Strongholds

by Vanessa Davis Griggs

  “Oh, so now it’s my fault?” He sliced the cheesecake and placed it in a saucer. When he placed it in his mouth, he made a moaning sound. “Baby-cakes, you know you can outdo yourself. This has got to be the best strawberry cheesecake you’ve ever made.”

  “And you have the nerve to ask how it’s your fault?” I walked over to the refrigerator, opened it, took out some prepackaged carrots and broccoli florets, and proceeded to chomp unenthusiastically on them.

  “Yes, how is it my fault? I don’t force you to smoke or to overeat. You just need a little willpower, that’s all. You can’t blame me because you don’t have any.”

  “Willpower, huh? You mean like you don’t have the willpower to stop gambling?” I said. “That’s how you force me to smoke and eat. You’re gone practically every night, Edwin, and most of the weekend. I’m here all alone with nothing to do but watch television and think. My nerves are practically shot from worrying about bills that keep piling up and seemingly getting further and further behind.”

  He placed another fork full of cheesecake in his mouth and closed his eyes as he shook his head and smiled. “Well, I bet you I can stop gambling anytime I choose to. I just have never chosen to.”

  “Yeah, well, I can stop smoking and bingeing whenever I choose to, but I-I-I…”

  “I what, Desiree?” He looked up at me and grinned.

  “I guess, I guess…” I felt a tear stinging my eyes. “I guess—you know what, Edwin? I don’t care anymore! Keep gambling! Forget the fact that you’re taking money out of our home and losing it or that you’re leaving me home all alone. You don’t care? Fine, I’m through talking to you about it! You’ve never won any great amount of money, yet you keep thinking and believing you’re going to hit that ‘big one’ because you were ‘so close’ the last time. But you never do! Okay, fine. Have it your way!” I looked at the remaining carrots and broccoli, threw them in the garbage can, and stormed out of the kitchen.

  So here at the altar, Edwin and I now stand, holding hands like everything is peachy-keen between us. Suddenly, I realize his hand is clammy, and it’s at this precise moment that he gently squeezes my hand with three gentle pumps. And I, understanding this unspoken message, can’t help but to smile.

  Edwin

  Desiree grabbed my hand and started for the front of the church before I could protest. I might have put up a better fight, but she caught me totally off guard. Although in truth, I was already debating whether or not I should go up there. Normally, I wouldn’t have even been at church, but my money was acting funny for the bus trip down to Mississippi this weekend. I hung around Birmingham and went to the dog track instead of my usual three-hour ride to the bright lights of the casino.

  Don’t get me wrong; I don’t have anything against the dog track. In fact, I’m pretty much a regular Monday through Thursday. But I love being able to feel like I have more control over whether I win or not. Holding those cards and making the decision to stay with what I have or letting the dealer hit me again can be such a rush. Or being able to wrap my hand around that black stick on the slot machine and pull it just right, or push the button with precision as I wait for those blessed three symbols to stop one at a time; that’s pure skill with just a tad of luck. That’s me being the captain of my destiny.

  With the dogs and the horses, I’m left trying to figure out which animal is going to do its job on that day or other factors I have no control over. Like that time that one crazy dog broadsided that other dog. Now, who could have predicted something like that in advance? And I had that trifecta straight, too: 2–5–7. Right up to the finish line, almost, it was 2–5–7. Then five seconds before they crossed, that crazy number four dog came out of nowhere and clipped the seven dog. Well, seven flipped and rolled, hitting the number five dog. Yeah, you guessed it: the number two dog stumbled, although I have to give him his props; he did try to recover. The trifecta came 4–1–2. Paid $8,267.

  I almost had that one also. My ticket said two with one and four, which meant the number two had to come first with the one and four coming in second or third (any order) after the two dog. For four more dollars, I could have boxed those numbers and they could have come in any order and I would have won. But I was so doggone sure about the two.

  That’s what I was trying to tell Desiree. I do this for us. Imagine how happy she would have been had I won that money. A few of our financial troubles could have been taken care of with that. She acts like she has major problems with my gambling, but when I hit it big—and I know it’s coming—she’s going to see all of these years have been worth it.

  Now, don’t get this twisted. I’m not stupid. I have won money, but it’s a known fact that you have to invest back into any business if you want it to grow. I win, but when I do, I take my winnings and go for an even bigger payout.

  Baby-cakes (I started calling Desiree that back when she used to be sweet—used to be) complains that I’m sinning when I gamble. When I ask her to show that to me in the Bible, she can’t. Here’s what I fail to understand: Monday through Friday, I take a chance that I’ll make it to work safely. But that’s okay. I can take money and buy some stock or invest it in real estate. And that’s acceptable. Yet it’s still gambling, if you ask me. I’m putting my money on something I believe will increase my return. I don’t know for sure; I’m merely “taking a chance.” I personally know plenty of folks who “invested”—all right, gambled, let’s just call a spade a spade—in the stock market and lost everything including their homes. Ever hear of E-toys? At least my antics haven’t caused us to lose our house—yet. Although, unbeknownst to Desiree, we’ve come close…mighty close.

  Okay, it was like this: a sure deal. All the experts had followed this one horse and felt pretty confident he would win. I don’t play the horses as much as I do the dogs, but this horse was a guaranteed favorite. Top breed, couldn’t lose. One other reason I don’t play the horses much is because you have to put up a lot of money in order to win a lot when it’s a favorite like that. Plus, you have two more unstable variables to factor in: the horse and the jockey. So I needed $1,000 to put on that horse to win if I wanted to walk away with a measly $3,000 when he won the race. Like I said, it was a sure deal, the way IBM stock used to be once upon a time. I figured I’d use the house money, replace it after I won, and spawn a cool $2,000 profit for all my troubles. Again…a sure deal.

  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. Thi
s 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 of alternate personalities.”

  Sapphire had already explained to me how people with DID may experience depression, mood swings, become anxious, have a hard time maintaining their attention span, and even become psychotic. She said a lot of folks try to self-medicate with alcohol or drugs, but I thank God that was never a problem for me.

  “People are frequently misdiagnosed as being solely bipolar or severely depressed,” Dr. Holden said. “It’s not an uncommon thing for years to pass before a correct assessment of DID is properly made in order for a patient to be treated appropriately.”

  For years, especially in my church upbringing, people were frowned upon if they had to seek out a head doctor.

  “All you need to do is pray about it,” people at church would say. “God can work it out. He will heal you. You just need enough faith.”

  And I agree that God can work it out and that He can heal me. That’s why I’m standing here at the altar and being up-front about my stronghold. But I’m also aware that God can send various people to help us through our healing process. That’s where Sapphire and Dr. Holden come in. Sapphire stresses to all of her patients the importance of seeking the Lord and praying, and she prays and asks God to help her bless His people with the knowledge and skills He has endowed her with.

  My faith in God is strong, which is ironic because my personality named Faith is also strong. She knows her time is short as an independent persona. She’s also aware that we don’t want her to leave until I face what happened to split my personality in the first place. I think I was around seven or eight, but it’s important that I remember the details clearly so I can heal.

  Faith remembers. But she’s not talking.

  I don’t know. Maybe it’s just as well that I don’t remember. Maybe the best thing for me to do is to get this dissociative stronghold out of my life and mo
ve on, whether I know what happened or not. That’s why Faith won’t tell us anything. She knows once I recall everything, I’ll get better. She’ll have to go, or what the doctors say, “assimilate,” no, “integrate” with me. Hope knows something, but only Faith knows everything—the whole truth. I am getting stronger mostly because I’m learning to stand in the power and might of God Almighty. And yes, I believe I’m delivered now. Now.

  “‘For the weapons of our warfare are not carnal,’” Pastor Landris said as he continued his sermon on strongholds, quoting Second Corinthians 10:4–5. “‘…but mighty through God to the pulling down of strong holds. Casting down imaginations, and every high thing that exalteth itself against the knowledge of God, and bringing into captivity every thought to the obedience of Christ.’”

  I’ve got to do this. I must cast down images and every high thing that exalts itself against what I know of God. I must bring my thoughts into captivity.

  “Captivity has the Greek word conqueror with the word sword attached to it,” Pastor Landris said. “We have the Sword of the Spirit—the Word of God. Use your sword to conquer your stronghold. Use your sword to bring down wrong images and every high thing that exalts itself against the knowledge of God. God knows, but we must look our stronghold in the eye and let it know that I believe what the Word of God says, and the Word of God says…then you speak the Word that applies to your situation. Speak the Word that you’re standing on. Whose report are you going to believe? You have to take a stand and let the devil know you’re going to believe the report…the Word of the Lord. Say it like Jesus said: ‘It is written…’”

  So I stand here at this altar on this Sunday in March, believing that God is a mind regulator. That Jesus has given me His peace, perfect peace…a peace that surpasses all understanding.