Discovering My True Bloodline

Having been raised up among biker and mafia blood, I identified with everything that made up that slice of the world. Whether it was character or actions, they shaped me. I identified with all they stood for.  Everyone else was a foreigner, really.  I penned this Biker Blood poem one night.  This was my perspective:

Biker Blood
Searching for my soul, I fire up my bike.
Today I’ll hit the road with no return in sight.
I’m headin’ up the coast. I’ve got my angel by my side.
No more time for anyone; I just have to ride.
All I need is my bike to free me from this place.
The freedom and God’s love bring peace upon my face.
There’s no way to explain the passion that I feel.
Unless you have Biker Blood, you simply are not real.
Raised up to be ridin. Mom and Dad made sure of that.
 A child of fight and freedom; a wild child at that.
Thanks Dad for the passion you have instilled inside.
You gave me independence and the heart to ride.
Thanks Mom, your one righteous sister.
You gave me strength to fight the fight.
You raised up a woman. Once burned, it can’t be right.
My angel will be ridin’ just as I do now.
Biker Blood runs through her veins and nothing will hold her down.
I have no time for sittin still and wasting one more day.
Love seems to come and go but ridin’s here to stay.
Getting friendly on the road keeps my appetite in check.
I love you Baby, so he says, as he holds me by my neck.
I’m no fool. I’ve heard it all and seen a little more.
Put on my chaps, one last kiss, and blow right out the door.

The bike fired up, ridin hard, I’m smiling in the wind.
Got no time to be held down; won’t waste my days again.
This sister has to ride! God knows I need it more.
Biker blood runs through these veins.
Those with less can hit the door!

Over the years, though I embraced the culture and was quite proud of it, as an adult, I found myself struggling to fit in with society.  I knew the feeling of an outcast from an early age and no matter how I tried to dress for work or socialize with others outside of the culture, I wore my true roots  on my sleeve.
It came to a point where I realized my lifestyle had to change in order for me to raise my daughter up in a  safe home.  An invitation to a local church was just what I needed to broaden or re-create my circle of friends.
I quickly discovered I really did not fit in there. No matter how hard I tried, there was a need to wear a mask and not be too transparent to the people who attended or worked there.  As it was, my tattoos and riding up on a motorcycle made me stick out like a sore thumb.  There were no bikers at this large church.  The bikes that were there were not ridden by the bikers I knew to be biker blood. Great.In spite of this awkward  fish-out-of-water feeling, the church became my safe haven.  The life change I needed required courage and sacrifice. I was compelled to escape the life of fear I was living. As a result, my days were pretty full volunteering in the church office. It was nice to make a new Christian friend. She and I met for coffee at the local Border’s bookstore and spent a couple hours getting to know more about one another. She asked many questions about my life. I am pretty much an open book, myself. I figured this was it; either she would accept me for who I was…or not.

As I shared from my biker-slash-mafia upbringing, she echoed those words I’d heard over and over through the years.

You should write a book.

Yes, many people have told me the same thing. Actually, I am! I’m calling it Biker Blood!

She was pretty excited to hear I was serious about putting my story to print. I needed my friend’s encouragement.  We realized we’d been sitting in the café for over two hours, so we wrapped it up and walked out to the parking lot and said our goodbyes.  I didn’t get to my car before I realized I had to use the restroom. So, I walked back into Border’s. 

Before I could walk out the door, a book display caught my attention. It was a new book I’d seen promoted repeatedly on television over the past week.  It was written by a pastor named Joel Osteen. The book was titled, Become a Better You: 7 Keys to Improving Your Life Every Day.

I was so intrigued  that I had to pick it up and browse through it to see what all the hype was all about.

Opening the book straight up to Chapter 3 just shook me as I read the heading at the top of the page….

The Power of Your Bloodline

Wow!  Biker Blood… The power of my Bloodline…

I had to sit down with this book!

I wanted to take it home but could not afford to purchase it. Instead, I took out a pad of paper from my purse and began writing down the words I knew were written ‘just for me’.

The author begins this chapter by using the analogy of a champion thoroughbred racehorse. These creatures have a legacy of championship genes and possess the blood of a winner.

Osteen continues…

“Friend, that is how God looks at you and me. You have the DNA of Almighty God. You come from a long line of Champions.”

Well, I stopped right there. I certainly do not come from a long line of champions in my family. On the contrary; my family lineage is filled with a bunch of outcasts, welfare recipients, drunks, murderers, sex fiends, drug addicts, child molesters, and abusers.  The motto was always Sex, Drugs, and Rock and Roll. I mean really, how does that tie into a long line of champions?

Osteen continues…

Your Heavenly Father spoke the galaxies into existence. Your elder brother defeated the enemy. Think about some of your natural ancestors:

• Moses parted the Red Sea. - There’s great faith in your bloodline.
• David, a shepherd boy, defeated Goliath with only a few pebbles he picked up from a brook. - That is courage in your bloodline.
• Samson toppled a building. -  There’s supernatural strength in your bloodline.
• Daniel spent an entire night in a lion’s den and wasn’t harmed. - Divine protection flows through your bloodline.
• Nehemiah rebuilt the walls of Jerusalem when all the odds were against him. - Determination and persistence pulsate through your bloodline.
• Queen Esther put her life on the line to save God’s people. - Sacrifice and heroism are in your bloodline.

You come from a bloodline of champions . Take a better look at your bloodline.

You are the seed of Almighty God.

Again, I paused to reflect..
There really are so many strong people in my family. As I read of all these great attributes throughout my biblical bloodline, I could apply many of them to my parents as well as other relatives; even myself. Self-rejection began attacking my mind. How can I possibly be worthy of this greatness he is speaking of?  I’ve done some pretty bad things I know God hates.  I’m a product of my environment.  I have many secrets.

You are a champion on the inside. It’s in your blood.

God has a plan and a purpose for your life.

He has an assignment for you.

Your errors or wrong choices do not change your bloodline.

Oftentimes, society will write a person off when he or she fails or makes poor choices, but God is not that way. God sees your potential. He’s the one who designed you, and He knows that you can still do great things. It’s in your blood.

It was interesting how my mind began arguing with the words I read in this book. How easily we believe those internal lies. How embedded the past becomes. It forms us and defines us.

How difficult it is to believe God’s truth about ourselves.

Okay, here is the statement that rocked me. When I read these words in Osteen’s  book, it completely changed the way I defined my identity:

“Granted, you may have to OVERCOME some negative elements in your family’s natural bloodline, but always remember your spiritual bloodline is MORE POWERFUL than your natural bloodline. You have been handpicked by Almighty God. You have His royal blood flowing through your veins. You have been chosen.”

Holy Spirit took hold of me in that moment and  laid 2 Corinthians 5:17 on my heart, "Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. Old things have passed away. Behold, all things have become new"

This means my DNA was changed!

Repeatedly in this chapter, the author kept saying, “It’s in your blood.”

Your lot in life is to be a victor and not a victim.  God has planned all your days for good, not evil.

This reminded me of the Scripture given to me the night I met Jesus, “For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord. Plans for good, not for evil; plans for a future and a hope.”  Jeremiah 29:11

'Learning' and understanding who I am in Christ and what it means to be a child of God was the essential Truth I needed to set me free. It was not until I read about my identity in Christ through Scripture that the Spirit of God changed my thinking about who I am and what my worth is. Amen.

He’ll take those negative experiences, turn them around, and He will use them to your advantage.

I later learned this truth in Romans 8:28, “We are assured and know that [God being a partner in their labor] all things work together and are [fitting into a plan] for good to and for those who love God and are called according to [His] design and purpose.” (Amplified)

God has loosed our chains of addictions, of personal defeats, of bad attitudes. The problem is we’re not walking out of them. It’s up to you to rise and walk up in your authority.

We, in Christ, are no longer defined by our past and the things we've done, but instead we are defined by what Jesus has done for us... “I have been crucified with Christ [in Him I have shared His crucifixion]; it is no longer I who live, but Christ (the Messiah) lives in me; and the life I now live in the body I live by faith in (by adherence to and reliance on and complete trust in) the Son of God, Who loved me and gave Himself up for me.” Galatians 2:20 defines us!

The devil is a liar! In Christ we are made new!

Biker Blood Rhyme

Written by Happy Butt

Searching for my soul, I fire up my bike.
Today I’ll hit the road with no return in sight.
I’m headin up the coast. Got my angel by my side.
No more time for anyone; I just have to ride.
All I need is my bike to free me from this place.
The freedom and God’s love bring peace upon my face.
There’s no way to explain the passion that I feel.
Unless you have Biker Blood, you simply are not real.

Raised up to be ridin. Mom and Dad made sure of that.
 A child of fight and freedom; a wild child at that.
Thanks Dad for the passion you have instilled inside.
You gave me independence and the heart to ride.
Thanks Mom, your one righteous sister.
You gave me strength to fight the fight.
You raised up a woman. Once burned, it can’t be right.
My angel will be ridin just as I do now.
Biker Blood runs through her veins and nothing will hold her down.
I have no time for sittin still and wasting one more day.
Love seems to come and go but ridin’s here to stay.
Getting friendly on the road keeps my appetite in check.
I love you Baby, so he says, as he holds me by my neck.
I’m no fool. I’ve heard it all and seen a little more.
Put on my chaps, one last kiss, and blow right out the door.

The bike fired up, ridin hard, I'm smilin in the wind.
Got no time to be held down. Won't waste my days again.
This sister has to ride! God knows I need it more.
Biker Blood runs through these veins.
Those with less can hit the door!

Typical Home Sweet Home

Mom began seeing Fernando when I was sixteen. I do not believe Fernando ever patched, but he and his family were closely affiliated to the club who pretty much ran the San Francisco Bay area. One of the biggest problems with Mom hooking up with Fernando was he was already living with Teresa. It did not take long before Teresa discovered her ole man was sleeping with my mother. She had confronted Fernando about it and demanded he end things with her.

He was no good to our family. My little brother was only in third grade with no father around. And here was this man my mother let into the house who was nothing but abusive to her son and an outright danger to our family. But I was not afraid of him. I was numb to it. By this time, I was planning my exodus from my mother's home. My time was spent in school, and working or partying with friends when I was not in school. Neither he or my mother had control over me.

Fernando is a collector of all types of weaponry. He cherished his arsenal of weapons. People knew who to call on when they needed something. Fernando taught me to shoot with an old black powder shotgun. It knocked me on my ass and bruised up my shoulder pretty bad. But overall, I had good aim.

So did Mom. But she learned to shoot as a kid growing up with a family of gun wielding mafia and sharpened her skills later in life with the club brothers. It is in our bloodline.

The fighting between mom, Fernando, and Teresa was becoming very intense. At one point, my boyfriend received a call from Teresa as she was looking for someone to rescue her. After a huge argument with Fernando, he cuffed Teresa to the coffee table by her ankles and left to come to our house for the weekend.

Teresa wanted my mom's blood.

Once Teresa was freed, not only did she bury Fernando's arsenal deep in the backyard, but she armed herself with a butcher knife and headed straight to our place. She would have been smarter to bring a gun, but Teresa was a true fighter. Regardless, she had no idea what she was up against.

Mom had warned me not to answer the front door. She wanted to be prepared in case Teresa showed up. Today, my mom was at work. Instead of listening to my mother, when I heard Teresa screaming outside our front door, I chained the door and opened it as far as the chain would allow. Teresa was screaming at me to let her in. She wanted to have some words with my mother. I kept telling her to leave us alone. Next thing I knew, she stuck her arm into the doorway, swinging this large butcher knife at me. I managed to grab her arm and the knife fell to the floor just after it clipped the back of my heel.

She left, and we were once again on high alert at home...

I worked as much as I possibly could in my junior year of high school. My job had me working the closing shift at Sizzler so I would get home real late each night. It was bad enough that I had to watch over my shoulder when I walked up to my front door, but I was not at all prepared for what would happen inside once I opened the door.

Walking into our townhouse, the hall light was on which was unusual. There was my mother at the top of the stairs, with her .38 aimed right at me.

Stop right there, bitch! She was drunk. I could tell by her slurring.

Mom, it's me!

Solo for Safety

Teaching someone else how to ride a motorcycle never entered my mind until I aced the motorcycle written test. The first thing the instructor asked me was if I'd consider becoming an instructor. I did not respond. Then, after I passed my skills test, the same instructor pulled me aside and said, "Hey, you are damn good! You practically aced the skills course too! Would you like to teach this course?"

I just could not fathom that, really.

But as I talked with others and reflected on how much I absolutely love to ride, I gave it some serious consideration.

So, I talked to the instructor and ordered my study materials. I had to attend other classroom teachings to observe other instructors. I took good notes and learned some different teaching styles. You never know who will make up your group of riders. Some are first timers, like I was. Others are seasoned riders, but are finally taking the safety course to refresh their skills. It was real interesting to see the make up of those in my class.

I had bought my bike about three months before and pretty much had been riding it every single day. So, I already had the basics down and knew I was coordinated enough to handle my Sportster. Others in my class were not so comfy and it showed right from the gate.

One woman was determined to learn how to ride. She had been in so many accidents on the back of her old man's bike, she refused to ride with him anymore. The bummer was she never got that 125cc out of 2nd gear. She dropped it a couple times, had trouble shifting, and nearly crashed over the curb. The instructor asked her to not try any further, save face, and come back again after she had a bit more time working with a dirt bike. She was so mad at herself and determined she would be back.

Another woman could not get the coordination down whatsoever. It just did not work for her. She had not even learned how to drive a stick shift.

My opinion is if you can drive a stick shift, you can manage a motorcycle. If you can ride a motorcycle, you can pretty much drive anything. My opinion anyway.
So, I began taking things real seriously when my Drill Sargent instructor kept yelling at me because I was not looking ahead at the outside of my turn. My problem was I kept staring at my front wheel! He told me I am never going to get where I am going unless I look at where it is I want to go!

Ok, I got that!

But taking my eyes off the front end of my bike was real hard to do! Not sure why! But when I forced myself to do this, it made all the difference in the world.

One of the problems with the class was it was friggin HOT out there in the middle of the asphalt. You had to wear long sleeves and a full helmet, which I was not at all used to. I wear one of those barely there helmets. Not sure what they call them, but they do not do squat for head protection.

Part of the course involved practicing swerving around obstacles in the road. Wow, would that come in handy sooner than I thought. I wanted to complete this 3-day training course so I could get my license so I could ride to the Redwood Run with my friends. That was only one month away!

Anyway, the swerving around obstacles test was all about maneuvering around orange cones. No problem. Where the real test came in was not so long after I completed this class.

I was flying up Hwy 50 in the fast lane when I saw this old pick up truck up ahead a ways. It had wood side panels on the truck bed which held a huge load of car bumpers...steel car bumpers! There was another sports bike in the lane next to me. He was behind me a bit too. Then suddenly those car bumpers started flying out of the back of that pick up truck! At first, it was not that big of a deal because it was only a couple that hit the highway. But then the whole load of them loosed free and began bouncing all over the freeway! One would hit the fast lane and bounce across to the slow lane, then come back again. Some were mid air! I thought for sure I was going to be decapitated!

My first response was to slow down...way down....so I would not catch up to the bumpers until they stopped bouncing all over the road. It did not happen quite that way. I ended up swerving around these flying bumpers, just praying one would not catch my skin or neck, or my tires! The other rider beside me was doing the same thing.

We finally came to a stop along the median near the fast lane. My heart was in my stomach, for sure! My heartbeat was crazy fast. I'd actually come out of that mess without a scratch on myself or my bike! Wow, that class was worth it!!

I returned to the Street Skills training site and told my old instructor what had happened. He told me, "See, I told you you should teach this class!" Maybe he was right.

I ended up teaching three people how to ride. I enjoy it actually, as long as they are not on my bike. Made that mistake one time and it was certainly the last.

Thought this guy knew how to ride. It ended up he did not and he was not about to let the cat out of the bag to all the brothers hanging around Jerry's Tumbleweed. I could not show my face dating some wannabe who did not know how to ride a motorcycle!!! So, I put him on my Sportster and took him to a couple school parking lots. He did good until he forgot to turn the friggin handle bars.

Are you kidding me?

He used to race bicycles, for goodness sakes! How could you not turn the handlebars? He ended up running it up over a red curb onto the lawn and fell over. Minor damage.

Before long, he took to riding like a fish takes to water. Then we had to find him a bike. That was easy.

Never again will I find myself in that situation again.

So, I mentioned I was preparing to ride to the Redwood Run. It is a run I looked forward to every June. But for years, I was riding on the back with my ex. This time, it was all about me.

The friends I was riding with lived an hour from me, so I had to get to their place first. That was our meeting point. This was real interesting for me since it was my first time venturing out on a freeway and headed for the bay area. People drive crazy on those freeways. I made it there just fine. It was leaving there with these kamakazi friends of mine that started my ride out of their neck of the woods a bit rough.

They blasted ahead of me without a warning. We never even discussed our route. I think they thought I just knew where I was going! When I finally maneuvered my way through the traffic to catch up with them, I flagged them down so we could set some road rules.

See, they were all riding much more powerful motorcycles. Mine was only a 900cc. So we finally started cruising up Hwy 101. I had no idea how much I would be beat up on my first solo run! What a difference compared to riding on the back of a bike. You get all the wind, all the elements, and all the bugs. Not to mention, the other things flying up from the road.

And you think your butt gets sore riding 25 miles on a bicycle? Try riding at 80 mph for 100 miles without stopping. Ok, I am not whining. But for the first time out solo, this is quite an adjustment for your hands, feet, neck, and ass. Your entire body gets all tingly. It's exhilarating...in many ways!!!

I decided I needed 100 mile rest stops. Riding any more than that was just too much on my neck.

Here we were, twenty minutes outside of the event and suddenly the air became real misty. That meant the roads were wet. That also meant wet and foggy goggles....and slower speeds.

Everyone signaled to slow way down. There was danger ahead. It was an accident. Yep, first run and I get to witness a bike going down.

I heard the crash of the bike around the turn but did not actually see it happen. When our group pulled around the bend, the rider was lying in the middle of the street and his bike was on the edge of the road, mangled. His riding partner had ridden ahead of him and saw the accident in his mirror. He had just pulled up to the scene and ran over to his brother. His body was lifeless. We all thought he was dead. Blood was trickling from beneath his helmet.

Someone called Cal Trans while me and Leslie did traffic control on each side of the road.

By the time the paramedic arrived, the brother had regained consciousness and they said he would be alright. Praise God! His beautiful red Road King was a different story, though.

That slowed things down a bit for all of us the rest of the weekend! It ended up being a ton of fun even though the event is scattered with many accidents, some of which are not so happy endings as I described here. That really reminded me of how important that safety course is. I tell people about it often. Maybe I will return to teach it; who knows.

You often learn more by just getting on your bike and taking off. Those close calls can do major damage. It's worth taking the course, no matter how long you've been riding.

I hope that sister who was determined to learn how to ride actually returned to Street Skills and got back on the motorcycle. That was a dream of hers. It was a dream of mine to learn how to ride. And it was one of the biggest accomplishments I am very proud of completing. It takes motorcycle riding to a whole new level. And it makes you more aware when you are on the back of how much control you absolutely do not have.

No thanks, I'll ride solo.

Lefty's Ranch and The Healing Pond

Leaving my comfortable apartment was not easy for me. Something did not set right with this decision to move out to Lefty's ranch. However, I had no other options; or so I believed. Feeling as though I had failed at yet another attempt to make it on my own, I wandered into the lion's den. Only there were no lions, but plenty of coyotes and serpents. The serpents were the scariest because they would hide beneath the blackberry bushes along the levy. What a surprise to suddenly hear the haunting sound of a rattler as I harvested berries early in the morning. We lost several cats to those evil predators.

The coyotes were always out in the early morning as well, on the hunt for one of our ranch cats. We had quite a few of them and each one had a name. Yes, and each one would come running when you called out to him or her. Then there were the dogs; Nikki, Goliath, and Thunder. Nikki was a Hungarian Vizsla and had been around for nearly twelve years. Her favorite past time was to swim around in the pond, hoping to scare off all the ducks. She could swim forever. Goliath was an enormous English Mastiff and a gentle giant weighing in at 230 lbs. He loved chasing the frogs around the pond and playing fetch with six foot logs. He would roll the log down to the water and chew on it like a twig, then carry that soaking wet log up the hill in his giant jowls. The first time I attempted to hand feed Goliath a bagel, his whole mouth covered my hand. I threw him goodies from that moment forward. He liked it when the kitties would curl up with him for a nap.

Then there was my baby, Thunder. She was a gorgeous Rottweiler, close to four years in age. I rescued her from a very neglectful home. Thunder showed her gratitude every single day. She was the smartest girl with the loveliest temperament. She weighed in at close to 100 pounds. Sometimes Thunder would find herself in a tight spot and have to back up over ten feet to get herself out of it. My favorite memory of her is how she would sit in front of me and wrap her left leg around my leg, leaning into me with a hug.

Aside from the domestic animals, plenty of wildlife lived on Lefty's ranch; even aside from the coyotes and rattlers. The ranch was full of deer, turkey, Snowy Igrids, Blue Herons, and Red Tailed Hawks. We even had a family of muskrats in the pond. Lefty called them Otters, but I knew they were muskrats.

Majestic Oaks blanketed the ranch. There was so much beauty there, especially in the Autumn and Spring months when everything was full of color.

One New Years Eve I called out to God. I told him I did not know how to have a relationship with him. I asked Him to show me what that would look like. Even though I prayed the sinner's prayer many years before, nobody took the time to teach and guide me along. There was so much I did not know or understand.

Call to Me and I will answer you and show you great and mighty things, fenced in and hidden, which you do not know (do not distinguish and recognize, have knowledge of and understand). - Jeremiah 33:3

What I did know was my life had taken a turn for the worst. Here I was living in a travel trailer with a man who did not love me enough to marry me. I began battling depression and having flashbacks of my childhood which caused me to retreat to a corner most nights. I had began to drink whiskey and smoke pot again and we only associated with those who lived this same lifestyle. We were not taking the bike out anymore and I allowed this man to control who I included in my circle of friends. Worst of all, my daughter wanted nothing to do with visiting me while I lived there. I had become a recluse on this 400-acre ranch which may as well have been out in the middle of nowhere. The courts decided Angelica was better off staying away from 'the ranch'.

All it took was that sincere plea from my anguished heart to set things in motion. The first thing God did was plant a desire in my heart and mind for His word. All my answers were right there and I literally could not put my Bible down. It went everywhere with me and I read, and read, and read. Some of the truths were so fascinating that I had to find the next one!

The Lord had already led me out to the wilderness, literally. The land was sub-leased for a couple different purposes. Half the land was occupied by cattle and another small part was leased to a strawberry farmer.

The road into the property was atop a levy which separated two ponds. When the runoff from the snow melt in the Sierra Nevada mountains would make it's way into the valley, the ponds would fill up. The creek from the top pond to the lower pond would become a fun place for the twenty ranch cats to scale as they were hunting for frogs, polliwogs and other goodies along the bank of the creek. I wanted to hear the answers and see his hand at work, so He led me to Solomon's Prayer for wisdom and spiritual discernment. I was so tired of believing the lies and the deceptions of the devil. I could not tell the difference of good and bad in my most vulnerable moments.

When I was out in the wilderness, the Lord provided a pond at which I would take my Bible, my writing, and my coffee. I encountered tremendous healing and deliverance at that pond. I encountered Jesus.

Lovely Outlaws - Half Ton

What makes a person want to run with pirates?

Acceptance
Understanding
Escape
And so much more..

Half Ton was a man of few words. I looked forward to hearing what he had to say. There was just something about him. He also did not let very many get too close to him. Though he was prospecting for the VNVMC/Legacy Vets and always surrounded by his brothers, he really was more of a loner type. Getting to know Half Ton (formerly known as Jeffrey) was not easy. He guarded his heart with an invisible breastplate; a true warrior, in need of the healing love of Jesus.

Jeffrey had a beautiful wife and daughter. He also had a fulfilling career as a first responder after serving his country.

Life was good.

He was the Life-flight pilot on duty that night. As he and his crew came upon the scene, Jeffrey listened to the description of the vehicle over the radio.

"That sounds like my wife's car.."

When he arrived at the scene, he saw it was his beloved wife and precious daughter. Jeffrey used the 'Jaws of Life' to cut his way through to them. Their injuries were fatal. He did all he could to save them but they were already gone.

Not only did he lose all that mattered to him in his life but Jeffrey lost himself in the process. And he continued to lose everything else he loved in life; all he had worked for simply fell away. He was broken and destitute.

See, Jeffrey's childhood was a tragic one also. His beautiful life with his two precious girls seemed like the second chance at love he never had as a young boy.

Fast forward a few years.....This is when I actually met Jeffrey, but he was known as Half Ton, a prospect for a local chapter of the Vietnam Vets M/C. Many weekends I watched how Half Ton had to prove his loyalty and dedication to the brotherhood which required him to fulfill many unlawful acts. He watched the backs of his brothers when they were in trouble and they watched his. True blue. No judgment. No questions. Just love. Family...finally.

The Too Much Fun Club hosted a gathering on some property of theirs on the Northern California coast. Half Ton always seemed to go to these things riding solo. I was happy to get an invite and rode up with him and a couple brothers. Half Ton had my back on winding Highway 1. It was my first ride on that road on my bike.

Before heading out for a ride, the Chaplain gathered us for the blessing of the bikes. As he swept the burning sage over each club brother (and guest), the Chaplain prayed a blessing one by one with our bikes. When he came to Half Ton, I witnessed something very powerful. I was in no way following Jesus at the time, but God was with me. And he was with Half Ton. The Chaplain felt it and I felt it. Our brother was so hungry for healing in his heart that he wept as the Chaplain prayed over him. I heard the Chaplain later tell the club president, "This is one special brother you have here".

So true.

Military, brotherhood, camaraderie..Half Ton knew the support and loyalty of his brothers in the marines. When he lost everything he had, he looked for the same; a group who 'knew' him and whom he 'knew'. A familiar home he felt safe with.

What had life offered him? It took all he loved. He threw in the towel, so to speak. No more trying to make life happen according to life. Life did him wrong.

But God was pursuing Half Ton. He wanted to do heart surgery on him. It was right after this that I built up enough boldness to ask Half Ton about his life. I wanted to get a glimpse into his tender heart. I saw he did not fit in with this outlaw life. I was blessed that Jeff would open up to me and share that pivotal moment that sent him over the edge. Oh how beautiful it would have been if God's word were spoken into Jeff's heart that day. This Chaplain did not speak God's word.

I pray Jesus came and ministered to Jeff in that moment.

Grandma's Treasure Chest

No matter how many times I sort through my grandmother's miniature chest of old photos and newspaper clippings, I am always surprised with new momentos she held onto throughout her life.

Today, I saw that little chest sitting on top of my boxes of photo albums stored in my brother's garage. When I opened it, I saw a hand written postcard I had not seen before.

First, let me explain..

My grandmother and her sisters were from a Sicilian family who made a living in bootlegging for many years. They kept rather colorful company and only dated men of wealth and power. My grandma Mary divorced from my grandfather when my mom was only five years old. That was in 1950. She was a pretty wild woman. She drank daily and always packed a .38 - NOT a real good combination.

The sisters spent much time at the race track. They were the track trophy girls, dressed in diamonds and fur. There are many pictures of them taken with the derby winners, race track owners, and riding in the parade in a brand new Cadillac with some millionaire. You get my drift..

Well, one of her sweeties had a rude awakening. Apparently, he did not understand what he was getting himself into...

My Dear Untamed,

Of all the pretty little canary birds that turned out to be a chicken hawk, you win the leather medal. You hard boiled man hater, you can't talk like that to me! I am not married to you!

Oh! What an eye opener you've been to me. Next time I date a girl, I'll carry a gat for protection. I should sue you for damages for pulling out my hair and scratching my face..you cat!

They should have named you "Cyclone"...you blow up faster than anything I ever saw.

Once is enough, old dear. No more cave woman stuff for me! I'm through!