People are spiritual beings inhabiting physical human bodies. It dawned on me that it is the breath of God that really makes us come alive. Our spirit gives us life, so when the spirit leaves the body, our body is no longer alive. Embracing this gave me hope for life, a hope that’s available to everyone. Your spirit is that part of you that dreams and hopes and has aspirations. No doctor performs open-heart surgery and finds your dreams and longings inside you. Nothing like that can be found in your physical being. In much the same way, a brain surgeon doesn’t open your brain and find your intelligence. The doctor wouldn’t see 2 + 2 = 4 inscribed on the gray matter.
I couldn’t stop thinking about what I read, and I awoke with a jolt at four o’clock the next morning. Though I wasn’t familiar with the practice of meditating, that’s what I was doing as I sat there contemplating these new ideas. We are spiritual beings, and we have spiritual power. By 6:30, I found myself on my knees on the floor, facedown on the carpet with my hands covering my face, not quite sure how I had ended up there. I firmly resolved as I prayed, “God, my earthly father used his spiritual power for evil. But from this day forward, my spiritual power will be used only for good —and for You.”
Even though I didn’t have a spiritual “grid” or reference point for what happened that morning, I knew something important and impactful had taken place. The spiritual trajectory of my life had changed forever. I didn’t know how to formulate the words to describe to anyone what had taken place that day, but what happened was real and deeply personal. It was transformational. I couldn’t have explained to another human being what had occurred, and I didn’t for a long time. I believe that was the day that I cut ties with the influence of my father. All spiritual ties. All spiritual influence. God’s power began to influence me in new and powerful ways, and my life hasn’t been the same since.
I’ve heard people refer to such bondage as generational sin or as a generational curse. That morning, God not only broke my ties with the horrific generational sins and far-reaching impact of Ervil LeBaron, He also began teaching me how to move forward on the path He had for my life through dependence on the Holy Spirit. As I yielded to Him, I became more and more able to trust God and His Fatherly care for me. Deep in my soul, I felt a sense of contentment with the spiritual commitment I had made. For the first time in a long time, I felt like my feet were on solid ground, and I had hope for my future.
IN 2000, I ACCEPTED AN OFFER to work full time as an executive assistant for my best friend, Madlin, in Austin, Texas. David had begun selling insurance, which he could do from anywhere in the state of Texas. Unlike the frantic midnight getaways I’d known as a child, our family carefully packed our belongings and stopped as needed on the long drive. Once we arrived, I worked hard to create a homey atmosphere in our rented house.
Not long after we got settled in, I went to the local H-E-B store to pick up some groceries. At the meat department, I pointed out a great cut of beef and asked the man behind the counter to slice it for me while I went to pick up milk and eggs. When I got back, he handed me the wrapped bundle, which I realized had not been sliced. I placed the meat back on the counter. “Excuse me. Remember, I asked you to slice it?”
“My apologies.” He picked up the package and grinned at me.
The moment he smiled, I knew. Strangely enough, I recognized his teeth. His family had married into our family. I couldn’t see his name tag tucked inside his butcher’s apron, but I took a chance. “Your name is Harvey, isn’t it?”
The man’s eyes bugged out at hearing the name Harvey, and his smile disappeared. He stared at me intently, and I watched as a flicker of recognition grew. “You’re —um, aren’t you . . .”
I patted my chest. “I’m Anna.”
We just stood and stared at one another. Neither of us knew what to do. I felt fear prickling up the back of my neck as I imagined the connections he might still have with our family members who may have committed murder. He pulled his name badge out from inside of his butcher’s apron. The badge read: STEVE.
He finally cleared his throat. “I changed my name many years ago. I haven’t heard the name Harvey in a long time. I didn’t know you lived in Austin.”
“My family just moved here from Amarillo. I didn’t know you lived here, either. Or that you had changed your name,” I said, laughing nervously.
“Have you talked to Rena since you got here?”
Rena. My fear left as quickly as it had come. I suddenly felt safe because she had always been someone I could trust. I’d heard that years earlier Rena, the sister-wife who had sung Celia and me to sleep in Mexico, had moved to central Texas. After Rena left my father, she married her current husband, John. In addition to her own family members, she felt a burden to take in the children of those left fatherless and motherless, either because their parents had been victims of the crimes and were dead, or because their parents were perpetrators of the crimes and were now serving prison sentences. My closer siblings and I had always referred to this group of LeBarons, excluding Rena, as the “bad” side of the family.
“Here, let me give you her phone number. I know she’d love to hear from you.” He grabbed a pad of paper, scribbled down the number, and slid the paper across the counter to me.
After he sliced the meat, I thanked him and quickly left.
I called Rena as soon as I got back home. We talked for almost an hour, catching up on each other’s lives. I was shocked to find out that so many of my siblings and their children lived nearby.
At the close of our conversation, Rena said, “I hope you’ll consider joining us for our annual Christmas get-together.”
“I would love to come, but it’s our busy season at work, so I’m not sure I’ll be able to make it.” Though I heard only sincerity and love in Rena’s request, I still had a nagging residual fear of this part of my family.
“I understand. We’ll get together another time. In the meantime, let’s keep in touch.”
Although I wasn’t ready to see her in person, Rena and I talked numerous times over the next several months. With each conversation, my fears began to dissipate. So when Rena invited me to join the family for a Fourth of July celebration, I said yes. What will it be like to see my half-siblings? The last time we’d been together had been decades ago, when we were kids relying on the sister-wives to teach us, feed and clothe us, and protect us.
When I asked David to come with me, he hesitated at first, but then agreed to go. As we pulled up in front of Rena’s little house, I thought, My husband is a Marine. If there’s any trouble, he can handle it. But at the same time, I convinced myself the get-together would be safe. After all, if anyone in that group had wanted me dead, they could have accomplished that a long time ago.