The Last Shall Be First, and the First Shall Be Last: The Diary of a First Lady

By Maretha Johnican

This is the diary of the author's tumultuous journey from childhood to adulthood. The road she has traveled has been full of many unexpected twists, turns, detours, and cliff-hangers. Her trip itinerary has included poverty, sickness, molestation, rejection, domestic violence, betrayals, divorces, single-parenthood, being a first lady, and many other treks.

I believe that you will be captivated by the author's many excursions, some self-directed and some led by others, some good and some not so good. She experienced the contrast of being on a ship like Jonah running from God and being on a ship like Paul in the will of God. But they all drove her into the arms of the blessed Savior, who took what was meant to cause her life to be permanently shipwrecked and used it to make her more resilient for the voyage ahead.

I trust that you will be intrigued by how the author reveals the cycles in her life as she explains how the last became first, and the first became last, relating it to the scripture in Matthew 20:16. We all can relate with the alternating cycles in our lives of being last and then first, and first and then last. These seasons affect the just and the unjust, but they are weathered so much better with the Lord on our side. He works it all together for the good for those that love Him and are the called according to His purpose (Romans 8:28).

The writer believes that the Lord led her to be transparent and to share her life experiences as a means to inspire, motivate, encourage, and challenge her readers to keep running the race that has been set before them, regardless of the obstacles they may encounter. Remember, many are the afflictions of the righteous, but the Lord will deliver us out of them all (Psalm 34:19).

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Nov 22, 2023
• ISBN: 9798889439288

Book preview

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The Last Shall Be First, and the First Shall Be Last

The Diary of a First Lady

Maretha Johnican

ISBN 979-8-88943-927-1 (paperback)

ISBN 979-8-88943-928-8 (digital)

Copyright © 2023 by Maretha Johnican

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Christian Faith Publishing

832 Park Avenue

Meadville, PA 16335

www.christianfaithpublishing.com

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

About the Author

Chapter 1

One of my earliest memories was being transported to the hospital in an ambulance one night, with the sirens squealing and the bright lights flashing. It was a rough ride as the ambulance sped along the city streets. It was a very frightening experience for a child of two or three years old.

I was fighting to get my breath as the strange paramedics worked on me. We would come to know that I had asthma. We would also come to know that these asthma attacks were triggered by a variety of things, including stress, fear, anxiety, climate change, and overexertion.

My parents had been fighting that night, which was a routine occurrence in our run-down home in the projects of Cleveland, Ohio. If my parents agreed on anything, it was truly a miracle. During this episode, I got so upset, while they were fussing and fighting, that it sent me to the emergency room.

My older brother and I were only thirteen months apart in age. We were close in age, and our relationship would also grow to be very close over the years. We would share our deepest thoughts and dreams with one another. We would also share the same fears, insecurities, and uncertainties, as we grew up in our violently charged, chaotic home.

Our parents not only fought verbally, but they also fought physically. My father was around six-foot tall, and my mother was around five-foot tall. It was very traumatic to see my father's huge hands balled into a fist, punching away at my mother's head and face. But she would not back down for anything. If he wanted a fight, she would give him one.

On one occasion, she was getting ready to go to an after-school event with me, and he came home. He had been drinking, as was his almost daily routine. He asked her where she was going, and she told him. He forbade her to go, but she was determined to do so. The fight quickly escalated, and I saw my father black both of my mother's eyes that night. One of my mother's eyes was swollen completely shut with a cut over it.

The violence would continue for several years. Sometimes the neighbors would call the police. We would hear the officers warn her to leave him before he killed her. The laws concerning domestic violence were a lot different back in the early sixties. He was rarely arrested.

At times, we would move to get away from him, only for him to eventually find out where we had moved to. He would beg my mother for forgiveness, and she would end up taking him back. But it was only a short period of time before the violence and his other bad habits start up again.

My father was not only violent with my mother, but he would get into brawls with other people. I remember him starting a fight with a man because he owed him a quarter, a dollar, or some small amount of money. Once someone got the best of him, and he ended up with a broken jaw. He had to have it wired shut. He was also in and out of jail for one form of misconduct or another.

My father had been in the Vietnam War. He obviously had been extremely traumatized during his tour of duty. There were times when he would line my mother, my brother, and I up as if we were on a firing line. He would hold us at gunpoint, cursing and threatening to kill us. Once he pulled the trigger, and a bullet just missed my mother's foot; it ricocheted off the floor and went into the ceiling.

Another time, he held us hostage in the bathroom and played cat and mouse with us throughout the night. My mother sat on the toilet seat by the door all night long as if to protect us. She had my brother and I lie down in the tub. My father would go away for random periods of time, and then he would come back and start to bang loudly on the door, cursing and screaming and threatening to kill us.

Chapter 2

Both of our parents had grown up in Christian homes in the country. My paternal grandfather was a minister in Alabama. My maternal grandparents lived in North Carolina and then moved to West Virginia. I heard stories about how my maternal grandparents used to party, but they had become Christians quite a few years before my mother left home. I was told that my mother had been saved and would praise the Lord openly in church. Both of our parents had moved to the big city of Cleveland and met and married there.

Occasionally, my mother or father would take us to church, but usually not together as a family. My father had been called to preach. He could preach, pray better drunk than most preachers could sober. He also had a beautiful singing voice and had been in a men's a cappella gospel singing group for a while. But unfortunately, my father would never walk in his calling due to his strong addiction to wine, women, and song.

It was after one of those rare times of going to church that I felt, saw, and heard God's presence in my bedroom. I was making my bed and trying to sing a song that I had heard in church. Suddenly, I saw a bright light come into my room, and I felt the loving arms of God encircle me in the warmest embrace I had ever experienced. The Lord told me that things would not always be this way, and that everything was going to be alright. I would hear Him speak these very words to me many times throughout my childhood and adult life.

Chapter 3

Papa was a rolling stone. Oftentimes, Daddy would take my brother and me along with him on his escapades. It was not unusual for us to end up in a bar, where he would have us dance for money. However, he would take the money for himself after we left the bar.

At other times, we might end up at one of his family member's or associate's houses where he would gamble the evening and half the night away. My brother and I would have long since fallen asleep over on a chair or couch, after he had fed us potato chips and sodas for supper. He would finally wake us up and take us home, sometimes in the wee hours of the morning. I'm sure my mother must have been worried about where we were and if we were okay.

My father was a ladies' man. He was tall, medium brown, and handsome. He dressed to impress. He had wavy black hair and a smile that would dazzle the women. There were times when he would take my brother and I to one of his various female friend's homes and leave us sitting in the living room for hours watching television, while they stole away to another part of the house.

My father worked jobs that had pretty good pay in the 1960s and early '70s. I remember him working for Republic Steel and Central Cadillac. He always drove one of the newest, fanciest cars, usually a Cadillac.

However, he was not a good provider. He would oftentimes have just gotten paid and know that there was no food in the house, but he would not buy any groceries. Occasionally, he would bring something home for us to eat. Sometimes he might cook, but he would put so much black pepper in the food, we could not eat it. There were many times when we did not know where our next meal was coming from.

My father always seemed to keep a lot of change in his pockets. Oftentimes, he would collapse on the couch after he had drunk himself into a stupor. On several occasions, my mother would check under the pillows on the couch and find enough change to buy us something to eat, after he had gotten up and left the house.

Chapter 4

My mother worked part-time for some of the rich folks in Shaker Heights, Ohio. She would clean, cook, or whatever they desired her to do. But she did not make very much money doing that type of work, and it would take her quite a while to get to work and back using the rapids or buses for her transportation.

My mother taught us the importance of getting an education. I loved it when she read to us and told us stories. She taught my brother and I how to read and write before we started public school. However, my mother was oftentimes stressed out and angry, which is not surprising considering the situation in which we lived. Unfortunately, she would oftentimes take her frustration out on us kids. It was not unusual for us to get yelled at, cursed out, and spanked for little of nothing.

My mother decided to start going to school to become a licensed practical nurse, to make a better living for us. My fate was sealed for wanting to become a nurse when I was five years old. It was something that really appealed to me seeing her class graduation picture with all the nursing students dressed in their white caps, starched white uniforms, and white stockings and shoes.

Oftentimes, my brother and I had to stay at home by ourselves for long hours, until our mother came home from work or school. My father would never take the responsibility of watching us, whether he could or not. He would only have us with him when it was convenient for him.

My brother and I truly felt free when we could go out outside and play. We would race, climb trees, jump off high walls, wrestle, or whatever else we could find to do. I was a pure tomboy. I believed that I could do whatever my brother did. He still admits to this day that I could climb trees better than he could.

Sometimes, it would be him and me and a few of the neighborhood boys who would play together. My brother was very outgoing and made friends easily. Sometimes, I would watch in amazement as he would strike up conversations with anyone, adults as well as children. I, on the other hand, did not make friends as easily. I was nice, but I tended to be somewhat apprehensive and shy. So I preferred to play with him and his friends, rather than venture out to find my own friends.

Chapter 5

One day when I was five years old, our fifteen-year-old cousin came to visit. My mother let my brother and I go out to play,