Every now and then, I get these revelations about myself...and this one just happened to hit me at 2:43 this morning....as I was laying here with Wednesday nights, memories/events on my mind. I think the most profound thing for me, was when someone knocked over a glass of iced coffee. Of course this sounds stupid, I know, but I dont know if I was just marvelling at it b/c of the path that it travelled across the table (there was another cup that caused it to split, down the middle into two paths and go on each side of me) or my really slow reaction time to seeing it. Heck, it may have been the pretty creamy tan color, I really dont know, lol. But I watched as it approached my Bible and maybe just reach around the front of it (still doing nothing, at this point) and then when someone jumped across me and grabbed it, at this point I realize, okay we have a spill, but up until that point everything felt like it was moving in slow motion. Then somehow my Bible pages werent wet, and my pastor, waves his hands in the air and nonchalantly says, Its a miracle! For me, it was a small one. It immediately, flooded me with memories of when my sister and I, lived in NYC, and EVERYTHING in our living room was not just charred, but burnt, melted to a crisp...gone! Except for a Bible, which was on top of a furnace a foot away from the source of what started the electrical fire. It didnt just survive the fire, but I remember it wasnt even blackened, like the entire room was; which made it especially odd. The kitchen, (which was the room next to it) in the cupboard, were plates that had a thin layer of soot on them, my clothes that were at the other end of the apartment, were so badly smoke damaged, I couldnt even keep them, but here was this bible in the middle of it all, and the only remnants it held of the fire, was the smell. So I was thinking about that, and then of our conversation that again got my mind thinking about how hard I work, and I mean literally at work. I mentioned, my husbands fear of being homeless, and I was laying here laughing in my head, Shoot, as much as I work, you would think I am the one afraid of being homeless. Which made me decide to evaluate myself and figure out why I work as hard as I do. Then it hit me, what my motivating factor was (a couple of them actually, lol). When I was younger, my mother used to tell me, if I didnt get my toys picked up, and I didnt do it when she asked me to You know, you have to be careful or, I might have to start calling you Lazy instead of Lacey. Also Hispanics, could never pronounce my name right, Id have to go by, what sounded like Leecy, or else they thought my name was lazy. Lastly, the biggest impact of them all, was a staff in the group home I was in, who told me I would never amount to anything more than a hooker up on Gun Hill Rd (the main road up the block from us, where a lot of the group home girls did go and sell themselves), b/c I didnt have a pot to piss in or a window to throw it out of. All my life, (after being culturally shocked) into living in NYC, I always said and knew within me, this wasnt a place for me to live. Although, it toughened me up, and opened my eyes to how evil and cruel the world could be, I could not forget my childhood. I had fun, it was wonderful and safe, and Id be damned, if I didnt provide that for my children. Also at my job, theres so much work for me to do, I feel like I cant do or learn enough. Its like a boat filling up with water, and Im filling up my bucket up and dumping it out the side of the boat, but dang it, it keeps filling right back up. Sorry....side tracked there for a bit, anyways, maybe it was the words that I thought motivated me, but now that I think about it, maybe it really is my kiddos!
Posted on: Fri, 29 Aug 2014 09:39:29 +0000
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