Joyless or Joyful

I mentioned in my first post the old fish camp building I grew up in. It was made of cinder block, with cracks in the walls so wide you could literally see headlights—and sometimes the actual cars—passing down the road. We had two bedrooms with no doors, a bathroom, a living area, and a small kitchen. The sewage ran off into the woods behind the house. Big ol’ blackberries grew back there too. Don’t worry—we didn’t eat them.

Our heat came from oil, with a big oil barrel sitting outside. We had very little, but we had what we needed—most of the time. The man who participated in my creation lived there briefly, until I was around two years old. He was, and still is, slimy in every sense of the word. He has multiple children with various women and chose not to support any of us. Nonetheless, I made it without him.

When my mama finally had enough of his mess and abuse, to the curb he went. He later came back with his mama, and they picked our house clean of everything—everything except the oil heat. Mama was drawing very little in unemployment. We used a cooler to store food and simply adapted to having nothing. We were blessed with a supportive family on my mama’s side.

The one thing—besides the heat—that he didn’t take was an aluminum water scoop that hung above our kitchen sink. To me, it was the best thing ever and remains a core memory. The taste of that well water from that scoop soothed my soul.

Bats occasionally entered our house. Mama would chase them around with a broom. We also had mice from time to time. Looking back now, I can see that we were in survival mode the vast majority of the time. The house was always spotless, and I dare not leave toys out.

Barbie and Ken were my safe space. I created a world that was rich and lavish. They had a mansion with an elevator, a Corvette, a swimming pool, and snazzy wardrobes. I didn’t wish for those things—it was simply a world where I could shut everything else out. As an only child, you have to be creative and imaginative.

One day, my uncle—who is six years older than me—came over. He brought one of his friends, as he often did. They encouraged me to cut the hair off one of my Barbies. Barbies were also how I learned about the birds and the bees. Somehow, my uncle always seemed to be part of my series of unfortunate events. Mama literally blew a gasket when she saw that Barbie’s hair. I tried to pass the blame, but it didn’t work. That day, the disciplinary weapon was the fly flap.

By the time I was thirteen, we moved. Before that, I had fallen through the bathroom floor due to rotting wood. We moved into a two-bedroom 1969 Richardson trailer. It felt like the Clampetts moving to Beverly Hills. We moved just across the cow pasture, and I left the Barbies behind.

I only had two or three friends that could spend the night. Mama would let them come over and spend the night occasionally. It wasn’t much. She spent her weekends sewing her oats. I spent mine with one set of grandparents—my good ol’ dad’s parents. On Friday nights, we went to a local lodge where gambling was rampant. Saturday nights were spent with my nanny (Mama’s mama), preparing for Sunday morning church. I gave Nanny roller sets and placed the bag hair dryer over her head. When Pop was there, I trimmed the hair out of his ears.

As a teenager, I resented not being given certain opportunities to just be a teenager. Don’t get me wrong—I could do things within the church youth group. Beyond that, nothing could interfere with the oat sewing.

Looking back now, I see that our house was a home. I was fed and clothed. I had a lot of family to spend time with—family that loved me then and still loves me today.

As memories unlock for me—and they are happening more frequently now—I can see that God was protecting me. I was aware enough to adapt, falling into whatever routine was placed before me. When I begin to question why things happened the way they did, God provides the reason. The same happens when things don’t turn out the way I hoped. I’m sure He has to sweep some cobwebs before releasing those memories.

His way is always better. At 51 years old, I feel like I can finally breathe. I have never felt the presence of God like I do right now. The peace is unreal.

If you’ve ever wondered why you don’t remember certain events from your life, God put that barrier there. It prevents scarring.

Galatians 5:1
Jesus gives us freedom from trauma, habits, and negative influences from our past.

Isaiah 43:18–19
“Do not remember the former things,
Nor consider the things of old.
Behold, I will do a new thing,
Now it shall spring forth; shall you not know it?
I will even make a road in the wilderness
And rivers in the desert.”