You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
Today's Wild Card author is:
and the book:
LIFE SENTENCE Publishing (May 1, 2013)
***Special thanks to Jeremiah M. Zeiset for sending me a review copy.***
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Lyne and Nicholas John Reider married in 2004 and had five children. Nicholas went home to be with the Lord in November 2012. Lyne has spoken to adults and youth all over the United States about pain and grief and how to find rest in Jesus Christ. The Reider family currently resides in Wisconsin.
Visit the author's website.
SHORT BOOK DESCRIPTION:
After losing two sisters, a best friend, and her thirty-seven-year-old husband, Lyne shares her incredible testimony of how God has not only kept her, but ultimately used every event to bless others.
Lyne came from a broken family. Her father is a convicted murderer. The first and only time she met him was while he was in chains and in prison. She was raised by an abusive stepfather and contemplated suicide several times. Lyne knew there was a God and she believed in the Lord Jesus Christ, the only thing keeping her alive.
Tragically, Lyne’s sister Michelle passed away at the age of twenty-four, and her other sister Antonya passed away at the age of sixteen. This ultimately led to severe depression. Nothing, however, prepared her for the pain she felt when her thirty-seven-year-old husband Nicholas died. Incredibly, she never lost hope in God and therefore, she chose life over death.
Regardless of a person’s status in society or how much money they have, grief affects anyone, in any culture. This book has touched the lives of many. And it will touch you.
List Price: $16.99
Hardcover: 102 pages
Publisher: LIFE SENTENCE Publishing (May 1, 2013)
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
Why Not Me?
Growing up I knew that my twin and I had a different father from my older two sisters. I also knew that our stepfather was neither of ours. I’m not sure how I found out or at what age I found out. I do remember that I knew it at the age of about eight because a woman who had come to the house said that my twin looked just like our father, and we burst out laughing. We knew she must have been lying or she didn’t realize Zeke was our stepfather. Perhaps she really did think they looked alike, but we knew better.
The earliest childhood memory I have is when I was about five years old, and I was at Red Lobster with my sisters, mother, and cousin Lat. My next memory is around the same age, and we were in Michigan where I was born, and my mother and Zeke were leaving us with relatives to go to Texas. I remember that I cried like never before. I feared I would never see my mother again, but we soon moved to Marshall, Texas.
Growing up was hard for me. I was shy, fearful, and intimidated. I always thought I was ugly and unpopular because of the fear Zeke had put into me. My biological father had never been in the picture. He led a very destructive life and is now serving life in prison for it. Not only was he involved in multiple crimes, including robbery and rape, but he eventually committed the terrible crime of murdering a young woman. I never knew him. I only knew his name. I did have an old picture of him from the 1970s. I don’t remember how I got the picture, but I think my mother gave it to me when I asked her about him.
I used to stare at it because I could not see how in the world I looked like him. There were several times when I was young that my mom would get upset with me. I’m sure I did something wrong. She would say I had the same personality as my father, and I looked just like him. It made me mad because I could tell that in some small way, she was disgusted with me for reminding her of him.
So I stared at the picture and hated it. I had never met this man who was my biological father. I did obtain his prison address and wrote one or two letters to him in 1996. But when I got his letter back, he talked crazy, and it scared me. I never wrote him again.
When I was twenty-four, I did finally meet him. In the year 2001, while dating a guy named Jesse, I had such a burden on my heart to find out why he had killed that young lady. More than anything, I wanted to see him and talk to him face to face. I had a college ministry during that time at Iowa State University, and I was on fire for God. I wanted everyone to get saved.
I discussed this with Jesse, but we needed to get my name on my father’s visitors list. We did and we then drove to Michigan from Iowa.
Nervous and unsure of what I would say, I entered the maximum security facility. I was scared. After a lot of waiting, they called my name and did a normal body search. They took me to an area where people were talking through a thick glass or plastic window. I sat down and waited.
In about two minutes, he entered, wearing an orange jump suit. His hands were shackled and his feet were shackled. He could barely walk. I became numb. The only thing I remember is him telling me how much I had grown and how beautiful I was. All I could manage to ask was why he had murdered that young lady.
He said they were dating and smoking marijuana and drinking. In the middle of an argument, the young lady had grabbed a letter opener. He tried to take it from her, and all of a sudden he snapped and stabbed her.
I just sat there holding my breath. He knew I was a believer in Jesus Christ, and he told me that evil spirits came into his cell and tormented him. He was very afraid. He asked me to look on the internet about demonic spirits, and I nodded. I was in shock. But why was I nodding my head?
I didn’t need to know about demonic spirits. I knew about the power and blood of Jesus Christ! But I couldn’t get the words out. I prayed with him, but I don’t even remember what I prayed; I was so shaken up. I never went back, and I never answered any letters. I was so afraid of him knowing where I lived even though he had a life sentence in prison.
I had known that I had a bad father, but not much had ever been said about him. My early years were good as far as I could remember. One time in particular we had a huge Christmas. My stepfather Zeke wasn’t as mean back then. We had chores, and a lot of them, but our house wasn’t the war zone that it would later become. That Christmas we got so many toys, bikes, remote control cars, dolls, and stockings full of candy! That was the first and last nice Christmas I remember having. After that, Christmas consisted of maybe one shirt, some pajamas, and a stocking full of nuts and oranges. Life had taken a dramatic turn.
I wish people, especially parents, would realize that although children may have had happy moments in their lives, if the majority of their life was in darkness, that is what they will recall most often. That overshadowing darkness was especially the case with me.
Stark contrasts filled my early life. In high school, I was in band, and I twirled rifles and flags. Twirling rifles was pretty cool, and only about five to eight girls qualified, so you had to be good. And I was! We had to attend parades, but most of the time my sisters and I could not go.
We were all in band, and my twin twirled also. My older sister was the drum major. One time we went to a parade, but to my mom and stepfather, that was probably enough. However, we would get left there with no ride home.
By this time, we had moved from the city out to the country, in Nesbitt, Texas. Nobody ever wanted to take us home. We never had any money, so here we were in 101 degrees of hot Texas weather, and we had no way of buying an ice-cold drink. The parade was downtown, with no water fountains around.
I felt like I was going to pass out. I stared at other kids buying drinks and started to cry. Then my older sister Michelle came up and said she had begged her friend for some money to buy a Dr Pepper. The three of us drank from that small eight-ounce cup and savored every last drop. So what my parents thought was a fun event turned out to be terrible and humiliating to me.
I’m sure my mom did the best she could. I guess I was upset with her for choosing a husband who didn’t work, but stayed at home instead of supporting her. If he had worked, we would have had enough. I have such a dislike for laziness now, and that is a good thing.
Similarly, we would go to band practice and get left there. We would sit outside on the steps as everyone else left, hoping someone would pick us up. Sometimes they did and sometimes they didn’t. My band teacher, Mr. Robinson, often took us home but was reluctant to do so every time, and didn’t always offer. If my mother did pick us up, she would be late. Practice would be over at 5:00 p.m., and she would come at 8:30 p.m.
Sure, this isn’t the end of your life, but you sure start to feel that way. We seldom had new clothes for school. In the earlier years, we did. But starting in the sixth or seventh grade, we did not – no new clothes for the first days of school. I know this because I remember being embarrassed at school about it when I didn’t even have new school supplies either.
As I worked out in the yard, I daydreamed about wearing an outfit that I had seen in a JCPenney catalog. I wanted that outfit. We worked a lot. We lived in the country on a farm, and we had goats, chickens, cows, and dogs. I learned how to gut a fish before I was ten years old, and I knew how to kill and skin a chicken. I hated my life.
My sisters and I spent countless hours a day working on that farm while Zeke stayed in the house and dictated to us from the back steps. This was not easy work, and it was too hard for a little ten-year-old. We had to clean and rake out the outside sewage line. Nasty. Our yard was so large that once we raked leaves and burned them, Zeke would come outside and make us do it again because the wind had blown new leaves out of the trees. We used axes and sickles and cut down logs all day. It did not matter if we had school or not.
On Saturdays, Zeke would bark and yell at us to get up at 7:00 a.m. and go outside to work. I used to wish that we could watch cartoons. We would stay outside until dark, which was between nine and ten o’clock in the evening. We could only break to eat. I would be so sore that I cried.
I remember one night when we had been working all day and night, I was so tired. I didn’t get to bed until at least eleven o’clock, and that week I had been on “dish duty.” Well, there was one small saucer left in the sink. Zeke came into our room around one o’clock in the morning and yelled at me to go clean that one plate. I was so tired and weak, I just started crying.
I rarely had peace in our home. If I did, that meant Zeke and my mom weren’t home. They would argue so loud and so much that I would pull the pillow over my head and cry. One time the fighting got so bad that my mom pulled a gun out on Zeke. Of course, in Texas people hunt a lot, so we had a pistol and a rifle by the back door. My mom went to jail that night.
Our house was a mess, and I wanted to get out! We could never go over to our friends’ homes, and we could never have them over to ours. I didn’t care about that because I was too ashamed to have them over.
A dramatic change took place the day my sister Pinky died. I believe that was the day a part of my mother died as well. I can still see my sister. She was beautiful, and I thought she was the coolest person ever. Her name was Antonya, but we called her Pinky. My mom said that was because her skin color was pink when she was born. She was cool and she had cool friends. I remember a party we had for her, but we could only hang out in the backyard because we weren’t grown up enough to hang around her friends.
We traveled to Houston, Texas a lot. I saw MD Anderson Hospital a lot as well. You see, Pinky was sixteen years old and had melanoma carcinoma skin cancer. I don’t know exactly how long it was between them finding it and her dying. Not long though.
We went to Camp Star Trails for family members of cancer patients. I remember the first year that we went, Pinky had given me about sixty dollars. I didn’t know what it was for. But I knew I loved candy! I went into the camp candy store and bought the entire store out! The only thing I left was Chick-O-Sticks. Campers were in a theatre room, and I snuck next to Pinky and my sisters in the dark. Very sneakily, I showed them all the candy I racked up. My sister Pinky gasped and asked me where I got the money for all of that candy.
I said, “From the money you gave me.”
She shrieked back, “Girl! That was our bus money to get home!”
Of course she made me take the candy back and get our money back. At the end of camp, I received the “Candy Queen” award. That was funny. There was a beautiful girl there named Heather. I wished I looked like her. She was breathtaking. And then she died. Although camp was a fun atmosphere to take your mind off things, you were constantly reminded of the sickness.
I do think, however, that at camp was the first time I seriously had a crush on someone. His name was MacGyver, and he was our camp counselor. Of course, I was ten and he was in his twenties. He pretty much laughed at me. I would have too if I were him. He was married, and this little tike was begging for his attention. My sisters laughed at me.
Our move to the country had caused things to change with more chores, more work, and more abuse. Zeke never wanted anything good for us. One Halloween my mom wanted to take us to get candy. She shoved us into our pickup truck after she and Zeke had been arguing about us not going anywhere. As my mom tried to drive off, Zeke attempted to jump into the back of the truck. I didn’t even want to go home because I knew it would be bad when we returned.
One time Zeke made Michelle so mad that she grabbed a butter knife and pulled it out on him. She always was a pistol. As adults we later laughed because a butter knife would not have done anything harmful.
One day as my twin Ellaysa, my sister Michelle, and I got off the school bus, we noticed a lot of white chairs in the yard. No one was home. We often came home to an empty house because Zeke was next door at his father’s house. It was the country, and his father’s house was not close, but he was our neighbor. Michelle thought we were having a party, but Ellaysa thought Pinky had died. I leaned more on the side that Pinky was gone, but didn’t believe it.
My mom’s best friend Ora Brown brought Mama home, and she was crying. I knew Pinky died, but said nothing. Mama pulled all of us into the back bedroom and said that Pinky was gone. She was dead. All I could do was cry. I cried even more for my mom. That was her firstborn. That was her baby. Now that I am a mother I feel her pain even more. Oh, it had to hurt so badly. To lose the baby that you have adored, taken care of, loved, and raised. My mother lost a part of herself that day. I still grieve for my mother.
Because I had never seen a dead person before, I was terrified at the funeral. My beautiful sister and the coolest person in the world didn’t even look like herself. What did they do to her? It didn’t look like her at all. An usher tried to force me off the pew to go look inside her open casket. Who did he think he was? He didn’t know her. He didn’t know me. Didn’t he realize I could see her face from where I was sitting in the front row? I told him no as he tried to pull me up to go look at her, and then I became angry and yanked my arm from around him and firmly told him no again.
I didn’t want to see her like that. I later regretted that I did not go up and kiss her forehead. After it was over and she was buried, I just wanted to see her one more time, and I couldn’t. I hated myself for many years for refusing to see her one last time.
After this, I noticed that everything in my home changed. I love my mother. I always found peace, rest, and safety in her. But that all disappeared. After Pinky died, my mother had good jobs, but it wasn’t enough because Zeke was unwilling to work. The jobs my mother had didn’t pay much, or perhaps they did, but because Zeke could never keep a job, we always struggled. I resented him for being so lazy.
Out of all the years of living under that roof, I only remember him working straight for one month. He was always yelling about the white man and not wanting to be told what to do. So, he bummed on the couch all day, smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee. I hated that smoke. I still do because I’m allergic to it. My allergies are so bad that I take allergy shots. Zeke became more and more cruel. He knew how I would sneeze around smoke, and he would smoke in the car with the windows rolled up. He would refuse to roll them down if I asked. He was so miserable in his own pathetic life that he wanted to make ours the same.
I remember my mother sticking up for me one time. I was sneezing so much and couldn’t stop. Zeke became irritated in the car and yelled at me.
My mom yelled at him, “It’s more irritating to her than it is to you!”
It made no difference. I was still stuck in a smoky car. To this day, I do not like to see children in cars with their parents smoking. Why are you killing your child? Do you not love them enough to stop your habit for a car ride? You have a choice to smoke. They do not. You are the one that is making them smoke.
I will always be able to say I love my mother. I’m sure she did the best that she could, at least from the understanding and knowledge that she had. My only source of sadness comes from people not wanting to grow in their knowledge. For instance, someone may want to borrow money from you, but they do not want any knowledge of how to be debt-free themselves. It is a shame and very sad that people tend to not want any meaningful learning tools that would help them manage their money and be good stewards over what God has given them, especially if it is not received from a family member.
I cannot grasp the pain of losing a child. I can only imagine it. And the thoughts alone are unbearable. One thing I have learned on this journey is this: After I have tried for so long to make things normal in my life, I now realize that after the death of a loved one, things will never be normal again. People say you must find a new normal. No, take out the word normal because it will never be normal again. You must start a new chapter.
My Thoughts: The cover photo is one that draws the reader's attention to the book if on a shelf among others. Unfortunately once started, the reader is distracted by the lack of quality editing. Lyne has a story to tell that will inspire others to persevere despite life's difficulties but it is not quality writing.