A continuation of my attempt to finish a book I started in December 2017. Posting chapters in an attempt to organize it all and finish.
Before we parted ways that night, you suggested we meet for coffee before church the upcoming Sunday. You suggested the shop across the street from CCSA.
I was surprised that you showed up. I expected you to go home and rethink everything. But there you were, on time. Even made it before me.
After a few awkward moments getting adjusted to meeting in the bright light of day, we were quickly off to the races and again talked for hours. Never made it over to hear the sermon.
It seemed like the conversation went on and on for pretty much the next two and a half years. First coffee, then texts, then emails, then restaurants, then movies, then parks, and much more. By the end, how many times did we talk on the phone until two or three in the morning? Me curled up in bed almost asleep as you talked while you sat in your ice baths. 😅 Only cutting you off so I could wake up in the morning and function.
What happened? Where did my best friend go? What went wrong?
Or was it ever right? Did I just see something that wasn’t there?
I had a scheduled pickup off Park Road 37 this morning. It was such a beautiful day. Bright blue sky and warm sunshine after an overcast week of rain.
It didn’t hit me until I started driving – that was one of the first of many drives you took me on. So I took a quick detour down to the park. Remembering.
I don’t think I’d ever been over there during the day. You always took me at night.
Back in the beginning I was scared. I didn’t know you yet. We had been hanging out, but not like this. Not in the pitch black of dark in the middle of nowhere. But I let you drive me because you didn’t have bad energy. Definitely a rarity.
I hadn’t dated men in over ten to fifteen years. Only dated women after the last guy said he’d take care of me until I sobered up to drive home. Back when I worked at Dell in Austin. Then took me to a park down the street. Started grabbing on me. Sticking his mouth in my face. Then matter of factly asked me to suck his dick. Just like that. First time hanging out.
I told him he’d have to take care of that himself. He took me back to his truck and then went over to the playground equipment on his own. After he was done, he coldly took me immediately back to my car. So much for being concerned about my safety.
Then told everyone at work the next day that we had sex in a motel room off the highway. Which NEVER happened. That’s the last time I was ever alone with a man in his vehicle. Or even considered one.
Before that, a different guy. This one said he was taking me home after the big game when I was thirteen. Supposed to be my boyfriend. Told me he loved me. Gave me one of the bigger mums. Back when stupid shit like that passed for something.
But on the way to the house, he also turned cold. Ordered me to unbutton my blouse. Physically forced my head down. While he was driving to a rock quarry. Where he didn’t care that I said no repeatedly.
So there you were navigating the hairpin turns on Park Road 37. In the dark. At night. And we were just friends, but I didn’t have a good history. Although this time surely my weight would protect me. Keep me out of danger now versus when I was fitter years before. So I tried not to worry.
There were a few people when we arrived. Like they were wrapping up after a day out on the lake. And we walked around and then stood there on the shore as you pointed out the landscape.
At some point I decided to sit down on the ground. But the area was so dark that the stars were bright and vivid. And not one to let a good moment like that go to waste, I decided to lay down completely. Flat on my back on the chalky, rocky ground.
Would you reject me? Were you, the doctor wearing button-up shirts and driving a Mercedes, too good for something and someone as “country” as this? Would you look down on me for getting so low and dirty? Would you feel embarrassed because of me? Would this be our last time hanging out? Would you be quick to ditch me for people who were more prim and proper?
You surprised me. It only took you a few seconds and then you laid down right beside me on the ground. I could barely believe it; I almost held my breath as if any movement would break whatever spell compelled you.
But we were there for a long time. Jusy lying on the ground by the shore. Looking up at the stars. As the waves calmly went back and forth.
I didn’t feel you judge me. On the contrary, it seemed like you released a bunch of energy when you joined me. Like a kid part of you jumped out for a few brief moments of freedom and relief. Happy. That was my impression at least. That an even realer you than I previously had known was the one who laid down next to me. And I liked him, that guy.
You respected me. That night I started to let go and feel safer. And heal from what others had done to me. As you pointed out the constellations, planes, satellites, and Space Station. It was really cool. That time with you.
Nothing physical happened. We just laid there looking at the stars for a long time. Talking. And listening to the waves, the sounds of night. Before eventually getting up and driving away. Calm. Peaceful.
That’s how I felt with you. Which was so rare for me. Especially with a man.
You took me back there a few more times. One of many more drives. Always my favorite times. I miss them so much.
But maybe it was just special to me? You probably took many that way. Was it just another day for you? Did it mean anything even just as friends? Or was I just making something out of nothing?
A continuation of my attempt to finish a book I started in December 2017. Posting chapters in an attempt to organize it all and finish.
Although I didn’t realize it at the time, you first captured my attention that night.
We were sitting there talking and women kept coming up to you and asking you to adjust them. Each time you looked at them and without skipping a beat, acknowledged them and told them you’d adjust them after you were finished “talking to Sarah”.
I wasn’t used to that. I was used to men ditching me at the first opportunity if a fitter or more “powerful” woman came along. I was ready to play small and let you go, let them take you away. But each time you would address them and then turn around and keep talking to me.
It happened first. Then again. Then preachers’ wives were even coming over to you. We were clearly speaking in deep conversation and they would just interrupt us to ask you to adjust them. And each time you responded the same. That you’d adjust them after you finished talking to me.
I saw the look in even the preachers’ wives eyes. Like it’s all fine to give me a hug at church. And smile. And say, “God bless you.” But the look in their eyes, when you wouldn’t leave me for them, said, “I’m more important than you, Sarah. I look better. Why is he daring to keep talking to you instead of paying attention to me!?” It caught me off-guard, honestly. I didn’t expect that reaction from them.
Or your reaction for that matter. But man, you started depositing trust into my account and into my heart every time you did that. I didn’t think anything of myself. So you were free to leave and I would have accepted it as par for the course. But no, you kept talking with me.
We went out into the foyer after they started locking up the main area. At least one other woman tried to approach you there. Again, you said you’d adjust them after you talked to me.
But then everybody started leaving the church. So we moved outside. Then everyone left the parking lot. Again – like the previous time when we talked after my rib moved back into place.
And we talked for hours that night. I wouldn’t have admitted it in my mind, but in my heart and spirit I for sure didn’t want the conversation to end. I felt good for the first time in a long time.
So unexpected. It didn’t make any sense. We were so different. Never in a million years would I have predicted it.
Was I just so lonely? Were you just being polite? Or was God doing something?
A continuation of my attempt to finish a book I started in December 2017. Posting chapters in an attempt to organize it all and finish.
I didn’t have anymore strength. I was in the space of completely giving up. I tried playing the “good girl” part for a long time. I gave 150% and everything still fell apart and got worse instead of better. I had given my all and my all wasn’t enough. I wasn’t enough. I must have done something wrong. If everything depended on me then I had no hope. Injustice appeared to be on parade while I was reeling alone in pain after my world had been blown to smithereens. I was so angry at God! I felt like He let me go or even led me into a place that shattered my heart, my trust, and my faith. I felt abandoned. In my mind I knew God is only good, but there are times where intellectual knowing is not enough.
I left Manna House in October 2014 and I was waiting for December 19th, 2014. At some point in between those dates, I was homeless and went to Live Oak Park to try to calm my thinking.
Iwas sitting in my car and staring out at a lake. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know where to go. If I knew, I wouldn’t even have had the strength to follow through.
I saw a lady walk by on a trail in front of me. A thought comes to my mind: “You need to talk to her. She has something you need to hear.”
My response: “NO! I can’t today! You know in the past I would have done any crazy thing such as approaching a complete stranger just because I thought You said to. But I can’t today! I can’t! I don’t know if I’ve ever heard You! I don’t know if these thoughts are me, You, the devil, or if I’m losing my mind! I’m sorry, I can’t today! I don’t have enough faith today.”
Silence.
The lady continues to walk down the path, around the corner, and out of sight. I continue sitting in my car and staring out at the lake.
Am I going to hell? Have I lost my salvation? I bet I did it this time. You know, blaspheming The Holy Spirit and all. Trading my eternal future for a moment of worldy relief. Terror grips my heart. I spiral further down. I’m paralyzed.
Silence.
The day is eerily still. The park is unusually quiet and without activity. It’s one of those days where even the air is still.
I see the same lady return and walk back on the path in front of me. Again the thought: “You need to talk to her. She has something you need to hear.”
“No! I’m sorry; You know I would any other day before, but I can’t now. I can’t today.”
I sit inside myself like an angry child. Arms crossed. Face turned away.
Silence.
How can I trust God? I was so sure before and then everything fell apart. I tried so much. I wasn’t perfect, but…
Who has a chance? How can anyone ever measure up? I can’t figure out what went wrong. I can’t figure out the future.
Silence.
The sun dances on the calm blue lake in the distance. I see beautiful white swans swimming towards the shore. If I’m going to hell then what’s the harm in capturing a beautiful photo of swans along the way?
I drag myself out of my car and walk down to the water. To my surprise, the swans come closer to me instead of swimming away. The four swans line up perfectly and linger long enough that I am able to get an amazing shot. I’m blown away; they are so beautiful!
Meanwhile behind me and around me a group of ducks gather close to me.
I can feel my heart but I don’t want to. I’m scared of my heart. I want to pack it away. I wish my mind would cooperate and stay in control.
As I think that thought, it’s as if suddenly the warmth and color are completely drained from the entire scene and the swans suddenly appear cold and ugly. They swim off and the little ducks also leave me.
I’ve done it again; I always mess everything up. There is no hope. If only I wouldn’t be so lazy. If only I would try harder. If only I’d quit being so selfish and ungrateful. And know my place.
Silence.
I suddenly notice a sort of peninsula to my right. The skinniest little path of land extending out into the lake. It looks like a good place to go to be depressed about how I’ve ruined everything and my life is over. I start shuffling over to that direction.
I meander around a corner full of foliage. As I lift my gaze from the ground, there she is sitting at a different table under the shade of a big tree. I avert my gaze.
“You know you need to talk to her. She has something to say.”
“NO!”
I’m angry! I already said no!
“I don’t even know if you are my thoughts, or the devil, or me. I CAN’T!”
As I hurriedly walk away, the lady calls out to me, “Nice day, eh?”
I am NOT doing THIS! I gave her my coldest, most aloof “uh huh” and looked ahead while I kept walking past her all the way down the path to the very end of the skinny peninsula.
Water surrounded me on three sides. There was only room enough for a picnic table. I sat down and stared out at the lake.
Silence.
Emptiness.
Look at my life – what am I supposed to do now? Where am I supposed to go from here? Is there any point?
Silence.
Heaviness.
Then like a shock in my thoughts, the loudest sound in the middle of everything: “You know you need to talk to her.”
My fury welled up: “NO!!! NO! NO! NO! I CAN’T!! IF YOU ARE SO BIG, IF YOU ARE SO REAL, YOU CAN BRING HER DOWN HERE TO ME!!!”
I think I may have even folded my arms, stuck out my bottom lip, and stomped my feet on the ground. I certainly felt like it.
A moment or two.
And then… I just knew. I turned from looking at the lake and looked back down the path towards the tree…
Yep, sure enough, HERE SHE COMES WALKING TOWARDS ME!!!
In the most literally sense: Oh My GOD!!
This is really happening!
This is a big park. I couldn’t see anyone else around. I’m on the skinniest little peninsula. All by myself. I made it abundantly clear that I was not interested in communicating. I obviously want to be alone. AND HERE SHE COMES!
I guess we are doing THIS.
It’s like all the life was coming back into the scene. Alive; alive is what it felt like. I was almost shaking inside.
She walks directly towards me without stopping. She sits down directly in front me, faces me, and says, “Hi.”
Hi?! Just, hi!? I’m laughing inside at this point.
But I still don’t want to do THIS. I’m not ready. I can’t. I’m not going to let my stupid emotions get the best of me again. I’m not going to get tricked. I’m not going to read too much into this.
So I take control. I come back at her like a machine gun, like an investigative reporter asking her question after question. All small talk. We’re not going to do THIS! I don’t want her here. If she is going to invade my space then she is only going to get so far.
She humors me for a few minutes. Then she interrupts me: “What I really came here to say was if you died tonight, do you think you’d go to heaven?”
It was like the world stopped turning and it was only she and I on the planet. Whoa, ok God, we are doing THIS.
I deflate and irreverently respond, “I don’t know, I think so.”
“Well, what are you going to say when you are standing in front of Him?”
“I’ll tell Him I have nothing to offer. I can only get in through Jesus.” Empty pockets, open hands.
She looked like that wasn’t the answer she was expecting. She looked confused. I felt bad. Maybe she needed to say something more. So I follow up with: “Well, what would you have said if I told you ‘no’?”
She proceeds to tell me her version of the gospel message. I don’t even remember her words. But this feeling just started washing over me. Tears started streaming out of my eyes, down my cheeks, and onto my shirt. Tears and tears and tears! A nonstop stream of tears. But she didn’t miss a beat or acknowledge them. She kept talking as a wave washed through me and carried me away.
She finished telling me her gospel message by saying something like, “So do you want to pray with me to accept Jesus as your Lord and Savior?”
Me – the one who just left full-time “ministry”, me – the one who had been preaching to people for years, me – the one who can be the most legalistic of a bunch, flippantly replies, “Yeah sure, ok.” Fire insurance. For the four hundredth time. And she proceeds to lead me through a prayer.
After praying we chat about some things for a minute or two. We then exchange numbers, but the mood has changed. Suddenly she’s not my spiritual Tinkerbell. Suddenly she is just a lady, just another person at the park. Kind of detached.
She begins to leave but turns back around to me after a few steps and says, “I was on my way home, leaving the park. I was on that path and I saw a snake laying across the path. So I turned around and came back.”
Then she turns back around and walks off. I’m left there by myself at the picnic table at the end of the peninsula.
What just happened? Did I just now get “saved”?
“No. You just needed to be reminded of how simple it is.”
We can’t mess it up.
I had that incredible experience at Live Oak Park. The lady invited me to her church. And that’s where I was headed on the night that changed my life.
I believe it was a Wednesday. Her church was on the south side. I was headed I think down Interstate 35 or Loop 410. Already at least by Rittiman Road. And it was like a gong going off in my head with God giving me the same thought over and over again: turn around and go to service at Calvary Chapel San Antonio.
But that didn’t make any sense to me. I had only recently left Manna House – so there was bad blood about that. And I was not trusting many in leadership – and they knew it. So why would I go back? It didn’t make “sense”.
But it was like the thought kept screaming at me. And it was so loud that it was the only thought getting through any moment I wasn’t actively resisting it. I remember feeling so angry and so frustrated! Why would God ask me to go back and listen to that preacher?!
But it felt like nothing else was going to happen for me until and unless I did what kept coming to mind.
So in much anger, I turned the car around and headed back towards Calvary Chapel San Antonio. I started crying so much as I was driving! Tears of anger, frustration, and sadness. Crying a lot the whole way. I was so mad. This didn’t make any sense!
In better times, I always sat in the front row next to Paula. But that Wednesday night I arrived after the service started. So I snuck in as quietly as possible and sat at the first open seat I saw – which ended up being on your row. A seat or two away from you. But I didn’t think anything of it at the time. You still weren’t on my radar.
And I sat through the whole service. Nothing. I was so mad at God! “Why did You turn me around and send me back here?! I didn’t get anything out of the talk tonight. Nothing was speaking to me.”
It was then, my dear Jonathan, that you made the “mistake” of asking me how I was doing. Or something to that effect.
I laugh about it now. You probably had no idea the fully loaded locomotive you were stepping in front of when you asked me how I was doing. Did you really want to know or was it just small talk?
Either way, you got me at the “right” time – at a height of my frustration. Thinking I heard and followed God to nothing. Yet again. After so many disappointments.
I don’t remember what I specifically answered back to you, but it was something to that effect. Expressing my frustration and disappointment. Indicating that I felt like I failed. Informing you that I was no longer at Manna House.
In typical Dr. Jonathan fashion, you were not phased in the least by my emotions. And you proceeded to come at me from a whole different angle.
It would have been incredibly insulting if Spirit wasn’t in it. But given everything, it made me laugh out loud. Burst my bubble just enough to snap me out of the mental loop I was stuck in. Because you said something to the effect of, “Sometimes we think we’re more important or needed than we actually are”.
In other words, God’s got this – God’s got all these people and things I was worried about. That’s the nice way of putting it. Basically, chill out.
That answer was completely unexpected. Not at all what I anticipated hearing that night. So you had my ear. And I listened as you elaborated. I remember one thing really stuck out to me – you talked to me about Moses.
Basically you told me that Moses initially was trying to do things in his own strength. And so God said, “Whoa, Moses – let me take you out into the desert and teach you My love for My sheep.”
And then you told me about God coming back to Moses in his old age, past what appeared to be Moses’ prime. And telling Moses, “Ok, now I’m ready for you, Moses.”
And Moses turned Him down. Still relying on his own strength, instead of God’s.
And then you told me the kicker – God wasn’t mad AT Moses. No, God was mad FOR Moses! God knew how much He had prepared for Moses. And God wanted Moses to be the one, the right-hand man, to get the joy and honor of that place of participation.
When you said that, it rocked my world and gave me hope. That God wasn’t finished with me. That I hadn’t screwed up too much. That God would come back for me. That this wasn’t the end. That it was just the start of the next, a new, chapter.
Then I understood why God brought me back to Calvary Chapel San Antonio that night. It wasn’t for the “sermon” I heard from the pulpit. It was to talk with you and hear your words. To my heart.
What I really wish I could do today is say “Happy Birthday” to D. 💙 But I can’t.
So, back to the continuation of my attempt to finish a book I started in December 2017. Posting chapters to try to organize it all and finish.
I wish I hadn’t thrown out my journals so I could remember the timeline. Because just like when I was fourteen, the memories after I left Manna House for good are all in pieces because of the chaos of just focusing on getting through each day at a time. So, this is my best attempt in telling what happened next. And also why it takes so long; trying to organize everything in my brain with even a semblance of chronological accuracy.
At some point in my Manna House leavings, I stayed nights with Lydia and Jeremiah. I remember staying with Linda and Mark. Also Brandon and Maria. Vicki’s. Gloria’s. Maybe even at Tusi’s.
But now I was so much more in tune. And although I intended probably every time to settle down, it seemed like God only kept me at each place for a night or two. Usually accompanied by a few hours of deep conversations with whoever was having me over. Before I’d feel the peace leave about being there. Whenever I’d try to ignore that feeling, things would deteriorate until I listened. So I started to get really good at saying goodbye.
You’d think, “What a convenient bullshit excuse, Sarah.” But you don’t know everything. You don’t know that I strongly resented my mother for staying with my father for so many years. Long after I believe she knew better. Fear. And in my opinion, for the money and security staying provided. This really angered me because I never remember her not going to church, not praying. So why wouldn’t she trust God and leave?
God lets me judge my mother, but not without living some of that judgement out on myself. And I don’t even have kids. No excuses, but I can certainly empathize more now after all I’ve been through. And that’s why I am telling you these stories. So maybe you will think of me and what I share. Maybe it will help you see that the same is possible for yourself.
There was a night that I spent in my car at Buc-ee’s in New Braunfels. As close as I could to the access road. In order to hopefully prevent someone from assaulting me.
Another night in my car at the Pilot truck stop in New Braunfels.
But you can’t really get sleep at these places. Constantly cold or hot depending on the season. I left Manna House for good in October, so the weather was fickle. I remember one night where I was near tears because it was so cold that I could only sleep a few minutes at a time out of exhaustion.
“Where are You, God? I thought I was the victim in this situation. Why aren’t you delivering me? Why does it seem like the people who hurt me are sitting pretty? Without a care in the world. Living the life off the backs of those they use. When will You defend me? Or am I the one who is off base?”
I didn’t have a job so I went to Live Oak Park sometimes during the day. And tried to get some sleep in the car since the sun would warm up the interior enough that I could doze off for longer.
I would shower at the gym since I still had a membership.
It was miserable. Being homeless is one of the most soul-crushing things. Especially at dusk in the evenings. When the sun is almost gone. And you see people in their warm houses, turning on lights and getting comfortable. While you are stuck outside. Trying to emotionally and mentally prepare yourself for another night of hell out in the elements.
At least I had a car. I completely understand why people use drugs when they are 100% on the street. I’m not sure I could ever mentally survive if that ever happened to me. I hope I never have to find out.
One day I was walking in Live Oak Park. Just wandering around. Because I had nothing else to do. Nowhere else to go. Just walking and thinking. Trying to figure out if I had ruined everything by leaving Manna House. Trying to figure out what to do.
When all of a sudden I hear someone call my name. I looked around surprised. Who would be here at the park calling me?!
It was my friend Alicia from Calvary Chapel. The one who I spent the previous summer with. The one who originally had been watching Angel.
She wondered why I was out in the park. She didn’t know that I left Manna House. We got to talking.
Long story short, she invited me to come and stay with her and her family. I went from homeless to having a place to stay just like that. And stayed with them for several days.
But just like with everywhere else before, at some point I started to not have peace about being there. I wasn’t sure I was making the right decision, but I ended up leaving without having anywhere else to go. Homeless again.
This time I found myself at the library off Judson and Nacogdoches. Sitting in a chair. On the verge of tears. Wondering if I was doing the right things. And trying to figure out what to do next. Asking God what I should do. Thinking for sure He’ll provide a way. But I didn’t know what it was. I couldn’t figure out what I was supposed to do.
And as I’m sitting there in the library, I get a call on my phone. It was Judy.
She and I used to talk at church because I sat in the front row when I used to go. And she and her husband were on the worship team. So we would chat during the meet and greet times.
And then when I used to attend, I did childcare on Sunday nights when she and her husband were there to lead a class for new believers. We would talk a lot then as we waited to see if anyone would show up for those classes.
But other than that, not once had we ever hung out socially. I had never been to her house or even had lunch with her.
So there I am at the library when she randomly called me. She started by apologizing for even offering, and then proceeded to tell me that she thought God had been telling her to call me and offer me a place to stay. In their home.
She didn’t even know that I was homeless!! She offered all of this without knowing anything!!
Again, like with the $20 that Emerita had given me when I didn’t have any gas – God had seen me!
I was amazed! I hadn’t let my needs be known, and God showed off big time for me!
I told Judy, “Yes, in fact I do need a place to stay”. And there I go over to their super nice house in a gated community. Where they had an inground pool and every other creature comfort. Even a pool table upstairs if I had wanted to use it. And I basically had the whole second floor to myself. An ensuite bath. Perfect neighborhood to walk in for safety. And even their two dogs that I could walk with. It was a good time. I felt like I was on vacation compared to sleeping in my car at truck stops. I felt like a princess in a castle.
Nothing about it all made any sense! They were great people, but they had no idea what my situation was. And yet again God showed off for me. Fixed my problem without my help. Abundantly!
I’ve told them all before, but it bears repeating again, thank you all so much for your generosity and being there for me!
A continuation of my attempt to finish a book I started in December 2017. Posting chapters in an attempt to organize it all and finish.
The first time I remember ever being homeless was when my parents divorced when I was fourteen. That summer was a blur after my mother sold the house. Like many other times in my life, I only remember pieces.
But I think we stayed at so many different places. Maybe more than I can remember, but I know we were at least at a neighbor’s house across the street for a few days. And then at my maternal grandparents’ house for at least a couple weeks. Maybe at the Allen’s. I know we stayed with the Klassy and Kelley families.
And then also a motel on the outskirts of Temple. I think we were there for only one night. But that was enough.
My brother and I were really excited to go use the motel pool. We grew up swimming all summer so this was a welcome treat in the Texas heat. Also a rare moment of light-hearted joy amidst all the stress of the divorce and moving.
I took my nine-year-old brother with me down to the pool. We were having fun when all of a sudden I felt someone touch me underwater while I was swimming. I immediately knew it was a touch my brother would never give me. So I shot up out of the water. Alarmed.
A grown-ass man, maybe even forty years older than me smirked as I scanned to see who touched me. I hadn’t seen him get in. I thought my brother and I were alone in the pool.
Asshole. His eyes and his smirk communicated that he knew exactly what he did and was thrilled that he got away with it.
I was so mad and disgusted. But I was only a kid. At that time still very small and fit. And this male was much bigger than me – height and weight. I was scared almost out of my mind.
I don’t know how I was able to firmly insist that my brother and I exit the pool immediately. After we had only been there a few minutes. But thankfully he listened to me and I took him as quickly as I could back to the motel room. To hide.
I don’t even think I bothered telling anyone what happened. Church wasn’t the only place where I learned to stay silent. By that point in my life I had already long since given up.
When I was a little bit older. Probably around twenty-one. Still smaller and more fit, I loved to go to Mustang Island and use my boogie board to surf the waves. I could stay out there for hours. I’d tell my friends to call me in if they were ready to leave.
Even made a special trip to surf the beginning of Hurricane Katrina. Before we knew how bad that would be. Those Katrina waves almost killed me. Drove all that way and only stayed out a few minutes before I kept getting dunked so hard that I had to call it.
In any event, one day I went to clear my mind at the beach by myself. It was a busy summer day but I managed to find a spot where I had a few hundred feet free on either side. So I could surf without worrying about fisherman or kids getting in my way.
And I was out there enjoying the waves when I looked back to see a van pull up perpendicular to my vehicle. And very close when there was plenty of beach on either side to give more space. My gut immediately told me there was something wrong about this.
I was concerned that they were going to try to break into my car. I was smart enough to have carried the key on a chain around my neck, stuffed into my swimsuit. But I was so far in the water that I wouldn’t be able to stop them if they started to force their way in.
So I see a guy get out of the van. A really old man. At least in his sixties. And he opens the side door that is facing the ocean. Traffic is driving behind his vehicle. And he is standing there looking at me. Out in the ocean. I can see him smiling. Then he pulls his junk out and begins to jack off.
I was disgusted. I was probably forty years younger than him. And you could tell that he knew exactly what he was doing. He positioned himself in such a way that nobody passing behind or all the way down would see.
And I was stuck out in the water. I couldn’t go in to get to my car and drive away because he was right there. Only steps away from my vehicle. If I moved closer, I’d be exposed to more than was already way too much. So he successfully held me captive in the water.
Of course I turned away and tried to surf in order to act normal so he wouldn’t get off even more than he already was. I was hoping if I acted like I didn’t see then maybe he’d leave faster. And I think eventually that’s what happened. But I still had to quickly glance after I came up out of the water multiple times in order to check to see if he was still there before he finally left.
I hated him. There weren’t many safe places for me in this world. Even less that brought me joy. The beach had been one, but now he had ruined that for me. I would never be able to go again without thinking of what he did. And being scared it would happen again.
Another time I went to the beach near North Padre Island. I parked at the very end where the pilings are setup so you can’t drive down the stretch that is part of the paid section. It was during the off season so there was no other cars or people around.
I had driven down from Austin and just needed to clear my mind. So when I arrived, I locked up the car and set off walking on the part of the beach where the cars were not allowed to drive. I wanted to get to a spot where all I could see was the ocean on either side. So I had walked quite aways until I finally found a spot and sat down near the dunes. Just staring out at the ocean and thinking.
I swear, I wasn’t there maybe five minutes before I looked to my left and saw someone approaching. And to my horror he was completely naked! Except cowboy boots. I could barely believe it.
Maybe he didn’t see me? That’s what I hoped. So I stayed frozen hoping he’d eventually see me without thinking I saw him. And the scamper away like a respectable human being.
But no, this pervert doesn’t stop. This old ass man, again at least forty years my senior, not only walks over to me, but stands directly in front of me as I am sitting in the sand. His junk inches from my face. Laughing. Introducing himself. Asking me questions. As if this shit is normal.
I hate that I was frozen, but I didn’t know how to fight for myself back then. I fawned only to the extent that I was trying to buy time to strategize. But I really didn’t know what to do. I was so far down the beach that I couldn’t see my car. And there was no one around. Not one other human being in sight. Nobody would even hear or see me. This was absolutely terrifying. I remember thinking, “This can’t happen. I can’t go out like this. If this man drags me into the dunes, nobody will ever find me.”
So I played nice. He of course was getting around to soliciting. Trying the jovial nice guy approach first. So I went along with the conversation in order to not too quickly start a fight I wasn’t sure I had a good enough chance of winning.
But eventually I made up an excuse to get up and start walking to my car. Trying not to let my fear betray the fake “nothing is wrong” vibe I was hoping would keep from spooking him into aggressive action.
And he was doing the same but with a different agenda. Who would win?
He wouldn’t give up that easily when I said I needed to leave. Of course not. Not an old male who had the audacity to walk up on and interrupt a fully-clothed barely out of my teens girl on the beach.
No, he was right beside me as I tried to leave. Positioning himself on the water side. Walking towards me, causing me to veer away – closer and closer to the dunes. All while increasing his advances. And not respecting my objections. I was starting to get really scared.
He was trying to get me to go to his “camp”. I was petrified. Even though he was only wearing boots, I was afraid he had a weapon like at least a knife in one of them. I was afraid he’d pull it out and force me into the sand before I could make it back to my car. I remember telling God, “I can’t go out like this, like a bad B-movie.”
In a panic I looked ahead and saw a woman dressed completely in white. With two huge white dogs walking alongside – one on her left and one on her right. Finally – someone! But she was so far away that I wasn’t sure if she could see me. How would I get her attention?
I glanced to my right real quick. To make sure my glance towards the woman ahead hadn’t distracted me so much that I missed the man trying to steal a quick advantage. But to my surprise, his entire demeanor had changed. His face was pale almost as if he had seen a ghost. And he rapidly came up with some lame excuse and dipped off quickly into the dunes by himself. Leaving me alone, thankfully.
I immediately knew everything was going to be okay, but I still walked as fast as I could to get away while I had the chance. I was still several minutes off from reaching the woman with the dogs.
She was walking towards my direction, right up against the dunes. So I moved more towards the ocean in order to give her space. I wanted to tell her what happened and thank her for saving me. But as I came within earshot, she didn’t look at me.
Odd because at this point we are now the only two visible on the beach. It would be like if you were on a random path in the middle of Alaska, passing a stranger in the middle of nowhere, and they didn’t even acknowledge you. But maybe she came there to be alone in her thoughts just like me. So I didn’t want to interrupt that, but I couldn’t in good conscience not warn her of the trap I had just passed. So I called out to her just to say, “Ma’am, there is a naked man back there in the dunes.” She didn’t even look my way or acknowledge me. She kept on walking. I
I was so confused. But I had done what I could do, right? So I kept on towards my car. But I turned around to check on her after many more steps. And she wasn’t anywhere to be seen on the beach. I didn’t think her pace had been that fast. But she wasn’t there. To where did she disappear?
Was she an angel sent just to protect me? To scare that naked man off who probably had plans to hurt me? I don’t think I’ll ever know on this side. And that’s okay. But she certainly saved me that day. I even wonder if she manifested as a woman with two dogs to me, but something more menacing to him – by the look on his face and the way he raced to run off. Something to comfort me and something different to scare him? God could do that – make us each see what we need.
I think of Joseph. Having a dream. Being excited about it. Wanting to include his brothers in the celebration. Not fully realizing how much they resent him. Until they throw him in a pit. Fully intending to kill him. What must Joseph have felt? “Uh, God? This doesn’t at all look like the plan I thought You gave me. Was I wrong?”
Then maybe some hope when his brothers decide to at least spare his life and sell him. “Ok, You’ll rescue me soon, God.” Armed with that dream still very full of possibility. Joseph is determined to believe.
And he does good. Representing his religion well. So much that the boss he’s been sold to is repeatedly giving him promotions. It’s not the outcome Joseph wanted, but at least things are getting more comfortable. Maybe God still needs some more time to arrange His deliverance? Joseph decides to remain patient.
I think his bosses’ wife had been harassing Joseph ever since he arrived. Bored with her husband and life away from the action. Unimpressed with Joseph’s religion – mocking it and him behind his back. Seeing it all as a fun cute little challenge. To get Joseph to fall. To steal his attention while her husband was away providing.
And I think she harrassed Joseph. Threw herself at him constantly. Trying to trap him. But he yearned for home – for the few who loved him. For his community. He didn’t desire his bosses’ wife. He was focused and determined. Even to the point of not having any trouble shutting her down.
Until one day. When she tricks him. Maybe asked him to reach something high on a shelf. And then tried to touch him. Knowing for sure he couldn’t resist natural stimulation.
But Joseph was appalled. He’d never want to hurt his boss this way. He’d never want to encourage the bosses’ wife to be unfaithful. He’d never want to sabotage his chances of getting back home. So he runs away so quickly that the wife is able to steal a piece of his clothing in the process.
And Joseph has faith in his boss. Why wouldn’t he? It was obvious to everyone that the wife was running around. And Joseph had been promoted to the top. Never betrayed his boss. Never run away with the business in order to get back home. Always trusted God, always trusted due process.
But now the wife was even more incensed. It was one thing when she saw it as a game. But Joseph didn’t give in at all – whereas others were so easy that they were no fun. No, Joseph left her standing there looking like a fool. No amount of vanity could override the injury to her pride. Joseph must die. Or at least live a miserable life. So she lies on him with a vengeance.
And her husband puts up with it even though he knows the truth. Because he still thinks his love can save her, he still hasn’t forgiven himself, and he’s so worn down that he doesn’t want to chance her wrath. He knows exactly what she’ll do and he’s not sure he’d make it through. Maybe even if just without hurting her for good.
Joseph didn’t see that coming. He knows his boss is inherently better than that. He’s bitterly disappointed that all his efforts have come to nothing – his boss deposes of him as if he’s noone and has done nothing. All this time.
There Joseph goes back to another pit – this one in prison. But just like before, he makes the best of it. Almost getting to the top again. Thinking now God will finally show up and show off. Redeem him.
But each time someone betrays him. Forgets him. Moves on and leaves him behind to pick up the pieces.
“God, WHERE ARE YOU?!?! This feels like torture! I thought I was Your kid?!?! Every time I think we’re finally getting started, You don’t let me get up. Instead, it feels like you let me fall further down than I ever was before. What the fuck is going on?!?! What about the dreams I thought You gave me? Was I wrong? Do You even exist? Or did I just make it all up!?”
A continuation of my attempt to finish a book I started in December 2017. Posting chapters in an attempt to organize it all and finish.
I don’t want to talk about this. But it’s an important part of the story that I could but think maybe I shouldn’t rush and gloss over like I’ve pretty much always done before. So…
I really tried. To go back to Manna House and go with the flow. I really wanted it to work out. And I only had a few months left until December 19th. When the man I’d never met was going to come into church and whisk me away. Even though I didn’t know his name or what he looked like.
But, God. With the information I was learning from the codependency class and my research on spiritual abuse, I was presented with invitation after invitation to confirm my worth, my value. Stand up for myself and most importantly for the truth. Of God’s Love number one among them.
Life was so busy that I don’t remember the timeline perfectly. But the gist of it is that I felt like despite my best efforts to avoid conflict, I’d repeatedly get cornered and forced to make a difficult decision to go along with something I didn’t stand for or walk away.
At least one or two additional times before I finally left for good, I’d get the courage to leave but then after the initial relief of freedom, the condemnation would swoop in and I’d let the guilt send me crawling back. Hoping being the bigger person would inspire long-lasting change in others. But it was always short-lived. And a really unhealthy pattern had been developing. It wasn’t beneficial to anyone or the mission. In my opinion.
But I was the Never Give Up girl. That’s where I was coming from. So it would take a lot more before I finally quit.
Some friends I met long before, while working at The Scooter Store in New Braunfels, would welcome me in at least twice before I’d get the courage to finally step down from Manna House. And God knew what He was doing because one of them, Jeremiah, was from California and more than familiar with Calvary Chapels. Still believing in God, but no longer attending. And his wife, Lydia, a dear friend who would not hesitate to jump in and fight on my behalf while others preferred to keep their hands clean, was raised with a similar background as mine.
So they both spoke my language. And basically were the only ones who knew even a little about all that was going on. Because even though they didn’t go to church, Life and Love in them was undeniable – obviously by their immense generosity and patience with me. So despite my intentions to not speak of anything that was happening, I’d find my usual restraint fade away when they welcomed me.
I’d run away to their house for a few days. And I didn’t have to explain all the nuances of everything that was happening. They totally understood. Whereas others meant well, but doubt would creep up when the others encouraged me because I wasn’t sure they could completely understand or relate.
But because they spoke my language, I could hear Lydia and Jeremiah when they’d mirror back to me that I wasn’t out of line for suspecting that there were issues greater than just me at Manna House and Calvary Chapel San Antonio. And when they’d validate my suspicions that a healthier reality existed out there that I could choose to partake in, I’d feel such a relief in the freedom of those first few hours with them at their house. Feeling like I was beginning to finally breathe again.
But my entire life the barage of lies had conditioned me to be very uncomfortable with joy. Like happiness was something for immature ignorant people to indulge in. Too good to be true. Even scary. An illusion that could be too easily snatched from and used against you.
And then more importantly, what if I was giving up everything that had been the best I ever knew for some stupid foolish hope? What if it was true that I had to settle for everything Manna House and Calvary Chapel San Antonio asked of me? And instead threw it all away? That would confirm every bad thing anybody ever said or did to me. If I was wrong.
Those thoughts would hound me. I didn’t even think to resist them very much because my knee-jerk reaction, since they had accompanied me from my earliest youth, was to accept the guilt as gospel-truth. And go crawling back to try to hold the world together by my own strength yet again.
But God fought harder for me. God wouldn’t let me give up on my healing. Like a strength and endurance coach. Gradually increasing how much I could handle each time, how many reps. Back at it again after every rest. As much as I could handle, as fast as I could go. Until I would want these good things for myself. The point was never blind obedience for Trinity’s “ego”. But rather deliverance into a better life that I couldn’t even for the longest dare dream for myself.
And so things never settled. The crisis continued. As I guess was ultimately for good. And in that, I have come to where I can begin to give all the players involved even a bit of thanks. The people who brought me to each point in my growth. Challenging me where I never would have otherwise went. They might have meant otherwise, clouded by their own issues. But God knew I could take it. That it would ultimately heal versus break me.
Every day: “What will it be? Will You trust Me? Or do you still think Egypt and Pharoah is all I want for you? I know why this is so difficult for you. I don’t want you to do another lap in the desert, but if you aren’t ready yet, I’ll walk with you ever step of the way and will never cease in committing to helping you see and know how much I Love you. How free you are to leave, Live, and really BE. That the desires your heart refuses to stop seeking are not there to trick or torture you. That you were never meant to simply fit in. But rather step into all the uniqueness of who you fully are.”
Now I can hear all of that loud and clear. But back then I was so far gone in religion that whispers were all that got in. But the Word does not return void. And so seeds were growing in me despite my best attempts to stay static for the sake of arresting the minimal comfort of this layover between my origin and a final destination that was inconceivably foreign to me for almost my entire life even up to present time.
“For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, says the Lord, thoughts of peace and not of evil, to give you a future and a hope.”
“All who ever came before Me are thieves and robbers… I have come that they may have life, and that they may have it more abundantly.”
But growing pains are not always smooth sailing.
And the idea of Mr. December 19th was what was probably keeping me holding on for as long as I did. Determined to prove to God how much faith and belief I had. So hopefully we could expedite this whole “test”, right?
In that, much to my embarrassment now, the thought came to me to basically discuss my future wedding with the preacher. (Ugh. You just can’t learn the easy way, can you, Sarah?) So I sent him an email. Requesting a meeting. He told me he’d let me know when he had time.
I think months passed. Over the duration of which God would periodically encourage me to revisit the issue with the preacher. Ask him if he had found any time. It was honestly easier for me not to have the discussion, but I followed through because I felt like God had impressed on me to do so.
And I’d see the preacher in social media posts. Hanging out with other church members in what appeared to be leisure time. But there was never any time to meet with me, such a significant part of a significant endeavor of his church.
Years later when I would take the initiative to reach out to apologize for something, he would then tell me that he didn’t make time for me because he basically didn’t know what to do or say in regard to what I wanted to talk to him about: Mr. December 19th. Understandably. But back when it was happening, there was no such communication. And so a divide continued to develop.
It culminated one day when one of the residents was basically misbehaving. Abandoning her child with us very temporarily. And I had previously tried to enact both professional and personal boundaries about this situation before. Felt strongly about not enabling this behavior for the ultimate good of the child involved. But I felt dismissed by those over me. And like the resident successfully played us against each other.
So on this particular day, I felt like the person who had previously not supported my attempts to enact some structure and hold this resident accountable was now tired of taking care of the resident’s child and trying to pass the burden back to me. I resisted because I thought it was the healthiest thing to do.
I wasn’t there to get run over. I signed up to show people the love of God while providing them an opportunity to get back on track. Not to enable unhelpful behavior just because we don’t want to dive in and fully show up for all that entails in confronting.
Of course I loved the child. That was never the issue. I had been in the hospital with her mother before she was born. But I had been learning from the codependency classes and the spiritual abuse research. And although I anticipated how my resistance would be seen as a gross insubordination, I ultimately answered to God and felt thus fully supported in setting this boundary.
Well, others didn’t think exactly so. And ran to the preacher to complain about me. I later found out he met with them, Julie included. Without me. To talk about me. When he hadn’t had any time to meet with me for the previous months.
The audacity. Especially when it was repeatedly said from the pulpit not to gossip and talk about people behind their backs. And yet everyone is up there at the church talking about me. Without even asking for my input. Again, forcing my hand. How could I in good conscience stand for this?
I remember they sent Julie back to tell me all of this. Not even communicating with me directly. And then to add insult to injury, as if I am some dog to be pacified, I could be wrong but I think the decision they made in the meeting about me was to send me away for a short vacation. I was insensed. As if to imply that I was the problem, that I couldn’t handle stress. When it was all so much more than that.
Yes, I finally quit. That day. I packed my things as they were all in church at a service. I emailed the preacher to tell him where I left the key. And I drove away. Totally homeless and unemployed. I saw it as God emboldening me to stand for what was right.
A continuation of my attempt to finish a book I started in December 2017. Posting chapters in an attempt to organize it all and finish.
Months passed after I returned to working at Manna House. And one night I was playing cards with Julie and one of the women staying there. When I reached across the table to grab a card.
Didn’t think anything of it at the time. But at some point later, I realized I was in a lot of pain on my side. Then I started to realize that the pain wasn’t going away. And I couldn’t get comfortable at all. It started to concern me. I was scared something was really wrong.
Somehow the idea came to call you. Only to ask if you thought I should go to the emergency room.
I was surprised that you even answered. We had really only talked in passing at church. And it had been some time from even that.
But you were very calm and professional. I was impressed because you immediately sounded like you knew exactly what was going on. You informed me that I probably knocked a rib out of place and the pain was probably the rib poking where it shouldn’t. You said I didn’t need to go to the emergency room, but that the rib could take up to thirty days to go back into place.
You said you’d be happy to look at me after church the upcoming Wednesday night. I agreed to meet you then and we hung up the phone. Thankful for your help, but not looking forward to the long haul ahead of me until we met.
At least two more days passed before that Wednesday night rolled around. The whole time I was in excruciating pain. I couldn’t sit, I couldn’t stand, I couldn’t sleep. I was constantly moving to try to find a few minutes of rest. I was in so much pain that I was moaning over and over. And I was so tired because I couldn’t sleep well. Always waking up because I couldn’t find a comfortable position. Frustrated to the point of tears.
So Wednesday night finally arrives. I am still in so much pain, but I slip into church and sit in the back rows. Right in front of you so that you know that I am there. You always sat in the back. On almost the last row.
And I tried to focus on sitting as still as possible even though I was in so much pain and couldn’t get comfortable. No position seemed to work for more than a few seconds. I kept having to adjust and try not to moan and cry out in pain.
Finally I felt like Spirit told me to just relax. Rest. Specifically telling me that everything was going to work out and everything was going to be okay. “Just sit back, try to listen, and don’t worry”.
So I remember distinctly trying to let go of my fears and listen to the talk being given.
Before I knew it, the service was over. Like I blinked my eyes a few times and the talk was done. It seemed to go by that quick.
I immediately started to think about talking to you. I wanted to make sure you saw me. So I started to stand up and turn around to face you. That’s when I started moving my body and realizing I wasn’t in pain.
What?! How is that possible? I was in such excruciating pain for days just up until a few minutes ago. What happened?!
You’d think I’d be happy. I was finally without excruciating pain after several days of being near tears and hardly even able to sleep. But no, I only felt shame and fear. I was so afraid. Because now I’d have to tell you. And I didn’t want to see a look of disgust on your face. I didn’t want to be seen as one of those women who make things up to get attention. I didn’t want to be like that! That was one of my worst fears.
But there I was. About to look like a fool, like a drama queen. Dreading your response and the look you’d give me.
So when you turned to me, I sheepishly said, “I’m so sorry. You’re probably not going to believe this, but I was in excruciating pain all the way up until the start of the talk. When I felt Spirit tell me to relax, chill out, and not worry. So I started focusing on listening instead. And then now when I got up, I realized that I’m not in pain anymore. Something happened during the service and my pain is gone.”
Waiting for your response. Feeling sick to my stomach with fear.
But without skipping a beat, you quickly said, “I believe you. Miracles happen.”
I felt a huge relief wash over me. You didn’t look at me like I was crazy. You didn’t treat me like, “Yeah right, ‘miraculously healed’ – heard that one before. Sure, ok. Whatever you say.”
No, you acted like you actually believed me. And further more, like it was no big deal – in the sense of, “Of course God would heal you. Why wouldn’t He?”
That was such a huge relief. Because I believed in miracles too.
But some people are so quick to dismiss God actually moving in their lives. Especially in big ways.
If they can’t measure it, i.e. control it, then they’d rather avoid the messy talk of miracles that causes them to really engage. Not just hang out intellectually on the peripheral.
When God might want to speak to our hearts. Our broken hearts.
Blind and deaf with fear. All worked up. From thinking we know the ends of the stories as only we can anticipate and imagine them.
“Be still and know that I AM God.”
“You will not need to fight in this battle. Position yourselves, stand still and see the salvation of the Lord, who is with you”.
That was the night of our first real talk. Where we went in-depth and talked for hours. Where we kept talking as everyone left the church. Then kept talking as they locked up the building. Then kept talking as everyone left the parking lot. One of the last people there even drove by and asked us if we were alright. Just you and I. By one of our cars. Dark outside. Night.
Even talking about the book you wanted to write. Me writing down the title right then so we’d know for the future and be able to look back.
So unexpected, but once we got started it was like the talk between us flowed as easily as any ever had. Yet neither of us followed up. And it didn’t even occur to me to think anything further of it. I considered it a random gift of a great one-off conversation. And moved on.
Sarah Nyhan 