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My testimony....a glimpse

Posted by on Jun. 4, 2011 at 12:14 AM
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 There's so much more to this than I will ever be able to put here (I have been told I should write a book, lol), but I feel it is time I share with you, a bit of me.


I don't have very many good memories of my childhood. I remember it as a time as the oldest of 3 children, when I was expected to do more, see more, be responsible for more, and understand more, than other children my age.

My parents had a very volatile marriage. My father was a drunk and physically abusive toward my mother, and at times, us as well. I remember how he would curse and berate us. To the world, we were the average American family, a husband with the good paying job, mother who cared for the home and children. Nice home in a nice area, well-behaved kids, the trappings of life. But behind closed doors, life was anything but ideal. Dad would fly into fits of rage, kicking/slapping us, calling us names, telling us how unwanted we were. "Bad seeds" was one of his favorite insults.

When I was 8, he came home from a weekend trip with his mistress and kicked us out into the street with nothing more than a large mayonnaise jar full of coinsmy mother had saved from her "mad money" and a station wagon. My mother had stayed home with us children and had really no skills. As we had no family and nowhere to go, my mother left the three of us with friends of hers, while she went about finding work and a place to live. I don't remember how long we were there.

Sometime later just before my 9th birthday, my mother had a job and a small, very cramped one bedroom apartment for the four of us, and we were reunited. It wasn't long though, before my mother began drinking, staying out after work to socialize and meet people. It was my responsibility to care for my two younger siblings: cook for them, make sure they bathed and brushed their teeth, got to bed on time and up for school in the morning. Mom wasn't home much but I remember she provided us with a fridge full of food, the very basics. When we did see her, she was often hung over, tired and wanting us to leave her alone so she could rest. I was the "mother hen", she called me. As the oldest, I was expected to help out, to fill in for her. My childhood was over before it began. I never had friends, there were no sleepovers or birthday parties. Those things were reserved for my siblings.

On October 21, 1978, when I was 10 ½, my mother was driving home one night after a night of drinking, and had a one car accident, in which she rolled her vehicle end-over-end 7 times. During one of the rolls, she was ejected and the car landed on top of her from the waist down, where she was pinned until found several hours later.

My father never came for us. My mother told me years later, that he came to the hospital and told her that she had better live, because he wasn't going to raise kids. We ended up going to stay with friends of hers.

My mother survived the accident, but it left her a paraplegic. She was very angry....angry at us kids, angry at the doctors for saving her life, angry at the world, angry at God for letting the accident happen. She blamed everyone but herself. I remember for years, she would get drunk then plead with us to help her die. She drank a lot, would throw things at us, hit us with hair brushes or anything within her reach. We walked on egg shells, never knowing what it was going to take to set her off on another one of her fits of rage. She married a man she had met at a bar before her accident and he came into our lives. We didn't like him. I remember as young as I was, I could feel it in my "gut" that there was something "off" about him. I didn't trust him.

It was sometime shortly after her accident, that he began to abuse my sister and I. There are no words to describe the ways in which we were hurt. When I told my mother, pleading for help, he told her "the devil made him do it", and that was that. She needed his income, didn't want to believe us...I don't know what went through her head entirely. My sister and I were kicked out. She gave us $20.00 each and told us that we were old enough to fend for ourselves. She didn't need us, or want us. I was very angry for a long, long time after that....the feeling never leaves a child when they know an outsider, someone who inflicted so much pain, was chosen over flesh and blood.

For a short time, we slept on friends' sofas, in abandoned homes, cars of our friends parents...wherever we could find a place to lay our head. I was too young to work, so I began to steal food for us to eat. Eventually, we were picked up by police and taken into state custody, made wards of the state. We bounced around from group homes, foster homes, juvenile penal institutions.

By the time I was out of my teen years, I had a lengthy arrest record for theft/shoplifting and at age 19, I spent almost 11 months in a women's prison. My sister and I were separated in the system and it was just in the year 2009 that I found her.

I reconciled as best I could with my mother after getting out of prison. Two months later, at the age of 42, she died in her sleep of a pulmonary embolism.

I quickly married a man I had known for less than 1 month. I think in him, I was searching for stability, a family, someone I could depend on. For a short time, things were good. I went to college to obtain a nursing degree, I worked hard to overcome my past, and I thought things were looking up.

But he became abusive-throwing me down stairs, breaking bones, I can't even count the number of black eyes, times my jaw was dislocated.... and after 4 years marriage, more than half of which was volatile, I left in the middle of the night, with nothing more than the clothes on my back. I divorced him and once again set about rebuilding my life.

I knew nothing of God. Growing up, god was a word I heard taken in vain.
Someone my parents blamed when things did not go their way or life got tough. My mother said once that her motto was, "If it feels good, do it". That's how she lived her life. How empty and unfulfilling! How traumatic to the children of a person who lives like that.

I can look back now and see how lost and hurt and confused I was. I always felt this enormous void in my heart. I didn't know what it was; I had no idea where to look. For a time, I drank and popped pills to numb the pain, to "fill" the void. I also attempted suicide a number of times, a few of which put me in the hospital. I would cry out, asking why I was even born. All I knew of this life was pain, rejection, and heartache.

On March 9, 1992, I met my husband. He witnessed to me, told me about God, how He loved me and had died for me. I remember being in shock, speechless, and admittedly, angry. Who was this god? Where was he when my life was falling apart, when I was cold and on the streets, hungry, alone and abused? I was very resistant at first.

Then one day in August 1992, I cried out to God. Told Him if He was real, to show me. That I was willing to give Him everything I am, to die for Him if need be. It was so very hard for me to accept that I was loved, when all around me from my birth, the people who I should have been able to trust, hurt me in horrible, unspeakable ways, over and over.

I can't say that I felt it all at once. But a little day by day, I felt God working in my life. A baby step here, another there. As He removed the layers of hurt, I felt His love fill me. I prayed and read the Word a lot. Oh how I loved talking to Him! Knowing that He was listening to me, that I wasn't being ignored by yet someone else, that He wouldn't chasrtise or ridicule me as everyone else had always does a heart good.

I am a new person now. Gone are the ways of old. In me beats a new heart, strong and full...and loved! Love like I had never thought possible! Once I was lost, but now I am found. Where I know now, I was always meant to be, in God's arms.

My biological dad died in 2000. I didn't find out until years later. Though I had tried throughout the years to have some sort of relationship with him, it was never meant to be.

My siblings and I have a fractured relationship. My brother is an atheist and has severed all ties with me, because of my relationship with God. Thje last time I saw him, he threatened to kill me after I tried to talk to him about God. My sister reminds me a lot of our mother-she drinks a lot, has abandoned 2 of her own children, and turned her back on her other 4, does what she wants to do, lives by the motto "If it feels good, do it". We seldom talk. It is painful when on the rare occcasion we do speak.

I pray for them often and know that God can and will change their lives. It is up to them. As much as I want it for them, they have to want it for themselves. I leave them in God's hands.
God gave me a husband who loves me. The years of our marriage early on, when I had to learn about God, to learn to trust, to forgive....the countless nights my husband sat with me, listening as I poured out my heart and the tears flowed, like rivers. He is such a tolerant and patient man! God bless him. And my daughter, the little girl God spoke into my ear in 1999 as I prayed and told me He would bless me with. God opened this barren womb and gave me my heart's desire, to be a mom.
He took this broken, angry woman and not only did He heal me, but set me free from a lifetime of pain and rejection and in it's place, is the promise of eternal life. Where there is no more pain, no more tears, rejection or abandonment.

Glory to God! He is truly a Man of His word.

by on Jun. 4, 2011 at 12:14 AM
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by turtldov (sandy) on Jun. 4, 2011 at 12:42 AM

     What a moving, sad and yet Victorious Testimony!  Thank you for opening your heart and soul; you are Loved, my Sister!!!

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