I have been writing in one form or another for about twenty years, but not formally as with this venue. It started when my children, my twins, were about a year old and I felt alone. I was married and my husband at the time had a mental condition and detested me and who I was. We had both suffered living in Costa Rica then moving back to the U.S. because we had twin babies and couldn’t make it there. We were in financial ruin, and he was suffering from drug addiction resulting from a car accident with prior addictions haunting him. Neither one of us was working and no money was coming in. We were living from the insurance settlement received from the accident. We also had food stamps because we had babies.

The babies kept us going during the day because of their needs and wants. And they were such good company because they were learning to walk and talk and play games. They were such fun and having them changed my world. But at night, a different story occurred.

My husband and I did not sleep together in the same room or bed. We hadn’t for some time. Following him to Costa Rica, living there, watching him go through such turmoil trying to work, stealing, abusing me because I was pregnant and thinking it belonged to another man, which it did not, took a toll on our relationship. A lot of the problem was in his deteriorating mental state. I couldn’t pick up and leave. I didn’t have any money and no access to any. I had no transportation and had two babies to feed. He was also having an emotional affair with a pediatrician “friend” from Florida. I would hear him every night talking to her on the phone the way he did when we first met. It was humiliating. He also told me that if I left him he would hunt us down and kill us. Options: NONE.

That’s when I started writing each evening after the babies were asleep. I filled two journals with thoughts and aspirations, with hopes and dreams, and a determination that my life had to change and when it did it would be because of me and what I did. I would not depend on anyone anymore for my survival.

Some days I felt so beaten down and despondent and went through the motions of life. I kept going making sure everyone was happy, healthy, fed, clean and comfortable, even my husband.

You can find my story @joannharris_53598 on Medium.com. The title is: My Extraordinary Adventure into Homelessness, Chapters 1–23. If I go into detail here I will just go into a stupor as I have told my story so many times.

But this is about writing. After that saga ended and I was on my own I was busy raising twin boys and a beautiful dog we named Bailey. We lived in a small apartment, the boys were in school, and I worked a full-time job. After eight years we moved to a house. The boys were thirteen and starting to give me hell as teenagers, in middle school, running with some crazy kids that constantly got them in trouble. They were starting to get in trouble with the law as well. They learned after a couple of years to stay away from people that were trouble. They were home schooled because I could not deal with the turmoil of having to deal with people and running to the school two or three times a week because of people influencing my children to do bad things. I had to work every day and the boys agreed that that was a good choice. I bought homeschooling software, they locked themselves up in the house all day and did their studies. This does not mean that those kids did not bug them daily to “come out, unlock the door, smoke with us.” Knocking on windows and doors and pestering them. One of my sons nailed the windows shut so they could not get in.

They didn’t get in and this caused a few more problems.

People started breaking into our house. We got robbed! It was insane. The boys had to get out sometime and get some exercise. One day when they returned they found that their XBox system and games were gone. We later found that they left a window up because it was a nice day and they had not been bothered, so they went outside for about an hour. Seems to me they were being watched. I knew who the thief was but they didn’t want to do anything about it.

They called me at work telling me what happened. There wasn’t much I could do but call the police and go home to make out the report for the officer. Insurance on rental property paid a pittance and did not cover the expense. Now they suffered because some of their “acquaintances” were thieves. The dog did not bark to warn them either as whoever the thief was had given her some food and put her in a room and closed the door.

We moved after that. The location and the neighborhood was not what we wanted. We moved to another part of town and left those people behind. They never bothered us again.

Back to writing. After a few years when they were getting older and had some side jobs I took up painting because I wanted to express myself and was too tired from my job to write. My brain was scrambled and it hurt to think anymore. I painted some really nice pieces of art on Saturdays.

You can find these @joannharris_53598 on Medium.com

Titled “How To Become an Artist When You Are Not Sure of Yourself”.

And at the time I was reading a lot about Angels, Angel Therapy, reading Angel cards. I started saying affirmations every day and asking for guidance as I felt my job was becoming more and more stressful. I also started praying every day because I felt I was going to lose my job eventually and that would be detrimental to us all. Something at work had set me back and I did not feel I had a stable and established position anymore. Emotionally this was scaring me to death. I felt they had been treasonous to me as I had worked with the company for about ten years. I was being phased out. I had to start therapy because of this. It really hurt me and broke my heart. I went to my psychologist about every two weeks and we would go over what happened at work and she would give me some tools to use to shield myself from negativity. I learned a lot from her and she learned a lot about me. I stopped going after two years because I felt much stronger and felt more stable with myself.

And that’s when I started writing again. Earlier in my life I read the book series by Neale Donald Walsch titled, “Conversations With God.” I thought if he could do this so could I.

I know, I know, Y’all think I’m bats, but hear me out.

I wrote to Jesus. The writings were called, “The Jesus Journals.” I would ask a question and there would always be a wonderful, soulful, intelligent answer. I wrote it down. I filled up two large journals with the questions and answers. The thing is and this was what was a bit strange: my question was in my hand-writing, the answer didn’t look like my hand-writing.

During this time as well I left my job on my own terms and moved to Florida with my family in tow to live with more family members in a rental house. After I moved and paid all the expenses I found my money was running out quicker than I thought.

One day I asked Jesus what to do about this. He told me to relax because Archangel Gabriel had a gift for me and I would receive it soon. I was intrigued to say the least. After a few hours my daughter came home and she was carrying a huge bouquet of the most beautiful flowers. She said this guy was bothering her all day about these flowers and he would sell them to her at a discount. She said to get him off her back she bought them. Here they are:

I was shocked and happy. This was the gift from Archangel Gabriel that Jesus told me about. Please, all things are connected.