The True Story of My Life #3 (A Giver, Not A Taker)

I went to New Song Church, in NE Portland, from 1994-1997 or almost 1998. I started bringing kids to church in 1995, after my car accident. After I bought my house in St. John's, not only did I become very involved in church, I was involved in my community. And, they were wonderful to me.

During this time, kids gave me their school photographs, and notes, and flowers, and other small surprises, and invited me to meet their parents at their homes. Older neighbors gave me fruit and vegetables from their gardens, and asked if I would consider being their "driver" if they took a cross-country trip in their "old age". One neighbor, young like me and a fellow investor, Matt, found out I wanted a chalkboard for my house, with a frame, so people could do "chalk art" in the livingroom, and he surprised me one day with a huge school-sized standing black chalkboard, framed in oak. "My mom's a teacher", he said bashfully. Another neighbor gave me her "lucky 4-leaf clover" that she had been saving for over 10 years, in her moves across the country; she gave this to me after she found out about my and my roommates being held hostage.

Meanwhile, at CTR, everyone bought me mochas and caramel macchiatos and others offered to help me find a good computer for home use.

I was practicing the exercise of being honest and told the CEO, Ed, at CTR I couldn't tell people "he's not here" when I knew he was. I told him I'd say, "He's unavailable right now". He got a slow smile on his face, eyebrows raised, but was okay with that and later asked me if I would babysit his kids--an honor to be entrusted with.

It seemed the world was a wonderful, beautiful place. I loved people, and everything about my life. I had a great reputation, many friends (mainly from church), a good job, good credit, and plenty of potential. It seemed my worst enemies were the occasional woman who seemed jealous of me because of the way I looked, and nothing more. But I hardly noticed even that. CTR was the business world, and a world of adults who didn't know how naive I was (I don't think). I was hit on by a married man at work, who later was somewhat peeved when I cooled my friendly demeanor in response, and I remember blushing and being shocked when a secretary came over to the desk with the girls and pointed out that the pistol of a tropical flower, sitting on the counter, looked just like a man's private part. I took my Dad to the company Christmas party. It was 1997.

Random violence and insult is far easier to absorb, forgive, adapt to, and understand, than intentional damage from someone who has gained an inordinate measure of trust and respect. Some people gain our trust by close proximity and time, and friendships that develop from this, and others gain our trust, perhaps more easily, by virtue of their positions, which we respect and admire.

I was raised to trust authority and law enforcement and clergy. These people held us together and were in the business of helping others.

My entire childhood, and teen years, that trust was never violated. No one in my family violated my trust and I was safe. My family wasn't perfect, but it wasn't so bad either, and it was stable. I also never experienced a violation of trust by anyone in clergy, and we visited many churches and I knew pastors of all types and went to church camp, only to come back with the firm belief that these people wanted to help others understand themselves and God, or spiritual things. My family was also never involved with lawyers for any reason (we didn't even have divorces in our extended family), and certaintly not police.

As a little girl, I was excited to see a police car drive past and my parents encouraged me to wave at the officers. I pulled an imaginary chain from the ceiling when we saw a trucker, and wanted him to honk too.