No Time For Despair- Learn to Live Your life From One Who has Died, Part 3
Posted: Monday, March 30, 2009
by Ken McCreless
RMS1437
" I cried out to God, Seeking only His decision,
Gabriel stands and confirms I created my own prison."
My Own Prison from the band Creed
Greetings Fellow Travelers...
Sitting in a laundry truck while someone who presented themselves as stable is jumping up and down, pointing at you and shouting would be disheartening for an adult, much less a small boy. Her cries of "He's got the mark" changed to "He's got the mark of the preacher! He's got the mark of the Preacher! You are anointed, boy!" I don't remember much after that. I was so rattled I may have wet myself- she shook me to the core and never even got within arms length. I felt as if a corridor had opened up between me and God Himself, and He had thrust my own version of the Ten Commandments into my prepubescent hands. Looking back I can best describe my feelings at the time like this.
Imagine you are an attendee at the most prestigious awards ceremony in the world, like the Academy Awards, but much, much greater and worlds more significant. You are just an attendee, maybe there to be a chair filler to keep the ratings up, or, in my case, someone who got lost looking for the bathroom after missing the last bus for the day. All of a sudden the spotlight is on you and your name is being announced as the winner for a prize you were not even nominated for! You are stunned. That numbing sense grows exponentially when you hear that you have not won a prize, but have been given an assignment; one that will determine the eternal destiny of ones soul. And you are no more than 9 or 10 years old!
I firmly believe that God would have used me to help others had I given in to His call, but I did my best Jonah and jumped into the belly of the great fish, or whale if you prefer, and hid.
But I was scared to death that day. There was no "glow" of Divine Intervention, no obvious path laid out before me.
The years went by and the teenage years came. I had not expected to survive the sixties, but in 1975 I turned 13. It seemed that most folks had moved on to disco, but I seemed to have little musical preference. I listened to a lot of different genres of music but I couldn't tell you who the artist was most of the time; except for KC and the Sunshine Band, Elton John, Three Dog Night and the Doobie Brothers. That's quite a mix, I know. I had a good friend for one year of school that loved music as I did. We would follow the KTSA top ten weekly listings, THE local music authority! This was before FM took off, or was even around, I couldn't tell you which. It didn't matter because I was expecting full-on Armageddon any second.
The sense of urgency changed to a dull ache of melancholy during my early teen years. I began to spend less and less time with my father. He had moved us to Corpus Christi, on the Texas Gulf Coast, when I was 13. We moved into an old nursing home that had been converted into a Rescue Mission. We actually had an entire building to ourselves. We settled into the second story on our first night there, my first time ever in Corpus.
Sometime around midnight I was awakened by the sound of crying. I looked out my window and saw a woman carrying a child, crying so hard she could hardly run. The child was wrapped up in a blanket and seemed to be unconscious. I told my dad about it the next day and he thought she must have been carrying the child to the catholic church that was up the street. Looking back I wonder if she was running to something or from something. You see, the neighborhood was poor and there was a lot of blatant alcoholism. I understand this can and does happen anywhere, but I had drunks yelling at me as I rode my bike. I just ignored them. I was a kid, but a big kid that most people mistook for an adult.
It was just after we moved there that I took my first step to freedom. The "neighbor" had helped us move with his pickup. He then came back down in his car to visit. He asked me if I wanted to come visit, or even move in with him, and that was what did it- the straw that broke the back, as they say.
I agreed to visit after my mother told me she wanted to ride back up and visit her friends. The following is the scene as it unfolded.
He is sitting in the car in the drivers seat. My mother is in the back seat with her purse and our things are packed away in the trunk. I have a sickening sense of doom, about to enter a door from which there is no return. The downplayed "urgency" rises up like a giant cobra snake and WILL NOT ALLOW ME TO GET INTO THE CAR!! I look at him and say, "I changed my mind, I'm not going." I look at my mother, who seems shocked. I open the door for my mother and watch her get into the front seat where I was going to ride. I then turn away and go inside. The sense of urgency had instantaneously changed into the most empowering feeling I have ever known. I have felt it since, but never before that.
Before they could have left the Corpus Christi city limits I had started a letter to him that says I am tired of you doing those things to me. You will never do them to me again.
It is signed, sealed, and stamped before their car hits the Bexar county line. The postal service drops it off at his house a couple of days later. Apparently it made quite an impression. When my mother came home she got after me saying, "Whatever you said in that letter hurt his feelings."
I couldn't have cared less.
End of part 3
Gabriel stands and confirms I created my own prison."
My Own Prison from the band Creed
Greetings Fellow Travelers...
Sitting in a laundry truck while someone who presented themselves as stable is jumping up and down, pointing at you and shouting would be disheartening for an adult, much less a small boy. Her cries of "He's got the mark" changed to "He's got the mark of the preacher! He's got the mark of the Preacher! You are anointed, boy!" I don't remember much after that. I was so rattled I may have wet myself- she shook me to the core and never even got within arms length. I felt as if a corridor had opened up between me and God Himself, and He had thrust my own version of the Ten Commandments into my prepubescent hands. Looking back I can best describe my feelings at the time like this.
I firmly believe that God would have used me to help others had I given in to His call, but I did my best Jonah and jumped into the belly of the great fish, or whale if you prefer, and hid.
But I was scared to death that day. There was no "glow" of Divine Intervention, no obvious path laid out before me.
The years went by and the teenage years came. I had not expected to survive the sixties, but in 1975 I turned 13. It seemed that most folks had moved on to disco, but I seemed to have little musical preference. I listened to a lot of different genres of music but I couldn't tell you who the artist was most of the time; except for KC and the Sunshine Band, Elton John, Three Dog Night and the Doobie Brothers. That's quite a mix, I know. I had a good friend for one year of school that loved music as I did. We would follow the KTSA top ten weekly listings, THE local music authority! This was before FM took off, or was even around, I couldn't tell you which. It didn't matter because I was expecting full-on Armageddon any second.
The sense of urgency changed to a dull ache of melancholy during my early teen years. I began to spend less and less time with my father. He had moved us to Corpus Christi, on the Texas Gulf Coast, when I was 13. We moved into an old nursing home that had been converted into a Rescue Mission. We actually had an entire building to ourselves. We settled into the second story on our first night there, my first time ever in Corpus.
Sometime around midnight I was awakened by the sound of crying. I looked out my window and saw a woman carrying a child, crying so hard she could hardly run. The child was wrapped up in a blanket and seemed to be unconscious. I told my dad about it the next day and he thought she must have been carrying the child to the catholic church that was up the street. Looking back I wonder if she was running to something or from something. You see, the neighborhood was poor and there was a lot of blatant alcoholism. I understand this can and does happen anywhere, but I had drunks yelling at me as I rode my bike. I just ignored them. I was a kid, but a big kid that most people mistook for an adult.
It was just after we moved there that I took my first step to freedom. The "neighbor" had helped us move with his pickup. He then came back down in his car to visit. He asked me if I wanted to come visit, or even move in with him, and that was what did it- the straw that broke the back, as they say.
I agreed to visit after my mother told me she wanted to ride back up and visit her friends. The following is the scene as it unfolded.
He is sitting in the car in the drivers seat. My mother is in the back seat with her purse and our things are packed away in the trunk. I have a sickening sense of doom, about to enter a door from which there is no return. The downplayed "urgency" rises up like a giant cobra snake and WILL NOT ALLOW ME TO GET INTO THE CAR!! I look at him and say, "I changed my mind, I'm not going." I look at my mother, who seems shocked. I open the door for my mother and watch her get into the front seat where I was going to ride. I then turn away and go inside. The sense of urgency had instantaneously changed into the most empowering feeling I have ever known. I have felt it since, but never before that.
Before they could have left the Corpus Christi city limits I had started a letter to him that says I am tired of you doing those things to me. You will never do them to me again.
It is signed, sealed, and stamped before their car hits the Bexar county line. The postal service drops it off at his house a couple of days later. Apparently it made quite an impression. When my mother came home she got after me saying, "Whatever you said in that letter hurt his feelings."
I couldn't have cared less.
End of part 3
Ken McCreless is just a guy who loves to write, and was born to do so. He is a freelance writer with several projects ongoing, including books and magazines. A huge fan of both irony and history, Ken has dedicated his life and his writing to serve the Lord Jesus Christ.
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Top-level comments on this article: (6 total)HI Ken, I knew there was more to the story with that women, but you got me with what the more was!! God answered your cry for help and gave you the courage and strength to get out of the car.....and look at you now! Preaching freedom and healing! God is faithful to his word and indeed makes everything good in His time. Thank you for sharing this helpful and personal story. I look forward to part 4.Thanks for the encouragement regarding Phoenix! ha! Art and J were there just for the day to tour the school J will be going to in late August. They will be leaving there early in the morning to head back to my mom's in LA. I wish I could have joined them. It's that stupid money thing. J is coming home Wed. I just don't know how I am going to make it til the end of April!Lord bless you bro!Hey Sis,My prayers are with you. I can only imagine how tough it is to be away from the one you love for so long.Thank you for the kind words. It was quite an event, meeting that lady who scared the whatsitz out of me. But it was indeed God who would not let me get in that car. I shudder to think how my life would have turned out.Stay cool and keep writing!!
hi ken,i am sorry for your pain, but i also know you have the ability to turn it around and help others with your story, and that is very brave of you.i can't wait to the next part, but it is out of curiosity and admiration for your writing, not because i want to know how you suffered, although i know.when skeletons come out of the closet, they tend to lose their power, and i hope that will be your case.the fact that you now feel uncomfortable, but comfortable enough to tell your secrets, shows the amount of growth you have done over the years.the worst words i have ever heard are, "everybody blames their parents" well, yeah!!!!!!i guess there are some who don't know the pain of growing up with alcholosim and abuse and degradation and low self esteem stemming from their "heroes" mouth.i've gotten past it intellectually, and pretty much emotionally, through a lot of soul searching, facing the truth, and confronting the perpetrator, and making amends. i also am aware that if our perpetrators are not around, or have passed on, a letter, or article can do wonders as well, for the spirit.sometimes, parents ARE to blame for our lack of self confidence and inability to deal with life on life's terms. however, we can do the footwork to help ourselves get past it, and live a decent and fulfilling life. only the shadows know what still remains,i'll be back for part 4.thank you for joining my fan club.'tis an honor,my best regards,sueHi Sue.Thank you for the kind words and concern. This is a story of victory and freedom. I am telling it to help heal not only myself, but others facing demons of their own.Oftentimes the problems we have are not our fault, but they are our problems. We can conquer them.You understand this, judging by your comments.Thank you for your support. for being there for so long.
Wow, powerful stuff Ken, this guy must have been something else. Why do I have this huge since of distaste for him, I loathe him....and I have an idea why, but am uncertain as to its reasoning....I can see, this man is sinister...and I don't like him. What a weird feeling, as I like most everybody. I had to read part 3, and you have me with this saga......I will read the next....Great read, but curiosity has become enormous......your pal, and fan......Gary.He was an opportunist, Gary. You despise him because he chose that course in his life, to be despised.Thank you for reading and commenting. I hope others can find healing in my story.
p.s. ken,Elton John has always been my favorite, and i listen to the CD "Love Songs" while i am typing all my articles....never get tired of it. stevie knicks is my favorite female singer.in my younger, drinking days, i used to dress in black and do a mean imitation :)I spent a lot of time at my brothers apartment as a young man, waiting for him to come home so we could go fishing. His wife had everything EJ ever made, along with the Moody Blues. I listened to those albums and read along, as he always had the lyrics. From "Goodbye Yellow Brick Road" to "Madman Across the Water," I learned dozens, just ask my wife!!
The Bible says, "When God is for you who can be against you." That verse and promise really works in our lives on this earth. Great article. And be blessed byGod abundantly.Thank you sir. That is a verse that kept me going through the years.I appreciate the comments.
I somehow missed this part of your story. I guess I'll have to start from the beginning and make sure I get the whole thing. It will be worth reading again.What an honor to have you feel that way about my work. I am humbled...
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