Nothing Can Keep Me Down!

In mid-1983, my Mother announced that she would help me by purchasing a home for myself and my five children. I was newly married to husband number two. I was thirty-five years old and had spitefully told God that I was tired of being “alone” in life. I decided to marry the first man who asked me. This person was one with a whole world of trouble in his heart, and when I accepted my Mother’s invitation to come to her hometown of Meridian, I was ready for whatever was next.

“New” husband begged me not to leave him behind in Chicago. Despite the number of blowouts ( complete with my having to call for the police to get him out), I agreed to one more chance. He and I, and my five children, moved to Meridian, Mississippi, in the county of Lauderdale, only to discover that the new house was not built; in fact, it was a parceled-off piece of land with little stakes around it bearing red flags and a sign that said, “Future location of a Jim Walter Home.” What? This meant moving in with my Mother in the home she had second mortgaged to build this new four-bedroom home, and I will not go into all the heartache this brought about.

In the meantime, both my “husband” and myself found jobs. I worked many domestic jobs, much to the embarrassment of my children. I had three teens and two pre-teens. “You’re smarter than that, Mom,” I would hear as I came home from working in the homes of other women. Some of these women were dyed-in-the-wool southern women who had no idea that the Civil War had been fought and won by others and worked me like a runaway servant. Still, the house was finally being built, and I knew honest work was better than no work. My reputation for cleaning houses thoroughly got me lots of work in various places.

After the final breakup with the new husband, who had proven he preferred another “lifestyle,” I had to move beyond the disgrace of my relatives whispering, “Did you hear about her?” “She thought she had a good husband….but girl….” I ignored their talk and moved my children into that sweet little house on a dirt road with acres of woods behind it and a window over my kitchen sink.

One of my “ladies” recommended me to the folks at a new shelter known as “The Care Lodge,” which was a safe house for abused women and children. I was hired as a maid, doing everything from standing on ladders cleaning the chandeliers to moving heavy boxes of donated canned goods just like a man. I eavesdropped on the women in meetings, where they rehashed the same stories of how they got beaten up and listened to the same answers from the “experts” who offered solutions that were not practical at all. I fumed inside, wanting to help, but I was just a “maid.”

One day, I noticed a blackboard in the huge kitchen. I asked if I could use colored chalk to write inspirational words for the women, and I was granted access. I also asked if I could cook for the women once or twice per week. It was not long before my smothered pork steaks, rice, gravy, and biscuits became a hit. So did my inspirations, which were now coming straight from the Bible. I got fired because I took in one of the women and her children when someone robbed her at the house, and no one would listen to her. I opened my home to several women, and the lodge called it a “Conflict of Interest.” Fine, I just went on working in the homes of other women, some older and some younger. I even did ironing for a doctor and was paid very well.

Fast forward to 1994. I was four years past being homeless myself. All the children were adults except the last two teenagers. I was new to Minnesota, where I now reside. I went back to school and got my certification to be a counselor and advocate for, you guessed it, battered and abused women and children. This time, with a corner office and the full support of the staff I worked with. Harriet Tubman Women’s’ Center, now known as simply Tubman in Minneapolis. I could do everything I had longed to do at The Care Lodge and thanked God for the experiences I got to share with the women in Meridian.

The picture you see is the Care Lodge today and some people there now. I do not doubt that some of the windows are those I washed over many years ago, and I am thankful for the opportunities I had there and those I had before and after. God has seen fit to allow me to share my life and continues to give me fresh visions as I journey on!

Lord, I am thankful for everything You allowed me to do and so grateful that You chose me to be your messenger to others!