The Lie

Posted: November 28, 2012 in Uncategorized


By Tess Doberville

Once upon a time, the epitomy of evil hoisted a small woman up and hurled her through a plate glass front door. To this day, she bears the scar in the crest of the hidden space on her arm, the fold at the midst of the hand and the shoulder that bore it all. “I did this for your own good,” he lies to her. And then again, he did once charm the other evil beings who he came into contact with ~ Those who helped him with his lies.“It was her. Not me.” He lies again.

One day, he decided to buy a dog. It was not like him, as everyone who came anywhere near his home, he treated like a dog. Whether they had some meth, the use of which he hid quite well,  in tow for him or not. The dog got the first of the abuse right away. Only a puppy, he forced the tiny guy to live outside in subterranean cold. A psychological medical trait of the typical white male abuser profile. And then again, the slightly graying man in his fourties, whose mother once named Ryan. And without any prior assessment, what mother wants her son to grow up to beat women? And yet this mother programmed her little man for treachery, which she hid, and as the two cooperated in crime together, like the friar in The Canterbury Tales, the two hid in the cold, wet, dark crack of the devil’s secret together ~ Like rotting leaves on sewage water, the quiet stench of violence she covers for him in order to perpetrate the dream of evil’s deceptive lie on and on and on.

The poor dog, who soon began to bear the same fate as the wife, she walking on egg shells and whispering to her homeless mom who having just left her abusive relationship less than a year before that, soon looked into the glass-hate eyes of the man and saw the same demons living in him who lived in the husband she had just escaped murder from. At the coldest part of a Missouri below the freeze zero mark of January, the fifth time he came into the mother’s private room and laid hands on her and for reasons no heaven could conceive, pushed her around physically. She spent the night on the parking lot of the little hospital emergency ward, and nearly caught pneumonia.  And then left, forever. Truly, the story of Winter’s Bone  ~ But never say, it can’t get much worse than that, or it will.

Coldness, could not get cold enough in that house. He kept the thermostat turned off whether the money was rolling in hot or not. And no one stayed at that house who was her family who did not have two hundred dollars a month in her pocket for him. In the meantime, the dog who he also refused to feed in order to have more money in the pot for himself, froze to death and died that winter. First of starvation. Then all of the rest.

He loved no one. He uplifted and encouraged and made the life better of no one. Not even himself. He did not even need to just survive. For mother, next door paid all of the bills. A tad bored one night, he decided to pop over to Cousin Louey’s house and get a recipe for meth cooking. In the back of his head, he had the whole alibi already planned out. He would stick it to the little floor scrubbing, back breaking, every night delicious meal cooking, back laying woman of the house ~ His private ragdoll. Mama would believe the lie, as momma believed his every deception just because she wanted to. Mama was the one who held the wallet with the meth cooker recipe’ enclosed inside when he was arrested.  And so, the evidence was never found.  “No, no, no,” again he lied. “No premeditation. No plan. Just an innocent kid experimenting with something I had no knowledge about.” The nearly fifty year old liar, had a prior ten years and more meth lab cooking, boat gliding, using history with the woman he had living there before ~ The other ragdoll, spoke of an appreciative escape from surprise neck-choking, false jealousy accusing and lying to his momma about the whole thing. Halleluja. Amen. Are we having church in the house tonight?

One thing he did not ever consider in all of his evil exploits, for he cared not, is of all of the dominoes he would cause to fall when he pushed one down. You reap what you sow, and if you do, his crop runs deep. What blood thirsty animal would the Christ send forth to stalk him down in his own woods, and even in cold blood perhaps? But, any thirsty lion could smell the stench a mile away. The man often cut one lie to cover another at odd hours and odd times. Stress comes to those who bury hatchets they only think they save for others in the pits of an evil mind, a brain so ridden with maggots and the call of death, that only prison could save him. For there, he would finally learn discipline. There he would dispense of all greed. He would look around and notice a concern for others. He could become there. There he would finally find the real God. For certainly, the special opportunity would not be unavailable.  First, the lie had one more pit stop.  One more lie to throw the woman out into the streets, and even on such a night this, and to steal her baby child boy.  He had already fabricated one big lie. What would he tell the judge?  After all, he knew about the federal regulations of awarding a child to a man with pending meth charges.  And then his attorney thought of a fast one.  The worst kind of lie of all.  They simply would withold the factual information about the federal offense. 

So, as a cold Christmas snow now falls upon the trembling woman, another woman holds her and prays and tries to keep her calm.  The woman and the victim of the lie, an epileptic, had seizures when under great duress.  The pair felt so powerless.  The evil seemed so strong and the moment a far cry from the old Christmas tale of a Jesus born in a manger at such a time as this.  And she, the woman who had committed no crime had not seen her child, just a baby barely toddling those early first few weeks in September a little over a year ago when she was first thrown out,  for one year exactly now.  Both of the women fought to hold onto their faith, while at the same time questioning it.  There was no question that a great injustice had been done.  But why?

What is the meaning of Christmas after all, and is it really true that Jesus came to bring good will to those waiting upon him and seeking for him?  For truly, the woman who had been robbed of her child for no reason had no reason to continue to believe that there really is a God.  And for such a time as this, Christmas is just going to have to mean a little more than dancing around a green tree with a cup of hot chocolate in your hand. Christmas must question whether God is alive or dead.  For in September, one year ago, the two women lost many things.  And one of them, despite the lie of the men God created,  should not have to be God’s love.

Luke Chapter 2  (1611 Bible)

11For vnto you is borne this day, in the citie of Dauid, a Sauiour, which is Christ the Lord.

12And this shall be a signe vnto you; yee shall find the babe wrapped in swadling clothes lying in a manger.

13And suddenly there was with the Angel a multitude of the heauenly hoste praising God, and saying,

14Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good wil towards men.

15And it came to passe, as the Angels were gone away from them into heauen, the shepheards said one to another, Let vs now goe euen vnto Bethlehem, and see this thing which is come to passe, which the Lord hath made knowen vnto vs.

Note:  This story is expanded from another blog, also written by the author on the Christian Blog website, entitled, The Fairytale From Hell ~ Profile Of Abuser, and while the meaning of the story here is slightly different, most of the context remained the same.

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