My Daily Med

Sunday, December 20, 2020. Have you ever praised God–singing and rejoicing–as you drive your car when suddenly, you feel you’re not alone? The fact is, you aren’t. God’s angels are there; right by your side. You may not see them, but they are there!

Your praise isn’t just an expression of your joy. You actually are doing battle in the spirit realm. While you are praising God–swoop!–the angels of God are stopping your enemy in His tracks. Swoop!–the angels of God are scattering your enemy!

Furbabies. My Warm Fuzzies.

A few members of Khawaga Kid’s emotional support group. 🐾♥️ Big Red Fuzzy is our girl Bossey. The affectionate hugger is Bud Boudreaux from Bay St. Louis, MS. Stripe Eddy is my taskmaster and talker. I ask him, “Stripe, when do you want treats?” He answers with, “Right meow.” 😺

Meet part of my Furbaby Family. These three usually join me for early morning My Daily Med and first words of the day.

Khawaga Kid and Kabtn Khawaga. Kabtn Khawaga is my father. I am his Khawaga Kid. My mother is his First Mate V. I am writing a memoir called The Family Court Case from Hell.

I changed the name of my 10th anniversary “card” to hubby. It’s called Howdy Neighbor. Arrowhead Season is a chapter and also a poem.

Sister of Khawaga Kid. Her name in my writing is Pearl Mack. My name is Khaki Mack. Our Father of Lies is Rico Mack–Kingpin of the Coastal Cartel. Our mother is his First Mate Viva Mack. Diva Mack is Rico’s fourth wife and mother of my young half-sisters Sunny and Georgie Mack.

Confidence Amidst Distress

My Daily Med–December 10, 2020

Does it seem as if the world today is constantly changing? I know it seems that way to me. This might cause us to be filled with anxiety unless we remember that “God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble” (Psalm 46:1). Disturbing times should remind us we are only pilgrims on this earth. Our citizenship is in a heavenly kingdom that can never be shaken.

The commotion of this present world is nothing unprecedented. 1944 was a year of tremendous turmoil in our country because of WWII. Many people anxiously listened to the evening news, fearing the death of loved ones as battles were reported.

When times are frightening and uncertain–whether personally, nationally, or globally–the place to find comfort and assurance is the Bible, especially the book of Psalms. Scripture helps us look circumstances from God’s perspective. That reassures us of His love and care for us and lifts our eyes to a higher hope than anything this world can offer.

We all want to find peace, and the first step is to cease striving–Psalm 46:10–Be still, and know that I am God; I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth!

Remember that the Lord is always with you, and know that His kingdom is coming.

Practicing The Art of Becoming since 2015

Sometimes, I’m eight different people in a day! If you don’t believe me, check out this blog.
I’m like this zinnia that illustrated the Art of Becoming…

This summer, I had beautiful orange and yellow zinnias showing out in my garden. Warm weather lingered and a new crop of zinnias popped up with this new color from the scattered seeds…

I call this new zinnia practicing the Art of Becoming “Oink”.

Orange and pink. I’ll lose them for the season, our first freeze begins tomorrow night. Yes, I am different, sometimes by the minute. I feel my environment, which overwhelmed me until I became “seasoned”, learning and practicing the Art of Becoming.

Becoming Professor Pretorius

Girls Who Can’t Say No

He is big

He is strong

I have no choice

It is wrong

The big bad wolf

A fairy tale

But no, he’s here

He whispers in my ear

If you tell

No one will believe

So young

I don’t know

How to grieve

But I know

I have no voice

Left without a choice

A girl who can’t say no

Inappropriate “play” between a father and his 3 to 4 years old daughters is child molestation. I was a victim in 1965/1966 and a witness in 2007.

A Letter from UrHere/PTSD

Violators,

Sometimes abuse is random, perpetrated by strangers committing crimes of opportunity. It was January 1984 when I encountered the two of you. I was fighting for my life and the one I call Driver…I clamped onto your thumb when you tried to silence my screams for help. You had to pull your thumb between my teeth, leaving your flesh behind. I spit your flesh and blood onto the pavement. Thirty-six years. PTSD. I wrote the poem below. It’s good. It’s bad. It’s ugly. I call it:

Smiling on the Outside

A normal day for me is

Talking to people

Having a “normal” conversation

While I relive

The taste of flesh and blood

The taste of survival

I smile on the outside

Sometimes people say

My smile made their day

Happy I could make

Their day a bit better

Perhaps they will smile

At someone

Because

Someone smiled at them

On the inside my heart

Beats

An ancient tribal drum

I recite

My Warrior’s Blessing

It is a good day to die

I make peace with death

Before I defend myself

If I must die

Today it is okay

Death is a portal

My Warrior’s Battle Cry

It is a good day to die

I make peace with death

Before

I defend myself

If you die today

I am sorry

As I look into

Your eyes and smile

When I spit your

Flesh and blood

Into the dirt

Second Letter from UrHere, A Woman Cave

Dear First Mate V,

You did not want to live without Kabtn Khawaga when he destroyed your world and left you without a backward glance. He physically, verbally, mentally and emotionally abused you, but it was his infidelity that broke you and you finally divorced him. He continues to mentally, emotionally and financially abuse you for what he perceives as your rejection of him. Kabtn wanted his Kate and Edith too. What he’s doing to you is called Coercive Control.

It is time for you to have a good life for yourself again. The best gift you could ever give me is yourself and your illustrations of stories I’m writing about your life. I admire you for your devoted and selfless care of my brain injured sister. You two were abandoned and neglected by Kabtn. Left without financial support, homeless, and zero emotional support from Kabtn and his merry band of fraudsters.

Sadness, anger, hurt. I felt these emotions and more when you told me you tried to kill yourself; not to hurt anyone, but to stop hurting. It felt like you wanted to abandon us too. I did not run away from you, our Mama/Momma. I ran away from V. Now I understand so much more. Please forgive me. I forgive you.

Fire/Water

Mother/Daughter

Elements in relation

Daughter’s water douses

Mother’s flame

Mother’s fire

Boils daughter’s water

First Letter from UrHere, a Woman Cave

Dear Kabtn Khawaga,

The unforgiveness that burdened me for decades almost killed me. Feeling like I had to prove myself worthy of your love and attention, to not be excluded from your life.

2015. Comprehension of your contempt for your first family. A vengeful storm brewed, wreaking havoc in my spirit. Spewing toxins like an oilfield, poisoning my environment. We three females of your first family were only discards in your poker hand. I wanted you to pay with the only currency that matters in your world. Cold, hard CA$H. Dollars earned by any means necessary. Your money is blood money, earned with the life of my sister and the shattering that created V. V. Protector of our mother, found guilty of loving and believing in you.

Dangled carrots, bloody turnips. You, Kabtn; dropping in and out of my life, on a whim. 2007. You realized I was no longer buying your lies and bankrupting myself in the process. You tried to drop back out when I returned to America after my visit to your family home in Alexandria, Egypt. I fight for my family, Kabtn. Your sister the Bulldog and your fourth wife the Diva hide you behind their skirts. You like to keep your harem stirred and fighting, it keeps them distracted while you do whatever floats your boat. In the days before my departure from your home in Alex, I felt the freeze as you retreated, turning colder. I watched in disbelief when you ” played” with Sunny the way you “played” with me. Diva was there the three times I witnessed it, but you were so brazen the last time…outside, in the ground floor flat’s garden. Under the window of the Atelier owned by Sadat’s family. The gates had bars and we were at the corner of two busy streets. People looked through those bars at the Khawaga married to his Alexandrian Diva. This time, I knew why. I found all I needed to know about you as the Familiar Stranger, the International Deadbeat Dad.

You are Kabtn Khawaga in my memoir. I am your Khawaga Kid. The daughter holding onto the grief of my dead family; I was destroying not only myself, but the lives of my loved ones. I end this letter with words that lead to healing for the health of my family. Please forgive me. I forgive you.

Word Games

Aswan in August

Boarding our felucca

To cruise the Nile

You point to a word

“What does that say?”

You ask. I reply

“Captain spelled Kabtn”

A good memory

Of a good day

The word game

A man once called Daddy

Played with his first daughter