I had a glorious time, purely celebrating, dancing, praising the LORD recalling how GOD stretched out (HIS) hand stopped that little 1968 Montego Mercury right on the median. I can still see this day in my mind's eye. I still recall the entire event. Again, nineteen , Martha had dispatched me to the Bus Station to pick up her ex-husband.
I remember clearly not wanting to . I also knew better than to protest or express any resistance in any way. Martha's mind was stuck on the money she was going to fleece him of. Somehow we were always co-conspirators with her. Every day Martha got up with a new scheme, a new way to swindle money and somehow we were always involved. Our reward would be a fraction of the "booty". A little money, some of the chicken from the bucket of KentuckyFried Chicken. ****** was always known for having too much money and no sense according to Mathy Jane. She was in-between husbands again. The young fine thing she had enraptured, then captured had fled. Martha was pissed. Just went and had a damn nervous breakdown. Mathy wanted her man back. The same way a toddler demands her "Binky". Martha's "Binky" was gone! He did well. That poor man fell down a shit hole and there was no way out.
A "root worker", a modern day witch, no way! Yes way! I am proof. I am a remnant. I am a strong survivor. Martha was not happy , my retelling of how that eighteen wheeler just whizzed by me made Martha smirk . Little did I know.
I know now, have known for a very long time, just could never accept the degree of hatred my own mother secretly held for me, for all of us, for Almighty GOD, for her entire long life.
What a waste. Martha was cursed, knew she was cursed but preferred the curse. I reject the curse, rebuke it. I am dancing on satan's bur head.
Praise the LORD1
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