Moving Forward

Today is November 16, 2016.  This is not a date of any particular significance to me, except that it is ten days following the anniversary of the day my ex- husband almost took my life. Yet, I find myself in a panic because November 6th somehow managed to tiptoe past me without so much as a whisper.

Usually, I make it a point to take time on November 6th to reflect. I usually reflect on how far my children and I have come among other not so pleasant thoughts that have a habit of sneaking themselves in. But, this year November 6th did not play any significance. The day came and went and never once did I even allow a conscious thought of the incident to play into my psyche.

In the past, I have  always remembered this day. Sort of a second birthday, I flag it, mark my calendar, set reminders, put up sticky notes and everything else to pay tribute to the day God gave me a second chance on life. But, this year... nothing.

I had the epiphany as I mindlessly glanced at the calendar and all of a sudden my stomach sank to my feet!
"How ungrateful could I be?, I can't believe I forgot!, On the fifth anniversary, though?" are just a few of the thoughts that flooded my mind as I quietly reprimanded myself for the oversight.

But, wait!

What if it's supposed to be like this? Over the past five years, I always set subconscious reminders of the incidents that ravaged my family at the climax of our deep encounter of domestic violence. Recently, however I find myself able to openly discuss good memories of their father with my children. I indulge them with tendencies that he had, things he liked, his favorite shows, and so on. In these moments, I catch their smiles or spend the next couple of minutes answering their questions about the man that was once an everyday part of their lives.

And in this reflection, I acknowledge that although for me November 6th was a day of deliverance, it may not be the same for my children. Although I often say that we were all delivered, I am speaking from the perspective of a mother protecting her young. From a woman held captive by the powerful grip of domestic violence. But, I am quick to forget that just like I had to mourn the loss of a husband  at some point, my children had to mourn the loss of their father since November 6th, 2011.

They have expressed to me that they have forgotten his voice, his laugh, his scent, and his mannerisms, but they vividly remember the images of the monster that he morphed into that evening.

Isaiah 43:18 tells us "Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past."

And perhaps  for this reason I did not remember to relive the horror of November 6, 2011. I do not believe that it is only by coincidence that I have started to discuss the positive attributes of their father with my children. I think that it is all falling into place by divine purpose. I believe that this is part of the healing process as well. And while November 6th will always signify new life for me, I will no longer let the malice of that day lead. 

SLANDER

"The action or crime of making false damaging statements to someone's reputation."

I shouldn't be surprised or shocked, but I am disgusted.  Since this was an attack on me in totality, I have decided to house it on both blogs. 

There was a time that I wouldn't say anything. I'd just take it all. I may have written my words in a journal somewhere in passing because my writing has always been my therapy, but that would be the extent of it.  Those days have gone. I write now because it is my gift, my purpose, my therapy, my sanity,  my ministry, my testimony,  the very core of who I am.

I do not write to offend, I do not write to spread false truths, and I do not write to anger. What I write is mine. It is my story, my experience, and mine to share with whomever is willing to lend me their ear and pour into them something that may help them or someone in a similar situation. I am not a fool, I know some indulge simply for entertainment, or to get a glimpse into what I allow them to know, but I cannot nor will I ever try to control their reasons. 

What I will never do is stop. 

I have always been a writer, but I started my expository writing after my family's extreme exposure to domestic violence.  "From an Officer's Wife", "Through a Child's Eyes", "Hardest Hit", and "Deliver Me".  All touch on some aspect of what my children and I went through.  Some touch on how the lives of others were dramatically affected by my misfortune, and one touches on my young children trying desperately to understand.  But, ALL of them are derived from truth. Every reenactment, every poem, every scene. 

See the thing about truth is that it speaks for itself. There are no inconsistencies or variations. 

Here is where my gift comes in... GOD gave me a story, GOD delivered me, GOD gave me a talent, GOD gave me a platform, and GOD gave me a testimony and I will use that concoction: GOD +TESTIMONY + DELIVERANCE + GIFT + PLATFORM = MY STORY, to glorify HIM and to bless others. 

The beauty of it all is that NO ONE can stop that. They cannot take it from me, they cannot erase what I have been through and they cannot touch where it will take me. But, what they can do in the typical fleshy way that human beings operate is try to defecate on my experiences, try to break me by accusations that my experiences of domestic violence are fraudulent, try to intimidate me with threats of putting before me what God has already delivered me from, try to attack my integrity by accusations that I will throw domestic violence charges against someone who has not offended me in that way,  try to hurt me by defiling the most painful part of my life, just to satisfy their own demonic purposes. 

I do not have to fabricate a tale to create my story, the truth again speaks for itself and just a bit of research will clarify that. My abuser is a repeat offender. My abuse has been documented in photographs on hospital shelves, the scars on my children's souls will corroborate it. I just think it's funny or rather sad and desperate that my character is being assassinated, my integrity is being questioned, and that my ministry is under attack. But, the enemy is a petty creature especially when you have been released from his hold. 

This brings me back to the title, "SLANDER".

The enemy will try anything to infiltrate God's blessings. So I am not offended by the attempt at defiling my character. I take solace in knowing that God knows and sees all. God knows my heart, my truth, my experiences, and what  I will write before  I even think it. 

In the end, I am a writer and art imitates life. I will continue to share my experiences because they are mine. I will continue to write because that is my gift.  My style is my own, if  it offends you, stay away.  Do not seek what you cannot handle. On the other hand, if it entertains you, read on; if it blesses you read on, and share. Even if my writings go unread, I will always write. 

I will write about domestic violence, I will write about being a single mother, I will write my plays, my novels, my children's stories, and so on and so forth. 

I encourage others to use their spiritual gifting as well. Use it to glorify God, use it  as therapy, use it to bless others, just do not let it go to waste.  

I bend, I don't break!

I'm sitting here in reflection exactly four years after my ex husband tried to take my life.

It was November 6, 2011. Funny, I have no recollection of the time though. Everything just happened so fast. One moment I was doing just as I am doing now, writing. However, the next few moments would find me defending the lives of my children and myself. 

I think it is interesting, though not by coincidence, that on the heels of such a life changing event, I find myself once again in a tumultuous situation regarding my child. I love how strategic God is in the way He works. His timing is everything. 

Here I am four years later, and I have a chance encounter with my former abuser in a tattoo shop of all places. I mean really? A tattoo shop! And on my birthday of all days? While I was getting the name of my newborn daughter branded on me? What's the likelihood? And of course, as one would hope against, but imagine nonetheless, he was belligerent. Calling me out of my name and trying to intimidate me with his belittling "Little Girl", and his puffed up chest and balled up fists. He picked up where he left off four years ago when his manipulation held me captive.

In that moment, I ignored him. I remembered my deliverance and I felt sad that he was still captive in the same place. I must admit, however, that I was shaken as all of the bad memories flooded me at once. The adrenaline powered me as I left that shop in a hurry slipping into another to escape the awkwardness of the situation. 

That evening I searched my soul for an answer. "Why would God allow me to see this man after all of these years?"

"And why in this condition?" I mean after all , I only have three of his children who he hasn't seen or asked about since 2011. "Why didn't he ask about them?" I couldn't understand it.  But finally,  in the gentle, calming, and gentlemanly way that God often reveals things,  He offered a response... "Trust Me." And just like that I knew.

I didn't see my ex to throw me into a panic, nor did I see him to see how stagnant he had become, but rather God allowed that encounter to strengthen me. God allowed me that meeting to remind me of where he had delivered me from. God used that moment, he presented my ex in his vulgar, threatening, and irrational  behavior, but I walked inches in front of him and he did not harm me. God did not allow me harm from what he had delivered me from. Instead in that moment God said, " Claudine if I delivered you from this, then there is not a single situation that is bigger than Me."

After that, I knew it was pertaining to things to come. 

Low and behold, weeks later, I receive insight that my newborn's father is taking me to court. A man that does nothing for our innocent baby, but hides behind the lie that I will not allow him the chance to visit with his child. And in that particular moment, when I felt tears of anger and feelings of rage building, I remembered the incident that occurred almost a month before and I found joy. 

I serve a God that already has this situation handled. Just like He delivered me exactly as life began to escape me in 2011, He will handle this situation as well. God sees all and knows all and I praise Him now more than ever for November 6, 2011. I praise Him for what He has done and what He will do. I am excited for my future. But, most of all I thank God for a bendable, but unbreakable spirit!

Father by Blood

What were you Thinking?

So many times I get asked this question and my answer is always the same... death was not an option.

Maybe it was the Holy Spirit talking to me on the many occasions when I was in the heat of the battle with my ex husband, but either way I never once believed "He's going to kill me". I don't really know how to explain it but I always knew that there would be an end to the episode. Quite honestly I thought he would kill himself before he would kill me.

Contrastingly, my biggest fear when I was not engaged in war with him was a murder suicide. Maybe I fell victim to the all too common "It won't happen to me" epidemic, but looking back I'm not sure if that was really it either.

Even now I still can't briefly answer this question so let me just paint the picture...

"Come with me now" Claudine!

Father's Day

Take Your Ring!

"Give me your hand Claudine!"

"No! Stop it! You're going to break my finger and right in front of the kids!?!"

I pulled my hand away from him as he fought unrelentlessly to take hold of it.

"Get out of the car or I'm going to pull you out."

I thought for a second knowing that he could very well make good on his threat. But something inside of me told me that things would only get worse if I followed his command.

"Look, I'm not getting out of the car. Stop being irrational and I'm not giving you back the ring. We are married, I am your wife! What is going on with you?"

"What's going on with me?!? You the one walking around here with make up, lip gloss and tight a$$ pants on!"

"What?!? Are you serious? I'm out with you and my clothes are not tight! They are just not baggy, I'm not a man! If that's what you like then I can't help you!"

As you can imagine my careless choice of words did not help the situation. Almost immediately he reached into the car and pulled me half way out of the window. I tried with all of my strength to resist his pull but lost to his size and strength.

"Stop, stop! Please! You can have your stupid ring! You are scaring the kids and hurting me. It's not that serious."

My daughters whimpered in the back seat as they sat witness to their father's brutal treatment of me, but he had no regard for them and completely ignored the fact that they were even there. I fought with my now swollen finger to get the ring off, but it wouldn't budge. Shades of purple began mixing with a greenish blue to replace the natural brown tone of my ring finger. Finally, he grew tired of my failing attempts and grabbed my hand ripping the ring from my finger.


PAIN radiated down my entire hand and I pulled it close to my heart desperately trying to ameliorate the throbbing and sharp ache that had taken over.

I could only imagine what the neighbors were thinking as this entire scenario unfolded directly outside of one of the houses in my parent's neighborhood. But, at that point any pride that I had was replaced by agony and anger at my oversized bully of a husband.

"You have your ring, now leave!"

But of course to add insult to injury(literally) he took my ring, an alleged symbol of our love, and threw it clear across the field near the houses.

"There! Now go get your ring! Since you don't want to be my wife that's where it belongs. In the street just like you!

Almost instantly, I forgot about the pain in my hand replaced now by the pain in my heart. Without a word to him, I drove off. And I could hear him yelling...

"See! I knew you didn't care!

At a loss for words, I caught a glimpse of my girls in the rear view and tried hard to dispel thoughts of the damage being witness to that ordeal would cause. But, the reality of the matter was that they were once again the hardest hit...