I grew up desiring to be loved, but never feeling anyone cared,
Not even my own parents.
I longed for the love of a parent, to feel that security
To be a part of a family who loved me.
At times I have felt so disconnected; have tried to find a way to connect.
Even then I just couldn’t feel what I thought I should feel.
Don’t know if you have ever been there but I have.
It use to be a lonely place. Sometimes I would cover it up in drugs and alcohol
because I felt so lonely.
I truly thought I was doomed to live like that forever.
But then something wonderful happened.I desired to know and I asked.
The revelation of that hour changed the course of my life.
Before I just complained about where I was. A day came where I actually asked to see, to know. What happened that day set me on a course to seek, to thirst after something I had only heard of but never understood.
Today is a day like I have never seen before. It is truly amazing.
Because He is amazing.I was reading about his love for Israel
today and my heart was stirred to tears.
I saw my life like Israel and how rebellious and hard hearted I was.
And in spite of who I had become He loved me through his son who gave his life for me.
Keep the Faith,
Want to read more stories like this one? Visit http://www.realstoriesrealpeople.blogspot.com/
Friday, June 19, 2009
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Sexual Activities Are Not For Children
(An excerpt from my book: There in the Midst The Mysterious Exposed")
"The things I saw at Grandma Ethel’s house. The images of a couple of small kids giving oral pleasure to my aunt Michelle in the outhouse would never go away. The other was the image of a baby girl being bounced up and down on Uncle Josh’s lap as his face showed pleasure.
The Voice: “I left those fragments there so you would remember in order to write about them. Do you remember once in your youth you asked me to take it away and I said that I was leaving it there so you could write about it one day?”
Yes, I accepted what was said, and I never questioned again. At this point I wanted to stop writing, the pain was too great. I did not want to go any further with this. I dismissed the thought. I could feel a presence with me. I held on to His promise to be with me. My desire to see my journey through was more compelling than my pain. I refused to stop. The story must be told.
In one of my playful moments as a child, I was wrestling with an old hound dog that hung out in the yard. I was trying to ride him like a horse. I straddled his back and as his back rubbed between my thighs, a warmth poured from my body.
The Voice: “You were aroused.”
Now I know. I panicked, leaped off the dog, blinded by tears, and ran from place to place in the yard looking for somewhere to hide. I was afraid of what was happening to me. I ended up in the barn. I was scared. I couldn’t stop crying. I heard myself saying, “What’s wrong with me?”
The Voice: “By this time you had been violated and used enough times that you were sexually aroused.”
I knew something was wrong. I never talked to anybody about what happened that day. I dismissed it as just another question about what was wrong with me. I had no intention of straddling another dog’s back. The journey slows down with the chicken house incident. This memory brought on feelings of shame. This was the time I cornered my brother Armstrong in the hen house and attempted to undo his pants.
The Voice: “Stop that. What are you doing? That’s wrong. Not your brother.”
Those were the words I heard that day. I shutter to think what would have happened had I been allowed to have sex with my brother that day. I ran away leaving my brother standing there in confusion.
The Voice: 'You heard my voice and obeyed it.'”
"The things I saw at Grandma Ethel’s house. The images of a couple of small kids giving oral pleasure to my aunt Michelle in the outhouse would never go away. The other was the image of a baby girl being bounced up and down on Uncle Josh’s lap as his face showed pleasure.
The Voice: “I left those fragments there so you would remember in order to write about them. Do you remember once in your youth you asked me to take it away and I said that I was leaving it there so you could write about it one day?”
Yes, I accepted what was said, and I never questioned again. At this point I wanted to stop writing, the pain was too great. I did not want to go any further with this. I dismissed the thought. I could feel a presence with me. I held on to His promise to be with me. My desire to see my journey through was more compelling than my pain. I refused to stop. The story must be told.
In one of my playful moments as a child, I was wrestling with an old hound dog that hung out in the yard. I was trying to ride him like a horse. I straddled his back and as his back rubbed between my thighs, a warmth poured from my body.
The Voice: “You were aroused.”
Now I know. I panicked, leaped off the dog, blinded by tears, and ran from place to place in the yard looking for somewhere to hide. I was afraid of what was happening to me. I ended up in the barn. I was scared. I couldn’t stop crying. I heard myself saying, “What’s wrong with me?”
The Voice: “By this time you had been violated and used enough times that you were sexually aroused.”
I knew something was wrong. I never talked to anybody about what happened that day. I dismissed it as just another question about what was wrong with me. I had no intention of straddling another dog’s back. The journey slows down with the chicken house incident. This memory brought on feelings of shame. This was the time I cornered my brother Armstrong in the hen house and attempted to undo his pants.
The Voice: “Stop that. What are you doing? That’s wrong. Not your brother.”
Those were the words I heard that day. I shutter to think what would have happened had I been allowed to have sex with my brother that day. I ran away leaving my brother standing there in confusion.
The Voice: 'You heard my voice and obeyed it.'”
Friday, March 21, 2008
Broken Trust Does Not Have To Be Forever
"My new school was okay. My math teacher favored me. He took a liking to me, began giving me his lunches. His sandwiches were filled with meat as opposed to mine, which were usually peanut butter and jelly. It was never anything I liked. I grew suspicious of his motives because it was happening too often. After awhile I took the sandwich out of courtesy and respect for him as an adult. His generosity caused me to be guarded. One evening the Professor showed up at Grandma Ethel’s wanting to take me to some school event. I protested but Grandma Ethel made me go.
"The Voice: “That was the night you found yourself walking down the road with your underpants in your hand, sobbing that she will not believe you. She’ll think you were the cause of it.”
"That was all I remembered from that night."
(an excerpt from my book: There The Midst The Mysterious Exposed)
I have had many adults disappoint me, especially the ones I expected to protect, who instead exploited. At one point in my life I was filled with hate, anger and bitterness.
The man died when I was a teenager. I never saw him again. For years I mistrusted the motive behind gifts.
Mistrust was good at times and other times I cheated other people who were good people out of blessing me.
There is no way to retrain yourself to trust a person who has violated that trust. That requires a higher self, a higher consciousness.
For me that came as a spiritual encounter that bathe me in so much love that I no longer felt the need to be angry, bitter, hateful. As a matter of fact I felt sorry for my perpetrator. Yes, I pitied him in his state, and to think, he might have died in that condition.
Those who do things to you to change the course of your life will control you the rest of your life if you keep holding on to anger, bitterness, hate.
As much as we would like to punish them and think we are, we are not. Chances are what they did to you has been disregarded, maybe even forgotten.
We do reap what we sow. Vengeance is not ours, that is, if we are spiritual people. The Lord says it is his.
I spent 30 years wasting thoughts and being tormented by my past perpetrators, but now I have chosen to be free, to Let Go and Let God.
Since I have done that it has opened up a whole new world for me. I feel like a kid in a candy store, trying to take in all the wonderful things that are happening in my life.
Let it Go and FEEL the JOY!
To purchase Blondie's Book: "There In The Midst" Go to - http://www.blondie2book.com
"The Voice: “That was the night you found yourself walking down the road with your underpants in your hand, sobbing that she will not believe you. She’ll think you were the cause of it.”
"That was all I remembered from that night."
(an excerpt from my book: There The Midst The Mysterious Exposed)
I have had many adults disappoint me, especially the ones I expected to protect, who instead exploited. At one point in my life I was filled with hate, anger and bitterness.
The man died when I was a teenager. I never saw him again. For years I mistrusted the motive behind gifts.
Mistrust was good at times and other times I cheated other people who were good people out of blessing me.
There is no way to retrain yourself to trust a person who has violated that trust. That requires a higher self, a higher consciousness.
For me that came as a spiritual encounter that bathe me in so much love that I no longer felt the need to be angry, bitter, hateful. As a matter of fact I felt sorry for my perpetrator. Yes, I pitied him in his state, and to think, he might have died in that condition.
Those who do things to you to change the course of your life will control you the rest of your life if you keep holding on to anger, bitterness, hate.
As much as we would like to punish them and think we are, we are not. Chances are what they did to you has been disregarded, maybe even forgotten.
We do reap what we sow. Vengeance is not ours, that is, if we are spiritual people. The Lord says it is his.
I spent 30 years wasting thoughts and being tormented by my past perpetrators, but now I have chosen to be free, to Let Go and Let God.
Since I have done that it has opened up a whole new world for me. I feel like a kid in a candy store, trying to take in all the wonderful things that are happening in my life.
Let it Go and FEEL the JOY!
To purchase Blondie's Book: "There In The Midst" Go to - http://www.blondie2book.com
Thursday, March 6, 2008
What Praise Does For A Child
(Excerpt from my book: There in the Midst The Mysterious Exposed
"I have no memory of when I started to school or any early learning experience. I do remember my first encourager: her name was Ms. Helen. She was an elementary school piano teacher. She was the first person who praised me. I’m not sure how I ended up taking piano lessons.
My mother’s sisters were into singing and piano so I guess I took the interest from them.I don’t remember what I did to cause Ms. Helen’s comments but I have never forgotten her words. “Ashley, you are improving. If you work a little harder at this you could get good at it.” I bottled those words. I hung onto them because no one had ever told me that I could do anything."
You can make or break a child by what you say. I needed someone to speak something good into my mind besides the self-defeating thoughts that tormented me. I found something to grab on to. I wasn't very good at it. I couldn't remember the exercises from one lesson to another.
Ms. Helen could have told me I was a failure, that I would never master the piano. Instead she chose to challenge me to work harder at it.All along the way, there have been people like her. They came at the right time. They had the right word.What I once thought was luck was GRACE.Because God gifted me with this lady, she provided a tool that would impact my life forever.
From that day, a work ethic rose up in me that was unbeatable. I knew anything I set my mind to do, I could conquer it with hard work. I've never expected anything to be handed to me. My attitude was always, "I'll make my own way."
Read more at http://www.realstoriesrealpeople.blogspot.com/
"I have no memory of when I started to school or any early learning experience. I do remember my first encourager: her name was Ms. Helen. She was an elementary school piano teacher. She was the first person who praised me. I’m not sure how I ended up taking piano lessons.
My mother’s sisters were into singing and piano so I guess I took the interest from them.I don’t remember what I did to cause Ms. Helen’s comments but I have never forgotten her words. “Ashley, you are improving. If you work a little harder at this you could get good at it.” I bottled those words. I hung onto them because no one had ever told me that I could do anything."
You can make or break a child by what you say. I needed someone to speak something good into my mind besides the self-defeating thoughts that tormented me. I found something to grab on to. I wasn't very good at it. I couldn't remember the exercises from one lesson to another.
Ms. Helen could have told me I was a failure, that I would never master the piano. Instead she chose to challenge me to work harder at it.All along the way, there have been people like her. They came at the right time. They had the right word.What I once thought was luck was GRACE.Because God gifted me with this lady, she provided a tool that would impact my life forever.
From that day, a work ethic rose up in me that was unbeatable. I knew anything I set my mind to do, I could conquer it with hard work. I've never expected anything to be handed to me. My attitude was always, "I'll make my own way."
Read more at http://www.realstoriesrealpeople.blogspot.com/
Saturday, January 19, 2008
Grandmothers Aren't Suppose to Have Favorites!
(excerpt from There in the Midst the Mysterious Exposed: and My comments at the end )
“The Voice: “Now you can write the book.”
“I don’t know how,” said Ashley.
The Voice: “I’ll help you.”
My name is Ashley Johnson. I am the oldest daughter of four children born to Richard and Elizabeth Johnson. I was born in a small town in the Carolinas. It is a farm and fishing town.
Townspeople would travel 20-30 miles to work as maids, clerks, or some other professions. Businesses range from a barber shop, beauty salon, several grocery stores, restaurants and real estate offices, to name a few.
I grew up in a small community where there was an atmosphere of trust among neighbors, friends and family. Superstitions and tall tales had its place among the gossip and rumors, which often surfaced about people casting spells on other people. Everyone knew each other and the children.
I remember being fussed over by my father’s mother, Maggie. Richard was her only child. It’s no wonder when I was born she thought the sun rose and set on me. She thought I could do no wrong. In her attempts to discipline me she found my negative habits cute. I had been labeled spoil.
I was not prepared for my parents’ separation. I heard people talk but things looked okay from a child’s perspective. I remember times when my mother and father argued—how he never took her seriously, Daddy smiled all the time, even when they argued. Nothing seemed to bother him.
Daddy and I had been close at one time; at least, so I believed. He made me feel that I was more special than mother. I wasn’t close with my mother. Because mother allowed Grandma Maggie to favor me over the other children, I was confused as to who this lady I called “mom” really was.
I have no negative memories of my father. He wasn’t violent or abusive. He drank a lot and liked to party. I thought we were a happy family. Nothing for a kid to worry about.
The breakup did come and we kids went to live with my dad’s parents, Maggie and Grandpa Johnson.
Maggie picked meat out of crab shells and packed it into cans at this factory. Grandpa Johnson didn’t work. He had a stroke, which affected his left side long before I was born. They lived in a small house back in the woods on a lake with lots of fig, pecan, peach, and apple trees.
There were good times there. Grandpa Johnson took a lot of time with me. I was his favorite child. He always seemed to single me out and show me special attention over the other children. All of my life all I ever heard was how special I was to Grandpa Johnson and Maggie.
A few months after we went to live with them Grandma Maggie died while working in the crab factory. It was a shock. She dropped dead. I thought, “Why now?” All I could think about was what was going to happen to us. No one else seemed to care about us except Maggie and Grandpa Johnson.
The Voice: “‘Why do good people have to die and bad people live?’ ”
“You are right, I was thinking that at the time.”
Maggie’s death didn’t bring my parents back together. My father came for the funeral, left us with his father, and went on his way. I wondered how daddy could leave us again.
He never asked how things were going. I could have told him some things had he taken the time, or cared to know. He didn’t care. His life and happiness was all that mattered.
With Grandpa Johnson’s physical limitation, I assumed the role of mother to the other three kids. No one asked me. I was the oldest. I was okay with that until Grandpa Johnson insisted I sleep with him at night. . .
* * *
My beginnings were humble. Grandmother died when I was about nine. I remember hearing neighbors and family friends talking about how she and my grandfather felt about me.
I wondered why I was so special. She would never make an attempt to discipline me. If I spit at her or had an attitude, she would laugh and be willing to compromise.
As a child I realized that there was something really wrong with my grandmother’s relationship with me.
How could I be more special than my siblings? At times I wondered why my mother would allow such favoritism.
I went from what I and everyone else thought was the perfect family, a place of security and love to confusion about the break up of my parents.
I had so many questions. I even tried to justify in my own mind why this was happening. It happened. There were times when I even thought, “May be if they only had me I could have gone with at least one of them.”
When I look back, I am thankful that they left us in the care of other family and didn’t just abandon us altogether.
Yes, it was tough, seeing a father whom you loved and adored walk away. And I thought we had a special bond with each other, that would far out weigh even his relationship with my mother.
And then my grandmother DIED. . .
More to come. . . So come back and visit with me.
“The Voice: “Now you can write the book.”
“I don’t know how,” said Ashley.
The Voice: “I’ll help you.”
My name is Ashley Johnson. I am the oldest daughter of four children born to Richard and Elizabeth Johnson. I was born in a small town in the Carolinas. It is a farm and fishing town.
Townspeople would travel 20-30 miles to work as maids, clerks, or some other professions. Businesses range from a barber shop, beauty salon, several grocery stores, restaurants and real estate offices, to name a few.
I grew up in a small community where there was an atmosphere of trust among neighbors, friends and family. Superstitions and tall tales had its place among the gossip and rumors, which often surfaced about people casting spells on other people. Everyone knew each other and the children.
I remember being fussed over by my father’s mother, Maggie. Richard was her only child. It’s no wonder when I was born she thought the sun rose and set on me. She thought I could do no wrong. In her attempts to discipline me she found my negative habits cute. I had been labeled spoil.
I was not prepared for my parents’ separation. I heard people talk but things looked okay from a child’s perspective. I remember times when my mother and father argued—how he never took her seriously, Daddy smiled all the time, even when they argued. Nothing seemed to bother him.
Daddy and I had been close at one time; at least, so I believed. He made me feel that I was more special than mother. I wasn’t close with my mother. Because mother allowed Grandma Maggie to favor me over the other children, I was confused as to who this lady I called “mom” really was.
I have no negative memories of my father. He wasn’t violent or abusive. He drank a lot and liked to party. I thought we were a happy family. Nothing for a kid to worry about.
The breakup did come and we kids went to live with my dad’s parents, Maggie and Grandpa Johnson.
Maggie picked meat out of crab shells and packed it into cans at this factory. Grandpa Johnson didn’t work. He had a stroke, which affected his left side long before I was born. They lived in a small house back in the woods on a lake with lots of fig, pecan, peach, and apple trees.
There were good times there. Grandpa Johnson took a lot of time with me. I was his favorite child. He always seemed to single me out and show me special attention over the other children. All of my life all I ever heard was how special I was to Grandpa Johnson and Maggie.
A few months after we went to live with them Grandma Maggie died while working in the crab factory. It was a shock. She dropped dead. I thought, “Why now?” All I could think about was what was going to happen to us. No one else seemed to care about us except Maggie and Grandpa Johnson.
The Voice: “‘Why do good people have to die and bad people live?’ ”
“You are right, I was thinking that at the time.”
Maggie’s death didn’t bring my parents back together. My father came for the funeral, left us with his father, and went on his way. I wondered how daddy could leave us again.
He never asked how things were going. I could have told him some things had he taken the time, or cared to know. He didn’t care. His life and happiness was all that mattered.
With Grandpa Johnson’s physical limitation, I assumed the role of mother to the other three kids. No one asked me. I was the oldest. I was okay with that until Grandpa Johnson insisted I sleep with him at night. . .
* * *
My beginnings were humble. Grandmother died when I was about nine. I remember hearing neighbors and family friends talking about how she and my grandfather felt about me.
I wondered why I was so special. She would never make an attempt to discipline me. If I spit at her or had an attitude, she would laugh and be willing to compromise.
As a child I realized that there was something really wrong with my grandmother’s relationship with me.
How could I be more special than my siblings? At times I wondered why my mother would allow such favoritism.
I went from what I and everyone else thought was the perfect family, a place of security and love to confusion about the break up of my parents.
I had so many questions. I even tried to justify in my own mind why this was happening. It happened. There were times when I even thought, “May be if they only had me I could have gone with at least one of them.”
When I look back, I am thankful that they left us in the care of other family and didn’t just abandon us altogether.
Yes, it was tough, seeing a father whom you loved and adored walk away. And I thought we had a special bond with each other, that would far out weigh even his relationship with my mother.
And then my grandmother DIED. . .
More to come. . . So come back and visit with me.
Monday, January 7, 2008
My Frame Was Never Hidden From You
“Where can I go from your Spirit? Where can I flee from your presence? If I go up to the heavens, you are there; if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.
If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far side of the sea, even there your hand will guide me; your right hand will hold me fast. If I say, ‘Surely the darkness will hide me and the light become night around me, even the darkness will not be dark to you; the night will shine like the day, for darkness is as light to you.
For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb. ‘I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well. My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place.
When I was woven together in the depths of the earth, your eyes saw my unformed body. All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be (Psalms 139:7-16).”
How can I believe that I existed only when I was born? Nothing is hidden about my life’s journey. It was already written. I had to be born in the physical to live out what had already been written. And the journey continues.
I was no accident. Things have happened but there is something coming out of all of this, as I look beyond what I think I know. . . the facts. . .
I am no happenstance, even to my parents, whether I was born as the result of a plan, no plan, rape, incest, or someone’s desire to give me life, I am who I am and I no longer live with shame, for I am somebody. I know who I am and I have found my place of peace.
Within this wonderful creative plan, there is an invisible guide who is amazing and proves to be even more amazing every day. He is the true author and finisher of my destiny.
I have felt his hand through this invisible existence and am convinced that beyond all that I thought, all that I learned, all that I resisted to believe. . . HE IS REAL, a realization that caused me to weep like a child in need of something that can only be satisfied by the one who created me.
May you seek and find for yourself!
More Real Stories at realstoriesrealpeople.blogspot.com
If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far side of the sea, even there your hand will guide me; your right hand will hold me fast. If I say, ‘Surely the darkness will hide me and the light become night around me, even the darkness will not be dark to you; the night will shine like the day, for darkness is as light to you.
For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb. ‘I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well. My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place.
When I was woven together in the depths of the earth, your eyes saw my unformed body. All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be (Psalms 139:7-16).”
How can I believe that I existed only when I was born? Nothing is hidden about my life’s journey. It was already written. I had to be born in the physical to live out what had already been written. And the journey continues.
I was no accident. Things have happened but there is something coming out of all of this, as I look beyond what I think I know. . . the facts. . .
I am no happenstance, even to my parents, whether I was born as the result of a plan, no plan, rape, incest, or someone’s desire to give me life, I am who I am and I no longer live with shame, for I am somebody. I know who I am and I have found my place of peace.
Within this wonderful creative plan, there is an invisible guide who is amazing and proves to be even more amazing every day. He is the true author and finisher of my destiny.
I have felt his hand through this invisible existence and am convinced that beyond all that I thought, all that I learned, all that I resisted to believe. . . HE IS REAL, a realization that caused me to weep like a child in need of something that can only be satisfied by the one who created me.
May you seek and find for yourself!
More Real Stories at realstoriesrealpeople.blogspot.com
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