Thy Will Be Done

By Patrick Wynn

An over 26,000 word fast but true track into the heart and soul of the reader's mind. By way of Marshall, Wynn's principal character in "Thy Will Be Done", the reader is taken through the annals of a mischievous child to that of a deeply dark and troubled adult. A touch of just the right amount of comedic relief allows us to laugh and stay in touch with the true nature of Marshall who begs us to emphathize with his true self. As difficult as it appears to be, we learn that not a lot of needling is necessary to gain our support. Wynn reminds us of his stark and uncomprimising humor found in "The Big Sale" and "A Different Kind of Patriot" when he tells us about one of Marshall's occupations during early adulthood. Having a somewhat artistic bent all of his life, Marshall develops an affinity for Texas road kill - About the most unlikely subject matter an artist might choose as a favorite medium. But, choose it he did, and to the surprise of most around him, it worked. The mangled bodies peeled off remote highways of animal and bird life took on an almost magical and eerie pathos as the desryed bodies slowly made the journey from bitter beginnings enroute to becoming a true work of art. If he had any doubters, all it took was a visit to his work studio to prove differently.
Guns or roses were just as likely to typify the mood of Marshall on any given day. When Wynn has wrapped "Thy Will Be Done" he leaves us with an unusual combination of emotions but dissatisfaction is not one of them. Wynn also allows us a peek through a window into his personal soul by revealing his life long battle with alcoholism. For those whose life has not been touched by alcohol and drugs, his experience is explained so clearly that it is near impossible that a reader could be left without a footprint of fear when considering the treachery and depravity introduced into the lives of those who allow themselves even a little more than a passing aquaintance with alcohol and drugs. In "Thy Will Be Done", Wynn takes us on a journey through youth,friendship, addiction, hope and redemption through recovery.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Patrick Wynn
• Release date: Jun 24, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476131634

Book preview

THY WILL BE DONE

By

Patrick Wynn

Published by The Patrick Papers at Smashwords

Text copyright © 2012 The Patrick Papers

All Rights Reserved

Discover other titles by Patrick Wynn at Smashwords.com

TABLE OF CONTENTS

IntroductionsandWhuppins

IndependenceWeekBigDrumsandBigPaddles

FakeIndiansFightsandForgiveness

PelletGunsBlowDartsandNeedlePointedSpit

MoonshineRussianBastardsBeautifuBottles

MovingMatingandMotleyCrews

FlyingPillowsSquarePizzasandToughGoodbye

TreatmentTravelingandRoadKillFurniture

TragedyRegretRecoveryandPeace

Introductions and Whuppins’

The most important thing I will ever know about myself is that I am an alcoholic. I heard someone make that statement at an AA meeting years ago and it has always stuck with me. It’s only recently, though, that I think I finally know what it really means. Having that conviction on the forefront of my mind on a moment by moment basis is what allows me to live in God’s grace for one more day. It helps me become a little more humble, working towards being in service to others and not my own selfish wants or desires. It allows faith, hope and peace to grow from within, where I was once only spiritually corrupt. Putting this first seems to let everything else fall more into a place that God intended.

Knowing this has been most important when crisis or tragedy has suddenly presented itself. It is a common delusion of most alcoholics that they can control people, places or things in their own make-believe worlds. It is an egotistical and arrogant belief, and one that will inevitably lead back to the bottle. When something happens that seems to make the world turn upside down, understanding that I am an alcoholic first is what allows me the ability to process the situation correctly and let God handle it. It is my responsibility to be accountable for my actions but not for the tragedies themselves. It is a daily struggle to give up the reins of control, but a necessary spiritual practice. However, there are some things that challenge this process no matter what condition my mind is in. Very early in my recovery, I was faced with the daunting task of putting these spiritual principles to use the best my still inexperienced and barely sober mind would allow me. Important things I had intended to take care of for years were suddenly no longer going to be possible, at least in the same capacity. There would be no direct resolution available now and I was desperately trying to find a way to cope and not hold myself responsible in part for what had taken place.

When troubles engulfed me in the past, I would often escape into the memory of my childhood; a seemingly perfect place populated only by family, friends and events that were larger than life. It was a place that had not yet been affected by the cold and gritty nature of the world I had come to know. My life had become a dark and lonely place where secrets, bad deeds and torment lurked at every corner. I retreated from the front of my perceived reality as regularly as possible. In my mind I could go where things made sense; where there was nothing but feelings of comfort and bliss. This was a place where my family was still together and happy and there wasn’t anything to put that in jeopardy. This was a safe place where I was still mostly innocent and the ravages of alcoholism had not yet taken my life hostage. Most of these comforting thoughts and images placed me back in the company of colorful characters who existed brightly in my memories. However it was the memory of one friend; my best friend; which my thoughts always drifted towards at times when I desperately needed to find a way to smile and to forget.

I hope most people have had at least one friend in their life that leaves them with the kind of impression that we hold all future friends in comparison to in some way. My best friend from those days did that for me, and, I think also, left quite a lasting memory for a lot of other people as well. Even at an early age he was the kind of character you would never forget after meeting. Marshall Haskins and I met for the first time in the first grade at St. John’s School in Abilene, Texas. We were fast friends and it was obvious we both had a sense of daring about us; some sort of need to push the envelope in whatever situation we found ourselves. The first grade is not where we committed our more heinous offenses; however it is where Marshall taught me my first curse word causing the beginning of what would become an illustrious career in the use of four letter words. It was where he accused me of French kissing our teacher, Mrs. Vilencia, in front of the entire class just to get the pleasure out of embarrassing me. After spending the night at our house one weekend, the following Monday at school he accused me of the same offense, except this time it was with our poodle, Fang. For first graders, this was cutting edge comedy and my classmates laughed for what seemed like forever. I was demoralized the likes of which I wasn’t sure I’d recover. I would take the liberty of having fun at his expense several times as well, but I don't seem to be able to recollect those particular memories as well as the things he initiated. It’s funny how that works sometimes. We were becoming a regular comedy duo and had no problem playing whatever role necessary in our efforts to entertain ourselves and everyone else around us. In second grade, we were somehow placed in the same class again. I remember thinking it must be some sort of a mistake based on our growing reputation for being a dual threat of trouble. At first we were even allowed to sit next to each other, however this didn’t last long and ended rather poorly. Our teacher, Hazel Thompson, had seemed to be a kind and good natured woman on the surface, but we would soon discover was capable of turning into a fireball of anger in an instant when pushed to the edge. Early on into the school year Ms. Thompson had finally had enough of the endless snickering and tomfoolery we were incessantly offering as entertainment and she ignited for the first time, To the hallway with both of you! It’s only two weeks into the year and I’m already having to get out the paddle! There seemed to be an angry excitement that accompanied her command. This would be our introduction to a corporal punishment we would become all too familiar with; whuppin' by wood paddle. Today if a teacher even looks at a student in a menacing manner they might find themselves without a job or possibly on the six o’clock news. Where I went to school a teacher could administer the beating of any student for an offense they deemed deserving and usually did not bring the exercise to a halt until the hind quarters of the accused shined in fire engine red. As we would find out, Ms. Thompson took this part of her job rather seriously. She seemed to consider it her duty and performed the task in a thorough and vigorous manner. She had us take a chair into the hallway where she barked, Stay right here! You boys don’t move an inch till I get back! We watched her march down the hallway until she disappeared into a room at the very end of the lengthy corridor.

Are we about to get a whuppin’? I asked Marshall in a voice tense with worry and concern. I reckon we’re fixin’ to find out, Patrick. But I’m pretty sure – , he paused to consider the situation carefully, "Yeah, I’m pretty sure we’re fixin’ to get our butts