As a woman of God and His masterpiece, because we all are, I fare to be a compassionate, loving soul, who finds very little fault in everyone, inclusive of my husband. I say “my husband,” because we have yet to be divorced: God’s holding the pen — thus, making him suffer a little longer (big Kool-aid smile).
For so many years, I did what I wanted to do and did it, without any remorse whatsoever, ever so fearful of My Heavenly Father…always in the back of my mind. As much as I love the sun, hell is no place for me. I’m just trying to ‘Walk by Faith, and Not By Sight;” walking with The One, who has brought me this far.
As a ‘Preacher’s Wife,” I did not know what to expect; I did not know what to do, and/or how to act. He was supposed to guide and teach me — groom a future “First Lady,” because he had been in the ministry for over 20 years, as a humble servant of God..yeah right. Truth be told. He is supposed to do ‘His’ works; pray for his wife and for others; do random acts of kindness and serve for the better of all mankind…so I thought.
So, I think about him — not obsessing thoughts, because then it would be about him and not about me; and Lord knows he already thinks its about him and only him. Wrong! Ooh, its me, my turn, my gig; not yours. You, my darling husband, can’t occupy that kind of space in my beautiful mind. I think about the awful things you did to me; I think about them, because I want to understand why you are the way you are. And like many a man who wanted me as I was growing up — because I had it like that, would ask ‘what makes you tick?’ What makes me tick!. Get to know me, that’s all I would say. Hmmm, so now, I have the pleasure of asking, ‘what makes you tick, my darling?’ But, you can’t answer me, because you’re in another dimension — a galaxy, far, far away!!! I must now answer the question myself. I can see what does: Your false mis-conceptions of trying to be “Holier than Thou;” believing that you’ve got it going on; believing that you can ‘wow’ and ‘ooh’ a congregation with your sermons, and nevertheless, the root of all evil: money. And, not yours. Ouch!
The things you did…put me on a pedestal, and then knock me down; speak so highly of me, then belittle me; tell me I’m the only woman you want — you said it ‘want’ — but you cheated on me with your ugly, yeah, I said it ‘ugly’ ex-wife; ask me for forgiveness, apologize and promise; then turn around, and commit the same offense, take back your apology and break your promise… Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned! Have mercy on me, a sinner.
I’m still a work in progress. Sometimes, I think the worst of you, and for you when I see myself needing and struggling to make ends meet, while you’re sitting in the ‘dungeon,’ with Satan’s wife, watching your shows on the giant 50 -inch flat screen t.v., and I cannot watch my cooking shows because I have no cable. I think the worst when I get letters from bill collectors telling me that my account is past due, or that my precious momentos are set for auction, because I couldn’t meet the payments…I want to beat you senseless. I want you to suffer; I want you to be without; I want you to experience the pain I felt, when you disregarded my feelings and treated me like I was worth nothing. I want you to know, to know pain — true, heartfelt pain in your heart, because if you truly had a heart, you would have not messed with mine. The pain that I want you to feel in your heart, I want it to be so bad that you’d have to go to the hospital because you’re thinking you’re having a heart attack. But, when the doctor examines and all exams given come back normal (and you’ve already had 3 heart attacks and have 3 stents in that miserable heart of yours), you will shake your head, baffled, saying “I don’t understand.” Think! that is God poking you; trying to get in because you are incapable of any feeling…oh, I’m sorry; the only feelings that you do experience is the “feeling like I’m flying” one, when you’re self-medicating, and the ones in your limbs when you’re crying like a baby cause it’s excruciating. Yeah, those. So you wanna know what I think? I think He wants you to feel the pain you dished out, just to see if you are willing to surrender completely to Him. There is no part-time, whenever you feel like praising only on Sundays kinda surrender; it’s an every waking moment of your day kind of surrender…you’re a Reverend — for crying out loud! So you believe.
So I thought, that you coming into my life, was because I prayed on my knees for three years for a good man — and a spiritual man. I believed God wanted me to stop what I was doing: walking away from promiscuity — I was a ‘sophisticated sleeper’ — the social, social scene, and ALL that came with it; and that finally, I would walk in the light because God really wanted me to stop what I was doing; and I wanted to mend my ways and live a good life — though I had been blessed with good things — was graced with a ‘man of God.’ Nah…that was a little weird, now that I think about it. The day I found out you were a minister of the pulpit, we were at a bbq get-together with your boy from work, and we were drinking, I mean really drinking…so much, that when I heard your boy ask you if you told me that you are a Pastor — because that’s what you were when you and Satan’s wife, a pastor as well, (yeah, you’re probably shaking your heads too) at the time, I couldn’t believe it, and looked up to the sky, a full moon shined, ever so bright, and I rememer saying: for real God? Then, I turned to you and said “you’re a what”? You responded “yes, I am;” but I wasn’t going to tell you yet.” I asked him: “what else haven’t you told me?” He said,” we’ll talk about it, we have plenty of time.” I was besides myself; and I whispered “God, if this is my prayers being answereed, then let it be your Will and not mine. You have a funny sense of humor. You have to have a good reason for this.” I got my prayer answered: I asked for a spiritual man, and God gave me what I wanted. But, did he really? Hmmmmm. Wow; there was so much he didn’t tell me. So much he was not able to tell me. So much I had to find out on my own. And, it took me quite some time to figure him out. I thought he was for real…So I thought — wrong.
mamajadasurvivor@gmail.com
What No One Tells You About 