I had this big idea. I would write about how love is always in the present. I would explain how I came to understand this. It was not working. I started again, and again it fell flat.
I still wanted to write about how love is in the present. We can only give love in the moment that we now live and breathe. When that moment passes, we can’t go back and give the love we should have given. It is behind us.
I am sixty-eight years old. I can give you a whole litany of why I am owed, and they would be powerful reasons. My parents did not abuse me, but others did, and I kept quiet. I learned well how to keep secrets. I don’t know what incident threw me into such a dark and lonely place for decades. I can tell you about them, and you would tear up because it is not a pleasant story. I could tell you how once you become a victim you become an easy target to anyone who senses that within you. I could tell you that I understand the panic that these people buying up everything is doing this out of fear, the kind of fear that guts you. I know that fear. I have lived with that fear.
Instead I will tell you a story of people who at different points in my life in those moments in my life befriended me, and stepped out and in kindness and patience gave me love. It is a story of how intricately woven my life has been of people who have come and blessed me for a season and then were gone. I do not believe in chance meetings. I believe people come into our lives for a reason.
I was loved by my immediate family. They were mostly kind. My brothers put me in risky situations. It wasn’t until I was eight that I learned that guns were dangerous when I saw my brother’s hand where he had been shot. I stayed with a lovely couple. He worked with my father and she was a housewife, Mr. and Mrs. Bell. Every night she would play the piano and I would sing with her. She played hymns like they were ragtime. In the evening they played games with me like dominos. She was a wonder of constant movement. He was calm and rarely raised his voice. They loved each other deeply. Living with them was an adventure. She made wedding dresses for brides who could not afford to have a dress. Mrs. Bell told me every bride needs to have a special dress, and just because they had no money was not a reason that a bride should go without. She made them dresses. I remember while I stayed with them, a young mountain bride of maybe seventeen years old stood while Mrs. Bell told her how beautiful she was, and she just beamed. I wanted to love others like Mrs. Bell loved others. She is probably part of the reason I became a foster care worker.
School was rough, I was bullied, but along the way people became my friends and I felt so unlovable due to abuse that no one knew was happening to me. I was afraid to say a word. I was afraid I would be killed if I spoke. I stayed silent. I took voice lessons and I had a wonderful teacher. I wanted to sing opera and he told me I had a perfect voice for show tunes. He encouraged me and believed in me. I loved singing. I still love to sing. He told me to sing in the Junior Miss Pageant. I am not a pretty woman. I have been called ugly. High school was not kind to me. I was teased and bullied and aske what was I going to sing, “What kind of fool am I?” He kept saying you can do it. Don’t listen to them he would tell me. It was hard but I did it, and I sang a song from Oliver the musical. He came into my life and gave me courage to fight down a fear and to go up against odds. I did not win. It did not matter that I did not win the title because I won myself.
I met Marie at Erskine soon after I arrived there. I will forever believe that she was placed in my life for a reason. I came to Erskine with a lot of baggage. I had been emotionally and physically abused by my paternal grandmother and it filled me with hate. I had been abused from the age of 10 until the age of 15 by a man I call the babysitter. I had a teacher that emotionally abused me, and I was bullied at school. I was a human body filled with hate, rage and hated God and myself and everyone. I had been fearless as a small child, but fear was my best friend.
I was nineteen years old in the spring of 1971. The Babysitter had tried to force me to leave with him. I refused because I refused to allow myself to be abused again. He had harassed me often that year, but this time he threatened me. He had grabbed my arm and tried to drag me into his car. I broke free and he told me that if I ever told anyone what he did to me that he would have me killed. I still believe he would. I was shaking when he drove off. I was terrified. I ran to Marie’s dorm and broke down telling the entire horror story. I told her I wanted to escape, but there was no escape. I just wanted the pain and fear to end. I wanted to live but I wanted an escape.
Marie sat there listening to me and did not show any horror. I told her I didn’t believe in God, and she did not judge me. I was beyond broken; I was shattered. She was the only person I had told. My Grannie taught me how to keep secrets especially those that hurt me. I said, “Help me. I am afraid what I might do.”
She closed her eyes. I know now she was praying. She then wrote on a piece of paper and told me to take it back to my room before opening it and to do what it said on the paper.
I was hopeful on my way to my room. I hoped she would tell me where I could go to be safe. I wanted to be loved and wanted to escape. I opened the piece of paper and there was written, “Read I Corinthians Chapter 13”.
I flew into a rage. I screamed and threw the piece of paper into the trash. I fell onto my bed and sobbed until I could not sob anymore. Curiosity got the better of me. I picked it up.
The words were beautiful. They spoke to the recesses of my soul that I had locked safely away when my Grannie had locked me under the stairwell when I was three years old. The day she shook me so hard my teeth hurt and bled. The day that I threw up for hours before going cold and did not move and my mother had rubbed me all night praying for me to get better. The day the edges of my retina died, and yet, due to my mother’s love I survived. Those words unlocked that lock I had placed on my heart, and that was how my journey began to become whole and to a place of forgiveness. It was 1955 when that happened. It was 2018 before I came to that place of forgiveness. It was the first Bible passage I ever read for myself.
My life changed, and six months later I was a Christian. I changed my majors to Bible and Behavioral Science. I was on a journey to also understand love. I wrote in 2015 my Lenten Study on that one chapter that changed my life. I realized then that love is patient and kind. If we do those two things, we are practicing love. I think I can be kind, but patience…not so much.
After Erskine I met a man who changed my life, he gave me back myself. I love him still though we went our separate ways. I love him because how can I not love someone who gave me my greatest gift- my life. I do not regret the decision I made to end it, but I regret I had to make the hardest choice of my life. My father was dying, and my mother did not drive. I decided to care for them, and be the best foster care worker I could be. I knew that there would be little left to my life, I accepted that fact. I am a realist, but I was wrong. People would continue to be placed in my life.
I made good friends at my job. I have been retired since 2006 and I talk to someone from that former job every week. One comes and we spend the day making chow-chow (a southern relish) every other year. They have kept me sane. One of my dear friends whom I call Nancy from Alabama nominated me for Social Worker of the year for the state of South Carolina in 2004 with the foster parent association. I won it. She revived me. When my mother died, she came to be with me for a few days. She drove from Alabama to be with me. I will never forget that kindness.
After Ma died in 2008, I was lost. I was struggling to make ends meet. Two women sent me money each month for three years. I would not have survived without it. Once when I thought I would have to go without food, I got in the mail $63, and it was enough to get me through to the end of the month. I live in a nice house, but I only have lifetime living rights to live here. Once I die, it goes to my nieces and nephews equally. I cannot sell it. Sometime during those years of poverty, I felt trapped, but then I look at the beauty and know I am blessed.
I went to the United Methodist Women board for a few years. The women there helped me thru a dark time in my life. They gave me courage to continue.
In 2018, I forgave all those who wronged me. It broke those chains I kept locked tight around my heart. It is weird but I am as happy as I was when I was a little girl climbing trees.
I did not get to that place without God placing those people in my life. I did not name all of them, because there are just too many to name. Each of these people gave me a kindness. I was blessed by their kindnesses. I hope I can be kind to others in return.
Each of the people who gave me love via kindness and patience, did it in that moment I needed it. It was not put off. It was given to me while I was present with them. It is how love must be given at that moment you are with someone. I hope I will always be able to give back to others.
I am just an ordinary woman, nothing special, but I have been given an extraordinary life. I know it is not done. I know my purpose is to write. I know it is a gift I have been given. It is time for me to use it.
Last night I started writing a poem… and as I often do when I write my poetry, I sing it first. People who knew me as a toddler told me that I was born singing.
I felt the wind rising in my soul…
And knew that I would soar.
I heard words saying
She won’t be much,
They didn’t know me
But I knew me
For I heard the wind rising in my soul.
This is a difficult time for everyone. Be kind to everyone you meet. Be patient. We are here for one reason in this life and that is to love those who cross our path. You never know. The kindness you give may just change a person like me.
Ever in Christ’s Love,
Mary Elizabeth Todd
March 16, 2020
I still wanted to write about how love is in the present. We can only give love in the moment that we now live and breathe. When that moment passes, we can’t go back and give the love we should have given. It is behind us.
I am sixty-eight years old. I can give you a whole litany of why I am owed, and they would be powerful reasons. My parents did not abuse me, but others did, and I kept quiet. I learned well how to keep secrets. I don’t know what incident threw me into such a dark and lonely place for decades. I can tell you about them, and you would tear up because it is not a pleasant story. I could tell you how once you become a victim you become an easy target to anyone who senses that within you. I could tell you that I understand the panic that these people buying up everything is doing this out of fear, the kind of fear that guts you. I know that fear. I have lived with that fear.
Instead I will tell you a story of people who at different points in my life in those moments in my life befriended me, and stepped out and in kindness and patience gave me love. It is a story of how intricately woven my life has been of people who have come and blessed me for a season and then were gone. I do not believe in chance meetings. I believe people come into our lives for a reason.
I was loved by my immediate family. They were mostly kind. My brothers put me in risky situations. It wasn’t until I was eight that I learned that guns were dangerous when I saw my brother’s hand where he had been shot. I stayed with a lovely couple. He worked with my father and she was a housewife, Mr. and Mrs. Bell. Every night she would play the piano and I would sing with her. She played hymns like they were ragtime. In the evening they played games with me like dominos. She was a wonder of constant movement. He was calm and rarely raised his voice. They loved each other deeply. Living with them was an adventure. She made wedding dresses for brides who could not afford to have a dress. Mrs. Bell told me every bride needs to have a special dress, and just because they had no money was not a reason that a bride should go without. She made them dresses. I remember while I stayed with them, a young mountain bride of maybe seventeen years old stood while Mrs. Bell told her how beautiful she was, and she just beamed. I wanted to love others like Mrs. Bell loved others. She is probably part of the reason I became a foster care worker.
School was rough, I was bullied, but along the way people became my friends and I felt so unlovable due to abuse that no one knew was happening to me. I was afraid to say a word. I was afraid I would be killed if I spoke. I stayed silent. I took voice lessons and I had a wonderful teacher. I wanted to sing opera and he told me I had a perfect voice for show tunes. He encouraged me and believed in me. I loved singing. I still love to sing. He told me to sing in the Junior Miss Pageant. I am not a pretty woman. I have been called ugly. High school was not kind to me. I was teased and bullied and aske what was I going to sing, “What kind of fool am I?” He kept saying you can do it. Don’t listen to them he would tell me. It was hard but I did it, and I sang a song from Oliver the musical. He came into my life and gave me courage to fight down a fear and to go up against odds. I did not win. It did not matter that I did not win the title because I won myself.
I met Marie at Erskine soon after I arrived there. I will forever believe that she was placed in my life for a reason. I came to Erskine with a lot of baggage. I had been emotionally and physically abused by my paternal grandmother and it filled me with hate. I had been abused from the age of 10 until the age of 15 by a man I call the babysitter. I had a teacher that emotionally abused me, and I was bullied at school. I was a human body filled with hate, rage and hated God and myself and everyone. I had been fearless as a small child, but fear was my best friend.
I was nineteen years old in the spring of 1971. The Babysitter had tried to force me to leave with him. I refused because I refused to allow myself to be abused again. He had harassed me often that year, but this time he threatened me. He had grabbed my arm and tried to drag me into his car. I broke free and he told me that if I ever told anyone what he did to me that he would have me killed. I still believe he would. I was shaking when he drove off. I was terrified. I ran to Marie’s dorm and broke down telling the entire horror story. I told her I wanted to escape, but there was no escape. I just wanted the pain and fear to end. I wanted to live but I wanted an escape.
Marie sat there listening to me and did not show any horror. I told her I didn’t believe in God, and she did not judge me. I was beyond broken; I was shattered. She was the only person I had told. My Grannie taught me how to keep secrets especially those that hurt me. I said, “Help me. I am afraid what I might do.”
She closed her eyes. I know now she was praying. She then wrote on a piece of paper and told me to take it back to my room before opening it and to do what it said on the paper.
I was hopeful on my way to my room. I hoped she would tell me where I could go to be safe. I wanted to be loved and wanted to escape. I opened the piece of paper and there was written, “Read I Corinthians Chapter 13”.
I flew into a rage. I screamed and threw the piece of paper into the trash. I fell onto my bed and sobbed until I could not sob anymore. Curiosity got the better of me. I picked it up.
The words were beautiful. They spoke to the recesses of my soul that I had locked safely away when my Grannie had locked me under the stairwell when I was three years old. The day she shook me so hard my teeth hurt and bled. The day that I threw up for hours before going cold and did not move and my mother had rubbed me all night praying for me to get better. The day the edges of my retina died, and yet, due to my mother’s love I survived. Those words unlocked that lock I had placed on my heart, and that was how my journey began to become whole and to a place of forgiveness. It was 1955 when that happened. It was 2018 before I came to that place of forgiveness. It was the first Bible passage I ever read for myself.
My life changed, and six months later I was a Christian. I changed my majors to Bible and Behavioral Science. I was on a journey to also understand love. I wrote in 2015 my Lenten Study on that one chapter that changed my life. I realized then that love is patient and kind. If we do those two things, we are practicing love. I think I can be kind, but patience…not so much.
After Erskine I met a man who changed my life, he gave me back myself. I love him still though we went our separate ways. I love him because how can I not love someone who gave me my greatest gift- my life. I do not regret the decision I made to end it, but I regret I had to make the hardest choice of my life. My father was dying, and my mother did not drive. I decided to care for them, and be the best foster care worker I could be. I knew that there would be little left to my life, I accepted that fact. I am a realist, but I was wrong. People would continue to be placed in my life.
I made good friends at my job. I have been retired since 2006 and I talk to someone from that former job every week. One comes and we spend the day making chow-chow (a southern relish) every other year. They have kept me sane. One of my dear friends whom I call Nancy from Alabama nominated me for Social Worker of the year for the state of South Carolina in 2004 with the foster parent association. I won it. She revived me. When my mother died, she came to be with me for a few days. She drove from Alabama to be with me. I will never forget that kindness.
After Ma died in 2008, I was lost. I was struggling to make ends meet. Two women sent me money each month for three years. I would not have survived without it. Once when I thought I would have to go without food, I got in the mail $63, and it was enough to get me through to the end of the month. I live in a nice house, but I only have lifetime living rights to live here. Once I die, it goes to my nieces and nephews equally. I cannot sell it. Sometime during those years of poverty, I felt trapped, but then I look at the beauty and know I am blessed.
I went to the United Methodist Women board for a few years. The women there helped me thru a dark time in my life. They gave me courage to continue.
In 2018, I forgave all those who wronged me. It broke those chains I kept locked tight around my heart. It is weird but I am as happy as I was when I was a little girl climbing trees.
I did not get to that place without God placing those people in my life. I did not name all of them, because there are just too many to name. Each of these people gave me a kindness. I was blessed by their kindnesses. I hope I can be kind to others in return.
Each of the people who gave me love via kindness and patience, did it in that moment I needed it. It was not put off. It was given to me while I was present with them. It is how love must be given at that moment you are with someone. I hope I will always be able to give back to others.
I am just an ordinary woman, nothing special, but I have been given an extraordinary life. I know it is not done. I know my purpose is to write. I know it is a gift I have been given. It is time for me to use it.
Last night I started writing a poem… and as I often do when I write my poetry, I sing it first. People who knew me as a toddler told me that I was born singing.
I felt the wind rising in my soul…
And knew that I would soar.
I heard words saying
She won’t be much,
They didn’t know me
But I knew me
For I heard the wind rising in my soul.
This is a difficult time for everyone. Be kind to everyone you meet. Be patient. We are here for one reason in this life and that is to love those who cross our path. You never know. The kindness you give may just change a person like me.
Ever in Christ’s Love,
Mary Elizabeth Todd
March 16, 2020