The Days of the Gentleman ...Over?

Where have all the gentlemen gone? Can the world even recognize a gentleman anymore? What is the definition of a gentleman?

According to Webster, a gentleman means:

gent·le·man

ˈjen(t)lmən/

noun

1. 1.

   a chivalrous, courteous, or honorable man.

   
   

   "he behaved like a perfect gentleman"
2. 2.

   a polite or formal way of referring to a man.

   
   

   "opposite her an old gentleman sat reading"

Again it seems we've come across some words that have lost its definition in today's society. Where are the examples of chivalry, or courtesy, or even honor today? When everything from our music, to our movies, to the leaders that are before us gives us the complete opposite example. What of the future generation? What would they know of traits of chivalry, and courtesy, and honor? Has the gentleman gone the way of the dinosaurs and become extinct? I can say within my circle it has become something of a rarity.

Being a gentleman isn't being a b**** or commonly referred to as a pussy whipped man. Being a gentleman isn't about the behavior that the man displays FOR the women in their life, it is a reflection of the behavior of who they are as a person. If you do something kind for someone else, that does not make you a kind person. Any a****** could have a kind moment. Being kind to someone else because you are kind, and choose to be kind, determines the state of your being. Being a gentleman doesn't mean you are submissive to a woman. Being a gentleman means you choose to be a kind, chivalrous, and respectful, because you are a gentleman.

Do the women of today deserve the treatment of the gentleman? That is also another debate. That is another conversation about being a lady. Spider-Man choosing to be a gentleman has nothing to do with the state of the woman. It has everything to do with who he chooses to be as himself.

So what does it mean to be a gentleman, what are some of the examples? Well let's start with being kind and courteous. How do we speak to the people in our lives especially a man to a woman? Does he speak down to her, or as a partner? It's about respect. The way we speak to people denotes the type of respect we have for them, but much more the type of respect we have for ourselves. When we choose not to listen to our partners, thats reflects our own character, not our ability to listen. We listen to what we want to hear. When we refuse, it's because we don't value or respect what's being said, or who is trying to speak to us. That's not a bad thing within itself, because sometimes we need to shut some people out of our lives to preserve our own dignity or safety. But when it comes to people we have a relationship with, choosing not to listen when they're trying to communicate is a form of the highest disrespect. That doesnt reflect on the person being ignored, but the one doing the ignoring. Its wrapped in pride and ego.

Where you were born, how you were raised, and what everyone else is doing isn't an excuse. They may be reasons and contributing factors, but they do not excuse the choices and actions we take.

I was watching a movie yesterday where this hood-rat rapper, who made it big in the music industry, got lots of money and women told his girlfriend it was a sign of respect him claiming her as his Bitch. His side-bitches were just whores and meant nothing, but she held the place of honor, his Queen, and his boys respected his Bitch. Her response - she smiled. My stomach hurt. Is that today's equivolent to "You're my Lady?"

I envy her ignorance, for it truly is bliss. It's amazing we've fallen so far and what we now accept as right, and honor, as respect. I'm no saint. Far from it. I'm dissappointed because I know there's a better way in humanity, I listen to that voice in the pit of my gut. I long for a real gentleman, yet relegated to being a bitch.

Heres a good read: http://nextluxury.com/mens-lifestyle-advice/rules-of-a-gentleman/

Till next time,
~T.L. Gray

Somethin' for Nothin'

We live in an age where we want something for nothing. Where is the sacrifice? Where is the sweat and tears? Where is the fear of failure? Where is the desire to try?

We want love, devotion, faithfulness, loyalty, and respect, but we don't want to give those things first. We want to enjoy the fruits of our labor but only give a half-assed effort for those fruits. If we fail there are always those to enable us and bail us out of our responsibilities. We want to be loved, but only love with the smallest part of our hearts in fear of gettimg hurt.

We are asshole, to ourselves, to the people in our lives, our family, our friends, our coworkers, and society in general. We then pass that asshole-disease onto the next generation.

Where is truth. Where is real compassion. Where is real love, real devotion, real passion, real sacrifice, real spirit of excellence?

I will not wait to receive these things to give them. I don't trust the world or anyone in it to step up. I've been disappointed too many times to hope. I do believe there are those out there that do give their best, that do live with a spirit of excellence and with honor. If I'm capable, so are others. I know I may never meet them. I do it for me. I do it to be proud of thr woman I am; the woman I choose to be. I treat the world and the people in my life the way I would want to be treated.

Choosing to live this way will win no popularity contests, in fact, I often lose family, lovers, and 'friends' that feel intimidated or can't handle the truth, or get butt-hurt when they're called on their shit or they want enabled or receive lame excuses. I won't do that. I can live with mistakes, bad decisions, and poor choices ...but I won't just remain silent as they're being made. As a friend, out of,reapect, I'll speak truth, just as I would want to be given the truth.  If it hurts, deal with it, face it, and be responsible to correct it. If you need help ...I'll give my best to help. Want to hate me and be an asshole because you're butt-hurt ..,I don't want family, lovers, or friends like that and will walk away without blinking. This is my life and I've had enough vampires suck the life out of me too many times.

If you're an asshole vampire, you will remain an asshole vampire until you can grow up and face the truth. If you're still holding onto anger and unforgiveness, and its affecting your life ...get the fuck over it. Its only hurting you.  If thats the excuse for your asshole behavior, you're just an asshole.

Listen to how you would want to be listened to ...
Forgive the way you would want to be forgiven ...
Speak the way you would want to spoken to ...
Love the way you would want to be loved ....

Be kind, be honest, be diligent, be faithful, be loyal, be courteous, be thoughtful, be giving, and hold your head high in the midst of persecution. You will not have to defend your actions, because your character - the actions taken over time - will reveal your true characters. When the vampires rise and try to attack that character, they will fail ... But only if its real and not a half-assed laziness, or an attitude of something for nothing.

It's up to us who we are ... Not our parentage, not our childhood, not our experiences, not all the horrible things that have happened to us, not our financial status, not our educational level, not our titles,  or accomplishments. Not ANYTHING that has happened TO us by others, but in how,we respond and what we do on a daily basis from the smallest thing to the biggest.  We are either men and women of character or assholes. I do me. You don't have to like me. I've learned to love the woman I have become and like me enough.

Till next time,
~T.L. Gray

No Aplology

I'm a hopeless romantic. While logically I know there is no such thing as happily ever after, there is also very little true repentence, Prince Charming doesn't exist, and people don't often have existential moments where they apologize for being the assholes they are, and there are no best friends forever. Not in the real world. But that doesn't stop me from hoping, believing and wanting that Hallmark, Disney and Lifetime ending. I make no apology for that hope. I make no apology for believing humanity can be kind and love one another the way God says is possible. I know its true, because I exist and I have chosen that kind of love.

This world is so beautiful, so amazing. I can just watch the fish swim around my boyfriends saltwater tank and be overcome by its simplicity and complexity at the same time. Just trying to understand all the elements that have to come together in order to be the beautiful display is overwhelming. Jon has to work so much, so precise, and with such care to get it to that beautiful state. It takes lots of time, devotion, money, and care. Only in nature can the world produce such beauty, yet he's recreated it in a small tank.

But that beauty didn't happen overnight and with no effort. Its not magic. It takes dedication and sacrifice, it requires attention and priority.  Jon can stand back and be proud of his effort because he puts in what it takes to be successful.

The same kind of effort has to be put into raising our children. They don't wake up being lazy, disrespectful assholes. Those traits are developed over time, and it will take even more time to retrain their brains IF we want them to be kind, thoughtful and reaponsible adults. Isn't that ultimately our job as a parent?  Life isn't magical and people dont just wake up and decide to change who they are. It usually takes a tragedy or great loss to move people to change. Lazy parents expect adulthood will change their disrespectful children. It doesn't. It just produces lazy, disrespectful and neglectful adults. Lazy parents are abusive parents.

I've experienced true physical, mental and emotional abuse since before I was born. My drug addict mother was shot in a bad drug deal when she was 6 mos pregnant with me, and since being born I've died twice, been beat, raped, neglected, and abandoned by those who claimed to love me most. My soldier love and hero died and left me alone. I have fought cancer, obesity, and Southern religious condemnation. I was married for 20 years with love, but no passion, feeling unwanted every day of my life. I've had my children run away from me and lived in torture every day scared not knowing if they were safe, hurt, dead or alive, feeling hated and rejected, praying everyday for mercy and protection. I have to fight thoughts of giving up and killing myself on a regular basis. But I'm a fighter and survivor, and I love myself, and I love my family whether they love me back or not. I understand abuse. In my experience - the most damaging abuse isnt physical,
 ... its neglect, apathy and indifference.

In spite of all that I've endured, I'm a passionate person. I care. I love. Because I care and love ...I will scream, shout, cry, pitch a fit, apologize, talk it out, say the hard things, and then do the hard things again and again and again, even if it costs me everything. My relationships are like that fish tank. It takes a lot of work to gain the right balance, the right salinity, the right buoyancy, the right light, the right temperature, the right filtration, and the right maintenance to be something beautiful, or become a pool of ugliness and decay. I won't aplogize for that, even if it means I end up alone.

Want to abuse me - its easy, just ignore me, be indifferent, neglect me, be a coward, make excuses, push me out, unfriend me, put your fingers in your ears and act like a 5-year old spoiled brat, neglect or not provide for your children, see me hurting and not comfort me, take advantage of me, use me to pick up your responsibility, don't hug me, make me feel unwanted, ignore my needs and then break your neck helping others that use and abuse you, don't respect me, my time, or my space.

No, life isn't a Hallmark, Disney or Lifetime Movie. Meghan may have married a prince, but there is no happily ever after. There's pain and tears and lots of heartache, but ...I have hope that someday someone will care enough about me to help me create my beautiful aquarium. I dont apologize for having that hope. In fact, it breaks my heart because I know its possible, even in the middle of all the shit.

So, be an asshole all you want. I'm not going to apologize for caring and loving, even when I'm not loved back, and I lose friends or everything for it. I can stand in front of my mirror and know that I give and have given my best. Fuck everyone that can't or won't appreciate that about me. Just as other friends in my life ...keep abusing, neglecting, or ignoring me and I will walk away. If you dont care about that, then I've lost nothing.

Integrity

It's hard to do the right thing, and then choose to do it on a daily basis over and over and over again. It's even harder to choose to do it after we make a mistake.

I'm not perfect. I'm human - full of mistakes, bad decisions, and pride. I'm no better than my fellow human. I get angry, hurt, jealous, and lazy. I have excuses and reasons for everything and every decision. What I also have is responsibility for those decisions - their actions AND their consequences.

I sometimes feel like Jonah, sitting on that hill looking down at a city, holding a warning in my heart of a coming judgement, and wanting to run and hide. Most don't have ears to hear and hate the harbingers of truth, especially in a society of victims full of excuses.

Sometimes I feel like Elijah beneath the shade of the tree and asking God how much longer will He remain silent as the world continues to create chaos with no regard for their part or the pain they cause others. We live in an entitled society that wants everything given, but doesn't want to do what is necessary to succeed. I watch parents bend over backwards to appease their spoiled children instead of doing the hard job of being a parent, therby equipping them with the tools necessary for success - tools like honesty, respect, responsibility, and drive. These blind parents believe their spoiled children will auto-magically become responsible, moral and GOOD adults. The result is a society of spoiled, lazy, disrespectful, neglectful, entitled brats as adults.

I sometimes feel like Jeremiah and Daniel, and Paul - hated, despised, feared, rejected, misunderstood, resented, unpopular, alienated, and often persecuted. I witness good parents doing the hard things, hated by their children and judged by their 'enlightened' fellow parents who say they're too hard and too demanding. Children believing their abused because they're made to be reaponsible. Yet, the world is also full of children neglected, abused, forgotten, hungry and not provided for by irresponsible parents - addicts, perverts, drunks, or selfish workaholics chasing pipe dreams, titles, or status who have no time for their children. In my opinion, the worse parent is one who puts their WANTS before their child's NEED, be it addicrikn, or co-dependency, or fear of discipline.

Fathers blame mothers. Children blame parents. Mothers blame daughters. Sons blame fathers. Everyone blames each other. All blame God. None blame themselves - look in the mirror and see the truth. Without truth, there is no repentance. Without repentence, there is no forgiveness. Without forgiveness, there is no transformation, just a continuous cycle of insanity.

How much longer, Oh, Lord?

"Mercy comes with the morning. I leave you with these three things - faith, hope and love. The greatest of these is love. Love your God, then love your neighbor as you love YOURSELF ...as I have loved you. I have NOT come to bring peace, but a sword."

My heart breaks for those parents who do the hard parts, especially during those teenaged years.  It's not easy for anyone. But don't give up, don't give in. Respect is earned, not easily given. Love is doing the hard parts. Cowards run and hide from the responsibility behind excuses or vices. Cowards blame everyone else for their failures. Even if you are hated or forgotten, do the hard parts because of love. That is being a parent. God is our Father.

Breaking Point

We all have a breaking point and sometimes I wonder if I don't teeter on the edge of that point all the time. I'm starting to fear my decisions the last couple years have been a form of underlying self-destruction - instead of cutting to see if I bleed, I make life choices that leave me constantly bleeding.

Though I'm surrounded by people who claim to love me, I am lonely. I don't feel loved. I feel neglected, unwanted, abused, used, and preyed upon. So, why are they here? Because they need me. Once their need is met, I know deep in my heart they will leave me - just as they have before and will again .This I am assured.

So, why don't I just walk away? Because, It's not for them, but for that little girl inside that was neglected, forgotten, abused and needing someone to care, someone to hear me silently screaming behind a friendly smile, praying and begging for someone to save me. No one saved me. I had to save myself. I never want anyone else to ever feel like no one cares and no one will help where and when it's needed. It's why I have given so much of my life taking care of other people, feeding the hungry, helping the sick, giving what I can. I don't want to be the pious priest blinded to the wounded. I want to be the Samaritan who stops.

But being the Samaritan isn't easy and I find quite painful. The moral stories always have a good ending, much like a Hallmark, Disney or Lifetime movie. But real life isn't like that. There is rarely a good outcome for the sacrifices we make for others. It cuts. It hurts. It is unappreciated. It is lonely, very, very lonely.

It's like lying next to the man you're madly in love with, your soul mate, your balance, your heart, and have them not want or love you back, not want to touch you, not want to hold you, not want to lift you up, encourage you, or let you know they want, respect, love and desire you. That's cruelty to the deepest cut. Who needs real blades when emotional ones are amply available?

 I'm a fool. I believe in fairy-tale love. I give the kind of love and devotion I want to receive. I give respect like I want to be respected. I hope for the best. I see with eyes of good potential, but judged for the smallest of weaknesses and failures.

I'm sick. Im hurting and I don't really think anyone cares. That little girl deep inside is screaming again. I hear her, but I don't know how to save her because I'm the one hurting her. I think I'm past my breaking point and I'm free-falling. It's no one else's fault, but mine.

I don't want to learn this lesson. I've prayed for help, but I feel those prayers are silenced. The cost is my heart. I feel it growing harder and colder every day and I keep waiting for the warrior in me to rise up and defend her, but I don't.  I'm too broken to fight back. I've gone too long stressed out. I'm so sick of crying. I'm tired of trying. My hope is all used. My faith is exhausted. So I lay next to my love and slowly die inside.

--.T. L. Gray

Back at the Gym

I can't express how much better I feel since starting back at the gym. I don't think it's just a result from physical activity. Working out has made me hurt in lots pain, waking up with Charlie's almost daily. It hurts to breathe and hurts to move. No, the physical activity has reminded me almost every second I'm not so young anymore. But, I can handle the pain because I can feel I'm getting stronger, my body's energy is increasing, I'm less winded, and once those torn muscles heal and adapt, they too will be fine.

No, I think the main reason I feel so much better is because I'm doing something for myself. I was drowning and getting lost in taking care of everyone else. I neglected the most important person in my life, the person I've spent the last five years falling in love with, healing, forgiving, and discovering, the one person I know without doubt loves me - me.

I know it sounds arrogant, but I can't express enough to anyone and everyone how important it is to love yourself - first and foremost. It's that self love inside that heals the wounds inflicted, both internal and external. You CAN'T love anyone else, not truly, without first being filled with love yourself. If we have no love inside, with what are we giving and loving to others? We're not. Being in a relationship (friends, family, lovers) with anyone when we have no love for ourselves makes us vampires, because we're not giving anything, only taking or feeding off the life and love of what others are giving to us. But it'll never be enough. It'll feel good at first because we're empty and hollow, and their affection will be like a soothing drug, but in time it can't fill the emptiness, the hole within our souls that can only be filled by us.

I've also learned the hard way that I can't depend on others to love me. People, humanity in general, fail. But I'm thankful for that failure because it's taught me to be strong, to survive, to learn to turn to myself, to be independent, and strong, and self-motivated, self-assured, and self-dependent. Nothing is more dangerous or weak than a co-dependent soul.

We are human beings and capable of failure, mistakes, and bad choices. Just look around. But within us all is the potential to learn from those failures, mistakes, and bad choices and discover success, integrity, and how to make good choices. Humanity is both ugly and beautiful, hateful and merciful, selfish and selfless.

So, here I am making a good choice, emotionally, physically, and spiritually for myself, because there's an ugly world out there that needs a little bit of light, a little bit of love, a little bit of encouragement, a little bit of mercy, and a little bit of hope and inspiration. If my example can just inspire ONE person to begin to love and do something good for themselves, then I call that success. Just one, even if that one is just me.

Thanksgiving 2017

Well, it's that time again.  Holidays have always been difficult for me in one way or another.  When I was younger, being the daughter of a blind international drug dealer and a handicapped mother with MS, I knew our family wasn't 'typical'.  Neither were our Thanksgivings.  Because of my father's line of work, our family was estranged from the rest of the family, so I didn't have cousins, uncles, grandparents, etc. to visit.  Also, With my mother in a wheelchair and my father blind, most of the cooking was left up to me, the only girl out of five brothers.  I did alright, I think. 

Then for two decades, I raised my own family, but that also didn't come without awkwardness for me during the holidays.  My ex-husband had a very big extended family.  While he had no brother's and sisters, he had parents, cousins, aunts and uncles and grandparents and they made a big deal out of the holidays. I always wanted to just cook my own family meal, but every year we had to load up the car and go to his grandmother's. I always felt like an outcast.  I never heard from anyone, other than his parents, throughout the year, so the rest of the family were still strangers to me.  I knew their names, their faces, but nothing else about them. I never felt accepted or wanted, certain the family believed I had forced my ex into marrying me because I got pregnant.  While we didn't have a romantic relationship, I probably had one of the best marriages in the world. We communicated, we shared responsibilities, and we good partners. But, family... his family wasn't ever really my family. 

Now, for the last five years I've been single and on my own, and there have been some really tough and lonely holidays. I don't think the world realizes how hard it is for single, lonely people during these last few months. It's like a daily reminder they're not wanted, they're not normal, they're not living up to societal expectations.  We don't want to be a burden to others, yet we don't want to be alone either.  Last Thanksgiving I spent with my current boyfriend, but we happened to be broke up at that time.  But, even though we were not 'together', I considered him and his sons my family and couldn't imagine being with anyone else during that time other than my own children.

Well, here I am in 2017 and I'm looking forward to the holiday's this year because I am surrounded by my chosen family, with people that fill my heart with love.  My boyfriend and his sons are part of my soul.  I love those boys as much as my own birth children.  I love my boyfriend with a deepness of soul I've never experienced with anyone else before. My youngest daughter is now with me, and she's pregnant with my first grandchild. My best friend, though we fight often, is also with me. I love her like a sister, a chosen sister. 

I'm excited to cook the turkey and all the trimmings, to play the games, and to just 'be' with my family.  I'm so thankful for them. I thank God everyday for bringing them into my life. We are not typical. We are not a normal family.  We are not traditional.  We are not like anything that can be adequately explained. Sometimes I cry because I'm overcome with a sense of family I NEVER had, not with my childhood family, not with my married family, no one.  This is my chosen family and I love with them with everything I have in my heart and soul. 

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.

Till next time,
~T.L. Gray

Beauitful Complexity

Hello words.  It’s been a while.  I’ve missed you. It’s good to be back.  There’s so many things I could say with my mouth, but there’s so much more that I am able to say with my fingertips, which are extension of my thoughts… thoughts that are only buried deep in my heart and mind.  My mouth can’t often express them, and most of the time comes out wrong when I try.  But, my fingers… ah, my fingers weave magic.  They’re like a silver-tongue, able to coax words out of their darkness to dance upon the page in beautiful black font. My mouth often fails me, but not my words.

When I speak, my feelings, emotions, prejudices, and expressions get in the way of what I truly want to say. My vocal self is a mess.  Humanity is complex.  I wonder if the rest of life on this planet, or even in this universe, is as complex as the human mind.  There are so many parts – some strong, some fragile, some hidden, some obvious.  Our epidermis is only our shell.  How deep do our minds really go? What of the spirit? What of the heart? Simple; yet complex.

I’m forty-six years old, my temporary life on this planet is already half over and I’ve only just begun to scratch the surface of understanding what living means.  I’ve been living, but my appreciation for it has been clouded.  My heart sinks at the thought of how much of my short life I’ve wasted. Yet, I can say I don’t have much regret.  I have many failures and lots of mistakes, but very little regret. 

Existential questions plague me.  Not because I’ve got to know answers. Don’t get me wrong, I have a curious mind and searching for answers will always be one of my greatest quests. However, it’s not in answers I seek most, but in purpose.  I hope my fingers can weave the question clearly for you, pull out the bits and pieces among the multitude to make my meaning clear.

I’ve been feeling really stressed and frustrated lately.  Not because I’ve quickly, almost overnight, have gone from a nearly lonely existence of spending ninety-five percent of my time in solitude to a full house where I have NO time alone.  I ate alone, always slept alone, and most often had my own thoughts to keep me company.  I tried dating, but found no connection with the strangers staring across the table at me, often spending my time defending myself from being pawed or molested.  My roommate/best friend and I had become distant and I found myself avoiding contact as often as possible in an effort to keep peace and preserve a sisterhood that I had dreamed about my whole life. I was taking adventures on my own, exploring the coastline for lighthouses, learning history, working out, doing anything and everything to keep my mind occupied, but I was empty; void of purpose. 

In my loneliness there was also a LOT of confusion; still today.  I am in love with a man with relationship issues and who has hurt my heart deeply. I’ve tried to pull away from him, walk away on many opportunities, but I could never just let him go, not completely.  My pride, my mind, and my will was able to put up walls, even able to convince myself I was over  him and ready to move forward, but my heart never listened.  I couldn’t stop loving him. I still can’t stop loving him. I know 

I will always love him. It’s a strange relationship we have. I’ve never known such depth of a connection in two souls, but on the surface, there are so many conflicts, so many differences.  We are so different from each other, have different views on so many different levels, different values, different personalities, different life patterns; we are an Oscar and Felix.  Yet, like that odd couple, we are connected in a very deep way.  Our love is a deep love and lives in such a depth, it’s almost an unspoken.  I don’t doubt his love, real love, spiritual love, deep love, but everything else (wants, desires, expectations, etc., they swim in doubts.  I never know from one minute to the next where we stand, what we are, what we’ve been, or even what the future holds for us. I can’t label our relationship.  Yet it’s enough to know that it occupies my life, it owns my heart, and I can’t give that life or heart to another. It belongs to him and him alone.  So, I’m stuck… in a confusing, beautiful, messy, uncharacteristic chaos.  Sometimes I wonder what kind of crazy test God is putting me through.  It feels unfair, unwinnable, yet beautiful and complex.  Just because I can’t identify a thing doesn’t mean that thing is any less valuable or meaningful than what I can identify. 

 I desperately love two teenagers that are just as precious to me as my own children.  I fell madly in love with them from the moment I met them. Actually, I think I started loving them before I met them by listening to their father speak about them.  He spoke of a lot of things, but when the topic turned to his boys, it wasn’t just his lips that moved.  His eyes lit up, his face changed, his posture changed, and the tone of his voice changed.  Love exuded from him.  His sons are his life, his pride and joy, his opus.  I could only imagine the depth of love this man possessed because of the way he spoke about his sons.  Surely if he possessed such love for them, he could provide love like that for me too.  I couldn’t wait to meet them.  When I did, I also saw the love they had for their father too.  Oh, don’t think they’re a perfect family, no family is perfect and without issues. There are issues, there are needs, and wants, and complications just like every other family, and some of theirs are big issues too.  But the love they have for one another… that’s real; that’s deep, and I connected to that love; I craved it. It felt like a centerpiece to a puzzle snapped in place, like I had been the missing link and they had been the missing pieces around me.  I fell deeply in love with all three of them, the father and sons. I loved so hard it scared me. 

Again, there are no perfect stories, no perfect plans, only perfected chaos.  As with everything else in life, there were issues, there are still issues, and those issues force me often to have to love them from a distance.  I was constantly reminded they were not mine; he was not mine.  I had three beautiful souls tethered to my heart, with no way to hold them or keep them. In fact, I was often pushed away.  It was tortuous to my soul.  I wanted desperately to just walk away from them so the pain in my heart would allow me to simply breathe, but I could never manage to let them go, none of them – father or sons. 

My own children didn’t seem to need or want me.  They never called or visited, not on holidays, birthdays or any time.  I would send them ‘good morning’ prayers/wishes, but never got a response.  My youngest would sometimes text me, to hit me up for money. My son would messenger me sometimes to see if I had watched something or heard about a new game. My oldest just never messaged at all.  I was estranged from all my family, all of them.  My parents were dead, and even when they were alive I had a failed relationship with them. My brothers didn’t even seem to remember I existed unless they were stealing from me. I had moved away from all my friends in Georgia, and they seemed to have forgotten about me. Needless to say I felt a huge failure as a parent.  I had failed as a wife. I had failed as a daughter. I had failed as a sister. I seemed to be failing as a friend. I failed as a girlfriend, and I felt as if I had failed these two boys and I had failed God and my faith.  Of all my successes in education, business, career, civic duties, physical achievements, beating cancer, getting published, receiving promotions, having a stellar resume, etc.; I seemed perfect on paper, but I felt like a failure as a human being.

I was lost.  I was a piece of dust blowing in the wind, searching for purpose.  I was lonely.  I would put a smile on my face every day, tell myself how much I loved myself, take selfies so I could convince myself that I was happy, but inside I was lost.  I controlled nothing.  Sometimes I would close my eyes hoping I wouldn’t open them again.  I felt rejected, unloved, unwanted, and unneeded. I desperately looked for purpose, tried to keep myself busy with adventure, and constantly sought direction.  I couldn’t understand why I was so unlovable when my heart ached because I loved so many, so deeply.  What was so wrong with me that no one wanted to love me back? That has been the question that has plagued me my whole life, starting as a child wondering how my parents could hurt me like they did, and my brothers, and God must have hated me too – he took away the only man that had ever showed he loved me on a battlefield in Somalia, to my husband who couldn’t even tell me he loved me  for the twenty years we were married, to my children running away from me or forgetting I even existed, now to man who my soul loves telling me loves me but has relationship issues,  to two teenagers boys who are mine in my heart but I have no right in their lives.

See, complicated mess. Simple; yet complex.  Well, that was a couple months ago.  Almost overnight I went from that lonely existence to never having five seconds to myself because that man and his sons have moved in with me (we’re together, but not together) and our relationship is still unidentifiable. I can’t even describe it.  I have my family with me, yes they are my family, and my heart couldn’t be happier.  I have them, but I don’t. They’re mine, but they’re not. They’re with me, but not with me. My youngest daughter has also come home, and she’s pregnant with my first grandbaby.  She’s here, but she’s not.  My roommate is unpredictable now, with health issues and mental issues.  She’s also here, but she’s not.  I can’t even begin to express the stresses of having 6.5 people and three dogs living in a two-bedroom apartment create.  Everyone is stressed. Everyone is doing their best to work together and keep the peace.  It’s chaos, but a beautiful chaos.

I’m watching that man sleep right now. He’s the most beautiful thing in the world to me, not because he’s a handsome man, and that he is, but because I see his soul – his heart, his spirit.  He’s a mess, and somedays I want to strangle him because he’s often an arrogant asshole, but he’s one of the most helpful, giving, smart, and compassionate person I’ve ever met.  So, this brings me back to my original query – that existential question - what is the meaning to all this chaos?  My frustration isn’t from the cooking, cleaning, no privacy, no time for myself, being busy working and taking care of my family, including the dogs.  No, I LOVE taking care of my family. Taking care of them gives me purpose. Taking care of them is a way to express my love and appreciation for them.  My frustration comes in not knowing what tomorrow holds. They could all leave tomorrow and I would be alone again.  I have no control over them. I can’t make them stay. I can’t make them love me or appreciate me, or even want me. My frustration comes from fear – a history of those I love leaving me.  I love my family. I love this man. I love his sons – my sons. I love my daughter. I already love my grandbaby. I love my best friend. I even love the damned dogs.  I don’t want to lose them. But, I have no power or right to keep them. I can only love them as much as I can while I have them, and continue to love them even if they leave me.

Love – this is the essential key to purpose and our short existence on this planet. While my life has been riddled with one chaotic event after the next, love is the one thing I never regret.  Even if I fail, even if love is never returned to me, I will never regret loving.  It’s really the only thing in the world that truly matters.  While I may not be able to identify my relationships right now, and I can’t’ put any of them in any known or familiar box (girlfriend, friend, step-mom, Gigi (that’s the name I hope my grandbaby calls me), bestie, roommate, lover, etc., there is love in and around all of it.  I love Jon. I love Anthony. I love Nathan. I love Kelly. I love Little K. I love Jenna. I love Nova. I love Bella. I love Gizmo. I love Johnathan. I love Meagan. 

God is love.  Where there is love, God is there also.

Till next time,

~T.L. Gray

Life Unexpected

Good Morning, World. It's been a while since I've greeted you. It's not because of a bad thing, but a good one. I've been a little busy with life. There's been some big changes going on, and while they're quite stressful, I couldn't be happier.

I'm going to be a grandma! My baby girl is having a baby. I can't believe it. I look at her face and she's still my baby, and then I look down at her growing belly and realize she's gonna be a mommie. My baby is having a baby. I'm happy and scared all at the same time. But I have much faith in her. She's strong and she's a survivor. She's kind and caring. She's made mistakes like the rest of us, and will continue to make more like we also continue to do, but I know her heart. She gives everything to what she loves, and I know without doubt she's going to be a good mother because she's going to give to her baby all that love and devotion. I love her even more today than the day I first held her in my arms almost twenty-three years ago.

I can remember a few months ago feeling very lonely and missing having a family. I was lost. I was trying to figure out who I was, what I wanted, and where I wanted to go and do in life. The world was my oyster and I had so many choices in front of me, yet I couldn't move and often couldn't breathe. I was trying to date and felt overwhelmed every time I sat across the table from one strange face to the next, all describing their boxes and what they wanted in life to fill those boxes. I started to lose hope because none of those boxes were what I wanted. The problem was, I already had what I wanted I just didn't recognize it, because it hadn't manifested yet and didn't look like an expected box. My impatience always gets the better of me. Like everything else in my life, nothing comes in a 'normal' box. Normal doesn't really exist. I have had a family for a while, one that I've prayed for, one that I've dreamed about, one that I love very much right in front of me the whole time, it just didn't come to me in a normal way. I have a man that I love and respect who is my best friend and soulmate, two teenage boys that I adore and cherish to the moon and back, a best friend that is closer than any sister I've never had, and three dogs that I love and love me unconditionally. Now my baby girl has returned, and I'm about to be grandma. Wow, so much can change in just a few short weeks. God is good. He sees the true desires of your heart, even if you don't know what they are, and those are the things He manifests. None of these relationships are without problems and issues, but in spite of all those issues there is LOVE, real, deep, devoted love.

I have a new job! With my new and rapidly growing family, I need better financial support. While my current job, Percepta/Ford, has provided for me this past year, it can't sustain the future. I'm sad to be leaving my co-workers because I truly adore most of them and consider many of them good friends. I don't think I've ever worked anywhere where I've been so close. I am going to miss them terribly, and this week is going to be bitter-sweet. I often cry thinking about leaving them. They've been there for me during my mother's death, my brother's recent brush with death, me meeting and falling in love and then the heart-break that followed, the moving, and the dating, the drama, the drama, and the drama that seems to surround my life. They made it a joy to come to work every day. Again, they are part of that family that had been right in front of my face that I didn't recognize. Tomorrow is my last day with them, and then Monday I start my new job as a buyer at Italian Terrazzo.

So, good morning, World. As my blog titled says, this is the whimsical world of T.L. Gray - you better hang on because it's going to be bumpy ride. So, throw your hands up in the air and ride it like a real daredevil. LOL!

Till next time,

~T.L. Gray

Controlling

I was told recently that I have control issues. That’s not the first time I’ve heard that, and I’m sure it won’t be the last. But, what does it really mean? What are they trying to tell me?  Is it a positive or negative thing?  The way in which it is said, the tone in which it’s given, and the impression implied is never positive, but negative.  So, my conclusion is when I’m told I’m being controlling, I don’t think it’s said as a positive thing, it’s not given as a compliment, but a complaint against my character.

Am I controlling? I suppose I should first define what it means.

Controlling - 1. Determine the behavior or supervise the running of. 2. Take into account (an extraneous factor that might affect results) when performing an experiment.

By definition – Yes, I’m extremely controlling.  I’m a natural born leader, a supervisor, a planner, and a strategist. That’s how my mind works. That’s how it has always had to work. I’ve always been responsible for a large group of people, and that requires solving problems, being considerate of others, their needs, and their wants, and supervising situations.  So, I agree, I’m controlling in those aspects. But, why is that a bad thing? Why is it a negative thing? The alternative is chaos and disorder, lack of preparation, and incoordination.

When I see a need, lack, or a void, my mind immediately begins to plan a solution, find a supply, or seek alternatives.  It’s one of the dominate traits that have led to many successes in my life – in business, in writing, in marketing, in management, in life, and in relationships. I communicate, I plan, and I try to see things from all angles.  I try to make the best decision possible, take into an account of all the various elements, and conclude the best possible result.  As the Word says, I count the costs before I begin to build, and I consider the consequences before deciding. I will not give to my God that which costs me nothing.

I am in control of my life and my decisions and I don’t see that as a bad thing. I personally think it’s a good thing.  I have the same options as everyone else in the world. I have the same choices, the same temptations, and the same amount of hours in a day.  I choose what I do with those hours. I choose what I do with my body. I am in control of my choices. I, alone, am responsible for my choices.

Yes, there are things that happen outside my control and to which I am well aware that I have no control at ALL. Having two of my children run away from me and do things I have tried to warn, to teach, and to protect them against proved I had control of nothing. Having my fiancé die at the hands of Somalian soldiers proved I have control of nothing. Having a husband that never loved or wanted me proved I had control of nothing.  Having a family that abused and didn’t love me, beat me, abused me, and even try to kill me proved I had control of nothing. Having my soulmate tell me he didn’t want a relationship proved I had control of nothing.

Believe me, I am well aware I control nothing - nothing but myself, how I respond, and how I allow the choices of others to affect me and my life. I choose to be responsible. I choose to love. I choose to not do drugs. I choose to eat right. I choose to exercise. I choose to fight for what I want. I choose to work. I choose to do the hard things. I choose to open my heart and love, and give, and be there for my friends, and for my family. I choose to be organized. I choose to be excellent in everything I do, and try to do it to the best of my ability, and not just give a half-assed effort. I choose to be clean and not messy. I choose to make up my bed. I choose to wear make-up.  I choose to make decisions that would be for my betterment, which would make my life easier, more organized and happy. That requires being controlling of those choices.

I am not perfect. I make mistakes. I’m often led astray by my emotions, but at least I have them. Most of all, I take responsibility for my actions, my reactions, and my choices.  It’s not ANYONE or ANYTHING else’s fault for the choices I make.  My excuses are not found in a pill bottle or the bottom of a glass, in my unfair genetics, my weaknesses are not in the inability to say “NO” to myself or anyone else.  If that makes me controlling to be able to say NO when needed,  or YES when needed, and know the fucking difference… then I choose to be controlling instead of controlled by addictions and weaknesses.

I’m surrounded by excuses every day. I hear them stemming from one addiction to the next, whether it be from drugs, cigarettes, food, or just the need to be touched and loved.  That’s another thing for which I have no control.  Sometimes I just need to be held and told that I’m loved, and if I had any fucking control I would be held every day and told every day that I am loved, and wanted, and needed, and appreciated.  So much for my fucking control!

There is one thing I will NEVER do, and that’s be somewhere I’m not wanted, force someone to do what they don’t want to do, or try to manipulate them to do it.  I have had to sit in silent torment as I have had to walk away from being unwanted or stood still as others have chosen to walk away from me for that very reason – that clear example of lack of control. Anyone in my life is free to leave at any time they no longer want to be there. I will never stop them or make them stay. I cannot make them love me or want to be with me.  I have no control – which is ironic for someone accused of being so ‘controlling’. 

~T.L. Gray

The Whimsical World of T.L. Gray - The Story, My Story, Cheerleading

Casey’s Ridge in New Caney, Texas didn’t offer much in the way of success and progress, especially in education, recreation, and culture. It was a river town filled with bikers, junkies, squatters, and drug dealers. There were a few old people left from a time when the community was a thriving hub of trade along the San Jacinto River, but that had long since dried up from the Houston suburban sprawl knocking at its back doors with its golfing communities and state-of-the-art shopping malls. There were no local gymnastics classes, public pools, greenbelt trails, recreation fields for football or baseball, no track, no tennis courts, and no gyms for basket or volleyball like its neighbors in Kingwood. No, Casey’s Ridge had none of that on the north side of the river, lingering on the edge of the county line. The only recreation found was a civic center where the old people would play a mean game of Bingo on Friday nights and a little biker bar right off Hwy 1485.

I was no fool. At the age of ten, I was old enough that the golden sunny haze of imagination and fantasy began to give way to the dull, dark gray skies of truth. I hated what I witnessed. This was about the time I began to hate and mistrust men, well humanity in general. When I was eight, my third-grade teacher Mrs. Akers told me that I could be anything I wanted; I just had to first see the truth of things and then make a plan of escape. Those words still stick with me today. I made to vow to myself, and the invisible god that damned everything that I wasn’t going to become like my surroundings. I wasn’t going to be hooker, a drug addict, or dealer, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to abuse and neglect my children. No, I was going to get out of that life and fly away from the nightmare. I fell in love for the first time, with a man in a red cape. I wanted him to swoop down out of the sky and save me from the beatings, the gun violence, the drugs, and the late night visits.  Superman was my best hope at this time, but since he wasn’t a real character, I focused instead on school, martial arts, and cheerleading.

It’s not to say that I didn’t give God a chance during this time in my life. The Christians at school always seemed to be happy, have good, loving parents, got to dress up in pretty dresses and go to church on Sundays. There was a little blue school bus that drove through our neighborhood every Sunday picking up the Ridge Rabble, as we were called. So, I decided that maybe if I caught that little blue bus to the Porter Baptist Church, things would change, because then God would see what was happening and save me, like I kept hearing. So, I studied the times and routes of the blue bus for a couple of weeks before I finally dared to make my bold move for salvation. I got myself, and my four brothers, dressed in the best clothes we had. I was a tomboy and didn’t wear dresses, but I borrowed a sundress from my neighbor across the street, Stacy Stowe. She was a tomboy too, but her grandma made her wear a sundress on Sundays. Dressed in my Sunday best, I stood outside on the street, holding tightly to my brother’s hands and we caught the little blue church bus that morning.

Now, I had no idea where that bus was going to take me, or when or if it was ever going to bring me back. From my reconnaissance mission the weeks before, it always seemed to bring back the kids it picked up earlier, so I was confident we’d at least make it back home. We traveled a good distance to the nearby town of Porter to a little Baptist church. It had a main building for the sanctuary and then a gym for the Sunday School. After listening to some loud gospel music where people often clapped and shouted, we were then separated from the adults and led out to the gym. At first I was really worried because they wanted to separate me from my brothers and put us in different classes by our ages. I didn’t like not being able to see them or keep an eye on them. They were often a rowdy bunch, and needed someone there to keep them in line. I couldn’t image the damage they’d do to that fine church out of sight, but I relented and went into my own classroom.

So far, I liked this church. They gave me a brand new bible and a paper bag full of goodies, such as candy, pencils, and a little hand held toy game. All I had to do was memorize a Bible passage and it was mine. John 3:16 – “For God so loved the world that He gave his only begotten son, that whosoever believes in Him shall not perish, but have everlasting life.” In no time at all I was holding my brand new King James Bible and a brown sack of goodies. But, things didn’t stay fun for too long. Because then the weird psycho stories started. I remember shutting down and putting my psychological walls up when the teacher started talking about how we ‘owed’ Jesus our love and trust because he was beat and died for us. I remember my thoughts looking at that teacher and wondering if she’d ever been beat in her life, and how silly it was that she thought I was going to simply love and trust someone I never met who didn’t do any more for me than I did for my brothers on a regular basis. To protect them, I remember getting beat so bad by my dad one time with a hickory stick, ‘til it broke and he started using his fist, that I was out for almost four days. Hell, Jesus was only dead for three before he came back. But, I did appreciate the idea of him placing himself in danger for someone he was supposed to protect. I got that. I related to that. That is where the teacher should have stopped because she completely lost me when she started talking about having to be washed in the blood to be cleansed of my sin. I was ready to find my brothers and get the hell out of there, ‘cause nobody was going to be putting their blood anywhere on me or my brothers, no matter if we were dirty or not.

Of course, later in life I now understand what this teacher had been referring, but to a ten-year old abused waif of a child, I thought Christians were a secret alien race, much like the t.v. show “V”, where they had human faces, but were reptiles beneath, with all their talk of washing with and drinking blood, and eating flesh. I didn’t care too much for religion in my life. On one hand there were ignorant people who called me names, a thief, and a crook for one faith, while another one wanted to save, but not really save because I still had to live and go through all the shit I was going through, and then do some bathing in blood. Nope, I didn’t want anything to do with gods or religion. I just wanted to get out of Casey’s Ridge and get away from my family and become everything they were not. So, I turned to martial arts, gymnastics and cheerleading.

Texas football is serious business, and so is their competition cheerleading. There were trophies to win and scholarships to earn, and a social status to maintain with it. So, for the next few years while I survived hurricanes, tornadoes, gun fights, dog fights, and being an Anderson, the daughter of a drug dealer, I focused on cheerleading. I learned so much for being a part of a team, having pride in something, being good at something. All those things cheerleading taught me were never a part of what home taught me. To some it was simply a social status. For me, it was my salvation. It gave me the tools and courage I needed to rise above, the fight for something, to set and achieve goals. I will always cherish the little time I got to train in martial arts and gymnastics, and I will always treasure the time I spent as a cheerleader. It’s who I was, inside and out, and who I still am. I am still a cheerleader to myself and to those in my life. Casey’s Ridge is still in the same place, filled with a lot of the same people, but I’m not there anymore. I cheered myself out of that place, and developed a strength inside that gives me the power to cheer myself out of any situation.  I may not currently live in Casey’s Ridge, but still often face different forms of chaos. It’s fine. “Ready, Set, Okay!” is strong within me.

This is the story. This is my story. This is my life.

Till next time,

~T.L. Gray ©2017

The Whimsical World of T.L. Gray - The Story - My Story - Chick-O-Sticks, Sunkist and Gas Lines

In life, what you really want will never come easy.  It is full of chaos and a series of moments.  Some days it seems nothing happens. Other days it seems to be filled with more than I can bear.  Some days I feel I can conquer the world and nothing is impossible. But on those “other” days, I fight just to breathe from the weight of the pressure. Somewhere in the middle is the truth. Within those days is where memories are made, nightmares are hidden, hopes are born, love blooms, and dreams are dreamed.

One of those moments that stand out in my mind is an everyday moment. It’s nothing big or tragic, only a simple amber moment in the middle of black period. It’s a sense-memory moment, one where you smell something, taste something, or see something that makes you think of something else, or takes back to a time and place in your amber-colored past. Have you ever wondered why memories are sometimes colored in amber?  I wonder sometimes if that’s a product of our cinematic age, or vice versa.  Anyway, one of those sense-memories has captured a simple day in my chaos-ridden past. It seems to be a good day, a simple day in the life of the early 80’s. This memory is often triggered by Chick-O-Sticks, Sunkist and gas lines.  Come along for the ride.

Silver squiggly lines snaked across the pavement on Highway 1485, just past the bridge that crossed over the San Jacinto River, in New Caney, Texas. It was hot outside and extremely humid.  I wore a flowered sundress, which wasn’t normal for me being as I was the biggest tomboy around. I usually sported shorts, tank tops, flip-flops (if I wore shoes at all) and had my long, brown hair in a ponytail.  But this day I had on a sundress and sat in the back of a Chevy Malibu in a long line at the neighborhood gas station.  The windows were rolled down and I sat with the door opened, staring at the mirage on the pavement. It seemed sitting in a long gas lines was one of the weekend neighborhood get-togethers.  Everybody was there, friends, neighbors and strangers.  New Caney was about a half-hour north of Houston and Trinity Bay at Galveston Beach just along Interstate 59.  It wasn’t a strange site to see cars loaded down with surfboards waiting in the gas lines with everybody else. 

On this particular day, sometime in the summer of 1980, I was nine years old, the Beach Boys’ Good Vibration played on the radio, and I was eating Chick-O-Sticks and drinking an orange Sunkist soda.  It was a full time job saving up and scrounging for change for my weekly indulgence as we waited in the long gas line.  I dug in couches, checked ashtrays and floorboards in cars, phone booths, and under the washing machines at the laundry mat just to have the $0.75 cents I needed. My drink cost $.50 and the Chick-O-Sticks were $.05 each and I always had to have five of them.

This was a time right before my mom starting getting sick and losing her ability to walk to Multiple Sclerosis.  She was so young and vibrant and very sociable.  I can still see her standing in front of the Malibu, talking to some people standing outside their Volkswagen, smoking a joint.  She wore cut-off blue jeans, had a bikini tank top, and wore a big sun hat.  I wonder if that’s why I like big hats. I never thought about that.  I remember her smile, she had s distinct smile. I see that smile sometimes in the mirror or in my selfies, complete with the gap between my two front teeth.  My mother had that same gap, the same high apple-round cheeks, and the same thin lips. I look a lot like my mother, at least how she looked then in my memory.  Our differences are her long, thick, dark hair.  I always envied her hair, full of body, wavy, and beautiful. I have baby-fine, straight, limp hair.  This day she wore it in braids that hung down the side of her face beneath her straw beach hat.  She was dancing.  She was laughing.  She was so full of life and energy.  My mother was beautiful when she smiled.

My mother didn’t smile often in my memories and maybe that’s why this one is so special to me. Life was hard at this time, the economy was bad, and my dad wasn’t around for a while. I think this was a time he was away in jail. It didn’t matter we were poor. It didn’t matter what struggles we faced.  It was the weekend and I was happy to be sitting in that gas line, listening to the Beach Boys on the radio, eating my Chick-O-Sticks, and drinking my cold, orange, Sunkist, in my summer dress.  Every time I hear that song, see Chick-O-Sticks in a store, or Sunkist I am instantly teleported to that time and place in history.  Life is hard, and while some days are battle days, other days are Sunkist days.  No matter how nasty, mean, and sick my mother became, that’s not how I want to remember her. I’m hoping wherever she is now in whatever afterlife exists, she’s dancing around in cut-off shorts, a bikini tank top, with braids and a sunhat, and has a big, beautiful, gap-toothed smile on her face.

This is the story. This is my story.  This is my life.

Till next time,

~T.L. Gray ©2017

I Am the Biggest Fool

I am fool. I am a fool because I care and love those who are even bigger fools than myself. I’ve always heard a phrase that God watches over fools and idiots. He must have a league of angels watching over me.

I’m not unintelligent. I’m not naïve. I see what’s around me. The world is an ugly mess. People are an ugly mess. I try so hard to be something beautiful in this gray world, but sometimes I get tired of carrying that light.  Yet, I’m a strong person because I’ve been forced to shine that light for myself, find my way out, and put up my guards and shields all my life. Yet, poison still gets in. I open the door to danger. I invite in chaos. Why?  Because of love.

Not because of others loving me, or that I’ve fallen into that crazy, wild love and can’t see what’s around me, or that I’m refusing to see the truth. No, I see the truth and walk in it anyway. THAT’s why I’m a fool.  I’m in love with what can and will never be in love with me, who chooses the company of vampires and leeches over me.

But I deserve better than this.  What about me?

I remember another God moment, where I was on my face, nose in the carpet, pouring my heart out and praying for my kids, my ex-husband, my church, my friends, my job, etc. 

When I was done unloading all that worry, I heard a whisper calmly ask me a simple question.  “If you knew one of your children were starving, hungry, and in pain, what would you do for them?”

I answered, “Anything, well, anything that would help them, even if it was hard for them, hard for me, or misunderstood.”

The whisper replied, “If they were in danger, would you risk your own life to save them?”

Without hesitation, I answered, “Yes. Always.”

There was a long silence. Whisper said to me, “You are my child, and you’ve neglected yourself trying to take care of everyone else.  You’ve ignored your needs, buried your wants, and your soul is starving for the love it needs.  You’ve abused my child long enough. I won’t tolerate it anymore.”

I felt so ashamed, because I had ignored myself. I’ve always done whatever to survive, to meet what everyone else needed, because I was in need. I knew what it felt like to be hungry, so I spent more than 17 years feeding the poor.  I knew what it felt like to be unloved as a child by your parents, so my heart reached out to any unloved kids that crossed my path – I still do. I knew what it was like to be pregnant and alone, so I opened my home to a pregnant stranger. I knew what it was like to not have a friend in the whole world, have someone to help me in a time of need, so I became the kind of friend I needed.  But, it doesn’t come without a cost.

A friend posted a meme on their Facebook wall the other day that said, “I want someone to look at me and say, ‘Damn, that’s mine!’ and just be proud to have me.”  I responded with a simple, “It’ll never happen.” A complete stranger sent me a message that had me crying in the middle of my shift at work. I hid the tears as much as I could, but I couldn’t help feel the pain, a pain that I’ve been stuffing down and trying to ignore.  This stranger messaged me, “…you’re a very attractive woman. So, maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, maybe not even this year, but you’ll find someone who’s proud to call you theirs.”

What this stranger doesn’t realize is that I have MANY people in my life who love me, even more that respect me, and I’m not in want for friends. Remember, I’ve spent my life being a good friend. But, no one has EVER claimed me as theirs – not my parents, not my family, not my ex-husband, not any of ex-boyfriend’s – who are still my friends because they love me as a person.  I’m great to love – as a friend, to depend on, to respect, to turn to, to be there when no one else will, but… to love me – the woman?  I’m turning 46 years old next week, and I’ve only ever felt truly loved once in my life… for just a very brief moment and then he died.  Loved …for ME.  In love …WITH me.  I’ve been in love 4 times, but only deeply, madly, crazy in love once. But, they didn’t want me.  They love me, but not how I love them. They choose their chaos over me.

I’ve been neglecting myself again, putting myself on the back burner to focus on others and their needs. There’s always a reason. There’s always a need.  All the reasons are good, but it doesn’t mean they’re not interfering. When do I matter? When does what I need and want matter? Life is shit. Life is chaos. There will ALWAYS be something – but WHEN do I put me first again?  I have needs too.  I’m such a fool. I’m not naïve. I know the reality of my situation. I know that I’m loved, but unloved.  I’m not blind. I see more than I let them know I see. I’m not stupid, either. Just because I don’t expose what I know is in the dark, doesn’t mean I’m unaware. I just choose to be a light, something positive, and spread a message of hope instead of judgment. I choose to focus on what’s important.  I love because I need love. I help because I need help.  I’m friendly because I’m lonely. I give, because I’m empty.  I go without so others won’t. I have to believe it’s not for nothing. I’m not stupid. I know I will not be chosen. I will be left behind for the vampire, for the leech, for the lotus flower, for the opportunity, for the drug, for the convenience, for the addiction, for the easy way, for the simpler path …. I always have been, especially by those who claim to love me most. It’s hard to love me. 

My whisper, my God, my love watches over me. They have to, because I’m the biggest fool. 

“Someday when my crying’s done, I’m gonna wear a smile and walk in the sun. I may be a fool, but darlin’ you’ll never see me complain, ‘cause I’ll do my cryin’ in the rain.” ~Jaime Ellis

Till next time,

~T.L. Gray

The Whimsical World of T.L. Gray - The Story - My Story - Meeting God

Everyone has their own journey, their own experiences, and their own meeting God moments.  As a human being, there comes a time in our lives when we face our mortality and understand that our time and presence is limited on this rotating rock.  We finally see how small we are compared to the vastness of the universe. Or we finally understand the physics that the world doesn’t revolve around us. Yet “our” worlds do revolve around us, we are at the center of it, and everything that happens to us or comes from us, stems from the center of our being.  We don’t experience what’s going on across the universe – only what is within our scope, our reach, and our influence.  Some of us have a very limited reach, while others have a vast one, but we all have one, even if it’s only within ourselves.

I’ve heard the name of God my whole life. Most often in a damning expression when something went wrong or someone was angry, or when danger was present, which was during most of my childhood.  God was damned about every four to five words that escaped the cigarette or joint-ridden mouths of my parents. The concept that while God gave life to all things, my parents were ultimately responsible for my birth, and they alone had the right to take that life from me should they choose. I do believe the words were, “I brought you into this world, and if I damned-well please, I’ll take you out of it.” Have you really thought about the phrase ‘damned-well’?  That’s an oxymoron.  Nothing damned is well.

I’ve had a few meeting God moments, but one stands out in particular.  It wasn’t when I died after being attacked by a Doberman Pincher at age 5, or when I rode on top of a car through a barbed-wire fence, or when I fell off the back of a pick-up and got ran over, or any of those life-threatening moments. No, Meeting God moment that sticks out to me was a happy moment, a peaceful moment, a vision of beauty and grace, surrounded by nature and probably one of the first instances of human love.

I was about five years old. From my life time-line, this was some time after the burned-down house, the place where my little yellow canopy bed was destroyed and where I was attacked by the dog following my fifth birthday, and some time before we moved to Texas where I started Kindergarten, so sometime before my 6^th birthday.  We lived on what my parents refer to as ‘the farm’.  I’m not sure what the farm really looked like because my memories are brittle pieces. I do remember some scenes, such as a log shack with a fold up cot me and my brothers would play in, until we got bed bugs.  This is the place I learned about chiggers, muddy wells, horses, and how to hoe a vegetable garden, and the first time I heard the name William Smith.  I’m still not sure who he was, only that he was on the farm with my family, had dark-curly hair, and couldn’t ride a horse. 

Next door lived an old black couple. I wish I could remember their names, but I can’t.  I do, however, remember their hands, and their smiles, and their chickens, and their red-painted barn.  I remember happiness riding on the back of an old Chevy pick-up truck, (my father hated Fords – so it isn’t ironic that I grew up loving them) through bumpy, dusty, red clay dirt roads and mazes of corn. To this day I still love riding down winding dirt roads among corn fields. Our old neighbors had a bunch of chickens that ran around the yard. I loved chasing them, feeding them, picking their eggs, and then running from them as they chased me back.  It was carefree fun. It was a moment I got to just be kid. I didn’t have many of those moments, but that was one of them.  The old lady, who I will call Henrietta, told me stories about the farm, about her animals, about love, and about God.  I remember her telling me that God was watching me, and watching over me, and sending angels down to protect me. It as a nice thought because I always felt danger. 

I remember my Meeting God moment.  I was lying in the deep green grass next to Fred and Henrietta’s red barn.  A tin pail sat beneath a water spigot that dripped crystal drops in a constant rhythm, creating a harmony with the universe, with the birdsong, with the wind that swayed the tops of trees.  It was like the universe in that moment was singing a universal song and they had allowed me to hear them, to see them worshiping in harmony with the sun, the grass, the wind, the trees, the air, the animals, all of life and all of nature, and even with a little five-year old girl lying in the grass, touching their cool with the tips of her little fingers.  I turned my head to the side and watched a tiny ant meander through the forest of blades and wondered if he knew he was being watched, if he realized how small he was to the world I knew? Wondered if this was how God watched over me? 

I looked into the sky above me, realized how small I was in the universe, and tried to imagine the world beyond the clouds, beyond space, beyond everything – not in distance, but in reality, beyond deeper than what we could see, and wondered if that’s where God lived and if he could see me on this side of the veil, to see little ol’ me lying in the grass. I can still feel the warm tears slide out the corners of my eyes and trickle down the side of my face as I yearned to know THAT God.  Not the god of my father, not the god that damned everything, not the god that people were killing for, but the God that all the universe was apart, the God that watched over me and sent his angels to protect me. I wanted to know him with all of my being, all of my heart, and all of my hope. I believe I met God in that moment. I believe that He heard me, and He touched me, and He smiled because He loved his creation, and his creation loved him back.

After that moment there would be many angry times, hurt times, and lots and lots of doubting. There still are because life is hard, it is complicated, and it’s formed with many different levels and layers. But, anytime I stray too far from my faith, I’m always drawn back to that moment, back to that Meeting of God, and I’m reminded of that experience and my faith is restored. I still have lots of doubts. I still believe with my whole heart that we’ve got it all wrong, for the most part, when it comes to God. I hate religion.  I hate the things men do in the name of God. I hate the way humanity treats one another.  But, sometimes I get a glimpse of the beauty of nature, of the universe, and even of humanity and am reminded that God is love – and love (not the world’s version of love, but pure love) is not of this world, is not of nature, but it is something more, something beyond the veil, something I can’t really describe because it must be experienced to understand.  I’m never afraid to meet God, but of man I am terrified.

The Farm was a brief happy moment in my life.  I always think of it with a smile every time I smell burning wood, or see a corn field, or a red barn, or chickens, or a tin pail, or a water spigot, or a horse.  Many nightmares follow the Farm, but that’s another part of this story. This is where I met God.

This is the story. This is my story.  This is my life.

Till next time,

~T.L. Gray ©2017

The Whimsical World of T.L. Gray - The Story - My Story - My Play Time

While my childhood is riddled with lots of darkness, it’s also filled with lots of adventure and play time.  My imagination may be the cause of my greatest pains, but it’s also the source of my greatest joys.  Despite the realities of my situation, when left alone, I was a happy kid.  My happiest memories are playing in the woods across the street from my house in New Caney, Texas. 

I lived at the end of Idlewild Road on a half-acre lot in what started as a two room shack with no running water or indoor plumbing.  A man named Greg from Wisconsin lived next door and the Janosek’s lived on the other side, the Stowe’s lived across the street.  Greg was a novelty, having come from a place that made me think of stinky cheese and maple syrup.  Listening to him talk about how his family harvested the sap from maple trees shed a positive light to a name I had been given and would come to hate.  The Janosek’s were everything I wanted and hated because they had what I didn’t have - two parents that worked ‘real’ jobs and a little girl that played with Barbie dolls, wore pretty little dresses, and had birthday parties, a beautiful yard of green manicured grass, and a vegetable garden.  The Stowe's had about dozen dirty little children with elderly parents that often ran wild and free. We had a dozen pit bulls and a yard full of broken-down cars, and a long list of Mexicans and Rednecks coming in and out on a regular basis as my dad started working his way up the ranks with the cartel.

Though I could see the reality of my situation, I also dreamed of escape.  That house of danger became my playground.  The top of the outhouse became my castle’s keep, the fence my city walls, the driveway my drawbridge. The ditch, filled with tadpoles and crawfish when it rained, became my moat teaming with monsters.  The roads were to the paths to other kingdoms, and the woods, oh, the woods became my refuge, a place I got lost for hours, where I could run among the animals, swing from the, and build  places of safety and solitude where I could escape, where I could hide.  In my woods I wasn’t Sap, the drug-dealer’s daughter. I was a warrior, a king.  I never played a princess, because I didn’t believe in being rescued.  I was Robin Hood, I was Lancelot, I was Elliot, I was Luke Skywalker, I was Wonder Woman, I was Evel Knievel, I was MacGyver, I was Magnum P.I., I was Remington Steele, I was  Three-Eyed Willie, and the Three Musketeer’s, and then I was all the characters I began to create.  I ventured to the Island of the Magic Apple Tree, Magic Island.  This is where Lemuria and Montes Lunae and my Necromancers - Gabriel, Azrael, and Sybil Claire were born.  These were the beginnings of my stories, and the expressions my imagination. 

My play time was my freedom; freedom from chores, freedom from responsibilities, freedom from pain, from abuse, from smoke-filled back rooms and mid-night visits.  I fell in love with Superman, wanting more than anything for him to come out of the sky and fly me away.  No one could hurt him. No one could force him to do what he wanted. He had no parents. He had no siblings. He had amazing powers and strength.  I loved him and Jesus, because I needed to be saved.  Neither saved me; I learned how to save myself.

This is the story. This is my story.  This is my play time. This is my life.

Till next time,

~T.L. Gray ©2017