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The Golden Butterfly
The Golden Butterfly
The Golden Butterfly
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The Golden Butterfly

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The Golden Butterfly is a remarkable story of a beautiful butterfly bound in the bondage of her past. The power of fear, shame and rejection take over in the valley of abandonment where darkness becomes life for Kate and her family there is no way out: words from a prophet answer a prayer. Instructions to circle the house while speaking out the 23rd Psalm became the homework. "Fill the house with the Holy Spirit and the enemy will have to leave" became her life. Follow Kate on a journey as she steps out on her faith to meet a very real and wonderful God.

Through amazing testimony, you will be inspired by the courage of a mother who's only hope lay hidden in the Word of God.
- Stand on His Promises
- Defeat the enemy
- Conquer your Promise Land
- Free; a Golden butterfly you will be!
LanguageEnglish
PublisherWestBow Press
Release dateJun 20, 2016
ISBN9781512742282
The Golden Butterfly
Author

Cari Hope

Touch the evidence of faith as Kathleen King writes with passion to inspire! You will be drawn into her darkness and celebrate each victory through her unique ability to captivate the deepest emotions. Through the power of the Holy Spirit and abundant scripture. Kathleen King shares knowledge and understanding mixed with love and compassion. The Golden Butterfly will move you to higher places, closer to God (James 4:8 KJV)

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    The Golden Butterfly - Cari Hope

    Copyright © 2016 Cari Hope.

    All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

    This book is a work of non-fiction. Unless otherwise noted, the author and the publisher make no explicit guarantees as to the accuracy of the information contained in this book and in some cases, names of people and places have been altered to protect their privacy.

    Scripture taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

    WestBow Press

    A Division of Thomas Nelson & Zondervan

    1663 Liberty Drive

    Bloomington, IN 47403

    www.westbowpress.com

    1 (866) 928-1240

    Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

    Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

    Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

    ISBN: 978-1-5127-4227-5 (sc)

    ISBN: 978-1-5127-4229-9 (hc)

    ISBN: 978-1-5127-4228-2 (e)

    Library of Congress Control Number: 2016907801

    WestBow Press rev. date: 05/27/2016

    Contents

    Foreword

    Acknowledgments

    Introduction

    Part 1 My Road to Higher Places

    Chapter 1 Painting a Picture

    Chapter 2 Seat Belt On

    Chapter 3 New Life

    Chapter 4 Walk of Defeat

    Chapter 5 Fear or Flee

    Part 2 The Golden Butterfly

    Chapter 1 Rays of Hope

    Chapter 2 Warfare 101

    Chapter 3 Yes, Lord

    Chapter 4 Toilet Lane

    Chapter 5 My Worn-Out Bible

    Chapter 6 Isaiah 40:31

    Chapter 7 August 8, 2008

    Chapter 8 The Mully Grub Bush

    Chapter 9 Wing as Eagles

    Part 3 The Rest

    Chapter 1 Crossing the Jordan River

    Chapter 2 The Promised Land

    Chapter 3 Walking through the Fire

    Chapter 4 Putting Christ On

    Chapter 5 My Holy Bubble

    To my amazing children—may your golden butterfly always shine!

    Foreword

    T he first time I met Cari was on a Harley ride. I was told to stay away from her and that she was crazy. I was friendly at a distance. I didn’t try to get to know her. That was my loss. Later in Florida at Daytona Bike Week, I got to know Cari. After a week of sleeping in tents, you get to know someone. I found I liked Cari. If she was crazy, then I was crazy too. I knew we would be friends forever.

    I have watched Cari grow into the wonderful Christ-loving person she was born to be. Her ministry has such insight and connection to God. I am honored to write this for her book, The Golden Butterfly. This is a true story. I know because I lived some of it with her. Anyone who knows Cari knows that she puts God first in her life. This book will touch your heart, and you will relate to her story. Have some tissue handy because it will surely make you cry as you get into the life that Cari has lived.

    —Delois Smyth

    Acknowledgments

    U ltimately, I can only give glory to our Lord. I thank Him for the cross and His precious Son, who gave it all so I could live. Praise and thanks for each character in this book. You shared in my sojourning to bind The Golden Butterfly to its cover. Your love is the glue that holds it all together.

    Introduction

    I t was very beautiful sitting there on the shelf. The shiny golden wings had colorful spots carefully placed in a simple pattern. I immediately thought of my mother. She had sent me a letter and enclosed a little drawing of a butterfly. Printed beneath the picture, she wrote, Remember … when you see a butterfly, it is a reminder of the ever-presence of the Holy Spirit. I was going through some hard places when I got that little note. It was then that I started to notice the butterflies.

    This butterfly, however, was very different. It really stuck out on the thrift store shelf in the midst of all the wonderful junk. I worked the evening shift, and each day I entered the store to see that butterfly untouched. It was hard to believe that no one had bought it while I felt an urge to buy it myself. I didn’t really want it. I preferred more of a rustic look with old barn wood, barbed wire, and candles. Rather confused, I gave in to this strange urge after several days. Tucked in a sack, I took this butterfly home and found it a spot on a shelf in my room. I thought for sure it would make a nice gift for someone very special.

    Being a single mother and raising two preteens, my job at the thrift store proved to be a great blessing. In addition to clothing and household items, I appreciated finding unique gifts for Christmas and birthdays. My children were my greatest gifts, so holidays were especially eventful and always extraordinary. I considered myself doubly blessed when everyone gathered to spend the day. I also had three older children, each married and with a lovely family. My grandbabies were precious, and the fun we all had together brought tears of joy on a regular basis.

    We were a family knit together in love. Our home was a very special place. It was a wonderful haven situated on five acres deep in the pines. We bought it as we celebrated Rylee’s first birthday. Two years later, Christian was born. Shortly after that, my husband and I decided that raising three teenagers in a kindergarten atmosphere wasn’t working. We purchased a single-wide trailer to put on the property and called it the upstairs. Travis and Russel moved to the trailer while Sarah happily moved into their former bedroom. It was the perfect solution for the perfect family. Add a swimming pool and a couple of four-wheelers, and we had the ingredients for a good time. After my husband left, I tried everything I could to keep it.

    That was many years ago. I’ve walked a lot of miles since then and made it through some unforgettable situations. Every footstep was anointed, bringing me to who I am right now. I look back to the past and know that only God could have saved us. He saw the tears while we poured out our prayers. It was only Father God that could have healed our shattered lives and broken hearts. I will forever be amazed in His great love and saving grace. He says we are more than conquerors, and I see that in my children. We each have a story to tell. I believe we each have a golden butterfly.

    PART 1

    My Road to Higher Places

    CHAPTER 1

    Painting a Picture

    O ne of my greatest heart’s desires has always been to have a wonderful family. We were a bunch of northerners raising two little Texans. We taught them to say, You guys, which they changed to y’all. I was a stay-at-home mom and thrilled with my job while my husband worked. Our decision to move from our little town in Ohio was the beginning of a new life for us all. It wasn’t long before we discovered the beautiful town of Smithville, a place of history and Texas charm.

    Strolling down streets filled with the thick aroma of smoked barbecue brisket and sausage was wonderful. Fifteen minutes from town was the place of our dreams. Hidden far from the road, nestled in the pines, a shack of a house welcomed us along with visions of great possibility. My husband was a construction worker, so remodeling plans were the center of our conversations and definitely a family project.

    Travis and Russel really grew up that summer while working through the heat to replace the roof. At fifteen and thirteen, they were learning a lot. The entire house was completely gutted to make room for the new floor plan. Living among two-by-fours and insulation was a trying time, especially for Sarah and me. We had to press in to keep the house in some type of order. It was quite a chore cooking on a grill outside while the kitchen slowly came together. There was no sink in which we could wash the dishes, so we made use of the bathtub and invented a fun little system that worked. Rylee was into everything. No matter the task, we could always rely on her to bring some laughter to the scene. I think doing the dishes in the bathroom was a favorite. Sarah always had some silly song to sing, with bubbles everywhere and Rylee squealing with joy in the middle of it all. We took lots of pictures.

    Inside and out, the place was becoming our home. We immediately bought two four-wheelers and soon had trails cleared through the woods. The boys would race around the property, filling the air with dust. We would clap and cheer. Sarah loved to take Rylee for rides, and it was much the same thrill. We would all clap and cheer. There was rarely a dull moment as we filled the days with work and play. A beautiful swimming pool filled an empty space in the yard, adding hours to our family fun. With a large deck to accommodate a crowd, we entertained more than our family. The kids would bring friends from school. Everyone called me Mom. I had exceeded my heart’s desire and had a wonderful family plus a bunch of extras.

    When Rylee was three years old and Christian was born, our family was complete. We would pass this tiny bundle of joy around, and tears would fall from my eyes as I watched the love pour over him. I was truly amazed and probably overly thankful for all that God had blessed me with. I loved my children and had a very special relationship with each of them. I worked hard to raise them with love and discipline, keeping a good eye on them to make sure they were always heading in the right direction. I knew from my youngest to the oldest that I wanted them to grow up to be well-rounded adults able to handle anything that life threw at them. I had a burning desire to be the world’s greatest mother, completed by an awesome dad and creating the most wonderful family. That was the picture I had painted.

    Grow Up

    One of my earliest childhood memories is filled with flowers and sunshine. I may have been three or four years old. My mother would be busy hanging clothes on the line to dry, and I would sneak off to the violet patch. In the shade behind the pole barn, I picked as many tiny violets as my little hands could hold. Mother would yell my name, and I would run with great joy to present my surprise to her. I wanted her to smile, love me, and hug me. But she was too busy. I had four brothers, and there was lots of laundry.

    I grew up on a dairy farm in Ohio. My daddy was a prison guard by night and a farmer by day. I don’t remember a lot except that we all worked and had our daily chores. My mother must have been very busy, because I don’t remember seeing her often. We were told what to do, and we did what we were told. I definitely spent a lot of time alone. Even suppertime was far from a social event. Children were to be seen and not heard, so there wasn’t much talking going on. I imagined my daddy was exhausted from working day and night. My mother became a famous Watkins dealer to help with extra needed income. I was in third grade when she bought a swimming pool.

    I did have two older half sisters. By the time I was born, they were married and away from the farm. Jo Ann would come to visit, and every so often she would take me home with her. I think she felt sorry for me. It was pretty much the only time I left the farm besides going to school. She had a beautiful green Mustang convertible. A mile down the road, she would pull over and ask me if I wanted her to put the top down. I remember the squeal of excitement inside me like it was yesterday. That was the best feeling ever! She had pretty, long hair that would blow in the wind. She always had gum in her purse. I loved gum. She took me to the Laundromat, and you can imagine how amazed I was. I was twelve, and Jo Ann was thirty-two when I decided I wanted to be like her.

    My sister Marcie married and had two children. My niece and nephew were born the same time my little brother and I were born. We were each one year apart in age. When Marcie came, she would visit with our mother while the four of us disappeared outdoors. I had a very different relationship with Marcie. We didn’t talk much. She lived just miles from the farm, and one day I was real thankful for that.

    I was maybe six years old, so that made my little brother four. Showing off, I crashed my older brother’s bicycle (which I’d stolen, by the way). I was lying on the couch, skinned from head to toe, and here comes little brother with a box of bandages. An hour later, big sister came to remove the box of bandages. Marcie covered me with cool washcloths. I was quite a mess and crying. My memory fails me after that. I probably got in big trouble for stealing my brother’s bike.

    As I grew into my teens, it would have been wonderful to have a sister. I had so many questions. I felt lost and confused about my life. I had no direction and was staring at a map that was going nowhere. I hated the farm. My alarm clock was the flick of a switch. The blasting bright light in my room would go on, and I would faithfully hear a cheery Good morning! Everyone was in the barn at five o’clock when our day began. My little brother and I had the lowly jobs because we were the youngest. I became a master sweeper and scraper at a young age. As I got a little older, my job was to put all the milking machines together and take care of the milk house. By this time, the cows were coming in, and my older brothers were taking over.

    I waited patiently to open the big barn door until the last cow found her stall. It was my favorite job. Like opening a majestic curtain, I pushed the wooden door to unveil the eastern sky just in time. The sunrise was breathtaking as I stood to rest for a few minutes. The dew was always heavy on the pastures while silent breezes blew the tall grasses. In the distance the trees waited in dark silhouette. Across the horizon the sun peeked with peace and silence. I wished I could stay there. Instead I returned to my chores and the darkness of the barn. It was my job to care for the calves.

    Summertime was hard. As I grew a bit older, my job graduated to driving trackers and working in the fields. I spent hours, it seemed, picking the big rocks off the freshly plowed fields. My little brother was always my companion. We would disc or drag the fields over and over. When hay season arrived, we would rake the mowed hay and get ready to unload the endless wagons into the big hay barn. Summers were exhausting. I was glad for our pool, but I remember many sleepless nights covered with sunburn. It was the only life I knew. We didn’t have picnics at the lake or evenings at the roller-skating rink. We never went to a movie theater. Growing up, I never knew theaters existed. Watching television was an event that occurred on Sunday evenings when we were allowed to watch Walt Disney at seven o’clock.

    One afternoon in between the many loads of hay, I ran to the house to refill my water bottle. No one was home. I don’t know what made me dare to turn the TV on, but I did. A show called The Brady Bunch appeared, and immediately, I was captivated. What I saw changed everything. The mom was busy in the kitchen making dinner when her teenage daughter came on the scene with a problem she had in school. Mrs. Brady quickly put down her potato peeler, and they sat at the table to talk. My eyes just stared in amazement. I could never go to my mother and talk when I had a problem. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Why couldn’t I have a family like that? All these thoughts came rushing in while questions without answers filled my head.

    It wasn’t long before I discovered the horse barn. We had always had horses, but I had never had an interest until now. With nearly four hundred acres to roam, I had found my way out. I would disappear and run wild in a freedom that I had never known. Alone on my horse, I had found a friend. Very often we would sneak through the woods to find the reservoir. On an old fishing dock, my thoughts and I visited as time passed. The cranes swept gracefully across the sunbathed waters. I began to wonder what was out there beyond the farm.

    I had never thought of making plans for a future. No one had ever talked to me about growing up to pursue a career. Being a bus driver wasn’t exactly the best career choice, but I loved my bus driver. She would talk to me and tell me how she liked my outfit or the way I did my hair. At any rate, I felt she was the only person who noticed me. She sure made driving the bus look fun, so I thought maybe someday I would be a bus driver.

    It was a chilly spring night when I lay in my bed, listening for my father to leave. He worked the eleven-to-seven shift on the tower at the prison. At ten thirty, the truck left the driveway, and pure silence filled my bedroom. The stillness of the moment almost changed my mind. Then like thunder from my past, the stillness was broken, and I knew it was time to go. I slipped quietly from my bed to grab a large bag I had hidden in my closet. In minutes I was out the door and gone. I didn’t look back. The darkness of the night couldn’t change the decision I had made. Freedom transformed that country road into an exciting journey. My footsteps took me to the only place I thought I could go. My brother had left the farm before me, so it wasn’t a big shock for him to find me shivering at his door.

    Raymond was two years older than me. We grew up in the same house yet didn’t know each other. I slept on his couch that night near a warm fire. The days ahead were filled with a new friendship that was long past due. As he left each morning for work, I assumed the position as housekeeper and cook. He lived alone in a small cabin in the woods. I made myself at home, keeping the woodstove filled in the corner of the living room. I was sure he welcomed a warm, clean house and a hot meal when he came in. We spent a lot of our time getting to know each other, talking about our lives and the thoughts we had about the family we left behind.

    Weekends became party time with the cabin full of his friends. It was a whole new life and far from The Brady Bunch. I found the laughter I was looking for and friends who enjoyed my company. My brother was getting to know me, becoming my number-one fan. He would tell me how great I was, and for the first time in my life, I felt like I was really somebody. That summer was full of parties and going out to the bars. I was just sixteen but looked much older, and no one questioned my brother. It wasn’t long until everyone knew my name. I couldn’t wait for the weekends to arrive. Everywhere we went, my best friend was there. I absolutely loved alcohol. We had some really good times together. The best part was the wonderful ability to forget everything and just be me. I loved this girl I had found hiding inside myself. She was funny and happy. She traded the odor of the dairy farm for some makeup and hair spray. Good things started happening in her life.

    This went on for almost a year. One night Raymond didn’t come home. The following day I sat alone. It was snowing outside, and I worried that something was very wrong. My whole life was wrong. I sat there totally alone for three days, soaking in my emptiness. Without my brother, I had nothing. He had supported me, fed me, bought my clothes, and now he was gone. We didn’t have cell phones, so I couldn’t call him. We didn’t have a phone in the cabin, so I couldn’t call anyone. Besides, I didn’t have anyone to call. There was no alcohol around. I had no friends. When Raymond did finally come in the door, he told me in few words that he was tired of taking care of me. You need to wake up and get a life. But all I knew to do was cry. I didn’t know how to get a life. All I knew was how to milk a cow, drive a tractor, and ride a horse. My thoughts were voices of uselessness, abandonment, and loneliness. Grow up! I cried myself to sleep.

    The fire had gone out during the night. I woke with swollen eyes only to bury myself deeper in my blankets. My head felt thick and groggy as I tried to collect my thoughts. Tears immediately filled my eyes as I recalled the events of the previous night. Raymond was gone, and I was alone again. The cabin seemed darker than ever. I felt a panic rise inside me that was hard to understand and an urgency to get up and get out of there. My mind began racing as I hurried to dress and find my jacket. I can’t explain what I was thinking. Every awful thought had tormented me for three days, which had left my level of hope near zero.

    Opening the door, I knew I was escaping something terrible. It was dark and heavy. I left it behind and burst into the blinding sunshine. It was a cold spring day, and all I wanted to do was run. I was crying. A gusty breeze wrapped itself around me as I pulled my hood up to cover my head. I dug my hands deep into my pockets. The brightness of the sun was almost blinding as I headed down the long dirt road.

    The

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