MIRACLES: The Many Lives of Dove

I was inspired to write about my own miracles. The indisputably tangible evidence of God’s hand upon my life…

Circa 1975: As a toddler, my mother said that I was rambunctious and curious about everything. My mother would tell me later that I was a very active child and she could often tell what I was doing by the amount of noise I was making.  Well, one day while playing in the house in another room, I all of a sudden fell silent. When my mother looked over at me she saw me convulsing violently on the floor. This was the beginning of my battle with idiopathic epilepsy. A battle that included multiple daily doses of penicillin and blood tests at least 3 times a week. A battle that was frightening and complex, being told that I could die. A battle I would continue to fight until the age of nine when, after telling my parents that he was tired of seeing me suffer these frequent grand mal seizures, the pastor of our church took me to his home for a few days saying he was going to God in order to finally put an end to this. I honestly do not remember what he did. Because of my seizures, I don’t remember much before the age of 9. But I can tell you what God did. I was taken off medication and never had another seizure after that day.

God: 1 The Devil: 0

September 1984: My father owned an old blue Ford pickup truck that looked like a replica of the one driven by Fred Sanford. It didn’t have seatbelts, because apparently prior to 1975, passenger safety wasn’t a top priority. So one Sunday evening after church service was over, I followed my father and older brother out to the truck which was parked just in front of the church. As we got in, I was sandwiched between them with my hands folded across the bible on my lap. No sooner had my father turned the ignition than BAM! Some guy rear-ended us. HARD. The jolt threw my head forward and banged it against the dashboard. Back then, those trucks were built like tanks with all metal construction and none of the current plexiglass metal alloy. Damage to the truck was minimal. Thankfully, the dashboard had a padded leather covering and although my face was definitely bruised, the paramedics said it could’ve been a lot worse. Like brain damage or death…

God: 2 The Devil: 0

December 1984: One week prior to this incident, I’d been released from the hospital after having my appendix removed.  I was again following my father out to the truck after choir rehearsal. This time, the truck was parked across the street. I looked both ways down the road before starting toward him. Again, seemingly out of nowhere, a car comes barreling around the corner and, yep, you guessed it… BAM!! He hit me dead on. The following details were relayed to me later… the same brother that was in the truck with me the first time, was standing on the sidewalk when this all happened. He started screaming hysterically, running back into the church. My dad runs over to me and my mom comes out to see what happened. I’m in the street. Broken. The force of the impact tossed me into the air and threw me a good 50 feet. When I hit the ground I was out cold and my brother thought I was dead. 15 minutes had passed before I regained consciousness. The paramedics were already there. I woke up crying and disoriented. I glanced at my right leg to see it bent in a place it shouldn’t bend. The bone was exposed and the pain was excruciating. This of course, is a compound fracture. I wound up back in the same hospital room I’d been released from a week ago. I would not wish this kind of pain on my worst enemy.  But the pain let me know that I was still alive…

God: 3 The Devil: 0

There are many other experiences in my life I could share, but I think these illustrate my point. Sometimes it seemed as if the devil was determined to kill me.  Which was strange because I never considered myself significant or special. But the facts remain. I would not be alive if not for God’s mercy and intervention.

Sexual Litmus Test?

*Warning: This post may be laced with TMI*

Okay, so back in early 2004 I was chatting with a friend online and I told them I had a good weekend and a great morning.  First thing they asked me was, “Oh, did you get some?”  I rolled my eyes at the realization that some people equate having a good morning or day, with having sex.  Like it’s the only reason anyone would have a good day.  I mean, I’m sure there have been plenty of people who’ve had sex and still had bad days (especially if the sex was bad ).  But anyway, I found this particularly interesting because most people who knew me would never have asked this question.

I proceeded to tell them that I hadn’t had sex since 2000.  Their follow up question was “Why??”, almost as if it was the most preposterous thing they’d ever heard.  They couldn’t believe that “someone like me” (their words) hadn’t had sex in 4 years.  I had no idea what they meant by that.  I mean, should I have like a Daily Recommended Sex Allowance label on my forehead?  Instead of going into all of that, I just told them, “Well… the last time I had sex was in 2000 with the woman who would become my ex-wife in March 2001.”  I explained to then that I didn’t believe in having sex outside of marriage.  And of course, this was a total shocker to them, as if the fact that Dre (my fiance at the time) and I had never had sex was unimaginable. 

“You mean, you’re gonna marry somebody you’ve never had sex with??”

“Uh… yeah.  And you find this strange?”

“Hell yeah, I do!  There’s no way I’d marry someone without knowing how good they were in bed first!”

“Um… so you’re saying that you’ll only marry somebody if the sex is good?”

“Not just good.  It has to be amazing!”

I thought to myself… “and you wonder why you’re not married.”  Evidently sex (not just sex, but “amazing sex”, as they put it) is their prerequisite to marriage.  Now, I know a lot of people that have sex all the time, married or not.  But this was my preference.  Even so, I don’t think it should ever be a deciding factor on whether or not to marry someone.  There are other factors one might consider far more important… you know, like drug & alcohol addiction… criminal background… or even lifestyle and goals.  In marriage, great sex or not, you will never reach the goal together if you’re walking in different directions.

Offensive

Everyone has a back story. You know, the details of their life that predates when you met them. The back story is an intricate weaving of life experiences, social environments, family dynamics and emotional woundings that initiate a predetermined response to certain situations. What I find interesting is that sometimes we tend to enter situations unconsciously assuming none of those things exist in others.

We may not realize a friend was bullied in middle school before telling a joke about kids teasing other kids.

We may not understand why someone is sensitive to large crowds after being lost at an amusement park for 6 hours when they were 7 years old.

We may even think it’s okay to drag a friend out into the ocean, laughing while ignoring their pleads and animated protesting, never asking if perhaps they nearly drowned a few years ago during a similar incident.

What makes things worse is when the ignorant and uninformed take umbrage at a person’s reaction without bothering to investigate their hypersensitivity. Sometimes we just need to exercise some restraint and compassion and perhaps get to the bottom of a matter. Perhaps then we might discover interactions that promote healing instead of hurt. Words that encourage instead of instigate. Perhaps we won’t find ourselves being unintentionally offensive.

Personally, I love hearing the back story. It gives me greater insight into a person and helps me appreciate them all the more.

So… what’s your back story?

Acceptable Enough

I sometimes wonder what makes it so hard for some of us to accept a compliment. What was the event in our past that has thoroughly convinced us any positive statements regarding our ability or appearance is somehow misplaced? We become suspicious of the person’s motive. We question their sincerity and sometimes believe it’s just empty flattery for their own gain. I see it in so many people. I see it in myself.

I know that I’ve battled with being acceptable to myself. For a long time I would write music and sing songs hoping that someone would enjoy them and tell me so. Only to find myself with smiles that were often undecipherable. Maybe you put on a new outfit or get your hair done and the only comment you get from someone is in regard to how it was overpriced and you could’ve gotten it cheaper somewhere else.

I used to maintain a blog series that featured other bloggers I thought deserved recognition and a larger audience. At last count, I’d managed to do 90 of them. Of those I’ve asked, there have been a number of people who have turned me down for various reasons. In most of the cases there was a recurring feeling among them that somehow they weren’t pretty enough, popular enough, or a good enough writer. It always had to do with them not being enough. Well, I think enough is enough.

I don’t know what you’ve gone through, but I do know that who you are is more than a collection of self-deprecating remarks and the opinions of strangers. I know that you don’t have to be all that you hope to be in order to be happy with who you are right now. So if someone compliments your outfit, your writing, your smile, your personality or your art, just embrace it for the truth of that moment… and say thank you.

Choose to not be skeptical. Because you, my friend, are acceptable enough.

Awww vs. Ewww!

I’m a lifetime writer. I’m not a journalist, book author (yet) or someone who writes screenplays. I get paid for it in my day-to-day activities. But in the end I’m just a plain ol’ writer. 🙂 I am someone who loves words and the particular idiosyncrasies of the American English language. I had a thought while I was going over the many criminal violations of Mother Goose. I found it interesting how one word or bit of information can completely change the meaning of a sentence or dialog exchange. So I thought today I would bring you…

Awww 🙂 vs. Ewww 😯

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Scene: A man and woman are arguing in a car. He pulls over and she blurts out angrily, “You’re not my father!” To which he replies softly, “No, I’m not. I’m just the man who’s madly in love with you.”

She’s 20. He’s 23. Awww… 🙂
She’s 20. He’s 53. Ewww… 😯

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Scene: A man and woman are arguing in a car. He pulls over and she blurts out angrily, “You’re not my father!” To which he replies softly, “No, I’m not. I’m just the man who’s madly in love with your mother.”

She’s 20. He’s 23. Ewww… 😯
She’s 20. He’s 53. Awww… 🙂

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Scene: A guy trying on a pair of pants in a dressing room is suddenly interrupted when a woman he knows slips inside so that she can see how they fit. He says, “Hey, I’m not dressed!” She responds cheekily, “Keep it down! It’s not like I’ve never see you without your clothes on!”

It’s his wife. Awww… 🙂
It’s his mother. Ewww… 😯

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Scene: A newlywed couple decide to skinny dip in the pool.

They’re at home. Awww… 🙂
They’re at a local middle school. Ewww… 😯

Context is a marvelous thing. It can make all the difference in conveying the entire story. It’s the same with everything I’ve ever written. One word can decide love over hate, or laughter over grief. It’s all in the details. 😉