My caseworker stared at me. The passing time was awkward. It’s a rare thing for any adult to be looking at me and waiting for an answer. She sat there without emotion except for a meek smile when she first addressed me. I can’t believe I was called to the office for this. My class mates snickered when I was summoned. Already I am angry and don’t want to cooperate. 

This is not my first caseworker. A new town, new school, and new caseworker. Same accusations, same story, and the same girl. My last caseworker didn’t help us.   This one has three strikes against her. One, she is an adult. Two, she is a stranger. Three, she visited me at school giving my classmates a reason to taunt me. 

At first she asked questions that were neutral and things I understand to be ice breakers. “How is school?” “Are you making friends” Always looking at the ground I gave my replies of “fine”, “ok”, “sure”.  Then as always they would pause and start asking the bigger questions and making bold statements.   Do we have food? Does anyone hit us? Are you touched in ways that are inappropriate?  This stranger is asking me to confide such things to her. The 10 year old in me wanted to scream YES to all but the last time I told someone we had no food the caseworker went to my house and told my dad and I paid for that, big time. When my sister told on him for molesting us he took us away from all our friends and we left the state.  Are we hit? That’s like asking, do you breathe. And please explain what you think is inappropriate. At 10 I didn’t really understand what sexual abuse was and talking about sex or private parts were still dirty words. Should I call them boobs, breasts, his noodle, my monkey? Does she want details? Just thinking about genitals made me blush for fear someone would know my thoughts. I couldn’t say those words to my class mates or friends much less a teacher, a stranger, an adult.  

Of course I denied everything hoping she would just leave me alone. Lying to them made sure I never felt like I could recant because then they would know I’m a liar. That’s a horrible label I didn’t want even though it was the truth. After you make statements, truth or lie, you have to stick with it, right? Finally she stopped prodding and said I could return to class. I turned and looked at her as I was leaving the office and I considered turning back and telling her everything. But then I remembered that she couldn’t help me she can only make things harder for all of us at home, and the door closed. 

So, today I was thinking about Facebook and Instagram and how so many of my friends and family update their status daily. It’s amazing how people can devote so much time to posting and commenting. Social media is the way to stay connected to everyone. Then I started thinking about my blog and how often I post or think of things to write about. We comment on politics and “share” photos of our perfect lives. We ask for prayer and bully others from behind the shield of our monitors. We post our location and declare our mood of the moment (motm). We are dedicated to updating our post at all cost. 

Then I started thinking about God and how I used to assume that  1 Thessalonians 5:16-18English Standard Version (ESV)16 Rejoice always, 17 pray without ceasing, 18 give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you. is impossible. A person can’t pray (hands and knees) without ceasing. Let’s be realistic… living a life of gratitude and always praying and rejoicing is just not possible. We have to live here. 

But why? Why can’t I update my status with Christ. Always post my happenings on my faithbook page. I don’t have to pretend my life is perfect because he knows it isn’t. I CAN give thanks for the everyday things. I can take a picture of the food I’m about to eat and show everyone how blessed I am but I can’t take a minute and give thanks for this blessing. I can a take a selfie in the car but it’s too dangerous to talk to God from behind the wheel. 

Today I have decided to focus on updating my status on my faithbook more often. Tell Jesus what my motm is, pray to him for guidance, give thanks to him for the blessings I brag about. Above all rejoice that he has given me the “faithbook” page so I can always communicate with him because he longs to hear from me. 

Apparently I find numbers easy to relate to. My math grade didn’t always reflect this but I’m starting to see the everyday applications of math. 

Everyone has their “two cents”, many times I have heard the expression. I’m intitled to my opinion. Yes, EVERYONE is intitled to HAVE an opinion. I am an extreme believer of thinking for self and making informed decisions through research. The only thing that confuses me is Inflation. 

When did the value of someone’s opinion become so greatly inflated. When a person thinks they have to voice it, and announce that their opinion was bellowed for everyone to see and hear. They firmly believe their perspective is of great urgent importance and it would be a disservice to not share this opinion. Do we realize that 2 cents is still 2 cents. Why do some people think their 2 cents is worth more than 2 cents. Also, if your two cents isn’t USD, it’s of NO value to me. 

Consequently, inflation reflects a reduction in the purchasing power per unit of money – a loss of real value in the medium of exchange and unit of account within the economy.

Meaning….the more you inflate the value of your opinion the less “real value” there is. 

How someone should raise their kid, how someone should treat their spouse, whether someone should help someone else or not. If these things don’t effect you. If you are not responsible to guide this person as a parent or teacher or you weren’t asked for your two cents just be thankful. Let them handle this, you can sit back and save your money for something that might really be your business. 

So many times, I was sent many letters. In the group homes I would get them. In foster homes, I would get them. As an adult I would get these “letters from Daddy” at the time I thought they were because he missed me. It seems natural to write your children when you are away from them. Right? So I got them from his jail cell. I got them from his half way house, and I got them from his road trips. 

 I knew what would be in each letter. GUILT!! He would tell me how things were so hard on him in jail but didn’t blame me for doing what I had to do. He would tell me how he is subjected to loneliness while I am allowed friends. As an adult he would tell me that I should try to be a better mother. He would tell me that my faith in God was misguided. The letters would list all the things he had done for me in my life. As a child he would point out the flaws of my caregivers and the system I found myself in over and over again. As an adult he would point out the flaws of my husband, my children and in laws. He made me question every decision I made and doubt every person I valued. 

One day as I pulled a letter out of the mailbox, I just held it. Knowing he would slam my every choice and I could not defend myself. Then it dawned on me…. why do I read them? Why do I give him the power? I asked myself…. do I trust him, No! Do I respect and admire the life he has? NO! Is this letter going to benefit me or my children? NO! The only reason for these letters is for him to grasp what little control over my self worth he had left. I carried the letter to the kitchen and threw it in the trash. I doubt myself and my decisions enough without him encouraging it. I never opened another letter. To this day I am weary of people who write long letters to express themself to someone. I know it may be innocent but it’s always one sided and leaves no room for someone to reciprocate their feelings or defend themself. It can be used to manipulate and have their voice heard without ever having to see or hear the damage they leave behind. 

1994. I was expecting baby number three. Like all other doctors appointments I loaded up my two other babies and headed to Calhoun Ga. The drive was nice but about 45 minutes so I made sure Sarah had went to the potty, Buddy had a clean diaper and we had some snacks before the trip. 

I had been in a lot of pain for a few days but because this pregnancy was high risk it often came with the territory. When I saw Dr. Esener, he seemed very concerned. My blood pressure was up which wasn’t typical and I told him how much pain I had been in. After my urinalysis he came back in my room and said he was admitting me to the hospital. I had a sever UTI, that had started contractions and I appeared to be dehydrated. I looked at my little ones in the stroller and said “I can’t, I have the kids with me!” I explained while looking at my 3 year old and 1 year old sharing a chair. He told me the importance and how he could not (in good concise) let me leave for fear for myself and the babies in my car. Then he assured me there was a phone in each hospital room where I could call family. He also let me call my husband (at the time) from the office before I was transported. 

The ambulance took me and the kids to the hospital which I thought was extreme but it was doctors orders. It seemed like it took forever to get settled in the room, strapped to an IV, and a fetal monitor. My babies were done. I started calling my husbands family. No after no. They had to work or didn’t feel well and then I decided to call my sister-in-law who lived only 20 minutes away in adairsville. I knew she didn’t have to work outside of the home and she had two older children who could help her with my toddlers. “I really need your help, I’m in the hospital and I have Sarah and Buddy with me” I felt so humbled begging someone to care for my children. “Let me ask Earl and I will call you back, what’s your extension” about thirty minutes later she returned my call. “I can watch Sarah but my nerves can’t handle the baby too” I took a deep breath and tried to act calm. “That’s ok, I will get someone else” I hung up. I was mad, hurt and just exhausted. The lovely nurses brought us a tray of food and I shared it with my babies. Sarah brought me a diaper for her little brother and I laid him on the bed in front of me and I couldn’t hold back the tears. I was struggling changing him being attached to an IV and baby monitor. This can not be happening. My kids can’t stay here! Where is my maternal support? Where is a devoted sister? Where’s my beloved spouse? The tears just wouldn’t stop. 

Then, my pastor and his wife walked in. I was so embarrassed for them to see me crying so openly. It’s not like we were best friends or anything. They came over and hugged me and Donna held my hand while I told them what the doctor said. Apparently my husband had called them from work to ask for their prayers for me and they came to me as fast as they could. Pastor Wayne played with the kids while Donna sat on my bed and talked with me. She asked who was coming to get the kids and when I told her I didn’t know I couldn’t hold my tears back again. She quickly put her hand on my leg and to my surprise said. “That’s great news! They can come with us. It’s been so long since we’ve had little ones around, it will brighten our day.” ” oh no! I can’t ask you..” “ask me what?” You didn’t ask me anything” “please let me take them while you are here, we will have so much fun” “I don’t have clothes packed for them or anything” I rambled, she looked at me like I was talking mad and said “I know where to get kids clothes, they will be fine” then after our visit she hugged me gathered my keys, my kids, and my gratitude. 

The bus ride home was hot and I could smell the body odor from the kids who had gym today. I felt numb, for days I had been replaying the last court day in my head. We have a new case plan, my brother went home and I was soon to follow. Dad reassured me that he was fighting as hard as he could to get me back home too. He went on and on that day about who all he called and what he said. All I heard was “Minor Robert G.  will be placed back in the care of his father, and sibling Vipi G. Begin unsupervised visits with plan to reunify.” I’m so tired. My pain and fear have lead to just feeing numb. I won’t go back to live with him. 

As I got off the bus I walked straight in the kitchen grabbed the bottle of Tylenol and headed for my room. After throwing my books on my bed I headed for the bathroom with the bottle in my pocket. As I sat on the side of the tub I thought about my brother and I cried. I never wanted to leave him. But I can’t face him anymore. I wiped my face off, grabbed a handful of Tylenol, put my face under the facet and took most of the bottle. The second handful I took went down a little easier. I washed my hands, wiped my face and went back to my room. I assumed curling up in my bed and doodling was the last thing I would remember. An hour later though….

“NO!!!” I was violently hurling. My body began shaking from the violent vomiting and now dry heaving” my foster mother opened the bathroom door and asked me if I had been drinking. In my despair over my pain I just shook my head and handed her the empty bottle. Minutes later I was in the back of an ambulance. I couldn’t focus on them or anything they were saying. I was hot, and shivering. My body was still trying to hurl but there was nothing left. My body was punishing me for betraying it.  Then they forced me to drink charcoal. Drinking something thick, black and chalky was making me gag more.  The nurse told me “that’s what happens when you do something stupid” I just closed my eyes and cried. I’m sorry for wanting out. I’m sorry for being weak. I’m sorry I’m here. I’m sorry I was ever born. 

There are many facts I have forgotten about math but the first rule                              Rule 1: First perform any calculations inside parentheses this rule always stands out. Many teachers have expressed the importance of this first step. If you try to entertain ANYTHING outside of the parenthesis first you are already making mistakes. 

As an adult I started using this to help solve problems in relationships. That’s how you can always get to the root of the problem you are facing. For instance….. a girl(1) falls for a boy(2) and they are in love and start a family(3). Then they notice some differences and this causes a problem in their relationship. Of course the problem she sees in her partner(2) she doesn’t see in her neighbor(4). The neighbor becomes a close friend. Now her partners descrepencies seem to build and the neighbor is faultless. Now she has a complicated problem. (1+2)3-4. No, this isn’t a complicated math problem but it’s a serious relationship problem. My tip is to always solve the problem in the parentheses. You can’t add, or compare the four because the outcome will not be accurate.

In relationships you have to separate all else. Focus on your feelings only for the one in your parentheses. Ask… do I love this person. Do I trust my partner? How do I feel about the promise I made to him? What are the descrpencies in the parenthesis? You will not get a good result if you are comparing your partner to others? That muddles the problem. Does he make me feel as good as this new person? Remember that your partner made you feel like a winner at one time too. Relationships aren’t  always about feelings they are also about facts. Feelings change, feelings are fickle and can’t always be our guide. Focus on what’s inside the parentheses, excluding all else and you will see that the problem will be easier to solve. 

Living on Van Buren st in Phoenix Az 1981, I was 7 years old and in 2nd grade. I can’t remember the name of my school I went to. I do remember it being a rough area of town by the neighborhood prostitutes and the apartment we lived in was more like a motel room with crusty carpet and smoke stained walls. 

The school was just a couple blocks away so I would walk my brother to school everyday. Sadly this day at school we had head checks. The teachers started checking everyone’s head shortly after roll call. At the time it didn’t seem like a big deal we just got to talk to our class mates while they were busy. Well, when my teacher walked up to me she stopped and within a couple seconds she told me to go wait in the hall with by the door. Uhhh!! I didn’t do anything, everyone else was talking too. A few minutes later my friend Maria joined me in the hall and we sat leaned up against the wall until our teacher joined us. To the nurses station we went. We sat in chairs beside each other until Maria’s mom got there but because we didn’t have a phone at home I had to stay in the nurses station all day. Bored out of my mind. They gave me a letter and said that I needed to tell my mom (I didn’t correct her) to treat my hair when I got home and I couldn’t come back to school until after that. 

My brother and I walked home as usual and when I gave my dad the letter he was furious. “How am I supposed to get the money for that” ” you should wash your hair better” he left the house and I was just relieved and went outside to play with the neighbors. But when returned he was so mad he yelled for me to come in pulled a bottle out of his jacket pocket threw it at me and said “go wash your nasty hair”. So I went and washed my hair and figured that was the end of it. 

The next morning dad walked my brother and me to school griping the whole time about the school and teachers being lazy yada yada. I just kicked rocks along the way. First we took my brother to his class like I usually did and then we went to the office. The school nurse called us in her office and while I looked at the bed and bandaids that I looked at all day the day before the nurse started looking at my hair. Using her fingers to pull my hair apart she spoke to my father “look, these are live and there are so many eggs” “you are going to have to get the sham” my dad cut her off and started griping at me ” I thought you washed your hair” his face was so mad “I will just shave it off if you’re to lazy to wash it” the nurse quickly interjected on my behalf “you can’t just wash your hair” “you have to spray and comb the hair” “you also need to vacuum everything and put all fabrics in plastic bags for a few days” 

Whoa! My dad was livid! She started cussing up a storm and accusing them of so many things I just wanted to cry but he grabbed my arm and drug me out of the office. He rant didn’t stop there even as we walked to the store. I could tell he was angry but I had stopped listening and started thinking about him shavin my hair. I was afraid I would look like a boy. When we went in dad walked over to the shampoo, picked it up and walked out with me trailing right behind him. 

When we got back to the apartment he put the bottle on the table and stormed out. Ok, so I washed my hair and finally found some spray. WD40, I generously sprayed my hair hoping to kill everything. I kept spraying it until it was all gone. Maybe he won’t shave my head. After a few minutes my head began to hurt and I was feeling nauseous. I just wanted to lay down. I went to my bed cradling my head and curled up in the fetal position until I fell asleep. 

This morning I was thinking about my lovely white house and how we will be leaving it soon. My thoughts were to the many times I have given directions to my home and said it’s the first house on the right. A white house with burgundy shutters. The fond memories made me smile and then I almost laughed out loud when I thought about the first time I saw my home after the snow…. it didn’t look like the bright white house anymore. With snow lying everywhere my home looks more “off white”. 

Then I knew what I was leaning towards writing about today.                                          1 Corinthians 13: 12 For now we see in a mirror, [c]darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know fully even as also I was fully known. 13 But now abideth faith, hope, love, these three; and the [d]greatest of these is love.

Be careful not to judge, be careful not to accept someone else’s ideas. I will tell you I live in a white house because that is what I believe. However, is the house really white? For now we see things darkly,  I’m not not wrong, my perception is clouded without a comparison. 

This idea brought me to my husband. I didn’t know what a healthy loving relationship was until I was loved by him. It’s so unconditional. Not always perfect but always perfectly what I need. Before I met him I didn’t have anything to compare. I thought other relationships had been good and healthy but I was nervous and trying to fix others or change myself to make them happy. My previous relationships had been the white house with out snow to compare. 

This brought me to my foster kids. Most of them lived in situations that were dire and unfit, yet they cried for home. These little ones lived unsupervised and with little food. Some even endured physical and emotional abuse and beg to be returned to the people who mistreat them. This is their white! You can’t tell them it’s not white because it is white. I have found that the only way to reach them is to show them. Display a harmonious marriage, show the bonds I have with my  biological children, let them see a full pantry, and most importantly let them feel love. The love God shows us, the love God tells us to share with others. Let his children draw their own conclusions when YOU become the the comparison. 

As a little girl I remember my teacher reading a poem from Shel Silverstein to our class. At the time I didn’t understand why it upset me so much. Today I read it again and I knew. 

THE GIVING TREE…                                      BY SHEL SILVERSTEIN. 

Once there was a tree….
and she loved a little boy.
And everyday the boy would come and he would gather her leaves
and make them into crowns
and play king of the forest.
He would climb up her trunk
and swing from her branches
and eat apples.
And they would play hide-and-go-seek. And when he was tired,
he would sleep in her shade.
And the boy loved the tree….
very much.
And the tree was happy.
But time went by.
And the boy grew older.
And the tree was often alone. Then one day the boy came to the tree and the tree said, “Come, Boy, come and climb up my trunk and swing from my branches and eat apples and play in my shade and be happy.”
“I am too big to climb and play” said the boy.
“I want to buy things and have fun.
I want some money?”
“I’m sorry,” said the tree, “but I have no money.
I have only leaves and apples. Take my apples, Boy, and sell them in the city. Then you will have money and you will be happy.”

And so the boy climbed up the
tree and gathered her apples
and carried them away.
And the tree was happy.
But the boy stayed away for a long time…. and the tree was sad.
And then one day the boy came back and the tree shook with joy
and she said, “Come, Boy, climb up my trunk and swing from my branches and be happy.” “I am too busy to climb trees,” said the boy. “I want a house to keep me warm,” he said. “I want a wife and I want children,
and so I need a house.
Can you give me a house ?”
” I have no house,” said the tree.
“The forest is my house,
but you may cut off
my branches and build ahouse. Then you will be happy.” And so the boy cut off her branches and carried them away
to build his house.
And the tree was happy.
But the boy stayed away for a long time. And when he came back,
the tree was so happy
she could hardly speak.
“Come, Boy,” she whispered, “come and play.”
“I am too old and sad to play,”
said the boy.
“I want a boat that will
take me far away from here.
Can you give me a boat?”
“Cut down my trunk
and make a boat,” said the tree. “Then you can sail away…
and be happy.”
And so the boy cut down her trunk and made a boat and sailed away. And the tree was happy
… BUT NOT REALLY.

And after a long time
the boy came back again.
“I am sorry, Boy,”
said the tree,” but I have nothing
left to give you –
My apples are gone.”
“My teeth are too weak
for apples,” said the boy.
“My branches are gone,”
said the tree. ” You
cannot swing on them – ”
“I am too old to swing
on branches,” said the boy.
“My trunk is gone, ” said the tree.
“You cannot climb – ”
“I am too tired to climb” said the boy.
“I am sorry,” sighed the tree.
“I wish that I could give you something…. but I have nothing left.
I am just an old stump.
I am sorry….”
“I don’t need very much now,” said the boy. “just a quiet place to sit and rest.
I am very tired.”
“Well,” said the tree, straightening
herself up as much as she could,
“well, an old stump is good for sitting and resting Come, Boy, sit down. Sit down and rest.” And the boy did.
And the tree was happy.

The tree wanted nothing more than to make the boy happy. And he took everything from her and left her with nothing yet still he went back and used her. She was happier being used and cut down than being alone.