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Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781524639907 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | AuthorHouse |
| Publication date: | 10/12/2016 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 52 |
| File size: | 172 KB |
Read an Excerpt
Residual of Abandonment
Residue of Rejection
By Angela Scott Johnson
AuthorHouse
Copyright © 2016 Angela Scott JohnsonAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-5246-3991-4
CHAPTER 1
My Loves
Circles of life have passed right before my eyes. Generations have marched before me. I often miss the presence of those wonderful pillars. They had been planted to guide me firstly into a purposeful relationship with the God of all creation. Secondly, they were to let their love, guidance, and support help me to discover and walk my best life possible.
Our family reunions were held in Rich Square, North Carolina with Grandma Clark sitting in her little old rocking chair on the front porch. Her snuff can was so close to the legs of the chair that we all watched in anticipation of the can being knocked over. It never did. The mother and daughter singing sensation, who were my aunt and her daughter, waited for the musicians to tune their guitars, and the amazing worship service would begin – right there on the front lawn. The vocals were powerful and the atmosphere was charged. The front yard was like a big dance floor. Family gathered around and sang and moved to the beat of the music. Everyone was beautifully united.
A passion and thirst for God had begun in those gatherings. We could feel a change in the atmosphere when the music and songs began to rang out. Our parents and grandparents were instrumental in introducing us to a very real God who cared about every aspect of our lives. We would later make our own decisions and choose our own paths, according to our own desires. But even if we chose to leave God out of our lives, the seed had been planted.
The group of young athletes at the basketball court across from the front lawn continued to play basketball, but their voices were lowered because the "church" portion of the family reunion had begun. The dirt from the yard covered the players' legs from feet to knees. It was filthy, fun play while subtly listening to "church."
The cooks would be in the kitchen and the aroma would filter through the screen door and out to the front porch. Laughter could be heard from the kitchen as the cooks would share stories among themselves. I can't remember how old I was, but the memories of those reunions are often vivid and make me long for those times again. The unfortunate thing is that I would not know how to find that house now. All of those who made those gatherings possible have passed away. After the seniors were too old to take us there, and after our lives began to spin in different directions, family reunions in North Carolina became fewer and fewer.
The truly important things began to consume our lives, like friends and false relationships, like work places that we would never request time from for such trivialities as family reunions. You know, those types of things.
Back in Newport News, Virginia, my dad's family would meet at Big Mamma and Dad Lee's house. Big Momma had only three children, and she and Dad Lee had met and married after the divorce of Big Momma and Poppa. One of Big Momma's daughters, Bernice - my paternal grandmother, had eleven children and many of these eleven would bring their children and food. Fun with family would bring us together at Big Momma's house.
Dad Lee was protective over his fruit trees, but he would let us grab an apple or a peach, as long as we were careful. His yard and gardens were meticulous. The lawn was perfectly green and plush and there were many trees, but also space for us to run and play. I am so glad that Dad Lee would never know what became of his estate.
I did not realize how precious these memories would come to mean to me. The innocence and love that flowed then would come to comfort me at the very difficult times in my life - when the world longed to devour me.
So many people in this short narrative have since departed. Even many of the unspoken crowds that attended the gatherings have since died. I am so captivated by the circles of life and just how short our time here on this earth really is. Talking, laughing one minute, and into eternity the next. Wow!
We will never know what one minute to the next holds for us. We remain busy trying to survive. For those who are able, we are trying to obtain as much as we can: cars, homes and more money. For others, simple survival is of essence – just trying to make ends meet. Many cannot see the good in a sunny day, because they can only hear and feel the rain. Many cannot appreciate all that they have already obtained – and so the push for more continues. Can we ever be a people who can be satisfied? Can we ever be a people who can simply say, "Thanks," for all of our many blessings?
There were no rich people among us that we knew of, neither in North Carolina nor Virginia-not financially rich anyway. But love, unity and purpose brought us together. What I think is odd, however, is that I never remember anyone labeling these meetings as family reunions. I don't think that label was attached to our gatherings until we reminisced on them as adults. Suddenly they became "Clark Family Reunions" or "Scott Family Reunions." They could have been called this all along, but that is not how I remember that. The coming together of kin made life great. It gave me joyful memories. The innocence, the coming together of kin in love and harmony, and embracing the meaning of family increase now in value in my memories.
My family gave us a structure and foundation that would later prove invaluable in my life. It showed me that love and hope were possible. I would draw strength and self-awareness from these meetings in the years that were to come.
CHAPTER 2Change Has Come
My mother's name was Vashti. What I knew of her would be told to me by others over the years. What I would learn was that she was a very sweet person who loved and was loyal to those who were in her circle. She and my dad's sisters were best of friends. She was also a minister who carried a burden that no one could have known.
Back in those days it seemed that people were not free to discuss the issues and pains of their lives. To add to that, ministers were supposed to have learned how to cope with all that life had handed them. My mother, Vashti, seemed to have been unable to carry the burdens she hid in her heart.
We cannot always know one's private struggles and personal thoughts. Life can present so many twists and turns that every path can seem to lead to a dead end. We can silently search for a peace that seems to forever allude us. Trying to survive can become our mission.
I would discover that she possibly had endured childhood traumas that she was unable to overcome - although this was never confirmed to me. She eventually would enter contentious relationships that destroyed her sense of value and worth, leading her to take her own life.
We hear of the person who just could not cope with the pains of life choosing to escape it in the way that seems most appropriate to them for that moment. That ray of sunshine no longer shines for them and the heart bleeds slowly. And one day, to them, life is not worth the struggle any more. When my mother pulled the trigger to end her life, it simultaneously and permanently changed ours. Her voice would no longer be heard. The hugs would no longer come. Lessons of the mother's heart would never reach my ears.
It then becomes the duty of the remaining parent to do all that is within their power to ensure that their offspring receive a love and affirmation that their very presence on this earth is desired. In the absence of affirmation, one drifts in the wind like a feather floating to the ground undirected and without purpose.
* * *
We were sent to live with our mother's parents, James and Lillian, who gave us their hearts and a wonderful home. I have an older brother and older sister, who loved me intensely. Together, we began this journey with grandparents who loved us, but who could not understand the internal dialogues that would come to greet us daily.
Eventually this dialogue would tell me that I was not as good as others. It would tell me that I had been abandoned. It would feed me daily a meal of rejection. I knew that my grandparents loved me, but these challenges were going to come real to me in the years to come in ways that my grandparents could not prevent. These challenges would often overtake me, leading me down destructive paths. Rejection and heartache would overtake me. I would come to feel that my foundation was not stable. I would find myself seeking love – in any and all places.
At Grandma Lil's house, we had to go to church. There were no questions about it. Church was an absolute must. Many days a week we would attend. No matter the weather, no matter the hours – church was a requirement. Although I was young, I enjoyed going to church. I had many friends and family there. But, I later discovered, by just being in the atmosphere, I was learning. So I learned about God at an early age, although it would not be for many years to come that I would develop a true and lasting relationship with Him.
In the meantime, grandma and granddaddy fed, clothed and protected me. I remember the Christmases. Grandma, who I began to call "mom" as I got older, took me to the mall to shop for Christmas. I told her I wanted a pair of boots. We found the most gorgeous pair of white boots that laced in front and were lined with fir at the top. They were the most adorable boots I had ever seen. I was so excited. So I could not understand the short, plastic brown boots I found in the wrapped box under the tree on Christmas morning. There must have been an accidental delivery by Santa on Christmas Eve. These were not the pair of boots we had chosen on our shopping trip. I later discovered that she had already picked out the boots that she liked and could afford. Our shopping experience was just to confirm my foot size.
You would have to know mom to understand that moment. A woman who was active and about business, her word was final and it was law. And yeah, I did wear the boots.
We did not have a clothes drier. We dried our clothes outside on the clothes line. My brother and sister mostly did this – I was too small. But winter, spring, summer, or fall – someone had to take care of the laundry. Laundry days in the winter were brutal. It was not fun. But with a household of five, chores had to be done. Admittedly, mom did most of the work without complaint.
My mom Lil was a student of the scriptures. Her life mostly focused on being a godly woman. She was always helping others. Often she packed the trunk of her car, drove to different neighborhoods, visited people who she knew were in need, and gave them what she had. Food, clothes, money – she served people from a heart that loved God. She celebrated life. We called her "Diva." She wore big hats, long fur coats, flashy boots – she enjoyed life. But she was extremely humble. You would never know how she helped others. She was a person who believed in enjoying each moment. She loved to travel. The older I got the more I realized how amazing she was.
I also realized how much she missed and longed for her daughter, my mother, Vashti. This cycle of pain and remembrance seemed to be endless. I was still very young, so I did not yet understand the impact of her suicide.
My paternal and maternal grandparents were good friends. Some of my dad's sisters lived with my mother Vashti's parents while they attended college and were best friends. My grandparents loved them all. My mother's death was devastating to my aunts. They hurt so deeply. They loved her so. Oh, to hear them talk about it even until this day, you can still hear the hurt and the impact of losing my mother, their best friend.
My aunts' hearts were torn apart the day of the suicide. There was a gaping hole in the middle of their lives. How could this have happened? What could have caused this? They had no clue, and they were devastated. They still ache for her.
* * *
When I was around nine years old, we left our maternal grandparents and moved backed to live with my father. Well, we moved to that area and lived with his sister and her family, Aunt Jeannie and Uncle Robert – an amazingly godly family. They loved us and cared for us like my grandma Lil (mom) had. Gospel music rang out in the mornings as we dressed for school. I can remember my aunt's smile as she would lip sync the songs that were playing while waving her hands in the air, as if she were worshiping. I could never have imagined how it would come to be a blessing to me later in life. I would come to need Him like I never thought I would.
Sometimes the things that we long for the most do not come to fruition. Sometimes we long to know the feeling of being unconditionally loved just because we exist. Sometimes we long to be embraced in a way that makes us feel that we are in the safest place in the world. I do believe that every person God created was created with a desire to be loved and to feel wanted. A child grows up gauging the world through the eyes of his heart. He learns to love and accept himself to the level at which he is loved and accepted. He searches for it, I believe, until the day he dies – or until the day he finds his purpose.
My father and I at this point did not have a relationship. I longed for it. I craved it. I needed him. I wanted him. It was unbearable to think that both of my parents had voluntarily removed themselves from my life.
* * *
No Dad Know God
Often, we find ourselves absent of dad.
Where has he gone? Does he not remember?
I am here and, yes, I need him. No matter my age.
Dad's presence gives me permission to be.
No dad's presence insists that I must wonder who I am.
No dad's presence in my life says I must be less than because ...
I would have loved to have known dad.
It was no mistake that I came to know God.
Charlene S. Houston
Continuous Change
Aunt Jeannie had two sons of her own. We were able to form sporting teams and I began to develop a love of sports. Any sport really. Football. Baseball. Basketball. Track. However, I soon became partial to basketball.
We were still very involved in church. Now we attended my paternal parents' church. We had so much fun. There was always something going on. There were so many young people. There was always an activity planned.
The years rolled on. As young people, we were very active. We were never stagnant. Church was a part of life. We were growing into young people who had our own ideas and thoughts, but we were respectful. For the most part, we were obedient and happy young people. However, we lacked personal relationships of love and leadership that would have given us character, strength, and value. Because when young people have no defense or guidance, when they feel they do not have a voice, they become bait for those who seek to prey on their innocence and weakness. Our young group was robbed of many years of innocence. Many never found the way back to the paths that were destined for them.
Molestation is a horrible offense against someone who has no power to prevent it. Its onset comes in the form of friendship and compassion. Often it can be family. But its results are devastating. It makes you feel that you have in someway done something wrong, when the wrong actually was done to you. No one could here my silent screams. No one saw my tear stained pillow.
The soldiers had left the fort unmanned. There was no one to guard against the camp being ambushed and overtaken. Treasures were stolen. Treasures of innocence. Treasures of trust. Treasures of protection. Treasures of youth. Our church youth group would forever know the meaning of betrayal.
I moved from house to house more than I wanted. I began to feel as if I had found people that I could trust, people who loved me. But those thoughts were quickly demolished. I just wanted to be loved. The feeling of being left alone was scary, especially at night. My brother and sister were old enough now to be more independent, but the nighttime for me was brutal. I saw two sides of many faces. Faces that seemed friendly in one instant but demonstrated foe mentality in the next. I really felt betrayed. I began to really feel alone and isolated. I started staying to myself more. I became sad and depressed. I just wanted to be loved. Was that too much to ask? I cried at night, every night ... after attempting to hold the walls up during the day, they came crashing down at night.
Predators were on the lookout for young people like me. Predators looked for those who were looking for love and acceptance, just like myself and many of the children who attended church with me. Predators can appear and act so normal. They smile. They are polite. Many have been given authorities in our lives, and are not scrutinized.
To truly get to love and know someone, requires that you spend time with them. It requires that you become familiar with their thoughts, behaviors, ideas, and patterns. When you really know a person, the slightest change in their personality makes you question what is happening with that person. What happened with you today? What is going on? You are not yourself. Sometimes we are forced to be around those who are offending or hurting us. And often we cannot share our heart for fear of further rejection. My heart was broken due to this offense. I was an empty shell. Could no one hear my silent cries?
Even in my youth, I was sure that exposure would be my enemy. And boy was I right. When finally the truth of the molestation was revealed it somehow became my fault. No one said anything to the molester. I went back to grandparents Lil and James' home. No value. No worth. No fight. Was I not worth a fight? My insides were bleeding like a water fountain. No one cared for me; I was the victim! I was hurting. I was dying! During the day, I continued to smile, the the debris of the injuries mounted as high as the eye could see.
Was this really what life was to be for me? Was I expected to endure this torment untainted. Abandonment, rejection, and sin killed Jesus. Was I expected to be stronger than Jesus? I think that when life becomes too much we take on new identities that were not intended for us just so that we could survive. We have to find a new approach to survival. We have to find a new means to make it to tomorrow. Our hearts crumble under the weight of torment, and that's what it felt like to me.
At first I could not understand how my mother could take her own life. I did not know that I would soon come to this temptation in my own life.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Residual of Abandonment by Angela Scott Johnson. Copyright © 2016 Angela Scott Johnson. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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Table of Contents
Contents
Prologue, xi,Chapter 1 My Loves, 1,
Chapter 2 Change Has Come, 4,
Chapter 3 Continuous Change, 9,
Chapter 4 Unexpected Storm, 12,
Chapter 5 On the Move, 16,
Chapter 6 Prayer Warrior, 19,
Chapter 7 The Exodus of the Prodigals, 22,
Chapter 8 Is God Real?, 27,
Chapter 9 Charged to Forgive, 33,
Chapter 10 Smell the Flowers, 36,
Acknowledgements, 39,