Avan

When I was back in Iowa, I finally was able to meet the son of my friend Jen S outside of the womb. If you remember right, the last time I blogged about Avan he was ailing. Well, Avan is now a happy, healthy, six month old boy. I have to admit, I fell in love.

His big blue eyes melted my heart.

It was so sweet to watch him sleep.

Friday morning, Jen came with with me to Waterloo, where Avan had time to charm a woman in another part of the state: my mom. He was such a good baby. He hardly fussed on our two hour trip to Waterloo from Des Moines. While we three ladies caught up at Panera Bread, he would just giggle and smile. Finally we met with another friend and I checked into the hotel.

In a few hours I had grown attached to this baby. I am not usually a kid person, but I seem to like little vipers in diapers more when they belong to my friends. When the kid belongs to my best friends, they are as good as my blood. I feel the same about Jenni’s kids, Sami and Gabrielle.

Evidently, Avan liked me as well. From left to right in these shots: My mother Jeannine, Jen S, and me. I am holding Avan.

And of course, I love the birth mother.

Eventually, Jen and Avan had to go. It was hard to say goodbye to my new baby. However, I was not alone… my seat was there. Any guesses on who it may be? His identity will be revealed soon!

Family Forgiveness- Part 2

Want to get the whole story? Please read the first part of the story here.

By the time I was ten years old, I came to the understanding that my mother’s perception of reality was skewed.  My mother had become violent with my sister in her early teen years, and when I made it to that point, she didn’t physically abuse me, but rather, began to exert a level of control that was suffocating. I didn’t completely understand what she was doing, but I had enough analytical skills to see that she was often unreasonable.  I felt this urgency to pull away from her. Over time, my father and I bonded over our shared frustration of my mother’s irrational behavior.  I no longer believed the statements that my mother had pounded into me from the time I was five years old about my father being a horrible person. By the time I was twelve, I was convinced my mother was pure poision and Dad could do no wrong. I began running to my father for rescue each time my mother began one of her attacks. My father almost always sided with me unconditionally. I would often use their anamosities against one another to get my way, even on the rare occasions where my mother was being reasonable.

In my adult years I have come to regret my actions, and wondered how much damage I had contributed to family unity. I felt perhaps this was the right time to see my mother’s forgiveness for my deeds done to hurt their marriage in my growing up years. At the mention of my childhood actions, my mother became angry. It didn’t take her long tell me of how she had wanted to raise me “on the straight and narrown” and all I had to do was “go running to my Daddy” to undo all the good she had done…

I stopped her mid-sentence. I reminded her I was asking for forgivenessand that as a family, we had all done our part in hurting one another. Nobody was completely to blame for the family problems; and at the same time, nobody was completely absolved of guilt. We all had our share or hurt and anamosity we harbored or caused.

I told my mother several years ago she had upset me so badly, and I had become so sick of the pain, that I was ready to act as if she never existed.

“I probably would have deserved it if you had,” my mother replied.

The gentleman I was seeing at the time advised me one day I would regret cutting my mother out of my life. It turns out, he was right.

“Mom, we did so much to hurt each other that in so many ways our wounds were irreparable. The way I was raised, I should have been completely screwed up. It was only because of God I came out halfway decent. Its because of God that we can have this conversation. ” I went on to tell her how happy and proud I was of the changes she was making. How she would call me and tell me about what she reads in her Bible. How she was finding areas of fault and working on those areas. How she seemed to just be happier in general. How she seemed to really respect me and be proud of me as an adult. All this, I said, was all of God’s work.

And all of God’s glory.

Forgiveness, I learned, is something you give without conditions.  Forgiveness does not require the other party’s repentance before it is granted. The only One who is able to forgive that requires repentance is Christ. On the other hand since Christians have been forgiven much, they are supposed to forgive as they are forgiven: lavishly, completely, and sacrifically.  Do we really deserve God’s forgiveness? Not at all. Does an offender really deserve forgiveness? Not really. Should it be granted? Absolutely. Christ’s death on the cross was not only for the forgiveness of sins, but for the redemption of creation. Christ’s death paid for  the sins of transgressors (thats us) as well redeemed the creation (nature itself) and one day the promise of the redemption of the earth will be fufilled. But ultimately, Christ our Healer heals old wounds.

He has healed my relationship with my mother. Something, that, for so long, I never thought was possible.

Glory be to my Savior, my Rock, my Healer, and Redeemer.

Mother Seeks Forgiveness- Part 1

Note: This story is in two parts. You can read part two here.

Sunday evening, I was sitting around my apartment, fixing my dinner, when my mother called. She was crying, and I started my typical routine of trying to calm her down.

“Mom, I don’t understand you,” I replied, after she asked me if we could talk. I started the process of elimiation that usually made my mom take a quick breath and explain why she was crying. This time it took me three attempts before she said she missed my father. I sat down, preparing myself to listen. My parents didn’t have a particularly happy marriage, so I never knew what to expect in my mother’s times of sorrow.

But I wasn’t prepared  for what she said next. Mom was watching the movie Fireproof (which, I recommend for anyone that is, has been, plans to be, or will be married GO RENT NOW) and saw her own marriage in the two main characters, Catharine and Jacob. She came face to face with the past she had always refused accept.

And it broke her  heart.

As she wept, she told me she wished she could take back every bad thing she and my father had done to one another. I sat  in a stunned silence. For the first time in my life, my mother acknowledged her own fault. Not only that, but regret. Repentance.

I responded slowly and carefully. I told Mom it was one of the best things that she could do, to look at the past and see what she did wrong. But I encouraged her to take what she realized, and to move on. I told her yes, it was too late to apologize to my father, but had sought forgiveness from God? She indeed had done so. I then advised her that now she knows the wrong way to love and communicate with people, she needed to learn the right way. The way that best represents Christ. We discussed how some people best receive and communicate love, and that we really had to try to understand people so we could properly communicate. Had my parents understood this, perhaps things may have been different.

My mother went back to the subject of her marriage. She began rehash old fights. She kept repeating how sorry she was. I interrupted her in the middle of one of her apologies.

“Mom, are you asking me for forgiveness?”

After a short pause, the response was, “Yes.”

In 2007, my mother came to Utah for Christmas. While she was here my former fiance received an eyeful of the difficult relationship my mother and I had. My mother refused to accept responsibility for any of her actions. I was very harsh and impatient with her.  I realize now I was making her pay penance.  Old wounds from my growing up years ran deep. They had scabbed over, but never really healed. My ex, concerned for my spiritual welfre, confronted me and asked me when I was going to try to stop changing my mother and love her as she was.  That’s when I realized that I had been requiring my mother’s apologies before I was willing to completely forgive her. I wanted her to come crawling on her knees, begging for forgiveness. However, true sacrificial love comes without conditions. Forgiveness should also not be dependant on the other party seeking for it. Its granted, without condition, to the offending party. I realized that I couldn’t really love my mother without forgiving her.

I let go of my desire to have her apologize and gave it up to God. And I forgave her. Over the last year, my mother has grown in her young Christian faith and has shown changes. Our relationship improved. And because I had forgiven my mother long ago, I didn’t have the struggle to punish her or force her to grovel when she asked me to forgive her. I told her with happiness it was already granted. And then, my wrongdoings came to mind….

Kids- you gotta love them!

For my second guest post I thought I would tell you all about my children, and some of the embarrassing things they have done to me in public. My oldest is Samantha, Sami for short, who will be 6 later this month and Gabrielle, Gabi for short, who will be 3 in May.

Sami is very outspoken. She started talking at 6 months old and hasn’t stopped. Even having her tonsils removed when she was 4 couldn’t keep her from talking. The girl even talks in her sleep! Gabi is more mischievous and quieter. She has already mastered the soul piercing glare when she doesn’t get her way.

I will go threw my stories chronologically. My first story takes place when Sami was 2. Sometime after I had dropped Sami off at daycare in the morning an eight year old boy was dropped off with a solid wood baseball bat. Later in the day the boy was swinging the bat around in the living room. Apparently the thought to take it away as soon as he got inside never crossed the daycare’s mind. He was told to stop, which he didn’t, and Sami ran up behind him to take it away. Then- POW- Sami got hit in the face with the end of the bat hard enough she flew back 3 feet. Sami didn’t even shed a tear. She got up, rubbed her eye, and said, “That didn’t hurt”. Then walked back up to the boy and grabbed the baseball bat away from him.

The daycare never called me or anything. I pick Sami up and she has a huge swollen black eye. After freaking out and screaming about how lucky Sami was that she wasn’t seriously hurt I left.

I had to do some shopping that night at Wal-Mart. As we walked threw the store Sami was reaching out of the cart grabbing anything she could reach off of the shelves. When I had finally had enough of telling her no and slapping her hands lightly I yelled. I told her to knock it off. Sami looks up at me with sad little eyes, one black and swollen, and says, “Mommy, please don’t hit me again.” I could literally feel the people staring at me in the aisle.

My next story takes place when Sami is 3. Once again, we are at Wal-Mart. Sami and I were in the check out lane. Out of nowhere Sami asked me, “Mommy, why is that guys skin so brown?” The man in front of us immediately spins around and is staring at me. He was very dark, possibly South African decent. He was waiting for my response to Sami’s question. I said the first thing that came to me. I looked down at Sami and asked her, “Why are you so pale?” She looks at her arms and says she didn’t know. I then told her that was just how she was, and that was just how he was. The man in front of us in line smiled, gave a small laugh as he picked up his bags and walked away.

This took place shortly after Gabi was born. The three of us were shopping, and I had Gabi in the front seat part of the cart in her car seat. Sami had been running all over and grabbing things off the shelves so I had tossed her in the basket of the cart. We were getting some baby items and Sami still wouldn’t listen. I had had enough. I glanced around real quick and saw no one around us. I told Sami if she didn’t stop it I was going to spank her butt. Sami had immediately ducked down in the cart behind Gabi’s seat. Then I hear a woman in a shaky voice behind me, “Um, That’s a cute baby girl you have.” As I turn to look at the woman I realized that from her viewpoint she couldn’t see Sami in the cart, and all she saw was me threaten to spank at 3 week old baby who is sleeping. I quickly make a brief comment about her age and the woman goes on her way. As she has her back to us, Sami pops up and says “Good bye!” then hides again. The woman spun around, looking very confused, and then walked away.

Guest Blog!!!

Hello everyone! My name is Jenni Rankin and I will be guest blogging for you all today! To start with I thought I would tell you all a little about myself and my up bringing; mainly my family. Emily always likes to hear stories about them so I thought they may be entertaining to everyone else as well. Please bear with me while I go threw the back ground, though, and introduce everyone.

I am a 25 year old divorcee with two beautiful little girls; Samantha who will be 6 next month, and Gabrielle who will turn 3 in May. I have a wonderful boyfriend named Brad who is 28. We live together in Carroll; which is by far the biggest town I have ever lived in. Brad is Catholic- I know, not a good one if he is living with a woman that’s not yet his wife but it works- and I became a Christan a few years ago.

My immediate family consist of the traditional mother, father, and brother. I also have a half sister from my dads first marriage. I was born in Guthrie Center and soon after moved to Perry, then at age 6 a hog farm outside of Adel, and moved again at age 11 to an acreage outside of Linden. Linden is close to Panora and Lake Panorama. The towns population is a whopping 50 or less.

My moms parents divorced when she was 2 due to my grandpas infidelities. Their divorce was finalized, the next day Grandma Janet gave birth to my moms sister, the day after that Grandpa Mel was remarried in Missouri. Six months later his new wife Nancy gave birth to another daughter. My Aunt Trisha and Aunt Becky are only 6 months apart. My grandpa never had much part in Mom and Trisha’s lives. My grandma fell into a deep depression after the divorce and has never even dated another man since. As a result of Grandma’s depression, my mom and her sister were raised Christian mostly by Grandma Janet’s parents.

My dads parents are a little different story. Grandpa Joe was a Deputy Sheriff for Polk County in the 60’s and 70’s. Grandma Elinor never learned to drive but always worked 40+ hours a week. She worked at Earl Maye’s, Payless, then Menard’s. Grandpa Joe was a huge man- 6′ 4″ and 300 lbs, none fat. Grandma Elinor is 5′ even, maybe weighing 95 lbs. Both were Atheist and racist, Grandpa was also sexist and abusive. Both EXTREMELY stubborn and strong willed. Grandma Elinor curses worse than a sailor and smokes worse than a chimney. Since Grandpa’s death in 1994 Grandma Elinor has calmed down a bit as far as racism. She says what she thinks when she thinks it and doesn’t care who it offends. She can also drop you harder than a rock if you talk back.

My dad moved out of his parents house when he was 17 because Grandpa Joe was going to force him to go to Vietnam. He was beaten severely before he left. He was almost half way threw his senior year when he had to drop out. He moved to Wisconsin to live with his cousin Nancy and her husband Mel. Yes,you are reading this correctly. Dads cousin Nancy is my moms step mom. My family tree is related by marriage- BY MARRIAGE! NOT BLOOD! Hence I am a Redneck from Iowa and not a Hillbilly from Arkansas. He didn’t meet my mom until about 6 or 7 years later when Mel and Nancy moved back to Iowa.

When my parents did meet, get married, and have kids they decided to raise us with no religion at all. Mom being Christan wouldn’t raise us Atheist, and the other way around for Dad. It wasn’t until I was in high school that I realized that the majority of people when to church on Sundays and I was the odd one for not.

OK, now that I have told you a little about my family I think I will entertain you with some stories about Grandma Elinor. I am also going to add the following disclaimer:

It is not my intention to offend anyone; so if I do, I apologize now. I will clean up any quotes from Grandma with Astrix’s. The purpose of the following stories are for entertainment, even though they are true.

There. Now I will tell you about the time Grandma Elinor met the Medieval Group from Iowa State University.

 My brother Davin had just started college at Iowa State and he wanted to take us all on a tour of the campus. Mom, Dad, Grandma, Samantha, and I all walked around with Davin as our tour guide. He showed us all the buildings his classes were in and anything he felt had historical significance. As we walked past the Bell Tower in the center of campus, the Medieval Group was “sword fighting” with foam bats and swords.

This group lives medieval- literally. Their clothes are medieval looking, hand made, and worn constantly. They only bathe once a month. They do not shave- men or women. It looks as though you are almost looking back in time when you see them, and that is their goal.

When Davin saw them he tried everything he could think of to distract Grandma and have us go towards a different building- with no luck. Davin knew what was coming, as did the rest of us. Sami was only 2 years old and luckily she was sleeping in the stroller at the time. There was no way to avoid having to walk within feet of them. Grandma Elinor had seen them. The first thing out of her mouth?

She looked at Davin and asked, “What in the **** are those idiots doing?”  She was completely appalled. She didn’t lower her voice, and they could hear every word. Davin tried to politely explain the group since they were with in ear shot. As we got closer, Grandma slowed down, stopped about 3 feet from them, and started in. “Oh my *** their scurvy! Look at them! Don’t they know what soap is? When was the last time they took a bath? Why in the **** cant they cut that filthy hair if they wont wash it!”

Davin tried to push Grandma along, but we knew better- she wasn’t going anywhere. I had quickly shoved the stroller by in a speed walk, Dad not far behind me. Mom was trying to hide her face as she was torn between helping Davin or abandoning her son with Grandma to save herself. All of us were trying to hide laughter under our breath at the sight of a 75 year old woman with a beehive hair cut cursing at a group of teenagers. The Medieval Group had stopped their “sword fight” and were asking each other who the old woman was.

Grandma kept going, “Why would a University allow such filthy idiots in school? They are just wasting their parents money! ****ing scurvy *******s!”

Davin got Grandma moving, and we heard about how nasty their appearance was for the rest of the evening. And the Medieval Group? After we were about 20 feet away, they started “sword fighting” again right were they left off., seemingly unfazed.

That’s Grandma Elinor. I will probably post again either tonight or tomorrow while Emily is out of town. Hope this was entertaining!

Relapse and Cat Herding

This weekend, I was sick, and today, I can’t say I am feeling much better. Before I came to work, I tossed by cookies. I am afraid I am going to be leaving work soon, and I have only been here an hour. I promised another post today FINALLY finishing my blogs on my trip back to Iowa, but I don’t know that I will have the strength/internet access to post it. In the meantime, please watch this YouYube video my friend Andrew sent me on cat herding. He sent it after a conversation we had about how organizing my family (or maybe its a family I know from Utah? Both, probably) is like herding cats. Seriously, this commercial is a lot like organizing my family, except without the hairballs. I I suggest you use the bathroom beforr watching. Enjoy!

My Last Days In Iowa

I was unable to go bowling on Saturday night, as a snow storm fell upon Northern Iowa at exactly the same moment as I was driving out of town.

Thursday, I served Christmas dinner for my family. My meal was un-traditional: Barbecued Chicken Breasts coated in bread crumbs and Cookie’s Barbeque sauce. More about Cookie’s soon. This is the best barbeque ever, and trust me, it is blogworthy. I also served a side of mashed potatoes, fresh green beans fried with butter and spices, cornbread muffins, and brownies for desert. It was an incredibly simple meal, but a hit. I didn’t want to make a more elaborate turkey or ham, since my uncle made turkey for my grandma the night before. Jon took it upon himself to help me with the meal, watching the oven temperature on the cornbread muffins as I breaded the chicken, and prepared the green beans and mashed potatoes. Jon and I are both kitchen tyrants, and dislike being helped or told what to do when cooking, but Jon’s assistance was non-invasive.

“We work well together, Em. We should open up a restaurant,” Jon mused as he watched me coat a chicken breast in bbq sauce.

I agreed we worked as a smooth unit. I told him he made an excellent “sous chef” and he laughed. The rest of time cooking, we discussed politics… and discovered we agreed almost one hundred percent on the topics we touched. It was nice to find another Ron Paul crazy with DNA similar to mine.

When we sat down to eat, my grandmother made several comments about how great the meal was, but she had forgotten who made it. After the fifth time grandma asked, I told my mom and sister not to tell her who made it.

Thursday night, I received a message from my friend Chad on myspace. He gave me his new number, and I visited him, Melissa, and Melissa’s husband. I hadn’t seen any of them in two years and we stayed up talking late into the night. I also discovered I am a fan of Southern Comfort. (It was mixed with Dr. Pepper and I wasn’t drunk. Promise.)

Friday was spent shopping with Sarah and Mom as we hit after-Christmas sales. I was able to buy a new Hawkeyes t-shirt and sweatshirt. (By the way, MY GUYS WON THE OUTBACK BOWL JAN 1!! WAY TO GO HAWKS!!)  Friday night I met up with Dee and met her boyfriend Corey for the first time. Corey and Dee have been dating for a year. We enjoyed dinner, and I got to know Corey a little bit. He used to work in banking, so it was nice to have someone understand my work gobbly-gook for once.

After dinner, I gave Stacy a call. She was in town from Police Academy,decided to stay in and relax.  We watched Pride and Predjudice, talked about what we were looking for in home decorations, since we plan to move in together when I get back to Iowa. A lot of what we were looking to have wasn’t so far. Stace said we were going to make good roomies. I smiled; I don’t think she was far off.

Saturday, I was with my family one last time. We went to Panera Bread, and did a little bit more shopping. I had one of the great loves of my life,  the frontega chicken panini. Paired with a hot cup of coffee on a cold day, wel, it was nothing short of divine!

At the mall, I ran into a girl I had attended school with, from grade school to high school. Clarissa is model-beautiful and about ready to move to Houston. I admired her confidence and determination to succeed.

I dropped my sister off at home, and hit my mom’s house. Her driveway was a complete ice slick. I went to K-mart with her and bought cat litter since the store was out of ice melt.   After I scattered it down her driveway, we had a very hard time saying goodbye. We didn’t know when I would be back again; but we both knew next time the trip to Iowa would be permanent. With a heavy heart and tears stinging my eyes, I pulled out of my driveway and headed to Cuz’s house to pack up the rest of my things then head out to Des Moines.

When I left, a light snowfall had started. I stopped in Hudson to get my hat from Adam and Rebekah’s house. By the time I made it to their house, the snow had turned into blizzard conditions. I decided it was best to leave for Des Moines in the morning, and miss bowling. I was bummed I would not get to see Jesse, Lara, and Jenni and Brad one last time, but I had to be safe. I talked with Adam and Bekah and hour, then headed back to down.

I have one more blog about my last day in Iowa… I promise to pound it out tomorrow morning. I finally got to meet a wonderful friend I had been chatting with online for almost five years. Also, I drank Friedrichs. You don’t want to miss that, right?

Sarah

Monday morning, I drove to straight from Des Moines to my mother’s doorstep. This was to be the first time in ten months that we had seen each other. We hugged, and mom shed a few tears. This was the first time we had seen each other in ten months, and even back in February I had not spent that much time with Mom due to weather, so the last time we had spent a large amount of time together had been the previous December when Mom came to visit at Christmas. The situation with Sarah was similar, where we had a little contact on my last visit home, but didn’t have much time to see one another. I asked Mom if Sarah wanted to see me today. She did. Mom dialed Sarah’s home phone to warn her that we were coming, and off we went.

Sarah came flying out the door of her house once we arrived. She was in a panic. She asked my mother to borrow $2.50 to pay for her library fines. Sarah said she was afraid to ask her boyfriend who I will call E to give her the money. E told Sarah that if she let her library books become overdue, she was no longer allowed to check out books anymore.
What?  How could someone stop Sarah from checking out library books? Also, why didn’t Sarah have her own money to cover it? Such a small amount was often easily found when lifting couch cusions, in the cup holder of a car, in pockets of clothing, or change jars. I knew Sarah’s boyfriend was controlling, but how bad was he? None of this was making sense.

I convinced Mom to let Sarah borrow the money, since after all, it was such a small amount. We headed to library, where Sarah paid her fine and checked out new books. While in the car, my mother said her piece, telling Sarah to end her relationship with E. Mom made it sound more like a command than a plea. I eventually stopped Mom mid-reaming, and asked for silence. I then asked Sarah to tell her story.

Sarah had been living with and dating E for a year. His daughter graduated high school with me and had a son that was nearly a year old. Sarah, E, his daughter, her son, and E’s mother all lived in the same home. Sarah had a separate room from E in the basement. She took up residence there a year ago, a solid year after the fight that eventually split our family for a year.

Sarah was a willing confessor. Sarah doesn’t have a normal nine to five, instead earning a meager income by delivering newspapers. E took possession of Sarah’s money, sticking it in a safe and giving it to Sarah at his discretion. Sarah also receives government aid to buy groceries, and E takes control of that as well. If Sarah where left to her devices, she would blow all her money on magazines, puzzles, games, and music, then blow all her food stamps on junk food. I agree my sister needs accountability to her purchases, but no man or woman has a right to control someone else’s resouces. Sarah, Mom, and I went to lunch, then we dropped Sarah off at home to deliver her newspapers. I eventually picked up my cousin Jon and paid Grandma a visit. We promised Grandma we would bring Sarah over the next day. I was numb, sick, and at a loss from the information my sister had already given me, but there was more, worse than I had even imagined.

The next day, I picked up Mom and headed out to retrieve my sister to go visit Grandma. We tried calling Sarah but she hung up on Mom. E had wanted to take Sarah to drop off a Christmas gift, and E told Sarah she couldn’t go. They fought, and E left. Sarah ran out the door, crying. I told her to get into the car, and reminded her she was an adult and could go anywhere she wanted. I asked her if she had anywhere to go if she ever left E. The only other place Sarah could think of going was returning to Mom’s house. I couldn’t think of anything worse for either one of them, except for the situation Sarah was currently in.
When we arrived at Grandma’s, a large black truck was parked in the driveway. Puzzled st who may be Grandma’s other visitor, we knocked. We heard two sets of barking as we walked in the door. Sarah gasped. “Rocky!” She looked as if she was about ready to flee. A chunky and yapping chihuahua ran to the door, nipping at Sarah’s heels. I was still confused until a large blond man waddled around the corner of the house. It was Curt, a friend of my Aunt Kathleen, who had taken Sarah in when she first left Mom’s house. When Sarah moved out of Curt’s, he piled all her stuff on the side of the road at E’s house.

Apparently, Curt had been helping Sarah with a budget and keeping her accountable to grocery purchases. He had Sarah biking and she had lost a good deal of weight. Moving in with E, she gained most of it back. After Sarah met E, she told Curt he was “controlling” and that she wanted to be with a “real man”, (Sarah and Curt were never romantically involved) so Curt complied and packed up her things. They lived a mile apart, but Sarah had barely spoken to Curt since. Today though, Curt was not only willing to talk, but delighted to see her. Sarah, on the other hand, attempted to avoid him by sitting in Grandma’s dining room rather than the livng room.

I chose to sit with Curt in the living room. I realized it was likely three or four years since I had seen him last, so we had a lot of catching up to do. Curt proceeded to tell me about the time Sarah spent with him, teaching her to pay the utility bill, budget, save, and cook.  He then told me of his observations of the beginning of Sarah’s relationship with E. Curt used to be a biker, and he knew E from his biker days. The revelations grew more disturbing as he talked. Eventually, Curt’s conversation with me drew Sarah into the room. It was time for Sis to face facts.

Sarah’s testimony came gushing forth as Curt encouraged her to tell her story. Not only is he controlling her only assets and time, we found out shocking news: E had been in prison for nine years prior to seeing Sarah. In fact, he had just been released when they met. Different facets of their relationship were slowly revealed to us. The revelations made me sick. I didn’t want to take her home. I knew things with E were bad; but my concerns didn’t amount to how bad things really were. Sarah has convinced herself that he is her only chance, and that she can do no better.

This man tells my sister she is incapable of functioning normally. He calls her stupid, an imbicile, with no common sense. I have to admit, Sarah does have common sense but no self discipline. I can understand some of his frustrations with Sarah; anyone who has tried to help her has had them. But taking away her money and resources does nothing to teach her to be an adult. It cripples her. He isn’t concerned for her; he wants control.  In her vulnerability, my sister has handed herself to him on a silver platter.

Tuesday evening was filled with fights for Sarah. My sister franctically called my mother, wanting out of E’s house. She was ready to move. But there wasn’t any place for her to go. Tuesday night, I headed back to Des Moines then to Winterset with my friend Jesse for a wedding reception. Jesse patiently listened as I poured my heart out over my fears for my sister. He agreed that I could only assist Sarah by helping her find resources to get her out of this man’s home and pray. What else can you do for a person that has had so many people try to help her, but runs away when it’s not the way she wants it to be? When she refuses to try for herself? Nothing.

Wednesday,  E had been yelling when I was on my way to retrieve Sarah. He was sick and tired of me seeing my sister. I felt my blood boil. Nobody was allowed to talk to my sister like that. As I stood on the doorstep, I forced myself to calm down and smile so I didn’t go ape on him. E;s mother answered the door, and she was kind, as she always had been. Sarah stormed out of the house and we took off for Grandma’s again.   I went to a Christmas Eve service in Hudson at the church where my friends Adam and Rebekah are serving as pastor and wife.  Thursday was Christmas Day, and I picked Sarah up from her house.  She walked out, smug. She had begun to make up with E.  She had hit the mother lode in gifts. I asked her point-blank if they were partially apology gifts.

Yes. Of course. Anything an abuser can do to keep control, even if its am mp3 player and puzzles.

I encouraged Sarah to leave. She told me she would “gradually look into leaving.” I asked Sarah why she let people assume she was mentally challenged when she is not. She said that was how people saw her. I advised her it was because that was what she wanted them to see. I spoke with conviction. I begged her to do not only what was right for herself, but as someone that was a professing Christian, I encouraged her to do what God wanted to do. Sarah was at a loss. Afraid to stay, but afraid to go.

What type of fear usually wins?

Fear of not being secure.

I don’t think she is leaving anytime soon.

Nerves

Even after the debacle I went through a little over a week ago, I still have not received my Social Security Card in the mail. I have two days left until I can get my identification, since my flight leaves at 7:07 p.m. Thursday.

I work until 4:30 every day this week to cover for my Friday. My job has such a schedule that if you work 40 hours one week and thirty-five hours the next, you can take a three day weekend and not have to take vacation. Since I didn’t have any to take Friday, just the next week, I chose this option.

So let’s do the math. Even if by some way I happen to get my Social Security Card on Thursday, I still need to go to the DMV and get an ID, and try to catch my flight. This would not allow me the suggested two hours check in time at the airport as needed.

This card really need to come tonight or tomorrow.

Then there is the matter of what I am going to drive and where I am going to stay. One of the many pleasures of being an old maid but still being under twenty five would be paying astronomical prices for a rental. I checked most rental places, and they require a utility bill (the utilities are in my roommates name) a major credit card (which I refuse to use) a deposit, a DNA sample, a retinal scan, a tracking device plunged into your scalp, and your signature in blood before they will rent to you. AND THEN they will charge you double for the rental. A rental car is going to cost me around $400 dollars. Ouch!
So now, I am waiting on a friend to get back to me on lending me his car.

I also am wondering where in the world am I going to sleep when I am back. For reasons I can’t explain, I am not staying with my mother. Let’s just say it is a physical impossibility. She has a home, yes, but one not many people enter into. My aunt Kathleen has no bare sleeping space, and my grandma has spare rooms, but has dementia and is bat-crap crazy. She constantly think someone is trying to break into her home. What would happen if I tried to get in after a late night out with my friends? I’d scare her half to death. She has been known to wield sticks and other stiff objects and attempt to hit people. I would feel unsafe with Granny.

My last option then is my Cuz. Anyway, that’s what I call him since he is 18, named after his father, and despises his childhood nickname, Fuzzy. Cuz likes to party and is thrilled to have me coming home.

But me? The nice little borderline Puritan I am? Staying in what may as well be a frathouse? Let the adventure begin!

But first, I need that SOCIAL SECURITY CARD!

Please pray…