Not Just A Survivor But An Overcomer And God Can Use You Too

By Sara Ousley

The title was inspired by a sermon at church many years ago. This book is about overcoming a hurtful childhood and the ability to forgive and live a normal productive life. It is meant to encourage those who have had similar experiences and show that through traumatic events and a low self-esteem, one can have a good, useful life filled with love and usefulness. God loves a broken, not-so-perfect woman with a contrite heart who is willing to be used by Him, in whatever place He wants her. That goes for men as well. This book is written to be a glory to God and His great love!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Feb 2, 2018
• ISBN: 9781641141895

Book preview

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Not Just a

Survivor

but an

Overcomer

and God can use You Too

Sara Ousley

ISBN 978-1-64114-188-8 (Paperback)

ISBN 978-1-64116-189-5 (Digital)

Copyright © 2017 by Sara Ousley

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.

296 Chestnut Street

Meadville, PA 16335

www.christianfaithpublishing.com

Printed in the United States of America

Childhood

Let’s see, how shall I start this? Once upon a time? No, that sounds like a fairy tale, and this is definitely not a fairy tale. It is all true and is intended to give all the glory to God our Father for His mercy and grace. Some of the events sound like a fairy tale, but they actually happened. Some of my speech is a bit unorthodox, but I want you to hear the words just as I would say them to you if we were face to face.

This book is by no stretch of the imagination intended to give advice on any subject. If you are having a problem in any areas that I experienced, then please seek advice from a counselor, trusted friend, or find a book on the subject. There are enough books available without me venturing into giving advice or instruction in any area.

My parents were married when my mom was just seventeen. I was born about ten months later.

My dad told me that Momma nearly died in childbirth. The doctors gave him a choice: save my mom or me; they didn’t think they could save both. Daddy chose my mother. It was a Catholic hospital, so they tried again to save us both. They did. My mom was never able to have any more children, I think, because of the damage. My dad said that they were told that she would not be able to have another child. I’ve wondered if Momma resented me just a little because of that. I know that she loved me, but some of her actions/reactions didn’t reflect her love. I believe if I were a man in that same situation, I’d have made the same decision that my dad did.

I was born in Texarkana, Arkansas, in 1938. Texarkana is a very unique city. Part of it is in Arkansas and part in Texas. The state line runs down the middle of State Line Avenue through the old train station and the federal courthouse/post office. It was a busy logging town and a lot of logging still goes on, mostly Southern pine. There is a sign in front of the courthouse where tourists have their pictures taken with one foot in each state. Our police forces are separate, but utilities are combined. Because there are no income taxes in Texas, the city of Texarkana has none. The rest of Arkansas does have income taxes. You must live within the city limits to qualify.

We are called the ARKLATEX. Texas, Arkansas, Louisiana, and Oklahoma are very close together; Louisiana and Oklahoma each about thirty miles away. Unique, right?

I don’t know a lot about my grandparents on either side. We were on the move all of my younger years. My mom never talked about her mother much. Grandma died when I was five. I remember her beautiful hair. It was so long that she could sit on it, and she always wore it in a braided crown on top of her head, the loose braided ends in curls at the center. My young eyes thought it was the prettiest hair I’d ever see. She taught me to sew, believe it or not.

A Monkey Ward catalog on the chair and a box on the treadle. I don’t remember any of the details of how she taught me, nor what I made at that age, except for one thing. My sewing got me into trouble the Christmas before she died. I was the only grandchild at the time and doted on by aunts and uncles. I got a bride doll that year (actually ten dolls) and one aunt made a whole wardrobe of clothes for her (the bride doll), but no bathrobe. I received a pretty new chenille bathrobe, and I already had a robe, so I made my doll one from the new robe. After all, she needed a pretty robe too! I actually had that robe until I left my first husband I got into trouble once when I decorated Aunt Ruby’s brand-new dressing table with her lipstick! I thought it was prettier; she didn’t. Boy, did I get my bottom tanned by her!

My mom had five siblings: two older brothers, J. W. (known as Jack) and Gail; one older sister, Ruby; a younger sister, Katherine (Kat); and a younger brother, Gene. You could say that I was spoiled. Uncle Jack joined the Marines, Uncle Gail joined the Army Air Force, Aunt Ruby joined the WACs, and Uncle Gene joined the Navy during WWII. The first three were of age, Uncle Gene was just fifteen. My grandfather signed the papers and lied about his age. Uncle Gail was a tail gunner on a B29 and was shot down over the Yalu Sea in Japan. Only his dog tags were returned to my grandfather, many years after WWII was over. I was told that the dog tags were found in a bombed-out building when it was finally being torn down. Since we traveled so much, I really didn’t get to know the two older uncles. I only vaguely remember seeing Uncle Gail once when he came home on leave. I was a bit afraid of him until my grandmother told me who he was. Uncle Jack rejoined the Marines years later and was killed in Korea at the Chosen Reservoir.

I did hear an interesting story about my dad’s parents. It seem that Grandpa had a dream one night about going over the top of a hill and seeing a wagon below. The prettiest girl he had ever seen was on that wagon. Sometime later, just as he had seen in his dream, he topped a hill, and there was the wagon and that pretty girl, my grandma. I don’t know how long it was before they married, but I sure am happy that they did. They were from Louisiana, and my dad said Grandma was Cajun. Other family members question whether that is a fact. I don’t know. We traveled so much that I never really got to know any of my dad’s family. I did know my mother’s family better.

I don’t want to be offensive to anyone with this part of my story, but that is the way things were in the ’40s. Granddaddy had a maid that came once a week. She had worked for our family for many years. We called her Nigger Mary because that was what she called herself; she even answered the telephone like that way. That was not a derogatory name for her. We all loved her, especially me. I can still hear her voice after all these years! When we came back to Texarkana for a visit, I would wait in the street and watch for her on the days that she was to come. She would see me and yell, Lawsy Mercy, my baby done come home, as we ran to each other. She would scoop me up in her arms and carry me home, hugging me and kissing me all the way. There wasn’t much house cleaning while I was there. She was my nanny, and I adored her. Uncle Gene was an over-the-road trucker in later years and managed to locate her in California. He went to visit her, and she asked about me, even then. I’d hate to think what her reaction would have been if she had known about my early life or what she would have done. Such a precious memory I have of her! Even now, I would love to have someone like her around with her kind of love for this white child!

On one of our trips, we were going to Las Vegas, Nevada, to see one of my dad’s sisters, who was dying. It was during the winter, and my folks said that the cokes froze in the floorboard of the car. I guess the heaters were not as efficient as they are now. I can’t even imagine the car being that cold. We must have been bundled up to our ears in order to stay warm, coats, hats, and mittens, with me under blankets as well.

I learned to read before I started school. I guess my mom was an early home schooler (maybe travel schooler). I must give her credit for that. She was very attentive for the most part and probably patient teaching me to read. There was no preschool nor kindergarten back then. Kids started school in the first grade. I started school at 5 in Bearden, Arkansas. Since I could already read, I was ahead of the class. No advanced classes back then, so I was a bit bored, but my mom said I helped the other kids read. I don’t remember that.

I was usually a pretty good kid, but I had my moments. Kids did not wander off from their parents when I was little the way they frequently do now. Some parents had harnesses on their kids. We were living in