Re- Imagining 2nd PHASE

 

“I think of Possessions, Power, Position and Prestige and realize it is better to Not attach oneself to something that can be easily burned.” ~ TL Alton

Life is about CHOICES. Everyday our paths are thrown into a trajectory that either reaps blessings or incites woe. 

This blog has been simmering for quite some time. However given my current state of poor health, memory loss and struggling for the right words, it has taken a significant amount of patience to compose. 

In the form of sleepless nights and anxiety, fears from my Strokes and a heart that has been working overtime, at night I tend to reach out to people and those of importance within our community. I feel in the quietude of the darkness to write from a place of revelation, is to remind myself of the short amount of clarity, which I have to do so. What helps is for me to read my Bible and Our Daily Bread.

I awoke one morning to a received reply that begins…

" I’m sorry Tonya to hear of your difficult year…."

And while I genuinely appreciate the kind words, I have to sit back and think…

"Wow! What did I say now...?

I reread my cluster of thoughts written from a mind of struggling from an Aneurysm and a Stroke.

Then it occurs to me: Am I the only one who has suffered, lost, had health issues and mounds of stress in 2020? 

Because sometimes I believe I am an army of one, battling life's difficulties, all on my own!

I have reacted at times this way and made the mistake of thinking so.  In my bubble of despair for many months, a quote found its way to me and as I read it, the 

I think of the countless others in our world, who have died because of COVID-19. Those who are struggling with long term effects of the virus and all of a sudden, I knew adjustments had to be made, in many ways in my own life. 

Some people do not believe they can change mid-life. Stuck in their ways, they feel it's too late. 

I am living proof, it is never to late to own the wrongs, and be authentic and accountable.

Therefore, my retelling here, is to bring awareness of the seeds that have been planted properly... that long after I am gone, I pray will be blessed with a bountiful crop. Here lays the prospect of remaining hopeful.

While I am awaiting two major surgeries; time is spent reflecting on what a stroke mind can recall and most importantly....alleviating as much stress as possible. At 49 years, I've experienced several strokes over the past few months. Having a hole in my heart allows easy access for blood clots to make their way through to my brain. In my research and inquiries, it is called a PFO. Essentially a hole between the two chambers of your heart.

 In making some important life decisions, I had to consider the bigger picture. What about the entire journey that has spanned over 7 years, of me residing on the Island?

Spending time alone, I have time to reflect on the passage I took to reside someplace that never wanted me.

I  know when I chose to hide my scars from society, connected to an act of violence in May 2013, I didn't realize the monster I thought was shut out, I had actually let in. 

So then, if my life lessons were to be scrutinized, what if the choices I made followed me and ended with the boomerang effect of malevolence?

I can backtrack a year ago and all the decisions I believed were wise ones; have unravelled or had devastating consequences. There is no need to take apart piece by piece what happened. I know with all my heart, I can pinpoint my tumble down the rabbit hole, from a faith course I took. One in which I was naïve and arrogant enough to believe that I had closed ALL doors to my past, including the enemy. 

When you nail the names of those who have caused you offence to the cross and genuinely forgive them, one better be prepared for Satan to be riled.

Therefore during these challenging times, I have been known to pursue something toxic, that it nearly has killed me. 

Truth is, an addiction I suffer from, was waiting in the dark shadows to sink its claws into my spine and pull me back to a murky pit. Foolish was I, to assume I slayed all my dragons. 

In other blogs and in my posts, I've already covered one of my other addictions~ Food, as a means of comfort (not all addictions are to be assumed as drugs or alcohol). Reality is, people can be addicted to many sources, however...this other one took me by surprise.

I needed some time for me to realize, the origin of some very poor decisions, required me to follow the thread... to the crevices that held the roots of my family. This addiction has seen me twice rendered without a home, it has cost me stable environments of shelter, warmth, and a sense of security.

This addiction is called “POVERTY.”

I grew up with a struggling single mom, who due to her addictions and deficiencies, wrestles with her own demons. I remember days of struggles, little food, picking up aluminum cans in ditches and wearing my brothers clothes to school. I recall cutting wood and stacking layers of birch to keep us warm throughout the ruthless, Okanagan winters. I learned to can goods at age twelve and in order to help as the breadwinner in our fragmented family, I cleaned alongside my mother. 

In class, I sat on my hands due to my embarrassment,  I would hide the mess of them scoured from cleaners and covered up bruises- as I know many others suffered the same. Ever so filled with anxiety, I wondered if the invisible stains left by childhood abuse, could be seen by others?

When classmates spoke of the fun had on their weekends, I remained silent.

Later in life, I promised myself that I would never continue on the poverty that consumed my family.

Yet in years advanced and relationships to follow, the natural order came to be struggle after struggle, which bills to pay and what to go without, all became poor options. Now added to the equation were three children, (one of my own), there were medical issues, soccer uniforms and school supplies. This added to the many layers of poverty and a promise once made- was to be broken.

One day, out tending to my 12- plot garden, I felt a heaviness upon me. Sitting amongst my tomato plants, rows of corn and sunflower patch, was the sinking feeling that another generation was growing up in the throes of POVERTY.

Only years later, I would be relieved to see how all three children strived to DO Better, BE Better and LIVE Better.

Following the end of my marriage, I set out on a new adventure. I fell in love, with someone who I helped immigrant from Britain. After helping him secure his job, several years of moves, which infiltrated income, masses of paperwork and the tragic, unexpected death of my daughter Shayla dying— all the stress and fighting drained resources. What he lacked in not standing up for me as a partner of 10 years, he made up for in assisting me to go to someplace I had dreamed of- relocating to Vancouver Island.

My major move, in which I sought independence- was to the Island. What I had not reckoned (only one week in visiting Victoria), was a poor choice I made in wanting to celebrate my newfound rental. This would lead to me being the survivor of a horrific crime when I encountered a stranger, who I thought was kindly offering a celebratory drink to toast. This chance meet and decision to drink (unknowingly- a heavily laden drink full of drugs), ended with me becoming a Statistic. 

I now was labelled a Rape Survivor, among the two Mental Health diagnosis’s; the worse of which is my Post Traumatic Stress Disorder I incurred, due to my daughter's unexpected death. 

Layer by layer, I was adding to the cloak of shame and distortion, I've carried.

However, once living on the Island, I’ve met many poor souls who are being sexually trafficked on a continual basis. I've held the hands of someone who has come back from being bought and violated. In seeing them again, I was witness to their fresh cut marks on their wrists, trying to release their inner pain. 

I know there is a bonding to their anguish. It's a gathering of vanquished souls that sees us connect rather than condemn.

Seven years later, on the Island, I’ve been rendered “home-free” twice. Each instance came to loss of shelter and me living out of my car. 

During each experience, I’ve taken dearest friends of mine - some willing, while others un-willingly- and strapped them into the passenger seat of my life. In my displacement they helped, supported, funded, and carried me through the mountain of desolation where at the summit, was once again Poverty.

During my bouts of being home free there also was a local church, who helped me twice in resounding ways of assistance~ by following the words they live by 6:8 Act JUSTLY, Love MERCY and Walk HUMBLY.

Later, I would be entrusted to lead the faith-based bereavement group GriefShare, at Saanich Baptist church.  Doing so, was one of the most positive and freeing experiences. Even though the course linked me to other people's loved ones passing...it was a constant reminder for the 5 1/2 months of being a leader that helped me to understand that I was not alone in my grief.

One night, after the group had ended, I could not sleep and went to the local convenience store. There I met a man, shivering outside in mid November, with not even a jacket on. He had tucked himself into a shrub for warmth and covering. His long, raven hair was in dark contrast contrast to my white peach, flesh. After grabbing a coffee for us both and a blanket from my car, I sat with this gentleman. He spoke through lips that had both tasted his drug of choice and now a hot beverage.  He confided of parents who are survivors of the residential schools. They had endured such horrendous abuse and suffering, no amount of payment can resolve the torrents of flashbacks from the generational sufferings. Impulsively, I reached out to his hands to pray and thought for a moment what that entailed. He nudged me and smiled saying: "Go ahead...it was never you that hurt me."

Having spent time with many on the street, I feel a kinship of brokenness. Therefore, when I found myself home free for the second time, I thought I would be able to convey my story to the press, without incidence. I could not have been more wrong and would learn the hard way~ Never let another person write about your own pain. 

I myself, over 25 years of reporting have made the same blunder. In all fairness though, it was not as if the new story did not speak of the truth, it simply was a distortion of it which I further speak about....

Yes that IS me in the most terrible photograph and yes I AM without a home. Yet what I had set out to do, was heavily muddled, with the best of my intentions. 

“Be careful what you think, because your thoughts run your life.” ~ Proverbs 4:23

A chance to share my story had the opposite effect of what I had hoped to communicate. While I am about to own my words, I will share that having suffered a stroke, brain bleed and with a hole in my heart, I did not chose the best time to be trying to relay my message of poverty, with the local press. 

Furthermore, the basic truth is my story was never meant to illicit funds, nor evoke a level of sympathy. If such were the case, I would not have turned away money I was offered by some readers  and also the suggestion of a Go Fund Me. This summer, I also made the decision to turn down the chance to have my story featured, in a more prominent manner. 

Furthermore, in the midst of my displacement, my 22-year-old nephew had died suddenly and a genuine GO Fund Me was established, one in which I made a donation. In no way, did I want my situation to take away from his sudden, tragic, death.

In seeking my story to be told, no one had appointed me the new spokesperson for homelessness. If anything, most of my 7 years spent on the Island, I have had food, shelter and employment. What I hoped my message readers would potentially read, would be of all the individuals I had met that were being affected by COVID-19. Families displaced and living crammed into a small van, parents choosing which one would leave the home in fear of bringing the pandemic to their brood, Farmers I met, who were taking their horses to be sold an leaving their farmland. I was but a piece of a bigger picture where a new shift of homelessness was being formed out of the virus. The angle was, to say a new face of COVID-19 was emerging related to homelessness and to bring about awareness. Upon seeing my story in print, I realized I could not have messed up more my genuine intentions!  Although some assumed, upon seeing my vehicle in the photograph that I own it, the truth is- my car is financed and like many others during this time- its only one or two payments away from being seized. 

I also felt for the Reporter who wrote my story. At first, I was confused and it took sometime to realize in them recording my own story; I failed in offering the correct opinion I wanted to share. 

Every time I look at the person being showcased on the front pages or on-line, it is only a fragment of who I am. 

The same face you see as being homeless is the very same face you can Google to see the pain of a mother who saw her daughter last in the morgue and came to join in the fight for Safety Changes on McKinley Landing. The result: a 1/2 Million dollars awarded to ensure safety for others.   Only years later, that same face welcomed others in bereavement in a 5 month course called GriefShare that I was a leader in. It is the same person that is also an Advocate for the homeless for the past 20 years. That smile knows of mental illness, as a woman of positive change who has given presentations on her own Bipolar and PSTD and led a course on Mental Wellness. Yet not one of these faces can ultimately define me. For we all have written chapters and unfinished stories. 

Choosing to define and judge me by only 10 days of my life that rendered me without a home this March- when I was served by my former Landlords- is to have you the reader take a look into the mirror and I ask, would it be fair for me to judge you on the darkest moments of your life? 

During these moments of disparity, when I feel overwhelmed, I turn to Our Daily Bread as I can always find a solid source of encouragement, for the soul.

                                                                     

This year, I travelled back to the Reservoir- where my 21 year old Shayla passed away in 2011. I took the Build- a- Bear she had created for me before she died,  the one in a dancer's outfit. I set it upon one of many concrete barricades that are now in place because of her. It was only a small testament to the safety changes brought to McKinley Landing. God holds the bigger story~ the one of Eternity. The news story does not speak of me walking a mile in some one else’s shoes; rather it thrust me in a place I had no right being part of. I cannot continue to live in both worlds and expect understanding.

Due to the nature of my news story and My choice to share it, I have been turned down for housing several times as someone sees the news photo and when reading my story, it erases a chance to start over yet again and get out of storage, my things and my daughters ( what's left).

Most importantly, it has added to my poor health as winter looms and surgeries are delayed. 

I began to send beforehand, to potential places, various references from six years of house and pet sitting, character and personal references, I've worked hard to acquire. 

Recently, I had someone in a coffee shop ask me if I was "that homeless woman in the newspaper?"

I replied honestly: "I am her and so much more!" 

That was the end of the conversation.  

Upon gathering my things, a quote popped up on my cell phone screen, as I love to receive quotes...the following hit home for me: 

"I have experienced firsthand, a continuous cycle of half- successes and total failures." - Billy Graham

Later it had me thinking about a Netflix show I use to watch Titled: “The Kindness Diaries.”

In a world where we are being reminded to "Be Kind" ...my own life has seen an outpouring of it.

I thought about all of those who have seen me be the receiver of compassion from various places: The Pharmacists (Dave, Troy and Rike) and Staff ( Gurdy and Sue) at Broadmead who have treated me with care and support. The many individuals at Gateway Baptist Church (Pastor Aaron Dyck), Isabella, Ted, Kinza and Darcy, who shared their serving heart, offered me a place of refuge and the kind words. I will never forget my positive interactions with the staff at the local Saanich Pool; the lady who always acknowledges me by sharing the value of treating me as a human being, with simply offering a shower.

One day after I had left the showers, I drove to the Pharmacy to see the Pharmacists. Upon leaving, I saw a stand that had keys inscribed with words. 

It reminded me of my novel... my unfinished book, Under the Sitka Tree, as I have a skeleton key which is prominent in the story line. 

A Cup of Local Kindness at Serious Coffee in Langford

This also reminded me of my visit to the Okanagan, where another wonderful friend gifted me her skills and fortitude in helping me fill out some important paperwork. I was prompted to send a card, a token of my gratitude and a note about “The Giving Keys”  https://www.thegivingkeys.com/            

I thought how wonderful it would be to become a part of something connected to homelessness in such a profound, beautiful way!

Later, in my Prayer Journal, I thought of the two ladies, dear friends who last year knew I was heading on a road of destruction. One warned me, each prayed and in the end I could see some of the seeds I had planted, had withered, and died amongst the rocks.

To understand the relapse of Poverty that took place is to revisit this spring. After 12 days of being late with my March rent, I was in financial trouble. I sat down and made some important decisions (before all of my strokes, and six hospital visits). 

Typing now, I think of the dramatic irony in all of this. 

There are changes that I made back then. When things started to go awry with my job offer not working out and (COVID-19) had begun.  It was vital as ever… On one of many packed boxes, I got out my laptop and readdressed one of the addictions and monsters in my life ~ Poverty.

When my Insurance Policy was first obtained, my sole beneficiary was my late daughter. When she died in a horrible car wreck, I needed to reassess where and who the money would be given to?

 I wanted to give where it would matter and also be connected to my daughter and myself. One of her passions was dancing and I was able to donate to The Vancouver Dance Center.

https://thedancecentre.ca/overview/legacy-giving/shayla-rae-dawn-driver/

I see a paradox on many various levels…how the root of my addiction to POVERTY- a place of familiarity- is where my knowledge and experience of it; actually brings a warped sense of comfort.

Throughout my years of volunteering with those in need, I have been the one who is blessed by instances of what giving of oneself truly means.

Recently, I read a passage that spoke to me:

“After a lot of trial and error, God, I think I’ve learned something about Your will in my life. And the key is so simple. So often I have stubbornly knocked and banged my head against a door of decision or opportunity I wanted to push open. And so often nothing happened. The door just wouldn’t budge. At other times when You and I were tuned into the same channel, I barely touched the latch and the door swung open. Everything poured out: Happiness, opportunities for creativity, spiritual gifts, deepened relationship with friends and when the timing was right, a chance to share Your love with someone…Your guidance kind of snowballs God, from relying on You for dozens of little actions and decisions, we learn to seek Your guidance in times of big events, and even tragedies, in our lives. Gradually we begin to rely on YOU in everything we do, no matter how insignificant.” (From Struggles of a Sinner- Saint by Lucille Lavender).   

This passage reminds me of how despite all odds, I have remained still full of purpose and hope, eager to openly share the helplessness I have felt and health issues I am awaiting two surgeries for. This post is not to place me before or even equal to another human being. For when I set out to jot down my notes for this post, someone shared with me about the effects on their 11-month-old little grandbaby, who due to serious health issues, already has suffered two strokes! A profound reminder that one can always find someone More in need.

I also prayed over my decision of my Residential Tenancy Claim against my former Landlords. The whole notion of forgiveness is to find freedom from disgrace! With being home free, I had taken on the role of Poverty, as a cloak of shame in my life. In the former suite I rented, I granted Forgiveness. It would take a few more months before I made the vital decision to completely withdraw my $10,000 claim and simply turn it all over to Jesus.

You see, it doesn’t matter of your perception of a situation or the judgement doled out…the reality is no matter what your circumstance, there will always be someone else worse off than yourself!

In giving to certain people and organizations, plus withdrawing my RTB Claim, I’ve learned the best way in overcoming poverty, is to cut it off the root of sympathy for oneself-from where it sprang. Instead...to lay claim, in the choices made...to bring yourself there.

By TL Alton

The Nourished Roots

 

The Root YOU Feed.... As I am passionate about scripture, I am also about quotes. When I find one that speaks volumes, I rejoice as it is an extension of myself conveying what is imparted from my heart to yours…

By now, if you as the reader have been following along, I have suffered, yet I am alive, I have sought injustice, yet at the price of my health! I extended forgiveness to my former landlords, as I have within my own family. Most importantly, I have become a better person because of the things I have loathed the most!! So today was a learning lesson about what roots we feed the most.

Today, I awoke early at an undisclosed area where I “sleep” in my car. The daily and nightly procedures I go through to snuggle into a car that has the size enough to accommodate a fold up size buggy. I have spent many other blogs feeding the root of poverty. This is not another one of those posts as I had an elder lady tell me she felt guilty sipping on her creamy Strawberry chill, while reading my words.

This about what you can do when you do have nothing! Or think you do not…

I picked up my mail to discover a lovely card that had 2 Tim Horton’s gift cards. My friends are fan of the Oilers and have gone beyond the manner of ‘serving’ to assist their Sister in Christ. I am then able to sit in Various Tim Hortons and type away to make use of my time. Plus, I would come to see how key these two cards have been in helping others.

I happened into a Tim Hortons wearing my mask and met a lovely young lady named Lauren, who worked in the Royal Oak area. After some chit-chat, I discovered she was on her break, and liked Everything bagels with plain cream cheese. I whipped out a card and bought her lunch. I offered to toss in a drink, but she politely declined. I had also spoke with her about my novel…the one that is currently being held hostage in an attic of buried technology…desperate to escape. I gave her my card and away I went. For the cost of a bagel, I was able to break the dreaded boomerang of the pandemic and reach out in kindness…without touching anyone or encroaching on their space.

Later, I needed a bathroom and went to a Park, as I also had to re-organize my belongings for the night.

A group of people were getting into two vehicles, parked next to me. The women were dressed in Sari’s and one had a platter with a cake. I approached (again wearing my mask) and asked what the celebration was? They said it was their father’s birthday.

I smiled through my mask and said, “You have a lovely family to celebrate with!”

This caught them off-guard and the woman remarked with smiles, “Thank you for your Kindness!”

Another trip to a local Timmies saw a Manager speak of his young wife , who earlier in their marriage battled a serious disease. This rendered her unable to have children and this man was broken just relaying their heartache. I asked for her name and assured him I would be praying for them both. His reaction was to almost burst in tears! Once again, the powerful root of kindness was being nourished.

Later, back at the park, I saw  gathering of people in chairs. I could see physical distancing and bags of goodies were bring handed out. I requested some one in charge to come over and speak with me. There was a great deal of hesitation and finally a woman who was the host walked over. I asked if they were celebrating an event and she said yes! I then commended her on the spacing between them and wished them a safe event- one without COVID-19 happening! She thanked me profusely when all I was doing was wishing those gathered safety and joy!

I later had a wonderful conversation with a vibrant and skilled hairdresser named April. Later I met her sweet little girl Aura and her beautiful energy made me smile.

It was a day where I chose to feed the roots of JOY and Kindness.

After they left, The Tim Horton’s was besieged with the violent outbreak of a man having a mental health issue. While everyone sat safely inside, I attended and went to speak with the man.

I asked him simple questions: “Had he eaten?” “Was he Dehydrated?”

He calmed down when I asked him what he wanted?

All he could muster was a request for a Boston Cream donut and an apple juice.

I went inside and came back with his order.

He asked for some change and I shared I am homeless too. This quieted him down.

I reached out in empathy, as I know what it is like to be looked at, as if you are a monster.

in my most dire times, it came down to what I needed...respect, love, hug or understanding. 

The past six months, what the basics are became distorted...

In this painful but enlightening process, the reasoning for my quest for righteousness in this world, has come at a price. I traded my health and wellness to prove the wrongs done to me.

I have experienced two strokes, a bled on my brain and recently, I had an ultrasound on my heart.

To add to my ailments, I recently learned, I have a hole in my heart. To me this comes as no surprise.

On December 12, 2011, my heart was fractured by the death of my daughter. I endured the death of my 10-year relationship, the drugging, kidnapping, and assault when I first moved to the Island and two bouts of homelessness. There is more, yet even as I write this, I can easily see which root is being fed.

I should point out these are things done to me...what about the poor choices I've made?? 

If any clearer a message can be rendered beyond stress Kills…it is that I am allowing the bitter roots of anger, resentment, and suffering to be fed!

Since I am a homeless person, living and sleeping in my vehicle, does not mean I do not have choices to make. I have deleted my Facebook, refocused on my self-worth, gathered strength in numbers of those who love, support, and believe in me, created a list of reviews I have garnered as a clean and quiet tenant.  

Therefore, I have walked away from my addiction to poverty, cut ties from the enemy and am seeking to rebuild myself….peace by Peace.

 

By Tonya L. Alton

The HEART Knows....

 

“There has to be ACTION in your Conviction …Otherwise you are preaching to a tone-deaf audience.”

~ Tonya Alton

I never thought when I placed 12 FORGIVENESS CARDS around my former rental home…it would lead to this.

The “THIS” I am referring to is when I preach words, but do not follow through on my own moralization.

“THIS” refers to the humiliating notion that I am wearing clothes that need laundered, sleep that desperately yearns for a pillow and that along my way to fighting for a home, I’ve lost the PURPOSE in all the PAIN.

Instead of a blog stating what I am feel I am entitled to…this is a BLOG about LETTING GO.

People that know me on my spiritual path, understand when I hear a message from the LORD, I pay attention to it.

My day and most of my night, has been spent straightening the wrongs, forgiving the Unforgivable and crawling on my knees to the door of a Church, where I can TESTIFY I have given it ALL to GOD- TRULY!

For years, I have spoken of forgiveness and yet the ones who honestly need it, have been left out!

Last week, I genuinely granted complete forgiveness to a woman bent on my destruction- my own Mother. This is not going to be the blog where I hash out everything…and yet one has to mention the wrath of Satan as a recent visit dd not go well and I suffered again at the hands of the woman who gave me life! So for those believing forgive and forget…that memo the ENEMY seems to have lost! The sole purpose of this trip was to be with my brother, who also had a child recently pass. My Daughter died at 21 and his son died at 22. Left to our own safe space, we consoled one another, cried and a tragic connection of having a child die, was the real reason I travelled one month after having a stroke. I would have driven through a tornado to get to my bro. No parent should have to deal with a child’s death, let alone 2 in one family.

Only 48 hours later, as Per the usual forced departure, I left fleeing my mother’s wrath, her cutting words and volumes of madness... I will never understand.

However, I knew If I could forgive this woman, I call mother, I could take the sword buried deep in my fractured heart and walk away….hobbling and in pain, I made it to my car and left as I always do…broken hearted and in despair. Yet, The Lord knows I was genuine in Always loving her and now I needed to let her go….

Upon my return, I waited to speak with the Neurologist that had kindly conveyed the type of stroke I had and let me know of an upcoming ultrasound on my heart.

This was the game changer for me.

I began to read my blogs back to last year and of the anger, frustration, and lack of peace I’ve endured.

Poor Choices …YES, Only Human…YES…Did I need to grant my own self FORGIVENESS…a resounding YES!! For Every person that can beat me up with their words…it pales in comparison to what I dole out on a daily basis. If my old Mirror could talk, it would not say very nice things to the person looking into it! The saying “You are your own worst enemy echoes in my ringing ears, as I type this!”

Every Christian has a day of Reckoning…Today was mine! I realize in the desperate attempt to fight for what use to e my rental suite, I lost my saving grace…that is the day before I left my suite, I placed “Forgiveness Cards” all over it. Yet, I’ve spent every waking moment and bit of fight in me, to dissuade the very thing I set out to do! You see I forgot who was actually fighting for me! In the Hospital, I remember praying to the Lord that I would survive…now that I’m surviving…I’m praying to the Lord to FIGHT for me and yet…. I’m expecting my angel Advocate to do the bidding for me. This is wrong! IT’s like asking someone to endorse you, then they do and next you IGNORE the main person – JESUS who is the CAPTAIN and GOD who is MY MASTER of My FATE and the ship I’m on. So, Today was about Letting GO and Rightfully so… as I have a Heart Appointment that is NOT going to go very well. So, call it doing my pre-homework, but it led me to make several calls that tied up the ends of somethings. If in 2 Corinthians 5:7 We are to walk by FAITH and NOT by Sight, then Everything leading up to my revelation, is to point to Letting GO instead of continuing to fight….after all, a dead carcass cannot take its dry bones to battle, unless the LORD ALMIGHTY breathes life into them! Therefore, after much prayer, a lot of tears and bargaining, God helped me make the following FINAL Decision…. I am WITHDRAWING and MAKING MY FINAL REQUEST known to the RTB that I am NO Longer pursuing the matter against my former Landlords for Wrongful Eviction. I cannot take any funds where I am going and if I am to BE FAITHFUL to my beliefs then I CANNOT pursue this matter any further! After all, strokes, heart issues, homelessness and the long term date of November 20^th was not appealing…yet TRUTH be told, if I am a TRUE CHRISTIAN, then me crawling on my knees to the door of somewhere I once worshiped, to say to the LORD HOW SORRY I AM FOR ASKING HIM TO FIGHT MY BATTLES …then ignore it when he did…this is not how I am to TRUST HIM….Also, when you FORGIVE someone it does not mean you pulverize yourself into the ground, entertain the notion of dying and say I FORGIVE…BUT….For there are no BUTS. So to my former Landlords, MY demise WHICH the LORD ONLY KNOWS SHOULD not be THE cost TO FURTHER pay…I CRAWL BACK TO MY CAR…AND I SAY I FORGIVE YOU!!! I ALSO SAY I AM GRATEFUL FOR THOSE WHO ARE STILL ARE WITH ME ALONG THE JOURNEY. 

BY TONYA LYNN ALTON

MY Broken BRAIN and being Displaced

I have spent the past two years blogging, being an advocate for those who voices have been stripped from them. I have lit a fire and brought awareness to those in need, struggling, desperate to stay alive in a system that has stripped them of their rights, dignity, and ability to take a stand. In lending my voice, I have held the hands of broken people…written their stories and  dedicated blogs to them.

This time around, this blog is for MY Voice, MY Story, as I am slowly slipping through the cracks of a broken system.

Please bear with me as I try to convey what my message is about, due to me having a stroke at only 49 years of age, I am  struggling to piece this all together. If there are spelling errors or parts that do not make sense, I feel it too.  MY broken brain has been through a lot in the past six months and is screaming I WANT ANSWERS!!

My turn of events became worse in that I had a sudden stroke and was placed in hospital after 9-11 was called. Prior to this I had received the terrible news my 22-year-old nephew died suddenly.

Life has been a whirlwind of tragedies and I am writing this post for fear it may be my last!

I have been struggling- rendered homeless and protecting those who care nothing about me!

This post will reveal the source of my anguish and all that I am enduring, in hopes that Finally my story will be heard! I trusted others to tell my story and yet as I am slowly falling apart, I cannot afford to wait any longer! There are people who need to be held responsible in hat they have put me through! NO human being should be living day by day, out of a 2015 Nissan Micra!

Before anyone lays judgement on my journey, I beg for them to take the journey I have these past 4 + months and see how they fare afterwards!

As a Christian, I have prayed over my enemies, been grateful for the kindness of others and to be clear, I still Believe! This blog is also dedicated to the many nameless car campers I’ve met along the way…the ones whose children begged to know: “Mommy, Daddy, where are we sleeping tonight?” as they climbed out of bushes, clinging to their stuffed animals. This is for the father who left his five children behind with his wife and sleeps in a van for fear of the fighting due to loss of job, consuming them. To the farmers, who have graced countless tables to bringing food to our satisfied bellies and the truckers who transport the products to our Canadian Tires. I support you!

Now let me take you on a journey of brokenness, where everywhere I have turned…sees me be consumed by a system that is NOT working!

In February 2020, moved into a residence in Elk Lake. A Bachelor suite for $1050/ month. My Landlords Kelsey and Corey Labelle, welcome me in. I spent three days scrubbing and cleaning (I have a stack of exceptional references, as I was a professional cleaner.) In February 2020, I was offered a position working in Victoria for the Cruise Ship Industry). With me having acquired a new place, my landlords were aware of my job offer, but also hoping I could begin work sooner than later. In my phone conversations with Greater Victoria Tourism, I was concerned of a starting date and wanted to begin my position to begin earlier rather than later. Then the coronavirus hit, and everything changed. 

In March, COVID- 19 hit and I on March 21^st, I was served an RTB -30(10-day notice to move), this happened despite being told that an Eviction Ban had been implemented by Premier of BC John Horgan. I had friends, family and even neighbours say I did not have to move. However, my former landlord would go on record to say regarding my wrongful eviction: “It's nothing personal!”

 I packed up me and my daughter Shayla’s belongings (Shayla had died at age 21 – 10 years earlier). I was the one who still had her stuff. My landlords knew of my loss. I shared with them I would be rendered without a home, where upon again the message to me was: “It’s nothing personal.”

My landlord broke a 12 month lease and moved another tenant into the suite I had called home. After moving over 20 times back and forth to storage in the rain with my small Micra, a friend came to lend a hand. My stuff went into storage and costs me $150/ month. In the past 5 months, I have moved 10 times now!!

In the midst of all of this, I was hired as a cleaner to at The McKenzie Interchange Project. Since it was Union, I now had the funds to pay for my rent. Instead, someone else moved into my former suite! A month later, I lost this second job to COVID-19! Thankfully, I was eligible for CERB, which would have also seen my rent being paid to my landlords. I was also told my former landlords they could have applied for the Supplement being offered by the Government.

Since the Air bnb’s were hit hard, I have stayed at several, plus 2 hotels, a cabin, camped on farmland and slept in my car, when funds had been used up. Daily expenses included gas, ice to keep food (however it was hard to maintain and a lot of food had to be tossed out, I required wood which I had to buy and gas to go back into Victoria from Mill Bay to my storage to get more camping equipment).

I will give a shout out to those who out of sheer kindness helped me acquire nights of safe shelter! Those who extended my stays and appreciated my cleanliness. Without you, I would have perished long before!

A common thread throughout all of this is my numerous calls to the Residential Tenancy Branch. I wanted to file against my former Landlords as it has cost me (ALL receipts) have been kept…over a whopping $7,000 dollars to be rendered displaced)!

In all of this, I kept contacting the Residential Tenancy Branch. I was thankful for a dear friend who was advocating for me.

My car that I lease and pay monthly payments on... is where my health issues surmounted! As a woman my stature and size, cannot possibly sleep in a tiny car properly.

On July 28^th, 2020, I received via text that my 22-year-old nephew had suddenly died. Having Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and Bipolar, my world came crashing in around me! 

Horrendous things and painful memories linked to my own daughters death, were triggered! I began to pound the inside of my car and burst into sobs! NO one can imagine how I felt to receive such traumatic news this way…except for the God that was watching it all unfold! That night, I awoke in my car struggling to breathe! I felt a tightness in my chest and struggled with my car door opening. Upon falling to my knees onto the pavement of the church parking lot I had been staying in, I dropped my phone. I kept on trying to pick up my Cell phone with my left and it was not working! I went to stand up and was dizzy, along with being disoriented. I did not want to dial 9-11 as I feared going to the hospital, based on past experience of how I was mistreated. Suddenly, clear as day, I felt a presence behind me and heard the voice of my dead daughter say: “Momma, you have to call 9-11!” It scared me as I turned around to see no one there! But I knew it was Shayla’s voice and I called 9-11. The ambulance was there very quickly, and they took wonderful care of me! I was brought to Victoria General Hospital, where I was placed in Emergency, then on the 6^th floor of Neurology. It was from a nurse, I learned at the age of 49, I had a stroke!! One thing I want to make clear is the fantastic treatment I received from all the nurses, Neurologists and Doctors! I had a clean bed to sleep in, warm blankets, three square a day of food and the best bed mates I could ask for. 

After a few good nights sleep and some meals, I became Caregiver Tonya, once again. I prayed over ladies in my ward ( With full permissions given after I kindly asked), one lady was on her umpteenth back surgery and I could sense she was scared, so I went over and asked for the Lords hands to be upon the surgeons when working on her.

You see, when Dr. Henry asked us to Be Kind… it is because it is the one thing that COVID cannot strip away from you…it may render you displaced, take away loved ones, remove your jobs, but it SIMPLY is NOT STRONG enough to take away your KINDNESS!!

What happened to me in the hospital is something I will always fight against—The lack of dignity and respect towards someone who is already down and out. The fight for countless others is a real, daily struggle! 

I had been a willing patient—taking all of my meds, including new ones. I had been though so many tests, my arms were all bruised!  I listened and spoke to a Resident of Internal Medicine named DR. L Eadie, whose compassion was on the grand scale. Her caring heart brought such warmth into my life! I had been waiting patiently on a Social Worker. Everyone was aware I was displaced, lost everything- including my 22-year-old nephew. There were people in the sector of health and wellness, who were leary of what the Social Worker would come and say. I paid attention to them because they truly know the system!  It is’ heart breaking what happened next.  After hearing my story…the Social Worker agreed I am not shelter material- the criteria is the following which I replied ALL NO's too: The said person being homeless is fleeing an Abusive relationship/ marriage – No! The person has children/ dependents- No! The person is an addict whose addictions are alcohol or drugs- No! 

She then agreed a shelter was not the best for me and proceeded to leave me with a pamphlet with the glaring title: STREET SURVIVAL GUIDE!

This is the help I received after being wrongfully evicted during COVID-29, have lost two jobs, had my young nephew die, living in my car and suffered a stroke! I was told later, I also had an aneurysm!

I felt tossed aside my society and left to my own means, I would have to go back to my hot car, where another stroke could possibly kill me!

I reached out to my brother, to offer from his sisters own bereaved heart, my genuine condolences. 

I no longer wanted to stay in the hospital. I was suffering with paranoia and decided on my own accord, to leave the hospital. I made contact with my brother and shared that I wanted to drive to Alberta to attend my nephews Memorial being held on the weekend. He was not thrilled to hear this and shared that it was not the best idea. 

In the end, I allowed logic to be the deciding factor- that I would never want to cause a car accident and place my family in more pain. It crushed my heart, when I could not attend my nephews Celebration of Life, yet it did not stop me from grieving him! 

Thankfully, I had temporary shelter to go to and this is where I type from.

Follow the threads of this long and winding blog post…it is clear that I was having a hard time navigating the system, given my broken brain.

I now have someone who is advocating on my behalf. Thankfully, on top of all their work and life, they have graciously extended a life line to me! 

All I want is to be heard and this nightmare to end...with me still breathing afterwards...

Time after Time,  I have clung onto my God! Two things the coronavirus cannot take from me…KINDNESS and my FAITH!!

I dedicate this post to the many others I've met in 4 months time- those who are truly homeless and invisible within our society.

by TL Alton 

The Promise Part 1

“A book does not complete itself. There are hands upon it, a keen outlook and insight upon every page. Much like a photograph slowly developing; a book takes time, patience and love, to bring it to its full glory.”  ~ TL Alton

20 years ago, by a surging riverbed, a seed of love took root within.

Under the Sitka tree, began by writing the ending first and wound around a magnificent Sitka spruce tree, on the central coastline of British Columbia.

Never could I fathom, all that I would endure, in order to complete and seek publication.

Over the years, I pressed on towards the goal, intertwined with my faith journey.

I was inspired by J.R.R. Tolkien, who spent twelve years, to write Lord of the Rings. I was fascinated with all the breaks he took, which added onto the length of writing. In total, it took seventeen years. As with Tolkien, he never was truly done.

Another source of incredible motivation was Karen Hill. She devoted 20 years to writing her novel, Café Babanussa. When she passed unexpectedly, it was her brother, Canadian author Lawrence Hill who saw her book published. In 2016, I attended The Sunshine Coast Festival of the Written Arts, in Sechelt, BC. After hearing Lawrence Hill speak, I eagerly took my place in line to meet him. I had tucked under my arm, a book. The array of Canadian Literature written by Mr Hill, includes The Book of Negroes, The Illegal and Dear Sir, I Intend To Burn Your Book.
Once I approached, we shared in conversation. In presenting the novel I had purchased and wanted autographed, it was his sister's novel, Cafe Babanussa. I gravitated to her as a gifted author and someone whose journey with mental health, I can relate to. 
The threads of connection Karen and I shared, are the intricate complexities of Bipolar. 
In reading the story she penned, I felt at times my life, faded into hers. 
The comfort I found nestled in the pages of her writing, were like that of a familiar friend.

In writing Under the Sitka Tree, it was full of surprises. As the author, I could not help myself from tinkering, changing, and deleting. I first wrote it on the cusp of being diagnosed with Bipolar. Once I leveled out, I had the clarity that had once seemed unattainable. Going back into the pages of my book, was to unravel the threads of creative madness and extract the story, waiting to blossom.

My daughter, Shayla Rae Dawn, grew up watching the surges of mania and descents into depression. She was a fierce advocate for me and during the turbulent times of upheaval, Shayla encouraged my writing. My daughter was a fan, when I could not hold a pen or string the words together. She refused to give up on me or my novel. Once I stabilized in my life and re- learned my 'new normal' by society's standards, Shayla encouraged me to revisit my book; to edit with the purpose of completing it.

One day, she came to me and asked to read a few chapters. I wanted my book to be perfect. Therefore, she was given, only the first couple of pages. Afterwards, my daughter came to me with such emotion, I could tell the story line spoke to her soul. 

At my desk, she leaned over and looking into my eyes, she said: 

“Momma, you have to promise me, you will get your book finished and published.”

The intensity was on a deeper level and I replied: “I promise you Shayla, I will.”

Extending her hand towards mine, she curled her pinky finger. 

With a smile that melted hearts, she added: “Pinky promise.” 

I was overwhelmed with sentiment. Taking my pinky in hers, we locked our fingers together. As mother and daughter forged a vow, I gazed into her beautiful blue eyes and pledged my oath to her: “Pinky promise, babygirl.”  

Only a few years later - right before Christmas 2011, my beloved daughter and only child, was tragically killed in a car crash. 

In my immeasurable grief, I felt I could no longer write. My heart was fractured, as was gone the opportunity of Shayla to read, Under the Sitka Tree.

As time carried onward, I would recall the promise I had made. I began to take my pain and use the gift of creativity to rebuild. I became a leader in a faith- based bereavement course called “GriefShare” ~ which offers support to those, who have had a loved one, pass away. 
Connecting with others, helped me back on my writing journey.

I also discovered, the spark that was my daughter, had originated from me.

Returning to my novel, I found my writer’s voice and picked it up with a newfound passion. In taking moments of my life, I saw the purpose in releasing my remorse, the good along with the bad, onto the pages.

I learned the beauty in fiction writing; entwining what is real and what is not, into a story where readers will feel a part of it all.

I hired a professional editor, Liam Ford, who devoted his time to my book. Liam brought a fresh approach to what I had been writing- on and off- for two decades. He came alongside me as an author and helped oversee any changes. At times, I felt challenged by my own words. Yet, I could see the value of Liam’s skills, as he took me to what lay beneath the surface. His insight was essential and because of his editing, I developed better sentence structure and voice of each person. 
More importantly, I avoided instances of colorism and white privilege, as my editor showed me the use of a character's power over prejudice.

There was also a special moment, when after meeting with Liam, I agreed to acquire his services.

He leaned into me with his pinky. I had shared what transpired with my daughter and this sudden gesture, threw me off guard. As I held back the tears, Liam Ford offered me his pinky and as I linked mine with his, the gesture symbolizing the pinky promise, he smiled and said:

 “Let’s do it for Shayla.”

Liam Ford was more than an editor; he was the keeper of my words, to a story yearning to be told.

As I type, the emotions are surfacing…there is no way to ever convey to Liam, what his actions meant to me as a mother, who still grieves her best friend.

Later this year, as I returned to my book. I revisited yet again this magical place I twisted and formed around my characters. In doing so, I discovered the promise I made to Shayla... was unearthed in the forest containing a Sitka spruce tree.

All along, the rawness of my immeasurable loss, lay guarded in my world…waiting to be released, in the form of my novel.

It has taken me twenty years on this journey, to be brave enough to let go,  so as to keep a promise to my babygirl.

Under the Sitka Tree, is dedicated to Shayla Rae Dawn. An extraordinary young lady, who helped me find my heart light again ✟💛 In order to shine in a way, which is reflective of the Creator.

“A Promise is a Promise.”

by TL Alton 
 * Please check out the website for my novel, which has been updated with new quotes, a shorter version of 'The Promise' and new pictures. www.tlalton.com  
Liam Ford Wordsmith https://www.liamford.com/

Between a Rock and Reality

As a writer, I could not imagine I would be putting words to paper, during a pandemic.

No matter what, I feel it is important for me to continue edits on my book, composing drafts, and releasing my fears through font.

Being an imperfect believer, I feel every aspect of what our world is going through, God is part of the coronavirus… but not what some may think.

In reflecting on the past months, I can drawn a straight line and correlate the before and after of my journey. In doing so, I see things may not always be, what they appear. Pieces of a bigger picture that if one were to map it out, over time, the clarity of each situation has brought me to the place where I am at.

When I was evicted and thrust into the middle of the virus, I needed to believe there was purpose in my pain. In seeking shelter, I had to pray more than stars aligning to bring me luck. I found myself packing up and moving out in only 10 days, by landlords whose motives became clear. Friends had facilitated me securing work and one helped me move, some of my things into storage. As I scoured the landscape looking for a place to land, I found The Days Inn on the Harbour. From the minute, my feet stepped into the hotel, I was welcomed by Lynn. Her warmth was evident in the way she spoke. She offered assurance, the Days Inn would do all they could, to accommodate me. I was planning to stay for a few nights, in order to figure things out. At the front desk, my room was upgraded to a kitchen unit, with two beds. I opened the curtains to reveal an incredible ocean view, spanning across the inner harbour. Walking over to the nightstand, I opened the drawer and pulled out The Holy Book. Flipping open to a page, I let my eyes scan to the passage of hope, I needed.

While a guest at the hotel, I was able to pour over more edits; Liam Ford https://www.liamford.com/ had spent his valued time on my novel. I went through every line and compared, making notes. Being able to solely focus on my book, allowed me to settle on any adjustments, I felt were needed. As I neared the end, I held back on the last two chapters, as I pondered the next setting I would be in.

One month later, I found myself checking out of The Days Inn on the Harbour. I had been treated with utmost care and outstanding customer service by staff. Lynn, Mike, Mark, Lavern, and Gabriela, made my stay, a comfortable one. We shared in conversations, laughter, and some normalcy in the midst of COVID-19. One of the Front Desk Managers, Mike- was a combination of a young Hugh Laurie and Kiefer Sutherland. When my movie channel played a week of Sutherland flicks, Mike took all the silly jokes I teased him, with a good sense of humour. Lynn went beyond any customer service expectations and I was treated to beautiful gestures, from the heart.

Easter treats from Lynn

The General Manager, Darryl Wilson extended his services, by engaging in talks of community matters. When I was laid off my job, the hotel offered their support. When it came time to search for a new place to move into, Darryl gave me a pep talk, which lit a fire underneath me. He also offered, if I required it, to provide a reference for me. I was humbled by this, as how often does a General Manager of a hotel, offer to do so!

It was during my time at the hotel and before packing up, I researched the origins of where I had been staying. Lynn had on one occasion asked me, “Why did you chose here, to stay with us?” I pointed to the heavens and replied, “I think there was a higher power at hand.”

In my room, sitting at the desk, I began reading with interest about the founder of The Days Inn~ Cecil B. Day.

“Day founded Days Inn on Tybee Island, Georgia, in 1970. He proposed the idea as a means of using a piece of land he owned on the island. When the first Days Inn opened, Day could not find maid service, so he had his children make up the rooms' beds. Also, a truck that delivered furniture was too heavy for the bridge onto the island, so Day's mother hauled furniture onto the island in her station wagon. Despite the criticism that Day faced from friends for wanting to start a new lodging option on a "no-name island" with a flagging tourist economy, the first Days Inn was 100 percent occupied by April 1970. Through the 1970s hotel guests could take home a paperback Bible from their guest rooms for free. Day, who was a devout Christian, also offered a network of chaplains to provide ministry at each motel.”

Source: Wikipedia

Closing my own Bible set beside me, I smiled and nodded my head. Upon final check-out, I said my farewells and mentioned Cecil B. Day. It was confirmation of the Lord’s grace upon me, during these trying times. Before parting, Lynn gifted me more presents, which are now part of my new accommodations. I will never forget, the kindness shown to me, when I had been ousted to the streets. Looking back, I am comforted to know, these caring hearts saw someone in need and helped me.

My beautiful parting gifts from Lynn included 3 tokens of Guidance, Strength and Peace, plus more!

In securing my new place, I turned to Airbnb. Having previously stayed at various locations, I had great experiences. Much to my delight, my research brought me to a place, where there was a tree house for rent! To say I was over the moon is an understatement. I thought of completing book edits, in a place which is featured throughout my novel, Under the Sitka Tree. After speaking with the owner, we agreed on a time to travel the distance to see the tree house. That morning, I woke up early and before I could depart, received an email. The rental was no longer available. The door was closed, and I was dejected.

I found myself in prayer and asking the Lord to guide my next steps. Going back on-line to Airbnb, I was not ready to give up. Soon, I found a single cabin on a farmhouse acreage. I loved the idea to be surrounded in a space, where I be inspired.

Having a sense that this was where I truly was meant to be, I booked it and as my post is being written, it is from my little cabin. The details to my lodging show craftsmanship, ingenuity, and lots of personal touches. I was welcomed with farm fresh eggs, bread, proper bacon, and chocolate chunk cookies. Upon putting my clothes away in the drawer, I made a discovery that instilled in me the Lord had brought me here. A small Bible with a cross and the word Redemption, had been left by a previous guest.

Since my experiences with Airbnb has always been positive, I felt it was a wonderful choice to stay, even for a month. Previous Hosts have given me terrific feedback. Along with the Hotel Manager glowing remarks, this helped me to overcome the ordeal I went through, at my very last house and pet sit.

Often it takes months, sometimes years, before we can truly have an idea of the ripple effects on our lives- by the misguided actions of others.

As I thought about my journey, I could see both the good versus the bad. Looking at times where I might have blamed God, I made the decision not to. This has helped me march on....

In my progression, I was free of anything that anchored me to the enemy. A strong example of this is when my daughter, Shayla died. Never once did I hold the Lord responsible. It was a man-made faulty design of a treacherous road, wrapped around an overfilled, frozen reservoir, which caused her death. Shayla’s in-experience as a new driver and a car overloaded with her stuff, also were contributing factors.

I have said it from the beginning in December 2011…Jesus was never at fault. Instead, he was there to welcome her home.

Since the coronavirus has struck earth, taken lives with a merciless force, and forever changed our world, I have watched…and heard, repeated by some: “Why did God do this?”

In the depths of my soul, I do not believe Our Creator, is behind this.

Looking at the possible source, it points to a man-made decision. One in which spread across the nations, in a fury of deaths, losses and destruction. While I talk of lives that have succumbed to this terrible virus, I am also speaking of the demise of other important matters: the end of a family business, the loss of our freedom to hug a grandchild, not being able to attend the funeral of a loved one and our vulnerable elders. Consideration also needed to be given to those who as a cultural, are feeling the deep rooted pain of racism and segregation.

As an angry filled ocean of those looking to blame, continues to swirls around us, we as a society find it hard to take responsibility. We may look up, down and all around, but the source of where this originated from, has a hard time facing it in the mirror.

The reality is when great things happen, we all give high- fives or pat ourselves on the back. Yet when bad things happen, the backslide is to shake our fists to the heavens and declare:

“What kind of a God would do this?”

When I read the updated numbers- on those who have died of COVID-19 and who has survived- my prayers on my knees, are equal.

As we open up and see for ourselves, the HOPE that has come out of something so evil, maybe we will ensure the right source, is held accountable.

by TL Alton