Mechanism of Change
Michael R. Doody
Mechanism of Change
Michael R Doody
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2008 Michael R Doody
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Dedicated to the heart of love, the faith that I will find it and the promise of God that I will – despite everything I have done to destroy that which is my birthright.
Contents
I don't typically share my writing. My writing is intensely personal, and in that I do not guard my emotions. This piece was written for a variety of reasons, none of which make much sense now. I let the one person whose opinion I respect most in the world review this manuscript. Her comment was, "I hated it. It made my flesh crawl. It was like walking in on someone using the bathroom."
Since that first encouraging review I have had several others like it. One person commented that it was an exercise in bashing my ex-wife; that plain mystified me because at best, my ex-wife is anecdotal to the story. Another commentator told me that they felt violated by reading some of what I wrote. They thought it was far too personal an account. Oh well, so much for critics. You see, I didn't write this book for critics. I wrote it for me. It was the only way to express decades of disillusionment. More importantly, this story (which is true) details a specific struggle that I fought my entire life.
When you become a Christian, you are filled with hope, and you believe you have a new life. That's true. What you don't count on is that certain elements of your old life come through the conversion with you. They're meant to. When you become a Christian you are saved (which means by Christian terms that everything you've done in your past is forgiven and your life is a clean slate). The part that wasn't explained to me is a longer road of sanctification. Sometimes, that is known as "the Roman Road". The Roman Road refers to the bitter trials and horrific persecutions faced by early Christians at the hands of Roman torturers. The idea being, the Romans wanted Christians to denounce Christ; when they wouldn't they suffered incalculable horrors. The road to sanctification is difficult at best. But it is the only road one can take to find true peace, which is the gift of God.
Even though I did not know at the time, soon after my conversion I embarked on the Roman Road. Some of the evil elements of my old life joined my new life after conversion. That is the nature sanctification. In rejecting your old life, you claim your new life. Sound easy? Well, let me tell you what the single biggest issue in my life has been. I've always struggled with suicide. In my mind (before conversion) the question was never if I would commit suicide -- it was when I would commit suicide. My best friend committed suicide when he was 28. I can't recount all of the ways I lived a reckless life in order to facilitate the event. It never happened.
On the other hand the spirit of suicide was ever present even after my conversion. It actually became stronger after my conversion. God used a variety of tools to spiritually operate on a very sick soul. He and He alone, facilitated my healing. He used a sharp scalpel and very little anesthesia – her name was Mari. That person and my relationship with her are described in this book. However, this book has very little to do with my relationship with Mari. Rather, it is about an all powerful and personal relationship with a God, whom I did not believe in; His Son whom I blasphemed against; and His Spirit whom I thought was a side show act.
As you'll see the end result was that the spirit of suicide was broken in me and taken from me. I was healed and delivered. That was accomplished through a mechanism of change that I still don't understand. In retrospect, I often wonder what happened. How was this mechanism of change crafted specifically to destroy those areas in my life that sought to destroy me? There is no evidence that it ever happened, other than my testimony. There is no evidence other than the fruit formed on the tree that grew out of the experience. One of my best friends, who is a by the book agnostic scientist would tell you, this doesn't exist! He'd be wrong, but I couldn't tell him why. To this day, I can't explain it to myself.
Chapter One
If a man’s gift is prophesying, let him use it in proportion to his faith
If you are reading this then you’re supposed to be. But what is this? I will tell you what it is not. It is not a book. It is not a letter. It is not a technical manual. It is not a history. It is not a note. So what is it? It is a thing; A machine. You have entered it. If you go through the entire machine you will never be the same. This machine is made from the breath of God. As I write this, I am not so presumptuous as to think that I speak for God. But sometimes, on some occasions, He speaks through me. He spoke to me and gave me the blueprints for this machine. The blueprints are in my head. The machine is in these words.
This is a very special machine. It is a life-changing machine. You ingest the words in your mind, but they are planted in your heart and root in your soul. This machine was created for a single person. If you are using it, it is only because I chose to let you. In that decision, you can see the evidence of the work of this machine. This machine is a very intricate mechanism. It is designed to work subtly without you feeling it all at once. The change it produces is gradual – by the standards of the world. But one must always keep in mind that God does not exist by the standards of the world, but by His Word. He spoke you into existence. He spoke consciousness into existence. He spoke this intricate mechanism into existence. And this intricate contraption is His mechanism of change.
It’s turned on. You’re inside---or rather it is inside you. Working. Feverishly.
Sometimes you can see inside a man’s head. You know what he’s thinking by his demeanor - his attitude. Sometimes he’ll tell you what he’s thinking, sometimes not. No matter. Thoughts lay on the mind like weight lies on a scale. They push it out of balance. They register in some manner. Thought, at least heavy thought, can destroy the harmony and synchronicity of life. My thoughts have preyed on me my whole life. When things were going great, they were a governor on my happiness. When things were going bad they were a catalyst for drastic change. The majority of the time things were boring, and my thoughts were an escape hatch. Daydreaming huge portions of my life away got me caught in the flypaper of escapism. I daydreamed because I was bored. Losing that time to inaction, I did not advance, so I stagnated. In that stagnation, I stayed bored... a seemingly endless cycle.
I’ve spent a lifetime being me. It’s the one thing I have the greatest expertise in. I know every detail, every nook and cranny. I remember it all – or at least most of it. I live in the center of my universe – six inches behind my forehead. My perception comes from a variety of sources. Perception is the melding of the five senses, with the memories of the past as a filter, to create a mental and emotional picture of where I am in the present. Based on that perception, I make decisions that chart the course of my life. If I have failed in my life, I must look in part to those perceptions that preceded the failure. Why did I make such horrendous life changing decisions at certain points in my life? How did my perception become so distorted as to allow for certain personal catastrophic failures? The answers will determine the rest of my life. Wrong answers mean the continuation of slavery to many personal demons. Correct answers mean freedom.
I am in the process of changing my perception as I write; the process of discovering the answers to perception. While my journey is not complete, it is underway. God intervened in my life to start the process. This work is mostly about Him.
The sometimes gentle, sometimes severe ways He has commanded my attention. The way He is taking over my life. The shift He has initiated in my perception. As I said, a man’s thoughts dictate his life for the most part. Until he is free of them. For me, that freedom came when God shifted the center of my life from my mind to my heart. That is the essence of this story. He started it through another human being. Her name is Mari Arden. These are the details of a perceptual shift through the great work of the Spirit, employing the mundane mechanisms of the flesh; and of course a miracle or two.
This testimony starts in the perceptual world of mid-August, 1999, Marietta Georgia. At that point, I brought 43 years of distorted perceptions to the table. My heart was black as coal and hard as a rock. Born again Christian. Born again hard. You will learn a great deal about me and my life through these pages. As I said, this is a testimony, not a confession. As pertinent supporting material from my life is required for explanation, I will give it. I don’t hide anything. Just remember that you are being led through a spiritual journey of growth and transformation - My spiritual journey. Maybe yours. The point is not to impress you with the former insanity in my life and the shift into Christian life. The point is to share something that I don’t understand; something that, perhaps - just perhaps – may happen to you. Perhaps – just perhaps – you may experience the same point of insanity that I reached. If so, you will move from the despair of insanity in the mind (and the insanity of worldly order and perceptions) to the curiosity of clarity in the Spirit (and the great liberation of love). That’s the hope I rest the remaining portion of my life on. Blessed be the name of the Lord for that hope. Holy is the Lord, for the great bounty He has chosen to provide us through miraculous mechanisms of change.
Chapter Two
...The gift followed many trespasses and brought justification
It is late Sunday afternoon mid-August, 1999. Warm, but not too. I am standing in front of a local upscale eatery outside a trendy mall. I am waiting. Four forty four PM. If my old man told me once, he told me a thousand times, “I’d rather be someplace 2 hours early than one minute late!” He meant it. He always had that fierce Yankee passion about everything. It was not that he was right about everything, just that he was committed to his opinion. He gave me that. It was reinforced from my seven years as an Air Force officer. Get there on time. Never, ever be late. Not acceptable. So, here I was, twenty minutes early for another date. Waiting.
I’ve had quite a life when it comes to dating, mostly because I have a personality which wars with itself constantly. At least I did in 1999. I have always been a very private person on the inside and a very personable guy on the outside. I am one of those people that you can meet somewhere and take an instant liking to. Good sense of humor, not overbearing, interested in you... However, that is just the appearance. I’m not really interested in you at all. As a matter of fact, my life would be just fine without you in it. I am interested in making sure that you have a certain perception of me; A perception that I create and then insert into your mind. I can do this in a variety of ways. It really depends on your personality. Do you like to be flattered?
Do you enjoy humor? Do you like to be taken seriously? Do you fancy yourself an intellectual? Are you shy? Outgoing? Doesn’t matter. I have always had the ability to read you like a deck of cards. Throw them on the ground. One by one, I’ll pick them up and tell you what they are. And when we meet, I can pick up on your psyche and tell you who you are.
Because of that, when we are finished talking, you will think of me exactly what I want you to think of me. Then we can go our separate ways. If we meet again, ok. If not, ok. I have an unlimited number of minds to mold in my physical journey through this world. There is one thing I will guarantee. You will never know who I am. Really know who I am. I won’t let you; At least not in 1999.
Now remember, this is a Sunday in August. 1999. And I am waiting.
Imagine yourself sitting in the middle of a gymnasium. You are sitting on a huge mirror and can see yourself. You’re sitting crossed legged – Indian style in the center of this big mirror and you notice you have a rather large hammer in your hand. You get a compulsive urge. You lift the hammer over your head and bring it down hard into the polished image of you in that mirror. Glass shatters. Shards are everywhere. There is a thunderous noise. Some splinters cut your hand. You raise the hammer again and keep striking the mirror with all the force in your soul. Now you are moving around to slam unbroken parts of the mirror where you can still see your image. As it breaks up, the shards reflect hundreds of images of you and you get more and more infuriated, swinging the hammer harder. As you’ve moved over the broken mirror you’ve been cut terribly and your blood is everywhere. You are wounded, exhausted and reflected in a thousand pieces of shattered glass. That was how I felt standing there waiting.
It was warm that afternoon, but not too warm.
I had dated a little bit in my life, but only casually most of the time. Actually, on that Sunday afternoon, there had only been 3 women of consequence in my life. Two of them had hurt me terribly. I hurt the other terribly. Rather than ever go through this again, I was resolved to date. I did have one problem. I had become a Christian two years before, in 1997. I was completely committed to it. Jesus Christ was the only thing I had. The only person I had. The only hope I had. I did not understand Him very well at the time, but I had a complete commitment to be His. That’s where my problem came in. I had always been a very conservative person, in every way; especially sexually. In my youth, it was easier to do drugs or get drunk than to get sex - at least for me. With booze and drugs, I could acquire and get inspired...or so I thought. But with sex, you had to bring another person into the equation. That was too complex for me. I never had a desire to let anyone close to me. So I kept them away. As a 43 year-old man, I did not see that changing too much. The booze and the drugs had long since gone, but I was a more private person than ever. Scarred from decades of poor choices - life threatening choices. I felt I could be a great Christian and care for people – perhaps even learn to love them as the Word commands...As long as none of them got too close.
My problem was that I did have a desire for sex. I did not want to be celibate the rest of my life. The sticking point was that according to scripture, the only way to have sex was through marriage. As my story unfolds, you will see the positively hateful passion I had against marriage. I was completely against it. So, how to have sex, but not be married, and still remain faithful to the Word? I was going to have to work on that one.
The sun was dipping behind a hill in the distance... so beautiful; the heart of God preparing to rest for the evening. It was less warm - more comfortable. Glance at my watch... 5:05. Ok, she is officially late... bad sign. Women feel they have a right to be late. Most of them feel it is an obligation. Don’t know where they got that from. Well, she gets 30 minutes and then I’m gone. Actually, 25 minutes now.
I had dated casually over my life; usually first dates with only a very few seconds, mostly because I didn’t see the point. Second dates implied a third, etc... Mind control is more difficult over the long term. So the girl needs to be really special if I am going to invest that kind of energy. I hadn’t met very many special ones in my life - None as a Christian. As a matter of fact, as a Christian, my standards were so high I could not possibly see how any one else could come close to them. 5:15 - fifteen more minutes.
I had met Mari on line a few weeks earlier. We exchanged emails. She was certainly intelligent and seemed pleasant enough - certainly pleasant enough to share an upscale dinner with. A pleasant afternoon stop-over on a gentle Caribbean island, and then back to my incessant voyage of loneliness and isolation. It's not that I was being pessimistic or fatalistic; I was being me, realistic. And time is evaporating in the warm Sunday air... 5:25.
From across the parking lot I see a car pull in - Just a head for a second, shines through a glaring windshield, only to be blocked by the concrete abutments of the parking structure. Minutes go by. She’s out of the car. Yep...has to be her. She is walking toward me and we are about a hundred yards apart.
As she draws closer I pick up more of her features. She is a waif. Thin and finely sculptured; elegant. She carries herself with an uncommon style. I put on my smile as we get within shouting distance. I start to walk toward her. Physically, this woman is beautiful – at least to me. I am struck dumb. My mind races... “Well, at least this may be a pleasant dinner.” I do take stalk of appearance. I don’t judge people by it... but in this case she was magnetic to me. And as we were about to speak our first words... we were just feet from each other.... I sank into her dark eyes. I extended my hand—“Mari?” I said quizzically, with a pleasant smile on my face.
And as she opened her mouth all I could see were perfect teeth and her voice resonating in my being... “I’m so sorry I’m late.” The mechanism of change was upon me.
Chapter Three
See if there is any offensive way in me...
Standards, the harsh reality of standards. I have had standards all my life. No goals. Only standards. Standards of conduct and achievement that I imposed on myself. Standards that I could never meet. There was no way for me to measure goodness in my life for the majority of it. I had no goodness to measure. Goodness could only be achieved if I met my standards. But my standards have always been impossibly high.
Got and A! Should have gotten an A+. Did a lot of work today. Should have done more. Produced some fine ideas today.... But they aren’t jelling properly. My glass was never half full. It was always plain empty. Nothing could fill it.
My standards were not set by my parents.... Although they did have a hand in it. Rather, the group of people that populated my life - plenty of alcoholics, an army of liars, a legion of the depressed, and brigades of the distressed and the spiritually starved of the world set my standards. But this ragged army of reality was the world for me. These poor souls were my frame of reference. So I learned from them. Learned to be them. Became them. But I learned to be better then them because I was smarter and more driven. If these people were the emotional castaways of the earth, then I would outdo them. I would out lie them, out hate them and best them at every turn. I would be their king. And so, over the years, that is exactly what I did. My life, like theirs, was a façade. It was like the cheap veneer you see on an old diner countertop...while the counter beneath is stained with old soaked in coffee and ancient crumbs of rotting food. I was smart and relatively successful to most that I met. By the time I reached my 40’s I was able to captivate any audience. I had more stories to entertain and impress than any 10 men – most of them true. But you didn’t have to look too hard to find out that I was miserable. So, the solution to that was to not let anyone close enough to look at all. If they did, they would surely see the rotten substructure beneath freshly painted walls.
At 42, I became a Christian. Jesus Christ took me in. Somewhere in the first month of my conversion I was at a revival. Deep in prayer I saw this rotten black hulk that had been me, fall away from the center of my chest. A huge black piece of evil just plain came out of me under its own weight. I felt destroyed, because I knew that what had just left me was the core of my personality and I had no idea what would replace it. Then it happened again. And again. Staying deep in prayer, my body wretched out this black filth of evil that had coated my soul. For what seemed like hours. It was only minutes. Could have been an eternity. I was lost to time and in the presence of the Master. The Master Carpenter. He was rebuilding my life... but to do that, He needed to tear out the old and make room for construction.... So He started. That was two years before I reached out my hand to this lovely lady with alabaster skin standing in front of me apologizing.
I can read them. Always could. When I was young I found I had the knack. The gift. The sense. I developed it into a powerful weapon over the decades. Whenever I met anyone, or was at a social event, or in a bar, or you pick the place... I could read them all. Like a book. An open book with a lot of pictures. To say that I was spiritual all my life would be the understatement of yours. My whole life, from my earliest memories until now, has been focused on one thing.... God. In my search for God I took so many horrific wrong turns it almost killed me. One of the many was developing the talent, through latent psychic ability, to assess a person pretty much instantaneously. Now, you might say I was just making a snap judgment and labeling that person. And you would be wrong. How does a leopard spot its prey in the jungle night? Luck? Nope, instinct. A hunting instinct for survival. I had that and so much more. Through my time in the martial arts and my time in the black psychic arts, though years of violence and substance abuse, I pushed the envelope of survival. This one gift of insight had been the life raft that I lay on during the stay on the ocean of filth of my pre-Christian life. When I became a Christian, I could not just shut it off. But I did my best, without really knowing how to contain it. At the very least, I wouldn’t use it against people.
So my right hand is shaking her hand and my mind starts to race... I am collecting data. I want to shut it off, but it’s deafening. I need to talk--- to start transmitting so I block the reception. I have to say something, anything. So the second words out of my mouth to her were a lie. She was apologizing for being late and I say, “Oh, no problem. Don’t even think about it... I was just enjoying the day...”, and with that, I used my left hand in a sweeping gesture to point towards the door of the restaurant and give her the right of way in front of me; Always the gentleman.
She started telling me about the circumstance of her lateness. I feigned attention. I acted interested. But that was the façade. I was taking stock and gathering data. Mari was stunning to me. She carried herself with dignity and style.... But there were so many other nuances. I was overcome with input. In electronic warfare, which was my profession at the time, we call it barrage noise jamming. She was hitting me with overpowering input, but she was just chatting about being late.
We were now standing in front of the Mater De. “Good Evening” “Hi. Reservation for two under Doody.”
The restaurant was empty. It just opened. But he looks down like he is examining a long list of names... then says, “Certainly Sir. Right this way.”
He walks us to a windowish table and we are in the middle of an empty upscale restaurant. I follow Mari and pull her chair out for her.
“Oh... Thank you!” she says sweetly. “Of course...” I say nonchalantly.
The engagement has begun. I sit. There is a small slice of time and we are alone.
“This is a great place...I think you’ll like it.”
Mari looks back. “Oh yes, I really like it, they have the best deserts!”
Hmmm. She’s been here before. Well of course. I am sitting across from a woman that looks like a professional model. Is there any doubt that she has eaten in every upscale place in Atlanta? Probably in the US.... Maybe the world. I mean, I can’t take my eyes off her. Then, before I have to fill the moment with idle chatter, the waiter tactfully intrudes.
“Would you care for drinks?” And then he starts to drone on about the special. Mari orders water with a lemon twist. I get a fake beer.
Now that is a long story in itself. I’m an alcoholic. At least I was before the Lord delivered me from that curse. For some reason, I always liked the taste of beer. Even fake beer. I think it’s a vestige from my past. In the 70’s, in my heyday, when I was drinking, I felt immune. Immune and immortal. Nothing could touch me. Nothing could harm me. This fake beer was simply a talisman. A security blanket from an age gone by.
As the waiter left and the evening really started, I had to get down to business. Conversation. I was holding three of them. One with her, one with the demons of my past and one with the Lord. The overwhelming thing that struck me was not to lie. Not to exaggerate. Not to impress. To tell the truth, be measured and be gentle. This was from the Lord. It was a command from Him, not a strategy for me. For me to be like that in front of anyone was inconceivable to me. I always had an heir of arrogance...even in my Christianity. And most thought me aloof... because I would always stay just out of friendship distance. Just far enough away to be enticing but unattainable. However, in this case, the Lord was being real clear. Just be yourself. But I hardly knew who I was. Who am I Lord? Just don’t lie Mike.... Just don’t lie. Tell the truth. Always tell the truth.
Well, this will make for quite an interesting and singular evening. Tell the truth huh? Ok Lord. Let me start.
By this time we were discussing our Christianity. I knew she was a Christian before I agreed to the date. That was critical. I did not have time for goofing around.... We had chatted on the phone and knew a very, very little of each other’s background. But I was under marching orders. Be me and tell the truth. Hmmm... Bad combination.
The waiters back. With drinks. And now we order. Steaks. We both decide on steaks. And now the fun begins---looks like we have to talk. So I start. Truth.
“So Mari, have you ever been married?” What I really want to know is why you got divorced.
“Well, no.... I was engaged once, but we decided not to. Never married. I guess the Lord had other plans for me.”
Wow. Mind blower.... How could she have not been married? That doesn’t add up. She is stunning.... And no one has gotten through... No marriage.... What’s wrong with this picture?
“And you?”
Uh oh. Truth time Lord. Didn’t expect this one so soon. Well, might as well start off with all of it.
“Well, actually, I was married once but divorced twice. I was married in my 20’s and I thought marriage was forever. I was taught that. But in 1984, my wife got pregnant and decided to have an abortion. She did not want to be a Mom and sacrifice her career goals. And she didn’t want to have children with me...at least I think... she never really said that. So she aborted, against my will.... But I drove her to the clinic. At that point, we were over. It took another five years to finish it, but I checked out on that day. After that I dated and resolved to live with someone but never get married. In 1993 I met a minor local celebrity and we hit it off. We moved in together in 94 and had a common law marriage.... It fell apart and I had to sue for divorce. It was one of the defining moments of my life. Incredibly hard. I lost everything I owned.... was wiped out financially, and brought to my knees emotionally. I was really destroyed. But one good thing came out of it.... That’s when I became a Christian.”
I watched her eyes the whole time. She was listening... but there was no judgment there. She was just listening... OK Lord, that was the truth. Torpedo away.... That should be enough to scare her off....
“So, you have only been a Christian for a short while then?”
Oopps... second salvo on the way. Might as well get this all out in the open. Look, I’ll probably never see her again anyway after the marriage history. Plus, I have a steak coming, so that could be the highlight of the evening for me.... a good meal.
“Well, actually, yes. I became a Christian on July 21, 1997. I was in New Hampshire on a job interview and visiting with my sister. She was telling me about the Lord and how He could change my life, and I listened.”
“Wow that is great. What prompted you?”
Ok Lord, looks like this evening is never going to end and we are only 20 minutes into it.
“Well, I was a spiritual magician. Some people call it witchcraft. I was a professional psychic. I had been deeply involved in the occult since 1969 and my life was a huge spiral into hell. When my sister told me about the Lord, I didn’t really believe He would help me. I didn’t really believe Jesus existed. But she was always harping on it. So I got mad and took the dare. It was like a dare to me. I felt like I was beyond help, even from God. I certainly didn’t see how He could help me out of all the hell I was in. So I got mad at my sister and said – “Fine... if being a Christian will fix everything then let’s do it. Call your minister or somebody and I will become a Christian.”
Within the hour we were in a small church in Troy, New Hampshire and I was talking with a minister, his friend and my sister.... I took the step and became a Christian. The wild part was, it had an immediate effect and my life changed irrevocably from then on. I’ve never been the same. And I am completely committed to my faith. Also real conservative. Really, really conservative.”
I watched her eyes again. The whole time. Only interest. No judgment. Torpedo two fired electrically, hot and running. Ok Lord, have I left out anything that could be more damaging?
“So you were deeply involved in the occult? My lands! From 1969?”
“Well, yeah. I was in a Catholic Seminary at the time and was thinking about being a monk – one of the Brotherhood. That’s where I was introduced to all of it. Then I studied more as the years progressed and was very gifted at it. Plus, in the 70’s I did drugs and was drunk for most of the decade so it kind of facilitated my walk into the dark side.”
Ooppss. That kinda just slipped out. Drugs and alcoholism. Yeah, it was true, but not really necessary to blurt out... or was it? The Lord wants me to tell the truth. Oh well.... Torpedo three away.... On course... on target.
“Well, that is remarkable.”
“My checkered past. But the one thing it has all done... it has served to make me strong for the Lord. Strong in the Lord. I’ve got nothing else. He is all I want. So that is a blessing.”
And with that, the first true blessing of the night arrived. Our food. Gourmet and delicious... And for a second or two I did not have to talk. As the waiter left us with out dishes I asked, “Ok to pray?”
“You bet!”
She reached out and took my hand and bowed her head. Electricity filled my body.
“Lord, thank you for this food. And thank you for new friends and the ability to share our lives... that we may reflect on our past as you construct our future. For Your glory... Amen.”
With the end of the prayer we started to eat. We did chat a bit before the date. I knew she was from Omaha. “Well, being from Omaha, you should be a steak connoisseur!”
As she cut into her steak and took a bite, she smiled demurely. “Oh my, this really isn’t done very well... not cooked enough...”
“No problem... let’s just send it back.” “Well I hate to be a bother, but I’m not sure I can eat this...” “No bother, you should get what you want.”
And with that we had the waiter there and the steak on the way back to the kitchen. I was patting myself on the back for being such a considerate date and taking care of my social obligations with such aplomb.
You see, this was no small thing for me. My Dad was one of a kind. Growing up, I was imprinted with a wide variety of peculiarities from him. One was acceptance. It didn’t matter what the situation was, it applied to everything. Never, ever complain. Complaining was something that only whiners did. Accept your circumstance. Even if you weren’t happy with it. So what if you’re dissatisfied? You should be. That is the natural state of the world. My Dad would no more think about sending food back because it was unsatisfactory then he would think about walking naked downtown. Same level of embarrassment for him. I had picked that up. However, when Mari sent that steak back, although I was uncomfortable I thought, I want her to have exactly what she wants. So the steak went back and we had more time to talk. Uh oh. I figured I needed to move to something safe. Church stuff. Yeah that’s it. Church stuff.
“So, Mari, you are really involved in your church?”
“Oh yes. I go to a large church in north of Atlanta. It’s pretty big and I really like it. I just was involved in this production called “the Sabrina Fair”. A dinner party to bring people into the church and reach those who may not know the Lord. It was based on the movie Sabrina, if you’re familiar with that. I dressed up like a Jackie Kennedy type. It was a theme piece....”
“Wow, sounds wonderful”. And it did – as far as those things went; but it wasn’t my particular cup of tea. In any event, the more I looked at her, the more I could see the qualities in her face of a young Jackie Kennedy (which shouldn’t have impressed me since I was never a Kennedy fan). She chatted more about church and asked me about my involvement in church.
“Well, I’m really active in my church. I’m on the planning team, I produce services, I write for them, do multimedia and teach 2 small bible groups.” Fact was I was working about 40 hours a week for my church. I had been so destroyed by life over the past two years; I let the activities of the church consume me so I would not be tempted to slide back into my old lifestyle. It’d worked. I was transformed. But I was also very isolated. I had done that on purpose as well. I knew that if I got close to someone, a girl, then she would become a girlfriend. I also knew that would lead to sex. That would be outside the boundaries of the Book. So no social life equaled no girlfriend equaled no sex equaled no sin.... And that anchored me at the time. But boy was I lonely. As bad as this date was going for me – with me telling the highlights of an evil life in a 30 minute synopsis – I was still having a really great time. Sure, she would never see me again, but what the heck; I was really enjoying her company. Then the steak came back.
The waiter spoke ‘We left it on just a bit longer to make sure it was done.... Enjoy!”
“Oh thank you so much!” Mari replied sincerely. This girl seemed really genuine. If not, she had a real talent for seeming genuine.
I had not eaten my steak while we were waiting for hers, even though she told me to go ahead. It was the gentlemanly thing to do. So mine was cold now, but I really didn’t care. I wasn’t there for the food. I was there because for that one moment, I was able to sit and talk with an interesting person and not be alone. At least to me she was interesting and pretty. And I was not about to let cold steak dampen the night. I cut into mine as she took a bite of hers. Then I saw her face. On no! Don’t do it. I know you are going to. Don’t do it. I can’t bear it. Just don’t say it. Help me God... Too late.... She spoke...
“Goodness, this is really overdone... I think they’ve burned it. I can’t eat this one either. My lands, I never eat out like this and this is sooo expensive, I wonder if they can do anything.... I don’t want to waste this meal.... Do you suppose...?
I cut her off. “No problem at all... we’ll send it back. You should get what you want.” The spirit of my father menaced me from my right frontal lobes. Is she crazy? Sending it back once was bad... Twice is intolerable. They put people in prison for that kind of thing. Are you gonna let her do that Mike? But the part of me that is me decided to wrestle with this demon. Just shut up. I’ll pay for ten stakes if I have to. As long as she gets what she wants.... And with that I motion for the waiter. He can’t believe it either... but the steak heads back to the kitchen and we head back into conversation.
Mari looks over, “I’m sooo sorry, but I just couldn’t eat it like that.”
“Hey really, no need to say a thing. Customer’s always right. Plus you’re from Omaha right? No one from Omaha can eat a bad steak... I think it’s genetic. When you are raised on the best beef in the world, why settle for second best... no way.”
She giggled a bit and it eased the tension. Truth be told, my normal response, which would have been to freak out inside, was mitigated by my growing interest in this odd mix of personality I was sitting across from. I didn’t care what the chef or the waiter or any one else thought. I only cared what Mari thought. That was good enough. We have more time to talk so she asks me about my house. I am so at ease at this point I just launch into another bizarre story.
“Well, I just got my house to myself actually. I have a five bedroom three bath in east Cobb. When I got it back after court I let a family that was having a rough time of it move in with me rent free. We lived together about a year and a half so they could get back on their feet. I found out that they were doing drugs so I told them to give up the drugs or leave. They decided to leave. As a matter of fact, they all moved out just last week. So I have the place to myself.”
It really never occurred to me that each time I opened my mouth, one bizarre story after another was flowing forth. The bizarre seemed to be my normal realm. I was accustomed to it. She didn’t look upset. Besides, I had done what I was told to do... tell the truth. Plus, I knew the odds of seeing her again were about a billion to one. I mean, the rhythm of the conversation was always punctuated by some strange thing that was a circumstance of my life. Here’s an example. While we are waiting for the steak the third time, she tells me about her time as a flight attendant. I have two reactions. The first is internal and came from the flesh... I am physically attracted to her because she was a flight attendant. Don’t ask me why. Just some weird internal wiring I got along the way. Some people want to date movie starlets, I have always been attracted to flight attendants, and I never even knew one. So my reply during this portion of the conversation comes from my second reaction to flight attendants—my association of them to flight.
So I pipe up, “Wow.... stewardess! And traveled everywhere.... Great. I bet that was a lot of fun. Man... wish I could fly. I got in three plane wrecks in the Air Force and haven’t flown in a dozen years. I’ve tried everything.... Extensive therapy, hypnosis, drugs ... nothings worked... I have been stuck on the ground over a decade.... Pretty grim...” And then I proceed to tell about the details of some of the wrecks....like I’m having a flashback—which I am to some extent..... And all this is interrupted by the waiter and the Mater De and the Chef... with the new steak. They put it in front of her like homage to royalty. The Mater De speaks up. “We just want to make sure this is exactly right, so please taste it.”
Four people stare spellbound at Mari. She cuts into the meat. Lifts the piece to her mouth. It’s in there. She’s chewing....
“Oh this is just perfect... thank you ever so much...”
They shoot... THEY SCORE! The steak is ok... Bliss settles over the restaurant. I am happy because Mari is. They are happy because they can get back to their goofy restaurant stuff. We chat more. We order desert. We split it. Chocolate stuff. It’s great. Coffee. More chat.
She tells me about the tragic deaths of her father and two sisters in a car accident decades ago. My heart is in my throat. I am horrified and traumatized. But she is not. It’s not that she is nonchalant about it... there is just an undercurrent of resignation I don’t understand. I figured she had such a long time to deal with it she had come to terms with it in her own way... but how terrible for this gentle soul. Lord, how did that happen? And why... and how did it etch Mari’s character. She was so poised and ladylike. So soft spoken yet not introspective. I was mesmerized by her. She should have had some deep twinge in there when telling me this.... But I couldn’t see it. I couldn’t feel it. And I was trying. With the spirit. With my intuition. With my eyes.... But I could not see the loose underpinnings of tender soil beneath the hard packed topsoil in what should be a garden of torment. At least it would have been for me. Gosh, I was wounded by it and I didn’t even know her or her family...wow......
Then it hits me... just how dangerous this girl is. I can’t read her. Why not? I can read anyone. But I can’t read her. She is a reflection. She has been all night. She has been my idea of the perfect woman. She has been chameleon like. She had taken on those qualities that would entrance me...and they did. They were her qualities alright... they were genuine alright... but the qualities she had shown me, the conversation we had shared, the time we had spent, had absolutely nothing...not one thing, to do with who she was. And I could not read her..... And that was so very disturbing to me.... Who was this woman I would never see again?
Out of the vapor and into the mist... Some strange fantasy of my perfect woman God put in my life for one night to tease me? I would never know who she was... and I should have. We had been together for about three and a half hours... and I had laid my life bare before her. But she would leave the same stranger she was when she walked in. An enigma... I hated that. I was rocked to my core.
We left the restaurant and I walked her to her car. Made her stop under a dim light post by the parking garage. “Just a second...I have to get you something.”
I ran to my car and came back with a dozen roses. “I wanted you to have these but figured I would wait until after dinner....You know... it’s a guy thing... first date nerves... don’t wanna stand around with a dozen roses waiting for a date... makes you look kinda desperate.”
She smiled deeply and giggled again....then said “Thank you so much.”
I stare back, “Look, I’d like to see you again, but I won’t put you on the spot now and ask you for another date. I’ll call later in the week and if you’re up for it great... if not, no problem...”
“Ok... thanks again, it was a great evening.”
I leaned forward but there would be no kiss. We both knew that. Just a slight hug as a gesture of good will and I saw her to her car. “See you... thanks”, I said...
She waved through the glass and started the engine.
I jumped in my car. Turned the motor over. Three conversations went on that night - Hers and mine, mine with the Lord and mine with me... And the biggest part of me said... Stay away from her...She is way too dangerous for you. You could fall for her. You really, really don’t need that.... Danger! Danger! Danger! I threw the car in reverse, pumped the throttle and popped out of the parking garage... then into low and put the peddle to the floor.... I was filled with adrenaline. And thought. Doesn’t really matter if you do or don’t want to see her again Mike. Let’s see... take a little inventory here... in the course of about an hour you told her you were, in order, divorced twice, deeply involved in the occult, a professional psychic, a drunk, a drug user, depressed, living with a group of people you had to evict for drug use, oh yeah, with a flying phobia and she could probably see I was about thirty pounds overweight... And let’s not leave out completely dressed in black... what’s not to love there? Yep, the Cubs will win the World Series before we see each other again.
I had such a profound wave of sadness at this thought. I was just reaching the highway. Pedal to the floor. CD player – on. Steve Earle cranked up singing Cocaine Cannot Kill My Pain..... I was passing 90.... I was just so sad.....
Three days went by. I called... no one home... Again... same thing. The third time... I left a message. “Hi Mari, this is Mike...I just wanted to say thanks for Sunday, I really enjoyed your company. Love to go out again if you’re up for it... You’ve got my number.... Hope to hear from you. God Bless.”
I buried myself in my work. In Scripture. In church activities. One thing was for sure, lightning would not strike twice. I’d never find such a strange puzzle as the one God had let me peek at that night. I would just stay lonely. So, ummm, how’s that different then the rest of my life? And who cares... because I do have the Lord...
It was the following Saturday morning at 1003. I’ll never forget it. I was on my computer. Killing time.... Wasting time. Killing time until it killed me and my loneliness and isolation in this world gave way to whatever the next has to offer. I was actually working on some graphics for church the following day. The phone rang.... Got to be Alan, (the Pastor) checking on slide status for the service tomorrow.
I pick it up. “Hello” curt and to the point. Don’t bug me Alan. “Hi, Mike?” A voice I did not know... a woman.
“Yes” getting ready to hang up if she tried to sell me steam cleaning for my carpets.
“It’s Mari...”
My heart stopped.... No kidding...it stopped.... I couldn’t breathe. God’s machine was starting its relentless destruction of my being. It was on. I was in. There was no stopping it. Like my car flying down the highway in a despondent rage at life the Sunday before, the G forces from the mechanism of change were pinning me back in my seat.
Chapter Four
They are...separated from the life of God...due to the hardening of their hearts
I have lost. More than I can describe. In truth, I have never won at anything. I have lost everything in my life more than once. I have lost my most precious personal belongings. I have lost my reputation. I have lost relationships. I have lost all my money. I have lost my self-respect. You name it, I had it and I lost it in some manner or another. I am used to it by now. I had hardened my heart so it didn’t matter to me. I became pessimistic and fatalistic in order to deal with it. As a Christian, early on, I read in the Book that I could never lose the Lord. Well, I believe the Book. Totally. So since that is what it says, that is what I believe. But if it were possible to lose the Lord, I would be the one that could do it. It would have to be a supernatural event for me to keep anything in my life; except possibly my penchant for self- destruction and making bad choices.
Early in my life I was hurt by so many things - I remember each one. But it was the cumulative effect of them all that did the real damage. By the time I was in my twenties I was an emotional basket case. My thirties were even worse. I finally bottomed out at forty-one. Let me pick a few examples from my life, maybe then you can get the flavor of my madness.
The first thing I ever lost that I really cared about was a puppy. My Dad raised dogs... we had over a dozen hounds and German Shepherds too. My Dad and my Mom were constantly in a cold war for control of the house and domination of the family unit. One of the ways that it manifested was through the dogs. We could have them. They would make my Mom’s life miserable just knowing fourteen or so of them were in kennels in the backyard. But the one thing we couldn’t do was have a house dog. No dogs in the house. Part of the battle she fought for control. That rule was hard fast and never challenged until one day in 1962 my Dad brought one of the new beagle puppies into the house. It was sick and would die without personal attention. So it got to come in. We nursed it back to health and it became mine. I named him Rattler, because he was quick and sly as a snake. Over the weeks he learned tricks, was loved and grew in strength and speed.
On a Tuesday in early February of 1962, I came home from school. Ran off the bus like normal and into the house to play with Rattler. He wasn’t there. Oh well, he must be with my Dad in our store – next to the house. My Dad was a mechanic by trade and had a garage with a convenience store right next to the house. I ran over to find my dog. But all I found was my Dad. He was holding a bloody collar in his hand. It was Rattlers.
“The pup ran into the road this morning and got hit. He’s gone.”
He wasn’t dead, he was gone.... But of course I knew what he meant. I looked at my Dad and didn’t miss a lick. “Ok.”
I mean, it wasn’t ok... I was dying inside.... But what could I do? Nothing. And I wouldn’t let my Dad see me cry. By the time I was seven, I was at war with him... I was at war with the world. I was at war with God. No crying. I wouldn’t let them win. I didn’t even want to know what happened. But I found out later that night. I was listening to the family chatter downstairs right after I had gone to bed at 7:30.
My older brother Rob asked my Dad, “So what happened to the pup Dad?”
“Well I was bringing him over to the store with me and I didn’t have him on a lead. He ran out in the street on me before I could catch him and a car hit him. The guy stopped and felt bad, but there was nothing to be done...”
Oh, I get it, I thought. You idiot. You took my dog put him at risk and he died... I get it. You killed him. At least you were responsible for his death. I was filled with rage. And hatred. My heart grew hard.
This wasn’t an isolated incident with me. Until I was in my teens, my Dad and I were strangers, all by my doing. I absolutely hated everything about him. Some of the first real praying I ever did was asking God to kill my Dad. But nothing ever happened. Looked to me like God wasn’t listening to me either. Well, join the club – no one else seemed to be.