People who hear about our family adventures—and misadventures—living with wild animals like an African lion, a fox, a raccoon, a jaguarondi, monkeys, along with domestic pets like cats, dogs, and horses—often ask me if I would consider writing an autobiography. My answer is always the same. No. There are things in my life that I don’t want anyone to know.
People who hear about the childhood sexual abuse I survived—in spite of nearly bleeding to death twice from abortions performed by a person armed with a knitting needle, no medical knowledge, and a determination to cover up that abuse—ask me to consider writing an autobiography. My answer is always the same. No. There are things in my life I won’t share unless sharing will help someone else. I won’t harm the living by opening up a horrendous chapter in my life for personal financial gain—even though a lot of celebrities make money selling their childhood horror stories.
And the only time I will admit to having failed math for all four years of high school is when I am encouraging a beginning writer who laments that he or she is “too stupid” to finish a book because they can’t do math.
Therefore, this blog is a departure from my usual, but only because I hope it will be an encouragement to other people. It’s about a tie-breaker, not in sports—but in life.
After husband Tom died of cancer, I got conned into a sort-of marriage with a guy named Nathan. I say “sort-of” because he spent nights in a hospital bed—not my bed. He was addicted to prescription pain pills. Our marriage was annulled after a year. He had hidden his drug use from me and never lived with me. The county judge who granted the annulment told me it was as if we had never been married—which was good—because we actually hadn’t been. Fortunately, we had separate bank accounts because he had somehow conned the bank and was overdrawn by $30,000. I never knew someone could swindle a bank out of so much money. We had gone into business together and I was stuck with a substantial business loss—substantial for someone with my salary—but it was only about $13,000…plus the loss of my Texas Hill Country house and land.
Enter someone new. We’ll call him John. I loved him like I had never loved anyone else. He was intelligent, well educated, and never used the word “ain’t.” He even proofread my second book for me and taught me something vital for writers, something I remember each time I write a new book: never introduce a character by name unless that character will significant. We had a great relationship full of laughter and fun and eating out at almost every meal, because we were usually on the road selling things out of the back of his truck. I saw more of Texas than I had ever imagined I would see in my lifetime. We traveled to Oklahoma and Louisiana, and once—all the way to the east coast and Florida. Between trips, I learned how to cut and put down floor tile from helping him retile one of his rental houses. I helped him paint his rental houses and do the yard work they needed. Between trips, he and I would sit on the lawn of his house pulling weeds together and talking about everything—including marriage. He would inherit money when his father died and we talked about building a little house that would look like a tree from the outside. He drew up the plans for it. I was going to do the concrete work to transform the metal structure into a tree. We even went to Disney World in Florida to see one of the trees they had created.
Then the tie-breaker. One day we could not find another weed anywhere in his yard that needed uprooting. “We should set the wedding date,” he announced. “But before we do—we should share our secrets.”
I told him about the childhood sexual abuse I had endured. “As a writer, I may need to disclose it at some time. I won’t write about it or talk about it unless I know it will help someone. Will that bother you?”
“Somewhat,” he admitted, “but not enough that I don’t want to marry you. Now for my secret…about once a month…I smoke pot.”
I screamed at him. I don’t remember the words—but it was something like, “How can you be so stupid?” And I left.
Leaving John after his confession was the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life, but it was non-negotiable. Some things are. First, it was illegal. Second, after my experience with drug-addicted Nathan and the financial ruin his drug use had inflicted on me before I escaped—there was no way I would put myself in risk of going through that again. It’s not that pot smokers are bad people or always do bad things—it’s that the money spent for the purchase of any illegal drug finances a tool from satan’s toolbox and makes a financial investment in the misery, wickedness, illness, and death that drug use causes. It’s the bigger picture.
After I left, I regretted the decision at times because I missed John so much. Jesus strengthened me and kept me going. The Bible fueled me with wisdom. For example, Proverbs 5:14, “Do not walk in the way of evil. Avoid it, do not travel on it.” And, “whoever commits sin is a slave of sin.” Jesus in John 8:34.
Not exchanging good for evil is non-negotiable—regardless of the cost. And it comes with blessings attached. The Bible promises “all things work together for good to those who love the Lord. I am now married to a husband who loves Jesus as much as I do. I am now living in a country I never expected to see. I have now written 44 books with a new one scheduled for publication within days. All I have ever wanted to do since I was a child is write books.
Sometimes the cost of reaching for a dream is pain and loss, but enduring that pain and loss leads to great reward and joy.
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Stephanie Parker McKean 