Saturday, March 04, 2006

DO WE SKIP THE LITTLE THINGS WE SHOULD BE GRATEFUL FOR?


As I lay in bed the other night, saying my prayers as I usually do, I began to think of how cozy I was under my covers. I usually fall asleep praying, I guess I'm not a real attentive conversationalist, when it comes to my talks with God every night. But it comforts me, my prayers, and in turn I think the Spirit calms me and allows me to go to sleep. As I was saying, I was cozy under the covers, on an especially blistery night. Long Island had just received a whopping 22 inches of snow and brother it was cold. I began to pray, not the usual prayer but one of simple thanks. The fact that I'd been healthy enough to work, having Hep C, to buy the very bed I was in, (with a little help from Mom and Dad, I bought a matching dresser), and sheets, this was a feat in itself. The down filled comforter that enveloped me was lovingly sent to me by my Mother cause I didn't even have a blanket. No, actually, after leaving prison, I'd started over from scratch, so I especially appreciated all the possessions I had. They may have been a mere accumulation but they were mine. God had taught me this lesson too, to appreciate even the little things, as I'd been completely stripped of all my worldly possessions as well as my pride, dignity and self righteouness. On top of that comforter from Mom, is a beautiful patchwork quilt, given to me by my oldest son, Lee. So, here I was, warm and snuggly and I began to revisit a time when I wasn't warm and snug but out in a blizzard trying to do what I had to do to get some heroin. I had to walk across town and I was so cold and sick, so very sick that when I walked over a bridge crossing the Conwango river, I stopped and looked over the side. I watched as ice jams flowed and wondered if the water was cold enough that if I jumped in, would it immediately take my breath away and take me under. In my journey that night, just a few streets up, I had to cross another bridge, that same river. Four times that night I crossed those bridges as I backtracked in the cold with one bag of heroin to split with my husband, I, always having to do the dirty work to feed his addiction too. Each crossing, I stopped and contemplated my life and how utterly disgusting and horrible it was. I was so sick, I could hardly walk and every step in the deep snow felt like four. As I came to the last bridge, still 1/4 mile from home, I knew this was the last chance to do this. Satan tried to talk me into it so badly that I began to throw my leg over the bridge to climb over and jump. But a car was coming, so I stopped. I hadn't seen any cars, that's how bad it was out. The temperature was 22 degrees with a wind chill of -7 that night and nobody in their right mind, except me would be out. The car slowly drove by, an older gentleman and he smiled at me. Something warmed my heart at that very moment and I began to cry. I stood there in a blizzard and wept tears that had welled in my charred black soul. I wept so hard it was painful, so painful, I fell to the ground on my knees in the deep snow. At that very moment my soul cried out for help for the first time. Oh, I'd asked God to help me get another bag of heroin. I'd asked him to let me die from a hot sack, a bag that is sold as heroin but contains poison or is too strong and you just stop breathing. But never before had I cried out from the depths of my soul, a scream for help, only heaven could have heard. I don't really remember too much more of that walk home except I was so cold I was numb and the hill we lived at the top of felt like Mt. Everest, I fell twice trying to climb it. I had to wipe away the tears and gather myself before I went in the house. My husband took most of the heroin and after we were used to doing 5 bags a day this little bit, was hardly noticed. I had to wake up the next day to the same dilemma, the same guilt, shame, pain and sickness. This was my hell.
Not long after that, I was sent to jail and through a chain of events that only God himself could configure I was held in jail for more than 2 months. Long enough to kick heroin. It was an awful experiance and I went through hell. I even had a seizure before they finally realized just how sick I was and got me on blood pressure medication. God heard me cry out. He gave me that jail sentence and the gift of walking away from heroin and my husband who'd been more than abusive. Not long after I went to prison. He gave me that too. A gift. That gift wasn't wrapped up in a pretty box with a big red bow but it was exactly what I needed, what I had to have.
As I lay cozy, warm, not hungryor dope sick, saying my prayers, I again thanked him for all the miracles big and small. I thank him for forgiveness and I am so grateful.

1 comment:

NicoleW said...
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