My Via Dolorosa

By Dennis Berry

A voice cries out: “In the wilderness prepare the way of the Lord, make straight in the desert a highway for our God.” (Isaiah 40:3)

Never before has a biblical scripture held such meaning and truth for me. As I sat there in the summer darkness, perched on the edge of a dried-up drainage ditch in the desert of Arizona, I cried out for help. It wasn't out of physical danger or injury. It wasn't out of fear for my safety. It was out of anguish, mental turmoil and spiritual pain. I wasn't trying to get the attention of a passerby to come to my aid. I was screaming out to God. I needed answers. I needed an end to my torment. I needed Him. It had taken many years, and even many darker, lonely roads for me to realize it.

I invite you to follow along with me on a journey of darkness, despair and salvation. It's a story that I like to call My Via Dolorosa.

• Language: English
• Publisher: NovaStorm Media
• Release date: Dec 14, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301709212

Dennis Berry

Dennis berry is a retired air force officer. He practiced as a physician assistant in Family Practice, Emergency Medicine, Pediatrics, and Correctional Medicine. After retirement, he and his wife, Linda, traveled the highways and byways of the U.S. and Canada as full-time Rv'rs for almost nine years. While on the road, he took up writing. He and Linda are now settled in a house that doesn't rock in the wind in Roseville, California, with two dogs, four koi, and a group of goldfish that they fine hard to keep up with. Numerically, that is.

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MY VIA DOLOROSA

by

Dennis Berry

Copyright Dennis Berry 2011

Smashwords Edition

vi·a dol·o·ro·sa/ˈvēə ˌdäləˈrōsə/Noun

1. The route believed to have been taken by Jesus through Jerusalem to Calvary.

2. A distressing or painful journey or process.

DEDICATION

In loving memory of my first priest and confessor, Father Kirk Larkin who, although losing his battle with brain cancer, never lost his faith or his love of God. Until we meet again in heaven, you will be missed.

To my friend Rusty, who pushed me to keep writing, was always there with encouragement when I needed it, and who kept me laughing through the tough times.

To Raul Mendez, my R.C.I.A. Sponsor and friend, who helped me keep my focus through my journey into the Church.

To my friend and brother Danny, who is always there with a kind word, profound statements, and prayers when needed.

And to my wife, who put up with me through it all.

Thank you all for everything you have done, and may God bless you.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

A Child Forsaken

Slavery, Broomsticks & the System

Sex, Drugs, Rock & Roll

Thou Shalt Not...

No Gods Before Me

Despair in the Desert

Behold the Lamb of God

INTRODUCTION

A voice cries out: In the wilderness prepare the way of the Lord, make straight in the desert a highway for our God. (Isaiah 40:3)

Never before has a biblical scripture held such meaning and truth for me. As I sat there in the summer darkness, perched on the edge of a dried up drainage ditch in the desert of Arizona, I cried out for help. It wasn’t out of physical danger or injury. It wasn’t out of fear for my safety. It was out of anguish, mental turmoil, and spiritual pain. I wasn’t trying to get the attention of a passerby to come to my aid. I was screaming out to God. I needed answers. I needed an end to my torment. I needed Him. It had taken many years, and even many darker, lonely roads, for me to realize it.

I invite you to follow along with me on a journey of darkness, despair and salvation. It’s a story that I like to call My Via Dolorosa.

NOTE: An asterisk (*) next to a name, place or business denotes that either the name has been intentionally changed or has been forgotten.

1

A Child Forsaken

I was born to working-class poor parents. I remember not having much. I had no toys, and no friends. I was my only playmate. My favorite toy was a plastic baby bath that became the source of many adventures. It could have been a pirate ship on the open seas, a race car speeding around the track, or a police vehicle hot on the trail of America's most wanted. These were the only fond memories of a childhood that was otherwise dreary.

My mother was an alcoholic drug abuser, and my father was an uneducated laborer that was never home. Without the influence of positive role models I constantly found myself in trouble. One of my favorite things to do as a child was to take out the kitchen trash. It wasn't out of any sense of responsibility, or because it was the right thing to do. It was simply because we lived in a rundown apartment complex and I knew that a certain little boy would be playing in the parking lot. I took great pleasure in tormenting him. I loved the thrill of finding him, punching him and making him cry. Many times I reenacted this sick ritual. Many times I hunted him down, like a forest cat tracking his prey. Looking back on this now it sickens me to think that I actually found joy in hurting someone else. He was someone who had done nothing to me, but was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. And the worst part is I never even knew his name.

So why did I feel the need to search out and torment that poor child, who wanted nothing more than to play and enjoy his freedom? It's simple. I was a bully.

According to the Miriam-Webster Dictionary, to bully is to treat abusively. And some of the common risk factors for bullying are a lack of warmth and involvement on the part of parents, a lack of supervision, and harsh physical discipline. Those are certainly things that help describe my childhood.

A lot of people have vivid memories of their childhood relationships with their parents. Some remember fun family vacations to what seemed, at the time, to be far away exotic destinations. Others remember weekend projects with their father in the garage. Still others have loving memories of Friday night movies, snuggled up on the sofa with their mother, father and a big bowl of popcorn. I have none of those memories.

Instead, I remember being taken