...

(march 08)

I dreamed last night that I was almost shot in the head, but at the last minute I was like, "no, uh, wait..." and then I turned and walked away from the man with the gun. He was shooting folks one by one. It was creepy.

I'm glad in my dreams I seem to realize that I have choices. I fare much better in my dream life than I do my real life. Being shot seems to be a recurring theme for me. I think that's how my subconscious mind portrays trauma. In fact I remember a friend calling me just a few days after my little brother's death, and all I could say was, "it feels like my entire family was lined up against a wall and shot, all of us, one by one..."

She really didn't know how to respond to that. Oh! Speaking of being machine-gunned against a wall! I don't think I've ever mentioned this in a blog before, but when I was 16 and working at an ice-cream store, I was scooping up this old man a nice cone, and as I handed it to him, I happened to notice that he looked JUST LIKE Al Capone, and I couldn't resist saying so. And the funny thing is, he just stood there, all wide-eyed, peered straight into my eyes and said, "I can't believe you said that." I thought I had offended him, but no, as it turns out, his dad had been one of the men who were shot in the St. Valentine's Day Massacre. And the weird thing was, according to him, nobody had ever told him he looked like Al Capone before. As he took his cone and moved down the line I noticed he gave me a second glance over his shoulder.
That's not the first second glance I've ever gotten, the kind of glance that says, I'm not so sure about you...

What on earth was I talking about. Oh yes. My walking away from the understanding gunman. After I walked away from his methodical shooting spree, I walked and walked, and this smile just busted out upon my face for no reason, until I found myself walking right into the back door of my old childhood home. I had a grocery bag with me and it had two bottles of champagne, which I left in the kitchen, and walked to my old bedroom, where I started laughing and arranging things, it was a happy thing. That is until I found myself unpacking from a box that contained one of my dead uncle's belongings, and they weren't even his good belongings. It seemed to be the contents of his bathroom cabinet or something: nasty old toothbrushes and a disgusting fake beard? Do men even wear fake beards? Looking back on this uncle, there's no way his beard was fake. It was very much alive and it was all him. This is the uncle that worked as a bouncer at the strip clubs on Harry Hines and Industrial. And when I saw the toothbrushes and the fake beard, it made me want to throw up, and that's how I woke up.

I'm so glad I'm separating my blogs like this. I don't think God would appreciate it very much if I posted this rubbish among the other ones that I'm SUPPOSED to share. But I can't help it. Once something is in written form, it's processed and I can move on. Or maybe I just made that up in order to justify my blogging habit.




...

I’ve been tricked, swindled, had the wool pulled over my eyes, shot and stuffed in the trunk of a 1939 Cadillac in the moonlight. Don’t make the same mistake I have made. What is it? It is: Applying Online.

Don’t do it. Here’s what happens. See it’s not really applying for work, no, what it is, is you giving out your information to the Powers That Be, and then the next thing you know, the entire world has your cell phone number, address, and anything else you would rather be kept private. Throughout all these months of looking for work, not one worthy employer has called, but about ten thousand cronies of Big Brother have hit me up. Mainly it’s the phone company I’m hiding from, seeing as how I owe them about a thousand bucks for a set of cell phones that I agreed to be put in my name. I shudder at the thought of what Judge Judy would have to say to me about that. Or even worse, Dr. Laura.

So I up and had my number changed. It’s a beautiful thing. My usual thing is changing it about once a year, so it was long overdue anyway. I went ahead and deleted a few obsolete contacts, then called my Inner Circle, and instructed everyone to just play like they don’t know me if anyone asks for my number. I feel free once more.

My mother is at the store getting taco makings. I said, please no more light sour cream, please get the real thing. I need some fat and some calories right now. I don’t know what’s going on but I have no appetite and I’m losing weight. Which is not a good thing, seeing as how I’m about to be sucked into the system again and I need to be feelin hearty and strong. Instead, currently, I’m feeling trembly and chills and foggy and exhausted. How can I make a good impression like that? I don’t know what’s wrong but I seem to have the strength of an 80 year old woman right now.

Yesterday I slept from 3:00 pm to 9:30 pm, was up for a while, got caffeinated and tried to blog, but was too exhausted, and ended up sleeping until this morning. And today it’ll probably hit me again around 3 or 4 and I’ll need to sleep again. I haven’t been this tired in months.

I had to go to the bookstore & get a book on vitamins to refresh my brain on all of it. I really don’t buy into any of it. But seeing as how that’s what I’ve been doing for the past decade I’m thinking that’s where I belong. Working the vitamin stores. On some levels I think I really hate it, deep down. Then again it’s so easy. But then again I resent the fact that I’m spending so much time learning about nutrition when the body is dying anyway. I’m quite conflicted about the whole thing and this is why sometimes I fantasize about having a Sugar Daddy, but who doesn’t?

I had a dream earlier that this man was put on the torture thing called the rack, and I watched as he was slowly pulled apart and killed. They were going to also kill me and another person, and I stood there thinking, maybe they’ll do me last, by that time the rack operator will have gotten it all out of his system and just do me real quick. Sort of like the ride operators at the carnival, you can tell if they’ve had a good day or a bad day by the way they do the rides. Sometimes they let you go twice, sometimes they speed it up, sometimes they make it go TOO fast, even when all the kids are screaming. This is mainly true with rides that just spin.

So! Then, before I woke up, I had another short dream, I was driving, and there was a thing of deer antlers on the seat, sort of between me and the steering wheel! Another rack!

So now here I sit, all wide-eyed and bushy tailed, with a huge question mark above my head and my Foxe’s Book of English Martyrs on my lap, I’ve been looking through it for some kind of connection. About the torture rack, not the deer rack.

About the deer rack. Does that mean my hypothetical balls that I keep referring to are growing?

Cause the antlers were sort of sitting there on the car seat.



I’ve been looking for some information on when and how the rack thing was used, and what Christian martyrs had to die on it (come to find out, they were mainly just stretched out on it), and I found this article.



Early Christian Martyrs


In his Ecclesiastical History, Eusebius tells of many martyrs in the Christian church prior to 324 C. E.. On this page are descriptions of the martyrdom of twenty-two of them. These Christians were put to death by heathen emperors, governors, and judges. What was their crime? It was admitting to being Christian. They did not have proper trials. They were tortured before being put to death. The one way to avoid the ordeal was to denounce one’s faith A few took this way out; but most, including those listed in this paper, did not. They frustrated their tormentors by cheerfully submitting to the torture.
This list briefly describes the horrors that these Christians faced. The details are not pleasant to read. However, every present-day Christian should read about such atrocities as these which were inflicted on believers. Then he should evaluate his own faith. Would he be willing to die for his faith if he were faced with the same decision? Or would he find it easier to turn his back on his faith and save his life temporarily?

The names are in alphabetical order. The number in parentheses at the end of each account indicates where the information can be found in Ecclesiastical History.


The Martyrs


Agapius:
He was brought to the arena with a murderer to be cast to wild animals. The emperor gave clemency to the murderer. When the Christian refused to accept liberty by renouncing his faith, he rushed against a bear let loose upon him. After being mauled by the bear, he was taken to prison. Surviving for one day, stones were bound to his feet, and he was thrown into the sea. (357)


Alpheus:
He was scourged and scraped with iron hooks and severe bonds. He received different tortures on the rack, having his feet stretched a night and a day to the fourth hole in the stocks. At length, he was beheaded. (350)


Apollonia:
They seized this elderly woman, beat her jaws, and broke out all her teeth. They built a fire and threatened to burn her alive unless she would repeat their impious expressions. She appeared to shrink a little, but when allowed to go, she suddenly sprang into the fire and was consumed. (258)


Apollonius:
He was renowned for his learning and wisdom. After he gave an eloquent defence of the faith before the judge, he was decapitated according to the decree of the senate. (205)


Apphianus:
When this youth tried to prevent Urbanus from sacrificing to a god, he was seized and torn by the soldiers. He received innumerable stripes on his whole body and was cast into prison. There he was stretched with both feet a night and a day on the rack. When he was brought before the judge and refused to make a sacrifice, his sides were furrowed and scraped to the bone while he was being beaten on the face and neck. When he still did not yield, they covered his feet with linen steeped in oil and set fire to the cloth. The fire penetrated to the bones, but the youth did not die or yield. Defeated, the tormentors returned him to prison. After three days, he was taken again to the judge. This time, as he remained faithful to his belief, he was thrown into the sea and drowned. (355)


Blandina:
She was tortured by tormentors who took turns from morning till night until they were overcome. She continued to live despite her whole body being torn asunder and pierced. Later, she was bound and suspended on a stake, being exposed as food for wild animals. When none of the animals would touch her, she was taken down from the stake and returned to prison for another time. Then, after scourging, exposure to animals, and roasting, she was thrown into a net and cast before a bull. After much tossing from the animal, she died. (172-179)


Cronion:
[See the account of Julian. These two received their like torture together.] (259)


Ennathas: She was dragged by force and brought before the judge. After being scourged and enduring dreadful abuses, she was stripped of her clothes above the loins. As she was led about the city, she was beaten with thongs of hide. She remained cheerful through this; and, when she was taken back before the judge, she was condemned to the flames. (365, 366)


Julian: He was an old man who was afflicted with gout. Having confessed the Lord in front of his accusers, he was carried on a camel throughout the city. In this elevation, he was scourged and finally consumed in an immense fire, surrounded by the thronging crowds of spectators. (259)


Metra:
An aged man, he was called upon to utter impious statements. When he did not obey, his tormentors beat his body with clubs, and pricked his face and eyes. After that, they led him to the suburbs, where they stoned him. (257)


Origen:
He endured many torments to the body because of his faith. He was under an iron collar, spent time in the deepest recesses of the prison, for many days was extended and stretched to four holes on the rack, was threatened by fire, and had other tortures. The judge tried hard to protract his life in order to prolong his sufferings. (255)


Polycarp:
He was a teacher from Asia who taught multitudes not to sacrifice to the gods nor worship them. Through a vision he had, he said that he must be burned alive. After he was bound to the stake, he prayed and awaited the fire. The flames gave the appearance of an oven around him. He was in the midst, not like burning flesh, but like gold and silver purified in the flames. A fragrant odour, like the fumes of incense, or other precious aromatic drugs, was perceived. When the persecutors saw that his body could not be consumed by fire, they commanded the executor to plunge his sword into him. When this was done, such a quantity of blood gushed forth that the fire was extinguished. His body was later burned according to the custom of the Gentiles, and his bones were buried. (143)


Pothinus:
He had performed the ministrations of the episcopate of Lyons. Although past ninety years of age, very infirm of body, he was taken to the tribunal where he stood firm in his faith. He was unmercifully dragged away and endured many stripes, while those nearby abused him with their hands and feet. Then, after two days in prison, he died. (174)


Procopius: Before he was tried by imprisonment, he was taken before the tribunal of the governor. When commanded to sacrifice to the gods, he declared that he knew only one to whom it was proper to sacrifice. When ordered to make libations [the ritual of pouring out wine or oil in honor of a god] to the four emperors, he stated a sentence which did not please his accusers. Immediately, he was beheaded. (349)


Quinta:
They took her to the temple of an idol and tried to force her to worship. When she turned away in disgust, they tied her by the feet and dragged her through the city, dashing her against the millstones and scourging her at the same time. When they completed the dragging where they started, they stoned her. (257)


Sanctus:
He suffered many torments devised by men. When these men could do no more, they fastened hot plates of brass to the most tender parts of his body. He withstood all the suffering, but his body was one continued wound, mangled and shrivelled, that had entirely lost the form of man to the external eye. Again, he passed through the tortures. These included the strokes of the scourge, the draggings and lacerations from the beasts, other tortures demanded by the audience, and the iron chair upon which his body was roasted. Other tortures followed until he died. (172-176)


Serapion:
He was seized in his own house. After torturing him with the severest cruelties and breaking all his limbs, they threw him headlong from an upper storey of the house. (258)


Simeon:
He was the son of Cleophas, a descendant of David, and the second bishop of Jerusalem. When he was one hundred and twenty years old, a search was made for any descendants of David. Simeon was one who was taken into custody. After he had been tormented for several days, he was crucified. (118)


Theodosia:
She was not yet eighteen years old, yet was distinguished for her faith and virtue. As she approached some prisoners before the judgment seat to salute them, she was seized by the soldiers and led away to the commander. She was tortured cruelly, having her sides and breasts furrowed with instruments even to the bones. She kept a cheerful and joyful countenance throughout. Then she was ordered to be cast into the sea. (359)


Timotheus:
He endured a multitude of tortures. Then he was condemned to be consumed by a slow and gentle fire. Throughout it all, he exhibited an undeniable proof of his sincere devotedness to God. (352)


Ulpian:
He was a young man who suffered dreadful torments and the most severe scourgings. After all of these, he was sewn in a raw bull’s hide, together with a dog and a poisonous asp, and thrown into the sea. (357)


Zaccheus:
[See the account of Alpheus. These two received their like torture together.] (350)


Conclusion
These accounts may not seem to be believable, yet they are documented in the writings of the best-known and most reliable historian in the early Christian church. How can people treat others so cruelly?
Those were pagans; but Christians would never do that, would they? They would, and they have. A classic account of this is Foxe’s Christian Martyrs of the World. Much of his chronicle describes events in England during the reign of Queen Mary, the sister of Queen Elizabeth I. Many of the victims saw abuses and false teachings in the Roman Catholic church and had left it. During this time, that church was the official one in the country. Non-Catholics were outcasts and suffered cruel punishments. Other martyrs, including the apostles and European reformers are also described. The Catholics, too, suffered when the official church was a Protestant one. The Spanish Inquisition was a period when civil authorities persecuted, expelled, or killed Catholics who had renounced their faith, Protestants, Jews, and Muslims.

What happened to early-day Mormons who tried to leave the group in what is now Utah? What happens to members of some cults who discover that they have been deceived? What happens to Christians who try to teach the Gospel in a country that forbids Christianity? What did Christians do to Jews during the Crusade expeditions and during World War II? What happens to Muslims in Western nations? Many of the first colonists in the United States were Christians seeking freedom of worship that they did not have in their homelands which had an official so-called "Christian" religion. Some Christians are guilty of ostracization and other psychological means to attack those who leave their churches. Many Christians today are very apathetic about their proclaimed faith. They take for granted the religious freedom which they have.



I can’t believe this. I can’t stop blogging now. As it turns out, if you rearrange the letters in my maiden name, it spells normal! But with an H. So now I have to use it. So I’m back, but just for a little while. I can’t let this discovery go to waste. I’ve been in need of a good name for a long time. I’m not sure but this may be it. But then again I just don’t know. It’s not cute enough. We’ll see. I did have a good blogging name already but the thing is, I stole it. Which compromises my need to be original. Even though my maiden name was technically stolen from my father, it’s still mine. And even more mine, if I switch around the letters, right?

It’s a good thing I discovered this today because it gave me incentive to get back on, and that’s good, because I have some things to report. For starters, today I ate Clown Food. There’s no other way to describe it. It was all a mistake. I couldn’t keep up with the drive thru line, it went so fast, there was no time to really read and decide, and I was rushed, as usual, so instead of ordering something I really wanted, I just blurted out that I wanted the breakfast 6. The orange juice was good, the hash brown was good. But the main course was something that a 5 year old must have thought up. It was: a McGriddle. I never had one before, mainly because I haven’t been out of the house before noon in over a year, and if I am, it’s Whataburger all the way. But today was different, as I was exploring a new area for new possibilities, when lo and behold, a thrift store! One I never even knew existed! But it didn’t open for 15 more minutes, thus, my trek through McDonald’s, and that’s how I ended up eating Clown Food for breakfast. Let me tell you about it. I opened up the wrapper, glanced at it, and just busted out laughing. Instead of a bun, my meal was tucked in between two little pancakes, and not only that but they had the big M on them, like seared in. Then, perfect looking strips of bacon that were cut in perfect squares, on top of a bright yellow egg that looked like something I played with in preschool in the play kitchen area. The cheese was neon orange. I took a bite and started laughing even more, because, as if the appearance of the thing were not enough, this little do-dadd of a meal has SYRUP on it. Yes. Syrup. I can’t believe this is even served to adults. I did eat it, and enjoyed it, but I just kept thinking of some clown somewhere, laughing. At the fact that somewhere out there, people are eating his invention. I called my brother in law cause I thought he would get into a conversation about it with me, but no! As it turns out, he loves them! I couldn’t believe it. I’m surprised there wasn’t a little piece of candy lodged in the center of it, or maybe a little surprise toy. Nevermind.

The other thing I had to report is what I found in the thrift store! I was supposed to be looking for decent clothes for an interview, but instead something so cute caught my eye, it was a little piece of wood with some ceramic peas on it. You hang it on your wall. It looks like some old lady made it and it is so cute! It’s three pods, and the one in the middle is opened and you can see the little peas inside. It looks like she just rolled a bunch of clay into little balls and tucked them in there, and painted them green. I don’t know why I like it so much, but it’s hanging on my bathroom wall now. It’s the very first thing I’ve bought in about 2 years that’s a decoration of some kind. And the more I look at it, the more I realize, I want more things like that. I’m not sure but I think I might be going country, but not in a Texas way, no, it’s more like, stop trying and see beauty in junk kind of way. Like, bottle cap windchimes and things like that. You know what I’m talking about. The things you really deep down want in your house. Not junk, not clutter, but things that make you feel happy. I’m telling you, thrift stores are a haven of wealth and they are always chock full of happy things. They never let me down.

Well it looks like my snake is hot again. My Virtual Snake. My Interlocking Lexicon of Love Links. And my ex is paying the price. Ha! That’s funny. Seeing as how he answers emails and I don’t, all our old friends inquire about me to him, then he turns around and calls me and he’s like, You’ll never believe who I talked to today... and I always have to say, DO NOT GIVE OUT MY INFORMATION. There is a reason why I am not available. It’s simple! Cause I don’t want to be! If you get ballsy enough like me, you too can be free one day.

I got more compliments from him today. He made my day. In fact he’s the reason why I’m up & blogging as we speak, I’m in a good mood all cause of him. He said, Amy you never ceased to amaze me when we were married. I just don’t know how you did it. It didn’t matter HOW broke we were, or how shitty of a dump we lived in, or the fact that I worked TWO shifts to put food on the table...but you ALWAYS found a way to use my peanut butter and my bread and make sandwiches for all the f**king homeless people and pass them out.

Then we got on the subject of how funny it is that people who don’t know me, guys especially, mistake me for being sweet. I said, well I am sweet, just protective of my mind. And he goes, Oh! You don’t have to tell me! I know better than to go near that dangerous bastard!

Sometimes I think I would marry him all over again, just so I could enjoy this divorce to him. Hey! Now there’s a thought! Do you always have to get married in order to be divorced? Would it be possible to meet someone, fall in love, then head to the courthouse for a divorce? Without getting married? Then, when the honeymoon is over, get married? Cause isn’t that the way it is anyway? Why are people so unhappy when they’re married, then relieved and happy and friends when they’re divorced? Why is this?

I’m so lazy right now just the thought of making this a cute profile makes me want to sleep. I’m exhausted. Why can’t I stop this blogging? If you would stop reading then maybe I would stop writing. You are enabling me. I’m going to have to put my foot down right here and ask you to stop.

But then I hear so & so was reading my stuff, and then someone asked me today, done any writing lately? HOW CAN I QUIT? I’m trying! I can’t! This is turning into a real nightmare! What next! Who knows! Alright that’s it. I’m going to bed but when I get up I’m making a HUGE POT OF COFFEE and YOU’RE ALL GOING TO PAY THE PRICE.

...

(july 07)

I think I'm just going to cease all real-life communication completely, and just write for the rest of my life. I have noticed that my talking is a little slowed down anyway. As in, a real conversation, things just don't go as fast in my head, and I go blank way too easy. And it's hard to keep up with other people's thoughts if they go too fast. And for me to come up with a good response can take a while. Conversation used to be so much fun. Now it makes me look very, very dull. But hopefully that will get better over time. Or not. Who cares, anyway? Do I really care anymore?

One thing I do care about is my little occasional limp. I've noticed it comes on when I'm really, really tired, or really stressed. So it has to do with my nervous system. I don't need an EMG to tell me that. I'm glad I got out of that. I knew I'd find a way.

I've been wide awake all night, thinking. I've been wondering why I have so many God stories to tell. I never meant to have all this to talk about. I'm looking at my life and wondering, what on earth?

Only God knows why He picks out certain folks for certain things. But I'm getting suspicious. I'm remembering lots of crazy things I've done for Him. I'm thinking, does He use me in crazy ways because I'm open to crazy things?

When I got saved at 17, that's when all these ideas started coming into my head. Creative ways to spread the Word. I had to do it, I was so amazed at the whole salvation thing. It was all new to me, and I just had to make sure the rest of the world knew about Jesus. I took it upon myself to spread the Word in my own way. Most of these things I did secretly. Never told a soul. Except my little brother, who was an Accomplice.

The first things we'd do were make little tracts, or just go buy a few packs at the Christian bookstore. And we'd wait till late at night. And go for a drive, all over town. I'd drive, and he'd litter. It was so much fun. I was 17, he was 7. This is how it all started, and it came to be known as "littering." Sometimes I'd go to the bookstore and get a few good books, or even Bibles, and go to my bro and say, "Psst--wanna go littering??" His face would light up like a firefly. We had so much fun.

And this idea was actually his: we tied a bunch of tracts to helium balloons, and just set them free. This was his favorite way to litter.

This activity sort of morphed into other things....like driving through a really poor neighborhood, praying, picking out a house, and running up to the door, giving a one hundred dollar bill to whoever opened the door, saying "Merry Christmas and God Bless You!!" ...and running back to the car and driving off before they could say anything. I can't describe the surge of adrenaline you get when you do things like that. It's almost too much.

When I finally wrote my testimony several years ago, I wasn't satisfied just passing it around to my friends. I made sure one got sent to Australia. To an old friend. He was a mess at the time and really needed some good old-fashioned inspiration. And then I also sent a copy to this minister in Africa, who wrote back and said they read it aloud at one of their services, and many people were touched.

It's always best to do these types of things anonymously. Never knowing the outcome, never putting my name to anything. Because then I might be tempted to want to know the results. I'd rather not know. I'd rather view everything through eyes of faith, and not base anything on what my real eyes see. Plus, I never have to answer to anyone or explain myself that way.

I think we should all be more free with God. Loosen up and do something unexpected. Be creative. Actually instead of doing something crazy, do something free. Be free with it. Think freedom. Be an open vessel that God can use. I refuse to share Christ in a normal manner. There's enough folks on God's green earth who do things right. I just let them do things their way, and I do things my way, and that's that.



I was going to be an artist.

A famous one. I had it all figured out. How could I not be? I was born drawing and creating. Always holed up in my bedroom, hard at work on my next diobolical contribution to the art world. It usually involved glue and glitter and smell markers, until the age of 10. In my teens, it was paint. And clay. I even had my very own potter's wheel and a nice little kiln one time. But I had to get rid of it, because I was using them 'round the clock, ignoring both my husband and my daughter. I have no set pace. I only know how to run. Can somebody help me with this, please?

Anyway, I'm saying that art has always been my thing. I never really considered doing anything else.

So this is why, in my early 30's, I was beyond baffled when I sensed in my spirit that it was time to lay it all down. All of it.

Wha...? But I know His voice and I know when He means business.

And at this very point in time? Why would He require this of me now? I finally had my paintings in galleries, and even, yes, finally.....had two galleries contact ME, for cryin' out loud!!! That's a real landmark moment for an artist. So here I was, going strong with my paintings, and it consumed me. I mean, it's ALL I thought about. I was living at my dad's at the time, and my bedroom had it's own bathroom, and a sliding glass door that opened up to the patio. I was in my own little world, I had everything I needed at my fingertips. The bathroom became a paintbrush-rinsing station, and the patio became a canvas-drying area. Of course my dad would beg to differ on this, but we go way back on this argument. He still doesn't get it. One CANNOT paint in the garage. Or, I WILL NOT. What, am I a dog who's not yet housebroken, being banished to the garage? Surrounded by all his junk??

How on earth did I stray so far from my point. It's funny when I write, you know what I have to do? Every few minutes or so I go blank, so I have to scroll to the top and read what I've been saying, just to bring me back. If you'll excuse me, I'm going to do that now....

I do believe my intentions for this blog was to talk about sacrifice, and obedience to God.

I had been convicted in my spirit of something a few months earlier. I had been making these bookmarks and trying to sell them. Each one had a beautiful cross on one side (cut from my very own hand-marbelized paper...nice and colorful and swirly...) and a scripture verse on the other side. They were then laminated. I was trying to sell them, because about a decade earlier I did the same thing, and had orders from all over the place. Except at that time, they were free.

I'd place little ads in Christian magazines and such, saying, "FREE! Beautiful and unique hand-made bookmarks. Send name and Bible verse of your choice to....."

This little venture took off like wildfire. I had lots and lots of orders from prison inmates. That's how I ended up in a little bit of prison ministry, accidentally. They just started writing to me, and I couldn't resist writing back (the women only)...I made lots of special friends during that time. Tommy was not amused. I think he only knew about one inmate. Oh and I asked him to drive me down to see her one time. Her name was Raquel. We had been corresponding for about a year. It's not like it was a far drive or anything, just a few hours. He was not happy about it but he loves to drive. So anyway, we finally find the prison, and go in, and.....next thing you know, we're being searched and scanned and questioned. As it turns out, you can't just show up at a prison for a visit. You have to call in advance. They have "visiting days."

To describe how Tommy was on the drive home (it was in Gatesville) is really not necessary. He was pretty mad. But again, he likes to drive, so I tried to cheer him up by putting in one of his stupid country tapes...the one with that idiotic song, "Amanda...they should 'uve made yoo, a gentlemun's wafe..." Soon enough he forgot how mad he was and started singing along.

What on earth am I talking about now??? The bookmarks! Wait, I have one more thing to say about inmates. I have a big heart for them. I want to be involved in prison ministry one day. The real kind. Not just my own made-up version of it.

So these bookmarks were a hit (I didn't realize at the time it was most likely due to the fact that they were free)...but eventually I got tired of doing it and moved on to something else. This was in the early 90's.

So back to my early 30's, when the idea hit me again. But this time, I'll be smart about it and charge a little for them. I think it was $2.50 each, or something like that. I placed very expensive ads in various magazines and independent newspapers and waited for the orders to come piling in, like they did before.

And I waited.

And waited.

About a month passed, and not ONE ORDER came in. I was baffled, thinking, these look even better than they did the first time around, and I've placed even better ads...what on earth?

So I prayed about it. And then I sensed in my spirit that:

(and I quote my Maker)...

"There are those who are peddlers of my Word. You are not to be found among them."

Yup. I was floored. Bonked on the head with truth. Convicted like a thief. Corrected like a bad kid. And I just started bawling, because I knew it was true. I was peddling His Word. Trying to make a buck off of His scriptures. (each bookmark came with whatever verse you requested, on the back.)

My heart was not in the right place, this time around. The first time, all I wanted was to share my talent and bless others with it. This time around, I wanted a personal profit.

There is a very, very fine line when it comes to serving God with your talent. You have to be so careful about your motives. Because trust me, He sees your heart, and he KNOWS.

So, long story long, I ditched the whole bookmark venture and turned back to painting. At least with the painting I was honest about it, I wasn't serving God with my splatter paint. It was just for me.

But that had to go as well.

Becuase at this point in time, when I was going strong with painting, I began to feel the call rise up inside me, that God had something else for me. That it was time to lay down the paints and realize that "art" is not the only way to express oneself. I argued with God in prayer, telling Him, "But art is my thing!! I've been doing it forever!!"

It then began to dawn on me that "art" was simply the only way I knew how to express myself. That it's not about painting or ceramics or whatever medium you use. It's about the expression and what you're trying to convey.

I was born with an incredible amount of nervous energy. My mom says at just one day old, I was pushing myself up, on my belly, in the hospital nursery. Like a push-up. Completely lifted myself up off the little mattress. The nurses told my mom they had never seen a baby do that. It's not physical strenth, it's a burning energy I carry around inside of me. It burns. It always has.

And finally I learned, that if I turn that fire over to God, really cool things happen: Other people catch fire.

So, after getting rid of all my canvases and paints and the bookmarks and all selfish goals and plans, I was like, "Ok God, what are you doing??" It's like He needed me to clear the slate and make room for something new.

I waited. Then things started happening. For one thing, my daughter came back to live with me. I was able to put all of my energy into her and helping her with some struggles she was having.

Secondly, I began to feel my fire swell, and the desire to write.

To write my story. My testimony.

I'll never forget the night I finally wrote the first draft.

It was October 10, 2003. A friday night. My birthday.

I had been seeing this guy who....oh I better not go there. I'll just call him White Mustang.

He knew my birthday was that week, and he told me, "Yeah, I'll take you out for your birthday, but it probably won't be ON your birthday...." Ok. How hard would that have been? It fell on a friday night! But, I'm not one to expect that anyway...I don't really get into cards and gifts and superficial offerings, it's all fake. But the point is, he made a POINT to not do anything that day. That's just how he was. I think he was still really angry at his ex. She must have been really demanding or something. But, here I am, on a friday night, on my 33rd birthday.

I sat there facing the computer. I stared. I thought about everything. And I knew it was time to do it: I had to start writing.

I sat there for hours like a crazed lunatic, my fingers flying all over the keyboard, memories and experiences just pouring out of me. I did it. I wrote my story.

That first copy was a little rough, sort of blurry and rambling, and over the years I've edited it and refined it. But I tell you what. It was pure heaven to hand White Mustang a finished copy. And then tell him to kiss my ass.

So this is how I started writing.

And I suspect I shall continue, until the fire burns out....







I just remembered something. Several years ago, I was at a birthday party for my co-worker's 16 year old daughter. These folks were totally sold out to Christ. This was a teenage party like you've never seen, it was held in a small church, and they were blasting alternative praise music, and the kids were totally jamming to it, praising God, hands lifted in the air....I had never seen teens do such a thing. I was amazed.

I sat at the back and just watched. Then this song came on that I had never heard before. The name of it was "Here I am to Worship" by Praise Band. Something about that song caused me to rise to my feet and join in the praise. It moved me to tears. I found myself so lost in this experience, music blaring and tears streaming down my face....and I began praying quietly to myself....

And then I felt a hand on me.

I opened my eyes and looked. It was a woman, just some woman who came over to me. She had one hand on my shoulder and the other hand lifted in the air. I watched as she started praying in the Spirit and then she was crying. I was thinking, "have I made this lady cry??" But no. She was praying for me, and then, she opened her eyes and had this look on her face....I can't describe it....

And she says to me:

"From this day forward, your life will never be the same. IT WILL NEVER BE THE SAME. God will cause your words to burn like smoke."

I was stunned, to say the very least.

Just sayin'.

Just sayin', where there's smoke, there's fire....

At first, I thought the west nile was going to make me crazy.

Now I realize, if it weren't for the west nile, I would have gone crazy for sure.

It saved my life. My internal life. It tripped me up and made me fall. It forced me into seclusion. It broke open my mind and slowly began to flush out everything stored up in there.

If I would have been allowed to continue on the self-determined and self-sufficient path I was on, I would have burned myself out, for the very last time.

But anyway, on a lighter note~

I am realizing that I have created a Diabolical Matrix. An online snake. The Amy Snake. Hey! That reminds me. My old manager used to call me "Blake the Snake." And when he'd call up at the store, he'd say, "Yes, Blake the Snake, please." And I'd say, "sssssssspeaking......"

But back to my Crafty Web of Interlocking Profiles Created For Your Ultimate Viewing Pleasure. I think I'm on 5 now. If you don't know what I'm talking about, then you just simply don't deserve to know.

It's the middle of the night again. My mind is all over the place...

I just keep thinking of those Christian bikers. I looked up their website today and noticed how they name their local chapters. Cool names. Like band names or something. Stuff like, "Sons of Thunder". I want a Son of Thunder!!!!!

Also today, I remembered a dream I had a long, long time ago. It was in my early twenties, back when I was living in my little "nothing's wrong, nothing has ever been wrong" world. In total denial about everything. I got like that after a traumatic event that broke my mind in half. Really. Well, figuratively speaking, of course. But I was just going along, in happy-perfect-stay-at-home-mom-land, totally forgetting my old life, having nothing to do with who I used to be.

One of the things I kicked to the curb was my music. All of it.

So about this dream. I saw my old room. And there was a poster on the wall. It was nice and pretty. I think it was something like a vase full of flowers or something like that. And then, the dream sort of zoomed-in on this poster....closer and closer it got.....until it focused on one tiny corner, that was just barely peeled back. I looked, and saw that there was another poster underneath! And then- the flower poster was totally peeled back, and guess what was under there?? An AC/DC poster!!! The "Let There Be Rock" tour poster. I was shocked! Totally freaked out!!!

I woke up and knew this dream was really trying to tell me something. That I was covering up my old identity. With lots and lots of false layers.

You see, I never outgrew certain things like normal people. I didn't give myself the chance. I just decided one day at the age of 18 that I wasn't going to have anything to do with my old life. Everything had to go, all my music, crazy clothing, wild hair and jewelry....everything.

But the poster in the dream told me that you cannot push truth away. Maybe you can push it down for a while, but you cannot deny your own reality. The truth about who you really are. No I am not a metalhead anymore (never really was anyway, just liked hanging out with them)...but I'm sure not the prim and proper floral arrangement in the poster on top.

Whatever it is that you have endured or experienced, it is not going to go away. It's still there. You cannot live in denial about things regarding your past, no matter how painful they may be.

You have to deal with it, all of it. Some people don't know what that means. Well, to properly deal with something, all you do is face it, and then ask God to bring it all up to the surface, all of it...old memories, old feelings, all that messy stuff...you have to ask Him to be in charge of it. It's like a delicate surgery. Don't attempt it on yourself.

And He will. He'll bring things up to the conscious level, one at a time, and you can face it and cry if you need to, and ask Him to cleanse the wound. This part can be uncomfortable. But do it anyway.

And then when it's all cleansed and sterilized with HIS BLOOD.......you can experience healing and freedom and then laugh about all of it and be freaking AMAZED at the beauty of it all....

It goes on and on and on......life is so good.....God is so good!

...

(july 07)

It all started on the day I quit drill team.

The day I said I'm through with conformity and social pressure.

Drill team may have been great for others, but for me personally, it turned me into a slave. A dancing robot slave.

One day in a whirlwind gust of determined emotion, I stomped up those stairs in the gym, tears flowing with each step...I strutted right on in to the director's office and announced, "I QUIT!!!" She was like, "Uh...ok, Amy, do you want to talk about this? Do you need to sit down?" No. I didn't want to spend one more second of my life in that prison of gawdy makeup, turquoise tights, and forcing myself into the splits at 6:30 in the morning.

It was on this very day that everything changed. It started the ball rolling in a whole new direction....an honest direction. It was the day I finally decided to be myself. I know I didn't need to be so dramatic about it- maybe I at least could have finished out the semester- but no, when I make up my mind about something, the whole world needs to know.

And this is how I lost the first batch of friends.

I lost more, after becoming pregnant at the age of 20. All of my friends continued to do the usual partying, why shouldn't they? I could no longer tag along...what with my growing bump & all....so there went the second batch of friends.

When I became a Christian at 17, I maintained a low profile about it. I didn't mention it to anyone. Well, except for my boyfriend, who was a Christian already, but for some reason he didn't tell me. When I found out about Jesus, and having a real relationship with Him, and all that that entails, I asked my boyfriend, "So you already knew all of this?" He did. We had been dating for about 2 years! I said, "Why didn't you tell me??" He just shrugged his shoulders and said, "I thought you already knew." No. I didn't know.

In my mid-twenties I finally came out of the closet and let it be known how much God means to me. I had to start talking, because all these incredible things started happening...I had to start telling people! Not to preach...but to simply share. I was amazed.

And this is how I lost more friends.

Then my life took a drastic turn downhill, I went tumbling into all kinds of chaos. I survived, and emerged with a story to tell. I knew in my heart that I had to tell it. My entire life plays out like a strange dream, and telling my story is both therapy for me, and the right thing to do.

More friends, gone. When they discover who I really am.

And now, here I am, at the age of 37. Being forced to take time out. My inner thoughts and memories have been bubbling up to the surface, one by one, and all I can do about it is write. I am at the point where I don't care anymore about social acceptance or how many "friends" I have. I do not mind if someone chooses to distance themself from me, because I make them uncomfortable. My mission here on earth is not to make people comfortable. God gave me a mouth, and I would wither up and die if I were unable to use it.

I have shared my testimony with lots of folks, and I do not regret it one bit. If you are one who has read my words, please know that I did it with nothing but love in my heart. I have to tell others what God has done for me. It blows my mind. He boggles my head, when I think of it all.

I had to get rid of all my copies of my story. Know why? To prevent myself from compulsively sharing it any more. There's a time to share, and a time to move on. The time has come for me to move on from my past, and clear the slate, make room in my head for what's next.

Oh don't get me wrong, I'll never shut up. I'll never stop writing. It's just that it's time to take the focus off my past. It's a relief to be at this point in my life. It's as if, I've climbed my impossible mountain, and now I can see things from a clear perspective...

But life is not about staying on top of the mountain. We are created to dwell down in the valley, where real life takes place, the dirty, messy stuff that life is made of. It's not about living such a pristine existence, or being holy. I am nothing, my thoughts and words and deeds are nothing, my service to God is nothing. It's only because of Christ in me that I am something. What a relief!

So anyway...what did I start off talking about? Oh yeah...how you lose friends as you grow and move through life and change. But it's all good. You need to be true to yourself. Don't worry about it.

Keep going...

Keep growing......

Don't give up, don't give in............



my poor little head!

...all funked up & what not.

It's getting better though. Haven't had a seizure since December, my leg hasn't gone out on me in two months, my energy is coming back, and I actually drove a few weeks ago. Slow, but I did it.

Just got the test results back from the neuro/psychologist testing, and although my thinking is a little bit fuzzy, the doc said it's nothing to be alarmed about...except for my memory. According to the test, my memory is right on the borderline of "low-average" and "impaired." Don't laugh. This is serious!

I know how entertaining all of this has been to people who know me. For years, my thinking (and lack thereof) has been the brunt of many jokes. And now this. I see the humor in it. Especially losing my memory. I mean, it's sort of a good thing, all things considered.

Now this is the funny part. The doc is referring me to a program/class that's for people with various types of head injuries. It's supposed to help you re-train your brain. Now this will be interesting for sure. No telling what my classmates will be like. I will most definitely report back on that.

The West Nile has left scarring on my left temporal lobe. It's a souvenier that I will carry with me for the rest of my life. My neurologist says that I can expect long-term residual effects, but nobody really knows for sure, because it hasn't been around that long. There's some research going on, and I've been invited to join. I might go along with it, as long as it doesn't involve another spinal tap. I have a feeling it will. But my conscience tells me to do it anyway...I mean, I have the antibodies in my bloodstream for West Nile Virus. How cool is that?? They are trying to formulate a vaccine, I think.

So....that's the latest scoop on my little health issue. This has been a very strange time in my life. I've had plenty of time to think...and write....

...and write....