Through the Darkness ~ Stories of Hope

Foreword

Through the Darkness ~

Stories of Hope

I don’t remember where I first heard the phrase, Another set of circumstances is always possible. It just instantly became my mantra, ringing simultaneously inside my ears and spirit, while gently forging a long-awaited sense of purpose.

At the time, I was living in a spiritual tenement aptly entitle stuck in a rut and was doing things the way they had always been done, simply because it was the way they had always been done. Sure, I functioned in life, as we all do, but without any real sense of purpose or fulfillment. I lived this way because everyone around me was on the same frequency of simply functioning and/or surviving, versus finding their purpose and thriving. For this reason, there was no blueprint for constructing a life; other than the one, I was currently living. There was no facilitator in whom you could share your dreams; and have them nurtured by time-released words of hope. …So, hearing the phrase, Another set of circumstances is always possible knocked on the doors of my awareness, giving me options and strength to believe past the, less-than appealing appearances in my life.

As I began looking around at my peers who talked about their dreams yet doubted their validity at the same time, I realized that the lack of references for one to have faith in what they could become was plentiful, while Hope seemed to be scarce or eerily silent in our daily lives. From that point on, I was compelled to become an encourager with the sole purpose of lifting people’s spirits.

After eight years on this journey I had the incredible pleasure of meeting Euniece Dunning (of Articulate Communication Publications, SLLC), a woman who I describe as being a unique facilitator of dreams. Her mission, at this point in life is to pay it forward by facilitating and skillfully managing the goals of others. Among her many projects, she is the impetus for several like-minded individuals uniting under a single concept appropriately named: COLLABORATION IN MOTION (CIM) Women Doing It For Themselves!

CIM* is a group of successful, independent, women authors and administrators who have contributed their gifts of rich storytelling and managerial skills to a collaborative book of hope. These women hail from different nationalities, cultures and creeds, yet their common thread and/or bond is to yield hope to people in need. If this organization is not proof that encouragement can affect the lives of others, I don’t know what is. Through each story of hope we are, perhaps lending the blueprints necessary for change in other people’s lives. As a team, we encourage that overcoming limiting conditions is not an anomaly that only a few can obtain. Rather, it is an inherent capacity triggered through faith, hope and love.

On behalf of the team who has worked diligently on this project, we say thank you, for allowing us to sow our stories into your lives…

Our sole purpose is to restore HOPE.

Just one of many,

M. Handy

The Creative Team of

Collaboration in Motion-Women Doing It For Themselves

Kanika Harris, Jessie NW, Kirsten Campbell, D. Odell Benson, A.

McCarty, Carol Kauffman, Sezoni Whitfield, Euniece Dunning and Monica Handy

Table of Content

FOREWORD

HINDSIGHT OF HOT BUTTERED BLISS

A WOMAN NAMED HOPE

LOST IN THE SYSTEM

WITHOUT A VOICE

REASSURING FAITH

THE MESSAGE OF LOVE FROM ABOVE

SEARCHING FOR A BETTER TOMORROW

SOCIAL MEDIA CONTACTS

HINDSIGHT OF HOT BUTTERED BLISS

By M. Handy©2016

I am writing this story to you from a spiritual position of power, self-love, and an ongoing subscription of faith.

Note: In faith, there is no room for dichotomy.

In my experience, I have found that faith is the high road to all the good that is available to us, as opposed to a daily route of doubt that relies on what life appears to be. In order to enjoy the benefits of Faith's one must give credence to their hopes: Hope things will change; Hope God will hear us, Hope somehow, things will get better... Hope is the impetus that sets and stirs possibilities into motion; Faith takes the reigns and cattle-drives your unseen results to a tangible destination! Unfortunately, some of us have given up on hope, preferring to remain in the appearance of the situation. We think things will never change and that is because we see change as an entity outside of ourselves - perhaps as some caped-crusader looking for a rescue route. We spend a good deal of energy looking around corners and inside the lives of other people for change when it is an innate spiritual element woven within the fabric of our own faith. If we dare to begin with hope, a powerful, combustible element longing to be released may slowly seep into our stagnant places and cause us to move in new directions. That is what this book is all about and I don't believe that you are reading it by accident.

With that being said, let us garner hope, release faith, and move forward.

Trying to create love is like reinventing the wheel... It already exists.

M. Handy

Now, holding on to who you are and letting go of who you think you should be, can admittedly be a balancing act that requires a beam of discernment. Personally, I've had trouble in some areas of letting go that have required a great deal of resolve, and at times rejection from those people and things that seem near and dear to me... Observations have revealed that people have scopes through which they become comfortable viewing you; take that scope away from them and things become unfocused; their lines of reasoning become blurred and they don't quite know how to perceive you or your new found choices. I don't know about you, but my mistake was in trying to convince these people that I had changed and to give me their blessing of acceptance. But, if truth be told, the only way to gain someone's acceptance is to set their perspectives at ease. However, if you are in the process of maturing, your own growth may demand that the onlooker attend to his own perspective.

Note: We have all been the onlooker.

Now, in the onlooker’s defense, their doubt and scrutiny is a sure sign that things are changing. It is the very energy and/or vibe of their shifting perspective that makes me respect the struggle of the seed whose mission it is to become a flower. It is here, (pointing a finger at my heart and mind) that I admit stumbling awkwardly in the shift, but at the same time, am forced to re-examine my position... Decidedly, I reach for my staff (the thing that helps me take a stand and pace my steps) made of courage. I then grip its well-worn curvatures of faith in a God who proves Himself daily and move forward on this terrain called life. I measure my progress by not just remembering the distance traveled, but in pin pointing the geography of my soul and the latitude of my spirit. The position, or should I say the condition of each will determine my quality of life and the path of my destination.

And so my not so dainty story of change begins...

In my younger days, my biggest downfall was refusing to use my God-given bifocals of discernment. These particular bifocals were acutely smudged when it came to men, meaning, I did not scrutinize a man beyond the vantage point of how he could benefit me - which was really rather shallow. Now, I never was a gold-digger, no-not at all. My needs were much more elaborate than reaping mere coins... I was shopping for the ideal husband (of the Ozzie and Ruby Dee variety) and the bait I used had to be of a certain quality. Therefore, nothing was too good for my man and I was determined to be a panorama of indispensability! For this cause, I would set snares of fabulous meals and rich deserts - traps of facial expressions and body language that expressed total attentiveness. If any gratitude at all was expressed, I would feign a tone of modesty and say, Oh, I’m just glad you enjoyed it! I followed the 1959, marriage manual to the letter. And, after a full tour of ME who could ask for anything more? Right? Wrong! I was a Sunday Manic Matinee, who, to the trained eye projected cinematic shock waves of fear and neediness.

Note: There are only a few places where men will accommodate drama.

Everyday life is not one of them.

Now, why I had this need to control, and/or micro-manage certain aspects that should flow naturally was not yet determined. On some level, I thought that I needed to heal the blind, aka, manipulate the gentleman's mind into believing that I alone was worth the monogamous trip down the church isle and into a home filled with fantastic love, children and security.

Key word here: worth

Oh, the displays of perfect hair, cleavage and teeth while releasing lilts of laughter to the stupidest jokes imaginable... But it was the seductive eye contact that unusually sealed the deal.

...In these moments of seduction I held my dear, sweet candidate captivated and wondering what was going to happen next. He belonged only to me and there was no fear of abandonment or competition... There was also no mental grasp on the dangers of habitual spontaneity! Plausibly, (somewhere along the way) subconsciously I accepted that I was responsible for the ebb and flow of these moments and could feel the weight of my next performance needing to be better than the last... What to say, what to do, how to keep him guessing and engaged? The whole thing was an exhausting challenge, but when all things worked together as planned, magic was born. And, this magic was the resin of my addiction.

I'm looking at my clock of judgment, knowing that right about now I'm being compared to a housewives’ reality show. But, if you would humor me by tilting your head to the right and squinting just a little, I'm sure you will see a familiar aspect somewhere in this story.

Yes, dear reader, I was hooked on the art of seduction, the attention it produced, and the womb-like comfort of cuddling my perspective Mr. Right. What I didn't realize was that any physical compensation derived from these encounters was merely a byproduct of my addiction. There were rarely any earth-moving results, yet I was willing to bandage the boo-boos of my disappointments if I thought he might commit... Go figure.

Note: Sometimes we are better off with the two in the bush

The seed of the need for feeling secure was planted early on in childhood when various relatives cared for me during my mothers’ illness. During those years, I hid within the confines of people-pleasing manners, behaviors and wide smiles. But, inwardly I was a rattling cage of fear and insecurity needing to feel whole and accepted. After a while, the needs became desires that took up residency in the laboratory of my emotions. As a pubescent professor, I created a scenario of what secure looked and felt like. This created creature included a husband (my shinning knight), children (someone to protect, as I had not been protected), a home (my bunker) and a white picket fence as my dysfunctional boundary line against...against pain. I had even visualized a certain brand of male/female synchronicity and the fruit of its sensual bliss.

Note: Kids are people too

My desires seemed validated by black and white films depicting perfect couples in cozy neighborhoods whose homes were filled with the aroma of fresh baked cookies and husbands who came home at night. Like a magnet, I drew romance from sappy Soaps, devouring the likes of General Hospital with its Luke and Laura bliss! Then came Carrie from Sex in the City, with her Mr. Big, who, by the way put the icing on my cake of sexy love! But, apparently, TV Romance didn't go over so well in the real world. And, my love, marriage, and a baby carriage theories translated into rushed invitations to get this "fairytale love on the road!

You'd think this outcome would stop me, but it did not. I was determined to trap... I mean, get me a man! Truth be told, they could be slippery little suckers, determined not to commit.

Note: Men are not stupid, they do, however recognize opportunities of free sex, meals and problem solvers.

For years, I watched my girlfriends use similar hair, cleavage, and make-up bait, trapping the so-called good ones. Some of them had so many children that if they joined hands one might mistake them for a small Sunday school going on an outing!

...At times I was tempted to sing Kumbaya.

And closing up the rear of this kid caravan, would be a smiling man, starched, pressed and opening the door of a minivan. Then, there were those women who slaughtered the term, PDA (Public Displays of Affection) and replaced it with, PDE (Public Displays of Emasculation)! And the man still came home, payed every bill and washed clothes, dishes, and sticky kids! It was moments like this that I internally grabbed both sides of my head and screamed!

Note: Men are long-term thinkers. They need to have a role that is clearly definable (outside of sugar daddy and sex king).

In these cases, I should have been paying closer attention to the women because their boundary lines were clearly defined; and evidenced by the way they were treated. I was jealous but could not look away and at the same time could not look deeper within. So, with a flat tummy and plump buns I continued enjoying the sensations of external living. Due to the excess, my soul was becoming cirrhotic-ally restructured by childhood fears of abandonment and the unfiltered toxins of one bad relationship after the other. Inside the junkyard/laboratory of my pain I continued finding pieces of men (that appealed to my inner child) to build the perfect family. They were broken pieces because I brought them with the currency of my own spiritual bankruptcy.