So have not been in the mood lately for blogging. So many things have been happening around here that just make me sad. I didn’t want to talk about them.
I have always found an outlet in writing. Saying what’s on my mind makes me feel better. It has saved me from years of counseling. Or maybe I should have gone to counseling and kept my mouth (fingers) shut.
Anyway, there’s a lot, here’s some of it.
I had a new grandson a month ago. His name is Owen Athanasius. Also about a month ago, I received a phone call from an investigator for the bishop who was investigating a certain person I know for being inappropriate. This is an adult who works in the church – you know, a safe environments thing. I did not start the investigation. I repeat: I did not say or do one thing to have this person investigated, at any time, in any way. My name was given to the chancery because of some involvement with some of my kids. They called me. They said they had to talk to me, my daughter, that DCF had to talk to me, and that DCF would be bring the state police – it’s routine.
I’m like great, I have nothing else going on.
This investigator was really nice. Really helpful in a couple of other areas I had going on. He told me that this investigation was absolutely anonymous, and that anything I said or did would be in strict confidence. Pretty much instantaneously, my pastor called me and asked what was up in regards to this.
I am sure it wasn’t the investigator. I have an idea of what happened but that’s for another post. I told my pastor what I knew, and that it wasn’t me, and that I was only cooperating. He said, sure, okay, everything’s fine.
Fast forward two weeks to my grandson’s Baptism. I walked into the church with my three youngest kids and stood in the vestibule for a minute. I was absolutely quite shocked at who I saw there, but that is also for another post. I told you there was a lot going on. Anyway, the pastor came up to me and told me at my grandson’s baptism and in front of my three youngest children that my rent was doubling, as of now (remember, he is also my landlord), and that he was going to sell the house to help support his school and that I had to look for another place.
I turned around and left. Didn’t know what else to do. Couldn’t think. Kids cried all the way home because they had to move and would have to leave their friends.
I realize that this man was the one who provided a place for me to stay when my house was being foreclosed four years ago, but really? Don’t even talk to me about anything? Evict me in front of my kids on the day of my grandson’s baptism?
There’s more going on, to be sure, but what gets me is that why was I brought to live here? To make 10 more members for the congregation? Because I had a son in seminary? So as a single woman I could be controlled? Seriously, don’t I have 6 minors living here? What makes it okay to throw me out in the street? I pay rent here. Always have, never missed a payment. It’s not like the house was given to me.
Needless to say, I am not going to that church. I am so sad. It never fails to amaze me how I get in so much trouble by minding my own business.