Gesuschic

  If my twelve year old self knew I was going to be single at forty-four I would have jumped from the tallest building I could find at twelve and a half. I have no idea why in this day and age women are STILL taught to believe they can’t be whole on their own. Now I’m not going to front with anybody. My divorce crushed me.
I loved my husband.
I was a kick ass wife and anyone who knew us as a couple will agree. But hey, he left. That didn’t mean my life was over as a woman. Destined to walk the earth as an old maid who’ll never find love.
Please bitch…I have love.
It’s so weird when you have a marriage, a life wrapped around being a stay at home mom and wife. It’s a great life. I regret nothing. Being at home with my babies and taking care of my husband was awesome. However, after nearly 18yrs I was kind of like a country girl dropped off in the middle of New York City the day my divorce was final. It’s as though I have to rediscover myself all over again.
“Who are you?” as I hear the voice of Anthony Michael Hall from the Breakfast Club echoing in my head…
I hadn’t a clue! I’m mom. I do know that. I’m Momma Dukes to my kids friends. I’m the positive co-worker people like on their team, I’m the friendly stranger who talks to everyone as though I’ve known them my entire life.
The one thing I dreaded though was becoming THAT one girl…You know, the bitter baby mom who wears her misery like a cloak around her neck…”Angel’s ex wife.” Good grief, I DEFINITELY did not want to become HER. I think it’s pretty safe to say I haven’t. Trust me, it’s a constant battle. My humor has helped. Praise God I had a mom who not only was a kick ass wife herself, but she was very confident in who she was as a woman. My dad was loyal as they come, however, if he walked out the door there is no doubt my mom would not have laid in a fetal position waiting for the world to end.
You see, bitter women crumble. They talk shit. They hold on, while screaming they don’t care. I’ve had my moments. My struggle in looking for myself could have easily turned into a cold empty road of nasty bitter tears.
But God…..(and all my Pentecostal brotha and seesters said….!)
You have to find your joy. Sometimes you may not even see it, but it’s your obligation to yourself to choose it.
Especially if you have children. If he’s a good father, LET HIM CONTINUE being a good father. Only bitter bitches stand in the way of that.
If he finds another love, pray for her, lol That he’ll treat her better than he did you. He may be a completely different human being than he was when he was with you, who cares? If you loved with all you had, gave all you had to give and it wasn’t enough, then you’re actually better off.  Right? I just keep it moving. I’m thrown way off by my ex husband not wanting me anymore. I love so damn hard. I can’t comprehend anyone not wanting that. But it happens. You pick up life and carry on. I don’t have time for bitterness.
Plus, I don’t THINK I’m supposed to be single, lol I love love. After everything, I 100% still believe in serendipitous moments, romance in mystery, beauty in chivalry, and yes, I am the biggest hopeless romantic you will ever meet.
No woman wants to start her life over in her 40’s.
But here we are my darling.
So flirt. Be your own kind of beautiful. Play with your hair when the sexy Rent A Center guy talks to you, smile at the young kid in the car next to you that has no idea you’re old enough to be his mom 😉 Take a deep breath and buy that damn movie ticket, go to Chipotle by yourself…It’s going to be okay.
As you exhale that long uneasy breath, look around. Find that joy, grab a hold of it and never let it go.
I’ve blogged about my divorce quite a bit. Writing isn’t just therapy for me. I write in hopes that somehow my crazy life adventure can be a hope to someone else. I’ve said that before, and I mean it. People tend to be so damn private about struggle, especially when you’re a Christian. Some people think if you’re struggling God must be pissed off at you. It’s nonsense. There is going to be struggle, heartache, sadness, all those things! But oh my God…the most treasured of times happen in life when you allow yourself to be vulnerable. (THE “V” WORD! GASP!!!) I blog as I go. The past few months I’ve done a lot of grieving. But when God says it’s time to let things go, you let them go. If you don’t, that bitterness will creep in and kill you from the inside out.  I’m right smack in the middle of this new life and it’s not as scary as I thought. I’m still single, my oldest children are getting ready to fly from the nest and I’m still standing. I still live life louder than the average bear, lol I still laugh every single day. And the best part? I absolutely love this woman, a.k.a. me. I was terrified to get to know her, but damn, I’m so glad I did.
If you’ve been through it, take a moment and notice something. Anything. Breathe. Don’t be bitter. Choose joy. Exhale, and love…don’t ever forget to love.

Selah,
CHERyL

 We’re a month away from the second year of the Godfather’s passing into eternity.
Sigh…Man, that first year was just awful, but this year has had it’s moments. Everyone that I still keep in contact with seems to be getting by okay. However, I still can’t say the name of Rich Fout without my eyes filling up like a mad rushing river. My heart is still broken. But the sting of his death seems to be a bit less overwhelming.
I’ve said it a thousand times before but it still rings truth,  those changing of Seasons will get ya. They’ll get ya good…like an outspoken Republican in an election year 😉 (that was for you Godfather).
Especially on a day like today. The weather is perfect. The days are starting to be longer, people are making plans for Easter, kids are out on spring break.
All I keep thinking about though is that two years ago this time, Rich was telling me he wasn’t going to go anywhere…and then he was gone.
He was gone.
I still feel angry.
Life moves on though. It always does.
Mark Kenney, Patrick Howiler and myself started a radio show. At first it was PMS (Pat Mark & Sheryl) but the three of us talked about it and thought it fitting to re-name the show the new VECTOR. A show Rich had from back in the day. I think all of the time what he would be saying  if he was here. Besides that famous cracked smile, the shaking of his head with that encouraging chuckle was all you needed to
know he approved of something you were doing. I swear it made you feel like you already had succeeded in whatever it was, lol
I miss his face man.
There will NEVER be another Rich Fout.
Callie said it best on Final Flight Ministries, “Rich had a way of making anyone and everyone feel comfortably vulnerable…”
I miss that about him. It never mattered if it was noon, dinner time or the bar closing hour, if you needed Rich you could call him. I was 15yrs old when I first met him at HeartSong on Olentangy River Road. It was Summer time when Mary Burnett picked me up and our afternoon drive to campus with our windows down, blasting Stryper as loud as the car radio could handle began…She said I needed to meet Rich. The door was open to the record store. We walked in and there stood Scott Walton in a Rez tee shirt and some cut off jeans. Rich was behind the counter when he looked at me and said “who is this?” Mary introduced me to both of them. I have never met anyone like Rich. Callie is right. Instantly I felt “comfortably vulnerable,” at home…I was in love with everything about the Godfather.  The way he looked directly at you when he spoke, making you feel like the only person in the room. His rugged look. Long black hair, fatherly laugh, his love of music and perspective of life and faith. Rich Fout was the most beautiful human being I have ever known. Even though I can’t pick up the phone or do a 3am run to White Castle  with him, I still feel his presence. My own children absolutely adored him and continue to talk about him with me, and to their friends who didn’t even know him… He was so loved and continues to be. I blog about Rich, tweet, post pictures on Instagram, it’s my way to assure that none of you forget about him.
Our Moses….
Our Spiritual Father…
Our dear friend….
This year is a bit different though. The starting of the New Vector, old stories about Rich being shared with new found friends…Instead of grief I’ve decided to celebrate. It’s the Godfathers second year in glory.
I have no doubt he hasn’t stopped shouting since he arrived and to this very moment is continuing to dance with Jesus while singing some good ‘ole fashioned folk praise with Larry Norman and Keith Green.
So raise a frosty (chocolate to be exact) and smile about his extreme joy. He is so very missed. But he wanted more than anything to see Jesus and to fly home. And he’s there, so happy anniversary Godfather….dance away…

For The Godfather

Selah,
CHERyL

Healing is such a wicked process. 

First your body goes through a thousand different transitions. Everything from bleeding, bruising,  scabbing, re-scabbing, scarring…The skin is tender to the touch. When someone gets the least bit close to it, your entire body winces in unwanted anticipation  of a painful touch.
Ironic, isn’t it?
Not much of a difference between healing from a physical wound than an emotional one.
And the process of how long it takes is just as similar. By the mere fact it all depends on the one with the pain.
That nagging emotional wound. Wide open as it may be…can just sit there.
The shitty thing about that though, is that everybody you come in contact with, will be dealing with what you haven’t.
It’s true.
That’s why the world is so full of broken people

Time Won’t Let Me Go

Can I Say That?

CHERyL…~

 I’ve been to more places in my head than anywhere else in the physical world. Does that make any sense?
I guess you could say I have always been that kid in the back of the classroom staring out the window.
In my head I was always somewhere else.
It’s just where I wanted to be, somewhere else.
This insane crossroads is such a scary place to be. The best way to describe it is walking around a huge mountain that has a very narrow walking path with no safety rail.
With every step I take I breathe in heavier than before. Every decision I make is the wrong one it seems, haha A familiar reoccurring issue I seem to battle over and over. I’ve decided my new and questionable way of attempting to change that curse, is to simply acknowledge a possible different choice, then just sticking with my original decision. I’ll have to let you all know how that will work out;)
I have no clue what I’m doing. I’m forty-three years old, I have nearly two grown ass children and two teenagers who will be voting within the next four years.
I’m pretty sure I was supposed to have my shit together by now…Yet here I am, starting over…again. {deep breath}
At this point, I’m thankful that all four of my children are headed towards being pretty functional adults ready to take on the world by its spineless balls. What more can I ask for, as a dysfunctional, chaotic emotional wreck as a single parent?
I should lay in bed at night pondering a budget, planing a family vacation, looking forward to a night out with friends come the weekend.
However, I lay there.
Questioning why I never got a passport, planning what movies I’m going to rent next. Looking forward to payday and treating myself to Chipotle and my family to Papa John’s delivery.
Exciting?
I tend to think so.
I never realized how different I was from other people my age until I lost everything, including a lonely marriage, and started all over. I started looking at things, I at one time, thought was important and it dawned on me, it wasn’t so important.
Vacations are nice. But I’d rather spend the money on my kids and being with them instead of just around them.
I bought a 50′ smart television. Nicest mother fuckin’ thing I’ve ever owned in my entire life. Ever since that huge beast entered our home we sit as a family almost every night and watch movies, play games, laugh, crush on Jimmy Fallon…Sounds crazy, but that to me is life.
To me? Those moments are a vacation. Just laughing, getting along, being silly.
My two sons who are as different from one another as DAY and NIGHT. They sit and play that Play Station Four like they were best friends.
Priceless.
I blog about every little thing I go through. I live my world right where everyone can see it. Occasionally, I’ll apologize but don’t ever expect it, haha I’m probably the only divorced, single, somewhat conservative mom listening to Wiz Khalifa and Anthrax on a daily basis. I get my feelings hurt like a typical girl and I am a Christian, yet I struggle not wanting to throat punch certain people every single day. I was definitely made from a different mold.
I’m starting to let my children branch out a little bit and make decisions that in my old life, I would override and make for them. But it’s a new dawn, a new day. I’m terrified. But I have to start trusting my own parenting.
It’s time. They’re getting older. We have a completely different life than they were promised. Than I was promised. I need to start doing things different for their sake, my sake, we’re learning to live all over again and just now getting comfortable enough to exhale. At this point, I’m winging it. I’m trying to trust me again and it’s a difficult journey. I pray, I cry, I put my big girl panties on and step up and out of the boat and walk…My focus now, is keeping everything, I fought so hard to get back;
Confidence
Dignity
Self Respect
Faith
Redemption
My goal now is to never look back. Never miss what use to be. Which is crazy for me to even say. It’s possible though.
Joan Rivers once said “I wish I could tell you it gets better, but it doesn’t. You get better.”
I think I’m that person who will always be on a journey etched with struggle. Not because of some sort of spiritual punishment, lesson I haven’t quite yet learned, but because every generation, every lifetime needs a crazy Cheryl, haha I am unconventional. A bit out of the ordinary. I find unquestionable beauty in the simplest things. I just feel that the world through my perspective, is doable. I just want everyone I come in contact with, to see that you can find the good in everything, if you choose to not just look, but have an intention to look and actually find.
In people, situations, anything. I’m not trying to puff myself up or be someones Savior. I just want to be an example. That no matter what you’re going through, your glass of vodka can be half full. “Cheers!”  😉
These are the places I go to in my head all of the time. The “somewhere else” is merely  making a difference, regardless if you know you have or not. Does that make any sense?

I Can Only Hope,
Gesuschic

 It happened, didn’t it? You read the title of my blog and like most people you had a certain stereotype enter into your mind. It’s okay. I would guess from my own assumptions that a lot of upper and middle class Americans would have that same view. But what if I told you after reading about my own view point, you just might have a different opinion?
I thank God everyday I had the beautiful examples I had in life. My mom and dad were poor, piss poor if you will. But it was a known fact that Tom and Wanda Ingram never met a stranger. That old “ghetto house” over by Champion and Main were home and refuge to MANY different characters through the years. People still talk about them, that house, that time. It was magical, I know that now.
To have been able to call them mom and dad was an honor. I’m only sorry that death swooped them too soon, that my own children weren’t able to see the example from where I came from.
It was important to them, respect. To love people regardless of their race, Religion, gender or status.
As an adult I had a fairy tale life. I was a Pastor’s wife. I stayed home, cooked, cleaned, home schooled my babies and greeted my husband with kisses and had supper ready when he walked in the door. For most women now days, they would gasp at that reality. But as a Feminist, there was nothing more I took pride in then to single handily take care of my family. But life can have a cruel wind. And the season of perfection crashed and burned for us and we regrettably had to say goodbye to the suburbs of Grove City and the only church family my children had known and head to the East side with dear friends who took us in. It was hard for my then husband. As much as I loath him now, it was hard for him. However, I felt home. The corner store became a daily ritual. The friendly faces that would always greet us, the candy at the front of the store. My kids thought it was always Christmas.
Even as a writer I have no words to describe Shawn from the corner store. There’s such a familiarity about him. His comforting smile, his conversation, a gentleness follows him. Every time I walked in there it was a comfort to me.
I felt…noticed.
We managed to get it together and once again our family found ourselves back to “the burbs.” It didn’t last long. Yet this time the crashing and burning was a bit more devastating because my then husband decided to leave and the kids and I were left.
I did my best. I tread water for nearly a year until I lost my job and eventually our home. Thank God for friends. We ended up back on the East side. The corner store was still there with some new faces, but that familiar comfort…it lingered like an ocean breeze. I found myself going in there at night. Coming home from work and being completely exhausted, I’d drag myself over there. Honestly, most of the time it was just so I could feel that peace I always felt when going in there from before.
A familiar anything.
Did it matter there was a group of teenagers that would hang out in the parking lot, doing what you would probably expect them to be doing?
Not one bit.
Not to me.
Sometimes what they were doing served as medication for my numb bones and a get away from my thoughts of being a complete failure; as a wife, a mother, anything else you wanna throw in there, trust me, I thought it first. I was a mess.
The conversations were welcomed.
Sometimes laughter, silliness.
Perhaps a life that most wouldn’t give a second thought, but to someone who was only giving an appearance of being alive…the laughter was needed. There was nights those thugs kept me breathing. The compliments about my age, the goofy shenanigans, the people I began to meet. I fell in love with every single one of them man. Every time I walked in that corner store.
My first encounter with Louie almost made me shit sideways. Just keeping it real here! He had grabbed a man by his throat and “invited” him to leave the store. It wasn’t until months later I found out he had made a disgusting racial slur about their ethnicity. One thing I learned quick about Louie is the fact he takes no shit from nobody.
He’s intimidating. A “bad ass mother fucker” as some has described, hahaha
But there is something about him.
You’d have to be a complete idiot not to see it all over him.
Despite what you see with your eyes, there is something deeper. He’s a born leader. I know this. When all Hell comes crashing down and the fan full of shit begins to turn, it’s Louie people run to.
To me? When the feeling of fear hits your soul and you are the person people look to for safety and refuge, my God that speaks VOLUMES. You can look at him with physical eyes and have those stereotypes of him being a thug with a record, ink all over his body, loud, and they would all be 100% true.
Louie does have a record.
He’s served time more than once.
He is intimidating.
He hides nothing about who he is and yes, he is in fact, a bad ass mother fucker.
Yet what I don’t think he even realizes himself…as crazy as it sounds, those are gifts of a leader. Something, there is something, he is here on this earth for. Those qualities aren’t just learned. You have them for a reason, he has them for a reason.
I walk into that store and he never ceases to make me feel like a million bucks. My daughters feel safe when he’s there. I feel safe when he’s around. He makes his life no secret. What you see is exactly what you get. It’s not the prettiest picture. Louie is flawed, he’s real enough to know that.
An underdog to the Columbus Metropolitan Police Department, and any other possible government official, haha But here in our hood, our City, our neighborhood, Louie keeps order. He keeps it safe. There has been times he’s grilled out for the kids in the area in front of the store, dancing with the customers to keep a smile on their face, but there has been those times where he’s had to let everyone know this is still a place of business and people will conduct themselves accordingly.
A couple of my son’s friends asked him if he knew I was friends with a real Gangster, haha My son shrugged his shoulders and said “You mean Louie? We don’t care, we love Louie.”
The second I found out that Louie is the son of Shawn it all made complete sense to me. That same comfort, that same peace, that same gentleness…Even meeting his younger brother…the same exact feeling. It’s a fucking legacy he was born into. A legacy that doesn’t scream gangsta or thug or Doctor or lawyer, hell no, it’s a legacy of leadership.
I was finally able to introduce my youngest son to Shawn the other day, he has officially met all of my children.
We shared a few things about each of our kids and as I left that corner store the last thing I said to him was; “Shawn, you have great kids man, don’t ever let anyone tell you different.” He smiled and said “Oh I know, and I won’t.”
So the next time you forgot milk, need to make a run to the corner store in the middle of the night and as you drive up into a dark parking lot and see a big ass intimidating thug in the doorway, it’s okay to unlock your doors and get out of your car. You have my word…Louie’s got ya;)

Until Next Time…Selah,
Gesuschic

 My breakdowns are starting to become fewer and fewer as of late. I’m not quite sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. Perhaps that’ll be another day for a different blog. I never know, hahaha
A few weeks ago I broke down at church with an amazing word from, not only my Pastor but one of our worship Pastor’s. I received it, believed it. I still do. But something has gone terribly wrong.
I lost it.
I just…lost it.
I have this thing where I can gain the craziest of momentum in my out of the ordinary chaotic life, then all of a sudden, literally out of the blue, a huge boulder made of the strongest of concrete comes flying through life and bitch smacks me right in the face and I fall.
And fall, and fall, and fall….I’m still falling. There is no end. Just a big dark bottomless pit of nothing. If I didn’t know any better I’d swear I think I get ahead but in all actuality I’m just dangling forever and never truly getting anywhere.
I do everything right man. Or at least I think I do. I have this attitude like Dory from “Finding Nemo” that no matter what happens I “just keep swimming…” but damn, my arms are tired. My face is tired from smiling. I have been on this journey now for over two and a half years and honestly, this is the longest season of my life. I’m constantly struggling between what’s right and wrong, I struggle with those grey areas that nobody ever wants to talk about because they would rather pretend to themselves and everyone else, that they don’t exist.
Well, I’m not a pretender. I can’t do that. I have approximately three billion emotions and I show and tell every single one at any given moment. The blessings I get on a daily from God are just amazing. They blow me away all of the time. God and His glory are of no match to anything bad that has happened to me. I have no complaints.
Well, maybe a few.
I get pissy with God a lot. In spite of me throwing Him my broken pieces, He covers me.
He covers my babies.
God is so faithful.
But I want more. I deserve more.
Don’t I?
I think I’ve paid a few dues that weren’t even mine to pay. However, so has He.
I sound so selfish. But hey, it’s what it is and it’s how I feel. I’m sick and fucking tired of one thing after another happening to me and I take these giant leaps forward…only to get bungee corded back even further. This roller coaster of life and my emotions are taking a hard ass toll on me.
I have to lay it all out here in my words. Writing is my escape. So let me just keep it absolutely  one hundred and say, I’m about to break. My mind is starting to wonder and my momentum is fading quicker than people’s loyalty. (yeah I threw that out there too).
My faith is it. That’s all I have left. I don’t want to live the life of Job. I wanna go to work, pay my bills, laugh with my children and just be.
WHEN does THAT get to happen?
It sounds so bizarre but I see these people, these loser father’s, fair weathered friends, and they are just moving along in their day-to-day life and I’m just…here.
I know I have purpose.
I get that.
I have to be an example, a strong example but again, man, I’m getting worn out. People running their mouth’s, assumptions flying everywhere and only a select few stand true and know me better than rumors. The past few weeks I’ve seen things I could have gone my ENTIRE life without seeing. But I didn’t break. I kept on. I’ve had temptation of every single nasty thing laid at my feet and I passed on all of them, well, almost all of them. (yet another blog for another day). I’m still here. Crying in my shower to God at least every other day. It may be by a string but I’m still holding on to the things that ground me. I praise God He blessed me with parents that kept my roots deep in faith. I don’t know how people do it without Him.
Because of that I’ll take a deep breath, turn on some music, light an incense and be to myself. The only thing I hold tight is never forgetting where I came from…in faith. I can’t shake this feeling though, the past 17 years being an illusion. The only good from it was my babies. My beautiful, selfless babies. Damn, my kids are so good. Understanding to the point it hurts my heart not to be able to give them so much more.
Will I ever get my shit together?
Maybe I’m not supposed too?
These two questions linger in my head day to day.
I thought I had that happily ever after…but it was an illusion. I’m a constant “to be continued” in the sitcom known as my life.
Is that my destiny?
This shameful rut I’ve gotten myself into is overwhelming. Being the player left in the dugout not even reaching the bench, let alone the field. I feel all by myself at times even though I know I’m not. But people have lives to live and I’ve more than over extended my “cry baby friend time…” But I’m not done boo hooing yet dammit. I have such a way to go in my journey. I can take that as a glass half empty in the fact I have time to still get it together, or I can look at that as a glass that should have been emptied, refilled, shaken and stirred a few times over…The good, the bad and the honest. That’s me.
Not one of my best inspirational blogs but when I started writing way back in middle school I promised myself I would always say exactly how I felt and never hide anything.
My heart is still on my sleeve.
Life, as cruel as it is, hasn’t stolen my ability to keep it real.
I can’t say I’m angry, sad…I’m confused. I’m so freakin’ confused. Why am I here in this rut man? I’m doing good…I thought. What is left of me that needs emptied for God to give me my life changing miracle???? I’ve purged everything. EVERYTHING…I have nothing left in me.
Or is that the actual point?

To Be Continued,
Cheryl

Today has been ROUGH. I think I’ve had about five breakdown’s and the night is still young. The party has started and pity is the main attraction. The night is consisting of music, burning incense, cake and tears. Many, many tears. I can’t stand feeling sorry for myself. But I can’t help it. Again, today….was a rough one.
I’m feeling so lonely.
The fall like weather does not help. I wanna call my mom. Cry on my dad’s shoulder.
But those desires are of no possibility for me.
Another day in the life of a single mom, divorced, has no family and needing to get her shit together by putting her big girl pants on, and deal.
I just don’t want too.
No, what I’d like to do is drive really, really far to the middle of nowhere, smoke a big fat blunt, jam some blue’s and laugh all night with a certain Arab and just regroup. But even those simple things can’t be accomplished.
My car broke down.
I’m too broke to buy food for my kids let alone ganja, the Arab doesn’t notice I breathe and to regroup when I’m in the middle of a breakdown just isn’t going to happen…
So here I sit.
This empty apartment. All by myself.
Today is not a good day.
I get sad and have these fits of “why me” and I wanna scream “fuck off” at the top of my lungs to anyone and everyone in a 100 mile radius. But damn, it’s not in my nature to stay that way.
I hate that about me.
I have this huge problem not being able to stay guarded and to cut people off. I threaten it a million times a day but to actually do it…?
Nope.
Can’t.
Being angry at the world is way overrated man.
My heart has been torn from my chest, my soul has been shattered into a billion little pieces and because of that my mind plays this endless tug of war game in my head between reality and illusion.
Why do I fall in love with people who I will NEVER be lucky enough to love me back? Why take time and search out the good, even in the darkest of places? Why bother to laugh all of the time when it seems as though I’m only laughing alone? For some fucked up reason beyond my comprehension I constantly get the shit end of the stick, every time.
I swear if I had the spiritual balls I’d look at God and ask; “WTF?”
I change my mind set, I forgive, I do all the things I’m “supposed to do” but I’m constantly scratching at a surface that never seems to want me to come in.
It’s bullshit man.
But as always, I return to being vulnerable in hopes that one day, those things could change.
I hate that about me too.
My feelings of self pity, anger at the world, it never takes long for those things to dissipate and once again I search and find reasons to laugh, to hope, to dream….
Ugh, I hate me.
Who misses being vulnerable?
Me, of course. Only me.
A tug of war. Every…single…day.
I think it’s a pretty safe assumption, that I am vulnerability’s bitch. However, in saying that (here I go again) maybe, just maybe, tomorrow will be the day. I’ll get that Arab’s attention, hit the lottery, travel the world with the four loves of my life and a kitchen full of food will be waiting for us, when we get to wherever we decide to call home. I know, I know…My glass half full mentality makes me wanna punch myself in the face too. But I gotta keep it real, I gotta be me. And as crazy as it sounds, it’s my blessing and my curse…

Selah,

Cheryl

 I pride myself in writing. Being able to verbally express myself by way of cutting my soul wide open and having myself spill all over paper or way of internet. It’s the one solid thing I have such a strong confidence in.
Because I have no doubt in my chaotic mind…that I’m actually good at it.
I shamefully admit there isn’t a lot of things I can really say that about. I was telling a friend the other night that I’m not very smart, not at all educated. (I don’t count street smart, haha)
However, expressing my heart into words?
I got that down!
For quite some time now, my Pastor has been telling me I should write about all of the people, I’ve had cross my path since….”The Divorce.” And I’ve tried. God knows I’ve tried,.
but I get stumped.
Speechless.
Lost in thought, with a big fat writers block as they say.
I think I bring it on myself. because I get so emotional I can hardly stand it. I’ve listened and heard so many stories by broken people it’s hard for me to not attach myself to their sadness, their joy, their heartache…I start thinking about each and every one of them and my heart will begin to feel a heaviness way beyond  a numeric weight.
There was a homeless man who pushed a shopping cart around and every day he would come into the store when it began to get dark outside. He knew I was scared in the store alone.
So many people would complain and call him a vagrant. As though his mere presence hindered their every day life. Yet his mere presence in that store made me feel oddly safe and secure. One time he told me that I was the only person to ever ask him what his name was and how he found himself in Columbus, Ohio. How heartbreaking is that?
His simple kindness and conversation gave me a safe comfort, for both of us really.
Then there was a sweet elderly man who would come into the store every Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday and buy some pecan dainties (a.k.a. turtles) and red hots for his wife. He had just retired after their last child was graduating College when his wife had been diagnosed with breast Cancer. She and him had been here for a few weeks while she had a double mastectomy and was recovering from that three year battle. The last time I spoke with him, he came into the store to say goodbye. He was so full of joy as he told me “She’s getting the all clear to be released today!” He also said he wasn’t taking her home, but on a month long cruise they had talked about taking “for years” yet never had the time to go. “I almost lost that girl” he said. Speaking of his wife of 57 years who was well into her late 70’s The sweetest thing though; “Now, I will never take time with her for granted ever again.”
My heart exploded.
Sigh…
The recovering heroin addict trying desperately to get her life together, just so she can get approved for supervised visitation with her children. On certain nights, her walk home from work would bring her into my store. “Demon nights” she would call them. “I just can’t go home right now. I’m not strong enough to handle that empty place. Can I hang out and talk to you for a bit?”
I welcomed the company.
The happy little girl who would stop in the store everyday after school, (except for Fridays because she had dance). Our conversations consisted of her day at school, a crush she had on a certain boy, my hair, her hair…everything. Her mom worked two jobs and she was an only child.
The intimidating thug who would buy 10 boxes of zip lock bags every other day, HAHA! At least twice a month he would offer me a blunt on him, for me “lookin’ out” by double bagging his purchases 😉 Considering how mean he liked to portray himself, i’m gathering I’m probably a part of a very select few whom he ever shared a smile with.
In talking with all of them, and sharing my own fucked up story of unwanted change and loss, I found a common connection with each and every one of them. Although we were all totally different people, coming from completely different walks in life. We were all pleasantly surprised in the fact there was another human being out there, who, even just  for a moment, gave a shit.
My journey is far from over. I’ve already passed another set of crossroads and onto another. But already have I met more people who have shared pieces of themselves with me. The one thing I’ve tried to take from the past three years and  God awful divorce, is the fact that nobody comes strolling into your life without reason. It all serves a purpose. Whether it’s a lesson for you to learn or to teach another, it happened for a reason. We should never look at anything we go through, as time wasted. Somebody somewhere needed it. Make sure it wasn’t supposed to be you. Because there’s nothing worse than walking away from a devastating circumstance and not being changed into a little bit better of a human being than you were before.
The roughest part, is meeting people that you know are only going to be in your life for a season. Yet undoubtedly make you feel like a better person by simply being around them. Getting to know them is reason enough to have hope. In the fact, God hasn’t forgotten you. I’ve said it before. You get glimpses of people like Adam while on your journey. Those are what make life so beautiful. Those precious moments of serendipity. Those unexpected places in life where you feel this sense of creepy vulnerability  then all of a sudden…it’s not so creepy.
Adam is by far my absolute favorite person I’ve met on this path to new life.
He’s an old soul.
One conversation with him, and I feel like I’ve absorbed a universe of lessons.
I get this feeling about Adam that I’ve known him before. Thousands of lifetimes before, yet everyday I look forward to getting to know him better. Does that make sense?
Every time I  spend even a second with this guy, I take a mental note, because I don’t ever want to forget a single thing that he unknowingly poured into my spirit. He is so genuine, he probably has no clue that;
His friendship is so cherished.
I fall in love with him everyday.
I love learning from him.
And even though he’s in my life, I already miss him.
The toughest part in getting to know people and attaching myself to their stories is, I don’t want to let them go. Everybody seems to always have to leave, and that sucks ass.
To be completely honest here. It’s true, I fall in love with everybody. Especially when I can feel a connection to their soul.
I hope everybody I’ve met remembers me.
I hope I’ve been able to give to them, as much as they have to me.
I hope I’m not so easily forgotten.
There isn’t enough words in any language, to express my love for people and their story of life.
There are so many others, but I can’t possibly go into all of them. You would be reading into the next galaxy.
Just take it from me.
It’s so incredibly easy to see the bad all around you, but you have to notice the good that’s there, or you’ll miss it. Trust me, it’s there. It’s definitely there. And it’s breathtakingly euphoric.

  Tonight I recorded a couple of segments for Final Flight Ministries. It was my first time back at the “Fout House” since Rich’s memorial. I made it through the front door, the lower level of the house, but I couldn’t sit in Rich’s chair. That was his spot.
I was still good. A bit teary eyed, very emotional, but okay.
Steve looked over at me as Ted was helping me with my headphones. He smiled, and with a comforting tone in his voice he said:
“We’re gonna open up with some of your memories about Final Flight from back in the day. If you start to cry, it’ll be okay. We all loved Rich very much and we all understand, okay?”
(I took a deep breath, exhaled) “Okay…” I said.
My eyes were so watery.
I could barely see through my glasses, from twelve hours of eyeliner, mascara and emotions. My legs were shaking the whole time. But I made it through.
Second segment was about to be cued. I wasn’t planning on doing the “Next Gen” with Cally, but Steve thought it would be good from one generation to the next, having me on with her. We began recording and then she said it.
“I didn’t need to know Rich very long to understand why people loved being around him so much. He had a way of making every person he met feel comfortably vulnerable.”
I held back every single tear that was fighting so desperately to fall down my face, one right after another.
I made it.
Before Dale began to speak I went up stairs to get myself together. A plate of food to eat my emotions under control. But my usual form of solace failed, as my heart felt like God’s bowling ball had just rolled through my soul and I completely lost it. Cried so hard and so much. As if I had just heard Jenny’s words, from a year ago for the first time, “He’s gone Cheryl.”
Losing Rich was like losing my mother and father all over again. Part of me feels like that’s why I took his death so hard. The grief I carry, I pray God’s mercy for anyone who feels it. Unbearable.
After talking with Ted and crying five oceans all over her shoulder, I realized something. As much as I adored the Godfather, As much as I miss his encouragement, love, correction and goofy personality. It’s not just him that I miss. But more of what he represented.
His flawless example in unconditional love of people.
No matter who they were, where they were at in life.
Rich was a shining example of Christ. In the fact that he loved you right where you were. He was all about Jesus. If every single Believer (myself totally included) had the same passion for the lost and broken as Jesus did, there would be revival sweeping our Nation instead of rage and violence.
Instead of our young people blazing up on cloud nine to drown out the pain they are so adamant they don’t have, they would be getting lifted on the fact, that the comfort and peace of the Holy Ghost can raise them higher above a million clouds..
I am grieved we lost a warrior.
A true hero of generation to generation.
Our young people need someone like Rich Fout. Someone who owned his past, flaws and all. Shared his testimony with humble relief instead of proud arrogance.
I am such a sinner, lol I fail on a daily. And just like Rich, I haven’t the slightest idea of why Christ chose me. But He did. I now have to be that daily example of hope.
Hope that there are those who are still reaching out to the broken. Who are willing to speak truth regardless of how painful it may be to hear. To tell a hurting world that pain can be silenced with the love of Jesus. Covered with mercy, a gentle spirit. To let them know that peace can abound where war rages in their soul.
Walking back into that house tonight was emotionally painful. However, I am reminded that there is work to be done. The next generation, MY CHILDREN’S generation is hurting.
Their wounds are deep. And because of that, they are literally killing each other and themselves.
The ONLY thing that will flush this cycle of violence is the love of a Jesus they are so desperately needing and looking for. Weather they admit it or not.
We, as a people must step up our game and stop trying to “out holy” one another before it’s too late.
It’s all about Jesus man…Loving like He did.
Pray up Christians.
None of us live forever.
God is beginning to call our spiritual Fathers home and it’s time for us to take all we’ve been given…and give it back to a generation that so, so desperately needs it.
The world has a Savior. The world has Jesus…what the world needs now is the Daniel’s, the Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego’s, the warriors of truth, no matter the cost, to rise up and be who they say they believe in! To walk that talk, and be strong enough to love them…right…where…they’re…at.
Can we do it?
My vow, my goal, my promise to the very generation I myself was apart in giving birth to;
I am here.
Ready for your anger, pain, all you’ve got to throw at me.
I am here.
I’m not going anywhere.
I will stand here, I will chase you, whatever it takes, I will do it. I’ve been there.
Give me your best shot.
But I will warn you. I was taught…by the best. And they along with God and all of Heaven, are cheering me on for your own sake.
As hard as it was to share memories of the Godfather tonight. It was a barrier of grief I needed torn down. To get me refocused, at how crucial my relationship with Christ, needs to be on point. It’s crucial that my faith needs to be on fleek, if you will, lol For the sake of this generation. They were born with a hope, a purpose. Let’s rise up and show them they are not a lost cause.

You go through certain levels in life, not necessarily based on maturity or age, just with each passing day, things change, people change.
You move on.
You keep going.
I’ve had lifetimes pass through my soul.
The loss I’ve had with friends, family…it changed me forever. The way I see everything is completely different. But nothing, NOTHING prepared me for last year at this time. The phone call I received.
When my parents died, I thought I would never take another breath again.
My dad had brain Cancer.
He beat it, was in remission for exactly one year and a half. Then it decided to come back in a whirlwind and my dad was gone.
My mom was a bit more difficult.
She had Alzheimer’s.
In a morbid way, I had lost my parents before I lost them.
Don’t get me wrong, I would never say anyone is ready for their parents to die. But with the fucked up diseases my mom and dad had, it was as if I was standing on the edge of a high dive getting ready to jump. I knew what was coming. I had no other choice but to put my big girl panties on, and face it.
But damn…that phone call last year. I will NEVER be the same again.
Grief took me to an all new level of heartbreak. I still can’t even say the words “he died…”
Rich Fout was so many things to so many people.
I can’t even put into words what that beautiful soul of a man meant to me.
A spiritual leader, a spiritual father, a teacher, a hero, our Moses…I could be here all night.
I loved Rich with every complete fiber of my entire existence.
At 43 years old my life is just absolute chaos. Even though the light at the end of this very dark tunnel is beginning to get bigger, my grief continues to swallow me whole. I’m just slipping faster and faster with nothing to grab a hold of, a continuous fall.
I changed when I lost my family. My parents, my brothers, my sister…but when The Almighty decided to take the Godfather, I didn’t just change from one level to the next.
I became a completely different human being.
Honestly, I don’t even know who the hell I am anymore.
Everything seems cloudy, dreary, as though I’m walking in a fog never to be clear.
To me, his death was so unexpected. I prayed for healing, I was SURE of it too! Never in a million years did I think we all were gonna lose him.
Not yet.
It sounds so selfish, but I wasn’t ready.
Life doesn’t run on what you may or may not be ready for though, and apparently neither does the good Lord.
I’ve asked myself a thousand times; “how do I get over this?” and with one year, I still don’t even know.
I’m still angry.
I’m still lost.
I still can’t breathe
and I still feel so fucking alone.
I miss him.
However, in all that has happened with this awful, miserable year. I have figured out one answer with my mountains upon mountains of questions.
How do you deal with a loss?
I don’t know.
How long will sadness run rampant?
I don’t know.
How do you get over it?
I don’t know.
Will I always be angry?
I don’t know.
In getting past that level of heartbreak and grief, I have NO answer. With those? I’m at a stand still, locked in a universe of unimaginable pain from so much loss.
The only question, I have found an answer for,
is what do you do when you lose the one person, that meant the absolute world to you? That I know all to well.
You weep…you weep.