Vannoy's’ Neighborhood

  Most people call me "Meg." It's short for "Megan", and I began insisting upon it's ussage in middle school. My pastor calls me Megster. My Uncle calls me Meege (Pronounced Meej) My grandma calls me Maggie. My nicknames are almost as numerous as the changes I've been through in my life. Ya...a lot of people have been through more than I have, and done dumber things, but that doesn't make my stuff hurt less, or make me feel less dumb. I had a pretty good Mom, but I'm still believing God for her salvation, and I am so blessed that so many other women have taken that role in shaping me into the woman of God that I am...Nothing extrodinary, nothing to be exceptionally proud of, but a woman of God none the less...an alive woman of God....a woman of God who walked away and rebelled, but whom was drawn home in the end, and is hopefull of making it. Hope is important. Faith is important. And I would have niether right now, ironicly, if it hadn't been for the women I love.

                                      Melinda Knight- Before I knew her name, I was touched by her passion for praise, and singing to Jesus. I was an akward 9th grader...didn't like myself too much. When my bi-polar sister moved in with us, for two years, singing to Jesus got me through it. It didn't make it easy. But I knew that when I lifted my voice in praise and worship, all by myself, in my room, God would meet me there, and there was freedom. And I didn't stop. Not even when my sister told me I sounded like a suffering, dying baboon, or would tell me to "quit yelling up there!" With everything in my life, It seems like I've been a slow learner. But I learned quickly that being able to sing to Jesus when it feels like your trapped, is a lifesaver. I hope this doesn't sound stupid- I know I have a tendincy to be that way, but when I was living with my boyfreind, and I felt so far from everything I knew, when I longed to have a reason to like myself again, when I longed to serve Jesus, and have a purpouse again...I would sing. When I could do nothing else. In the shower. The only place I felt free to do so..Recently I have realized that in the midst of the hurt, there was a gift this most precious of women handed to me, this key, to my survival, the one thing that I never let go of, the gift of worship...Not just the singing, the reason for the singing, and that even if you can't carry a tune in a bucket, Jesus wants to hear it. I learned from her this strategy for making it. I realize that in that shower, in the midst of the heartache and struggle, and not feeling like I could come home, I was praising Jesus ahead of time. I didn't know it then. But Jesus would do a miracle. Jesus would give me the strenth to come home, to leave Erik, to heal. And when I missed her, I knew that somewhere not so far away, she was singing to the same Jesus, and I coudln't see her face, but he could.

                                            Leslie Love-  Leslie led me to the Lord for the first time when I was thirteen. I think she had a lot to do with placing the tenderness and compassion inside of me. She was an EA with the special needs students, and helped me realize my love for...well...loveing, caring, nurturing. Leslie is the nurturer. She coudln't even ever scold a student for their language without gently cupping their face with her hands, everything she did was done with gentleness, that's why I loved her so much. She had this gentleness that I wans't accustomed to. It's been ten years, she's been there since the beginning, seen it all, heard it all, loved through it all. I love you M.O.M.H

                                            Kathy Warren- She survived. She made it. She survived to make me proud to be a woman, and inspired to be a survivor. And she didn't quit loveing me no matter how rotten I was...She hugged me, slime and all. Her tough love concerning some of my behaviors really pissed me off at first...but the behavior stopped. She wasn't concerned with my happiness, but with my integrity, and was willing to make me un-happy if it meant waking me up. I love you Kathy.

                                            Michele Cotterill- Another survivor. I realized, last sunday, as Jesus was lifting the burdens off my shoulder, The lesson God wanted to teach me through her, so many puzzle pieces came together in that moment. I realized that the hurt I'd been discerning in her, was indeed discernment and not imagination. You wouldn't have known it by just talking to her. She never said a word to me, her freind, who dispite her previously calm, introverted, even timid reputation, would make human pinyata's out of anyone who might cause her  to shed a tear, she never once vented to her freinds, but instead preached a message of love and forgiveness, through her writing and in our conversations ...it was in that moment, my Michele that I stood in awe of you, and vowed for the rest of my life, I would emulate this great gift of grace...I knew immietly that you didn't tell me, because you wanted to protect me, You did not want my opinions to be shaped by your hurt. You thought of others first. You set your hurt aside, and even through your grief, put others first. You trusted, respected, and yeilded, and you kept your mouth shut. Even when I asked you if I was nutty to feel all of thse things, if it was really God revealing this to me, or me just making it up in my head. Even then, you told me I was not nuts, but that you couldn't talk about it. Thankyou for showing me that in the event of a hurt, weather valid or not, our freinds do not need to hear about it.

                                           So here's to the women that I love....My moms. thanks to your prayers, and not giving up on me...Filthy little wretch that I can be at times... I've found myself in this place of repentence at the foot of the cross again...And because of you, I have donned my first pair of Steve Madden heels, as a salute to being a woman...I vowed I would never wear them. I vowed I would never be uppity enough to put a napkin in my lap, or too lady like not to rip the occasional fart on purpouse for ammusement...However I've decided to give these things a try, in hopes that someday, when I'm standing on the other end looking back at my life, I'll see that it wasn't just my feet that looked like you, but the way I walked with those feet.

Recently I have been locked in a battle with my nemesis Taber’s evil twin “rebaT”. My oldest son Taber is not unlike most children at the age of two, or so I am told. He is in the “testing stage”, every boundary, every conversation, everything is challenged and every fence is tested. If I am being honest yesterday I was fed up. Like most parents I was tired, frustrated, wore out, and exhausted. As I laid my head on my pillow and reflected on the day I felt like a failure of a parent. I felt like all I did was discipline my child, raise my voice and react to my son in frustration. As I laid there I was reminded of a couple of things: 

-          I am thankful for my children; some people wait their whole life to have one to call their own

-          This is only a season and my consistency is building the foundation for tomorrow

-          My son will never be this young again, cherish every moment

-          With work and everything else I only have a few hours in a day to pour into my children, be intentional

-          I have one shot to train my children in the way they should go and every moment past is a moment lost and it is either a teaching opportunity or wasted experience

As I drifted off to sleep I found myself thanking God for my sons and looking forward to another day of intentionality.

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• 24.
• Upon receiving such orders, he put them in the inner cell and fastened their feet in the stocks.

• 25.
• About midnight Paul and Silas were praying and singing hymns to God, and the other prisoners were listening to them.

• 26.
• Suddenly there was such a violent earthquake that the foundations of the prison were shaken. At once all the prison doors flew open, and everybody's chains came loose.

   I had one of those moments at church yesterday. All of a sudden it didn't matter who was there, who might look at me, or think I'm a freak. It was just me and Jesus. Sometimes, I think, I can be chained and not even know it. Maybe it's not my feet that are chained, maybe, sometimes it's my mind. The way I look at things. Maybe sometimes I need to remember that I can't out-love God. That...actually, is the more obvious part...what I didn't realize is that there are certain others I cant out-love. So with that perspective, the answers I was looking for just don't matter, because when you know that nothing is done (or said)  without love, that's all the explanation one needs. I didn't think it was possible to be full of yourself when it comes to love, but the truth is, that no matter how overwhelming it feels inside, try as I might, there are those I can't out-do.  

                     So....I ended up grabbin' my Bible, Journal and a couple new books and curling up in a corner here at the Library where I knew I would not be bothered for a while. I did some writing, and read my Bible, and I read the first chapter of Realeasing your Anointing by TD Jakes. Good stuff. I even brought a handfull of Warheads with me. It doesn't get any more sour than a Warhead! They always make me feel like I've got Cerable Pulsey, which makes me laugh. I feel better now. By the way...I read that praying in the spirit helps relieve anxiety! I think that's been a big part of my problem lately. I'm anxious and nervous and afraid of some different things...gotta work on that.

     I know what to do when I'm feeling this way, and I'm going home right now to do it. Maybe later after I pray I'll go to Rite Aid for a Red Bull and take Zoe for a walk. Walking is good for cramps. Then I think I'll call Mandy and see how she's doing with that Skate Church down in Seattle...And I have to call Nancy to see if I can get Saturday off, because D-Mae wants to go to a wedding show.

                       God is good. Life is good. It's not about "feelings", but today I "feel" absalutely drained. Good thing I'm off today. You know, sometimes I wonder what I've gotten myself into. A resident that I love very much is not doing so well. He stayed in bed all day yesterday after lunch. After I was done serving the other residents, I put a plate of Spagetti, a glass of Cranberry juice (his favorite) and a chocolate cupcake on a tray and took it to his room. I sat the tray on a table, and pulled up a chair beside his bed, and proceeded to wind spagettie around the fork to feed it to him. It was difficult getting the spagettie noodles all in his mouth so he didn't have to suck them the rest of the way in. I can't explain what I feel in my heart for this man..I have no boyfreind. All for the best I'm sure...so right now, he's my main squeez. I should be pleased that his suffering is going to be over soon, and he's going to be with Jesus. Afterall, it's NOT about me. It's hard, because, Everytime I hold his hand, or dance into his room at the beginning of my shift, to find that great big grin...I fall a little more in love, and I want to hold onto those moments forever. He brings out the best in me. I don't dance for many people. I knew he hadn't been drinking much lately, so when I had lunch at Quizno's the other day, I picked out some Cranberry Grapefruit Sobe, and took it to him. I told him I had a special treat...He drank over half of it. I feel rotten. I'm trying so hard to...I don't know. Be a good person...not just a good person...I don't know. I'm just trying, but even in my good intentions, I am full of selfishness as I'm secretly praying for a little longer, while others are telling me they pray he goes fast...peacefully and quickly. I want to tell him to slow down. Don't be in such a hurry to leave me without that smile. Eat your spagettie, and drink your juice, and let it make you stronger, so you can hold on, because I will be lonely without you. I checked on him every fifteen minutes or so last night, because Shirley, the nock shift lady, told me "I just know I'm going to walk in there one night and find a dead body." I wanted to beat her up for saying it like that. We all know what's happening...but did she have to say it quite like that? I tried not to wake him up, I left his bathroom light on so I could see when I walked in the room if his chest was still going up and down. I'm scared. I'm scared of walking in to work one day and finding out that he's gone. I'm scared of watching someone else move into that room. I'm scared of not having that hand to hold, or rest my cheek on. Gaurd my heart? It's too late. I was a gonner the very first second I saw that smile.

          Sometimes, I feel like this stuff is wrapped around my heart....Now I'm feeling like it's about time to hand Jesus the scizors.

                         Right now, in this moment, I'm thinking not of the mess that surfaces as I examine my heart, I'm just thinking, I'm so greatful. I'm greatful because few people know...ok...nobody knows except Michele....just how hard I could have fallen recently, but because of her prayers, and God closing doors that needed to be closed, I feel released. Free. I had this obsession. It started as a crush that I ignored for a while. As it grew, I tried to fight it at first. I spoke scripture, I told God...This can't be happening. No way. You've brought me to far, He's not a believer....But It did happen. I gave into my flesh, I entertained thoughts for days and nights on end, untill I did what some people said was brave...I know it was just the tragic result of my obseession, I took a step attempting to have what God didn't want me to have, I told him how I felt. Then I left a message on his cell inviting him to dinner that thursday night while Gram and Mom were on vacation. One thing you have to know, is that ever since my obsession became an obsession, I was giving myself entirely to makeing myself as attractive and pretty as possible. I spent whole paychecks, hundreds of dollors, neglecting the tithes and offerings..(Which are INCREADIBLY important to me right now, because when I feel un-able to open up and give and love in other ways....I know that there is still one love language I can speak without making myself vulnerable) Even that was put off, set aside. I bought clothes, jewlery...130 dollors getting a full foil, cut, and style  on my hair...100 dollors on MAKEUP alone. Eyeliners and mascara...It's this like XXX Maybaline stuff, and you put two layers on, a white layer and then a black layer. I even bought an eyelash curler. I used to never use those. I bought a new black bra, specificly for the purpose of making my boobs look bigger. Every dime I spent, was trying to make myself attractive. "Sorry God...I gotta rip you off this month, but it's your own fault because you didn't get it right the first time....Maybe I could have been more generous with the cash if you'd been more generous with the boobs, and dont' tell me you'll bless me with more money if I bring all the tithes in the storehouse...I don't want my barns and my vats full, I want my cups full." Ya...I didn't put it   quite like that to God, but I feel like that was basically the message I sent.

                AND GET THIS. Finances aside for a sec... AFTER 22 years of lessons from the time I was small enough to still sit on my Grandma and Papa's knee, and countless attempts at winking one eye....(When I was little, I used to get fed up and I'd take my little pointer finger and use it to close one eyelid) I mean, you don't even know the number of times I twisted and squinted, and tried to make it happen. Well...I did it. Suddenly. I felt it. I ran to the mirror ( I was working at the time) And winked at myself. I was elated. It must be ok with God for me to flirt with Stephen, because he has just now supernaturally anointed me with  this ability that has alluded me my whole life. I CAN WINK BABY! I almost forgive you God for not giving me boobs!!! The one must have ability for any woman on the prowl. And I can do it. Some XXX Mascara and a few of these and Stephen's mine. Halelujya!

                The first time I spent cash on something other than making myself look good, was when I went shopping for the dinner. I was planning to do meatloaf, (FYI I make a mean meatloaf) mashed potatoes (The good kind with half and half and butter and garlic)  and Asparagas. And I found a recipe for Black Bottom Banana Cream Pie....I started setting the table on Wednesday morning. I put on our red tablecloth that we use for Christmas, I got out Grandma's Mom's blue and silver china, and gold silverwear, and Krystal wineglasses, and when I went grocery shopping at Fred's I picked out some white placemats and napkins, and white stem candles. The table was set with the new linens, and the hamburger was thawing, and the pie was in the fridge, and I'd just returned from my hair appointment,  when I called Stephen to ask if he was still comeing. He said he couldn't make it...but he'd call me at eight. Relieved I didn't have to cook, I grabbed the pie out of the fridge...It was a perfect pie. Nilla wafers and melted butter crust, with melted baking chocolate over the crust, then the sliced bananas, and vanilla pudding, and whipped cream and more crushed nilla wafers for sprinkles. I knew just who to give it to. I walked over to Grandma's brother's house (I call him Grandpa Herb, cause all my other Grandpa's are gone and he treats me like a grandkid) He said it was the most beutifull pie he'd ever seen. When Stephen called, it was to tell me we could just be freinds because he didn't believe in having work relationships. We talked for a couple of hours after that. About everything. He told me how he believed some mumbo jumbo about all paths leading to the summitt, how Christians just don't get it...I realized then just how intelegent this man is. Really. He's read the whole bible. Knows it was originally written in Aramic not Greek, told me so like that was new news to me, it wasn't...I found him very enjoyable to listen to. He's brilliant. In fact, I'm not sure I could keep up with him intelectually. He told me about how much he hated makeup. Go figure. How the first person to make makeup famous was actually a male king...Louie somebody...so therefore, it was masculane and not truly feminine, and women with eyelashes going into next week looked more like men trying to be women then women, and he told me that if I ever took the time to smell foundation, and discover that it smelled like "ass". I've never laugheed so much in my life....When we got off the phone, I got out my Hillsong CD and blasted it on the Bose, set up in the kitchen, which I'd intended to play some soft Norah jones on...I cleaned the kitchen, put on my jammies, and danced. I didn't cry. Not one single tear. I was free. Free to give to a God who more than deserved it...free to wait for a man of God, and free to dance like I have Terrets.

This is a true story. I am in the library right now, on a computer, and I just had to cough, and the strain of the cough just made me rip this fart...And it smells. How awesome is that? :P I just farted in the library.