Well, that sure deal turned into an Enron investment real quick. That sorry horse didn’t even show (that means to finish fourth). Didn’t even show! I lost all my money.
“Edwin, why is the mortgage company saying they haven’t gotten our last month’s payment yet?” Desiree asked a month after it was due.
“Baby-cakes, I don’t have a clue. You know how these businesses are. I’ll call them and get it straightened out. You know they’re probably going to blame it on a computer error like most of them usually do.”
Desiree looked at me like she didn’t know whether to believe me or not. I had to replace the money fast, so I took some more from our account and went to Mississippi hoping to hit it big. I did okay. I won about $1,500 but lost all of it back except $200. It took me a while, but after two months, I had us back on track with our house notes. I learned one important lesson from this: if I’m going to use money from our household, make it the grocery money. All that requires is my convincing Desiree she’s gained a lot of weight the past few weeks. I then suggest we skip buying groceries altogether for the next three to four weeks to help her lose some of her excess weight, and I pocket that money.
Trust me when I say Desiree will find a way to buy groceries. Especially when she thinks she’s sneaking behind my back to do it. So in the end, it usually works out.
But she and I got into a big argument Friday afternoon. I needed money to go to Mississippi and she wasn’t falling for the redirected-grocery-money-diet-plan this time around. She had started attending this new church a few months back and had been insisting that I visit with her. This was the first time I’ve been home on a Sunday in years, so there was no getting out of going, especially if I wanted any semblance of peace today. I figured I’d go to church for those couple of hours just so I could enjoy the rest of my day without having to hear a sermon from her on why I was “going to hell in a hand basket.”
Frankly, I’d gotten fed up with going to church. Watching those good-old-holier-than-thou church folks treating collection time like they were playing a slot machine that was hot and on a roll. Then there were the admitted church-bingo-playing-for-money folks who called themselves trying to look down their holy noses at me, with their hypocritical selves. Yeah, I said it: hypocritical selves. A bunch of sanctimonious hypocrites!
“Edwin, how can you possibly compare church folks to you and your gambling?” Desiree asked when we were heavy into this discussion some years back, before I ceased going to anybody’s church altogether.
“Have you seen them when it comes to putting their money in the plate?” I cocked my head to the side and opened my eyes wide after she looked at me like she didn’t have a clue where I could possibly be going with this. “Before they drop their money in the plate, it’s like some of them are doing the same thing I do before I plop my money down. I put my funds in, pull the handle or push the button, or place it down and say, ‘Come on, Jesus!’ Well, few people, Christians included, are actually putting their money in church because they love God and desire to give out of love. A good many, not all of them, put money in the collection plate expecting to hit the ‘windows of heaven’ jackpot. Seven, seven, seven. B-ten—Bingo! They drop their money in and pray for an even larger return. It’s like they’re saying, ‘Come on, Jesus! Rain me down a blessing! Here’s my ten, double or nothing!’”
Desiree shook her head. “Edwin, I just don’t know about you sometimes.”
“You know I’m right. How many people, in truth, pay their tithes and offerings only hoping to get that back plus some more? ‘Return unto me and I will return unto you.’ ‘I’m believing for a hundredfold return.’ ‘Open up the windows of heaven, God, and pour me out a blessing. Pour me out a blessing!’ Well, that’s no different from what I do. I put my money in the machine, or lay it on the table, or give it to the clerk at the window, and pray for a blessed return.”
The past few weeks, Desiree has been going on about this fancy-talking Pastor Landris and how he was teaching around the offering about giving out of love for God.
And that was precisely what he said today as I sat there. I mean, that man broke it down where even a fool could understand it.
“Don’t give out of obligation or manipulation. Nor out of necessity, but give because the Lord loves a cheerful giver,” Pastor Landris said. “Give because you love God. You see, it’s easy to give and not love; but it’s impossible to love and not give.”
So I gave. Today, I actually gave. And all I thought about during that time was how much God loves me in spite of my shortcomings, and how much I truly love God just for who He is. For the first time in my life, I gave not because I wanted anything back from God, but just because I loved Him. Period. I felt so free for the first time in a long time.
Then Pastor Landris spoke about strongholds in our lives. I was really feeling what he was saying. This man was actually speaking a Word into my life. And when he finished and asked for people to come to the altar for prayer, I felt my body being lifted from my seat even before Desiree grabbed hold of my hand and finished yanking me up all the way.
Standing there with Desiree’s hand in mine, I felt a stirring in my heart. Looking up at the minister as he was talking, I began to realize how much trouble I’d gotten myself in with my problem. And I’m not sure if even God can get me out.
Trinity
“You’re so blessed, Trinity.” That’s what everybody keeps telling me, that I’m blessed. I suppose I’d have to agree with them. All these years I’ve lived with my various internal personalities only to almost totally lose my true self to a personality who calls herself Faith. But thank God, God didn’t let it be so.
My name is Charity Alexandria Morrell, but most people at church knew me first or better as either Hope or Faith. Then I completely lost it while taking care of Johnnie Mae Taylor Landris’s mother, Countess Gates, and the truth emerged. Faith, Hope, and Charity could be best summed up as Trinity—three distinct separate persons in one.
Oh, how I do miss Mrs. Gates. Of course I can no longer take care of her. I have to first get well myself. Some folks call me Trinity because of my three manifest personalities. This way Hope, and especially Faith, aren’t being excluded when I’m being addressed now. And in truth, one can never know for sure which one of us is present.
The doctors have diagnosed me with Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID). People used to call it split personalities, with Sybil (remember that movie?) being the poster child. I wanted to stick exclusively with my therapist, Sapphire Drummond, a true Christian therapist, as my psychologist, but my personality called Faith doesn’t like Sapphire very much. She refuses to cooperate if she’s present when Sapphire is asking questions. So Sapphire hooked us up with another colleague, a Dr. Holden, and Faith—according to what they tell me—seems fine with him. In fact, Dr. Holden is standing with all of us who came forward because of our strongholds; although for the life of me, I can’t imagine what he could possibly be dealing with.
Dr. Holden and Sapphire have explained Dissociative Identity Disorder more clearly to me. They’re helping me better understand what may have happened to cause Faith and Hope to show up in the first place, as well as when it may have likely occurred.
I understand now how Dissociative Identity Disorder is the most chronic and harsh expression of dissociation. Dr. Holden believes it had to have been brought on by a severe trauma, but for the life of me, I can’t make myself remember it.
“Along with this disorder, distinct, coherent identities can exist within one individual and can manage to assume control of the primary person’s behavior and thoughts,” Dr. Holden said. “In DID, a patient can experience amnesia about personal experiences, which can include the identities and activities