Wolfe Stew

                      My Brother.   I remember pulling him around in the red wagon in Sherwood, Ohio. He was my greatest joy.   I always wanted him to be my best friend. But that was not meant to be.   I still love my brother deeply, but there is resentment now, on both sides.                   I remember our days in Ohio. We went everywhere together.   I was always protective of him.   I wanted him to be happy. I even remember one time we filled an empty 2-liter bottle with water and packed some bologna.   We walked together down to the train yard.   There was a small wooden overlook that we got up on. I don’t think anyone knew we went there.   It was a special memory to me. All of the Ohio memories were good, until the Divorce.                 When the divorce happened, we split from our Dad and our Mom’s boyfriend stepped in quickly. I knew in my heart that things were not good.   We stayed with Dad for awhile until we would move to Arizona.   I was so confused and full of anger

                    Porn is an addiction.   It’s kinda like those alcoholics movies where the guy makes it 90 days and gets recognition he made it that far.   Porn is a sin of the flesh.   I know of all of this because I have been dealing with it since I was 11.   I have learned that the Devil attacks me through the flesh, constantly.   He never gives up, and the only place you can find solace is in God’s hands.   Turn to him, always.                   My addiction to porn started with a suitcase full of porn in our garage.   My stepfather owned it, and left it out there easy to be found.   I don’t really remember how we found it, just that we did.   My brother and I.   The images blazed in my mind, turned my flesh to tingling.   It made me feel exhilarated, especially when I felt down.   I never thought any girl would ever want me.   So I found myself drawn to women who would give me everything, and my desire took over.   Whenever I was angry or sad, I became driven to porn.   It

Envy is called the ‘green-eyed monster’, and boy was I.   I lost my dad, really, my family… I was so angry. So very, very angry…. I looked at other people that had their dad, and I envied.   I wanted what they had.   Even though I knew nothing about them and their life.   I wanted my full family. My Dad, My Mom, My Brother, and me.   I didn’t realize the gift God gave to me.   He gave me the gift of sight.   I could see how precious a whole family is.   I could see everything I never got from my Dad, that I wanted.   I kept looking for fathers.                   There really is only one Father that won’t disappoint.   He has everything you could want.   He protects you every single day.   I have seen it.   He kept me from going down deep dark paths, ones you don’t come back from easily.   I know He loves me.   He took me down paths I needed to know, in order to stand up for the Divorced Sons and Divorced Daughters out there. I am put into the paths of lives He wants me to touch.

  I wanted to write these statements to help you understand me.  We all have a ‘Divorced Son’ in us.  We are all hurting.  I found God when I was young, then I turned away from him for actually answering my prayers.  I asked for God to save my grandfather, from my father’s side.  God claimed him that night.   He allowed my grandfather a peaceful entrance into His arms.  I didn’t see it, because what I wanted was my grandfather to stay.  It was selfish.  It took me a long time to recognize that God had done what I asked, but in His way.  I had no right to be angry.  None of us do.  God will answer you in His manner. I am not ever trying to preach to you.  I would never think I was able.  I just want to share what God has done in my life.  There are so many times He has saved me from myself.  He has used people that were absolute scum in my life, and He made them keep the sin away.  It is miraculous.  I don’t know why it took me so long to get to this point.  The point of hearing the

                 My Grandfather from my mother’s side was like a father to me.  My father left, because he was defeated.  My mother was there but she wasn’t.  She pursued Randy and a life of barhopping.  When I was 12, I was pretty much in charge of my brother and myself.  I didn’t want to be.  I have always looked for a father figure.  Even in my older age.  Everyone wants a father figure.                  My Grandpa Weber was the father figure as I grew from 8 years old up through college.  You see, my brother and I listened to the lectures he would tell us.  They were full of knowledge.  He told us stories of when he was in the Army in 1944.  He gave us wisdom that the Army gave to him.  They told him in the cafeteria that you could take what you want, but eat all you take.  He talked about his favorite 6 letter word, THINK.  I told him it was 5 letters, he told me T-H-I-N-K-!.  Even though the exclamation mark isn’t a letter, it still sunk in.  He also always told us to work smar

     So, I can’t really talk about my grandpa on my mother’s side until I talk about my dad. He is a good guy, and I can’t really explain how good, because of all the complexities that have happened.      When I was growing up my dad was super sweet to me. He was everything to me. I looked up to him, literally and figuratively. One reason I became a teacher is because of him, probably the biggest reason. My dad was a vice principal at a juvenile facility. Yes, the one where if the kids ran off, they sent dogs out to help find them. I was taken to work sometimes. I watched these older kids say “Hi Mr. Wolfe.” And I heard respect and honor toward him. He always knew how to talk to tough kids.      I knew he loved me and did not want to punish me, so I grew up a little spoiled… okay a lot. I would ‘run away’ and he would come try to find me outside, I never ran far. My mom on the other hand would give me a clear bag with flowers o

                  My grandma on my father’s side was just as amazing as my mother’s side.  She lived in that same town that my grandpa did, the one like Mayberry.  Apparently, they met at a hatchery.  Grandma Wolfe was beautiful and petite, she was French.  Her line is where I get my green eyes from.  Yeah, I thought it would be from the Irish side too, but nope, they are from the French line.  I could always tell they loved each other a lot.  We got to see them when I was little, up until my parents divorced.                 I remember quite a bit really.  She would cook amazing country meals with all kinds of starchy food.  We would always eat butter bread with jelly on it for our dinners.  It was always quiet and comfortable there.  We were only allowed to watch tv, maybe for an hour after dinner.  Sometimes we would just draw or read, depending on the day.  She always tucked us in, and always, always gave us hugs and kisses.                 Grandma was a sweet soul, and my grandfat

My grandmother, on my mother’s side, was a Saint.  Not that my grandmother on my father’s side wasn’t awesome as well, but this story is about Grandma Weber.  We will talk about Grandma Wolfe later on.  Grandma Weber was so tied to God, it is almost unbelievable.  She had joy that filled her cup and overflowed it into other people’s lives.  I remember when we first moved to town, we would go to church with my grandmother, but we got bored with it pretty fast.  None of us really felt what she did.  We were kinda wrapped up in our own sins, and we enjoyed them.  I feel like we looked at her like she was crazy.  We would go over to their house and my brother and I would compete with sitting on the couch next to grandma first.  She would sit next to us and rub our back, it was soo comforting.  My grandfather was a tough man to deal with.  I feel it took her amazing faith to deal with him on a daily basis.  My grandmother was always there for us, even when he wasn’t.  One memory is of how s

                  I was spoiled.  Not like a little bit either.  I know it was my dad that kept me from being punished.  He was a good guy and cared a lot.  But, it spoiled me.  I remember so well from just a few events.                 The first event was actually two events.  They have to do with each other.  I would shout that I was running away to my parents.  My father would be there and I would run out the door and hide behind a tree.  He would come running out and find me and bring me back.  My mom, when she was there, would get a bag, pack it, and set me out on the porch.  I wouldn’t run away, because she would pack the ugliest bag available.  Well, and of course, I never really wanted to leave, I just wanted someone to care enough to catch me.                 My mother spanked me with the wooden spoon, once my dad was out of the picture. I realized soon after how spoiled I had been.  But, when I think about it, that spoon caused some fear too.  I don’t know if I could have

               I have always been looking for someone that can replace the father I lost.  I knew it couldn’t be Randy, he was the guy my mother ended up with after the divorce.  He was a jerk.  At least, I felt he was because deep in my heart I knew he had stolen my family.  Destroyed it!  He was a bartender from one of the places my mom worked at when I was young.  It just happened too fast.  I felt it in my bones.  I hated him.  Another theme in my life, anger.                I was so angry and fearful.  I would have nightmares about my stepfather, and I could never fight back.  It was like I was drowning, and my arms were pinned to my sides.  I would wake up with my jaw clenched so tight I would have to work the muscles out to loosen them.  I never really gave Randy a chance.  I never would.  And, possibly, I made it harder for him to be that part of our family.  But there is more to the story than just that.  I don’t really remember a ton of it, but what I do remember is strongl

                 I didn’t have many friends when I was growing up.  Attachment wasn’t a thing I trusted.  My Dad and Mom split up when I was 8, and I ended up having to go to a public school not long after.  I had some friends in Calvary Christian, they were like family.  Mrs. Blamb was like a mother to me.  I remember the security I felt in that place.  I remember the Christian flag that meant a lot to me, with its pure white dove.  I remembered the Lord’s prayer, at least part of it.  I remembered them because they were given to me by God.  I had a perilous path to follow, and he equipped me with faith that would never leave me, though I would turn my face from it through anger and fear.                  So, all I had was my brother really.  I loved him like the most precious person, probably because we needed each other.  I probably needed him more than he needed me.  I remember pulling the little red wagon with him in it, all around Sherwood, Ohio.  We even entered the parade, wh

                    I am the Divorced Son.  I was born in the early 70s, to a man and woman who probably should never have gotten together.  Hence, why I know God was involved.  I was a little, old man, baby.  My mother was a diabetic, which probably has to do with why I was small and a preemie.  I was born into the world with a vision defect.  My eye muscles would pull so hard I would be cross-eyed.  They fixed this when I was 2, and I still remember being in the hospital with the plastic eyepatches over my eyes.  They say you shouldn’t remember things from when you were two.                 There are many things that happened in my life that guided me toward God.  First, and foremost, I went to a Christian school.  This is odd to me, because neither of my parents seem overly religious.  They act like they are the center of everything that happens, and it pains me to feel this way about them.  Never-the-less, Calvary Christian school had a profound and lasting effect on me.  I love