why did i do it

Why did I do It

This question pops into my head daily. Well, daily since the arrival of Tessie.

Tessie is a eight month old Shitz Su. Actually, I'm not sure she wasn't bred with a kangaroo. She jumps over every barrier I place in her way to confine her. She hurls over gates like an Olympic athlete leaving my two older male shitz sus behind. I wonder if there is an event for the Doggie Gold. I might have a mint on my hands! My oldest know their boundaries; she is always testing her's. "No, Tessie". Swat.

Tessie is full of energy. I went to get a blood transfusion for her with reduced red blood cells. Not possible says the vet. I definitely don't offer her vitamins. She'd be the first dog on the moon. She runs after, jumps on and attacks the older dogs. That's fine for Leftie, the youngest one, he needs some exercise. Even if it is used for self-defense. Serves him right anyway since he is constantly attacking the back yard German shepherd, Shep. Leftie has the little dog syndrome. I keep pointing out to him the size difference between him and Shep, but he chooses to ignore me. Since Tessie has come into the house I believe Leftie has lost some weight. The role reversal agitates him. He used to be the house hold terror.

Tessie is continuously reminding me of things to hide. She gets into the wastebasket in the bathroom. "No, Tessie." Swat. She gets into the waste basket in my bedroom. "No, Tessie," Swat. Waste baskets now sit on counters and dressers, she has us trained. We couldn't locate her one morning till we noticed the clothes hamper swaying. There was Tessie, buried in the laundry chewing on our undies.

She has transformed my good SAS sandals into chew toys, and my closed toed SAS shoes into sandals. "No, Tessie!" Swat. Shoes sit on counter tops next to the wastebaskets.

As I climb over the kitchen gate she clamps onto the seat of my pants (or body parts not mentionable) and holds on. "No, Tessie!" Swat.

I'm on my tread mill and she snaps at my feet. "No, Tessie!" Swat.

While I'm doing sit ups she sits on my face. "Double No, Tessie!" Swat.

When I open the front door to go to work, she squeezes by. "No, Tessie!" Swat.

I'm sitting on the couch watching T.V. she jumps up and nibbles on my hands. "NO,
Tessie!" Swat. (This time I splash blood around, MINE!.)

Instead of eating from her doggie dish, she eats her doggie dish! Little pieces of plastic scrapes are all around the kitchen. "No, Tessie!" Swat.

I try to brush her hair, she attacks the brush and the extremity holding it. "No, Tessie!" Swat, slinging more of my red corpuscles. I'm getting anemia from this darling.

Walking through the house my heels get snipped. "No, Tessie!" Swat. Follow the trail of blood to the first aide kit, and you'll find me.

My oldest Shitz Su, Cuz'n Buzz, had 1800 dollars’ worth of knee surgery. She body slams him, and I yell, "No, Tessie!" Swat.

Cuz'n Buzz is deaf, thank heavens for him, he can't hear Tessie's yapping so he can ignore her simply by turning his back to her. She'll sneak up behind him and slap his back with her paws to get him riled. "No, Tessie!" Swat. Now there are wastebaskets, shoes and an old dog on the counter tops!

She empties her water bowl on the floor, causing me to slip and land on my....fanny,(what did you think I would say?) "No, Tessie!" Swat. Now guess what's on the kitchen counter.

Something on the kitchen table or counter attracts her superior sniffer and she leaps up, occasionally getting hold of something to pull to the floor. "No, Tessie!" Swat.

When I mop or sweep, her little spiked dental tools attach themselves to the end of the poles and hinder my house cleaning. You guessed it, "No, Tessie!" Swat.

I laid my glasses on the end table. They had to be replaced at fifty dollars. Something to do with teeth marks. "No, Tessie!" Swat.

I found my cell phone on the floor in pieces. Fifty dollars to replace that. “No, Tessie!" Swat.

I find Tessie lying peacefully under the kitchen table. I poke her to see if she's okay. Zoom, I hit the "on" bottom and she's off in search of more adventure. "No!" I swat myself this time.

Why did I do this? I'm too old for makeshift toys all over the floor. For doggy safe teething devices I use the lids off of detergent jugs and she just loves my empty water bottles, so my floors are littered with what others would consider trash. She is amazed when I actually offer her something to masticate on. She'll take whatever I present to her and run, afraid I'll rescind my offer. The cardboard toilet paper holder is treasured by her for all of five minutes till it implodes all over the carpet. I'm constantly monitoring a toddler that's as inquisitive about her surroundings as an explorer in the field discovering unknown territories. Each day brings new discoveries, for her and me.

At day's end, exhausted I finally recline on the couch. Tessie jumps up beside me, encroaching on my space. She approaches me fearlessly. Kissing my cheek she gently lays her head on my leg. Meeting my eyes with her's, she yawns and closes her's. In minutes she's snoring, safe and content. I run my hand over her lightly expanding chest and back, feeling the warmth, the love, the trust. This is why I did it. Puppies and humans are very similar in God's eyes. We both test limits, we both need boundaries, we both need love. We both thrive on forgiveness and acceptance. If I'm quiet enough during the day, I can hear God say, "No, Collette!" Swat. Probably more times than I swatted Tessie. That's love. That's guidance. That's incredible. I close my eyes and enter my slumber, peacefully laying my head on God's chest. What's that I feel? God's hand massaging my soul. I've spent my day depleting God's reserves, now he can relax till morning, merely supervising trivial things like terrorism and hurricanes! I wonder, does he ask himself daily, why did I do it?

the victim

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church visitation

Church Visitation
by collette mcfarland
08/16/06







 I sat on the couch scratching my dog, Scruffie's, ear wondering why. Why did I answer the door? Why did I let these people in? Why don't I just ask them to leave? Why? Why?

 I knew Millie, that’s why I let them in. What a fool, I should have recognized the look. She and her male friend were carrying books when I opened the door. I've had people on my doorsteps before trying to sell me their religion. I just didn't see the books in time. The "Bibles". Well now I've sat here for hours nodding and smiling. I hope I said "yes, m'am, no sir," in the appropriate pauses. They droned on and on. Meanwhile my mind went to dinner planning and what I would make, what ingredients did I have in the kitchen? When would I eat? Would I ever eat? I felt my blood sugar sinking.

 I tried to maintain eye contact, tried to demonstrate some interest, thinking to myself I was making a big mistake, it only kept them talking. If they had been strangers I would have been ruder, more assertive. They wouldn't still be here if it wasn't for Millie. They threw out words like love, grace, repentance, blood sacrifice and I just stared at their foreheads designing my evening menu.

 "Do you know God came to earth in the flesh just to die for your sins?" The man asked.

 This was it,  my chance to end this endless torture. "You know, I can't respect a God that can die. If he's so smart there must have been some other solution."

 "He's a just God and the only way to atone for sins is with blood." said the man.

 "He did that on the cross for you, can you kneel at the foot of his cross?" Millie asked.

 "Sorry, I can't believe in a God that can die. I want one a little more permanent than that. If he's so great he can come to me."

 They started closing their books. Yea, it was almost over. The man buttoned his jacket and Millie picked up her purse.

 "Well, I guess we ought to get going and let you have dinner. Mind if we pray with you before we go?"

 "Yes, I do." I wish I could have read his mind when my answer registered in his brain. Must have been the first time someone refused to be prayed for on his shift.

 "Good night, see you at work tomorrow." Millie said, politely, stiffly. I hope I hadn't embarrassed her but I had gotten quite annoyed by now. Really, people shouldn't intrude on a person's dinner time. Low blood sugar combined with topics of sin and salvation brings out the worst in me.

 After I shut the door behind them, locked it, closed the curtains and turned off the lights in the front of the house to discourage more church visitors, I went to the kitchen to stuff my face. Gods dying on crosses; how absurd. If he really wanted me at the foot of his cross he'd definitely have to take me there himself," I mumbled to Scruffie who had had curled himself into a nice little relaxed ball beside the stove, completely uninterested in my monologue.

 Abruptly I heard the neighborhood weather siren. I rushed back to the front door and looked outside. There was large black cloud coming down the street. Wind was blowing every which way and debris was flying past the house. Trees were bending to the ground. Hail pelted the grass. A tornado.  Scruffie went running out past me into the street, barking hysterically, yelping when frozen water the size of dominoes pelted him.

 
"Scruffie, NO!" I yelled, catching up with him in the middle of the road. I had barely scooped him into my arms when the funnel caught me up into its grip.

Around and around we went. Hail, trash, dirt, wood, leaves, all kinds of junk was swirling about us. We were plastered with rain. My breath was sucked out of me. We were in the eye of hell. I tucked Scruffie under my t-shirt and hung on to him for dear life. This was the end of us. I had no doubt we would die together. Oh, God, help us, I prayed. Give me a chance to understand the cross. I knew full well it was a useless prayer, but somehow a prayer seemed natural. I've heard men in fox holes always prayed but I’ve never met anyone who had prayed through a tornado ride.

 The wind seemed to lessen and without warning I was bashed against something solid. I slid down a shaft of wood and hit the ground—unconscious.


 I guess I was out cold all night; the next thing I was aware of was Scruffie licking my face with enthusiasm. I felt the sun against my back and I slowly opened my eyes. I had one hell of a headache, tons of scratches and badly tattered clothes but nothing broken that I could tell. Scruffie was completely unharmed. Not fair since it was his fault we were here. Voices were coming to me from somewhere. I discovered we weren't on the ground but on some steeply slanted roof. I crawled to the edge and carefully looked down. People were cleaning up the yard below of garbage deposited there by the storm. Furniture was strewn about and cars had been heavily dented by the hail. It didn't look like the land of Oz but everyone seemed small because I was up so high. They weren't really munchkins, were they? I searched for a pair of legs with striped stockings sticking out from under the building. Nope. I'm still in Texas—maybe.

 "Hey, I'm up here, help!"

 Everyone looked up and started pointing at me. Someone headed for a phone to call 911. I got to my feet and waved at them, glad to be alive. The sun, rising in the sky behind me cast my shadow onto the ground far below. There was a distinctly shaped shadow beside mine. I froze. I stared. I began to sweat. Then I slowly turned around to see the source of the additional shadow.

 A huge wooden cross stood in the center of what I now realized was a church roof. If I hadn't hit it last night I would have fallen from the sky to the concrete parking lot four stories beneath me. I had been saved by a cross. God had indeed brought me to the foot of his cross.

death row

Here I sit, by myself, alone and scared. The jury handed me the death sentence, I've been tried, judged and convicted. The minister who would return with the jailers to escort me to my final minute, just finished attacking my conscience. At least the electric chair is history in this state. Death by lethal injection was voted more humane. Is legal murder really humane? My only job now, is to wait and ponder, and I've done my share of pondering. As I sit here on death row, I've reviewed my life and it's not been pretty. I've stolen. Taken things that weren't mine from my place of employment, aces, syringes, dressings, and medical ointments. Sure, I can justify what I did, but the word is the same, theft. Who cares it only amounted to small pennies, if everyone did the same the pennies become dollars.

I've lied, and used foul language, but those stories are too numerous to even mention. Just suffice it to say, it was a multi daily event. I wasn't a great kid to my parents when I entered my rebellious teens, but who ever is? So my talent for stretching, coloring, adding to, subtracting from, changing completely or just plain fabricating the truth with obscene wording was an asset, that once cultivated assisted me through young adulthood onward.

I've also purloined my friends' husbands. No big deal, they were handed back in the same shape they were in when I borrowed them. My friends weren't any the wiser, every one was happy and satisfied. I only used them occasionally, on nights I couldn't sleep. They weren't seen entering or leaving. Everything was very discreet. I never kept them, where's the harm in that? I don't get the big deal. Do you not get it: no one was hurt! Let it go!!!! And I didn't borrow all of them: some were pretty darn ugly.

Now the murders I've committed, that is where the situation becomes sticky. You can't be expected to be let free if you're a serial killer. They never found the bodies, how could they pin the crime on me? But it's there, in black and white. It's in the book. Someone was aware of my murderous tendencies because it's on the record. I've stabbed a coworker to death. She was continuously playing gospel music at her desk, despite my requests to the contrary. I followed her to the parking lot after a particularly abusive day and slashed her to bits, actually, after several particularly abusive days. I plunged sharp blade after sharp blade into her sternum and watched her bleed to death on more than one occasion, lying on the concrete staring at me in recognition, while I played acid rock, and gyrated in rhythm to add insult to injury. (In reality, watching me dance would have been torture enough without the stabbing) I killed her serially, that is repeatedly. She kept returning to work, don't ask how, I'm mystified, those were really sharp blades and aimed with great precision.

My husband also was murdered by my hands, or should I say fenders. I've followed him on his many bike rides and "fendered" him to death. He deserved it for his insensitivity to my needs. Before he devoured my home cooked meals that I spent hours preparing, (okay, minutes in the microwave) he felt free as a bird to high tail it on his bike. I'd track him in my car wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses (me, not the car) as a disguise against witnesses, (as though they wouldn't recognize the car!) and, clipping his bike with my fender would send him to his painfully deserved demise, on an empty stomach, down a lonely hillside, throwing his dinner down on top of him, while it was still hot, for his last meal. It should've taken days for them to find his decaying body being demolished by scavenger birds, yet he always returned home. The look of curiosity on his face when he saw my surprised look! How did he do that? I performed many violent acts on him, yet he seemed totally impervious to fatality, which benefited me somewhat, as he did make the bed, feed, water and walk the dogs, take out the trash routinely, and secure the house before he left for work.

So that is why I'm sitting here on death row...waiting. I've seen fellow prisoners walk the aisle, in my mind's eye, a jailer on either side and a minister in tow, praying over the soul of the soon to be dearly departed. What good were their prayers? The convicted didn't look the least remorseful. In fact they seemed to taunt the system. Arrogant bastards! Haven't they heard, their maker is waiting for them on the other side.

No! I won't go with a guilty conscience. Bowing my head in remorse I prayed to Jesus, asking him to forgive me my sins and receive me into his grace. It was a short prayer, modeling the preacher's that had read me the last rites. I could only hope it was effective.

Here they come. I hear the footsteps falling of those who've come to take me to the injection room. I kept my head bowed in conversation with my creator. I'd be led to death humbly apologizing. When I meant him on the other side we'd continue this little chat, with me on my knees begging for forgiveness, crying without shame.

Three pairs of sandals stopped at my cell door, which squeaked open, echoing through the empty prison. Sandals aren't standard issue guard footwear. I looked above the sandals to three flowing robes. One robe was stained in shades of red. Looking further up I found the central figure was oozing blood from forehead wounds that drenched his face and cheeks. The middle of his chest displayed gore that dripped red corpuscles to the floor. He stepped forward and hugged me fiercely, with bloodied hands, smearing the red fluid over my heart. Yuk, I'd better not find out he had anything contagious! Oh, wait, I'm going to die in minutes anyway, what the hell, I hugged back.

The fatherly looking gentleman stretched his arm out to the unlocked door and announced I was free to go.

"I've been convicted to death," I stammered.
"I'm sorry, I see no record of any misconduct on your behalf." He stated examining a very official appearing ledger. "My firstborn son here must have paid the penalty for you. There are many lines in your file that have been blotted with blood. They are unreadable and therefore, inadmissible. I declare you to be blameless."

The third ghostly appearing gentleman asked me to give him my hand, when I complied he stamped my palm with an impressive seal. It was more permanent that a tattoo, and would remain with me forever. Then the wispy man transmuted into a flame of fire and rested on my head, yet without burning me!

A fourth figure entered the hallway and cursed at the other three. Sorry these words are so vile I refuse to taint this story with their repetition, boy is that ever a change of character or what! He was upset that I didn't earn the reprieve on my own. It wasn't fair, he'd had me dead to rights, he roared, suffocating me with his sulfurous breath. The newcomer jabbed at me with a pitchfork through the cell bars. I raised my hands reflexively and, spotting the seal, Mr. Potty Mouth snorted ashes through his nostrils and slunk away, defeated.

Leaping aside I stepped out into the aisle and practically ran to the end. Gospel music filled my ears as I neared the pulpit to give my life new meaning: to accept my justification. I responded to the benediction, to make my faith in Jesus public.

My husband came to stand by me, he was glowing with pride. He had been working on me for years. My coworkers and friends with their husbands came to shake my hands, to welcome me to the family. I could hardly look the husbands in the eye. If they knew about my night fantasies using their bodies would they still welcome me to the family of God? Maybe so, I wasn't so bad! My husband also would remain clueless to all the angry endings I conjured in my imagination whenever I felt annoyed with him. My old live had been expunged. I was a new creature in Jesus, but I didn't deceive myself, the road ahead would be as equally hard as it was blessed. Satan would be working double time on me now, trying to get me to slip, but at least now, my fate was sealed!

Math 5:27-30
Luke 4:18
John 8:36
Acts 2:3
Rom 5:1-5
Eph 1:13-14
Col 2:13-14
1 John 3:15

death pact

Death Pact

 

 

The four of us held hands around the table. We had just made a monumental resolution together; we were going to our death in the morning as a team. None of us were pleased with our present lives and agreed it was time for a change. We were ready to go on to the next level, to leave our wretched lives behind and start over on the other side, on a higher plane.

 

"So, it's settled, right?" I asked.

 

We all nodded our heads, tears flowing down our cheeks as relieve flooded our souls. I pushed the box of Kleenex to the table's center and watched as white tissue absorbed the facial moisture. We closed our “Basic Instructions before Leaving Earth” books that had been our guide in this fantastic resolve. We had researched our decision extensively; we were not making an impulsive move.

 

"Well, let’s go home and do what has to be done." No sense in letting grass grow under our feet, it would grow better over us!

 

I grabbed my purse and walked out the door arm in arm with my three new best friends. We had so much in common; we lived the same lifestyle, one not worthy of applause. In fact, one of the three had been my accessory in crime. She would divert attention from the back door at the theater so I could slip in without buying a movie ticket. Who would get hurt by that? They still had to show the movie for four people or forty. One of the others was a journalist who specialized in slander, hey- who wants to read the truth?  She always posted a retraction but the original articles were more widely read than the small print in the back pages. And friend number four had a problem with lust. She couldn't tolerate others having what she wanted, so, she would help herself to what wasn't nailed down, it's called kleptomania by the specialists.

 

At home I called my daughter at college and informed her of my intentions, not wanting her to receive second hand news. Things like this were better to handle with a little preparation time.

 

"Mom, you're crazy, No way will you do that." Then she laughed at me. I invited her to come to observe and she laughed harder.

 

"Yea, right, like I'm going to waste a perfectly good morning just made for sleeping late." Oh, well, I tried. Maybe in time....

 

I then dialed the numbers of some of my closest friends.  After explaining to them my regrets about the “good times” we’d shared, I requested their presence at my euthanasia party in the morning; I even offered them the choice to participate. One after another they attempted to persuade me to reconsider, not the least bit convinced that dying would be for the best. They were only concerned that they would lose me. They tried to convince me I was a good person, no human would execute me for my life style, and no court of law on earth would convict me for what I now viewed as criminal acts. They didn’t get it, for me being good wasn’t good enough, I was a perfectionist. I wanted to be better and couldn’t so death was my only option. I requested all to attend, even be evolved, all declined. They wanted to cling to their sad lives not wanting to chance taking the final plunge with me or witness my demise. Well, the four of us would show them we were serious. This was no laughing matter, no joke. It was for all time; a permanent end to a pathetic existence.

 

My last chore consisted of writing a note to my slave driver boss informing him he would no longer have me as a mindless servant. After signing my resignation I held it over a match, watching the flames ascend upwards. Odd, they were going in the wrong direction to reach the recipient. Oh well, I'm sure he'll get the news soon enough.

 

The morning trip was on me, I went to three houses to collect my fellow death seekers. No one had wavered from their steadfast determination.

 

"This is the last the world will see of us!" we exclaimed, practically in unison. The drive to our destination was quiet as we reflected on our past.  A flock of doves flew in front of us, slowed, followed us then returned to the lead position. Were they escorting us?

 

A small crowd had gathered at our chosen spot, they would be accomplices, encouraging us to the end. I scanned the group to see if any of my family and friends had had a change of heart and come. Nope, I‘d be exiting this life alone, well somewhat alone. We got out of the car and were accosted with hugs and tears. So much crying, would it ever end?  A table abundantly burdened with food had been set up under the trees for the celebration that would follow our deaths. Morbid? Maybe not.

 

After a small pre-funeral ceremony we stepped into the river one at a time, dressed in filthy rags; after all we deserved nothing more than what we were worth. The cold water sent horrific sensations up to my brain. I nearly ran back to shore but refused to embarrass myself, I planned to die today so die I would. Deeper and deeper I went, the water covered my face, soaked my hair, and buried me under its current. Hands held me down. I was gone, buried in a watery grave! I saw my life float past me. Somewhere deep below the earth I heard a loud roar of defeat that faded under the sound of ovation that rang out above me in the heavens. Death was painless.... at least for me. Two men lifted me up and deposited me on the ground next to my three comrades. I gasped and choked. My lungs expanded and filled with air. I felt warmth from a ray of sunlight that chose to light on my head. As I gazed up I swore it resembled a tongue of fire. My eyes popped open wider as a rushing wind assaulted my nostrils engorging my pulmonary system. I felt the urge to speak to angels. Everything about me seemed to glow in newness, though I’d been here before it all looked fresh, different. Hope-full.

 

Our four dead bodies jumped to their feet and praised the Lord!  More hugging, more crying. A oneness of purpose infused the gathering as we tearfully rejoiced. Our old lives were gone; we were reborn into the family of God, no longer slaves to sin but heirs of righteousness. We changed into clean, dry garments as new creations ready to follow our Lord. We were now in the witness protection program, witnesses of God’s grace and protected by his Holy Spirit as promised in our guide books, “Basic Instructions Before Leaving Earth” commonly referred to as "The Bible."

 

 

Isaiah 64:6

Acts 2:1-4

Rom 6:1-14

Rom 6:15-23

2 Cor 5:17

Col  1:1-17

Col 3:1-17