Short Story Of Lincoln Mcdonald's Murder

My story isn't quite special really, although I have lived under some unique circumstances. My mother was a single parent raising my little sister and I until she married my Stepdad in 2007. I was five at the time and had no father figure until then. From that time on he became my dad. Our new family moved twice before living in a small city where we stayed for 6 years. This is where I made close friends, achieved academic excellence, went to church regularly, life was great or so I thought. What seemed to be our perfect life was turned upside down as hard times fell upon us. I was now the oldest of five younger siblings, my mom wasn't healthy, and my dad had to struggle to keep things going.

When I was a child, most of the stories or situations I have been through was, mostly, my dad hitting me and my parents fighting constantly; so pretty much I did not really grew up watching Barney, traveling to places, and going to Disneyland often. I thought I would have to live like this for the rest of my academic life, but one day around the age of eight, my dream came true. My parents had enough of each other, so they went their own ways; even though, I was glad that I do not have to life miserably anymore, I was not. I thought that everything would settle down and live a calm life with my mom, but as a result, I ended up raising my two siblings. My dad left the house, my mom was in her own world, and I had to watch my siblings. I thought my parents divorce would benefit me, but all it did was for me to not live as an eight-year-old would. I thought that my dream of going to a great university and becoming a Physician Assistant came crashing down. A couple weeks later, my dad came back and long-story short, my siblings and I had to go hang out with my dad for

Although I had an older brother and sister, I felt alone a great deal of the time I was growing up. I never "acted out" my need for attention. I did not get bad grades in school. On the contrary, I was a quiet child who made the honor roll. I was always given my sisters hand-me-downs which I resented. My grandmother was very strict and often cold. There were never hugs or kisses and not once do I remember an I love you. My father still came to visit, but remarried when I was eight. His new wife was like something out of a horror novel. The mental torture that I endured was a million times worse than what Cinderella went through. My grandmother along with my brother and sister came up with a nickname for me. They called me dog and taunted me every time we passed the pet supplies in the grocery store. At the age of ten my beloved paternal grandmother Memo, the only light in my otherwise dark world, died in her sleep while I was in the next room. I sat and watched as the paramedics tried to revive her with no success. On the car ride back home, my stepmother screamed at my father to "shut me up and stop my crying," as if what I had just been through should not have affected me at all. She left my father a few years later. At fifteen I ran away from my grandmothers house and went to live with my dad. I was receiving survivors support which I never saw once I moved in with my father. Although I did not know it

Now that I am participating in my first practicum, counseling complete strangers with real problems sitting in on an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting is more interesting than ever. For the sake of confidentiality no names will be provided and only the bare minimum amount of details otherwise. For this assignment, I attended a local church in Longview, Texas that holds weekly Celebrate Recovery meetings. No warning was provided to either the group leader or the group members about my attendance as is sometimes required for projects such as this. We are all broken to some extent or another so my being there was not too far from the truth (Rom. 2:10; 3:23). Upon arrival, I helped myself to the complimentary coffee and snacks, took a seat with an excellent vantage point and made small talk with a man to my immediate left.

There are many things that the officers could have done during the shooting of Laquan McDonald. From my perspective it appears as if Laquan is walking away from the officers. I understand that when there is a knife involved any officer during the circumstances can fear for their life. However, there are other approaches they could have taken. First, because of the simple fact that there was a knife involved and not a gun. Instead of shooting Laquan as he was walking away they could have tazed him. If tazing didn’t come to mind and the first option they thought they had was to shot him that is perfectly untestable considering the circumstances because they clearly didn’t know who they were facing. However, Officer Van Dyke did not have to fire

Just over a year ago I was homeless, pregnant, and sleeping in a tent on the grassy median next to the beach in Waikiki. Twelve years of hard drinking, two years of shooting meth, a failed marriage, abusive relationships, and losing custody of my oldest child brought me to this self-centered existence. I was battling depression and struggling to stay clean and sober. I did not see a future for me and feared I would lose my youngest child to CPS. I couldn’t let that happen. I had to get help. I reached out and on December 2, 2013 I entered the Salvation Army Family Treatment Services (SAFTS), a residential drug treatment facility in Kaimuki. My journey to recovery had begun.

My life story I was born on November 25, 1997. I"m a loving son, brother, nephew, grandson, and cusion. My life started out great and awesome. Four years after living a life my mom and dad had other child a little boy my brother named DJ. That was the start of a new life and someone to hang out with. A few years later I had found out that my dad was not my real dad but guess what he is the only man in my life and was there when I was born thats my dad and I love him so much and think him ever day that he has been there every step of the way. Thank you God for this man. My life has threw me some hard balls too. Like when I was eight years old and I came home from a fun day and my mom lieing on the couch crying. My dad had to tell me

But the room resembled a church in that instead of a symbol of Christ, like a cross, there was a large desk with the insignia AA hanging from the ceiling and a huge triangle affixed to the front of the desk. There were twelve step books on the black chairs, which reminded me of how bibles are in the pews of churches. There was an agenda of sorts, or announcements, just as they would have in a church. They also took up an offering just as they do in church. There were readings from the twelve step book, and there was a group leader sitting at the desk that guided the meeting just as a pastor would do. There was even mention of God and higher power, but there was one major difference, although they mentioned God, there was no power of God in the meeting. As the attendees began to share their thoughts the first expression was “Hi, I’m Joe and I’m an alcoholic”, this is a contradiction. In my mind it is self-defeating to say you are something you are so desperately trying not to be. It also is denying the power they possess at the same time because the Bible tells us in Proverbs 18:21 “Death and life are in the power of the tongue: and they that love it shall eat the fruit thereof”, so if you truly believe you have conquered the addiction it is inconsistent to say I’m an alcoholic. On the other hand, maybe they are saying they haven’t conquered the addiction and they are always one foot into their addiction. Furthermore, I don’t see this as tapping into a higher power because there is no progression if your state of mind is always saying you will always be an alcoholic. Why not say I will overcome my addiction, and I’m a former alcoholic? I understand addiction is a disease. And, the first step is admitting you have a problem, but that is the first step not every step should include this. Most of the people there attended several meetings weekly.

It was tough trying to handle parents who were always drunk, always violent, always complaining that they could not afford to buy my siblings and me food when every night they would come home with two new bottles. Every night had the same ending. My mom crying for help as my father showed the true demons that hide beneath his aging flesh. I wished many times to die, cried myself to sleep almost every night, and tried my best to keep a face that did not reveal how I truly felt.

Started off with me having to move back to Indiana. First, my mom was nowhere to be found, so I wasn’t able to say good bye and that I loved her. I really wanted to be able to hug her one last time. She did the same thing when I was a kid. It made me feel unwanted all over again, so I got on the bus with nothing but 3 bags and no money.

But things changed. I remember my life became such turmoil that I no longer wanted to continue living it. I realized that I was trapped within my addiction. I began to believe there had to be more, but what? I began going to Narcotics Anonymous (NA) meetings to try and escape the dead end life I was living. They did not talk about a God but about a Higher Power. I went to these meetings every night for 90 days. The longer I was without drugs the clearer my mind became but my life remained empty. I began to see a therapist and a psychiatrist. I was told I had major depression and was treated with medication and weekly therapy sessions. The depression improved but again not the emptiness or my bleak outlook on life. An NA friend invited me to her church. I thought it was silly and useless but she was so insistent and I cared for her so I went. When I walked into the church it was loud and the music pounded from the drums and caught up with my heart. People hugged me and welcomed me as a visitor. Everyone seemed so happy. I felt warmth in my chest and I felt light like I was floating and even though I did not believe in God when I walked into the church I realized he was there. I felt

It is said that pain is the touchstone of spiritual growth. Oftentimes it takes intense emotional trauma to cause a person to discover a spirituality of rare depth. Many past and present recovering alcoholics and junkies can attest that they first had to be reduced to a state of hopelessness by their addiction, forced to look into the maw of the Beast, before becoming desperately willing to latch onto a spiritual way of life that solved their problems. Even after abstinence is achieved, periodic episodes of emotional suffering met by renewed faith in a Higher Power is necessary to fuel spiritual progress. Following here is a discussion of how substance-use disorder (SUD) can serve as the spiritual crisis that precipitates recovery, including

One of the substance abuse interventions I recently led, resulted in a very public miraculous healing. I was contacted by the McCracken family early in 2015 to lead a last chance intervention for their son Jeff. Jeff McCracken was barely alive when we got him to treatment. Once he arrived at the facility we had in place, they immediately sent Jeff to the hospital. His medical condition was dire, he was given two months to live and sent to Hospice. In Hospice, Jeff’s parents requested our team to pray over him. Within days of that event, Jeff had an incredible turn around and was released from Hospice and entered a program. I sponsored Jeff throughout the recovery process. God has utterly transformed his life. Dubbed a modern day “Lazarus,”

I really wanted to go and see my brother, but my parents wouldn't let me and that made me When my parents went to go see my brother and I wanted to go, but they wouldn't let me. I sat there and waited for my parents to get back in silence. When they got back they looked like they were about to cry and just me seeing them made me cry. We sat there for an hour in silence until a nurse came in and said we had to go to a different floor and so we headed upstairs and by that moment I knew what was going on, my brother wouldn't make it. When we got upstairs we went into this room that was bigger than the one we were in. We all sat there in silence for a long time and then someone came in and said that we can say our final goodbyes to my brother.Next thing I knew I seen a priest and I tried to stay in the room but I couldn't do it. When my brother was still alive, he was my hero and I wanted to be like him. Smart, caring ,and he helped others.That night really screwed my life, even to this

I'm sitting in my room getting high now. Doors locked, music up with his lights out. I just take another take until his room gets full of smoke. 5-6-7 hours till he knocks out. Now I started stealing pills from my mom 8-9-10 at a time and they’re gone and maybe for the moment all my problems seem to fade, but the high fades too after not too long and that’s when it sinks in that these drugs won’t fix me curled up on the floor, can’t take it anymore. Now I'm talking to god because he’s the only one who gets me. On my knees, looking up, can’t stop crying. “God I know we haven’t talked in a long time, but this time I really need you right now, please god help me, say something. Just give me a sign, because now I'm falling apart and I don't think that I can do it. Please god, give me the strength to pull through it.