Memories of Thanksgiving brought with it the viewing of the Wizard of Oz.
Consistently aired every year, dreaded fear brought conclusions, early on, of my dislike for this movie. It scared me! Becoming an adult didn’t deter me from similar feelings. It wasn’t the flying monkeys that freaked me out. It was the wicked witch herself and the movie’s resemblance to my own life.
For those not familiar with the story of The Wizard of Oz, it was a movie based on the book, The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, by L. Frank Baum. It was about a crazy witch after a poor Kansas farm girl named Dorothy. Dorothy got swept up by a tornado that set her down into an imaginary land called Oz. Struggling down the yellow brick road in search of the Wizard and running into a whole bunch of misfits along the way, all she wanted to do was go home. It was a long movie and, oh yeah, there was all that singing! Yes, I know, there are many of you out there who love The Wizard of Oz. In fact, I know several people who would say it’s one of their favorite movies! For me, it was all too close to home. Dorothy and I both longed to get over the rainbow, to something better.
I grew up in dysfunction. You might say, “Didn’t we all?” Growing up in a family of five, being the middle child and unhappy from as far back as I can remember, I felt like the black sheep. Happiness was always a struggle and always seemed fleeting, even into adulthood.
Married young, I found myself in more dysfunction. (Bringing your unhappy past into your marriage will do that for you!) After 25 years, I was divorced and in a place I never wished to be. (With all my “Christianity,”) I had “fallen off my throne,” as my mother put it. Pamela Perfect was no longer perfect, and as a result, my whole world came crashing down. It is out of my brokenness, my healing, and a desire to help others that I have found purpose in sharing my story.