Heaven Scent

A responsible man doesn’t do things he knows are wrong and then blames others. If he commits a mistake, he takes responsibility for it. He feels sorry for it, learns from it, and offers to make up for it. Every reliable man works hard. That means no matter what happens, he’d work hard to ensure he fulfilled his role and protect his family’s well-being. A strong man knows how to calmly set limits on his reactions over emotions. A committed man never cheats nor becomes un-loyal to his partner. He thinks of his affection as a full-time commitment. My mom’s boyfriend, Eddie, was not a responsible, reliable, strong, or a committed man. In fact, I believe he was the perfect opposite of all the above statements: He was, and continues to be, ‘The Meanest Man I Ever Knew.” No Refuge When there is no refuge in the home, there is no refuge. Even though I didn’t believe there was a God, I would often find myself appealing to Him for protection. After one particularly brutal beating, I could not stop sobbing, and I tried to stop but couldn’t. With each resounding “shut up,” Eddie became increasingly angry and began to beat me even harder. Even though no tears were coming from my eyes, I could not stop sobbing. My mother stood by, as she often did, helplessly crying. On that day, I begged God to reach down from His far-off heaven and give me a haven: a place of refuge. It wasn’t long after, I believe, God answered my request. Twice a week was my day to gather the laundry from the clothes hamper. I didn’t like this chore because the hamper was in the wall below the stairs. Getting the clothes out often meant facing giant tree roaches or rats. Then, there was always the ever-present, not so pleasant, stink of urine. I can only assume all us boys still wet the bed; I know I did until I was thirteen. My mother said that the laundry always “stunk to high heaven.” However, one day as I was gathering the laundry, I heard Eddie’s car pull into the driveway. Without thinking, I quickly jumped into that clothes hamper and hid. As I was curled up hiding, it was as if I had entered a different world; I could hear my heart beating, not simply feel the pounding of it in my chest, but the actual sound. I was as quiet as possible, keeping my mouth open wide to allow the air to flow freely. I didn’t dare to take a deep breath; Eddie might hear. As usual, Eddie came through the house cursing and screaming, looking for someone to beat. He threatened us, “If you don’t come out, I’ll knock you into next week.” He checked everywhere: opening and slamming doors in the kitchen, bathroom, closets, and looking under beds. I was sure he would find me, but he didn’t. This time he gave up and went away. He never thought to look in the dirty clothes hamper! I wish there were some way to share with you the profound joy I felt. Something I had hoped would happen came to pass; I hid, and Eddie did not find me! God had given me a sanctuary, a refuge. My mom always said that the hamper stunk to high heaven. But on that day, and others to follow, I learned that the dirty clothes hamper was not only heaven-sent but was also heaven scent. We all need a place of refuge, a place of protection. Where is your place of refuge? Wake Up Call When you were growing up, did you ever have the unhappy experience of putting your finger into a light socket? It makes your hair stand up, doesn’t it? I knew some kids who did it for fun, but not me, that’s for sure. Do you know what a cattle prod is? It is a battery-operated device designed to move cows wherever you want them to go by delivering a powerful shock between two electrodes. Sadly, in the 1960s and before, some police used them for crowd control. Close examination of the photos at Selma, Alabama, in 1965, shows that police used them on people. I’ll never forget the first time, unfortunately, the first of many, when Eddie woke me up, literally with a jolt. He pressed those two electrodes of a cattle prod to the soles of my bare feet. I suppose he thought it was humorous, but it was certainly not for me. To this day, I have not been able to sleep if my feet are unprotected. Even the slightest exposure will suddenly wake me up for fear of exposing my feet to his sadism. In my fifties, I tried conducting Exposure Therapy on myself. This form of psychological treatment was developed to help people confront their fears. I knew I didn’t need a sheet to cover my feet in my own home, so, for a few months, I tried various levels of Exposure Therapy. After the third month, I felt the therapy was somewhat successful because I could fall asleep with my feet uncovered. However, the slightest touch of anything would still cause me to wake up in fear. It was then that I asked myself a simple question, “Why not keep my feet covered?” If a mere sheet over my feet allowed me to sleep soundly through the night, why not use one? It didn’t hurt me; it didn’t hurt anyone else. I stopped the Exposure Therapy and, over a decade later, am sleeping soundly with my feet safely tucked under a sheet.