TOILET PAPER AND OTHER ROADSIDE GIFTSWritten by Irvin L. Rozier
Matthew 6, 31, 32: "Therefore take no thought, saying, what shall we eat? Or, what shall we drink? Or, wherewithal shall we be clothed? (For after all these things do Gentiles seek:) for your heavenly Father knoweth that ye have need of all these things."I was a single parent with three children, and we were out of toilet paper, and I had no money to buy some. I prayed and asked Lord to give me enough money to make it through that day. Shortly thereafter, a friend of mine called and told me if I did a little work for him he would pay me $40. As I drove out to his farm, I was thinking now I could buy some toilet paper. About five miles down road, I spied something beside road. It looked like a grocery sack. I came to a stop, backed up, got out of my car, picked up bag, looked inside, and shouted, "Praise Lord!" Inside bag was a brand new packet containing eight rolls of toilet paper! You can't tell me that Lord is not concerned with every detail of your life. I had tears of joy in my eyes as I placed that precious gift in my car and drove on to my friend's house. The Lord not only gave me a small job so I could have some money, he also gave me something more precious than gold. The eight rolls of toilet paper revealed his great love he has for his own. I had planted a garden and needed some fertilizer. I didn't have money to buy it, so I asked Lord to provide it. My children sure enjoyed fresh squash, silver queen corn, and watermelons. Once again, I drove down this country road, spied something out of corner of my eye, stopped my car, backed up, and there, just for me, was a 50 pound bag of fertilizer. That example of God's love not only strengthened and encouraged me, it also made my garden grow. About a year later, a friend of mine called and wanted me to go with him to Hazlehurst, a town about 50 miles away. I said, "Okay", and drove on out to his place. I had forgotten to place an ink pen in my pocket. Usually I carry one and a small piece of paper to write my thoughts down. I said nothing to my friend but to Lord I said, "Lord, I need an ink pen." We started on our trip to Hazlehurst. My friend was driving, and I was thinking he was driving too fast and maybe I should be driving. I've learned if you drive speed limit you get there just as soon, and you don't have worry that you'll get a ticket. About 15 miles down road, my friend suddenly whipped Camaro over on shoulder, stopped and said "You drive."
| | Post Traumatic Stress and Addiction Written by Ted W.
Post Traumatic Stress and Addiction The consequences of Child Maltreatment: “early use of drugs/alcohol and substance abuse/dependences”* Despite my parent’s attendance at church, my home environment was not godly. There was a war between Mom and Dad and I became a casualty. One morning when I was 5 years old, my younger brother and I were playing with wooden blocks in our bedroom. Mom and Dad had been fighting. Dad went to work and we continued playing. Mom came into bedroom screaming, “I told you kids not to play with those blocks”. My brother said, “run” and we both ran into different parts of house. Mom cornered him in service porch and I heard screams as she beat him. Then she came flying into living room in a rage “Now, its your turn” she said. She held me tight with one arm and hit me with full force as I looked into her face. And it was a look of hatred I saw there. The beating seemed like it lasted forever. Every time she hit me my hate started to grow .Her face was burned into my memory with hate. Finally, it was over and I crumpled to ground.That evening Dad came home. Mom met him at door and said: “The children have been really bad today”. Dad pointed to my bedroom and shouted,” Go to your room”. In my room I thought of injustice and I was filled with a consuming hatred toward my father.In one day Mom had introduced me to injustice, corrupted me with a spirit of hate, and turned me against my father. These traumas change a persons life. This is not blame but an understanding of causes. The traumas were repressed out of my conscious mind in order to cope.In later years drugs would obliterate all memory. I was 15 when I first started using drugs. It was weekends first and got progressively worse. At age 18 one judge said to me,” I don’t know where you’re going but your getting there fast” On reflection I think traumatic incidents in my life, especially root trauma with my mother, set me up for addiction/acoholism.I explain it like this: If you have a burnt finger and place it in a cool glass of water it feels “good”. Similarly, my conscience had been burned by hate and felt “good” when immersed in chemical high of drugs and alcohol. My drug use eventually led to heroin.I was arrested and sentenced to a 7 year civil commitment to California Rehabilitation Center in Norco, California. While there I wrote an autobiography. I could only see that my desire for acceptance was cause of my addiction.The early traumas were completely buried in my subconscious .Psychology calls this repression.I believe incidents were so traumatic ,especially root trauma, that I coped by blocking it out of my conscious mind. After release I started using drugs again and was sent to another program: Family Program at Tarzana Psychiatric Hospital (Therapeutic Community).I was shocked when I arrived. My first view of “Family” was in cafeteria and it looked like a line of carnival sideshow freaks. The men had shaved heads and wore dresses. The women were wearing men’s clothes. Some were wearing paper bags over their heads. All were wearing cardboard sandwich signs with crayon marked messages on them.It was a weird menagerie of bizarre design. It is amazing what can be done to human beings in name of “Therapy” The first therapy was to stand on wall. If you were ever punished with your face against wall then you understand. Sometimes it was for 10 minutes, sometimes 20 hours. This is cruelty and not therapy.Honestly, I don’t know if this goes on at Tarzana now, but it certainly did then. Sleep deprivation, shaving heads, wearing dresses for men, standing in uncomfortable stress positions: all this was considered “therapy”.If you are wondering what all this had to do as “treatment” for drug Addiction, you are not alone. 30 years later I’m still wondering
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