Author: Tammy M Cardwell

A PIONEER IN SUNDAY SCHOOLS.*

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– Doubtless unto thee is given
A life that bears immortal fruit
In such great offices as suit
The full-grown energies of heaven.
                                                Tennyson’s In Memoriam.

The Ohio Company, which was organized in Boston in the year 1787, built a stockade fort during the next two years, at Marietta, and named it Campus Martius. The year it was completed, the Rev. Daniel Storey, a preacher at Worcester, Massachusetts, was sent out as a chaplain. He acted as an evangelist till 1797, when he became the pastor of a Congregational church which he had been instrumental in collecting in Marietta and the adjoining towns, and which was organized the preceding year. He held that relation till the spring of 1804. Probably he was the first Protestant minister whose voice was heard in the vast wilderness lying to the northwest of the Ohio river.

In the garrison at Marietta was witnessed the formation and successful operation of one of the first Sunday schools in the United States. Its originator, superintendent and sole teacher, was Mrs. Andrew Lake, an estimable lady from New York. Every Sabbath, after ” Parson Storey” had finished his public services, she collected as many of the children at her house as would attend, and heard them recite verses from the Scriptures, and taught them the Westminster catechism. Simple in her manner of teaching and affable and kind in her disposition, she was able to interest her pupils-usually about twenty in number -and to win their affections to herself, to the school, and, subsequently, in some instances, to the Saviour. A few, at least, of the little children that used to sit on rude benches, low stools and the tops of meal bags, and listen to her sacred instructions and earnest admonitions, have doubtless ere this became pupils, with her, in the “school of Christ” above.

* The facts contained in this article we find in a series of papers, by S. P. Hildreth, Esq., published in “The American Pioneer,” in 1842.

______

Excerpted from Noble Deeds of American Women
(Patriotic Series for Boys and Girls)
Edited by J. Clement
——
With an Introduction by Mrs. L. H. Sigourney
Illustrated
BOSTON: Lee and Shepard, Publishers
Entered by Act of Congress, in the year of 1851,
by E. H. Derby and Co., in the Clerk’s Office of the Northern District of New York
______

Truth Matters: Be Honest with at Least One Person You Trust

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This is a hard one, I know. If you’re in a relationship with a narcissist, you have every reason not to discuss your situation with anyone, but you need to. There are a few reasons why, and this first one is important.

I have a friend who, many years ago, was married to a man who was so controlling and emotionally abusive that he actually told her once that if she weren’t pregnant he would kill her. She did what I did, though, and she was even better at it; she hid all evidence and protected his reputation at all costs. 

Ultimately, one of the biggest costs was that, when she finally left him, people condemned her for walking out on her godly husband. Even family judged her for breaking her marriage vows. Why? Because she’d never told anyone the truth. There was not one shred of evidence that she wasn’t simply acting selfishly. You can imagine what this did to her when she was already hurting, feeling broken.

Sharing with someone you trust can also keep you grounded, help you see reality – like understanding when your narcissist is gaslighting you, making you feel like you’re the one at fault or you’re imagining a non-existent problem and events didn’t occur as you recall them. It can also help set the stage for a later escape if you need one. You may not think that will ever happen, but the fact is you don’t really know what’s coming.

Although my husband didn’t do this, I know many tend to isolate their victims, separating them from their friends and family as much as possible. Sharing what you’re going through can reassure you that you’re not alone; it can help guarantee you will never be entirely on your own, even when your narcissist works hard to see to it that you are.

In short, sharing with someone you trust is like keeping your hand on a lifeline when you’re in deep water. I highly recommend in!

Having said that, you do need to know that people in certain positions are required by law to report physical abuse. For instance, I’m a church secretary; if you were to tell me your husband was abusing you physically, I would have to report it. The same holds for people in several other positions. So, if you don’t want anything reported, either choose someone who isn’t bound by this law or be careful what you tell them. Again, I’m only talking about physical abuse here, meaning that’s all we’re required to report.

I wish I didn’t have to talk about abuse at all. This isn’t the happiest topic to be covering, but there are too many out there who are still dealing with the sort of thing I lived through, and I can’t ignore them. I want to help in what little ways I’m able; and I want to obey God, who led me to write this series.

You are not alone.

Celebrating Jesus!
Tammy C

A BENEVOLENT QUAKERESS.*

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How few, like thee, inquire the wretched out,
And court the offices of soft humanity!
                                                            Rowe

Charity Rodman was born in Newport, Rhode Island in the year 1765. Her father was a sea-captain, and died at Honduras while she was in infancy. She married Thomas Rotch, of Nantucket, Massachusetts, on the sixth of June, 1790. Soon afterwards the Rotch family removed to New Bedford, where they have since distinguished themselves by their energy and uprightness of character, and their success in the mercantile business, being extensively engaged in the whale-fishery. Of some of them, as traffickers, it may be said, as it was of the merchants of Tyre in the days of her glory: “they are among the honorable of the earth.”

About the year 1801, Mrs. Rotch removed with her husband to Hartford, Connecticut, where she remained till 1811. She then, in a feeble state of health, and for its improvement, accompanied her husband on a journey through Ohio, and other parts of the West. The mildness of the winter was favorable to her constitution, and, restored to comfortable health, she returned to Hartford in the early part of the next summer. The following November she removed to Kendol, in Stark county, Ohio, near the site of the present village of Massillon.

There the mind of Mrs. Rotch, coöperating with the long cherished wishes of her heart, originated and matured plans for the establishment of a “school for orphan and destitute children.” Having traveled much, she had made extensive observations; and with an eye always open to the condition and wants of human kind, she early and often felt the force of a remark once made to her by an English friend: “That there were a great many children wasted in this country” -a painful truth, but no less applicable to Great Britain than to the United States.

Her husband died in 1823, and bequeathed to her, during life, his large and entire estate. His personal property was left in her hands to be disposed of as her philanthropic heart might dictate. This formed the basis of the school-fund which she left, and which, four or five years after her death, which occurred on the sixth of August, 1824, amounted to twenty thousand dollars. The interest of this sum has since purchased a farm of one hundred and eighty-five acres, one and a half miles from the village of Massillon, and erected, at a cost of five thousand dollars, a large brick edifice for educational and dwelling purposes which has been open seven years and which sustains forty pupils. The real and personal estate of the institution, is now estimated at thirty-five thousand dollars.

A class of ten pupils enter annually and remain four years. The school is established on the manual labor plan; and the boys are thoroughly instructed in the art of husbandry, and the girls in culinary duties and the manufacture of their own wearing apparel. Children enter between the ages of ten and fourteen, hence the youngest leave as advanced in life as their fifteenth year, a period when their habits of industry and their moral principles usually become too well established to be easily changed.

This school, founded by the benevolence of a single individual – a devout, yet modest and quiet member of the Society of Friends – is destined to become a source of inestimable blessings. Every half century, five hundred otherwise neglected plants in the garden of humanity, will there be pruned and nurtured, and strengthened for the storms of life; and many of them will doubtless be fitted to bear fruit here to the glory of God, and be finally transplanted to bloom in eternal youth in the gardens above.

The offspring of Christian philanthropy, the school will stand as a lasting memorial of woman’s worth. The highest ambition of its founder was to be a blessing to those who should come after her; and it may be said that while she did not live in vain, neither did she die in vain. Her death threw a legacy into the lap of orphanage, the benignant influence of which will long be felt.

The grave of Mrs. Rotch is overlooked by the monument of her munificence, but no marble nor enduring object marks the spot. Virtues like hers neither crave nor need chiseled words of praise; they are engraved on the hearts of the succored, to be remembered while those hearts continue to beat; and the feet of befriended children will keep a path open to the grave of their foster-mother, for ages.

* Some of the facts embodied in this article were gathered by the author while on a visit to Massillon, Ohio, in the summer of 1847, and were communicated to the public at that time through the columns of the Western Literary Messenger; others were lately and very obligingly furnished by Dr. William Bowen, of that place.

______

Excerpted from Noble Deeds of American Women
(Patriotic Series for Boys and Girls)
Edited by J. Clement
——
With an Introduction by Mrs. L. H. Sigourney
Illustrated
BOSTON: Lee and Shepard, Publishers
Entered by Act of Congress, in the year of 1851,
by E. H. Derby and Co., in the Clerk’s Office of the Northern District of New York
______

Yes, It IS Abuse

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In talking to others who have lived with abusive narcissists, I’ve learned that I was not alone in one area – failing to acknowledge the abuse. Pretty much everyone is familiar with physical abuse, recognizing it for what it is. Of course, many stay with their physically abusive narcissists even so for various reasons, often simply as a result of the abusers’ “gift” for convincing their victims they brought the abuse on themselves.

Gaslighting. It’s a terrible thing. And yes, I fell for that too. There’s one area in particular…one very uncomfortable area, I feel I need to talk about even though I’d rather avoid the topic entirely. Frankly, it’s too common to ignore.

Not surprisingly, his “having” to find other women was my fault because I wasn’t “taking care of him” sexually. Women deal with this one a lot. As is true in most cases, anything that goes wrong, or anything he or she does wrong, is NOT the fault of the narcissist. But the sex thing? Seriously, how did I not…?

This is going to sound ridiculous; I know it is.
Just, if you have no experience with narcissism, please
understand these people are good at what they do.
They’re incredibly skilled at making wrong seem right.

I tried to be the good wife. I tried to satisfy his needs. But he stacked the deck against me.

He was a night owl our whole marriage, living on maybe three hours of sleep for years. When we got married, I was an “in bed by 8:00” girl, but he “cured” me of that and eventually my bedtime, such as it was, moved back to 10PM. When I was ready to go to bed I’d let him know I was heading that way.

You know what I mean: I was saying, without saying it, “If you want any attention, now’s the time.” Then I would make my way to the bedroom knowing full well I couldn’t go to sleep right away because he wasn’t about to follow me. Most nights, no matter how hard I tried not to, I would fall asleep before he came to bed and then, sometimes an hour later, sometimes four hours later, he would either wake me up or attempt to wake me, fail, and get ticked off.

THAT is how I “wasn’t taking care of him.” And it wasn’t until after he passed away that it dawned on me this was intentional. It wasn’t him being so involved in what he was doing that he lost track of time. It was that he wanted what he wanted on his terms. He wanted to call the shots – always. He also wanted to solidify the fact that I was refusing to meet his needs like a godly wife should. Even though I knew in my heart of hearts that his attitude was way wrong, I spent years feeling like a terrible wife because I wasn’t able to stay awake until he was ready.

You’re shaking your head at the idiocy. Yep, I get it.

But, again, that’s the way it is with narcissism and gaslighting. Everything is someone else’s fault, and that someone else is usually convinced of this untruth with disgusting ease. I honestly wonder if there’s not something spiritual, like demonic, going on even beyond the unnatural ability these people possess.

When I say he abused me pretty much every way but physically, I really do mean it. For instance, financially. He would go out and blow all of our money on things like baseball cards, comic books, and eating expensive lunches every day at work. At the same time, he would leave bills unpaid (or hit up his mother for money to pay them – he worked her too), buy snacks instead of real food (because he did the grocery shopping instead of me doing it and being yelled at), and have to be talked into important purchases like new clothes for the kids or myself. 

This is slightly off topic for this particular post, but I want to say it anyway. While Jack was a stinking, rotten, lousy provider, God wasn’t. Through me, as I was doing my best to walk close to Him, God brought in many utility payments, groceries, etc. He also arranged for me to work, every summer, to earn the homeschool curriculum Jack insisted he had no money for. Too, God provided me with a part time job that paid in clothing, so while I was in a highly visible ministry at church I was well dressed regardless of my husband’s refusal to clothe me. Through everything, God was always faithful!

I could keep going, but hopefully you get the point. Some things aren’t really abuse, but when it comes to narcissists… Yeah, if you think it might be abuse, it probably is. Recognizing the fact, and refusing to accept blame that doesn’t belong on your shoulders, will help you keep your head above water.

Again (I’ll probably say this in every post.), if you’re a child of God and you need out of a narcissistic relationship, God can make a way of escape. I am totally responsible for the fact that my boys and I didn’t exit stage left decades ago. God offered me more than one opportunity to leave, and I didn’t take them; that’s on me.

Celebrating Jesus!
Tammy C

“THE LITTLE BLACK-EYED REBEL”

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Some there are
By their good deeds exalted
                                                Wordsworth

Mary Redmond, the daughter of a patriot of Philadelphia of some local distinction, had many relatives who were loyalists. These were accustomed to call her “the little black-eyed rebel,” so ready was she to assist women whose husbands were fighting for free-dom, in procuring intelligence. “The dispatches were usually sent from their friends by a boy who carried them stitched in the back of his coat. He came into the city bringing provisions to market. One morning when there was some reason to fear he was suspected, and his movements were watched by the enemy, Mary undertook to get the papers from him in safety. She went, as usual, to the market, and in a pretended game of romps, threw her shawl over the boy’s head and secured the prize. She hastened with the papers to her anxious friends, who read them by stealth, after the windows had been carefully closed.”

When the whig women in her neighborhood heard of Burgoyne’s surrender, and were exulting in secret, the cunning little “rebel,” prudently refraining from any open demonstration of joy, “put her head up the chimney and gave a shout for Gates!”

______

Excerpted from Noble Deeds of American Women
(Patriotic Series for Boys and Girls)
Edited by J. Clement
——
With an Introduction by Mrs. L. H. Sigourney
Illustrated
BOSTON: Lee and Shepard, Publishers
Entered by Act of Congress, in the year of 1851,
by E. H. Derby and Co., in the Clerk’s Office of the Northern District of New York
______

The Power of Refusing to Care

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The last lesson I learned in the decades of living with my narcissistic husband is one of the most powerful. Oh, how I wish I’d learned it sooner!

He spent most of our marriage manipulating me in a variety of ways. Anger was one of his most useful weapons. Because of childhood trauma, I avoided confrontation at all cost, and couldn’t handle shouting or outbursts of rage. I did my best to keep such events from occurring, swallowing my hurt, my fear, and pretty much every other emotion. In truth, even before I met Jack, Star Trek’s Mr. Spock was my hero and I strove for the safety of that type of emotional mastery.

This hindered me in more ways than I can list, especially in relationships – even in my relationship with God. Honestly, it’s only been in the last ten years or so that God and I have managed to break open the door I’d so firmly kept my emotions locked behind. Until then, they only appeared when they completely overwhelmed me.

None of this means Jack couldn’t hurt me emotionally. It means, rather, that I fought a continual battle to keep the pain locked away in a vault. And if you’ve done any study on the topic at all, you know how toxic and dangerous such actions can be.

As those emotions were loosed, as they began coming out, Jack discovered a greater weapon. Due to his poor health, he had lost much of the power he’d previously held, but now that I dared “feel” again he took advantage, making ridiculous accusations, threats of self-harm, and more that were like finely sharpened knives.

Until THAT day.

Some days, some moments, are so pivotal that you never forget them. One of those moments changed things almost instantly in an incredible way. I had a sudden revelation that he only had the power to hurt me if I let him. Intellectually, I’d known this, but like I said – revelation. In that moment of epiphany, I decided it was high time I stopped caring about what he said.

I literally stood there in our living room, as I was about to walk out the door, and whispered to myself (My apologies; this is a direct quote.), “I don’t give a shit.”

Crass? Yes, but it’s what I said, and I meant it. I was free! I actively chose not to care about anything destructive that he said. I shut down the “victim” response like flipping a switch, and it was astounding! It also shocked me in a very real way. Anyone watching would have seen my eyes go wide in amaze. And then I smiled, and I walked out the door.

Things changed after that. He grew increasingly confused as his primary weapon proved less and less effective. Every once in a while, something he would say would start to get to me and I’d have to remind myself, “Tammy, you don’t give a shit.” (I feel uncomfortable typing that, but I promised myself that I would strive for transparency in this place.)

He still did other things, like intentionally trash the house to punish me, but as frustrating as that was the worst was over. The last several months of his life were much easier on me, first because he’d lost that hold on my emotions and then because, as he came to understand his new reality, he put less effort into those attacks.

I really do wish I’d learned this lesson years ago.

Celebrating Jesus!
Tammy C

Tiny House Part 23: Headboard Wall

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I’ve held off showing you my “bedroom” for a couple of reasons, the biggest being that I’ve not been able to get the bedding I want and I’ve decided I need a new nightstand. At this point the bedding is still just whatever I already had tossed onto the bed, and it doesn’t look great. However, now that I have all my art, and since I gave you a peek at it two weeks ago anyway, I do want to show off the headboard wall.

A couple weeks back, I shared about my mini Monet switch plate cover and how excited I was that it fit in with the art print I already had. If you missed that post, including the creator’s discount offer, you might want to back up to Tiny House Part 21.

This week I have a picture that includes the addition that completes my wall. Check it out!

Please forgive the reflections in the glass!

I was at a women’s conference recently and there was a terrific artist there. As I wandered her booth, drooling, I was sharing with a friend how disappointed I was that I had literally no space at all for any of her art. And then I saw The Lion!: The title is “None Should Perish.” It’s the lion of the tribe of Judah, of course, and it’s not only beautiful, but at first glance the colors looked perfect. Fortunately, this well-prepared aphant (Yeah, not always so well-prepared) had a photo in her phone showing the other two pieces, and I could tell right away that I was right!

It was officially mine!

There were several great vendors at this conference, but this is literally the only thing I purchased. It is from Journey Canvas Company and they’re well worth checking out. Not only do they carry art in a variety of formats, but they also offer books, gifts of all kinds, clothing… a lot. Too, if you’re local, you can check out their gift shop, coffee shop, and bakery in person. Right now, I’m wishing Webb City, MO weren’t so far away.

So, taking a step back, here’s the “headboard wall.”

That large blue piece was a gift from the same friend who helped me decorate. She bought a plushy blanket, cut it up, and covered a canvas with it. (AND gave me the leftovers in case I want to do a complimentary project!) The various shades of blue you see are from me running my hands over it. Like those sequined pillows the kids love, it changes color when you brush it in different directions. It’s very tactile and soothing.

And that’s it for now. It’s not the end of the tour, but I won’t be able to pick it back up until I can either go shopping again or make drastic changes in other areas. And yes, I’m still absolutely loving tiny house living!

Celebrating Jesus!
Tammy C

Relief to the Texas Panhandle

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If you’ve been watching the fires in the Texas panhandle, you know our state has lost 1.2 million acres, and that’s just the land. Ranchers have lost everything. Businesses and homes are completely gone. People have died. Even for a state the size of Texas, the devastation is hard to comprehend.

I have an option for you in case you are looking for a way to help. Operation BAM is a 501(c)3 and one facet of the ministry is sending out a disaster response truck. Our team is shopping and loading up right now, and the truck heads out tomorrow morning. Anything you give to Operation BAM today will help offset the cost of this delivery. (The last time I checked, it took between $10,000 and $20,000 to send the truck out, depending on its load and destination.)

You can give online by going here and choosing “Operation BAM/Missions” from the drop-down menu.

You are also welcome to send a check to: Operation BAM, PO Box 865, Mont Belvieu, TX 77580

Praying for Texas and
Celebrating Jesus!
Tammy C

A PATRIOTIC DONATION.

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Large charity doth never soil,
But only whitens soft white hands – Lowell.

When General Greene was retreating through the Carolinas, after the battle of the Cowpens, and while at Salisbury, North Carolina, he put up at a hotel, the landlady of which was Mrs. Elizabeth Steele. A detachment of Americans had just had a skirmish with the British under Cornwallis at the Catawba ford, and were defeated and dispersed; and when the wounded were brought to the hotel, the General no doubt felt somewhat discouraged, for the fate of the south and perhaps of the country seemed to hang on the result of this memorable retreat. Added to his other troubles was that of being penniless; and Mrs. Steele, learning this fact by accident, and ready to do anything in her power to further the cause of freedom, took him aside and drew from under her apron two bags of specie. Presenting them to him she gonerously said, “Take these, for you will want them, and I can do without them.”*

* Never did relief come at a more propitious moment; nor would it be straining conjecture to suppose that he resumed his journey with his spirits cheered and brightened by this touching proof of woman’s devotion to the cause of her country. [Greene’s Life of Nathaniel Greene.

______

Excerpted from Noble Deeds of American Women
(Patriotic Series for Boys and Girls)
Edited by J. Clement
——
With an Introduction by Mrs. L. H. Sigourney
Illustrated
BOSTON: Lee and Shepard, Publishers
Entered by Act of Congress, in the year of 1851,
by E. H. Derby and Co., in the Clerk’s Office of the Northern District of New York
______

Surviving Narcissism: Introduction to the Series

Tammy M CardwellLeave a comment

This is the start of a new series that,
while extremely uncomfortable, I feel compelled to write.

If you’ve been following my blog for the last year or so, you know my husband of 41 years was an abusive narcissist. He wasn’t physically abusive (He was too smart for that), but anyone who has been in my situation knows there are myriad ways one person can abuse another. He did. The sad thing is I didn’t even recognize a lot of what he did AS abuse until after he passed away.

Before I go any further, let me say that I realize some readers may find it upsetting that I would write about my deceased husband in such a negative light, because yes, we are going there. In this culture, we are taught to never speak ill of the dead, so I am aware that my posts may offend some of you. Please understand that I have chosen to write this series not to hurt anyone or to bash the man who gave me two awesome sons.

As hard as it may be to believe, I loved Jack Cardwell and supported him as best I could while he lived. However, I have this unique opportunity to give voice to all the women who have been silenced by fear—whether they remain in an unhealthy relationship or are simply trying to stay safe in a world where their ex is still a threat. I’ve wrestled with the pros and cons of sharing my story, for all the reasons you can imagine. But I’m choosing to follow John 8:32, believing the truth will help set others free the way it has done for me.

I’m not ready to address the whole issue of why I stayed with him all those years. The answers are so complicated I don’t understand them even after more than a year of freedom and trying to comprehend my own actions. What I am ready to share, however, is some of the lessons I learned the hard way. 

I believe, am almost positive, I shared fairly recently that I truly see this as me having gone through the school of hard knocks and received my degree. I am who I am today not in spite of the twisted life I’ve lived, but because of it. I am strong. I am unafraid. I am uniquely qualified to step up and support others who are walking the road I’ve walked. While most spend many financially expensive years locked away in college training to work in their chosen fields, I spent decades in a marriage training for the field that chose me.

My goal with this series, at least right now, is to release one post a week, and I have a sketchy idea of the topics I’ll cover. The first lesson I’ll share will, sadly, be the last lesson I learned. This one revelation, and implementing it, triggered an overnight change. It cut down on my stress level in an astounding way and left him reeling over the amount of control he had lost. It was so simple it’s stupid that it took me so long to grasp the concept.

As hard as it is to believe, it is entirely possible to not only survive your relationship with a narcissist, but to thrive in it, to use the experience to become a stronger Christian and a stronger person. Having said that, I am not encouraging anyone to stay in a destructive relationship they should walk out on. I just know from personal experience how hard it can be to make that move, to walk away and not turn back.

Yes, I turned back. We were separated for six months, but he was like a leech that wouldn’t let go. Eventually, he talked me into working on getting back together and then, a month into those talks, he had the heart attack that led to a triple bypass and then a stroke. At that point I felt I had no choice. I knew he couldn’t survive without me; honestly, there wasn’t a soul left alive who would have taken care of him. So, we started over with me hoping for better and not getting it.

Again, follow this series not as encouragement to stay in a bad situation. You do have a choice, to stay or to go, even if you don’t see an out right now. Do follow along for encouragement that there is hope for you even if you do feel permanently trapped.

Life can get better, and you can become someone you never dared dream you could be.

Celebrating Jesus!
Tammy C