Today, I told my story. That doesn’t sound like a show stopper, I know, but you don’t know my story. No, not all of it, but more than I have ever admitted to anyone beyond my beast. Even here, I attempt to hide behind a veil of anonymity to develop the courage to share my feelings and pieces of my story.
Yesterday the question was asked of our relationship with God throughout our lives, or our testimony if you will. It’s time to tell my story.
I have wrestled with God my entire life.
My parents met in church. They fell in love and were married. Fast forward 9 months later and I was born. I don’t remember any of the church time while we lived in the south, but I am assured we were there and my mother worked in the nursery and taught Sunday School.
At the age of 6, with 2 little brothers in tow, we all moved north. Somehow my parents settled on a baptist church over an hour from our house. I don’t remember going more than a few times, despite my attendance of kindergarten there. I remember school very well, but nothing of church.
The school closed, the church had a new pastor and my mom was distracted with 5 children. The littlest had cancer and all of my grandparents told her it was her punishment for not raising her children in a firm church family and not teaching us to have a relationship with God.
Now, I must deviate here for a little back story. My mother’s mother (Grandma) is a bible-thumping religious nut. Birthday and Christmas cards were thrown away without even being opened because you couldn’t read what Hallmark had written for all her pen marks. Just the envelope alone was enough to convict every postal worker who handled it on its 1200 mile journey from her door to mine.
Her husband, (Grandpa) was not interested in church. He never went with her and when we would visit, he would stay home to smoke and drink coffee.
My father’s parents are equally odd. His father (Pops) was a immigrant after WW2. His mother, (Nana) the daughter of the local baker. They met and were married having never said the words “I love you.” He needed a green card and she…. Well I don’t really know. They lived on separate floors of a huge house my entire life. I never saw them hold hands or sit beside each other. They spoke at dinner, but they could be no more separate. She would even vacation with a girlfriend instead of him. She attended a local church and he went to a separate church. He was never saved or baptized. See, all truth was revealed to him a flash of light one day, so he didn’t have to submit himself that way.
Anyway… I come from a long line of crazies I guess. (You’ve seen I don’t have much to do with family.)
So my sister has cancer. We stopped going to church because my parents were always taking her to doctors. I was angry at God that I had prayed for years for a little sister and got brother after brother. He finally gave me a sister and she was going to die. My parents hid it from us so we assumed the worst.
I went to VBS at my Pops church and got saved at 10. We would go if my mom could remember to get up on time on Sunday. Night services were out. There were too many of us and too much going on.
At 12, we moved back south to be near my mom’s family again. My dad stayed behind, while we moved in with her parents. Grandma, being the religious nut she was told us all we were going to hell and we needed to go to church with her 3 times a week. She had convinced my grandpa to work in ministry so he was working at the local prison – anything to keep from actually going to church I think.
That was the summer he started molesting me (and would until I turned 16). My mother told me it was my fault. My grandma told me I was a liar. My dad didn’t even talk to us while we were separated – only my mother. Screw church and God. If this was it, I wanted no part of any of it.
9 months later we moved back north and back into a new house with my dad. No church. In fact, I don’t think I ever saw the inside of a church again until I was 20.
By then I was in a horrible relationship. My mother had thrown me out of my house (it happened a lot) so I was forced to find a place to go. The only option was a guy I barely knew and had dated once. I moved in and got a decent job. Of course there were expectations to my living arrangements. I was on birth control but wound up pregnant. I was 2 months pregnant when he pushed me down the stairs. I disappeared a week later.
My mother had heard of the a facility for unwed teenage mothers. For the first time in my life, I wanted to do something about my relationship with God. I recommitted my life to Him. I was at the church every time the doors were open. We had group devotions every morning and bible study every afternoon. They were doing their best to convert you in a the short span of remaining pregnancy. Once you gave birth, you left. I didn’t get to stay that long though; 41 days and I was gone. The abusive roommate was stalking me.
I didn’t see a church again until my child was born. I had moved back to my small town and had a girl friend invite me to her church. She now went to the same church where I was saved at VBS. They had a new pastor and I fell in love there. I got baptized Easter Sunday, but by July, I was on the run again.
We moved across country, back in with my mother, who was now more abusive than ever. My dad was never home and I was left raising my child and her three remaining teenagers. I wasn’t allowed to drive her car so unless she got out of bed and was willing to drive an hour, we didn’t go to church.
I became angry with God again. I was trying so hard to get my life together and He seemed to be doing everything he could to destroy that. Why did God hate me so badly?
My daughter and I disappeared before she turned 4. I met the man who would later become my infamous ex husband and tried to find a church home. He didn’t want any part of that. I was completely dependent and trying to get back on my feet. He liked that he could control me. That was 2005.
2012 we moved again and I got my first car. I drove to the church 2 blocks from our house but my anxiety stopped my attendance. I used the excuse my job kept me on the road and I let it. It was better than being seen in public with him.
2014 I filed for an annulment. He refused saying if I wanted out I needed the stigma of a divorce. So I scraped up more money and filed for divorce in 2015. The day I called the attorney, my best friend convinced me that I should going back to that little baptist church. I was there every Sunday and Wednesday. Even when I had to send my daughter to my dad and step mom (who I now call mom) for 11 weeks, I never missed a service.
Now here I am, 18 months later and I am a member, Awana director, VBS leader… My daughter has gotten saved and baptized post-divorce. And my best friend has been there helping me see that God does love me and want good things. I don’t know why all the struggles or pain, but I know I was confused about what was Him and what was people claiming to be Him or doing His work.
That’s as un-jumbled as my story can be for now. There are things I still wrestle with and demons I still have to hide, but I do know God put me right here. He put me in my church. (He has moved me here twice and as hard as I try to leave, I can’t!) He has moved me to a house within 15 minutes of that little church twice. I try to move farther away and He doesn’t let it happen. I don’t know what He’s doing but I know it’s not finished yet. (We love our church family and don’t really want to leave. We want to move away from the stalking ex-husband who moved a block away.)
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