Taking Back My Voice: And Heading Home

By Annette Smith Bisbee

When you've reached the bottom, there's only one way to go-up. But how, when all your bridges are burned and there's nothing to hold onto?

Annette comes forward in this very real book to reveal her abuse and her sins and the crushing guilt and shame they leave behind. These pages come to life in the sweet and innocent memories of

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trilogy Christian Publishing
• Release date: May 28, 2021
• ISBN: 9781647738105

Book preview

Foreword

For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish.

These words have given me the privilege to share my life with the author, as well as the honor to introduce her to you, the reader. Since Annette and I have shared the second half of our lives together, I believe I have earned the right to be a character witness to her story. Through the role I have played, some of which is not my best work, I have come to know her well.

Beyond being my wife, Annette is a loving mother, doting grandmother, great-grandmother, aunt, sister, cousin, and friend. Above all, she is a faithful and loyal Christian woman, a prayer warrior, confidant, counselor, and mentor.

Inside her story, Annette shares that even through life’s ups and downs, challenges, and missteps, God’s grace will always be there, sufficient to the task. Even in her darkest hours, her faith in God carries her through.

From its rural beginnings in a close-knit Christian family, this story shares the sometimes-tough and gritty experiences of a young girl trying to find her place in an increasingly modern society. Coming of age at a time when society was experiencing social upheaval and a rewriting of family norms, it provides the backdrop for her challenges and life’s experiences. Ultimately, a bedrock of faith transcends Annette to find her place within God’s plan for her. By utilizing her life lessons, she provides help and encouragement to others.

I promise to do my best for a favorable outcome as I continue to help her write the rest of her story.

—Jim Bisbee,

Annette’s husband

Acknowledgments

A very special thank-you to my beautiful daughters for standing by me even as I made many wrong turns for years, resulting in a lot of hurt for all of you. I’m glad God has and will continue to heal us. Thank you for gifting me with wonderful and fun grandchildren and great-grandchildren, who give me great joy.

Thank you to all my siblings, who have made and continue to make my life full and fun. Each one of you contributes your own special gifts just as you have all our lives. I am proud to be your sister, and I would not have wanted to be born into any other family.

I especially want to give credit to my parents, Cecil and Opal Smith, who dedicated their entire lives to preaching the gospel and winning the lost. Sure, you didn’t do everything right (none of us do), but you showed me by your example what it means to give your all to the one true God, Jesus Christ. In all my wanderings, still bound in sin, I knew how to pray. I believe with all my heart you truly loved me.

To my friend Vel, you accepted me and loved me in the middle of my sins and continue to do so. You always responded to all my weeping and wailing with understanding and positive feedback. I remember when you told me you had prayed for a friend and God placed me in your life. I laugh when I think about that, and I wonder if you would have prayed that prayer, had you known just how much love I was going to need? I’m sure you’ll have many stars in your crown, but there will definitely be one with my name on it.

To Betty, you have been like a sister to me in so many ways. We have shared pain, confusion, doubts, and many laughs. We’ve sung together, and we’ve cried together. You have always listened and understood when I was going through my valleys. We’ve shared the wilderness, and we’re now reaping the benefits. Thank you for being there when others turned their backs on me.

Paula, our daughters brought us together, but our friendship has held us. It’s amazing how we don’t see each other for months, then when we do, it’s as though we’ve never been apart. Our common interests, our gifts, and our struggles are totally understood by the other. I’m so glad we are friends.

Beverly, my friend and confidant, thank you for formatting my book and helping me in so many ways. You are a gift from God, and I couldn’t have done this without you.

Thank you, special friends, Debbie and Rod, whom we met on a boat ride across the Sea of Galilee in Israel. Deb, you are a great prayer partner, and I am so thankful God put us together that day.

To Jim, my husband, I am so thankful Jesus chose you for me. You have been a pillar of strength throughout my illnesses and my crazies, as I wrestled with my love for you against my convictions to fully commit to Christ. Writing this book has reminded me of just how much you have been there for me, and how you still are. God continually sharpens each of us as we grate against one another, trying to understand our unique and opposite personalities while staying united in our quest to help others. I love you with all my heart.

Introduction

According to the following scriptures, I believe we each have assigned angels. Take heed that ye despise not one of these little ones; for I say unto you, That in Heaven their angels do always behold the face of my father which is in Heaven (Matt. 18:10).

Regarding this scripture, Matthew Henry’s Commentary states, "Some have imagined that every particular saint has a guardian angel; but why should we suppose this, when we are sure that every particular saint, when there is occasion, has a guard of angels?" I like that.

For it is written, He shall give his angels charge over thee, to keep thee (Luke 4:10).

Angels (plural) carried the beggar to heaven. And it came to pass, that the beggar died, and was carried by the angels into Abraham’s bosom (Luke 16:22).

At the same time, we are warned not to pray or worship angels. Don’t let anyone declare you lost when you refuse to worship angels (Col. 2:18 tlb).

But they are not connected to Christ (Col. 2:19 tlb).

Why are angels assigned to us? To do what God instructs them to do, to intervene on our behalf, keeping us safe and on the right path until our purpose in this life has been fulfilled. For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future (Jer. 29:11 niv).

Bear with me for a moment and don’t call me a heretic just yet. Allow me to imagine just what it may have been like at the time of my birth.

What if God introduced me to my angel/angels? This tiny little girl is Lois Annette Smith, He may have said. Her parents have chosen this name because I laid it on their hearts to do so.

Perhaps He continued, You see, the name Lois means ‘battle maiden, warrior,’ and the name Annette means ‘sweet and gracious.’ In the spirit world, she will be my battle maiden, warrior, and in the natural, she will be sweet and gracious.

He continues, So every time her parents call out her name, my purpose is being spoken over her. They are actually saying, ‘Battle maiden, sweet and gracious, dinner’—supper where I grew up—‘is ready.’ My plan for her is to preach my Word through her writing and her testimony. It is your duty, angels, to watch over her, guide her, and make sure she completes the task I have set before her.

I’m sure He must have added, Just look at her. I’m so proud of her. She’s so pure, so innocent, and so full of love. I gave my only Son for her—that’s how important she is to me. Now, keep her safe and on track!

On the other hand, have you ever heard of familiar spirits? Throughout the scriptures, they are referred to as evil. The apostle Paul cast out a familiar spirit from a seer who followed him, proclaiming, These men are the servants of the most high God, which shew unto us the way of salvation (Acts 16:17).

That particular spirit was telling the truth but had come to torment Paul. In the next verse, after hearing this screeching, shall we say, for many days, Paul was grieved and said to the spirit, I command thee in the name of Jesus Christ to come out of her. And he came out the same hour (Acts 16:18).

I am neither a Theologian nor an expert in demonic spirits, but I can tell you I’ve had some encounters with them. Whether familiar spirits are tormenting us through other people, or whispering tormenting thoughts of doubts, fear, and worthlessness into our ear, his plan is to destroy us. Your adversary the devil, as a roaring lion, walketh about, seeking whom he may devour (1 Pet. 5:8).

Since Satan started out in heaven, he knows how God’s kingdom is set up. He has always wanted to be like God and decided to rise up and overtake His kingdom. Did he possibly think he could do that? Perhaps he knew he couldn’t, so he had a backup plan: to destroy God’s creation! He must destroy their faith and, ultimately, their lives when they finally give up believing in God or that He loves them.

So perhaps on that day of my birth, Satan assigned to me a familiar spirit. Perhaps they were there when God pronounced my name and declared my mission. Then Satan declared his own plan.

So you have heard…a new warrior has been birthed! You know what battles will be won when a warrior gets on her knees! Your job is to become familiar with her and capitalize on her weaknesses. If Lois Annette ever discovers how much God really loves and accepts her, she’ll set the world on fire with her battlefield warrior spirit. Your mission is to see that none of this comes to fruition.

Pacing frantically, he perhaps reiterated, I said do you hear me?

Did the demons cower to his deep, gurgling, hateful scream?

With a snarl, maybe he continued, She must never write! Instead, let her gift become a dream that causes her to daydream instead. Make every effort to see that other kids tease and make fun of her.

He continued, When she tries to write her first story, whisper in the ears of the readers to tell her, ‘People very seldom make it in writing. You’ll have to find a job.’

You must make her feel rejected, unwanted…a misfit. This will cause her to draw back, to isolate herself, becoming totally insecure, he went on. Since her parents are both preachers, there should be every opportunity for her to feel different from other kids. We’ve all heard about those ‘preacher’s kids,’ and don’t forget the saints kids. They will vie for her attention, and some will tell lies on her. After a while, she’ll become bitter and will start to hate even going to church.

He laughs as he adds to his plan.

You know her dad has a strong personality, and due to his upbringing, he doesn’t know how to show her the love she needs. Use it! Oh, and since she will be longing for love, send the right…uh, I mean wrong boys into her life to destroy every dream she ever had.

Maybe stomping his foot, he raged on, You’ve got a big job ahead of you, because ‘you know who’ will be watching out for her with angels. But if you can wipe her out while she’s young, there’s an extra bonus!

And so the battle began, the battle of good and evil, the battle for a little girl’s life, a little girl’s soul. This little girl who so wanted to be a good girl, who desperately wanted to be loved and accepted, and who wanted to be a writer.

Starting with my childhood, Satan indeed had his plans mapped out for me, but God is greater, and He has the ultimate plan for me, which overrides all others.

Stay with me as I go back to the start of my young life and attempt to piece together the ribbons of abuse, rape, isolation, depression, and adultery that almost formed into a tapestry of total destruction.

Then rejoice with me to see how God puts it all back together, restoring me to the place where He always wanted me to be, whole and complete in Him.

May God bless and restore you, body, soul, and spirit.

This is my story.

—Lois Annette Smith Bisbee,

battle maiden, sweet and gracious

Prologue

Why Write About the Past?

Someone asked, Why do you want to write about the past? You need to forget it and move forward.

I have moved forward, I said.

I knew they just didn’t understand, and maybe you don’t either, so I’ll explain.

Over thirty years ago, God told me to write a book. I don’t know why He tells us things so far in advance. Doug and I had been together five years, and we had gotten married and were attending church. I was expecting great things from God.

I immediately got out my portable electric typewriter (yes, a Smith Corona) and began to write. Over the next few months, I managed to write about seven chapters before throwing it in the drawer of mistaken paths and ideas.

Recently, when I felt the urge to write again, I knew the time was right. I now know why God had me waiting. I needed to heal. I needed to completely forgive. I needed to forgive myself. I needed to be exactly where God wanted me to be. My motives needed to be weighed.

It’s with sincerest heart I write this. My desire is that my past will spare another’s future. I pray you won’t follow the same path, the wrong path that I took. As you read my story, I pray your eyes will be opened to the deceitfulness of sin and the empty promises Satan presents to you as he robes himself as an angel of light.

As I began this book, my first step was to find all my notes, some from my journals of dreams, visions, poems, and prophecies I had kept over the years. Before you start thinking I’m one of those whose every sentence is, God said, or God showed me, or I had a dream, keep in mind, this book covers a lifetime up to this point. There were times I very seldom heard from God. Oh, how I longed so much to hear His still small voice! In the times when I did, I cherished His presence.

I’m not an organized person, but I am somewhat of a pack rat, this time to my advantage. I kept everything that I wrote—I just didn’t know where I had put it. I was surprised and blessed to find absolutely all that I feel God wants me to write in this book.

I have changed the names; I do not wish harm on anyone. I have also written this from my own perspective. I obviously didn’t, and still don’t, know another’s heart; that’s God’s business.

I will be taking poetic license with my dialogue. While I’ve remembered some entire conversations, others I remember the gist of the conversation. I could not possibly remember the exact dialogue in all of them.

I know as you read my book, some of you will judge me, and that’s okay. Some of you have already judged me. That, too, is okay. Trust me, I’ve judged myself more harshly. I’ve asked myself over and over, How could you!

Some of you will find yourselves staring back at you mirrored from the pages of my life’s story, and you will know there is hope for you too. There is forgiveness for you, and yes, He does still love you, and He waits for you with outstretched arms.

When I shared some of my book with my pastor, he said, Satan thought he had buried you, but what he didn’t know is, God had planted you as a seed, and the time has come when you are a tree, bearing precious fruit.

This was a confirmation of a devotion I had written years ago about a husbandman looking for a seed to start a vineyard. I’ll share it later in the book.

As I write this book, I now believe my ministry is to be done through the power of the pen.

My tongue is the pen of a ready writer (Ps. 45:1).

Write thee all the words that I have spoken unto thee in a book (Jer. 30:2).

So I write the book of all that God has spoken to me. Many years ago, when I tried to write it, it never happened. It’s like the Ishmael and Isaac story—the first one was born of the flesh, this one of God.

When I was in dire pain during the separation from my second husband, God seemed to speak more often. A broken and a contrite heart, O God, thou will not despise (Ps. 51:17). However, most of the dreams and prophecies came over a long period.

On the Battlefield, a Dream, 1970s

While I was still married to my first husband, the father of my children, God gave me a dream.

I was on a battlefield, in the middle of the front line, and behind me were thousands of women. Up ahead was a huge army of men dressed in armor similar to what we’ve seen in pictures of Bible times. Thousands of soldiers with metal helmets, large spears, huge shields, and skirts of clattering steel pieces were marching toward us.

We didn’t have any weapons. We were in street clothes. The soldiers were marching quickly and fiercely, with intent to kill. What were we going to do?

I stretched out my hands to my sides in a protective stance, signaling for the women behind me to stop. I then took two steps in front of them, my arms still out to the sides.

Staring into the faces of this massive army, I commanded, Stop! Don’t come any closer!

I maintained my stance, while the advancing army slowed to a full stop. I was determined to protect the women behind me.

I woke up.

A Pole Jump Dream, 1970s

A week or so later, I had another dream. I was leading the way for a lot of ladies to take a pole jump. This was going to be fun, and we started up the ladder that led to the scaffold. It must have been one hundred feet to the top. At the top, I walked down to the end of the scaffold to take my pole, which was propped up against the planks we stood on. As I picked up my pole, it shifted back and forth. It wobbled around like a hanging strand of half-cooked spaghetti. I looked down at the ground. That was a long way down. No way would this pole support me.

I quickly hurled the pole out and downward, turning to face the women following.

Go back! Go back! I yelled. You can’t take this jump! It will kill you!

They turned and started back down.

I woke up.

I didn’t think a whole lot about these dreams, although they did disturb me.

A few years later, I found myself right in the middle of an affair with one of the men from church. It had been years since the dreams, and I didn’t even remember them at that time.

Now, after all these years, I believe God was letting me know that someday, I would protect women from going through what I went through by leading them, warning them, Don’t go there! It will kill you!

Break Up Your Fallow Ground

God also gave me a rhema word, Break up your fallow ground (Jer. 4:3).

How did I know it was from God? I had never heard the word fallow. I thought it might mean shallow, so I looked it up. Dormant, idle, neglected, slack, unplanted, unplowed, unproductive—just to name a few synonyms.

Jesus explains the meaning, When they hear, receive the word with joy; and these have no root, which for a while believe, and in time of temptation fall away (Luke 8:13).

Later, this Word proved to be so—my roots weren’t deep enough. I was living mostly on what I learned from my parents, and messages I heard from the pulpit, while being led by feelings and emotionalism instead of being grounded in God’s Word. And in the time of temptation, I fell away.

Sweet Memories

Okay, let me confess right here, I am a preacher’s daughter. As a matter of fact, I am a preachers’ daughter—both my parents were Pentecostal preachers. You’ve all heard the stories about preacher’s kids being worse than the saints’ kids. I always said it was because we had no one to play with but the saints’ kids. I’m just teasing now. Don’t be offended. I’m one of those saints sitting on the pews now.

Although I was born in Morley, Missouri, my first memories are a few years later, when my parents moved to Charleston, Missouri. To pay for the house, my dad had worked hard, sharecropping, selling watermelons, cantaloupes, and other goods. My eldest brother, Leamon, got a job at the stave mill right down the street to help out. The house was large enough to be separated into apartments, but in the beginning, there were eight children, and we pretty much filled it. The four boys slept upstairs, and we girls and Mom and Dad stayed downstairs.

The first thing Dad did was to build a church. After all, that was his calling as a preacher, to establish new churches in Missouri (a home missions pastor, they called it). Dad would have a dream or feel God had spoken to him about a particular town, and after prayer and contemplation, if he still felt the same, we moved there. The big house came with two other lots, and Dad chose the lot farthest away from our house and began building the church, the older boys helping. It was a simple little place, and eventually, our number rose to about fifty members.

We were the Smiths, and the Jones lived across the street—so help me, I tell you the truth. Behind the Jones house was the grain elevator, and right behind that were the railroad tracks. The tracks stretched alongside the grain elevator toward the end of our street, crossing over it into a straight line that left our town.

Soon after we moved to Charleston, Leamon was drafted into the Army. After boot camp, he was sent to Korea. It was wartime, and I remember the prayers and the talks of the war, and Mom and Dad on their knees praying for his safety. I knew they were worried, and I felt the fear.

A few years later, my next oldest brother, Melvin, was drafted. Brothers weren’t allowed to be in a war at the same time, so Melvin was sent to Germany.

Our nightly ritual was to all kneel and pray before retiring to bed. A lot of those times, we might sneak a peek and find a sibling staring back at us and we would smile. It was hard to kneel that long. But I never forgot the last line to all those prayers.

Save all our children without the loss of a one.

Out of those eight children, I was number seven. The youngest was my baby brother, Denzil, born when I was only three. I liked to tell him he might be the baby boy but I was the baby girl, which he didn’t like.

He would cry and insist, Unh, uh. I’m the baby.

That was proved beyond a doubt after Mom got through with me, but it didn’t stop me from doing it again.

I have so many happy memories living in Charleston, Missouri, and I thank God for those first few years before the pain began. The memories still give me comfort.

Special Christmas

One of my best Christmas memories involved my big brother Melvin. Before he was drafted, he got a job, and at Christmas he brought home a beautiful tree, filling it with bulbs, icicles, and bubble lights. He placed it in the bay window, which was a perfect fit. We were jumping up and down with excitement. I spent a lot of time sitting on the floor, staring at that beautiful tree. The silver icicles swayed at the slightest breeze, displaying the reflection of the multicolored lights. Sometimes I’d plop down on my belly to get a better look. I was most dazzled by the bubble lights. How did they bubble like that?

While gazing at that sparkling tree, I dreamed of all the wonderful presents I was going to get for Christmas. Would it be toys, something bright and shiny like the tree, or maybe pretty clothes?

I snuggled into bed with my two sisters. My eldest sister was married by now. I hated sleeping in the middle, but on cold nights it was okay. It was so cold we could see our breath, but being covered with several of Mom’s homemade quilts, we soon found warmth and tried to sleep in spite of the anticipation.

Dad worked at Barkett’s Grocery Store, and Mr. Barkett always gave him apples, oranges, and nuts along with a large tin can of Christmas candies. Yes, the old-fashioned kind, ribbon candy, and hard candies with different flavors of soft fillings. We didn’t often get treats, so these were memorable gifts. He also gave Dad groceries, such as ends of lunch meats or overripe bananas. Mom was known for her banana pudding.

Although Dad was a pastor of the small church, his job at Barkett’s and income from anything he could buy and sell supported the family. He always felt any money that was collected in the church belonged to God, and he refused to take a penny. That conviction remained with him his entire life.

We awoke that Christmas morning to find our shoes filled with candy, nuts, oranges, and apples. I dare not think about those dirty shoes holding all that. I do hope the candy was in a bag. Mr. Barkett was such a blessing to our family.

We grabbed our goods and headed to the living room to find presents.

There right before my eyes, sitting on the couch, appeared three nurse dolls, one for each of us girls, complete with a nurse’s cap displaying a red cross. I grabbed mine with a welcome embrace. I had a doll, and my doll had a new home! We belonged to each other.

Holding my precious new doll, I ran to open the socks and the embroidered hanky without disappointment. (After I was grown and married, I was sharing the story again with one of my sisters when I was told the Red Cross gave the dolls to needy families. I was glad I didn’t know that then.)

Melvin Tries to Sneak Away

Another memory of Melvin before he went to Germany. He had a girlfriend who lived next door, to the right of us. He evidently had one in Bertrand as well. One particular evening, he decided to take a trip to Bertrand. He waited long enough until he thought his next-door neighbor was asleep, then tried to sneak away. I guess he forgot our driveway was close to her bedroom window, not to mention the roar of his 1949 ’98 Oldsmobile. He started the engine. Va rooom!

She burst forth from her slumber like a mama bear rescuing a baby cub. She ran across the front porch, her gown swaying in the wind. Mel, where do you think you’re going!

Trip canceled. It was fun for the rest of us, sneaking a peek from our bay window.

The War Is