eirenemaker

12 Stepping God's Way

2006-06-11T20:10:00.000-07:00

I've mentioned in previous postings that a great deal of the healing God has done in me, He did through a 12 step spiritual journey called Abba (Daddy). The basis for Abba was God's promise to heal. Isaiah 57:18-19 says I have seen his ways but I will heal him, I will guide and restore comfort to him. Through the 12 step process, we learned who we really are in Christ, and that we are not defined by the baggage we learned to carry as a result of our childhoods. Instead, we learned how to take the baggage and lay it at Jesus's cross...and how to leave it there!!! Abba teaches real, bona fide, change..that starts in the heart and becomes "worked out" through examination and confession. Lamentations 3:40 says let us examine our ways and test them and let us return to the Lord. Confession is a prerequisite to change; confession to God our Father, and confession to at least one other person.

Abba taught me Faith, Trust and Hope...faith that God has and always had a plan and a purpose for my life, trust that God is willing and able to take me through to peace and healing, and hope that I am being made fit for His intended purpose, and as a result, am being restored to right relationship with others. For it is God who works in you to will and to act according to His good purpose (Phil 2:13)

So, here are the 12 steps of Abba along with the scriptural support of each:

We admitted we were powerless over the effects of our separation from God; that our lives have become unmanagable (I know nothing good lives in me, that is, in my sinful nature. For I have the desire to do what is good, but I cannot carry it out (Rom 7:18)
Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity; for the purposes of Abba, that Power has shown Himself to be God our Father in Heaven (For it is God who works in you to will and to act according to His good purpose (Phil 2:13)
Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understand Him and for the purposes of Abba, we understand Him to be the Father of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. (Therefore, I urge you brother, in view of God's mercy, to offer your bodies as living sacrifices, holy and pleasing to God, which is your spiritual act of worship (Rom 12:1)
Made a searching and fearless inventory of ourselves. (Let us examine our ways and test them, and let us return to the Lord (Lam 3:40)
Admitted to God, to ourselves, and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs. (Therefore confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed (James 5:16a)
Were entirely ready to have God remove all these defects of character. (Humble yourselves before the Lord and He will lift you up (James 4:10)
Humbly asked Him to remove our shortcomings. (If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness (1 John 1:9)
Made a list of all persons we had harmed and became willing to make amends to them all. (Do to others as you would have them do to you (Luke 6:31)
Made direct amends to such people wherever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others. (Therefore, if you are offering your gift at the alter and there remember that your brother has something against you, leave your gift there in front of the alter. First go, and be reconciled to your brother, then come and offer your gift. (Matt 5:23-24)
Continued to take personal inventory and when we were wrong, promptly admitted it. (So, if you think you are standing firm, be careful that you don't fall (1 Cor 10:12)
Sought through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with God, praying only for knowledge of His will for us and the power to carry that out. (Let the Word of Christ dwell in you richly (Col 3:16a)
Having a spiritual awakening as the result of these steps, we tried to carry this message to others, and to practise these principles in all our affairs. (Brothers, if someone is caught in a sin, you who are spiritual should restore him gently. But watch yourself, or you also may be tempted (Gal 6:1)

So there you have it. This particular 12 step was called Abba because God is our Daddy, and He is the Father in our new "family of origin". Our own families of origin often were chaotic and from that chaos we each did our best to "be", learning and employing behaviors or characteristics intended to help us survive. Those characteristics may have worked for us when we were children but they are not God pleasing now. I have a saying....I was not responsible for what happened to me as a child, but I am responsible to do something about it now that I'm an adult. I have another saying...my definition of responsibility is my ABILITY to RESPOND to the call of God in my heart and on my life. He has called us all to Himself, to enjoy Him, to glorify Him, to love and worship Him and to love others. In order to do that, the sinful characteristics that we have clung to in order to survive have to be recognized, confessed and let go. Abba identifies 9 such characteristics that are typical of people who had to learn how to survive.

Today

2006-06-04T18:57:00.000-07:00

So, now that my testimony is done...for the most part....and lest anyone think that my simplistic conclusion means that I have "arrived", far from it!!! Here is where I am today.

My marriage still struggles. I still struggle in it, and I still lean towards selfishness in it. But I'm also learning to let go, and overlook the little offenses that send my thoughts into me, me, me mode. I'm learning how to love Jim all over again. When I'm not only looking at me, I see in him an integrity that makes me feel safe. He is a man I can truly respect, and that thrills me. I have ceased striving, trying to fix it. He belongs to God and my prayers for him are centered on his wellbeing, and God's glorification.

I still struggle. Seems to me that God peels one layer at a time, revealing things in my character that only He can change. He sheds His light on it, one sinful characteristic, or attitude, or behavior at a time...then, when He finally has me at that place where I'm no longer afraid to look , I inevitably hate what I see, which makes me run to the thrown of grace, turning it over to Him. I have ceased striving trying to perfect my own holiness. It can't be done. I fall, I get up, I fall, I get up. And He brings a wee bit of healing or holiness each time. Sanctification is God's pervue...not ours.

I still wonder about my future. I still have a desire to to peacemaking and ministry, perhaps teaching, or counselling other women who have a story similar to mine..or not even remotely close to mine. At this point, only God knows the plans He has for me, while I know that I will not be disappointed. He either really does cause all things to work together for the good of those who love Him and are called according to His purpose......or we're all hooped. I have ceased striving trying to figure out my future, and how to get there. One day at a time, sweet Jesus.

There's an exercise we do in Abba 12 step. It's called "The Throne Room". We're asked to close our eyes and see ourselves in the throne room of God and then describe how we see it. The first time I did it, the throne room was massive, the ceilings out of sight, and God was on a throne way, way, way up there. I stepped into the throne room and immediately cowered behind a column. I couldn't look up at God. At the end of that season of Abba, we were asked to do the exercise again. This time, I ventured into the throne room, but only about half way. I was able to tell Him that I was thankful and I pictured His smile.

When I started facilitating my own Abba small groups, and we'd do the throne room exercise in each successive season, what I envisioned each time was different, progressing a little bit more into intimacy with every new exercise. In one, Jesus and I were walking along a stream and He playfully shouldered me....in another, I was sitting on the arm of God's throne, chatting His ear off. The last time I did the throne room exercise, I pictured myself walking into the throne room....I left the door open behind me as I ran towards His throne....and He got up and ran towards me. He gathered me in His arms and gave me a huge hug.

God has brought me to the end of myself twice. The first time it was to bring me home to Him. The second time it was so I would discover why He is so worth it. Maybe He'll have to bring me to end of myself again......and again.....and again. I don't know. I suppose we shall see.

I'm going to continue on this blog, but it won't be for my day to day stuff. I'm going to write about the Abba 12 step and some of the things it taught me. I'm also going to share some of the peacemaking tools that have been so integral to resolving so much of the conflict in my life, starting with the conflict within...which is where all peacemaking has to begin. I might even share some of my personal bible studies. So, I hope that you'll continue to stop by every once in a while....and leave comments as long and as detailed as you want, to share some of your own experiences with struggles, and sin, and how God has brought you through.

Thank you for coming with me this far.

Striving

2006-06-03T10:13:00.000-07:00

A not so funny thing happens when we can no longer feel the presence of the Lord. We start trying harder. Though, He is never very far from any of us. How can He be? He came to make His home in our hearts. So when I say "God withdrew", it is not to say literally. He is a keeper of His promises and when He said "I will never leave you nor forsake you" He meant it. It is just that it FELT like He withdrew.

It started almost imperceptively. Prayers started to bounce off the ceiling, then gradually began to feel routine. It's hard to tell which was worse, feeling unheard, or feeling like a broken record. My first thought as I awoke each morning was no longer of Him, and my last thought before I retired at night wasn't either. Now my thoughts revolved around me, what I wanted and didn't have, and what I had and didn't want. Self was back. Well, actually self had never left, but just like any new love relationship between men and women, in the first blushs of love, it's all about the other, but only so long as each of their own needs are getting met. When that stops, either demandedness sets in, or break up does. Of course God was needing my need - I just didn't know that His definition of what I needed most was completely different from mine.

So, as had become my lifelong habit when things were no longer working, and I'd lost the ectasy of "first love", I had to know why.... so I could fix it. I tried harder. My prayers felt dead and lifeless? I read all I could on prayer. My walk with God seemed distant and remote? I repented, and looked for root causes, and ancestral curses, and open spiritual doors, to bring Him back to me, as obviously, I'd done something wrong. I tithed more, got involved in church more, read my bible more, and looked for reasons, and answers, and causes and cures. Can you picture a chicken running around with it's head cut off?

Every Christian inspirational author I read had a name for it..some called it a "desert experience", some called it "being stretched", some called it "necessary brokenness", and all had a special prayer, or formula, or program to be employed or enacted to make it better. I tried them all. Really, when you think about it...what's the difference between Christian inspiration and secular self help, when it becomes all about me, myself, and I?

When none of that worked, it became Jim's fault. It was because he wasn't walking with God. Remember when Jesus told the rich young ruler "the one thing you lack....?" Well, my marriage became my ONE THING. If only the one thing I lacked.....a godly husband, an intimate, and connected marriage.....would happen, then I'd be happy again. So I read all I could on marriage, so I could pray and love (manipulate) my husband back into the kingdom. My striving for a godly marriage almost killed it.

When that didn't work, my circumstances became the new ONE THING. I was working at a secular career, yoked in an ungodly business partnership. If only the one thing I lacked...a godly ministry,... (because, after all, wasn't I destined for great things)...would manifest, then I'd be happy again. So I pounded my living room floor, begging God to remove me from the partnership and my career and raise me up into a ministry. Sure enough, and completely unsolicited, my partners approached me one day to say they had a new vision for the firm. In order for it to work, the branches had to be shut down, and so, "would I sell them my shares". I agreed, and signed a 3 year covenant to continue on as their employee. One year into the contract, the firm imploded from the inside out and was dissolved. I was the only partner who got out with their original investment.

So, now I was free, and unemployed, and it seemed like the possibilities were endless. With every intention of using my spare time (something I'd never had before) .... to read the Word, do volunteer work at the church, and strive my way back into God's good graces, I started 2003 in a funk. My marriage was as distant as ever, my son was beginning to rebel, and "my ministry" wasn't happening. And the longing in my heart got deeper and deeper and more painful. After all was said and done, and I got silent and still for the first time in years, I was left with ONE THING ... I was desperate for God, and He was gone.

I recall afternoons alone in my bedroom, staring out the window, my heart shattered into a million little pieces because I couldn't find God. I remember laying in the fetal position in my closet, weeping in pain, because I couldn't find God. Where had He gone? Why did He leave me? The pain in my heart at the thought that somehow I just wasn't measuring up and He finally had had enough and left, was devastating. I wanted to die. Really. I had an ungodly belief. Because of what Jesus had done for me on the cross, God was more or less obligated to accept me into heaven, and I remember thinking, "well, at least I could be with Him" And somehow, in that pain and longing, trapped in the spiral of such thinking, I discovered my greatest joy. I truly, completely, madly, and deeply longed for God. No one (not Jim), nothing (not a godly marriage), and no circumstance (wealth, health and success in some ministry) would ever satisfy me. My ONE THING ...the thing I needed more than all other things...and the one thing I lacked, was to know, that I know, that I know, that God, and God alone, was who I longed for, and even that, for no other reason than because He is God.

It's that simple. This realization dawned on me just over a year ago. I can have all that I thought I wanted...godly marriage, godly children, fruitful ministry...but none of it will ever measure up to having God Himself. Therein lies the "secret", from eternity until now. Seek first God, and all these THINGS will be added unto you...except, things are just things.....and God is God. Who and what is better than that!!!!!!

Today? Well, the euphoria is gone. Except that once in a while, God will sneak up behind me and catch me when I least expect it, and nuzzle my ear and tell me He loves me. When He does that, I am overwhelmed with joy. I am content.....perhaps not satisfied...but somehow, I don't thing that will happen until I am actually with Him in Heaven, and then satisfaction is not the word to describe what that will be like!! But I am at eirene....peace. I am centered and I am grounded...which is to say....no matter what has happened, no matter what will happen....God is my center. He is my reason, He is my being, He is my breath and He is truly my life. There is no one I would rather please..... rather be with.... rather love..... and rather be loved by. It's that simple. It makes no sense, but it's the way He designed it. And it's good enough for me.

God is God. He loves you and He loves me with a love that cannot be expressed adequately in human language. And He has placed in us a........homesickness.........for Himself. When your heart hurts....consider this....perhaps it hurts for God, for His actual, realized presence. We can find contentment in that...maybe not satisfaction...but, oh the day will come!!!! But for now, we content ourselves in the knowledge.....this longing? this missing? It is for our Father in heaven. And just think....He has the same longing for you!

Into the Father's Arms

2006-06-01T19:36:00.000-07:00

Something very real happened the night I surrendered my life over to my Father in heaven. I wept for what felt like an eternity on my living room floor, and the next morning....well, the world just looked different. I remember driving to Richmond that morning and the mountains in the north looked crispier, more defined, larger, greener, the sky bluer, the clouds whiter...He was showing Himself to me all over again, through His creation, just like He had on that evening when I was 6 or 7 and wondered "Who made all this?". It was almost as if He was answering that question once and for all, sealing His identity into my heart, never to be questioned or doubted again.

From that night forward I hungered for His word like nothing else, and devoured it from cover to cover over and over again. I couldn't wait for alone time, so I could read my bible, do my studies and pray. I started journaling my prayers in letters to God, and they were so full of wonder. And as I ventured into this new found relationship, He slowly gave me back my feelings and emotions. It seemed like for the first 2 years after I returned to our Father's arms, I couldn't stop crying....tears of pain, and grief for sure, but also, tears of healing, joy, forgiveness, peace and grace. Having been so numb and so hard for so long, crying was at first, very scary for me. Then it became almost second nature, and sometimes ridiculously inconvenient. I can recall mornings on the way to work, where I'd think about Him and start bawling like a baby for joy!!! I remember telling Him once..." I know I asked You to have Your way in my heart, but come on, this is getting silly" Then I started laughing and crying even more at the wonderment of having a Creator, Omniscient, Omnipresent, All Knowing, Sovereign, Just Lord and Majestic King that I could actually talk to like He was a best friend or lover.

Some of the changes that came about during those first few months of our new relationship were quick and miraculous. God immediately delivered me from my need for drink, and freed me from cigarettes within a few months. Then one day I discovered I'd simply quit biting my fingernails, which was something I'd done since I had teeth.

He delivered me from the memories of my past, including flashbacks that I learned to tamp down, and granted me the grace to forgive Rick and myself. I pray for Rick now and hope the eyes of his heart will be opened to God's amazing grace and love. It is my sincere wish that he call on the name of the Lord and be saved. The break through to forgiveness came one night as I lay prone before God on my den floor and the next morning as I was reading the Word, I came across the scripture " Behold, I have taken your heart of stone and given you a heart of flesh", and I knew that I knew that He had done that very thing in me the night before.

He, through His Word, renewed my mind and changed my thinking concerning who I was in Jesus Christ. He delivered me from shame, and cemented into my heart the certainty that He had adopted me, I was His bona fide daughter, and He would never leave me nor forsake me. He doesn't un-adopt!! I needed to know that. I needed to be absolutely assured, totally and unwaveringly believing, without a shadow of a doubt, that I was in Christ Jesus and He was in me, and nothing would or could ever separate me from His love. I believe that we all need to know that, with a kind of "I'd stake my life on it" calm, because it seems to me that God heals and restores the "surface" stuff first, sort of setting us in a foundation that keeps us grounded for when He goes deeper. And deeper He inevitably goes. I read a book that said "God loves us too much to leave us the way we are". I believe the first years of "euphoria" in a new relationship with Him are God's way of cementing that foundation, so we keep solid during the times that He uses trial and struggle to go into the heart and do the really meaty work.

For me, the first trial came about 2 years after my initial and exhilarating growth spurt. It started with a tiny sense of Him having withdrawn. We had been so close. I had "felt" Him everywhere, and saw Him in everyone. So, now what was happening? This sounds over the top, but it was extremely terrifying and it took every ounce of courage I could muster to keep on trusting. More about that next time.

Coming Home

2006-05-30T15:18:00.000-07:00

When I say God started whispering that I return to Him "out of the blue", I meant, literally. By then, it was the summer of 1997, and I had "relative" peace...the counterfeit kind, numbness, but was almost ready to accept it as just the way to be. I had for the most part stopped my "self help" work, and was dabbling in New Age ideology, and "spirituality". I was a partner in the firm I was with, running an office in Richmond, with the respect and even admiration of my friends, colleagues, clients and business associates. Oh, the things we accept as cheap substitutes for the love of the Father.

My commute to Richmond took about 45 minutes each way, and for the most part, I drove those commutes in thought. One such morning, under a blazing sun in the vast blue sky, one thought came, unbidden.....Jesus. I hadn't thought about Him in years. In fact, I had made a point to avoid all thought of Him and looked for every excuse to justify why I was no longer a "narrow minded, intolerable, Christian". Even when the kids were going to Sunday school with Jim, I refused to acknowledge what it was they were being taught. I remember the day both kids came home to tell me they'd been saved. I was on the couch, watching TV, drinking coffee, and smoking a cigarette. My reaction was about as enthusiastic as mom's had been when I told her the same thing many years before..."mmm, that's nice"....end of subject. On that morning, while driving to Richmond, the thought came again.....JESUS!....and then a barrage of other thoughts.."you miss Him, you need Him, when are you going to return to Him". I think I flipped in a CD...end of subject.

When one sheep is missing from the flock, the Lord leaves the flock and goes searching for that one lost sheep. He is fierce and undaunted in His search. He is determined to find His lost sheep and to bring her or him back into the fold, back to His Father. It's a mission for Him, one for which He can not help Himself. The Father's heart is crying for the child He adopted and who has strayed, and the Son's heart is crying for the Father's. They will always and forever satisfy the cries of eachother's heart. There is no greater love than the Father for the Son and the Son for the Father. It's that simple, and for that reason, I have absolute certainty and trust that every child of God who decides he'd rather light his own path with his own flame and warm himself with his own fire, will be brought back into the Father's embrace. I'm convinced of it. Even when we are not faithful, God is faithful for He cannot help Himself. So, Jesus searched me out. Through the rest of that summer, into fall and winter, He drew me, not by power and not by might but by the Holy Spirit, continuing with His thought invasions until I began to admit that I really did miss Him, and like the prodigal son, I wanted to go home.

Of course, given the pride in me and fear over what Jim would say or do about it, I used the kids as my excuse to start going to church again. By this time, Jim had stopped taking them to Sunday school. Dani was nearing 13 and I kept thinking church would be a good way to ensure she didn't become a problem teenager, caught up in partying and promiscuity. Ironic eh? My mom used "this Jesus thing" as her attempt to fix our family and I was using it as my excuse to return to church, but more than that, I had a fear that my children would go down my path, and I didn't want them to. Deep in my heart of hearts I recognized Jesus as the ONLY way to life, so we started going to church January 1998. We attended a large, calmly charismatic church in Langley, and the first few Sundays were very disconcerting for me...every time I went, I cried. I hated that!! But there were no races to the alter or pledges of re-commitment. It was more like a smoldering ember that very slowly began to flame to life again. I had picked up a bible by that February or March, and began reading it..insatiably, and one night, I just knew. My life could no longer be my own. I belonged to God. He paid for me with the blood of His Son, and I had no choice but to completely surrender to Him. And I didn't want any other choice. On one deep night, in the quiet of my living room, I went to my knees and asked Him to forgive me my rebellion, arrogance, selfish pride, and for having treaded all over the blood of His Son. I asked Him to receive me back, that I was at the end of my rope. If I couldn't know Him, life wasn't worth living. I threw myself on His mercy, completely surrendered, broken and desperate. And He lifted me up and received me back into His loving arms.

My life has not been my own since....though there are have been many times when I tried to reclaim it. More about that some other time.

Trying to Fix it My Way

2006-05-28T15:04:00.000-07:00

The counsellor at the crisis center started me off on a journey of "self help". Now, in looking back, I suspect it only delayed my healing. But that's the grand deception isn't it? That we humans don't need anyone but ourselves to make our lives work? Looking out for No 1 started in the garden, and has morphed into a billion dollar industry that culminates in millions of isolated, unauthentic, hurting, wounded, sinfilled people doing "self help", being their own little gods, working at making their lives manageable, even if it only looks that way to their watchers.

Self help also leads to self indulgence. Reading some psychologist's book explaining why I had so much rage only served to give it an excuse. Following formulas for anger control, or chanting affirmations to gain esteem just touched the surface. I had a picture once, when I was thinking on this very thing years later. It was of an iceburg. I was on top of it, on my hands and knees, scatching at the ice with my nail. I'd managed to gouge out a tiny crevice, completely ignorant as to the immensity of all that lay under the water. That's self help. Only God can empty, break, heal and fill the heart, though we humans, who instinctively know that, do everything in our own power to avoid that truth. Just let me do it my way is our mantra. And God lets us.

So began my self help years. I read everything and all there was on "toxic parents", "adult survivors", "dysfunctional family of origin issues", "abandonment syndrome" and "post tramautic stress disorder". I had a label for each of my behaviors, and a neat and tidy, packaged explanation as to why I did what I did, and didn't do what I couldn't, and couldn't do what I wanted, and wouldn't do what I should. When I became expert enough, I was even helpful to others, in their own journeys into "growth" and "holistic wellness". I became a "lay" counsellor of sorts, "empowering" other women to "know, forgive and love their inner child". All very schmultzy and all very new age, and none of it very effective. Well, I shouldn't say that....it was somewhat effective in teaching me anger management, and very effective in showing me how to numb out. Because there came a point after all those years of "self help" that I got the sense that I either had to "crap or get off the pot". There is only so much "inner improvement" that one can do before you realize it really isn't working. Sure, I got enlightenment...that explains it....but now what? How to fix it? So, I went to see a therapist. She thought I was "extremely high functioning", and had come a long way, but there was one piece of my puzzle still missing....closure. She suggested that all I needed now was "accountability" and "closure", "validation" and maybe even gratification of my need for justice. I hadn't been heard as a child, and then told to shut up about it when I disclosed as a teen, yadayadayada and a little dab of validation will do ya. So, I reported Rick to the police.

He was charged with offences related to sexual misconduct with a minor and crown counsel had advised that he pled guilty. There was a sentencing hearing that spring, to which my sister, myself and our families attended. His lawyer didn't show up and it was postponed. At the second hearing, when the charges were being read, he changed his plea to not guilty. So now there was apparently going to be a trial. It was all sent over to another date. When that date arrived, his lawyer and crown apparently cut a backroom deal, so we all went into the court room only to be told there was a deal but we'd have to come back another day to hear the outcome. By then we as a family had taken 3 trips to the Island to face him in court. It had become a gong show on a rollercoaster, so I didn't attend the 4th and final hearing. Crown called me that day to advise he'd received 3 years probation and a bunch of restraining type orders. Such is life.

The therapist was wrong. Getting closure had nil affect and I felt as empty and as blank as ever. The only difference was now the rage was under control....for the most part....and in it's place was nothingness. I just stopped feeling altogether and entered into the part of my life that I call The Robot Days. My life had narrowed down to existing. I got up, got ready, went to work, came home, ate dinner, spent "quality time" with the kids, put them to bed, watched TV, went to bed myself, and repeated the whole thing all over again. On weekends I binged. Friday nights were my alone nights. Jim played hockey so I stayed home and got quietly drunk, alone. On Saturday nights we'd go out and get drunk together, and Sundays were for sleeping off hangovers, while Jim took the kids to Sunday school and church. By this time, our marriage was somewhat cold and almost completely withdrawn. During the raging days Jim had been dancing with a bear....warm and cuddly one moment, and all claws and teeth the next. He started out romantic and spontaneous, but years of distrust on my part sabotaged that in quick order. Drinking together had become our only connection.

In a way you might say that I achieved "zenlike" tranquility during the robot days. These days I call it Christian Buddhism. One of the tenets of Buddhism is to deny all longing and desire...and eventually, feel nothing, so you won't be hurt again. I would have made a fine Buddhist.

Maybe I might have been prepared to accept numbness as a substitute for peace, but God detests counterfeits. He will not allow them for too long before He sheds His light and exposes them for the cheap imitations they are. Because, as is typical with how God woos us, the numbness became unsatisfying, and just like my fellow robot, the Tin Man in the Wizard of Oz, I found myself wanting a heart. Perhaps God waited until such a time as this, when I was sufficiently quiet enough to hear, because in the summer of 1997, almost "out of the blue" He began whispering to me, asking me to come back to Him.

The Raging Days and the Breaking Point

2006-05-26T23:07:00.000-07:00

This part of my story is the hardest to tell. Even now, when I remember those days, I still feel shame and remorse. If God ever asked what part would I want to go back and do over, this is the part..what I call my raging days. The raging days started when I was home with the kids, escalated through the early days of my new career as an independent adjuster and broke when I finally numbed out. They lasted about 8 - 10 years, through out my late 20's and into my mid to late 30's. I had no warning.

I can recall strange, epiphany type moments when I held Dani in my arms, look down at her and feel......nothing. I can recall thinking how evil I must be to feel no stirrings in my heart towards this amazing creature. It was quite literally the most sickening feeling in the world. I wanted to feel something, anything for her, and I couldn't. It was the same with Kelan, our son, once he was born. In my own way, I knew I loved them, but why couldn't I feel it?

As Dani got older it became even worse. Now she craved "wuvs and cuddles" and I cringed everytime she came for them. What was wrong with me? That was all bad enough and then the raging started.

I read somewhere that depression is anger turned inward, and rage is depression turned outward. Who knows if that's true. All I know is that rage took over. It took nothing to set me off into a whirligig of cutting words and screamed abuses. It is only by the grace of God that my rage did not manifest in a physical form...which is not to lessen the impact of my cruel words. It hurts so much to remember....please God.

A secular counsellor told me a couple of years later that the raging days were "triggered" when Dani turned the age I was when Rick first molested me. I don't know. It does seem though, that when Dani was around 4, it got much, much worse. Have you ever awakened in the morning already angry? I have. And compounding it all was the fact that I went to work everyday with a "I've got it together" face on. So it would unfold...wake up angry, but can't be angry 'cause there's a job to do...so I'd come home angry, but with the especially deadly kind that had been suppressed all day, and my husband, and children were the recipients of all that crap.

The breaking point came one day in the summer, I believe, of 1993. Dani was 7 and my only recollection is being so angry I was terrified. My fear was that this time I was going to hurt someone with more than "just" words. Dani was hiding in her room, Kelan was in his, and I was standing in the middle of the kitchen, quivering with rage , and feeling...something? This was different. A changing. Rage turning to.....sorrow? I went back to rage in a hurry. It felt safer than whatever that "other" thing was. But something did break that day. A wee bit of clarity entered in and I knew I needed help. I phoned a crisis line. They directed me to a women and family services program in the town where we were living at the time, and they got me into emergency counselling.

To this day, I'm am completely and utterly grateful for that program and for the crisis counsellor I met there. She was the first person to tell me that what had happened to me was not my fault. She used words like what an amazing courageous little girl you were and such a horrible thing to happen to such a beautiful innocent child. Words of life. Words of healing. Words of God's love. I had never seen what had happened to me in that light, and so began my slow.....very slow....journey into healing.

The Rescue....Sort of

2006-05-25T21:06:00.000-07:00

By the spring of 1980 I hit proverbial rock bottom. Everybody hits it. Some hit it more than once, and rock bottom is different for everyone. For one person it can be the stereo typical "rock bottom", like waking up in a ditch, or needing an intervention, while for someone else it's simply the realization that they have told one too many lies, or they can't seem to hold onto friends, or life just isn't working. No one's rock bottom is worse than anyone elses and hopefully, all rock bottom's accomplish their purpose...to force change.

Mine came the day I realized I loathed myself. I looked in the mirror and detested what I saw and who I'd become. And I was dead inside. Things weren't working for me where I lived anymore. The drinking and drugs were affecting my job and I was on the verge of being fired. The writing was on the wall with the friends I'd used to get what I wanted, and it would only be a matter of time before my manipulations found me out. With selfish motives, I called my aunt Sharon in Vancouver and told her I needed help. She opened her heart and home to me, and I moved in with her and her family the summer of 1980.

My aunt and uncle were born again, bible believing Christians, who had taken in alot of discarded kids over the years, including my sister. They had 4 daughters of their own. House rules included going to church. That was a given. So I threw myself into "being" a Christian all over again. Don't get me wrong. I had discovered that I had missed Jesus, and His Word and wanted more than anything to get to know Him again. The problem was, there was just so much filth in me, and so how could I? This is very hard to explain, but it all still felt so contrived. We were going to a word of faith, bible believing church where you walked in the blood bought victory of Jesus Christ. The message I got was that I was a new creature, old things had passed away, and all things were new, and so I shoulda, woulda, coulda and ought to be victorious and joyous and full of love, faith and power. Trouble was, all I felt inside was dead, void, blank. I never had the courage to tell anyone that, so I confessed my healing in hopes that I'd possess it. I named myself a victorious overcomer so I could claim that truth, and walked around like it was so. That's a very dangerous kind of "faith". The masking just made me deader and deader inside.

I do give God glory though. Please don't mistake this for critical cynicism for those days or that church. God will glean and redeem His truth out of even unbalanced teachings and I came to appreciate His Word in a new way. He freed me from substance abuse, and set my feet on solid ground with respect to a family with boundaries. Most of all, He showed me what a loving wife and mother looked like. I saw one in my aunt and the fruit of that in her daughters, especially her youngest ones who had been raised up in the church. If it hadn't have been for her example of what it could look like, I never would have hung on like I did through the bad parts of my own marriage. I always knew it could be better and so I never lost hope. I thank my aunt for that.

Through the course of the next couple of years I became a youth bible teacher in the church, and had dreams of becoming a bible teacher, and "word of faith" preacher. I worked closely with a young man named Jim in the youth group. We ran a coffee house together, taught a youth bible study, arranged various youth activities with the blessing of the youth pastor, and visited a cancer patient on a weekly basis to pray for her. Jim was always my ride to these various events and activities and it was in those car rides that I came to admire this "strong man of God". He had been born and raised in a believers home and knew the Word in and out. He was a great teacher/preacher and it seemed only natural that we would be together. We started to date and inside of a year we decided to get married. It was all very matter of fact. He was safe. There was a time, years later, that I wondered if I married him out of love or out of fear...who else would have me? Did I settle? I know the answer to those questions now, but it took me hell and a lifetime to finally figure it out.

We were married in June 1984. The entire church was present. The speechs were all very proper and gushing...admiration for this godly couple who were such fine examples of obediance to God's way, and destined for a life of glorifying God. Little did they know. Jim and I had started sleeping together months earlier. We had justified it by saying that we were getting married anyway, and besides, we were stars in youth leadership, so an exception. How many other couples has that lie tripped up? And of those couples, how many of their marriages became burdened because of the unadmitted shame? Of course, we didn't know this at the time, but slowly, and surely, as we entered into our first few months of married life, we simply stopped going to church. God was not in our marriage. He wasn't even in our lives. And I blamed myself, because I'd brought this upstanding godly man "down".

We both threw ourselves into our careers. By then, I was a junior adjuster at an insurance company, and excelling and succeeding became my new drug. So long as I achieved one more goal, or level of success, and kept busy, working and socializing, I could tamp down the feelings of loathing and shame that kept creeping in.

Our first child, a daughter, was born in November 1986 and within 3 months of her birth, I went back to work, accepting a promotion with another company. Our second child, a son, was born May 1989. After he was born, Jim and I decided that it would be best for me to stay at home with both children, however, our lifestyle before we had children had got us into a heap load of debt so I returned to work in September 1990. The time I spent home with my babies turned out to be the quiet before the storm. More about that next time.

Loosing Myself

2006-05-23T21:02:00.000-07:00

I have a theory. How we relate to God as "Father" depends alot on on how we relate to our own father's on earth. That said, I simply couldn't relate to Him as Father at all. Jesus, I got. I even had an image of Him standing between me and God, who just wanted to throttle me. It didn't help that much of the teaching I received centered on Jesus's role as "intercessor" for the saints, "mediator" and our "go between". This conjured up images of Him running back and forth, brokering some tenuous peace agreement between me and God. I entered into my Christianity with a fear of the Lord, but it was the unhealthy kind of fear that binds in legalism and works. Of course, I didn't know this as a 13 year old new Christian.

Even after I accepted Jesus as my Savior, not much changed in our house. No miraculous character conversions here. The fighting continued, except now I felt guilty afterwards. I wasn't just pissing off my mom anymore...now God was angry with me too. I was such a bad Christian!! Where was all that love and peace and joy and "turning the other cheek" stuff that they kept telling us about. So, I'd try harder. That meant that I had to make it up to God. If I screwed up at home mouthing off to mom, or fighting with Lori, then I'd work harder at church. Read my bible more, pray harder, teach Sunday school, find some church activity to volunteer for. If I accumulated enough good Christian girl points maybe they would outweigh the sinful behavior and God would let me into heaven afterall. I clearly didn't understand grace.

I'm not going to lie to you. Mixed in with all this was an insatiable need to be liked. Nothing was more important to me than the good opinion of others, so I can't blame my "backsliding" on lack of a good godly mentor to disciple me. If push had of come to shove...and it eventually did... I suspect I would have chosen the ways of the world at the end of the day, anyhow. Truth be told, I was ashamed of the gospel, with all it's "goody two shoes" expectations. That became evident to me the first time I tried to tell someone about Jesus and they laughed at me. The mortification shut me up for good, which only heaped more shame on my head. Now I was a bad and completely failed Christian.

I remember thinking that if I could just stay in church Monday to Saturday, I'd be alright. Every Sunday I'd renew my vow to God after begging Him to forgive my sins that week. I'd promise that if He'd just forgive me one more time, I wouldn't do it again. Then Monday would come and there would be the lure of skipping class to get drunk, or smoke a joint, or hang out at Mr. Mikes and drink coffee and smoke cigarettes all day, and I'd bite. Then on Sunday, I'd repent all over again. Crazy eh!? Eventually, I just stopped going to church on Sunday's.

Just before that though, mom did something utterly insane. She'd gone through a round of about 3 or 4 boyfriends and one day announced that she and Rick - yeah, that one - were going to try again. I believe I was 15. Are you kidding me? He moved in with us and even started to come to church with us. About 6 months later he made a move on me. I stood my ground, said no, and within the week he'd packed his bags and was gone from our lives forever.

If you'll indulge me, the next part of the story has more or less been told on my other blogsite, http://3forward2back.blogspot.com , in a posting entitled Working Step 4.....& 5. It was the summer after I'd turned 16, and mom had started dating a man named Lance. Lori had moved away. She also was a long way from Jesus by then. She dropped out of school, was heavy into drugs, and had moved in with a boyfriend at least 10 years her senior (she was 17). My believing aunt Sharon, who always saw the potential in us both, was heart broken. She rescued Lori. She gave her a home and put her through a private Christian school. Lori returned to the Lord and never left His side after that. Again, if you'll indulge me, go to http://3forward2back.blogspot.com and read "It's WaaWee's Birfday!"...my tribute to my champion and heroin, my amazingly gracious and loving sister, Lori. Meanwhile, long story short....mom told me she was moving up island to live with Lance. I could either come or leave. We had a huge fight that day. I screamed at her all that Rick had done, and all that she had been blind to. I heaped it on her like the sticking, rotting manure it was. At first, she didn't believe me. She called me a liar, then called Lori for verification. Lori said it had happened to her as well. The disclosure never changed a thing. Mom put the house up for sale that summer, and I was out on my ass.

Over the next couple of years, from 16 to 19, I completely lost myself in drinking, drugs and promiscuity. I kept the bills paid working as an office clerk in the day and serving drinks in the local bar and nightclub on the weekends. The spiraling behavior got out of control, and by New Years of 1980, when Lori came to visit me, it scared her so much, that she rallied the troops (my aunt Sharon) and it was my turn to be rescued next. I'll tell you all about it tommorrow.

Meeting Jesus

2006-05-22T19:15:00.000-07:00

Mom didn't just decide overnight to take us to church. There was a series of miraculous events that led up to it.

Mom came from a family with 5 siblings - 2 brothers and 2 sisters, plus her. Mom was the eldest and the task fell to her to look after her younger siblings when my grandparents were out partying - literally. Mom tells me stories of the 5 of them sitting in the car in the pub parking lot while her parents were inside...for hours on end. I think they take children away from parents nowadays for something like that. Anyway, all 4 of mom's siblings ended up hippies or in trouble, in some form or the other. One brother was a violent, biker type who liked fast cars and faster women. The other a gentle hippy/musician who grew pot in the Sooke hills, lived in a home made camper and basically checked out of all that was establishment. This was after all the '60's and '70's. Both sisters were an odd mix of hippies and feminists....they espoused the feminist ideal but neither could live without a man - usually an abusive one - anymore than my mom could. Mom was the only one of the 4 who was not emersed in the drug culture. I remember "hash brownie Christmas" and playing hide and seek in my uncle's marijuana patch. I also remember a photo of the same uncle in the newspaper being arrested. And all 5 of my grandparents children had a praying grandmother....a Salvation army saint who had prayed and interceded for her children and her children's children up to the day she died. The prayers of a righteous person availeth much. God heard her prayers. Within a space of 2 years every single one of my mom's siblings and both grandparents accepted Jesus Christ as Savior and Lord. Again, mom was the exception.

My uncle Barry was the first one to be saved...but almost at the same time, and unbeknownst to eachother, my aunt Sharon was as well. The story goes that Barry, the violent, biker dude, was stoned, on a beach in Vancouver, when he saw Jesus walking to him on the water. He went and got a bible, found a preacher to teach him, and came back a completely different man. The change in him was so miraculous that mom took notice. This was not the same cruel Barry.

One night mom, Lori and I were having another knock down, dragged out fight at the dinner table and mom suddenly got quiet. She even started to cry! She seemed defeated at that moment, and said "if this Jesus thing can work for your uncle, maybe it'll work for us". She must have called my uncle 'cause within a couple of weeks, he'd directed us to a little Foursquare Church in the town where we lived.

At first, I didn't get it. I remember sitting through sermon upon sermon upon sermon reading the sign above the pulpit...."Jesus Christ, the same yesterday, today and forever". It made no sense to me because I thought He was dead, so how could He be the same?? The same, as in always dead? It was all very confusing. This was the summer of 1974 and by the winter of 1975 I was comfortable with enough of the other kids in the church to go to SnowCamp with them.

My sister and I were billeted at the home of a Christian family for the weekend, and I remember being overwhelmed by the gentleness and love in the home...a family that didn't fight! On the Saturday night of the Snowcamp there was a meeting...and I heard the gospel presented with clarity for the first time. Through the entire preaching my heart was pounding on the outside of my chest....and before the preacher even finished giving the alter call, I jumped to my feet to accept Jesus Christ as my Savior. I didn't know it then, but so had my sister.

I realize that we are not "supposed" to hang our faith on esoteric and profound experiences, and this testimony is not meant to get people to go after such an experience....it's just that, what happened that night was so absolutely, amazingly......heck, there are no words for it....that I can't help but share it. I remember being enveloped in a warmth, and actually felt arms hugging me. I felt a hand on my head and hot oil pour from the top of my head down my entire body. I had my eyes closed and I peeked, to see who was doing that, and there was no one around me. I felt a dam burst inside....my heart literally exploded...and 13 years worth of tears came flooding out. I'm sure I terrified everyone else in the room! At the same time that I felt a "lightness of being"....I can't think of another way to describe it. A heaviness lifted off me, and I felt peace and freedom! I even recognized it as peace and freedom.

They took all the kids who accepted Jesus as their Savior into a little back room and gave us our little New Testaments. It was a joy to see my sister saved as well. We were both blubbering like fools and stayed on "cloud nine" for weeks afterwards.

I believe that the reason God doesn't want people chasing experiences instead of chasing Him is because He knows that the afterglow of those experiences eventually wears off and then we are left with little faith. And that's what happened. And unfortunately, there was no foundational teaching to keep me rooted and grounded in Him. But that's a story for another time.

Acting Out

2006-05-21T18:32:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I wrote that my childhood was both the worst and best of times. Children are amazingly resilient but eventually even that resiliency starts to fray. Children can also be consumate actors when they have to be. I was resilient, and an exceptional actress... it's only been in the past few years that I came to appreciate my own bravery and courage as well. I stopped berating myself along time ago for not telling, not stopping it, not fighting back.....and I've come to appreciate that I did what I could to survive and that's nothing to be ashamed of.

There is only so long that a person can ignore an elephant in their living room. The abuse started when I was 5 and by the time I was 10, the elephant in my living room became to big to hide...and I started to do what therapists call "acting out". What a polite way to label screams for help and raging lunacy!! Once I took a butcher knife to my mom's dining chairs. Another time I stole the stepfathers navy emblems, rewards and momento's and burned them. Another time I stole my mother's jewellery and hid it all in the woods. She called the police and reported a burglary. Several weeks later I "found it" so I'd be her hero. It didn't work. I ran away several times....never for more than a few hours....but always long enough to freak mom out. And I became a liar. I would tell mom the most outrageous stories which of course, she saw through. Her reaction to all this? I needed a psychiatrist. She always threatened it, but never followed through. Her way was to tell me my real father was a liar too, so I came by it naturally.

I went from a happy, gregarious, outgoing kid, to a wall flower. I became quiet, withdrawn and terrified. And I started to live in my mind. My fantasy world was where I went all the time. Who's to say that it wouldn't have become my permanent home if it hadn't been for what happened when I 13. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

By the summer of 1972, when I was 10 years old, things started to come to a head. My behavior was creating utter chaos in the family and mom and Rick were now constantly fighting. I think that mom finally started to wonder what was going on when she caught me stealing her cigarettes. When she told Rick, he got off the belt and went to town on me, right in front of her, and I think that opened her eyes. School that fall was horrible. My best friend, Susan had moved away, and I had no friends. I was surly and over the next few months, was getting into fights. Rick was whupping my ass for that and then he'd end up fighting with mom, because she was coming to my rescue. It took my sister and I awhile to clue in that we could pit them off against eachother, and by the summer of 1973, they split up. He moved to Vancouver, and we moved to a little town near the ocean, staying on the island.

There would be no disappointments if there were no expectations. Maybe I was watching too much TV or living in my ideal fantasy world, but I was convinced that when Rick left, and we moved, it would be mom, Lori and me against the world....just us three living happily ever after.....until the end of that same summer, when she got her first "post Rick" boyfriend. His name was Clark, and what abuse he didn't do physically, he made up for verbally. Man, what was wrong with my mother's taste in men?! He lasted just over a year. Then there was Frank...a doormat....then Bob....who was on the rebound, and as soon as his wife beckoned, he returned to her. That hurt alot, because I really loved Bob. There was a real weird dynamic going on when my mom was dating....so long as she had a man in her life, she was fairly easy to live with....certainly distant, but she more or less left us alone. But whenever a relationship failed, she'd get angry and bitter and we'd take the brunt of it. She was a screamer and a slapper....but her words cut through to my heart more than her hand across my face ever did....in fact, her words hurt more than Rick's abuse.

It was in one of her "manless" periods that it felt like all hell was breaking lose against our family of three. It was the catalyst for desperation, which is the only reason my mother, the atheist, decided to start taking us to church. It was the summer I was 13....and I'll tell you about it tomorrow.

The Worst of Times....and the Best of Times

2006-05-20T19:30:00.000-07:00

The irony of my childhood was that it was also the best of times. For every black memory, I have two white ones....sure, there was the cruel, nasty stepdad, but then there was PopPop, my grandpa...he adored me, I adored him, and he was my world. There was Susan, my best friend, and Lori, my sister. Sure, mom was distant, and cold, and angry ALL THE TIME.....but there was Aunty Shanny, who was warm, caring, she listened, and was inviting and cuddly! And there was Tammy and Kim, her daughters, our cousins, who made every day that we spent with them a grand adventure!!

We had chores.....edicts issued by a perfectionist, controlling mother. A quarter had to be able to bounce off the bed after it was made, and the peeled potato skin couldn't snap when it was bent.....or else. The dishs had to squeak and if any were found with spots, mom would empty the cupboards and make us do them all, all over again. But, when chores were done, we were free to go do whatever we wanted....so you can bet the quarter always bounced, the potato skin was so thin you could see through it and the dishs were spotless!!

Mom had one rule for going outside to play...be back before it gets dark. We spent entire days wandering between corner stores, abandoned gravel pits, swamps and ponds, ravines, grave yards, old abandoned farms and barns, train tressles and the Butler's backyard. Our imaginations knew no bounds, and the smell of clean fresh air mixed with children's play sweat is still heady to me. TV was saved for one or two hours a night, if it was raining, and sticks became horses and bricks became entire cities for our Tonka trucks.....dolls? They were as foreign to me as indoor play. The ultimate cruelty by way of punishment was getting grounded...I'd have taken the electric cord butt whipping over grounding any day.

I remember one very indelible moment on one of those play days....we'd been outside all day, roving, building forts, playing cowboys and Indians (or .... for those who place value on being PC.....bovine persons and aboriginals) I was walking home from the Butler's, alone. The sun was just starting to go down. The smell of the cooling asphalt was in the air....the birds, the breeze, the wonder of it all....I looked up at the sky, clouds shimmering in the pinkening light...the forest canopy swaying against the backdrop....one lone star blinking through....and felt????? OVERWHELMED...AWED...WOWED....I thought "WHO made all this?" and was hit with this certainty, absolute and riveting...EVERYTHING IS GOING TO BE OK. I remember it like it was yesterday...or a minute ago. I was maybe 6 or 7.

Romans says that God gave evidence of Himself in His creation...I was raised by an athiest in a violent cruel home. That day, in my heart of heart's, I became a believer. Even when I went home, and asked mom "who made everything?", and she explained it was all a big accident...and my ancestors were apes....(which could have explained alot of things)...that moment of certainty never left me. God showed Himself to me that day....though I wouldn't actually get it 'till many many years later.

The In Between

2006-05-19T16:59:00.000-07:00

I left off yesterday with dad leaving. I never saw him again until I was 15. He called on my birthday, like it was just another of many many phone calls...I answered the phone.."hello"...."hi honey, it's your dad". Huh? Very weird. He was in town and wanted to come over 'cause he had something to tell me. My heart pounded outside my chest the entire time we waited for him. He showed up with his wife, and a picture of the baby brother that I never knew I had and who had died of SIDS a few months earlier. The something he had to tell me??? He was doing his amends step for AA and wanted our forgiveness for having never called. Aaaahh, ok. It was all very polite, and he left, and I think I next saw him at my sister's wedding some 6 years later.

I carried this almost dreamlike, surreal image in my head all through my childhood, teens and into my young adult years. I never knew if it was a dream, or real...or a movie I'd seen, or some out of body experience. I have a picture of being awakened in the middle of the night...frantic, panicky...I remember "hurry....get your cloths on!..... no, just your coat!... shoes...get your shoes...no, you can put them on in the car!

What's happening?? I remember fear...it was palpable in the air and I remember Lori crying. Then there was a drive in the middle of the night...and a big man behind the wheel....mom in the front seat, so I guess it's ok. Isn't it? I remember being bedded down on a sofa, in a room with a green fireplace in the corner. The ceilings were really, really, really high, and I stared out the stop sign shaped window high up on the wall, all night. The stars were twinking on the other side. I remember muffled voices and wondering where Lori was. I remember standing out in the middle of a huge yard - I think it was the next day. Alone. Where was every body? There was one of those bathtubs with lion feet in the garden. I remember running up to it, looking inside and freaking out...it was full of water, with guppies and garder snakes inside. And that's it....the entire scene, played over and over in my head in flashback moments all throughout my wonder years. It always left me with a sense of having no footing....it still does. When I was in my 30's I told my mom about it....never quite sure if it really happened or not. She said "oh, sure, that's the night we went to so and so's house". And why we'd do that? "you're father was coming to kill us". End of discussion. Turns out, he'd been in a drunken rage and had started calling her...... he was on the way, and he had a gun. Mom and my grandpa found the house trashed the next day, so I guess he must have meant some of it, anyway.

Mom started dating pretty quickly after she and dad quit eachother...I remember a couple of boyfriends before she brought Rick home. Their first date was New Years Eve, and he was living with us by the time I turned 5 in April. I know that for sure, 'cause he got me a dog for my birthday...and the dog took to Lori, so he never did become my dog.

Rick was a two weeks on, two weeks off seaman, and when he was on his two weeks off, he was my babysitter. Lori was in kindergarten. Mom was at work. I was at home, getting babysat by mom's new boyfriend. One day he called me into his bedroom. Because good little girls do as they're told..... never talk back.... and are seen, not heard..... I obeyed. He molested me that day....and quite often after that, right up until he and mom split when I was 11.

Mom once asked me why I never told her. My answer to her was the truth. It hurt her, but she wanted to know. Rick had convinced me that if I ever told, mom would hate me and leave me....she'd leave with him and I'd be alone. I bought it, hook, line and sinker, because mom had never demonstrated to me anything to give me reason to believe otherwise.

Phew!! I've shared this story many times and it never get's any easier. Thank God, because that would mean I'm numb again.

Stay tuned.

Eirene Means Peace

2006-05-18T22:40:00.000-07:00

Peace, tranquility, repose, calm, harmony...it denotes a state of untroubled, undisturbed, well-being. Blessed are those who have eirene and blessed are those who make it.

There's a big difference between real inner peace and numbness. It took me the better half of 44 years to figure that out. This journal is going to be about those 44 years and all that I learned and didn't learn through out them. It's going to be about my journey, from then until now. It's going to start slow and be brutally honest, sometimes graphic, and always with the thought to glorify Papa in Heaven who carried me through the whole thing....even when I didn't know it. I'm going to hold nothing back, and will do my best to highlight everything and everyone who had a huge part to play in bringing me to where I am today. There is scripture that says what the devil intended for evil, God has turned to good, and this journal is going to show you all that God did to make it good.... from introducing me to the idea of His Son when I was 6.... to making Him real to me at a snowcamp when I was 13..... to the miracle of my children.....to letting me go do it my way because He values our free will to choose....and patiently waited out on the road everyday for my return....to the 12 steps that taught me He really was my Papa.....right up to the awesome cheerleading friends in my life today who buoy me up whenever I need it. All of it!!

So, to the beginning....once upon a time...sorry, couldn't resist.

I was born in 1962 to a very young mother who was swept off her feet by a navy seaman who passed himself off as an officer...need I say more? I was the youngest of two girls - born only 11 months apart. We lived in a little bungalow on the island and my earliest childhood memory was of the split kitchen door - it was painted torquoise and the bottom half stayed closed while you could open the top half - I remember mom with her big red hair beehive, tight little Marilyn jeans, white blouse, blood red nail polish and lipstick, standing at the door, jiving to rock and roll and smoking a cigarette. That is my earliest memory of mom.

I have two childhood memories of dad. The first is when we were in the car...I was in the back seat...we were returning from mom's Saturday afternoon at the "beauty parlour". Dad swung his arm back and smacked me across the face because I'd picked gum off the sidewalk...I know...EEWWW...come on, I was only 3!! The other memory was of him leaving. I remember "mommy and daddy" fighting that day...remember shattering glass and really loud voices and the butterflies in my stomach as I went to hide behind the rowboat leaning up against the garage. I think my sister was hiding in her room. Then I heard the car start up and saw daddy driving away. I haven't a clue how long I sat behind that rowboat crying. When mom called me in for dinner, she told me dad was gone, wouldn't be back, and it's your turn to do the dishes tonight....oh yeah, and stop your blubbering or I'll give you something to blubber about. I was 4.

The 2nd chapter comes tomorrow....or whenever.