The Morning
As I emerged from the McDonald’s, an emotion swept over me. I held that emotion gently in my hand as I put one foot in front of the other, walking back to my bus that was parked nearby.
I felt around in my soul for what it was. My mind can go from a kind of emptiness to flowing inspiration when I’m in a context that provokes it.
There was a certain kind of freedom in the air, a relief from what had just happened to me. The air was cool. It was early morning, around 6:30 a.m. The traffic was light. Birds were singing. And I was a free man. Very gently, I found myself remembering that morning I was let out of jail.
I’ll use this as an aside.
I’m 62 years old, this memory that I have described herein emerged just this past Monday, it’s Friday now. School’s out! And I’d wondered if this summer would be the summer I could tell my story. Write it all down.
The night before, I had returned to my room at the house I was living in at 17th and Cambie. My children had been phoning, asking where I was. I had been at my brother Andrew’s place. I can’t quite remember if it was as soon as I got home or shortly afterward, but the police came to get me. There was a paddy wagon and a police officer. The officer asked me a few questions and, for whatever reason, put me in the back of his squad car and let the paddy wagon go on its way.
On the way to the police station, he asked me if my wife was a vindictive woman. I had to ask him what “vindictive” meant. It was 1996, I was 34 years old. It’s pretty amazing to me as I think back. He was exactly right. That’s exactly what she was, and perhaps still is. I know what that word means now.
I can maybe tell the rest of the story sometime soon, but just imagine with me the horror of not knowing how she was able to stir up this giant force against my life. I found myself in a police station in downtown Vancouver. All around me were men, not yet proven guilty, but certainly not there by accident. We were in a single-cell 10-by-10 lockup. No seats. You just sat on the floor, and there was a drain in the middle.
The officer who brought me in refused to put me in the lockup at first. He just left me out at the desk with the other officers and walked away. Eventually, the others processed me and led me over to the cage, placing me in with the rest.
The others? There were a couple of guys sharing a crack pipe. One guy emptied the contents of his stomach onto the floor. It looked like he had eaten at least one pineapple pizza. Those two stood out. Soon we were moved to our individual cells, two to a cell. Bars on the one side that had the gate, and concrete walls on the other three. I took the top bunk. He took the bottom. I remember him asking me, “You a hype?” I didn’t know what that meant, but it didn’t matter. I didn’t answer him, and he quit asking.
I hope you that are reading this will never know that feeling of being behind bars. Locked in. Time doesn’t stop, but all of life comes to a standstill.
I should tell you, by this time I had been driving for BC Transit for about five years, and the Downtown Eastside was nothing strange to me. But this night was different. It was frightening, because I was unshielded, stripped of my uniform, of the authority and protection that came with the bus. I was face to face, raw on raw, with the street.
And though I’ve spoken all this, and perhaps your heart is racing like mine is right now, I need you to know something. I had a peace in my heart that was absolutely untouchable. The only way I can describe it is in a picture: placid, calm water, and I’m just above it, looking down. I’m trying to disturb that water, and I cannot. I can’t touch it. That water was the peace in my heart.
The part of me that was trying to touch that water was the panicking self, my mind, my awareness of everything going on around me. I can’t say I was screaming, but it was a low-level kind of scream, screaming at my soul that I should be worried. But I was not.
As I think of it now, that calm was Jesus sleeping in my boat. That peace sustained me.
Three things stand out in my mind about that night. We were in a cell block with maybe five cells on either side, so about twenty individuals altogether. One man on the far left had smuggled Valium into the block using a condom hidden in his body. He had paper and a McDonald’s stir-stick spoon, which they don’t even have anymore, but I’ve heard they measure out exactly one ounce. If you rolled a loonie across the floor to him, he’d dispense a dose of Valium wrapped in the paper. I didn’t have a dollar with me, and I also lacked the inclination to have anything to do with it.
The second was when a man on the far right, was eating fresh fruit. After morning broke and our food arrived, The rest of us were given what you might call a bologna sandwich, two slices of white bread with a single slice of bologna. Someone asked how he got that fruit, and he said, “…next time just tell them you’re diabetic, and they have to give you the better food.”
What struck me was the way he said it. “Next time, just tell them…” Next time? Here they were planning how to get better meals the next time they were in jail. Meanwhile, I was still reeling. Still wondering how she did it, how I ended up like this.
The third was that there on that top bunk, in that dark night, I told God that my marriage was over. Anyone who could do such violence to me was not safe to return to.
Back then, when she had filed for divorce there was a warning not to do anything except go along with it. There was a process server that showed up at my door, asked me to confirm my name. “You have been served,” he said, turned heal, and left me there. She phoned me later that evening, to tell me not to fight it. That this was just to teach me a lesson, and that we’d soon be back together again. Did I believe her?
Why was I sleeping over at my brother’s place? To give us a break, some space. She used that to get a lawyer with the lies of me leaving her destitute. She received legal aid, and a lawyer. I have those papers in a musty filing cabinet upstairs.
I remember the ache that I had in my heart when we separated. It was unbearable. But the ache subsided when I was with my children again. I’d plucked them up to take them bowling. I realized that there was no ache in regards to her. I no longer needed her. But I could never let go of my kids.
Time line wise, I don’t know which way is up. It’s out of sequence.
I feel safe right now, because someone is with me while I unpack this part of my heart.
But we were talking about my best guess at what I’d done to spawn the call to the police. It was the day, I finally spoke up. She was supposed to pick the kids up at 3 p.m. It was a sunny, hot afternoon, and she was two hours late. My four kids crawled around bored on the front porch. I told her this couldn’t happen again.
That night, the cops came to get me.
I found out later, through court documents, that she told the police I had threatened to kill her and the children. That was the basis for my arrest. It’s worth pointing out that a recent case involving criminal harassment had been in the news at the time. The atmosphere was ripe for law enforcement to act quickly on women’s complaints about men abusing them.
Fortunately, my criminal and divorce lawyers were in the same law office. For my defense, my criminal lawyer sent Crown Counsel my divorce case files. In response, the charges were stayed. They never even went to trial.
Her pattern of blatant lies, used to defame me and get what she wanted from the courts, was apparent. It’s not hard to trip up liars in their own lies. But in the meantime, she used the system to place herself into protective custody. She was moved to the BC Interior. Her real plan, I later realized, was to cut me off from the kids, so she wouldn’t have to give them to me on weekends.
Eventually, a forensic psychologist prepared what’s called a Section 15 report. He saw through all her lies and recommended joint custody. But by that time, she had already settled into the Salmon Arm community. She refused to bring the kids to appointments with the psychologist, and for that, she was charged with contempt of court. She spent 24 hours in real jail as a result.
But by then, the damage had been done.
I’ve been wondering how to tell this story, and maybe this is the best place to start. A fresh morning, walking toward the day ahead of me. Each morning lacks the certainty of what I’ll face. I have ideas, goals, and things I hope to get done. But little is ever fully planned. I’m not preaching that as a way to live, just saying, that’s how it is.
I want to write and tell my story. The motivation comes from knowing that although I was alone that day, alone the night before, I was never truly alone. There was no human being I could turn to for support in that moment. But I had God, by His sweet Holy Spirit, abiding in me as I abide in Him.
There’s a verse I hold close. It speaks about the peace that passes all understanding, ruling in your heart.
And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.
And for many reasons, I would never trade what I’ve been through. But that peace is one of the biggest. Revelation 12:11 talks about overcoming the enemy of our souls by the blood of the Lamb and the word of our testimony, by not loving our lives so much as to shrink from death.
If this book is beginning to emerge from me, it’s going to be built around verses like that. Like Matthew 6:33–34. Like Hebrews 5:11–14. I don’t have to worry about what I’m going to do for God, or how I’ll provide for myself, or what ifs. That anxiety has no right to dictate anything, because I know He has me in the hollow of His hand. John chapter 15.
So let this be the preface. Let it begin.
But one more thing. It’s been pretty one sided this story. There is God in it. The God who is always in control, has handed me over to her. I was in his loving hands the whole time. But I had lots about me that needed to change.
…you can’t be angry anymore because you would have to deny everything she did leading to where you are now. If any of it could be changed, you wouldn’t be who you are right now. Her being terrible to you was part of God’s plan.
Cherish’s words
She said these words to me, because I needed to hear them again. It’s way too easy to pick up pain, and put it back again, when trying to tell this story. I’m so thankful for her.
There is also, Cheryl, my wife. A sustaining presence in my life.
There is an old friend who has once again come along side of me. I will not limit what his role is, but I know at least in part, he is the one who knows nothing of this story. He is the listener who must ask questions, the same questions others will ask.
Das Vaterunser
Vater unser im Himmel, Geheiligt werde dein Name. Dein Reich komme. Dein Wille geschehe, Wie im Himmel so auf Erden.
Unser tägliches Brot gib uns heute, Und vergib uns unsere Schuld, Wie auch wir vergeben unsern Schuldigern.
Und führe uns nicht in Versuchung, Sondern erlöse uns von dem Bösen.
[Denn dein ist das Reich und die Kraft und die Herrlichkeit in Ewigkeit.]
Amen.
The photo for this page, up there, is the visual memory. After being set free, I went for a coffee, just me and God. The street was Cornwall near Arbutus.
I didn’t recall that I’d already written about this, it’s here>
That Marriage
I never walk my dog with a leash.
Running Down Vimy 