THE DECEITFULNESS OF SIN


                                 Phil Scovell

                           Copyright (C) 2003/2007

                             All rights Reserved

                           CHAPTER 3  REJECTION

          She was so  startled by something  in her sleep,  she was  yanked
     violently  awake; knocking the alarm  clock and a  book off the shelf.
     It felt like something was in the room and for a few  moments, she lay
     in bed,  breathing hard, and  listening.   She was so  frightened, she
     felt paralyzed.   It took all the  courage she could generate  to move
     because for  a few  moments, she  felt as  if she were  frozen in  her
     dream; the dream she couldn't even remember now.

          Finally, when she could  will her body into movement, she got out
     of  bed and replaced the book and the alarm clock.  Tugging her pillow
     from  the bed, she  felt  her way  into the living  room.  She stopped
     momentarily and peered   cautiously around the darkness  of the living
     room.  Moon light  filtered through the window curtains; offering just
     enough  elimination to make out  the ominous shapes of the  furniture.
     Unfortunately, the light switch  was on the other side of  the  living
     room.  She  was a big  girl now  and after all,  there really   wasn't
     anything there so she didn't need any light.

          She walked   through the poorly lighted living room and found the
     couch.  Placing  her pillow  at one  end, she  lay down  but knew  she
     wouldn't be going back  to sleep any time soon.   She tried to  recall
     what had  awakened  her so  abruptly minutes  before.   All she  could
     remember was the sound of  a loud noise.  She shivered at  the  memory
     and wondered why she hadn't been sleeping so well these last couple of
     years.   She  realized, for the  first time,  she was sleeping  on the
     couch more  than in  her own  bed.   Tears came  to her   eyes  as old
     memories  drifted  back  into focus.    She  had  never  been able  to
     understand why those memories would not go away.

          As she searched her own thoughts, she remembered her day at work.
     As soon  as  she had  gotten to  work,  her boss  had  called her  in.
     Sitting down, the boss said,  "We've gotten a customer complaint about
     you."  She felt as if she had been struck physically.  She even swayed
     in her chair.  "Are you all right?" she heard her boss asking.

          Finally she found her voice, "I think so."

          "You turned white as a  sheet," her boss said.  "Are you sure you
     are ok?"

          She wasn't all right but  she couldn't tell her boss   otherwise.
     "I'll be fine."

          The boss waited and then rose and got her a cup of cold water and
     handed it to her.  When  she sat back down, she said, "The   complaint
     is so ridiculous, I told the customer to get lost but I  wanted you to
     know  about it in case somebody  mentioned it.  I   didn't want you to
     worry about it or to hear about it second hand."

          Now it  was  the middle  of the  night and  the  reality of  that
     experience  was  sharply   outlined  in  her  mind.     The  sense  of
     worthlessness had somehow  triggered anxiety which dropped on her like
     a wet  cloth and she opened her  mouth to take in more  air.  She felt
     chill and  wished she had a blanket.   Something touched her cheek and
     she literally shot from the couch.  Whirling around, she squinted into
     the  inky  opaqueness surrounding  her.   There  was    nothing.   She
     literally ran  for the  light switch and  flipped it  on.   She stared
     carefully  at  every  area  of  the room;  examining  each    piece of
     furniture.   She  saw  nothing out  of the  ordinary.   Something  had
     touched her, though, hadn't  it?  Finally, seeing nothing, she  took a
     deep breath, and switched  the light off.  Slowly she  returned to the
     couch and lay down.   She was still breathing hard and  she  struggled
     to bring it under control.  She found it difficult to  focus.

          She grew weary after awhile and began to drift off to  sleep.  As
     she did,  she  vaguely recalled  the time  she went  forward during  a
     church service and had the evangelist, whom they said had  the gift of
     deliverance, lay hands upon her to cast out the  demons.  She had felt
     better for awhile but then things grew worse.  She certainly could not
     tell anybody she  was feeling worse because they would  just blame her
     for it  then.  Her  fatigue finally overtook  her and the  darkness of
     sleep swirled over her and covered her.

          The crash  in the kitchen brought  her instantly awake.   She lay
     listening, her heart pounding  so hard, she thought  she might have  a
     heart attack.  She  heard nothing.  "Was someone trying  to break in?"
     Their neighbors had in fact been  broken into just two weeks ago,  she

          Moments  later, hearing  nothing  more,  she  screwed  up  enough
     courage to  get up and switch on the living  room light again.  Making
     her way cautiously  to the kitchen,  she switched on  the light.   She
     quickly examined the  windows and doors visually and everything seemed
     locked.  Moving slowly at  first into the lighted kitchen,  she hunted
     around  trying to find the pan that she  knew had obviously fallen and
     had  awakened her.  She found nothing out of place.

          Putting some   water on to  boil, she sat  down and waited.   She
     knew the sound was  real  because it had awakened her but nothing  she
     saw explained  the   noise she'd  so clearly  heard.   It had  sounded
     exactly as if a  large skillet had fallen from the stove to the floor.
     She couldn't recall a  skillet, however, even being on the  stove that
     night before  going to bed.

          When the water finished boiling,  she made tea and sat  and drank
     it  slowly.   She was  exhausted.   The  voices she  had  been hearing
     reminded her how worthless she was.   She remembered her mother always
     telling her she should have never given birth to  her  because she was
     just  too much trouble.  She remembered when her  father had died when
     she was  7 years old.  He had never talked to her  that way but he had
     never paid any attention to her either.  Mother was always complaining
     how he stayed  out late and  that he   was probably  cheating on  her.
     Then he died  in a car  accident and in less  than a year, on  her 8th
     birthday, she was  sent by  her  mother on the  train to her aunt  and
     uncle's to be  raised by  them.   She could  never understand why  her
     mother didn't want her.

          She pushed her tea  cup away and lay her head  down on her folded
     arms and cried when she remembered the sexual abuse by her uncle.  She
     had  wanted  to kill  him  for what  he  had  done.   Even  now, as  a
     Christian,  she hated him  and wanted to  kill him and  he wasn't even
     alive any more.   When she tried  telling her aunt what  had happened,
     she had slapped her so hard, she had fallen and struck her head.  "You
     little worthless  whore," she  heard her scream,  "don't you  ever say
     anything like  that to  me again  or I'll  put you  in an  orphanage."
     Those terrible  words echoed  in her  mind even  now as  if they  were
     still there.  She  cried deeply but silently as she had learned to  do
     all those many years ago lest she be heard by her mother.

          The  voices came again  when the tears finally  stopped.  She was
     tired and felt she had no more  strength to resist.  Besides, she must
     be crazy.  She saw  the glitter of the knives sparkling in her mind as
     they lay  silently  in the drawer a few feet away.   Pushing her chair
     back,  she  dragged herself to the  drawer and pulled it  slowly open.
     Everything  seemed to be moving in slow motion.  A strong  voice said,
     "You don't deserve to live.  You let him do it to you.  You even liked
     it and you know you  did.  Your aunt was right.  You are still a whore
     and don't deserve to live."  She  felt her  hand move and close around
     the wooden handle.   The knife slid   effortlessly free of  the drawer
     and  she held it up and looked at  it.  She wanted to die.  She wanted
     relief.  She wanted  to be free  from the guilt and fear and rejection
     she felt.   She was worthless   and had no  real reason to live.   Her
     vision blurred and something  flashed brightly  in her mind.  She felt
     the razor  sharp edge of   the blade touching  her wrist and  then the
     pressure as her hand  began to push downward.

          "No!" trumpeted  the powerful voice  from the depth  of eternity.
     The word  crashed through into her brain like  a javelin  striking its
     target.  The knife fell away  and clattered to the  floor.   Her hands
     flew out and grabbed for the  edge of the counter  as she  sank to her
     knees.  She  leaned her forehead against  the coolness of the  edge of
     the counter top  as the rest  of her strength  drained away.  She  had
     heard  God's voice  stopping her  from  certain death  but she  wasn't
     crying now because of what she had almost done; she was crying because
     the Lord's voice never seemed to come to her at any other time.

          Passing out,  she slid to  the kitchen floor.   Her husband found
     her  the  next morning  in the  same  position a  small pool  of blood
     beneath her wrist.


          One  would think rejection  to be  conspicuous and  pretty easily
     identified.  Yet it can be as diverse and as subtle as fear.  It comes
     in many shapes and colors and  frankly is quite amorphous most of  the
     time.  In short, it is very easy  for us to be fooled by rejection and
     never even realize  it has occurred.   It also is  easily used to  tap
     into the fear we already have about ourselves.

          It is most commonly experienced  during our younger years.  After
     all, we  all like to belong  to the group.   The problem is,  it never
     seems  to go away as we grow older.   In fact, we never do grow out of
     it but it just  changes shapes and is harder to  recognize.  Sometimes
     we end up doing anything to be accepted and not rejected.

          In the late  sixties, I began using LSD and other drugs, although
     I was a Christian, because I wanted  to be accepted.  I wanted friends
     and the  people that showed the most  interest in me were  those in my
     high school who did drugs.

          When I lost  my sight at 11  years of age, I  experienced various
     forms of rejection.  Some I have detailed in my autobiography which is
     titled "Liquid Purple."

          The real first time I experience rejection that had the kick of a
     mule was when I was turned down  by a church, due to my blindness,  to
     take the senior pastor's position.  The pastor was leaving to  begin a
     new church in  another mountain town.   He even recommended me  as his
     replacement.  I was told, however, they did not believe a blind person
     could handle the  job.  They asked  me to pastor the  church, however,
     until they could find another pastor.  I did so and four months later,
     I moved back to Denver.

          That particular  rejection was so  powerful, it felt as  if total
     blackness and darkness had settled over me.  My greatest desire was to
     become a pastor and to care for people.  I cared for these people, and
     they knew it, but now they were saying they didn't want me to care for
     them.   Depression was the  least of my problems  by this point.   The
     experience alone created spiritual and emotional trauma  and I reacted
     adversely to it.

          Instead of getting better, things grew worse.  My own pastor back
     in Denver came to my home and told me I had failed in the ministry and
     to stop  trying to preach.   More  rejection.  Furthermore,  that same
     pastor said I was "Out of the will of God."   More rejection.  Finding
     a new job at that time to take care of my family  was easier said than
     done for a  blind person.  More  rejection.  Someone very close  to me
     had been  supporting me for many years with  a monthly offering.  They
     came to my house  and announced they would no longer  be supporting me
     financially because I was no longer  preaching.  That next week I  was
     scheduled for  three weeks of meetings and told  them so.  They didn't
     care about that; they just  were there to inform me I would  no longer
     be supported financially by them.  More rejection.

          We  are  totally unawares  of  the accumulative  effects  of such
     experiences and events in our lives.   Later, as in my story  found in
     Chapter 3, other  events trigger memories  and the pain is  tapped and
     out it comes.   Often anger is used to mask  the feelings of rejection
     so we think  we have a  problem with anger.   Sometimes sadness is  an
     emotion that  attempts to bury  feelings of rejection.   Loneliness is
     used  to  filter us  from  rejection.    Becoming the  most  dedicated
     Christian  on  the  planet  is  often  another  method  used  to  hide
     rejection.  Never saying no is another form of protectiveness from the
     pain of rejection.   It  all decays  into depression of  some form  or
     another.  The truth  is, we just want to be liked  by somebody for who
     we are.  Of course, there is  somebody like that but He doesn't count.
     So,  for most, the  devil tries taking  His place in  our lives and we
     suffer even more for it.

                               End Of Chapter 3

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