Justice for Desta

Twelve years ago one of my buddies from childhood (Desta Dodson Byrd) was murdered in cold blood at her home.  Finally, just a few days ago, the investigators felt they had enough evidence to arrest their prime suspect – her husband.  While I feel (as many others do) that justice is finally being done in this case, I am sad that one of my friends suffered such a tragic end.  To think that the man she loved and lived with would do such a thing is unimaginable, especially when I think about the sweet person Desta was.

I first met Desta Dodson in 7^th grade at Bottenfield Junior High School.  She always had a smile on her face, always listened to whatever problems you were having and gave an encouraging hug, and always made you feel like you were important in her world.  She had no enemies that I knew of in junior high school, but she had countless friends.  High school was the same.  She was popular, but not snobby.  She was beautiful and genuine.  She was Desta.  She was full of life and laughter. 

One of my most vivid memories of Desta is from the many slumber parties when all of us young teenage girls would watch TV late at night.  As always, we had to watch videos of Def Leppard (Desta’s favorite band) and Desta would literally lay against screen when the video would zoom in on Joe Elliott.  She loved Joe, and everyone around her knew it. 

After we graduated from high school, I only saw Desta a couple of times.  Like most people do, we drifted apart and started our adult lives and just didn’t keep in touch with each other like we’d promised when we signed our senior yearbooks.  The last time I saw her, I had stopped at the gas pump and she was on the other side.  She seemed happy.  Her life was great and she was dating a great guy named Jody Byrd.  I vaguely remembered Jody from high school – he was a little bit older than us.  We said we’d keep in touch when we each drove off that day, but as happened before, we just didn’t.  Life took over and we lost touch again.

Years passed, my own marriage and its problems captivated my time, I got pregnant and had a beautiful baby girl, and then my husband decided he was finished “playing house” and walked out the door.  Before I knew it, I had been out of high school for over 10 years, and I had lost touch with most of my friends.  In the year following my separation, I struggled to put my life back together and I struggled to figure out what had happened.  I spent a lot of time soul-searching and thanking God for delivering me from the life I had known – a life filled with doubts and worries about my husband’s secrets, and constant emotional abuse and distress delivered by that person who was supposed to be my protector.  I didn’t know that my friend Desta might be going through some of the same things.  I had no idea her life was spiraling downward as mine had, and that hers was just about to end.

On February 25, 1999, according to reports, Desta’s lifeless body was discovered by her husband Jody when he returned home from work.  She had been shot by Jody’s gun and left by the driveway to die.  The exact details (and the why) of what happened to Desta are only known by the person responsible and God, but investigators have studied the case for quite some time and believe they have enough evidence to bring Jody to trial for her death.  I pray daily that justice will be done.  Her family needs justice.  They need closure.  They need to know what happened and why, though it is likely they’ll never have all of their questions answered. 

I hope that if Jody is responsible for this tragic end to such a beautiful life, that he receive adequate punishment.  I hope if he did it, that he will just confess and save Desta’s family and friends additional anguish.  I pray the evidence will show beyond a reasonable doubt if he is convicted, so that there is no question about whether her killer is still on the loose.  If Jody is innocent, then I pray that God will intervene and save him from an undue punishment. 

I am thankful to the friends who wouldn’t let Desta’s case stay cold.  They fought for Desta’s case to be looked at by new investigators, and they did an amazing job getting the case back in the news.  I am thankful for the new investigators and for their tireless efforts.

I have so many mixed emotions today as I write this, mainly because I just still cannot believe anything like this happened.  It’s too much like a crime novel to be real, yet it is.  I have such a hard time believing that this world is that sinful and dangerous, yet it is.  How can someone so young and so vivacious and exceptional meet such a terrible end in life?  And possibly at the hand of the one she loved?  It’s hard for me to fathom, hard for me to write about.  I still remember her funeral, and the way Jody grieved over her casket.  Was it an act?  Was his speech at her candlelight vigil a few months ago contrived for show? 

For more info on this case, visit www.justicefordesta.org.  Please pray that justice be served for Desta, and that her family find the closure they need. 

The Game of Chess

I’ve always wanted to learn to play Chess, but always held back because it looked too complicated.  My cop-out excuse was that I didn’t know anyone who played the game, therefore, I would never have anyone to play with.  The truth is that I never asked anyone if they knew how to play.  It was easier to avoid the effort of learning to play than to have to deal with inevitable defeat (the game looked SO hard).  So, I have spent the entire 41 (ok, almost 42) years of my life wanting to learn the mysterious game.  I would see it being played in movies and on TV, and I secretly thought that those playing were much more intelligent than I.  I never felt the push I needed to conquer my fear and simply learn the game…until recently.

My almost-8-year-old son, Jacob, told us about a month ago that he wanted to learn to play Chess.

“Now’s my chance,” I thought, “I can learn to play this game with my young son…he will be an easy opponent in the beginning…after all…he’s still in 2^nd grade and surely I can learn to play well enough to beat him until he catches on to the game.”  I knew eventually his smarts would overtake me, but maybe I could enjoy a short period of superiority at this.

Since his birthday was coming up, I planned to get him a Chess board for his gift.  That would give me a few weeks to squeeze in some googling sessions to learn a little about the game.  I knew enough to know that each game piece has its own rules, but up until this point I couldn’t even name the individual game pieces.  With my busy life, I hoped to get in a few quick study sessions before we got the Chess board.

Unfortunately for me, Jeff immediately began teaching Jacob to play virtually on the laptop.  And apparently Jeff knows a thing or two about this game.  I was surprised to learn this about my husband.  In our 12+ years together, the subject of Chess had never come up.  I had never thought to ask him if he knew how to play.  I guess I just assumed he didn’t since he never mentioned it.  Now I had someone else I could play this game with.

“Uh oh…he’s going to be a very worthy opponent…this isn’t good,” I thought to myself.  You see, my husband is the super-smart type who sits quietly and observes, appearing to be uninterested and a little out of the loop until he wows and impresses you with his thoughts.  Just when you think he’s mentally checked himself out of whatever’s going on around him, you suddenly realize he’s been a step ahead of you the entire time.

Jeff continued to teach Jacob, but I decided to wait until we actually owned a Chess board.  I wanted to touch the pieces and pick them up with my own hands.  I’ve never been much on computer games, and quite honestly the entire virtual game of Chess seemed to intimidate me even more than the thought of learning to play.

Jacob learned quickly, as I suspected he would.  He is not a slacker, and his little mind has often wowed and impressed me just like his father’s.  And so, within a few short weeks, Jacob mastered the game and understands the object, the moves, and is developing his strategies like a champion player.  Then we get a Chess board, and I begin to learn.

After a few days, I have to say that it really is not as hard as I thought it would be.  I still mess up occasionally and move a Castle diagonally or forget that a Pawn can’t attack from the front, but Jacob quickly corrects me and we continue with the game.  I actually managed to outwit the little stinker last night and finally won a game.  He wanted to play again immediately, but I wanted to wait a little while and gloat in my victory.  An hour later, we were back to him giggling again as he put my King into checkmate.

I have noticed that Chess is a lot like life.  Life is made up of different people, like different game pieces on a Chess board.  They all move differently, have their own rules and their own agendas.  They can get you into trouble quickly if they don’t work together, but they can also help you gain a powerful advantage over your opponent if you don’t lose focus on what you’re doing.  How many times in life have I allowed myself to be in checkmate because I didn’t watch carefully at what the opponent was planning, or because I allowed myself to lose focus on the task in front of me?  Thank goodness we have a Saviour who is able to take us out of checkmate and give us a second chance.

It really doesn’t surprise me that Jacob has already mastered this game and understands the intricacies of the pieces.  I just hope he recognizes how very much like life this game is, and that he stays focused on the object of the game.

God's Hand in the Storm

Wednesday, April 27, 2011 – It was early afternoon and my husband (Jeff aka Bear) and I sat on the sofa and watched the news.  This was unusual.  We were both supposed to be at work, but an early morning storm that came through our area caused so many trees to fall across Highway 280 that he couldn’t make it downtown.  I only work a few miles from home and had been able to make it to the office, but the schools closed early because of the threat of severe weather, so I had left work and come home.  The kids were occupying themselves elsewhere in the house, and Bear and I sat and watched webcam coverage of tornadoes ripping through Tuscaloosa and Cullman.  It was surreal.  To sit and watch such destruction as it was happening…to know that hundreds if not thousands of lives were being forever changed right before my eyes…I couldn’t help but think of the tornado that struck Oak Grove and the surrounding areas on April 8, 1998.  I knew people who had been forever changed from that tornado.  The images on TV were just as horrendous, if not more so, than the 1998 tornado.  And to think these might be headed our way.  God help us.

We took the necessary precautions and headed downstairs when James (Spann) said it was time.  The lights flickered on and off, so we took flashlights, although we ended up not needing them.  We watched the radar helplessly as the storms dredged on their way…right toward our home.  Fortunately, they all passed right over us and our area was completely spared, but the news was reporting damage in other areas close-by where we had family and frieds:  Forestdale, Fultondale, Pleasant Grove…  We called our parents and made sure they were ok.  I couldn’t get through to my sister in Huntsville (storms had also headed that way), but I was able to reach my niece in Mobile by FaceBook and found that my sister and her husband were fine (gotta love technology).  I was saddened by the devastation that surely was out there, but thankful that I’d been able to check on loved ones and not heard any reports of any being hurt. 

Early the next morning, I checked FaceBook early for some reason…usually I don’t check FaceBook until later in the day.  I saw Tim Jones’ post about his mother’s house being gone, and that she was missing.  He wanted everyone to pray.  The urgency in his post was apparent – Tim was worried and in need of peace and comfort.  That’s what I prayed for.  We knew Mrs. Reba well.  Of course, Bear knew her better than I did since he had been buddies with Tim since they were teenagers (dare I say 30 years ago???)  We had all grown up in the Forestdale area and all attended the same church, but both Bear and Tim were a little older than me and had become close friends while they were young.  They began singing gospel music together when they were still teenagers, and still have a quartet that sings today.  Although I knew Tim well, I was also close friends with the precious young lady that became his wife – Liz - and I remember Mrs. Reba from church and at countless singings over the years. 

One thing I remember most about Mrs. Reba is her love for her family.  Liz said that she loved her grandchildren equally, and that she never showed any favoritism toward any of them.  She loved her children, too.  She beamed with pride when anyone mentioned their names, and she had a soft, peaceful look on her face when she would listen to Tim and the others sing.  Tim often takes a few minutes during a singing to talk about his dad’s passing, and I know that Mrs. Reba missed him too.  I don’t remember Mr. Jones since he passed over 20 years ago, but Tim’s love for his dad is evident in the way he talks about him.  His urgency in that FaceBook post spoke volumes about his feelings for his mom.

Sadly, we got the news later in the day that Mrs. Reba had not survived the storm when it went through Pleasant Grove.  With all of its sadness, I tried to focus on Tim’s talks about his dad and that now Mrs. Reba was with him again.  She had finished her life on this earth and had gone on to Heaven.  Her house in Pleasant Grove was destroyed, but now she had a house in Heaven that no storm or wind or rain could touch.  She had a new body that would never know pain.  She was in a much better place than what she had left behind.  I was so sad for Tim and Liz and the family, but felt joy for Mrs. Reba and her new stage of life.  The pastor that spoke at her funeral summed this up better than I could – he said “she is not dead, she is more alive than she ever has been.”  He spoke from John 14, and said that Jesus had been preparing a place for Mrs. Reba for some time and that her place was ready.  Jesus had personally come to Pleasant Grove on the evening of April 27 in a storm to take her home.  I could almost imagine Mrs. Reba smiling (smirking as those who knew her would say), at being personally escorted to glory on the arm of her Savior. 

A phone call came while we were preparing to leave the house to visit Tim and Liz.  Another close friend (another Jeff I’ll call Jeff J) who used to sing with the quartet called.  Jeff J told me that he had just googled Mrs. Reba’s name to check her official status since the storm, and had come across an interesting blog.  He told me to google “Reba Jones Pleasant Grove” and it would be one of the first links to pop up.  By the time he finished summarizing the blog, I passed the phone to Bear and headed to my laptop.  Within minutes, I was reading a very touching story about Mrs. Reba’s mailing label having made its way some 70 miles from home.  A lovely and caring soul had retrieved it from her rose bush, and had pondered its journey and the fate of its owner and her house, Reba J. Jones, 516 7^th Ave., Pleasant Grove, AL  35127.  She had weighed the possibility that Mrs. Jones may not want her personal information posted on the internet against her hope that by posting, she might find out the fate of Mrs. Jones and the rest of her home in Pleasant Grove.  She commented later that when God places a mailing label in your rose bushes, the message is pretty clear.  The unknown blogger used memories from her childhood to bring her post to life.  They were stories any child that grew up in the South could relate to, and I found myself connected immediately to this person.  I had to respond to her.  I had to reach out to the one who cared so much about the owner of the lost the mailing label.  I’m not sure that she really expected an answer to what happened to Reba J. Jones, at least not so quickly, but I could sense God had His hand in this and that I needed to let her know.  For those interested, you can see Carol’s blog at http://theleftbankofthecoosa.blogspot.com/2011_04_01_archive.html.

 

We shared the story of the blog with Tim and Liz later in the evening.  Tim was clearly moved and thanked us for letting him know about it.  He got online later and made his own comment to Carol’s blog.  The next morning I read the new comments and couldn’t help but sense God poking me.  My thoughts jumped from sheer thankfulness that God had spared my family, feeling so unworthy to still have EVERYTHING (including electricity), and witnessing the pain and devastation all around me.  Surely this blog popping up like this had to mean something.  I couldn’t help but wonder what God wanted me to do with it.  I had felt this same prompting years before when the 1998 tornado went through Oak Grove but lifted and disappeared into the sky just one mile away on its course to my home, but my own personal life had fallen apart just a few days later, and I didn’t feel strong enough to write about faith then.  But it was the same prompting, the same urgency that my life was spared for some reason.

I thought about Liz sharing with us the night before.  She had felt the need to call Mrs. Reba and make sure she was taking cover in the storm.  Liz knew others were calling her too.  She had spoken with her just moments before the tornado struck.  Liz had cared for Mrs. Reba in last few moments of her life.  It is comforting to know that in her final moments, she heard voices of those who loved her.  The thought of God prompting Liz and others to call her that night kept echoing in the background.  How many times have I been prompted to do something but didn’t?  What was God trying to teach me through this?

No one saw Mrs. Reba’s destiny coming.  I don’t think it ever occurred to Liz that she would be one of the last voices Mrs. Reba would hear on earth.  Even after the storm, when she couldn’t get Mrs. Reba back on the phone, Liz’s mind was thinking that the phone lines were down and that’s why she couldn’t get through.

At some point on Saturday, my thoughts went to 1998 and I recounted numerous things I had thought about sharing with others, but never did publicly.  I’ve shared details of my life and things I’ve learned one-on-one in conversation with others, but it wasn’t until I gave my personal testimony to my Sunday School class in the Fall of 2010 did I realize that I had so much to share that might help others.  I again thought about blogging, but just couldn’t bring myself to publicly do that.  And then I thought about Carol’s blog.  She didn’t have a private blog that only friends and family could see, she had one open to the public, open enough that Jeff J had found it by googling Mrs. Reba’s name.  He had shared it with us, and it had touched my heart so deeply.  If I had a blog and I shared things that God prompted me to share, someone that I would not otherwise be able to reach might see a post one day and it might be just what they needed to hear.

After all, I’ve been broken in my lifetime.  But I’ve also been healed.  I believe that God allowed me to be broken so that I can minister to others who are broken.  I also feel that God has taught me through this to treat others the same.  What a wonderful thing for Liz to remember about Mrs. Reba – she treated everyone the same.

People shouldn’t hide who they are and where they’ve been.  Yet I’ve done that very thing because I was fearful that others would look at me differently.  I am not a super-talented person.  My husband has musical talents beyond belief…I never tire of listening to him sing or play the piano.  I’ve often wished I had similar talents, but I realize now that I am to honor God with the talents I have, not with talents I don’t have.  I praise Him that my talents are not the same as others.  I am uniquely and specially made by God.  No one can have the same impact I am designed to have, as no one can have the same impact YOU are designed to have.  Use what you have for God.  Listen to his promptings and follow Him.

I am the type that believes things happen for a reason.  The fabric of our lives and the experiences that take place are too interwoven for much to happen by chance, as some believe.  I believe that God has used many details from this storm (Mrs. Reba’s death, a mailing label caught up in the wind – something identifiable and able to be traced to its owner, a friend googling for information, and a blogger unknown to any of us) to bring me to finally starting a blog.  I pray it brings peace to Mrs. Reba’s family to know that her life impacted others even in her passing.

My First Blog Experience...Here Goes

I've often wondered why people blog.  Why do they tell the whole world, at least the connected-to-the-internet world, what their thoughts are?  I've thought about doing it myself many times, but never could get past the "oh my...I can't tell those personal private thoughts to every one...people I don't know and...oh my...people I DO know...what will they think of me???"  But yet I've been prompted to write about things for years.  I've written privately, stored personal notes to myself on my computer, my phone, my jump drive.  But why leave them hidden?  I feel a real prompting by the Holy Spirit to let some of those thoughts out.  My experiences and what I've learned from them will help only myself if I keep them to myself, but if I share them with others, then perhaps God can use me to help others.  I don't know.  What I do know is I'll never know if I don't try.  I have so many experiences that I've learned from, and I still learn more every day.  I want to share those with others.  Perhaps my posts will help others.  It is my heartfelt prayer that they will.  I claim to be nothing, but God who is in me is everything, and may He guide my thoughts and my posts to be what others need.  I believe He has been prompting me for a long time to do something like this, but recently He slammed it in my face with a tornado that ravaged my state, much like a tornado in 1998 did just before I began feeling the need to write about things.  I'll explain all that in my first few posts, but I want to keep this initial post focused on the last few days.  God used a stranger, an unknown blogger, to touch my heart in a way I may never be able to explain.  Her name is Carol (and I now consider her a friend), I will not list her blog address until I've had a chance to ok that with her, but her sincere story about finding Mrs. Reba's mailing label in her rose garden and her responses to several comments slapped my procrastinating self in the face in a good way...it made me realize how much good CAN come from a public blog, that my private thoughts and seemingly mis-directed ramblings CAN be used by God to show that He is in control.  God can use even the tiniest, insignificant thing like a mailing label caught up in a violent, deadly storm to bring people together.  It is my prayer that God uses this blog to do whatever He designs, both publicly and privately, to touch hearts and souls.  May this blog never be a platform for MY thoughts, but HIS thoughts.