While Lizard Brian was going through boot camp for the United States Marines, he had to focus on: following the rules, keeping out of trouble, learning all he could to survive during warfare, and doing the best he could. He made it! He served our country. When he got out, as do many other young men and women in the United States of America who are serving our military branches, he thought boot camp was the hardest thing he had and would ever have to endure. Little did he know that boot camp for the U.S. Marines was not the most difficult challenge that he would need to accomplish in order to be a man in his mind, heart and spirit.
After the military Brian began the tasks of trying to reach a point where he could stay clean and sober. In total there were about 10 years and mixtures of detox, outpatient, treatment facilities and options that he tried. He did sparkle within each new program and method that he was going through toward the goal to become clean and sober. He knows now that he did great while he was within the discipline and accountability structure. But it was after getting out of each regimented atmosphere that was the real battle.
He even ended up in an exciting, luxurious, sunshiny Florida State treatment center. And he is very grateful that he was in such a dynamic celebrity spa like substance abuse facility. And he did do great while he was there. It was a wonderful easy detox experience with highly professional therapy and group classes. But when he got home, it was the same ole same ole. He did not have the drive within himself and the discipline within himself alone to ignite the will power to stay clean and sober. He relapsed.
Brian says that after his last relapse he got the gift of desperation catalyzed by the most painful experience he had ever had. He ran into the house to shoot up in the bathroom. He was going to need this fix and he knew it. The police were on his heal! He would figure out his usual A, B, and C back up plans in a minute. But for now he needed to embed the liquid kryptonite into his foot as fast as possible before the law enforcement team confiscated it. Yikes! Ouch! Flushed fear ran through his veins as his mom was banging on the bathroom door announcing that she was done and the police were in the house looking for him.
The second after the removed the needle from his foot, Brian’s ankle was pounding as if it were going to explode. He opened the door and rendered himself over to the law officers.
Today he knows (because he knows that he knows) that God was doing for him what he could not do for himself. He had been stopped before life itself stopped him. He did go to jail and progressively suffered in his leg for a few weeks. He kept telling the regional jail staff that something was wrong with his foot and he needed to go to the hospital. As a direct result to his drug using he lost his leg in jail.
Ironically he learned the hard way that he did not need pain medications and mind altering drugs in order to cope with the sharp stabs in life. As he was in jail the amputation recuperation did not include these prescriptions. And he made it. He learned that he could survive life on life’s terms without numbing physically or mentally.
After detoxing free for several months in jail he was permitted to be released under the care of a jump starting faith based sober living organization. The recovery program method was keeping very busy all day with physical labor as the in house residences were remodeling their own donated building. The curricular was Big Big Book, KJV, studies at night.
The drug and alcohol cravings were suffocating Brian. He knew if he left he would go back to jail and he knew if he stayed he would most definitely use. The run down building was in the heart of the downtown hood with dealers on every corner. He believes that God had blessed him with a true desire to finally stay clean and sober. Part of the gift was having had to face his own repercussions for the laws he had broken and the gift of his mom’s decision to inform him that she was done. That pain and rejection had provided him that ‘ah ha moment’ to start a new way of life. He was ready to go to any length to stay clean and sober. And that, My Dear Reader, is the exact miraculous potion needed for someone to decide to change any character defects of the past.
After a few months Brian could white knuckle abstinence from drugs and alcohol no more. At 7:00 in the morning he got on his crutches and walked 2 miles to the west side of town where there is a growing community of sober living houses near the town’s 12 Step meeting clubhouse. This area is laced with old Victorian houses and could be considered the wrong side of town as far as drug activities are concerned. I guess that can be referred to as a full circle. The area where junkies and crack houses are is being repurposed into sober town.
He walked there on his crutches and got there about 7:30. The men in that sober house had just finished having their devotional readings and were out on the front porch having snuff, cigs and java. They saw Brian hopping toward them. They knew him. Our city is tight in the recovery world. We know each other.
They ran to him as the prodigal son’s father ran to his son. They ran to him, grabbed his backpack, and hugged him. They welcomed him, patting him on the back and said: “Come on in. We will make you a bed. Welcome home. And we are going to love you until you learn to love yourself.” Brian was very confused by those words. Those words were scary to a macho manly ex-Marine. But he was willing to try anything to stay clean and sober. Life had gotten way too heavy.
That has been a year ago. Brian is clean and sober and a part of the recovery community. He helps be a shiny living example in the clubhouse of his city. And his mom, who loves running, has him focusing toward running a 5K for his group of sober living houses. He has his prosthesis and the run is in March.
Brian has depicted himself in this Lizard Tale as a pirate. This pirate did find the treasure chest. Brian wants his Lizard Tale to announce to the world that the true treasure in life and the true merit badge in life for manhood is not in boot camp completion. It is not in rehab, detox and treatment center certifications. It is in working the 12 Steps. Brian says it is the hardest thing he has ever done in his life and the treasure chest is at the end. He knows himself now as the man that he loves, respects and honors. He is passing his experience, strength and hope to others who are lacking that same self-love, honor and respect for themselves. For those who have not been able to stay clean and sober after completing residential treatment centers, he wants them to strongly consider sober living houses. They offer a strong structured live of accountability and people who understand and care. Sober living housing force their renters to go to meetings. Meeting makers do make it.
This particular sober house is Christian based, as well. So he has found the loving higher power of his own understanding to be the Lord Jesus Christ. He trusts and relies on the miracle that God gave him the 12 Steps. Don’t listen to the parrot on your shoulder. You no longer have to lose a limb, a love, a profession, a dream, your life. God gave Brian a sober living house with 12 Steps and the higher power of his understanding. That is the contents of Brian’s pirate hunted treasure chest.
We had been married a short period of time. We lived deep in the mountains in a shack which we had converted into a quaint cottage.
Fred drove up to his family in New Hampshire and also drove to a monthly men’s group in New York State often. I was overwhelmed with setting up house and scrubbing even window frames, window screens and the tobacco tar covered light bulbs. The place had been neglected way to long. The extremely long day that we had loaded the rental trailer and driven one car behind the other from Pennsylvania to West Virginia was traumatic. I knew not where I was going. I am not good behind the wheel over 2 hours! I was very much in love and ready to begin a new life. I did have to make innumerable pit stops, slap my face to stay awake and sing in the praise and gratitude the whole 11 hours.
When we turned into the mountain holler it was terrifying. My habitat had been flat, hot, sandy, and the tallest trees were palms.
There were 90 degree turns and drop off cliffs, too many trailer homes and barns falling apart, and rusty cars in most yards. This was like a movie to me. It was like a mystery or crime movie. I was seeing lots of poverty or else laziness. I am not sure which even now.
I got the place looking very country décor and even the porch was a dream! But there was a mini room that I never went into. First of all, the door was blocked by stacks of cardboard boxes. One day I did suck in my tummy and squeeze into the room. The boxes were stuffed with papers in no apparent order. Many receipts were inside various grocery store bags with a loose knot.
When Fred returned I asked him about it and he brushed it off. A week or so later I had asked a few times and he said they were his tax papers and he needed to file his taxes. He was behind on that. For 2 years I saw that he was unable to have any motivation to dive into those papers, put them in order and get the tax filing done. By that time we were married and I was fighting fear face on! I had walked away from an abusive marriage, come back to my country, suffered culture shock and the technical learning curve of survival in America from Microsoft Windows to smart phones to internet and working in a call center. Now I was married to a most loving, kind, Christian man who also knew and lived the 12 Steps. And what on earth was going to happen to us if he never paid the IRS? On my time off when he was working I went thru those papers and got them in order. The living room floor had plastic shoe boxes and file folders labeled. I was categorizing and grouping all the receipts on a regular basis. When all was ready for him to do his part, he still did not move a finger. Now, I was new in the mental health field then. I did not know what I know now.
God is so wonderful about every minute detail of helping us stay alive as we progress through life experiences, We never not perfect. We improve and learn our life lessons along the way.
Fred had not been able to touch those papers. They had hotel receipts, gas receipts and proof of the cancer battle his daughter had lost. He had literally moved from out west to West Virginia to live in a place not too deep in snow in the winter season and a day’s drive to up north. He went up to his daughter's area monthly to help go through the chemo treatment for 3 weeks. Then he returned back to the mountains for a week to keep the place in order the best he could.
I was losing my sanity in fear of the IRS. I talked to my boss when Fred explained to me why he was procrastinating. She understood and said the human mind was that way in order to protect itself. You know he did get all those filings done. And at the end, one IRS rep asked him to relay honestly why he had waited. Fred explained how his first born had wanted to hold on to die on Easter Day. She never complained about her condition. And at 2:00a.m. on Easter Day Fred, her lovely mom and wonderful brother were present. Fred asked her if she could see a light. She said “yes, Daddy”. Fred said: “go to the light. It’s O.K.”. And also her mom coached her to go, go, go to the light.
Wow, my dear reader, before she left this earth she slowly expressed in gentle joy: “Oh, I am a lamb of God! “.
Fred was asked to write that he had delayed doing his taxes due to inability to cope with the paper work as it reminded him of his daughter’s death due to cancer.
If the IRS, my boss and our Higher Power understood the deal about needing to heal first and move on, I needed to accept that, too.
We did not have to pay late fees and we had money refunded on our late taxes. Praise God!
I would like to say that I am the perfect Addiction Recovery Coach and so walked and talked pure Serenity Prayer. I wish I could say I did not take my beautiful husband’s inventory, plus lose it and scream at him before all that ‘procrastination on taxes’ was resolved. That is far from the truth. I remember being beside myself and leaving in a hissy only knowing I needed help! I stopped in the parking lot of my mountain mental health branch office because there was cell signal there.
I called a most helpful and concerned lady from the local Alanon organization. She talked to me 2 hours! She made me laugh at the things her husband had put her through. And she said something I advocate often to people in relationship or marriage with an alcoholic. I advocate this to service providers and even van drivers working with all types of clients of mental health issues. This category includes those taking care of the elderly who are in and not in their right mind.We cannot help but get too close to those we care for and we need to step back awhile. We need a bit of fresh air. Alcoholism effects everyone around it. I once read that each alcoholic affects 40 people. These 40 folks include the loved ones, workers around the alcoholic and workers around the family and children of the alcoholic, neighbors and their offspring,the alcoholic's pastor and his family, people in retail and food service who attend to the alcoholic on a regular basis and even the dog. Alcoholics have good days and they have bad days at first. Then slowly or rapidly they turn into unreliable, sometimes hateful and cold individuals. It is not that the person is bad. It is that the person is ill. And the person is owned by and enslaved by the substance. Now I am referring to active alcoholics.When we talk about an inactive alcoholic, the same can be true. We, with the daily decision to not pick up or use today no matter what, do have our own fears-doubts-insecurity that we deal with. That is what recovery and living the 12 steps is all about. We face life on life’s terms but do it striving to keep serene trusting and relying on God. I had lost my trust in God about the taxes and instead of asking God to deal with Fred and relying on God to do just that, I decided my manipulating, pushing, emotional blackmailing way would get it done. When that did not happen, I went nuts.So I went home, apologized and asked Fred to get me to an Alanon meeting because I was married to an alcoholic. I validated, too, that he needed to get to Alanon meetings because he was married to an alcoholic , me. But I asked him to let me go to this meeting alone this time, please. Talk about alcoholism effecting the drinker and non-drinker alike! Wait until you read what occurred that evening at that meeting!We had arrived early and Fred was going to an AA meeting down the road. We had driven in to the city from our mountain mining town. So we were killing two birds with one stone. He dropped me off. I knew the church building not and was not even sure if I was at the correct entrance. The door was locked. So I waited and was busy asking God to forgive my selfishness. I had not supported my spouse in this matter but lost it in the “what if” mode. You know the deal: what if we lose the house. What if we have to go live in the city mission? What if I lose my job for being a federal criminal? (And on and on the ‘what-if’ poisonous thought line can go.) Dust had set in and vision was hazy. I saw a large man in black walking toward the church and he was swinging something. I could not depict the type of clothing. It was just big and black. And there was something bright red on the man’s face. When the man arrived to the church entrance he was singing joyfully and swinging an umbrella. He was all smiles and carried a bed pillow and garbage bag.
On his nose was a red clown nose! And his big black clothing was made from a black garbage bag. He knocked an certain signal on the locked door and someone came and opened it. But the little door man was annoyed because we were 3 minutes early. Another man was busy setting up coffee and the cups and all. And, yet another man was laying out books and brochures. These guys knew each other well. And yet only one was friendly with everyone. So, the black plastic bag man, the chair person and I behaved politely. The others were having a hard time putting up with everyone. It didn’t matter to me. I knew that 12 Step meetings worked and I was not spiritually fit and they had the keys I needed. The black plastic bag man was a clergyman! He wrote poems. He played musical instruments. He knew all the Alanon readings by heart. He spoke the Bible verses, too. There was strife about who was going to read first and I just sat to learn. The chairperson seemed used to the lot and got everything running smoothly. After the readings, discussion began. When I shared what I had been going nuts over, they knew exactly how to tell their personal stories that would pull me back into the Let Go Let God mode. It was indeed a wonderful thing that I had gone. You see, in recovery of any addiction (oh yes, living with an alcoholic creates it’s won type of addiction of trying to help and control the alcoholics in order to make everything O.K.) So, in every addiction, we are to identify and never compare. I had been sober long enough to know that. Inside each man there was a treasure of wisdom and experience to tap into. No one there had been in Alanon less than 10 years.
The black bag man had sat on his bed pillow and opened his bag pulling out a doll to stand on the portion of the table in front of him. The doll was a Dick Tracy like Dog wearing a yellow trench coat and carrying an umbrella. The clergyman in the black plastic bag was a dynamic powerful orator on spirituality and the 12 Steps and wisdom of that paradigm shift that lets the mind operate on one truth. That one truth is that everything that is happening to one is not occurring ‘to’ them but ‘for’ them. About every 5-7 minutes throughout the meeting this amazing man would lower his face to look into the eyes of the doll and weep and beg: “Sweetheart, I told you that you need to put the bottle down. Honey, please just stop drinking and put the bottle down”. Then he would switch back to his position of helping me learn to cope with my IRS marital issue. I felt like another man at the table was like Jack Nicholson. That man was controlling and correcting and orchestrating our every move. You see, this is no different than a dog barking or a kitty meowing. Those who have to keep alcoholics in order and under cover become very controlling and demanding so they can think to themselves that they have everything going right. But here is the beauty! I am just was odd to them as they are odd to me. And in a 12 Step meeting, we have no preferences. We are family and we are there to share our experience, strength and hope. We are there to love the new comer until he or she can love themselves and forgive themselves. The lovely man in the black bag hugged me with great love after the meeting. He was so delighted to meet another lover of the Word of God. We do not shun another in recovery if their higher power is not the same as ours. However we do enjoy a member who loves our same God. As he hugged me I was asking God to help me be kind, despite the discussing garbage smell that was whirling around me. Fred and I laughed about my aroma all the way home with car windows down.
2 weeks later my loving black bag man came in late to an AA meeting across the river. He had walked at night across the high bridge to get there. He placed his bed pillow on his chair, sat and was one of us. He picked up his 14 year chip that night. He prefers to live where he prefers to live. He does not drink. He is an ordained member of clergy. His story in detail I know not. I know he and his wife drank. I know she could not stop. I know he is proof that alcoholism is a double portion. It effects the drinker and the loved ones. So, I keep up on my Alanon and Codependency readings and attend when the ‘what ifs’ begin to fog my mind.
I never want to forget that wonderful man who daily decides not to pick up or drink today no matter what and who still aches and tears for his bride who could not stop.
Lizard Tale Reveals War Room Strategies for Drug Addict
Do you remember the saying: ‘He saw the writing on the wall?” Last week I was listening to a pastor on TV, while doing some house cleaning. The pastor explained that the saying comes from the incident of King Belshazzar’s banquet, when he was serving drink to his guests in Holy goblets.
Those goblets were not to be used. He disrespected the Godly laws and a human hand wrote on a wall during the dinner event. The King was not terrified by what the words were that were written. He was terrified that a hand had been assigned by unknown powers to write on the wall!
The true story you are about to read has never been told to anyone except my husband. I once told a pastor, but he could not hear me. Perhaps as you read, you will have the eyes to see the war strategies that I witnessed drawn upon the wall!
I was dating a businessman from a 3rd world country. I worked reservations for the airlines as I had been grounded due to ear problems. Well, this passenger romanced me and I thought he had a charming debonair about him. Since, he wanted to be sure I could adjust to the Mexican style of living, I would fly to the little airport next to his city on my days off. It was so quaint, that the baggage claim area was 2 wooden saw horses with some planks laid across them! This was all intriguing to me. I was attracted by the nuance of it all. I remember one time we got to his hometown when a Regatta Festival was on as it was a coastal port. So there weren’t any hotel rooms available; but he did find us a ‘bedroom’.
To me it was so strange! The ‘motel’ rooms were attached to each other in rows. Each room had a covered garage in front of the bedroom door. And as a car would park inside a garage, someone quickly closed a big curtain from behind. The giant curtain was like a veil between good and evil. I know that now. Well those businesses were called motels. But they were no motel 6 or motel 8. They were places that were rented by the hour. And the curtains were to cover one’s car from detectives or jealous wives to see. Room service would be delivered on a rotating dummy. The attendant would just rotate the food and drink to the client, so no one ever saw who was in the room. There were no top sheets or bedspreads. I was freezing all night because the bedding wasn’t meant to spend the night on! The beds were meant to do your business and get out.
But you see, all that didn’t faze me, because I was on a mission. My target was to make this man fall in love with me. I was willing to go to any length. I was, I was. This was an adventure. I had already had two husbands that I had been married to; and I had had many more spouses that weren’t mine. I would go from man to man on the quest to make them love me; because somebody, somewhere, someday was going to love me unconditionally; or so I dreamed. So I regularly lived through these types of adventures and there were many.
It never dawned on me to ask my latest romance; “If this is your hometown, why I can’t we stay at your house? Why can’t I meet your family?’ Well obviously, due to my denial, I refused to see that he was already married. I did become his wife and he did have several other wives at the same time.
After we were married and our son was about 2 years old, we had gone to Marti Gras in Veracruz, Veracruz. On the way back we stopped for the night at a neat hotel in my favorite fishing village! I loved eating the river snails there. The fishermen sold them by the dozen from their little boats. Each snail was extracted from its shell, but still attached to the shell door. They had been ‘cooked’ in natural lemon juice. One needed to place the snail in one’s mouth and bite down tearing away the tortoise colored shell door. This was how to detach the meat from the door.
Oh how I always loved that sleepy village! It is a Boca del Rio, which means mouth of the river that goes into the ocean. And there’s a little island that tourist take a gondola to; just like being in Venice, Italy! The gondola tours go to Monkey Island. And it is named that for a reason. Thousands of monkeys are swinging from the trees.
Actually one of the famous entrees, at the big terrace restaurant next to the Riverwalk, is Monkey steak! Cheap for the cook to buy, novelty for tourist, umm-umm good! The boats stop maybe two yards from the island and the monkeys run and jump on the hull. They wait there with their hands out to be fed. And, of course, we offered peanuts and popcorn and all that healthy American food.
Along the river bank, there is a boardwalk. Halfway down the river walk it is made of sun-bleached wooden planks and the rest of the pathway is a cement paved road. It runs along the wide gray river beach. The River bank had many lined up vertical posts with poles laid across the top of them. They looked like where people did pull ups. This is where the fisherman placed their empty fishing nets to dry after the day’s catch. The fishermen come in laughing and reminded me of the 12 disciples. They were in such good spirits, folding their nets properly and storing boats upside down.
Looking down the river you couldn’t see the mouth of the ocean. It was like looking down the Amazon because of the jungle affect. Little did I know what I would witness on walls only 2 kilometers down that jungle covered riverbank! And to this day I ask myself: Why me?
Two kilometers down the state highway was a waterfall. There were about 126 steps to climb down to the landing sight. As tourists reach halfway down the stairs, the sound of the roaring waterfalls can be heard. And then there begins to be a heavy mist from the forceful water. At the bottom there is a large cement slab with cola and local beer brand cart tables. Tourists can order fresh caught fish and native vendors smoke it on site in dug out pits covered with layers of palm and avocado leafs. This is food for kings and queens. The fish meal is eaten with one’s fingers off of a banana leaf. It’s exquisite! Supposedly they did a movie called ‘The Jewel’ around that water fall and jungle.
So back to my favorite fishing town; in the middle of the town is the plaza. All Mexican towns have to have a plaza. That’s where the cathedral is. That’s where market vendors would be set up for special festival shopping days. That’s where locals go on the weekend nights when it’s hot, just to sit on the benches and hope for a cool breeze. At one time the town plaza was where the chaperon would walk the plaza, arm in arm with a beautiful maiden. And the men who wanted to court a young girl to find a wife would sit on a bench. The stowing maiden would throw a rose to the one she passed who was of interest to her. That was at the plaza. (Something like non virtual mate matching.)
This particular plaza is very famous to this day for gambling lottery tickets. That is why there are lots of stands that don’t sell ice cream and hotdogs, because they sell lottery tickets. At night, rows and rows of lottery ticket sheets are hung in little vendor stands on wheels. And a little hanging light bulb, generated by a car battery permits the gambler to read and pick out the lucky number they have faith in. After people purchase their favorite lottery number, they hurry into the cathedral at that plaza to pay for it to get blessed. So that town’s cathedral is famous for getting lottery tickets blessed. Now let me tell you something, my ex-husband, who was hubby #3, won the national lottery three times in the eight years we were married. He knew the winning formula!
Hubby #3 had his personal lottery ticket vendor in our city, who saved his favorite numbers for him. So, he did not come to purchase the tickets. He only drove there to have the tickets touched and blessed by two higher powers in whom he had faith. One of these powers, in whom he believed in was the local Father of the church.
And then he would also go see someone known to make magical things occur. We would go on a sandy road, to the outskirts of the village, where there was an announcement painted on a brick mural wall.
‘El Leon, offering his powers’. But little did I know the highly organized War Staff Division that El Leon headed and the war plans that were hanging in his house on his walls. 1 Peter 5:8 (ESV): “Be sober-minded; be watchful. Your adversary the devil prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour.”
Let me tell you a little about that sandy road. My husband’s inheritance of a coffee plantation was on the top of one of two mountains that protected the region from natural disasters like hurricanes, title waves, tornados, and even flooding due to the rain forest in certain parts. These two mountains were gorgeous and pacifying to look at on the coastline from afar, as there were always cloud rings around their tips. Each time I drove on the seawall, of our city (over 2 hours away) my heart would sing songs from Roger and Hammerstein’s South Pacific. These two mountains from resembled Shangri-La in that movie. At the foot of the mountains there were natural mineral springs from which sparkling water like French Perrier birthed. This water was transported from there to bottling companies.
Half way between those water springs and the town plaza was the El Leon hut with two types of fences in front of it. One fence was tightly lined up stalks of tall dry sugar cane and the other half of the fence was a brick wall that had been covered with plaster. The wall had been built to serve as advertisement. Those walls are used as billboards throughout the country of Mexico.
This wall had a lion painted on it and an announcement offering special powers for romance, luck and revenge.
Usually when my husband came to this town to have his lottery tickets receive the rituals of luck waved across them, he would stop at this hut and I would wait in the car. But this time was different for some reason. I now realize why he changed his norm and we went directly to the Lion’s private home instead of his witch doctor waiting lobby.
I believe what happened there that afternoon was intended for me to see. I believe all of this is part of my destiny and missions. I was to become an alcoholic and receive my miraculous sobriety. It was intended for me to become a seasoned addiction recovery coach. And I am to write this very Lizard tale of truth for the believers of America to read and ask God what to do about it.
As we climbed the outside stairs up to a very large house on stilts, my husband explained that the man we were about to visit, was the number one leader of the witches in North America. (Remember that North America includes Canada, The United States and Mexico). I knew there were annual witch conventions in that town. We, as Mexican locals, knew better than to try to visit the village as tourist on those days. All hotels were full and the festivals were not for outsiders. During that week each year my husband’s lottery tickets did not get blessed. His tickets were his Higher Power depended on for provision and protection.
Once, I was backed up to a cement wall in the bedroom. Hubby #3 was in rage because he thought I had touched his lottery tickets. I had been warned never to even touch his pant pocket. He believed if I ever touched the tickets he would lose winning power. He must have lost the lottery that day and had been promised he would win. He had fiery red eyes of rage. As he was pulling back his arm with tight fist, I silently prayed to God that I had a child to raise and to please protect me.
I watched his forceful slug not only miss my face, but his arm was twisted and his knuckles banged into the wall! Reader, I saw that happen and was not even amazed. I had been living in the ‘what next mode’ a long time. The miracles had become natural to me. He ran out screaming “Witch! Witch!” (Bruja, Bruja). I saw him 3 days later when he came home from another wife’s house with arm in sling.
As we climbed up the stairs to the front door of El Leon, my spouse looked me in the eyes and ordered: “Do not talk.” I had already been a product of his ‘spells of madness’. I knew I must not talk. He knew that I was filled with the Holy Spirit and that I had no fear. He knew I had authority over the powers of the enemy. Maybe it was just a game to him. I have no idea why he placed me in this situation. “Just be courteous.” He said.
They were very happy to meet me. I say they because there was a lady with the witch doctor. She could have been a house keeper or his wife. He wanted to show off his house to me. So we went from living room to meeting room to regular dining room to giant dining room to an L-shaped terrace. Every space had ample places for people to sit at tables and eat. And the large meeting room and the formal dining room were conference room size. His walls were like parquet floor and they were handmade. They were cedar and they were local wood, hand cut and pieced together. He was extremely proud of it.
He never even mentioned what immediately caught my eye in every room! In every room there was the same piece of art. It was 3’ x 4’ in size and was drawn on black felt. I don’t know if any of you are old enough to remember or have seen in someone’s house a painting from Mexico that’s black felt drawn on with bright colored pastel chalks? It was like that. The first time I saw it, he and my husband were talking to each other in Spanish. I just stood there aghast. I was totally stunned. I have never forgotten those paintings. Now that I have been through what I needed to go through in order to comprehend the full force behind them, I cry at times when I recall them. Even though each was identical, each was an original piece of art. They had been carefully duplicated and I so wonder just how many of them there are in our country, too.
Plus, I believe the way our country is now, if non-believers and many believers saw them, they would not have eyes to see or to hear the message. Our American malls, on line shopping, head shops and beach tourists’ shops have made our senses numb to the evil messages and dark powers being flaunted around us. Wait! We can add TV to that list and tie a knot to attach the video games and dressed up dolls given to our baby girls for Christmas. (so many evil messages and powers being over looked)
Let me describe that same exact cursing image on each wall. In the middle of each painting was the picture of the Lord Jesus Christ. His face was so sad with alligator tears flowing from His eyes. He had the throne crown on His head. He was looking up to our Father God in remorse. All around His face there were these floating images. They were around His face, so that’s why it was 3’ x 4’. It took a lot of canvas to put those images floating around His face.
And as I write to you, I realized why I designed the book cover of Crying Hearts of the Loved Ones the way I did. Those floating images around Jesus’ face are exactly as I subconsciously designed around a drowning girl’s face on my book cover. I never realized that until now
Around Our Lord there were syringes. There were capsules of medicine. There were medicine bottles. There were thin razor blades. Those items were floating around the remorseful face of our Lord. There were liquor bottles, too. And every room I went to I would stand and look at it. And it was identical to the other ones, but they were all handmade. They were all originally made, they weren’t stamped out. I kept my mouth shut.
All the top leaders in witchcraft from Canada, The United States and Mexico annually united at that house. We are referring to a syndicate. Understand they are a very well organized body of evil. That’s why he needed many meeting rooms, many meeting chairs, and many dining tables. They had great feast there once a year on that Witch Day. And they had many festivals in that town on that day, too. And in every room where there would be gatherings and dining that mural is what they would look at. It was like organized crime. But they were looking at their goal of what they were praying toward, what they were working toward, the destruction with those weapons.
The target is to make our Lord cry because of all the losses caused by the floating weapons around His face. They held organized rituals throughout the entire continent with common goal. It did not matter that they did not all speak the same language. They were and are united to attack and destroy the people of all ages that belong to God. Babies are born addicted, children get lost and are missing. Millennium is out there making the rehab industry extremely busy doing the best they can to save our nation; because the millennium is our future. And now the elderly are being fed addictive medication. Is it possible to become an addict or an alcoholic when you’re an elderly person ( and not only an elderly person, but an elderly believer)? You bet it is. You bet it is. I am your living example!
That’s the crisis on the wall. That’s the handwriting on the wall. That’s the mural I wanted to tell you about.
I am putting this true story in your hands. I am very relieved to have passed this on. I can now know I no longer conceal this secret from the Body of Christ.
The ones who are appointed to hear this message, will. The ones who are appointed to act on this message, will. Halt. Be silent. Listen for the Still Small Voice, to know if you are one of the appointed and what your part is in this war.
This is not about a witch hunt. This is not about burning down a witch’s hut. King Belshazzar was not terrified by what the words were that were written. It is not the mural image that we are to be concerned about. King Belshazzar was terrified that a hand had been assigned by unknown powers to write on the wall!
Ephesians 6:12 “For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places.” KJV
I was appointed. I have seen. I have heard. I have grown in order to comprehend. I have acted and continue to do so. This true experience has been expressed in short story form. This short story needs to be passed on to your friends and church members who care. Please share on your social media. Now.
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Two Christmases ago was my first day in "The Gown" at Recovery Point of Huntington, W.V. The gown represents where we came from, how we got there, and what it is like now. It also represents successfully completing the program. "12 stepping".
12 stepping into the gown had a very special meaning for me, being as it turned out to be the last Christmas present to my mother.
She had begged me, and prayed often to God since my train accident for me to go to the Recovery Point. That place really works and the whole Tri-State knows it!
Finally on May 28 2013 I had enough getting beat up by my addiction and my mom's prayers were answered and I entered the "Last House on the Block."
God & Recovery Point gave my mother her son back clean and sober for the last 14 months of her life. She passed away, assured that everything is gonna be alright.
Also, my kid's got a father back and my dad got his son back and society got a functional member back. That was the best Christmas present I can give.
I have learned that sometimes the best things in life can't be bought. Rather they are earned and are more appreciated in the long run. God called my mother home, but He helped me renew relationships with Him and my family.
\ half years, I have had accomplishments, disappointments and heartbreaks. I have learned during my sobriety that life happens. There is absolutely nothing worth taking a drink or a drug for. I learned how to trust God. Heck! I learned how to love myself and others!
Recovery has been worth it for me. I keep getting rewarded by God, because I still put forth effort to do the next right thing today. Thank you 12 Steps and my support team, and Recovery Point of Huntington, WV. (Now with 100 beds and run my alumnae)
"As we go through our day we pause, when agitated or doubtful, and ask for the right thought or action. We constantly remind ourselves we are no longer running the show, humbly saying to ourselves many times through each day "Thy will be done." We are then in less danger of excitement, fear, anger, worry, self-pity, or foolish decisions. We become more efficient. We do not tire so easy for we are not burning up energy foolishly as we did when we were trying to arrange life to suit ourselves. "
AA Big Book 87-88
On my way to work last month, I ran into a old Vietnam Veteran, that I used to drink alot of beer with under the Farm dale bridge in Barboursville, W.V. He recognized me, but I couldn't recognize him, because his health had deteriorated and jaundice had taken over his frail body the past few years. He is still a drinker and sometimes seeks refuge at the Veteran's Home.
I was pleased to see this man again. I remember he once gave me a sleeping bag and some food he had stashed. He is and was a good man. It is just that the ISM got him!
I pray that he receives the help he needs and a warm home this winter. This disease of addiction affects many lives. And seeing this man today is my daily reminder of the end result of years of alcohol abuse.
But by the Grace of God I no longer pick up or use no matter what - Just for today
It's almost Christmas and after work this evening, I was waiting on my bus, and a homeless gentleman walked up to me, with the usual small talk then he finally asked me for a cigarette and $2 because he was hungry, of course. I complied and gave him a cigarette and $5 'cause I had no dollar bills. I told him that I had been homeless before and that there is hope and a solution for him and others that want it. He got offended and told me that I had never been homeless, 'cause if I had been homeless, then why was I all dressed up like I was going to church, and homeless people don’t have jobs. We chatted a bit longer and I told him part of my story of how I went from Park Ave to a park bench to a functional member of society again. He listened to my spill, and as he was leaving he said thanks for the cigarettes and the money, and said he might seek recovery after the holidays.
As I sit here at my apartment thinking about that homeless man as well as the other unfortunate people sleeping outside tonight, I gain a whole lot of gratitude of what I have today. I am repeatedly thanking God for the relationships I have gained and regained since I lived in a 3 room tent on the river bank in Huntington.
I Sometimes I get caught up in making money and worrying about keeping my bills paid. I find myself worrying about how to buy more material things and if I will have enough to buy my kids all they want for Christmas. I get so caught up in life on life's terms, that I forget that I was once a hopeless individual on the streets. I know that God got me here, and I appreciate the reminders He puts in front of me. I go to meetings to never forget that with one drink or one pill all could be lost! We all have built-in forgetters!
So, remember, as Cindy Lizard reminds us: "Just for today, we do not pick up or use, no matter what! Hey! If you have a desire to share your experience, strength and hope to the world through Cindy Lizard's Gang, click: Meet the Author and submit your Lizard Tale. Can't wait to read it! Wonder what you will look like in 'lizard green'?