God’S Love Prevails: My Life

By Meg Long

The choices one makes in life are vitally important. Even if some of the choices turn out to be less than expected, we have the right and the choice to be happy. It is a matter of choosing life rather than death, and the Holy Scriptures state, Choose life for happiness for true peace.

In Gods Love Prevails, author Meg Long shares her story against the backdrop of the choices she made throughout her journey. Beginning with a review of her mothers strong influence, Long offers a chronological rendering of her own life beginning with her childhood, through schooling, her experiences at a convent, and into adulthood, the work world, marriage, and raising a family.

In this memoir, Long encourages all to appreciate life while she weaves anecdotes from her background into a tribute of Gods blessings. Emotional and powerfully spiritual, Gods Love Prevails offers the story of one person who was called to share Gods word and Gods life with the world in which she lived.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Feb 12, 2016
• ISBN: 9781504978736

Meg Long

Meg Long worked as a teacher and in church ministry for many years. She has four adult children.

Book preview

9781504978736_epubcover.jpg

God’s Love

Prevails

My Life

Meg Long

23936.png

AuthorHouse™

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.authorhouse.com

Phone: [phone]

© 2016 Meg Long. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 03/10/2016

ISBN: 978-1-5049-7874-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5049-7873-6 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Chapter One: Mom and Family

Chapter Two: ‘Life in Another City’

Chapter Three: Moving On

Chapter Four: The Changing Tide of Our Lives

Chapter Five: The wandering years

Chapter Six: Convent Life

Chapter Seven: New Adventures

Chapter Eight: Prayer for the Long Haul

Chapter Nine: Settling in to Home

Chapter Ten: Another Beginning

Chapter Eleven: New Directions

Chapter Twelve: Life is a series of Beginnings

Preface: Life, Forever Changing & Challenging God’s Love Prevails

Question: Does a child have the capacity for an awareness of God? In her book, The Religious Potential of the Child, Sofia Cavalletti poses this question. From my own experience, the answer is a very absolute, Yes. In Genesis chapter one, verse 26, again in chapter two, verse 7, Every human has within, the very breath of the Lord God. This breath is what we call the soul. God has shared with man God’s very Spirit, the Spirit of Truth. How awesome is this understanding! It is this understanding that is sealed in us in the Gifts of the Holy Spirit during the Sacrament of Confirmation through Christ’s Holy Catholic Church.

I will begin my story by sharing, briefly, some of my mother’s life. She was a driving force in the lives of her siblings as well as in the lives of her own children. She made an impact on everyone she met. She was an astute lady, poised in every situation and was respected by all who knew her.

Chapter One: Mom and Family

Julia, my mom, was a bright girl graduating from the eighth grade when her dad, announced that she could no longer continue her education. It had become necessary for her to stay at home and raise her siblings. This was not uncommon in the early 1900’s. Julia was one of nine children. She complied in order to keep the family together. Her mom was ill and unable to care for her children. Julia loved the Catholic Sisters who taught her in elementary school and she wanted desperately to continue learning. She felt robbed of her childhood, but her commitment to her family was a strong force in Julia’s life, which carried her into a lifelong journey in the, school of hard knocks. She was born in the early 1900’s and witnessed the tragic deaths of her two youngest siblings during the influenza out break of 1918. At the age of eleven Julia decided she would never love anyone as much as she loved those two children. But she did love again.

As Julia became a young woman, she began to care for the invalid mother of an astute, well-educated businessman. She eventually married him after he witnessed the tender care his mother received from Julia. They had a beautiful marriage and two children who were the gifts of a loving and empathetic Father God to two genuinely good people. Julia’s beloved dubbed their marriage, A honeymoon to mori, spending summers on a nearby island. He, subsequently, asked Julia to move to a sunny climate but she felt compelled to refuse because of her commitment to her younger siblings. Tragically her beloved passed away with pneumonia leaving Julia with another huge blow.

In her financial need, Julia turned to the beauty industry, becoming owner of a salon. With two very small boys at home she was frantically in search of a reliable person to care for the children and prepare meals. There were many failed attempts. She was devastated and on one occasion she came home to a disaster in her living room. The two small boys in diapers were uncared for but a meal was prepared in the kitchen. She promptly dismissed the help and tended to her boys. Entering this scene was her husband’s insurance man. He was a man fifty years of age. Julia was distraught. She was also caring for her father who had cancer as well as her ill mother, my sweet grandmother.

The insurance man’s wife had passed away and he shared with Julia the fact that he had a farm. The boys would have a good home and be able to enjoy his acres as they grew up. Bowed by regret and guilt, Julia agreed to marry him. She was unaware that his daughter at age sixteen was living in the home he’d shared with his first wife. My father shared only what he determined was important for her to know. The elder daughter entered the house and beat Julia, taking the younger child to live with her. At some point after Julia and the insurance man were married, they traveled to his birthplace to visit his family of origin. While they were visiting, his mother welcomed them and showered them with lovely crystal serving ware. Young Julia enjoyed her time with his family and she learned of her new husband’s background. He had earlier married a girl that his family considered beneath their ‘station’. So the couple had left and moved around, finally settling down on a farm. Many years later his first wife passed away leaving three children. Two of them were already grown and married.

Julia’s eldest described life on the farm as idyllic. He likened the next five years to a great Christmas movie set in 1940. Life was good and the insurance man, Frank, was enriched by the presence of a lovely young bride who would accompany him to his community affairs and keep his home well organized. Julia now had an excellent home to share with her family and on weekends with her six surviving siblings. Everyone enjoyed the farm. He was a deacon in a prestigious church, he was a beekeeper with an active 4-H group, and he was a fourth degree mason as well as an invaluable member of the local grange. Pregnancy would spoil his life. In the mind of the insurance man, pregnancy was a woman’s fault, a very unfortunate but common misunderstanding.

I was conceived and during the pregnancy I apparently survived a vicious beating by my father. This was revealed to me when I was a teenager as I questioned my mom about the fact that my daddy didn’t want me. Scars run deep in the small person of the unborn child. The beating began an inheritance of silence. It’s a confused silence because the act that produced this small child was an act of selfish lust. My father displayed selfishness often but he was my father and I loved him. Ah, that Garden of Eden!

I was born in December weighing 10 pounds 12 ounces one hefty little girl. Mom wanted me to be born on the 12th the feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe because that was the anniversary of her marriage to her first husband. Even though I came fifteen minutes late I know Mom asked Our Blessed Mother to take care of me as Mother Mary has always cared for me. I was born again into the family of God by my baptism, which took place at the Catholic church in town one month after my birth. My godparents were my mom’s sister and brother. I loved them both deeply.

My memories begin at age two. We had a soapstone sink and an enormous black wood stove in the kitchen. I’m not sure why but I can picture the kitchen clearly. There were times when my mother left my father for reasons I can only surmise. I do remember a well-stocked walk-in kitchen pantry with gallon jugs. My dad had gallon jugs of port wine in the pantry. He saved his port for after dinner.

My two brothers and I spent occasional times with Nana at her home. I was, of course, unaware of hostility at home but I loved being with Nana. She was so generous with her time, her love, and her ‘coffee’ that was extremely light with milk. Across the street from Nana’s brownstone was a wonderful old fort that was used in the Revolutionary War. It was a terrific place to play. My cousin, Willow and I had many adventures at the old fort. God blessed me with loving relatives.

When we arrived at the farm after an extended stay with Nana, the kitchen had been changed. There was a white electric stove, white refrigerator, a sparkling new white sink, and a white ironing mangle. This was 1939-’40

One memory is of a beautiful light pink princess-cut winter coat with an ermine collar and maroon trim. It seems that my dad had a sister who lived north of us and wanted to be with us because she had no children of her own. My understanding is that this lady came to visit with my mom and her kids but ignored my dad. This was built-in family stuff. I have a picture of me with her husband taken by a fishing statue. I believe it was this aunt, my dad’s sister, who gave me the pretty coat. Their names, unfortunately, are long buried. My mother hardly ever spoke of my father’s family. That was how my dad chose to handle relationships. As a result I didn’t even know my other half-siblings. In fact, I never considered my mom’s two boys to be my half-brothers. We were one family!

Many memories of my young life on the farm are delicious to recall. Some delightful times that I remember were running barefoot and free among the chickens, and my squealing at being squirted with milk as our neighbor, Mr. Mellow, milked the cow. I helped my dad cultivate the land, walking behind the hand cultivator in preparation for planting the potatoes, tomatoes, squash, turnips, beets and onions. Mom canned foods. Daddy killed chickens with the help of my brothers who had to pull the feathers off of them, a very messy job for two young boys. I helped as well by carrying two small pails of hot water. During the war my dad would take the chickens to a butcher in the city and barter his chickens for a large roll of bologna. I remember riding with him for this endeavor on my favorite perch, the armrest, in the backseat of the car. Mr. Mellow used to have a summertime fruit stand at the street where he also sold vegetables and eggs.

We had a chiming mantel clock over the fireplace. I loved to hear the chimes. One night after I was settled in my bed, I was listening for the clock. What I heard was much activity in the living room and the aroma of hot cocoa streaming through the house. Curiosity overcame caution and I tiptoed through my parents’ bedroom to the top of the stairs. The living room was full of people chatting, and my mom was serving the cocoa to a large group of teenagers. It was my dad’s 4-H presentation of ‘how to be a beekeeper’ and ‘how to collect honey’. I sat silently watching as my dad showed a movie. When the movie was over someone noticed me and it was back to bed for the rest of the night.

To a small girl our farmhouse was a place of wonder and magic. Mom kept the canister vacuum cleaner in the living room closet under the stairs that led to the bedrooms on the second floor. It was in that closet that I discovered my dad’s heavy sword and plumed hat. I had a great time with these items until I was found out and could no longer play in that