Not without being beat up by those brats..
Ask me to forgive them then and there?
...and then what?
Would they have continued with the hitting and dancing?
Would they have slapped me and kicked me?
Would they have pulled me off the chair?
Pulled my hair out and choked me?
Would the whole family have joined in and killed me?
I was so afraid...


So I stood there as they cried alligator tears
and listened to the apology
"Sorry!" one blurted out among her angry crying
Looking down,
I just said in a very small voice, "It's ok."
The other one was made to be polite even more
"I'm VERY sorry." he lied.
"That's ok," I whispered, still looking down.
and they were forced to their rooms.
But even though I said it,
it was not ok.


I don't know what happened afterward very clearly.
I can remember their mother having to explain to my mom
I can remember my sister being mad at me.
I think she was embarrassed at the whole situation...
Maybe she was mad because I made her look stupid.
I don't know.
I know sometime after that
(I'm not sure how long)
we were given a key and told to go straight home
that my sister was in charge and I needed to mind her
and we became latch-key kids.


I was never so happy
Free from the demons
No more useless baby-sitters
No more of anyone laughing at my strange attire
No more waiting for mom in a strangers house
...even when she had to work late.
But home in my familiar living room
with mom's sewing machine
and the one rocking chair
and that black couch
and my stupid sugar sandwiches
and a newfound obsession with food
that would follow me for a long, long time


Thinking about it now...
I think the demons' mom was cooking dinner
she was probably having to scramble to make it happen
no way to watch wild children and do household chores too...
and the giant angry man, her husband,
turned out to be an alcoholic...
Very angry and looking for an excuse to punish his kids.
Maybe they needed the extra money watching us
or maybe she thought her kids could use some friends
(or targets for practice)
and maybe her hands were full
with the abusive husband
and ill-fated kids.
Maybe she was just trying to be nice to my mom
who had no husband
and had to work all the time
I wonder about them a lot now...


Years later, one of her sons would die in an accident.
Their family suffered a tragic loss.
I found out about it
and I was taken back to that scared 8 year old
cringing in the chair
hiding my head inside that coat
with my knees drawn up to my chest
wishing it would all end...
and I pitied them...
but still felt the shame and anger inside.


Later, I found out they had bought a little diner
where my grandfather used to take me
when he would visit us.
Sadly, I determined never to go there
it's image tarnished somehow
by the events of so long ago.
Even now when I drive past, too many thoughts
swirl through my head.
Can't bring myself to even drive past now.
So I avoid it and go blocks out of the way
to keep it from my view.
Out of sight and out of mind.


I've come to terms with my feelings now
Somewhat...
I do forgive them now
for all that happened...
I was hurt...
but maybe they were hurting too at the time
and afraid to allow anyone else to be happy
when they were so miserable themselves
They had to act tough
to mask the fact their father was a drunk
and abusive to them
and that their mother could not protect them
and ending up put the kids into that situation.
I do not blame anyone...
Fear makes us do strange things
reckless and wild...
appearing tough as nails
to keep anyone from seeing the real you
small and afraid
8 years old
and wishing to be normal
whatever that may be.


Maybe all we really want is acceptance
to be loved
no matter how ugly our coat and shoes are
to be a part of a family
where everyone is friend
and no one is foe
flaws are overlooked
fears are overcome together
where peace reigns at last
and there is no need to eat a sugar sandwich
to feel good.


Sadly, we only find short glimpses
of that ideal place
while we are here
in this world made of dust
which is laid in the lap of our enemy.
We struggle to fit in
when fitting in does not fit us here
for we are not home yet.
We search for Eden
and find it unobtainable.
We eat everything
unknowingly searching for the fruit
from the Tree of Life...
never realizing it is not to be found
in this place.
And we struggle to drink the living water
for it requires death of our hidden selves
change
the unfamiliar
so we run away
crying and saying I hate you
with a sugar sandwich in our pocket
and a lump in our throat
hurting like little children
which we all are inside
wishing to be found
and taken home
to that place where we are held
in the embrace of love
and acceptance
and peace
of those who love us
unconditionally...
forever.
...and nobody has to eat a sugar sandwich to find it.

Lifes Cuppa

Life's like coffee, bitter and sweet
sometimes strong, sometimes weak
and sometimes you just can't drink from that cup

Good when it's fresh and not when it's old
I drink mine hot, some like it cold
an you've gotta have it every day if you wanna get up

Can't have coffee if you don't put it on
gotta make some more when that pot's gone
Sometimes all that's left is just the grounds


Life comes in regular or decaf
sometimes we cry and sometimes laugh
In every day we face our ups and downs

Just for me He's made a brew
Don't fret, He's gonna make yours too
He knows who you are and what you need

And if your cup's not a cuppa Joe
Relax, your God is in the know
Brings you what is best in every deed

Whether it's tea, ice water or java
orange juice or nectar of guava
God knows everything you like or don't

The-Maker-of-the-Stars-Bucks, He's preparin
whatever your heart will soon be wearin
so drink in every drop of His will and won't.

Drink up!

What Its Worth

I can remember my dad coming in from a long, hard day's work
his hands all calloused and cracked, rough and hardened by working as a concrete man.
As a kid, I would stare at his hands and wonder why his were so different from mine.
Not just the size of them, although his were huge...
But the way mine were unwrinkled, uncalloused, not cracked and mostly soft, while his felt almost like they were made out of hardened clay.
I can remember his skin being so tanned and reddened by the sun, he looked like a giant freshly baked gingerbread man.
But I digress...
here's the actual story.

I can remember working a few times for my dad's home owned concrete business.
As a kid, I thought it would be fun to work some "real work" outside with my dad.
Little did I know what lay in store for me...
I found that though I liked the way the tools looked, they were more difficult for me to use than I thought.
Dad could lift a shovel full of huge pieces of broken up concrete and toss it aside like it was mere sand.
I tried to do the same, but when I'd fill up my shovel, I couldn't lift it.
So I had to scoop about four times more often just to achieve his same effect of a single shovelful.
The grubbing hoe was one mighty looking tool, but in my small hands, it would only yield so much result.
I picked and hoed and shovelled all afternoon long, trying to make my corners as square and deep as my dad's.
But try as I might, I could never seem to get my end looking quite right.
He would just smile and say, "You're doing a pretty good job for a kid."
Then he would come over to my side and even it up and fix it in a matter of about five minutes, much to my chagrin.
I would work until my muscles burned and I could hardly feel my arms anymore.
And he would be fresh as a daisy, not even breaking a sweat.
He'd stop a minute grab a drink of water, then stand there watching me work at it like a dog and just grin.
Then, at the end of the job, he would set up the forms and get everything ready for the concrete to be poured later, and we would leave.
Lastly, he would stop by a little convenience store and get us both a soda to enjoy on the drive home.
Interesting thing about working like that...
It changes your perspective on things.
Before doing all that hard work, I had wanted to get myself a set of paints and paintbrushes that came complete with a book full of pages to paint in.
It didn't cost a lot, but at that time we had very little spare money, so I knew better than to ask for it.
So after I had worked with my dad one particular afternoon, he gave me five dollars for working.
I stared at it in my hands. I was stunned.
I had my own money!
I was so excited.
I had plans for this cash. I wanted that paint set so bad I could practically taste it.
But the funny thing is...
When I got down to the store and got ready to pick out my prize, I took a better look at that paint set.
I paced back and forth and looked the box over up and down flipping it over and reading everything again and again.
And in the end, I bought it, but afterward, I was sorry I had.
It wasn't that the paint set had changed, it was the same little set I had pined after for so long.
But suddenly, the paint set seemed small and cheap.
I had worked all afternoon long to earn that five dollars, and the paint set cost me the majority of that.
And after I had painted a few pages, I found myself wishing I hadn't decided so quickly to spend it all at once.
I wished I had the chance to do it over and save my money instead of spending it.
Suddenly my time and effort seemed worth a lot more than a silly set of paints and brushes.
Real hard work makes you change your mind about what something is really worth.
And suddenly, it dawned on me... I began to understand why my parents didn't allow me to just go off and get any old thing I wanted with the limited funds we had. It wasn't worth it.
The money we had was earned by hard, backbreaking, sweaty, exhausting work.
Suddenly, my perspective changed and I began to appreciate things in a new way.
And isn't it the same way with our spiritual lives?
As babies in Christ, we tend to be selfish.
We pray for only our own things. We need this, we need that. We ask God to give things to us that we're actually capable of earning for ourselves, and we pout when we don't get it. We lose our faith and say in a babyish voice, "You just don't want me to have anything do you?"
But as we grow a little more and end up having to endure a few things by faith, we wise up and begin to realize the world does not revolve around our own selfish needs.
We have our eyes opened and begin to see the needs of those around us.
Our family, our friends, our acquaintances.
Then outside that to bigger and larger circles...
Others have needs in our own town or city we don't know.
Others in different cities and states on every side are in greater need than we know.
Many others around the world in various countries suffer indescribable inhumanities because they profess Christ as their Lord and Savior, and we have no idea of their suffering until our eyes are opened, and the world is brought into a different perspective all together.
Suddenly, the little selfish things I have asked for in the past seem very petty indeed.
And when I consider the full cost of my salvation, it is too great a price that was paid for it for me to use it selfishly.
Forgive me Lord.
I falter.
I fall.
I forget.
Remind me every day of those who are unable to freely speak of You.
Let me ever be reminded of those who are separated from their families, ousted from their communities, or taken away and tortured or even killed because they chose to follow You.
Keep me ever mindful that the world is bigger than I can see right in front of my eyes.
Daily let me walk in humility and the knowledge of how blessed I am to live where I do.
And Lord, let me stand up with this realization and do Your will as an instrument of You.
Shake me awake. Get me up out of my seat and into doing whatever it is You ask of me without hesitation.
Let me work for You every single day and rejoice at the chance to do it.
And thank You for every lesson in this life You've given me.
Keep teaching me, I pray.
Let me learn another lesson of Your heart and Your will each new day.
Break my own will, and make it Yours instead.
Let me walk down Your path instead of my own.