~ I loved you then ~ I love you now ~ And I always will ~
Here’s to our 30 years of matrimony of love, laughter, and adventure!
Susie
While Donny was still in the VA Hospital for alcohol abuse, a wonderful family of five frequently invited the children and me to their home. Susan and I knew each other from church. She had such a bubbly personality, and I was immediately drawn to her. Her husband Fred, born and raised in Germany—had a dry sense of humor but made me feel comfortable. After Donny completed treatment, they invited us over for dinner. Our husbands got to finally meet. We shared a delicious meal at the dinner table and the men engaged in small talk, while I marveled in silence, taking it all in.
My husband back then, the pursuer, continually sought after Fred’s company, offering his help with any home repairs and carpentry projects. Those two quickly hit it off and talked among themselves freely. They spent most weekends on Fred’s aluminum boat fishing or hanging out at his lake house. They knew the struggles of alcohol and often shared stories about the victories and failures during their alone time. They discussed work, God, and family matters. Sometimes they simply shared a comfortable silence. Their understanding and respect for each other grew.
Friendships blossomed.
Bonds strengthened.
We wives were pleased. Susan and I often shared laughter mingled with tears as we prayed for our husbands, our children, and our community. We shared a common goal: We wanted so much more unity in our home. We celebrated as our families shared meals, barbecues, beach outings, and church activities. Just like family.
Excerpt from “Running in Heels: A Memoir of Grit and Grace,” Chapter 37
Years later, Susan was there for me during abandonment and a painful but necessary divorce. Eventually, I picked up the pieces of my life and found renewed love with Mark, who soon became my faithful husband – my second chance at love and happiness. As time went on, some 30 years later, Susan became sick. Her family asked me to prepare a eulogy for her on their behalf, something I had NEVER done before then. Here is that story: https://maryaperez.com/2015/12/23/so-long-for-now/
Filed under friendship
Mrs. C
We affectionately called her Mrs. C. In her sixties, with remarkable zeal, she possessed a charismatic and gregarious personality. She was a Bible teacher, an author, a missionary, a powerhouse, and a woman of great faith. She exuded genuine friendship in a Godly persona and took me under her wings. She held many prayer meetings in her home and often prostrated herself on the floor on her face interceding on behalf of others. She became my lifesaver, my spiritual mother. Throughout the years, I counted on her for spiritual advice and much-needed counseling.
On one dreary afternoon, the sky, along with my hope and faith grew overcast. Suffering from battle fatigue, I sat in Mrs. C’s den. I told her I was sick and tired of being sick and tired.
“I can’t take it anymore,” I confessed, wringing my hands.
Patiently, unassuming, and non-judgmental, Mrs. C handed me a tissue and gave me time to release the dread and pain in my heart.
“I’ve tried everything. Done all I know to do. Yet nothing seems good enough.”
“Has he stopped hitting you?”
I sighed, much relieved that he had. “Oh, yes.”
“Mary Ann, you know he loves you, in his own way,” she began, “but you have become ‘weary in well-doing.’ In your mind’s eye, you’ve conceded it’s not worth it.”
She honed in on my sentiments. I hung my head in shame.
“You know,” she insisted, “it is worth it all.”
At that moment, I wished I were stronger and smarter and that Mrs. C wasn’t so wise and couldn’t read me so well. “But shouldn’t this be a two-way street?” I suggested.
“Are you and the kids better off without him?”
I figured she knew the answer before I did. “We . . . we have nowhere else to go.”
“Are you better off without him?” she repeated and handed me the tissue box.
“I can’t afford to do anything else.”
“Are you better off without him?”
No,” I whispered and wiped my nose.
I felt weak, and inadequate as a Christian wife, struggling to maintain a measure of peace and sanity in my household with four children, tending to a man wrestling with his demons.
“Then, go home and be the best wife and mother you know how to be,” she said.
Sometimes, it’s easier to talk the talk than to walk the walk.
“But first,” she added, “I want to pray for you.”
That woman knew how to enter the Throne Room of God in her prayers. Electricity surged through my entire body when she touched me as she prayed. Before I left, she handed me her book, Wives, Unequally Yoked. I figured reading couldn’t hurt; plus, the title intrigued me. I’d already devoured The Total Woman, by Marabel Morgan, the pages worn and underlined with yellow marker, much like my Bible.
I didn’t leave Mrs. C’s company the same way I arrived. Resolved in my heart not to become bitter, I determined to be better and left strengthened, with a made-up mind.
Excerpt from “Running in Heels: A Memoir of Grit and Grace,” Chapter 35
{Mary Anne Copelin: Aug. 30, 1926 — Dec. 4, 2017}
Additional mentioned about Mrs. C here — Saying Goodbye For Now
Filed under counseling, Spiritual Mother
My Friend, My Sister ~ an Answered Prayer
Again, left alone, with no one to share my heart, I regretted that I never stayed in touch with old classmates or finished school. It’s what he wanted. Although I had advanced to the tenth grade, I never went back, relying solely on Donny’s moral and financial support. I regretted that, too.
I felt my prayers answered the day a neighbor knocked on our door. I recognized her immediately. At last, someone my own age to talk to.
Not much older than me, she was a friendly sort with deep-set, café con leche eyes, long espresso hair, and a tan complexion. She wore blue jeans and a T-shirt. The warmth of her smile cast away my shadows. Liz sold Avon. Even though I doubted I’d be able to buy any of her products, I welcomed her company.
With Donny engrossed in TV, she and I visited at the dining room table over coffee and slices of block cheddar cheese. We chatted about makeup and the latest perfume. After an hour, she dug deep when she peered into my eyes and asked, “Mary, do you know Jesus?”
“Well . . . I . . . I used to . . . as a kid,” I stuttered and hung my head.
She proceeded to remind me of God’s love, goodness, and grace.
Liz was my neighbor who soon became my sounding board and best friend. She made me laugh and forget my troubles. She made suggestions about hair and makeup. We went window-shopping at the malls, grocery shopping, and baked cakes together in her kitchen. Liz even introduced me to garage sale hunting on weekends. In the mornings, we started reading our Bibles over coffee at her place, after our husbands left for work and her older kids had trotted to school. Our pre-school girls were close in age and enjoyed playing with each other.
Donny never said too much around Liz. Fine by me. He once labeled her a “Jesus freak” and usually made himself scarce whenever she came around. Also fine by me.
Before long, I started sitting in on Bible studies Liz held with other couples in her apartment. When I attended her small church, I felt a sense of belonging and serenity I hadn’t known since living with my grandparents. As much as I longed to return to the God of my grandparents, I needed to overcome the stinking-thinking about myself. I never felt worthy enough; may as well have worn a sign over me that read: Deflated, Dejected and Discouraged.
After our devotions in the mornings, Liz led prayer. She prayed that I’d learn to “let go and let God.” I wasn’t sure how to “let go,” let alone move on. Then, before closing our devotions, she always asked what my prayer requests were.
“I can’t stand Jerry . . . he’s a moron,” I blurted one day. “When he’s around, Donny drinks more. Jerry and him go bar-hopping and get into fights with other drunken bozos.”
“What do you want God to do?” Liz asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe Jerry needs to take a long walk on a short pier or something.”
She smiled.
I felt foolish.
She then asked if I ever asked God to sever Donny and Jerry’s friendship. I never thought about praying that way. She said she believed we needed to be a family in the privacy of our home without negative interference from an outsider.
A woman of simple faith, Liz started praying for that specifically.
Weak in my faith, I hoped against hope.
One autumn day as the temperatures fell and the evenings grew chilly, Jerry wanted “female companionship.” He borrowed my Plymouth Duster, and drove more than a thousand miles, all the way from Houston to Denver, to get that companionship. Once there, he landed in jail and the police impounded my car. Weeks later, Donny paid someone in Denver to get my vehicle out of impound to drive it back home.
Coincidentally—or by divine intervention—we never heard from Jerry again.
{Except from Running In Heels: A Memoir of Grit and Grace, Chapter 23}
Side Note:
The day I located my friend Liz on FaceBook and contacted her, joy flooded my heart. She lives out of town and drove through after attending a conference; we reunited at a local diner. We played catch-up over a glass of iced tea. We talked about the present, and before long, reminisced about the past, some thirty-plus years ago.
“I never expected anyone to come to my apartment to try to sell me some Avon, let alone talk about Jesus.”
“Mary Ann, I had to come over,” Liz said, her eyes growing misty. “I used to hear you and Donny argue. Every time you two fought, I heard everything. I even used to hear him hit you … then to hear you crying.”
“I didn’t know that.” I glanced away and watched droplets of water slide silently down my glass, like my tears so long ago.
“Whenever I heard the fights,” Liz continued, “I would lay my hands on the walls and pray for you until my husband would tell me to get away from there and to mind my own business.”
I studied my friend from long ago. “Well, I’m so glad you made me your business. When I needed a friend, you were there.”
Filed under Compassion, friendship
My Top Twelve Blogs with the Most Views
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NUMBER 1.
Filed under Top Twelve Blog Posts
Mama’s Chair
I did a thing today. It wasn’t a biggie … well, maybe it was. For me. I have mixed feelings about it. I decided to post my mother’s power lift chair on Nextdoor’s website this morning to sell … and within a couple of hours, it sold.
That was Mama’s chair.
We kept her chair always covered up to prevent spills from food or drinks. It still looked new. It’s where Mama sat all day, getting up to use the restroom and back. This chair was perfect for her, comfortable in every way. She had a hand-held mirror and combed her hair everyday and put lipstick on while sitting in that chair. She’d tell stories, greeted family members and guests, and the many medical personnel who tended to her while she sat in that chair. Sometimes for hours, she’d scrolled on her phone to watch her favorite cooking videos or the cute animal videos in that chair.
She laughed in that chair.
She watched her TV shows, ate her meals, and enjoyed her cafesito sitting there.
She cried in that chair.
That chair was her dining room, her office … and even her bed.
I would have held onto her chair for the memories … but I feared I would have become a hoarder instead. I knew I had to let go, praying and believing there was someone else out there who may benefit using this chair, and gain some comfort and support.
I still see Mama on that chair.
Filed under bittersweet memories
Alabaster Box
Lyrics
The room grew still as she made her way to Jesus
She stumbles through the tears that made her blind
She felt such pain, some spoke in anger
Heard folks whisper, “There’s no place here for her kind”
Still on she came through the shame that flushed her face
Until at last, she knelt before His feet
And though she spoke no words, everything she said was heard
As she poured her love for the Master, from her box of alabaster
So I’ve come to pour my praise on Him
Like oil from Mary’s alabaster box
So don’t be angry if I wash His feet with my tears
And I dry them with my hair, hmm
‘Cause you weren’t there the night He found me
You did not feel what I felt
When He wrapped His love all around me and
You don’t know the cost, not of this oil
In my alabaster box
No one knows what you’ve been through
I can’t forget the way life used to be
‘Cause I was a prisoner to the sin that had me bound
And I spent my days, poured my life without measure
Into a little treasure box I’d thought I’d found
Until the day when Jesus came to me
And healed my soul with the wonder of His touch
So now I’m giving back to Him all the praise He’s worthy of
I’ve been forgiven and that’s why
I love Him so much
So I’ve come to pour my praise on Him
Like oil from Mary’s alabaster box (Mary’s alabaster box)
So don’t be angry if I wash His feet with my tears
And dry them with my hair
You weren’t there the night Jesus found me
You did not feel what I felt
When He wrapped His loving arms around me and
You don’t know the, you don’t know, you don’t know, you don’t know (Jesus was there)
You don’t know the, you don’t know, you don’t know, you don’t know
You don’t know the cost of the oil
In my alabaster box (oh)
Come on let’s worship Him
Come on and give Him the glory (hallelujah)
Filed under Alabaster Box
Mama: My Valentine Gal in Heaven
Loved beyond words. Missed beyond measure.
Filed under Valentine Mama
Be Still & Know That I Am God
Psalms 46:10
People, let’s not forget that no matter what, God is still on the throne.
Filed under Faith, Psalm 46:10
Reflections From the Heart 