Grandmothers Aren't Suppose to Have Favorites!

(excerpt from There in the Midst the Mysterious Exposed: and My comments at the end )

“The Voice: “Now you can write the book.”

“I don’t know how,” said Ashley.

The Voice: “I’ll help you.”

My name is Ashley Johnson. I am the oldest daughter of four children born to Richard and Elizabeth Johnson. I was born in a small town in the Carolinas. It is a farm and fishing town.

Townspeople would travel 20-30 miles to work as maids, clerks, or some other professions. Businesses range from a barber shop, beauty salon, several grocery stores, restaurants and real estate offices, to name a few.

I grew up in a small community where there was an atmosphere of trust among neighbors, friends and family. Superstitions and tall tales had its place among the gossip and rumors, which often surfaced about people casting spells on other people. Everyone knew each other and the children.

I remember being fussed over by my father’s mother, Maggie. Richard was her only child. It’s no wonder when I was born she thought the sun rose and set on me. She thought I could do no wrong. In her attempts to discipline me she found my negative habits cute. I had been labeled spoil.

I was not prepared for my parents’ separation. I heard people talk but things looked okay from a child’s perspective. I remember times when my mother and father argued—how he never took her seriously, Daddy smiled all the time, even when they argued. Nothing seemed to bother him.
Daddy and I had been close at one time; at least, so I believed. He made me feel that I was more special than mother. I wasn’t close with my mother. Because mother allowed Grandma Maggie to favor me over the other children, I was confused as to who this lady I called “mom” really was.

I have no negative memories of my father. He wasn’t violent or abusive. He drank a lot and liked to party. I thought we were a happy family. Nothing for a kid to worry about.
The breakup did come and we kids went to live with my dad’s parents, Maggie and Grandpa Johnson.

Maggie picked meat out of crab shells and packed it into cans at this factory. Grandpa Johnson didn’t work. He had a stroke, which affected his left side long before I was born. They lived in a small house back in the woods on a lake with lots of fig, pecan, peach, and apple trees.

There were good times there. Grandpa Johnson took a lot of time with me. I was his favorite child. He always seemed to single me out and show me special attention over the other children. All of my life all I ever heard was how special I was to Grandpa Johnson and Maggie.

A few months after we went to live with them Grandma Maggie died while working in the crab factory. It was a shock. She dropped dead. I thought, “Why now?” All I could think about was what was going to happen to us. No one else seemed to care about us except Maggie and Grandpa Johnson.

The Voice: “‘Why do good people have to die and bad people live?’ ”

“You are right, I was thinking that at the time.”
Maggie’s death didn’t bring my parents back together. My father came for the funeral, left us with his father, and went on his way. I wondered how daddy could leave us again.

He never asked how things were going. I could have told him some things had he taken the time, or cared to know. He didn’t care. His life and happiness was all that mattered.

With Grandpa Johnson’s physical limitation, I assumed the role of mother to the other three kids. No one asked me. I was the oldest. I was okay with that until Grandpa Johnson insisted I sleep with him at night. . .

* * *

My beginnings were humble. Grandmother died when I was about nine. I remember hearing neighbors and family friends talking about how she and my grandfather felt about me.

I wondered why I was so special. She would never make an attempt to discipline me. If I spit at her or had an attitude, she would laugh and be willing to compromise.

As a child I realized that there was something really wrong with my grandmother’s relationship with me.

How could I be more special than my siblings? At times I wondered why my mother would allow such favoritism.

I went from what I and everyone else thought was the perfect family, a place of security and love to confusion about the break up of my parents.

I had so many questions. I even tried to justify in my own mind why this was happening. It happened. There were times when I even thought, “May be if they only had me I could have gone with at least one of them.”

When I look back, I am thankful that they left us in the care of other family and didn’t just abandon us altogether.

Yes, it was tough, seeing a father whom you loved and adored walk away. And I thought we had a special bond with each other, that would far out weigh even his relationship with my mother.

And then my grandmother DIED. . .

More to come. . . So come back and visit with me.

My Frame Was Never Hidden From You

“Where can I go from your Spirit? Where can I flee from your presence? If I go up to the heavens, you are there; if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.

If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far side of the sea, even there your hand will guide me; your right hand will hold me fast. If I say, ‘Surely the darkness will hide me and the light become night around me, even the darkness will not be dark to you; the night will shine like the day, for darkness is as light to you.

For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb. ‘I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well. My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place.

When I was woven together in the depths of the earth, your eyes saw my unformed body. All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be (Psalms 139:7-16).”

How can I believe that I existed only when I was born? Nothing is hidden about my life’s journey. It was already written. I had to be born in the physical to live out what had already been written. And the journey continues.

I was no accident. Things have happened but there is something coming out of all of this, as I look beyond what I think I know. . . the facts. . .

I am no happenstance, even to my parents, whether I was born as the result of a plan, no plan, rape, incest, or someone’s desire to give me life, I am who I am and I no longer live with shame, for I am somebody. I know who I am and I have found my place of peace.

Within this wonderful creative plan, there is an invisible guide who is amazing and proves to be even more amazing every day. He is the true author and finisher of my destiny.

I have felt his hand through this invisible existence and am convinced that beyond all that I thought, all that I learned, all that I resisted to believe. . . HE IS REAL, a realization that caused me to weep like a child in need of something that can only be satisfied by the one who created me.

May you seek and find for yourself!

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