I left the Methodist church in Dallas under an enormous cloud of embarrassment. Not forced, mind you. We had only been there for a little over 8 months. This had become a habit. Stupid-stupid-stupid! I lost control of my life. It seems that I always get right to the point of success and then make a stupid decision or, more particularly, allow others to make a decision for me. Does this go back to that horrible day when I was taken advantage of as a five or six year old? These stupid decisions always reminded me of the quicksand when Daddy and Harold had to take that limb and rescue me from sinking in the Rio Grande. It was almost as though I was dying; scared, ready to give up. On top of this was that thing in my nose and relentless bullying because of my size and weight.
Just getting by won’t do anymore. Barely surviving was not enough at my age of twenty-six. Keeping my nose above the water was not going to bring life. Had I been out there sinning my head off? No! Had I been stupid again? Maybe. In fact, it seemed that I was on my road to success by moving to Dallas in the first place. Now, by leaving, it seemed I was going right back – this time willingly or being pushed – into the quicksand.
Friends and family thought I had lost it for going to the Methodists. Now here I was sinking down to where I belonged because I didn’t deserve any better. Before Dallas, dirt roads had become normal. Didn’t all these people who were pushing me back realize they were pushing me down? Didn’t they know I had exulted in the applause of hundreds upon hundreds? Didn’t they know I preached to thousands in Dallas? Didn’t they know I was driving a new car? Didn’t they know past trauma was holding my spiritual legs crushing me beneath my insecurities, my hurts, my loneliness, and my uncertainties? I was being pressured by others to accept my infirmities and I was letting them do it! This had nothing to do, for all practical purposes, with Methodism as far as I was concerned. This sinking down had to do with my pathology!
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