Just When I Thought I Was Finished: Life Under Construction

By Karl Whorley

After a successful military and federal service career spanning over 35 years, retirement was inevitable. The thrill of enjoying a well-earned retirement was anticipated but what wasn't expected was losing both his parents, nationally broadcasted cases of social injustice, and a worldwide pandemic.

Growing up in a blended famil

• Language: English
• Publisher: Claire Aldin Publications
• Release date: Apr 26, 2021
• ISBN: 9781954274891

Karl Whorley

After graduating from East Saint Louis Senior High School in 1982, Karl immediately joined the United States Army, serving honorably for over twenty years. Immediately upon his retirement from the armed forces in 2005, he became a civil servant and served honorably until his second retirement from the federal government on November 1, 2019. Karl holds an Associate's degree in psychology from Troy State University, a bachelor's degree from the Southern Illinois University - Carbondale in Adult Education, and a master's degree from Illinois University, Champaign Urbana in Global Human Resources Training and Development. He currently serves on the board of directors for two organizations. Karl is also an HR consultant, certified professional coach, and the founder and CEO of Karl Whorley Life Coach LLC.

Book preview

Just When

I Thought

I was Finished

Life Under Construction

__________

KARL WHORLEY

Just When I Thought I Was Finished

Copyright © 2021 by Karl Whorley

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission from the author.

Scriptures marked KJV are taken from the KING JAMES VERSION (KJV) which is in the public domain.

Claire Aldin Publications

P. O. Box 453

Southfield, MI 48037

www.clairealdin.com

Library of Congress Control Number 2021901424

ISBN 978-1954274884 paperback

ISBN 978-1954274891 eBook

Printed in the United States.

Dedication

This book is dedicated to my biggest fan and number one cheerleader, my mother, Mrs. Irene Timmons Sanford, who’s with her King Jesus on the other side. To my amazing wife, children and family members who have inspired me to write this book. To my military family who has been there for me over the years…I sincerely appreciate your support and camaraderie! To the clergymen and women who love, prayed for and supported me around the country and the world…I love you all dearly! You have helped me more than you will ever know, and for that, I am eternally grateful!

Table of Contents

Introduction

In the Beginning

Exodus

Growing Up

And Then There Was One

My Favorite Uncle, Sam

New Way of Life

And Then There was Nikki

Prodigal Son Has Left the Building

The Wilderness

Coming Out: Two Types of Pain

My Good Thing

The Thief

The Big Day, Forward Bound

Nothing Remains the Same

Don’t Stay There Too Long

Do It Again and Make That Call

Get Up; Start Moving!

Introduction

It was July 2, 2013. I was at the local community park in Indianapolis, Indiana with my granddaughter. As I pushed her on the swing, she yelled, Do it again, Grandpa! Do it again!

Higher, higher! she innocently demanded without a care or concern in the world. I, on the other hand, wanted to honor her plea; however, I was extremely concerned with my little granddaughter’s fingers losing their grip on the large chain. Her hands were so little, they barely wrapped completely around the chain attached to the seat of the swing. Nevertheless, she demanded me to push her higher on.

From my own prior experiences, I tried hard not to imagine what could happen if she lost her grip on the chain yet mentally preparing myself for the mad dash to catch her. I was also equally concerned with the time as I thought about possibly being late for my other appointments scheduled that day. Clearly, her concerns and my concerns were not congruent—and for obvious reasons. She had no knowledge of my tight schedule; and if she did, it would not have mattered to this rambunctious five-year-old. My appointments would have been considered as a minor, insignificant detail—as it should be for a child her age. It was her grandpa’s responsibility to figure it out. As I conceded to her request and quickly rescheduled my appointments unbeknownst to her, her infectious laughter reminded me of her mother at that age.

Her mother—my only biological child, was just as active and energetic at that age. My daughter was, by all accounts what most would consider a Daddy’s Girl. Being an only child, we played hard together. I was often her test mannequin. I allowed my daughter to make me up with her makeup kit, and I’ve sampled her creations from her Easy Bake Oven. We spent many hours playing before dinner, after we finished her homework during the week and countless hours on the weekends. Not to imply in any way that her mother was not involved, I just couldn’t resist her little hands on my face first thing in the morning—opening my eyelids to see if I was asleep, waiting for me to pull her up into our bed.

The close relationship between my daughter and I still exists today; however, the closeness in proximity ended when she was nine years old. That’s when her mother and I separated, and eventually divorced two years later. At the time, I was stationed on the West Coast and my daughter lived in the Midwest with her mother. We were both young; we had no real concept of what marriage would be like—the obligations and responsibilities marriage required, and the level of commitment that is essential for a strong, healthy relationship other than what I learned in the church.

Since you were not there and don’t know any of this, let me start at the beginning.

In the Beginning

My parents were both born in Huntsville, Alabama. When I was three years old, my parents, two older siblings and I moved to East Saint Louis, Illinois. The relocation was due to my father’s indiscretions and my mother’s final attempt to salvage their relationship. This is not an attempt to slander my amazing father. He simply had his proclivities, like we all have. The facts surrounding my parent’s marriage was also confirmed by my father, during one of our many banter sessions, after he’d had a few adult beverages. I’ve always been fascinated with how after a few drinks, some people feel the overwhelming need to confess their misdeeds, repeat the same thing over and over while completely violating your personal space. So, let’s start with my father.

My father was the kindest, most generous and gentle human being I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing. He was charismatic and had the ability to shrug off things that made most people upset. He seldom got in a hurry for anyone or anything. Never had I seen him running around the house, feverishly looking for anything. As a matter of fact, I’ve never seen him run, period. I greatly admired the way he dressed—from the suits he wore when going out with friends and wing-tipped shoes that he shined every other Saturday morning, to his gold wristwatch and wedding band. From the smell of his cologne and the way he swaggered around the house, I admired everything about him! My father took command of just about every room he entered. It was like he owned the place, and everyone loved his sense of humor. He was not conceited by any means; he was simply confident. He also believed he was fairly good-looking, in a modest kind of way, if that’s such a thing.

My brother and I really enjoyed the weekends. We would stay with our dad, stepmother and sisters (our second family). Dad would take us to the drive-in movie theatre on Friday night after stopping by KFC for a bucket of chicken. On Saturday afternoon, he would take us to one of the many expensive restaurants he frequented before he went out with his friends. He firmly believed in working hard to support his family both physically and financially, and he fervently loved his three children. Nevertheless, every coin has two sides.

Just as he loved working hard to support his family, he also loved playing hard with his many friends. This was something my mother found rather difficult to accept and live with—even with all that Jesus. She loved the Lord, but not enough to continue to accept her husband’s misbehavior. By all accounts, Dad was an exceptional provider, protector and role model for his two boys. Irrespective of his weaknesses, his two sons and daughter loved him