I've haven't updated this blog in a while because I really have struggled to go back in my mind to those days where I had all my friends around me. But recently, I posted something on Twitter and gained a bit of backlash from someone, thinking I was talking about them, instead of understanding who/what I was talking about.
My past has impacted who I am and what I stand for and I doubt much will ever change in that realm. But I want to share just a bit, to see if I can bring some clarity to this situation once and for all.
I spent nearly 17 years of my life in a church that was secluded, community-like, with a little over a thousand people making up the whole of everyone I really knew. We went into town to get groceries, and shopped for cloth to make our own clothes and sometimes frequented a thrift store or two, and of course, book stores. But over all, we didn't communicate with the outside world besides those who came to the visitors center, and those who enjoyed the annual Thanksgiving Fair they have once a year.
I don't know how well I can explain the "rules and regulations" of this place. It's been 6 years since I was there, and 10 years since I was fully involved with the church. As I explained before, my Dad was "disassociated" from the church when I was about 16 years old because he didn't believe in complete non violence, (to extreme extents) and didn't believe that "running everything by the brothers" was necessary to live life. Here's a few examples, if we wanted to take a vacation, you had to talk to the brothers and explain every single thing you planned on doing and who you were planning on seeing and how long you'd be gone. If they didn't feel the Spirit of God in it and didn't believe that you were in line with the Word of God, they would tell you to "go pray again" until you "hear from God." I'm not talking about them disagreeing with you wanting to go to a strip club, I'm talking about simple things like, not thinking your children should be around their aunts and uncles or cousins, or whatever the case may be. You were never allowed to go to Six Flags or Disney Land. Entertainment of that sort was of the devil and not needed.
Another example, you didn't just "fall in love" with whoever you wanted. You weren't allowed to flirt, talk with or smile at the opposite gender. Now, that seems extreme and some would beg to differ from me who grew up in that church. But I have to say, different rules applied to different people. It was never the same for everyone. You never knew where you stood and sometimes you might just glance at a boy and you'd be called out for it and disciplined. Other times, like me, had "permission" to work with young men on a certain level and talk with them, because we all played instruments together for the Little Kids Choir. But beyond that, no relationship was allowed. When you wanted to get married, you had to talk to your parents and the elders of the church. The young woman would be asked to pray to see if she felt God leading her to marry someone. I honestly don't know what happened if someone felt to marry someone different than what the elders felt. I was never in that place so I didn't experience that.
Flowers at weddings needed to be minimal and simple. The bride didn't have bridesmaids or a bouquet. Her dress needed to be simple and near the end of my time there, they needed to be dyeable and reworn.
This stuff wasn't just suggestions of like, "Oh, let's be resourceful and see how cheap we can have a wedding for." It was mandated and if you didn't run everything by the brothers to make sure they approved, you ran the risk of being in trouble and possibly getting disassociated for rebellion.
While all this (and there is tons more I could share) seems outrageous, to me, I was fine with it. I loved it there. I sunk my life into these people and I never imagined I'd leave or have to leave. I liked wearing dresses. I loved my long hair. I didn't mind the way marriages worked. I loved the community and the gardening, homeschooling, home birth, and everything else about the life. I struggled through four years while my Dad was disassociated, before he finally left, to keep my head above water and wait for the day they'd accept me back. They said because of the "sins of my parents" I had to be sidelined. We never understood why. There was a family similar to ours that had a dad disassociated for similar things and yet he just stayed home while his family was fully involved. They would just say our situation was "unique" and "different." When we would ask what was unique, we were questioning authority and never got an answer.
The last year I was there, they would accuse me of being the one who was leaking information to outsiders about their Sunday church services (which were closed to the public and they had security around so no one could just walk in). Funny thing was, I wasn't in the church meetings and no one would tell me what was going on in them, so there was no way I could be leaking any information. Another weird thing they accused my dad of was having a 9mm gun in his glove compartment, and the only gun he ever owned was a BB gun and he wouldn't even shoot a grasshopper. He literally target practiced with grass blades. No joke. Near the end, I would have meetings with a couple of the elders of the church there was raised voices, and other types of verbal abuse I won't go into detail with here. At the time, I thought it was normal. It was all I had ever known. Nothing seemed strange to me. But I finally had to make a choice to leave or not.
I left my aunt, uncle and cousins there and of course, we share a Grandma. After we left, she got the story from them, which was told from a perspective to make them look good and like we were the bad guys. I heard rumors (unsure who started them) that they were telling people at Sunday meetings that I had left, gone off the deep end by sleeping around, drinking, doing drugs, and being completely ridiculous. I have never done any of that. In fact, it wasn't until about 2 years ago that I had my first sip of a margarita. And I hated it. I left the church and almost immediately went to Bible College in Dallas, Texas. My heart was to become a missionary and to stay a Christian. Actually, my heart was to find out what a real Christian was! Because to be honest, I really had no clue.
Anyways, the rumors still fly as of this day on how I disvalue family. How I spread rumors about them and lie about what happened there. They don't want to see the truth. They can't see the truth. I was that way when I was there. I'm not being ugly or unkind. I totally "get it" when I hear the rumors. I understand their thought process. I was one of them at one point. Here's a small example on how deeply entrenched I was in the devils hold while in that place. When my Dad decided to leave the church, I felt it was my God-given duty to tell him, almost on a daily basis, how he was going to die and go to hell. I felt it was my God-given duty to tell him that he needed to repent and talk with the brothers and come to agreement with the authority. I felt totally justified in what I was saying. I felt like I was doing what God called me to do. I felt no guilt. No shame. No conscience in how I was putting myself in the place of God and judging my own Dad for something that wasn't even a sin! I was one of the most judgmental people living on the planet. I would judge if a person's hair wasn't perfect, or if their dress was too short, or if they were being immodest. I won't even try to explain how I was with people who weren't apart of the church. God forgive me! Love doesn't rule there. Love doesn't mean anything. Everything is superficial and underneath all the smiles and happiness is an ocean of sadness, confusion, fear and doubt. You'd never know from the outside though. Yes, there are a LOT of good times there. Relationships were real. Friends were real. But what held us together wasn't. It was just controlled atmosphere and everyone was "happy" as long as you followed each rule perfectly.
I have never quite gotten over the fact that they feel it's ok to talk behind my back (but who am I to judge? because I did it too). Once someone has left the church, you're the subject of everyone talking about how to not back slide and become a heathen. They claim that loving people and praying for them is the best way, yet they stab people with their words after they do something they don't agree with. They claim family is so important, yet they refuse to even sit down and eat dinner at Christmas or Thanksgiving with us. They claim they're a city, set on a hill, to attract people to Jesus, yet they push the ones away they feel are going to hell the most. So when I talk about being hypocritical, and uncaring, and unfeeling, it is my human side coming out, angry that I can't have my own family...my cousins, my aunt, my uncle, my friends, back. I'm human. I spent all my "aware" years there, thinking I'd never leave. Thinking this was it. Thinking that all the friends I had would be there when I died. I never imagined that I'd be leaving on such bad terms. I never imagined I'd not have my kids grow up with my best friend's kids. I never imagined that I'd be pushed into a world of unknowns and people who really don't seem to care about the reality of a war going on in my heart. It's been hard settling down and finding friends. I don't feel I fit anywhere. No, this isn't a pity party. This is just how I feel. I've made choices to not make friends on certain occassions and to hold back in other situations. I'm growing out of that. It just takes time.
So when I talk about family, friends, loved ones, I am talking about my life...my past, the people I have held close for the majority of my life, not any church I have attended recently. Not Paul's family (we just had a LOVELY visit with his brother and sister in law). Not anyone else. My heart aches sometimes and sometimes my blog, tweets and Facebook will share some of that ache. You people on Twitter, Facebook and those who read my blogs are my friends. I really don't have outside relationships at this point. That's how I communicate. I hope everyone understands and can move forward with knowing that even when I say that about family, friends being hypocritical...it's because they say with their mouths they want to see us and love us, yet when we reach out, we are verbally slapped and crushed by their words. I will say it here as I said above, I was one of those hypocrites once. I said and did the same things. I have no stones to throw. I just have a wounded heart and I pray some day God heals it all over and brings people into my life that I can love on, depend on and serve. <3
Edit: I have over 30 friends on my personal Facebook that have left the same church as well. We all understand each other and gain strength and encouragement from each other. Others experience the same shunning, hate and hypocrisy that I do. We understand when we talk about "HH" (Homestead Heritage) and we understand when we talk about family, and friends. We aren't naming anyone specific. There isn't anyone specific to talk about. And even if there was, I wouldn't do that. I still respect them. I still love them. But that doesn't keep me, and the numerous other young people and adults, from being hurt by their actions. Our stories of over coming and just knowing that others struggle still, help each other. It's kind of like Alcoholics Anonymous. You to go group to talk about your struggles and gain strength from others. It's the same with us. Except we all live all over the place and there's no way we could all get together for a support group.
Tuesday, September 8, 2015
Monday, June 29, 2015
The Power of #LoveWins
The world has been rocked this past week by the announcement that same sex marriage is now lawful in all states. The liberals are celebrating, the conservatives are horrified and then there are those who are "in the middle."
I have read posts full of hate towards the gays and lesbians, and how abominable they are. I have read posts saying how excited they are. I have read posts of people supporting both sides. But what has caught my eye the most is the commonality between all the posts that say, "#LoveWins."
That hashtag got me thinking deeply about this subject. How does love win if so much hate is being spread around? How can love win if we push away those who are different than us, believe differently, or follow a different path than us? We can't. Plain and simple. There is no way to reach someone with hate, disgust, or judgement. Let me make an example. Let's say you're at work and your co-worker comes to you (equal to you in rank) and starts saying to you, "You did your job all wrong. You disgust me with how you do things. You're just gross. You sinner! How dare you?!" What does that do to you? It makes you defensive. It makes you grind your feet a bit further into how you do things and you just want to snap back on "what business do they have to judge you and if they have so much trouble with you, why don't they just talk to the manager?" Your openness to hearing what they have to say is closed off completely. But let's say your co-worker comes to you and says something like this, "Hey, I just wanted you to know that I see your effort, but I wanted to mention something to you if I could? I noticed you did this job this way, but did you know our boss wants things done this way? I just know you're a good person and are trying your best. Didn't want you to lose your job!" You're probably going to feel a lot more receptive to them and even appreciate the advice and help. If you're full of pride, you won't appreciate anything anyone says, but for the most part, most people would appreciate such help.
Same goes for how we approach anyone about anything pertaining to Jesus, the Bible and Christianity. If we are shoving in their face our religion and how we think they're so crazy for not realizing that sleeping man with man and woman with woman is wrong, and we put them down, spouting off scripture and our beliefs, we will just be pushing them away. They'll be saying after you're done, "They're just like all the other Christians. They all think they're so perfect and righteous. They think they don't sin. They think they can judge me when they themselves are sinners. Why even try to believe in God, or change my ways when Christianity and Jesus obviously doesn't help them with their self righteous piousness and attitudes." You might wonder why I state it so matter-of-factly, but ti's because I have thought those very thoughts when I wasn't a Christian. Those who sat around and judged me and told me where all I was wrong and how dare I do or say such and such, I was so turned off by it. I just didn't want to have anything to do with them. But those who approached me with love, gentleness, kindness and forgiveness, I was able to accept into my life and it changed me! I was way more receptive to help and correction when the word came with Love. That is when Love Won with me.
It has made me really sad to see how Christians state their beliefs and have pushed away the gay community. I have a heart for these people. I think God wants us to feel love, compassion and care for them.
In Matthew 7: 1-3 it says, "Don’t pick on people, jump on their failures, criticize their faults— unless, of course, you want the same treatment. That critical spirit has a way of boomeranging. It’s easy to see a smudge on your neighbor’s face and be oblivious to the ugly sneer on your own. Do you have the nerve to say, ‘Let me wash your face for you,’ when your own face is distorted by contempt? It’s this whole traveling road-show mentality all over again, playing a holier-than-thou part instead of just living your part. Wipe that ugly sneer off your own face, and you might be fit to offer a washcloth to your neighbor." (MSG) In other words, as other translations say, "Judge not, lest you be judged."
Also in John 8 also says this, "
Jesus went across to Mount Olives, but he was soon back in the Temple again. Swarms of people came to him. He sat down and taught them.
3-6 The religion scholars and Pharisees led in a woman who had been caught in an act of adultery. They stood her in plain sight of everyone and said, “Teacher, this woman was caught red-handed in the act of adultery. Moses, in the Law, gives orders to stone such persons. What do you say?” They were trying to trap him into saying something incriminating so they could bring charges against him.
6-8 Jesus bent down and wrote with his finger in the dirt. They kept at him, badgering him. He straightened up and said, “The sinless one among you, go first: Throw the stone.” Bending down again, he wrote some more in the dirt.
9-10 Hearing that, they walked away, one after another, beginning with the oldest. The woman was left alone. Jesus stood up and spoke to her. “Woman, where are they? Does no one condemn you?”
11 “No one, Master.”
“Neither do I,” said Jesus. “Go on your way. From now on, don’t sin.” (MSG)
With those two scriptures, it is clear that Jesus doesn't want us to judge and he also told the men wanting to stone the woman that the sinless should cast the first stone. Not one could and all left her alone with Jesus. That is Jesus' way of showing us that we all have sin.
Romans 3:23 says this, "But in our time something new has been added. What Moses and the prophets witnessed to all those years has happened. The God-setting-things-right that we read about has become Jesus-setting-things-right for us. And not only for us, but for everyone who believes in him. For there is no difference between us and them in this. Since we’ve compiled this long and sorry record as sinners (both us and them) and proved that we are utterly incapable of living the glorious lives God wills for us, God did it for us. Out of sheer generosity he put us in right standing with himself. A pure gift. He got us out of the mess we’re in and restored us to where he always wanted us to be. And he did it by means of Jesus Christ." (MSG) (short version is "All have sinned and fall short of the glory of God).
We all sin. Our sin just might be different than others. It doesn't excuse our sin. It doesn't excuse theirs. All sin is deserving of death and hell. But instead, Jesus came back to life after being crucified on the cross to bring redemption, resurrection and grace in our lives! He extended us a hand of grace! He extended us a hand of love! He extended us a hand of forgiveness! he didn't come to condemn, but to heal. He came to bring life, love and freedom from sin. I believe Jesus wants us to love our fellow sinners. I believe He wants us to reach out to them and let true #LoveWin(s). Let our actions speak louder than words. Don't condone the sin. But don't bash and hate. Extend the same hand of grace, love and forgiveness that Jesus offered you to those who are around you. We need that grace on a daily basis. We can do no less for others. Let's be a light of love to every person around us. We have so much to offer, but our offerings will go stale if we offer it in a spirit of pride, hate and degradation.
Blessings!
I have read posts full of hate towards the gays and lesbians, and how abominable they are. I have read posts saying how excited they are. I have read posts of people supporting both sides. But what has caught my eye the most is the commonality between all the posts that say, "#LoveWins."
That hashtag got me thinking deeply about this subject. How does love win if so much hate is being spread around? How can love win if we push away those who are different than us, believe differently, or follow a different path than us? We can't. Plain and simple. There is no way to reach someone with hate, disgust, or judgement. Let me make an example. Let's say you're at work and your co-worker comes to you (equal to you in rank) and starts saying to you, "You did your job all wrong. You disgust me with how you do things. You're just gross. You sinner! How dare you?!" What does that do to you? It makes you defensive. It makes you grind your feet a bit further into how you do things and you just want to snap back on "what business do they have to judge you and if they have so much trouble with you, why don't they just talk to the manager?" Your openness to hearing what they have to say is closed off completely. But let's say your co-worker comes to you and says something like this, "Hey, I just wanted you to know that I see your effort, but I wanted to mention something to you if I could? I noticed you did this job this way, but did you know our boss wants things done this way? I just know you're a good person and are trying your best. Didn't want you to lose your job!" You're probably going to feel a lot more receptive to them and even appreciate the advice and help. If you're full of pride, you won't appreciate anything anyone says, but for the most part, most people would appreciate such help.
Same goes for how we approach anyone about anything pertaining to Jesus, the Bible and Christianity. If we are shoving in their face our religion and how we think they're so crazy for not realizing that sleeping man with man and woman with woman is wrong, and we put them down, spouting off scripture and our beliefs, we will just be pushing them away. They'll be saying after you're done, "They're just like all the other Christians. They all think they're so perfect and righteous. They think they don't sin. They think they can judge me when they themselves are sinners. Why even try to believe in God, or change my ways when Christianity and Jesus obviously doesn't help them with their self righteous piousness and attitudes." You might wonder why I state it so matter-of-factly, but ti's because I have thought those very thoughts when I wasn't a Christian. Those who sat around and judged me and told me where all I was wrong and how dare I do or say such and such, I was so turned off by it. I just didn't want to have anything to do with them. But those who approached me with love, gentleness, kindness and forgiveness, I was able to accept into my life and it changed me! I was way more receptive to help and correction when the word came with Love. That is when Love Won with me.
It has made me really sad to see how Christians state their beliefs and have pushed away the gay community. I have a heart for these people. I think God wants us to feel love, compassion and care for them.
In Matthew 7: 1-3 it says, "Don’t pick on people, jump on their failures, criticize their faults— unless, of course, you want the same treatment. That critical spirit has a way of boomeranging. It’s easy to see a smudge on your neighbor’s face and be oblivious to the ugly sneer on your own. Do you have the nerve to say, ‘Let me wash your face for you,’ when your own face is distorted by contempt? It’s this whole traveling road-show mentality all over again, playing a holier-than-thou part instead of just living your part. Wipe that ugly sneer off your own face, and you might be fit to offer a washcloth to your neighbor." (MSG) In other words, as other translations say, "Judge not, lest you be judged."
Also in John 8 also says this, "
Jesus went across to Mount Olives, but he was soon back in the Temple again. Swarms of people came to him. He sat down and taught them.
3-6 The religion scholars and Pharisees led in a woman who had been caught in an act of adultery. They stood her in plain sight of everyone and said, “Teacher, this woman was caught red-handed in the act of adultery. Moses, in the Law, gives orders to stone such persons. What do you say?” They were trying to trap him into saying something incriminating so they could bring charges against him.
6-8 Jesus bent down and wrote with his finger in the dirt. They kept at him, badgering him. He straightened up and said, “The sinless one among you, go first: Throw the stone.” Bending down again, he wrote some more in the dirt.
9-10 Hearing that, they walked away, one after another, beginning with the oldest. The woman was left alone. Jesus stood up and spoke to her. “Woman, where are they? Does no one condemn you?”
11 “No one, Master.”
“Neither do I,” said Jesus. “Go on your way. From now on, don’t sin.” (MSG)
With those two scriptures, it is clear that Jesus doesn't want us to judge and he also told the men wanting to stone the woman that the sinless should cast the first stone. Not one could and all left her alone with Jesus. That is Jesus' way of showing us that we all have sin.
Romans 3:23 says this, "But in our time something new has been added. What Moses and the prophets witnessed to all those years has happened. The God-setting-things-right that we read about has become Jesus-setting-things-right for us. And not only for us, but for everyone who believes in him. For there is no difference between us and them in this. Since we’ve compiled this long and sorry record as sinners (both us and them) and proved that we are utterly incapable of living the glorious lives God wills for us, God did it for us. Out of sheer generosity he put us in right standing with himself. A pure gift. He got us out of the mess we’re in and restored us to where he always wanted us to be. And he did it by means of Jesus Christ." (MSG) (short version is "All have sinned and fall short of the glory of God).
We all sin. Our sin just might be different than others. It doesn't excuse our sin. It doesn't excuse theirs. All sin is deserving of death and hell. But instead, Jesus came back to life after being crucified on the cross to bring redemption, resurrection and grace in our lives! He extended us a hand of grace! He extended us a hand of love! He extended us a hand of forgiveness! he didn't come to condemn, but to heal. He came to bring life, love and freedom from sin. I believe Jesus wants us to love our fellow sinners. I believe He wants us to reach out to them and let true #LoveWin(s). Let our actions speak louder than words. Don't condone the sin. But don't bash and hate. Extend the same hand of grace, love and forgiveness that Jesus offered you to those who are around you. We need that grace on a daily basis. We can do no less for others. Let's be a light of love to every person around us. We have so much to offer, but our offerings will go stale if we offer it in a spirit of pride, hate and degradation.
Blessings!
Wednesday, April 15, 2015
The Suicide Note
When I was around 17 years old, I wrote a suicide note. I had lost all hope, all joy, and everything seemed bleak and sad to me. I had been friendless for nearly two years due to situations in my family that concerned a church we were attending at the time. If you've read previous posts on this blog, you'll know the story behind that. I'd like to encourage you to read them if you haven't already so you know the background to this story.
The other day, I was cleaning my home top to bottom and came across a box that contained about seven or eight of my personal, handwritten journals that I'd kept since I was very young. I used to write every night and would tell what happened in my day, blow-by-blow. You'd know what I ate for breakfast, what I planted in my garden, what I cleaned and who I talked to. I would get into the nitty-gritty details of life, no matter how joyous or how sad. Raw honesty permeated my journals.
But when I was about 17 years old, I had reached a very low place in my life. I had nothing to look forward to. I had sunk my few short years of life into a community that had rules and regulations that kept us from participating. I had been placed outside of the church with no explanation besides, "You'll be back soon," and "You have to suffer for the sins of your parents." *like I said, please read previous blog posts for clarity on this subject.* During this time, I would journal my heart out, sometimes writing for hours on end, page after page, almost as if it were my best friend. I think my journal and the lady at the post office were my best friends to be honest. Oh, and my dogs, Tafi and Daisy. They'd listen to all my ramblings and let me soak their soft fur with my heart broken tears.
When I found the box of journals, I set aside my cleaning for a bit and slumped against the wall to read. I pulled journal after journal out and read, page by page. I relived each day with heartbreaking slowness. Finally I pulled the journal out that contained the note. I wrote about how some of my friends had gotten baptized. I wrote about my best friend, Aileen, dying. I wrote about missed birthday parties. I wrote about meetings my Dad had with the elders. I wrote about my depression. I wrote about my sadness. I wrote about my dark thoughts of suicide. I didn't want to live anymore. The note was long, well thought out. In the beginning, the writing was clear, beautiful, poignant, purposeful. By the end it was scrawled, messy, barely readable and smudged. I remembered writing it. I was calm and collected at the beginning and by the end I was bawling my eyes out and ready to swallow my Dad's container of Tylenol. The pain in my heart was so deep. I felt like a knife had stabbed me and was being turned in slow motion, torturing me with it's deep puncture. The letter contained facts about why I didn't want to live anymore. I was tired of being the weird one. I was tired of being the outcast. I was tired of the one being forgotten about. I was tired of being pushed out of circles. I was tired of being rejected, hurt, lied to, lied about, and ultimately, it lead me to such a deep, dark place, I didn't have the will to go on. My life as I had known it was changed forever. I had no hope of it ever changing. I felt I had no other way out.
I laid my head back on the wall and drifted off to remember the nightmare of that night. I remembered going to the kitchen and getting the bottle. I remember getting the pink cup, filled it with orange juice and walked slowly, puffy eyes and all, to the bathroom to swallow as many as I could. I remember leaning over the sink and just crying. I cried until I had nothing left to cry. I was empty of emotions. My heart was shriveled up. I had blocked all feelings from surfacing. Feeling caused me to fear, shake, cry and be uncertain.
As I sat, remembering all this, I relived that moment when I had the bottle of pills and the juice in my hand. I remember mentally saying good bye to everyone I knew would miss me. Then my thoughts darkened and I realized, no one would miss me, at least so I thought. My parents would, but I thought they'd understand. I thought they'd know why I had to leave the earth. Shaking, I remembered having raised my hand to my mouth with the pills and suddenly feeling weak. I remembered shaking and putting the bottle back down. I dumped the juice out and ran to my room. There I knelt by my old, squeaky, greenish-brown rocking chair and cried. I remember praying the only prayer I could utter, "Jesus, please help me, if You're real. Please, please, please....I'm so undeserving. But please help me. I don't want to die."
I remember then, running to the bathroom and taking the pills back to the cabinet in the kitchen. It was nearly 3 am and my parents were peacefully sleeping and I didn't want to disturb them. I'm sure I should have, but I was embarrassed and dealt with it on my own. I prayed almost all night. I read my Bible. I searched for words of comfort and of peace. I searched for words of confirmation from Him. That night was the first night I knew God spoke to me. The three words He said to me were, "You are Mine." That was it. But I clung to those words like they were my lifeline. They were my lifeline! Weeks and weeks passed. Even years passed. God finally pulled me out of that bad situation and placed me on solid ground. Suicide was never a thought after that night until many years later when I experienced something else that crushed me to my core. But it was that night that saved me in the night years later.
God walks with us through the darkest nights of our lives. But are we willing to reach out to Him? So often I find myself leaning on myself. When I do that, I always inevitably fall. Without fail. Period. But when I lean on Him, I am placed on a solid Rock that I can depend on. Suicide is a tough thing to contemplate. But when you're at the brink, so often a person doesn't even think about what they're doing. It takes a beautiful act of God to reach through the dark clouds that satan surrounds us with and help us turn around to see the light of His love, joy, peace and hope.
While this isn't a happy-go-lucky post, I felt urged on to write about it. My mind has been pondering it all day. Now when I look back on that time, I still get a bit nostalgic, remembering that dark place, but the majority of my feelings are placed on the fact that I overcame with His help. I am surrounded with memories of Him reaching out and giving me the urge to put the bottle of pills down and to dump my juice down the sink. I am surrounded with the peace of knowing that He cared so much for me that He rescued me from that dark, slimy pit. God doesn't just call us out to leave us hanging; He calls us up to fulfill His purpose. Sometimes He allows us to walk through the dark times so we can encourage others with our experiences. His power can be glorified because when we overcome with His help, His name is glorified.
If you're in the a dark place, feeling overwhelmed and like life isn't worth living, please pray and reach out to someone who can help. You aren't weak for having these feelings. You won't be made fun of. If you'll allow Him to, He'll turn your test into a testimony, so His name can be lifted higher in your life and in the life of others.
God bless!
Suicide Prevention Line: 1-800-273-8255 (24/7, 365)
The other day, I was cleaning my home top to bottom and came across a box that contained about seven or eight of my personal, handwritten journals that I'd kept since I was very young. I used to write every night and would tell what happened in my day, blow-by-blow. You'd know what I ate for breakfast, what I planted in my garden, what I cleaned and who I talked to. I would get into the nitty-gritty details of life, no matter how joyous or how sad. Raw honesty permeated my journals.
But when I was about 17 years old, I had reached a very low place in my life. I had nothing to look forward to. I had sunk my few short years of life into a community that had rules and regulations that kept us from participating. I had been placed outside of the church with no explanation besides, "You'll be back soon," and "You have to suffer for the sins of your parents." *like I said, please read previous blog posts for clarity on this subject.* During this time, I would journal my heart out, sometimes writing for hours on end, page after page, almost as if it were my best friend. I think my journal and the lady at the post office were my best friends to be honest. Oh, and my dogs, Tafi and Daisy. They'd listen to all my ramblings and let me soak their soft fur with my heart broken tears.
When I found the box of journals, I set aside my cleaning for a bit and slumped against the wall to read. I pulled journal after journal out and read, page by page. I relived each day with heartbreaking slowness. Finally I pulled the journal out that contained the note. I wrote about how some of my friends had gotten baptized. I wrote about my best friend, Aileen, dying. I wrote about missed birthday parties. I wrote about meetings my Dad had with the elders. I wrote about my depression. I wrote about my sadness. I wrote about my dark thoughts of suicide. I didn't want to live anymore. The note was long, well thought out. In the beginning, the writing was clear, beautiful, poignant, purposeful. By the end it was scrawled, messy, barely readable and smudged. I remembered writing it. I was calm and collected at the beginning and by the end I was bawling my eyes out and ready to swallow my Dad's container of Tylenol. The pain in my heart was so deep. I felt like a knife had stabbed me and was being turned in slow motion, torturing me with it's deep puncture. The letter contained facts about why I didn't want to live anymore. I was tired of being the weird one. I was tired of being the outcast. I was tired of the one being forgotten about. I was tired of being pushed out of circles. I was tired of being rejected, hurt, lied to, lied about, and ultimately, it lead me to such a deep, dark place, I didn't have the will to go on. My life as I had known it was changed forever. I had no hope of it ever changing. I felt I had no other way out.
I laid my head back on the wall and drifted off to remember the nightmare of that night. I remembered going to the kitchen and getting the bottle. I remember getting the pink cup, filled it with orange juice and walked slowly, puffy eyes and all, to the bathroom to swallow as many as I could. I remember leaning over the sink and just crying. I cried until I had nothing left to cry. I was empty of emotions. My heart was shriveled up. I had blocked all feelings from surfacing. Feeling caused me to fear, shake, cry and be uncertain.
As I sat, remembering all this, I relived that moment when I had the bottle of pills and the juice in my hand. I remember mentally saying good bye to everyone I knew would miss me. Then my thoughts darkened and I realized, no one would miss me, at least so I thought. My parents would, but I thought they'd understand. I thought they'd know why I had to leave the earth. Shaking, I remembered having raised my hand to my mouth with the pills and suddenly feeling weak. I remembered shaking and putting the bottle back down. I dumped the juice out and ran to my room. There I knelt by my old, squeaky, greenish-brown rocking chair and cried. I remember praying the only prayer I could utter, "Jesus, please help me, if You're real. Please, please, please....I'm so undeserving. But please help me. I don't want to die."
I remember then, running to the bathroom and taking the pills back to the cabinet in the kitchen. It was nearly 3 am and my parents were peacefully sleeping and I didn't want to disturb them. I'm sure I should have, but I was embarrassed and dealt with it on my own. I prayed almost all night. I read my Bible. I searched for words of comfort and of peace. I searched for words of confirmation from Him. That night was the first night I knew God spoke to me. The three words He said to me were, "You are Mine." That was it. But I clung to those words like they were my lifeline. They were my lifeline! Weeks and weeks passed. Even years passed. God finally pulled me out of that bad situation and placed me on solid ground. Suicide was never a thought after that night until many years later when I experienced something else that crushed me to my core. But it was that night that saved me in the night years later.
God walks with us through the darkest nights of our lives. But are we willing to reach out to Him? So often I find myself leaning on myself. When I do that, I always inevitably fall. Without fail. Period. But when I lean on Him, I am placed on a solid Rock that I can depend on. Suicide is a tough thing to contemplate. But when you're at the brink, so often a person doesn't even think about what they're doing. It takes a beautiful act of God to reach through the dark clouds that satan surrounds us with and help us turn around to see the light of His love, joy, peace and hope.
While this isn't a happy-go-lucky post, I felt urged on to write about it. My mind has been pondering it all day. Now when I look back on that time, I still get a bit nostalgic, remembering that dark place, but the majority of my feelings are placed on the fact that I overcame with His help. I am surrounded with memories of Him reaching out and giving me the urge to put the bottle of pills down and to dump my juice down the sink. I am surrounded with the peace of knowing that He cared so much for me that He rescued me from that dark, slimy pit. God doesn't just call us out to leave us hanging; He calls us up to fulfill His purpose. Sometimes He allows us to walk through the dark times so we can encourage others with our experiences. His power can be glorified because when we overcome with His help, His name is glorified.
If you're in the a dark place, feeling overwhelmed and like life isn't worth living, please pray and reach out to someone who can help. You aren't weak for having these feelings. You won't be made fun of. If you'll allow Him to, He'll turn your test into a testimony, so His name can be lifted higher in your life and in the life of others.
God bless!
Suicide Prevention Line: 1-800-273-8255 (24/7, 365)
Tuesday, December 9, 2014
More on Our Journey in the US Navy
Our days began early in the morning, around 4 am, typically, or a teeny bit later, if he didn't have to be at the ship until 6 am. I would roll out of bed, wake Paul up, get the baby ready, make a quick breakfast, and hurry to the car to make the drive to the ship. By the time we made it back home it was near 8 am, and I would get TJ out, feed him and he'd be back asleep for another hour while I got the house clean, laundry started and lunch made.
We had bought our first TV and I had not the first clue about all the different shows at the time. Everything was new to me and so I would flip through different channels. I began watching "The Bachelor" and "American Idol" almost right away. I was simply fascinated with it! Having TV was new and exciting for me, because in my 23 years of life, I hadn't watched anything except for a few Jeapordy shows and a few Monks with my Grandma Irvine. Even then, I had never watched a full show all the way through. While in my old church, we didn't watch TV. At times, I really miss those days! We actually lived life instead of staring at a screen that showed others either play acting life, or living life on a "reality" show. But during this time in my life, I think it helped me not go insane during the long nights when Paul had duty, and the hours during the day when I had nothing to do. A lot of people have asked me why I didn't get out and make friends. There was a lot of confusion for me during this time. I was trying to adjust to being a wife, a military wife, a new mom and living 1,400 miles away from anyone I knew. Adjusting to it all was massive and very difficult. Besides the fact that I still lived in my past and missed my friends. (I guess even to this day, I sometimes think I'll wake up and realize all of this has been a dream and I'm back with all my friends that I grew up with and thought I'd spend my life with!)
We had moved into military housing and it was so nice! It was two story; the bedrooms and a bathroom upstairs and the kitchen/living room/laundry room was downstairs. I don't want to seem superstitious or overly religious here, but there was a closet at the top of the stairs that had this feel about it, but I could never place my finger on what it was. While I can't say I know for sure what happened, Paul and I still feel like someone was hurt severely, or even murdered there. I know it's a heavy thing to say, but even while we lived at the housing complex, there was a murder one street over from us. I want to pause and say that the military has a lot more murders/suicides than anyone in the civilian world talks about. There is a lot of pressure being in the military and it's a mission field in itself. There are so many people who are depressed, hurting and burdened. It's a big job and comes with a lot of danger, instability and insecurity. Life in the military isn't for sissies and it comes with a lot of sacrifice!! A lot of people say, "You know what you signed up for when you joined." But in all reality, no, no, I didn't know what I was signing up for when I agree to sign my name on papers saying I knew my husband was joining the military and stuff like that. The recruiter told us a lot, but nothing could have prepared me for what was coming! I say all this to give a backdrop on experiences I had in this house, and stuff Paul went through too.
I think it was the 3rd duty night he had (every 10 days) and I was laying in bed after a night of watching American Idol. I had fallen asleep, and I began to dream. In the dream, I was being crushed to the point I couldn't breath. I could feel the heat of some devilish creature breathing on me and it's beady eyes staring into mine. As I felt my body go limp, I heard a Voice say, "Just whisper my name." I tried, but I had no breath left. So I screamed in my thoughts, "Jesus. Jesus! Jesus!!" and suddenly the weight of this thing was thrown off of me and I woke up gasping for breath. While this was scary, I knew what I was facing. I had read books on this before. I knew about spiritual warfare. So I turned on Christian music and prayed. I called Paul on the ship and told him about it. I was scared, but I knew Jesus was with me. This happened several times, over and over, every single time Paul was gone on duty night. I still don't understand why. It's even happened in more recent months. I have often woke up whispering the Name of Jesus. We are still praying over this and binding the devil in His Name. I think this is linked to the feeling we have about the closet in the upstairs hallway.
Paul began to have weird experiences too and we would pray together. His depression and PTSD started to spiral out of control and it continued to get worse and worse. Suicidal thoughts began to come and there were a few attempts as well. I didn't know how to handle the attempts, and kept it all to myself. The weight of the burden crushed me lower and lower, and I felt myself getting angrier and angrier at God and the world, including everyone around me. At one point, I remember my mom talking to me about going to church and I snapped at her, saying, "Don't ever talk to me about God, or church again. If God were real, He'd answer me and stop all of this!" All this time, while I don't believe God caused the demonic attacks, he allowed it to strengthen me and give me experience with the other world and to show me the power of His Name! One day, Paul was on the ship and I was not being the supportive wife I should've been. I was texting angry messages and telling him how upset at life I was. He wasn't able to respond to me, because he was working, but I knew he was reading the messages. I felt my life was out of control and we had no support from anyone. I remember sitting there, then the call came. It was Paul and he said he was on his way to the hospital, that he had fallen down a stairwell and was severely injured. He could hardly talk and was almost screaming in pain. I told him I would meet him there at the hospital, but he told me his superior didn't want me there. I totally ignored that and told him to let me talk to Dees, his superior. Dees came on the phone and "ordered" me to stay at home, at which I told him I wasn't military and he couldn't order me to do anything! I was so angry. So I packed my son into the car and drove the 15 minutes to the hospital. Paul was just getting there when I arrive and they pushed him into the ER. I asked to see him and they granted access, before Dees knew I was there! They checked him out and then made him wait in the ER room for a few minutes while they got the CT scan ready, along with a cast for his leg. Dees came out to the waiting room and saw me there. He walked up to me and put the tips of his steel toed boots over my feet and glared at me, asking me why I disobeyed his orders. My poor hubby sat, moaning in pain. Dees was trying to tell me how my country's welfare was more important than me being in the hospital, and that I needed to go home, if I knew what was good for me. I told him flat out that my family came before my country and that I was going to stay with my husband no matter what he said. I asked to speak to the Chaplin who I had spoken with once before. I was granted my request and he approved me staying with no problem! (Thank God for officers who outrank others). My husband got an MRI and a few other tests done. Then they got crutches and his leg all bandaged up with orders to not work out for at least 6 weeks. The bruise was massive and the lump was even more massive. I wondered if he'd ever be able to run again. As the weeks passed, we found out his leg would never be as strong as before, which ultimately led to us leaving the Navy. But we'd have to go through one more bad thing before that happened.
Paul returned to work in 2 weeks, even though he was still on crutches and he was extremely suicidal. I would get texts saying he wanted to throw himself off the side of the ship, and he would say he wanted to take a whole can of pills, etc. I still held all of this inside, but things at home were getting a little more heavy too. He wasn't violent, but his mental state didn't allow for much niceness either. Anger spurts would errupt and I would be scared someone was going to get hurt and I'd leave the house for a while. Please remember that I was a young newly wed, new mom and was scared of what would happen if I said anything to anyone! I know different now, but thankfully things aren't that way now.
But it would only be a matter of time before Paul acted out on his suicidal thoughts and a serious attempt was made. Ultimately, it led him to being in the hospital for a couple of days while being observed and diagnosed. But during that time, I went through living hell. I got calls from early morning until late night from his command, threatening me, saying I helped my husband go AWOL. I told them over and over he was in the hospital and it wasn't until nearly 5 pm the day after all this went down that I offered to meet his commanding officer at the hospital to show him. When I arrived at the hospital, I was called into a room with three male officers where they yelled and screamed at me for nearly 30 minutes in front of my young baby. I was terrified and it was then that I only wanted out of the Navy. I couldn't handle this anymore! They were surrounding me, looking down and spitting all over me as they accused me of hurting my husband and causing him to be suicidal, and all sorts of things. I don't know why I never reported them, but heaven knows I wish I would have! Worst 30 minutes of my early marriage, that's for sure. I don't think I've ever been scared speechless like I was that day. Finally I convinced them to just leave me alone and I was able to talk with the Chaplin, who was a bit nicer to me. I remember standing in the court yard of the military hospital in San Diego, getting a lecture by the Chaplin for not having informed him sooner (how was I supposed to know I was to call him? It's not like the spouses get a "this is what you're supposed to do" booklet when their loved ones join the military!) and this Marine walked up who had seen me crying earlier in the day and asked the Chaplin to "leave this poor woman alone." Thanks Marine! :)
Then my husband walked out of the hospital, released to me to care for, and a lot of instructions on when to return and what to do if something like this happened again. I told my husband right then and there that I wanted to get out of the military and not having anything to do with it again. He agreed, but told me he needed to stay in for his 4 years. It's illegal to go AWOL so keeping his commitment was important. Thankfully, he ended up meeting with his counselor and his counselor went over his options with him. The options were to stay for 6 months on shore duty while he got help and healed from his leg injury (he couldn't do PT anyways) or he could recommend a medical discharge and we could be done. We chose the medical discharge, since it was honorable. Getting a dishonorable discharge makes getting a job a lot harder and makes you look bad, so we wanted to make sure we went the honorable route. It took 2 weeks to get the discharge paperwork done and the new civilian life began for us.
.....hang on for more! It's 2:30 am and I need to get some rest.
We had bought our first TV and I had not the first clue about all the different shows at the time. Everything was new to me and so I would flip through different channels. I began watching "The Bachelor" and "American Idol" almost right away. I was simply fascinated with it! Having TV was new and exciting for me, because in my 23 years of life, I hadn't watched anything except for a few Jeapordy shows and a few Monks with my Grandma Irvine. Even then, I had never watched a full show all the way through. While in my old church, we didn't watch TV. At times, I really miss those days! We actually lived life instead of staring at a screen that showed others either play acting life, or living life on a "reality" show. But during this time in my life, I think it helped me not go insane during the long nights when Paul had duty, and the hours during the day when I had nothing to do. A lot of people have asked me why I didn't get out and make friends. There was a lot of confusion for me during this time. I was trying to adjust to being a wife, a military wife, a new mom and living 1,400 miles away from anyone I knew. Adjusting to it all was massive and very difficult. Besides the fact that I still lived in my past and missed my friends. (I guess even to this day, I sometimes think I'll wake up and realize all of this has been a dream and I'm back with all my friends that I grew up with and thought I'd spend my life with!)
We had moved into military housing and it was so nice! It was two story; the bedrooms and a bathroom upstairs and the kitchen/living room/laundry room was downstairs. I don't want to seem superstitious or overly religious here, but there was a closet at the top of the stairs that had this feel about it, but I could never place my finger on what it was. While I can't say I know for sure what happened, Paul and I still feel like someone was hurt severely, or even murdered there. I know it's a heavy thing to say, but even while we lived at the housing complex, there was a murder one street over from us. I want to pause and say that the military has a lot more murders/suicides than anyone in the civilian world talks about. There is a lot of pressure being in the military and it's a mission field in itself. There are so many people who are depressed, hurting and burdened. It's a big job and comes with a lot of danger, instability and insecurity. Life in the military isn't for sissies and it comes with a lot of sacrifice!! A lot of people say, "You know what you signed up for when you joined." But in all reality, no, no, I didn't know what I was signing up for when I agree to sign my name on papers saying I knew my husband was joining the military and stuff like that. The recruiter told us a lot, but nothing could have prepared me for what was coming! I say all this to give a backdrop on experiences I had in this house, and stuff Paul went through too.
I think it was the 3rd duty night he had (every 10 days) and I was laying in bed after a night of watching American Idol. I had fallen asleep, and I began to dream. In the dream, I was being crushed to the point I couldn't breath. I could feel the heat of some devilish creature breathing on me and it's beady eyes staring into mine. As I felt my body go limp, I heard a Voice say, "Just whisper my name." I tried, but I had no breath left. So I screamed in my thoughts, "Jesus. Jesus! Jesus!!" and suddenly the weight of this thing was thrown off of me and I woke up gasping for breath. While this was scary, I knew what I was facing. I had read books on this before. I knew about spiritual warfare. So I turned on Christian music and prayed. I called Paul on the ship and told him about it. I was scared, but I knew Jesus was with me. This happened several times, over and over, every single time Paul was gone on duty night. I still don't understand why. It's even happened in more recent months. I have often woke up whispering the Name of Jesus. We are still praying over this and binding the devil in His Name. I think this is linked to the feeling we have about the closet in the upstairs hallway.
Paul began to have weird experiences too and we would pray together. His depression and PTSD started to spiral out of control and it continued to get worse and worse. Suicidal thoughts began to come and there were a few attempts as well. I didn't know how to handle the attempts, and kept it all to myself. The weight of the burden crushed me lower and lower, and I felt myself getting angrier and angrier at God and the world, including everyone around me. At one point, I remember my mom talking to me about going to church and I snapped at her, saying, "Don't ever talk to me about God, or church again. If God were real, He'd answer me and stop all of this!" All this time, while I don't believe God caused the demonic attacks, he allowed it to strengthen me and give me experience with the other world and to show me the power of His Name! One day, Paul was on the ship and I was not being the supportive wife I should've been. I was texting angry messages and telling him how upset at life I was. He wasn't able to respond to me, because he was working, but I knew he was reading the messages. I felt my life was out of control and we had no support from anyone. I remember sitting there, then the call came. It was Paul and he said he was on his way to the hospital, that he had fallen down a stairwell and was severely injured. He could hardly talk and was almost screaming in pain. I told him I would meet him there at the hospital, but he told me his superior didn't want me there. I totally ignored that and told him to let me talk to Dees, his superior. Dees came on the phone and "ordered" me to stay at home, at which I told him I wasn't military and he couldn't order me to do anything! I was so angry. So I packed my son into the car and drove the 15 minutes to the hospital. Paul was just getting there when I arrive and they pushed him into the ER. I asked to see him and they granted access, before Dees knew I was there! They checked him out and then made him wait in the ER room for a few minutes while they got the CT scan ready, along with a cast for his leg. Dees came out to the waiting room and saw me there. He walked up to me and put the tips of his steel toed boots over my feet and glared at me, asking me why I disobeyed his orders. My poor hubby sat, moaning in pain. Dees was trying to tell me how my country's welfare was more important than me being in the hospital, and that I needed to go home, if I knew what was good for me. I told him flat out that my family came before my country and that I was going to stay with my husband no matter what he said. I asked to speak to the Chaplin who I had spoken with once before. I was granted my request and he approved me staying with no problem! (Thank God for officers who outrank others). My husband got an MRI and a few other tests done. Then they got crutches and his leg all bandaged up with orders to not work out for at least 6 weeks. The bruise was massive and the lump was even more massive. I wondered if he'd ever be able to run again. As the weeks passed, we found out his leg would never be as strong as before, which ultimately led to us leaving the Navy. But we'd have to go through one more bad thing before that happened.
Paul returned to work in 2 weeks, even though he was still on crutches and he was extremely suicidal. I would get texts saying he wanted to throw himself off the side of the ship, and he would say he wanted to take a whole can of pills, etc. I still held all of this inside, but things at home were getting a little more heavy too. He wasn't violent, but his mental state didn't allow for much niceness either. Anger spurts would errupt and I would be scared someone was going to get hurt and I'd leave the house for a while. Please remember that I was a young newly wed, new mom and was scared of what would happen if I said anything to anyone! I know different now, but thankfully things aren't that way now.
But it would only be a matter of time before Paul acted out on his suicidal thoughts and a serious attempt was made. Ultimately, it led him to being in the hospital for a couple of days while being observed and diagnosed. But during that time, I went through living hell. I got calls from early morning until late night from his command, threatening me, saying I helped my husband go AWOL. I told them over and over he was in the hospital and it wasn't until nearly 5 pm the day after all this went down that I offered to meet his commanding officer at the hospital to show him. When I arrived at the hospital, I was called into a room with three male officers where they yelled and screamed at me for nearly 30 minutes in front of my young baby. I was terrified and it was then that I only wanted out of the Navy. I couldn't handle this anymore! They were surrounding me, looking down and spitting all over me as they accused me of hurting my husband and causing him to be suicidal, and all sorts of things. I don't know why I never reported them, but heaven knows I wish I would have! Worst 30 minutes of my early marriage, that's for sure. I don't think I've ever been scared speechless like I was that day. Finally I convinced them to just leave me alone and I was able to talk with the Chaplin, who was a bit nicer to me. I remember standing in the court yard of the military hospital in San Diego, getting a lecture by the Chaplin for not having informed him sooner (how was I supposed to know I was to call him? It's not like the spouses get a "this is what you're supposed to do" booklet when their loved ones join the military!) and this Marine walked up who had seen me crying earlier in the day and asked the Chaplin to "leave this poor woman alone." Thanks Marine! :)
Then my husband walked out of the hospital, released to me to care for, and a lot of instructions on when to return and what to do if something like this happened again. I told my husband right then and there that I wanted to get out of the military and not having anything to do with it again. He agreed, but told me he needed to stay in for his 4 years. It's illegal to go AWOL so keeping his commitment was important. Thankfully, he ended up meeting with his counselor and his counselor went over his options with him. The options were to stay for 6 months on shore duty while he got help and healed from his leg injury (he couldn't do PT anyways) or he could recommend a medical discharge and we could be done. We chose the medical discharge, since it was honorable. Getting a dishonorable discharge makes getting a job a lot harder and makes you look bad, so we wanted to make sure we went the honorable route. It took 2 weeks to get the discharge paperwork done and the new civilian life began for us.
.....hang on for more! It's 2:30 am and I need to get some rest.
Friday, October 17, 2014
Our Journey in the US Navy
While my husband was in A-school, I spent my days being mommy and cuddling my little, tiny newborn son. He slept a lot, and was so easy to care for. I tried breastfeeding him, but he was so little and had such a rough start that I ended up feeding him formula. While I was disappointed, it freed me up to sleep some when the weekends came around, because Paul was able to care for him and feed him.
Near the end of November 2010, my parents came up to Chicago to see us for Thanksgiving and so my Dad could meet our little man. That was really special to see him holding TJ and getting to know his first grandchild. It was also near that same time that Paul was able to put in his requests for orders. We were given the option of Virginia, or California. We chose California. We didn't think we'd actually get California, because everyone in his A-school wanted that duty station. Who wouldn't? California is such a gorgeous place! On December 11th, my hubby called me to inform me that we would be transferring to San Diego, CA and that he had to report on January 1st. His discharge date from A-school was nearing rapidly, so we packed up our little car and got ready for the long drive to Texas. We would have about 2 weeks to pack up our stuff at my parents place and then we'd head for San Diego.
I want to back up a little though, because there are some things that happened right after boot camp that changed the course of our lives for a while. I hesitate to share some of this, because it is sensitive in nature, but it's part of our story, and I feel it is a vital part to sharing how we got to where we are today.
Paul spent 6 years of his life locked up in a boarding school that was highly abusive, both verbally and physically. The boys that lived on this "ranch" were abused and hurt, so much so that to this day, a lot of them won't even talk about God, won't have anything to do with Christians and struggle on a daily basis just to keep breathing. More than one of them have committed suicide because of their experiences there. They leave that place depressed and more angry at humans than when they went in. This place has caused a lot of issues for all of them, except for those who were brainwashed by the men who ran this place, claiming that they're God in the flesh and convincing these boys that they're these horrible, decrepit people. Paul came out of that place with PTSD and he still struggles with emotional issues from his experiences there. The horrors he went through are unspeakable. I would love to explain some of it, but I'm hoping that he will feel to share some it here, on this blog, someday soon. My heart goes out to these boys, now turned men, that went through so much there. The lack of love, acceptance and the physical/verbal abuse has turned many of them into unfeeling, detached, deeply hurt human beings. I can only pray that they will all come to know the true love of Jesus and feel His tangible presence and peace someday.
Bootcamp in the Navy reminded Paul a lot of his time in boarding school. It brought back a lot of suppressed memories and he struggled to maintain his feelings. He began to feel extremely depressed and even suicidal at times. He would talk with his instructors and they offered the family services and counseling, so he would also talk to them too. Things would improve for a while, and then he would get flashbacks, and the PTSD would resurface and overwhelm him.
During all of this, I didn't know how to handle any of it. I am a protective type of person and when I see someone I love hurting, I just want to find out who hurt them and make it right! I try to not be vengeful, or angry, but my humanness shows through sometimes and I forget how Jesus wants me to act. So I began to lash out at different people that I felt were responsible for him being this way. I wanted him to feel loved, and he hadn't felt loved. I want him to feel taken care of, and he didn't feel taken care of. He was angry, hurting and dealing with a lot of emotions and I wanted to see him happy and feeling like life was worth living! So the people I felt were the cause of all this beared the brunt of my accusations and hurtful words.
We felt alone during this time. We didn't have church family at the time. We didn't have real family around us, except for my parents and even then, they were thousands of miles away. We didn't have friends. It was just us, our baby and God. While God is always enough to bring you through anything, sometimes a person just wants a tangible human being to sit and listen, love and help when you're going through something crazy, and out of control.
Along with Paul's struggles, I began to have struggles of my own. Being in the US Navy is no easy task. Being in the military in general isn't easy. While I wasn't an actual member of the military, I was my husband's biggest supporter, cheerleader and friend. What he went through, I went through. What bothered him, bothered me. What he experienced, I would try to understand. In the military, you do exactly what they say, ask no questions and just "trust the process." Here began my struggle with feeling like I had no control over my life, my child's life, or my husband's life, and especially my marriage. I remember the time I first felt very out of control of our situation and actually got angry over it. It was probably 13 degrees outside. It was snowing and absolutely dangerous outside. I had left our hotel room to drive to the base, as I hadn't seen Paul in 2 days. He had duty for a while and then had a late class, so it had been a while. I wanted to see him and made the treacherous 18 minute drive to the base. After arriving, I texted Paul to let him know I was there. On normal occasions, he would normally text right back, saying he would be out soon. To leave the "ship" he had to stand in line (if there was one), salute, request leave, sign out and then walk out to the car which was across the road from where he was staying. But this one time he didn't text me back for nearly 30 minutes. Here I was in 13 degree weather, with a newborn sitting in the back, with snow coming down and he wasn't responding! Grrrrrr. I kept texting him over and over and then suddenly, probably around 300 Sailors poured out of the buildings around me and stood at attention. Their instructors and overseers were yelling and screaming and everyone looked tired, frustrated and even angry. By this time, I had been sitting there for nearly an hour. I still had no clue what was going on. Finally they called dismissal, but still no one was allowed to leave, so they were all still standing outside, in the cold and wind, waiting. Paul was finally able to text me and he told me someone had pulled a prank and had pulled the fire alarm bell, causing panic and disruption. When it was discovered that it was a prank, they all had to file out and get yelled at. After nearly 2 hours of waiting in the cold, all the Sailors were dismissed and were able to go about their normal evening. I was near livid. I had watched them all get yelled at. I had watched several sailors double over in pain from the biting, nipping cold. I had watched my husband stand there, huddled in the cold, all because of one stupid act of another immature person. Why did everyone have to be punished? Why did they have to get yelled at? What the heck had we got ourselves into?
Paul finally got in the car and I turned the heat up to get him warm. He was shaking and after a day or two, he came down with the flu. I was convinced it was from standing out in the snow for hours. He kept trying to tell me that everything was ok, that this was normal and that it didn't bother him. But that didn't calm me. He reassured me that the Navy trained them for stuff like this and that it was ok. But I knew deep inside that all the yelling and screaming was causing him to go back to his boarding school memories and how it was affecting his PTSD. I could see the look on his face and I knew that he was just trying to calm me. This would only be the beginning of me feeling like our lives were out of control. This experience would later prove to be a more "relaxed" experience in the Navy. We would face a lot more, including hazing, verbal abuse and men backing me into a corner, yelling and screaming at me! We would experience a lot worse and my feelings of being out of control would deepen and things would get a lot crazier.
So began our journey with learning to overcome feelings, thoughts, PTSD and all sorts of other things.
We left Chicago, drove to Texas and packed all our stuff up. It was such a nice trip to see my parents and spend some time with them. They had an early Christmas with us and that was really nice. The Navy movers showed up and packed all our stuff up in a truck and told us it would be delivered in about 3 weeks. The morning of December 28th, we left for California.
While we were on our way, we had barely left my parents place and had just entered El Paso, Texas when the craziest thing happened. I was driving and somehow lost control of the car. To this day, I have no clue what happened. I was driving in a two lane freeway, in the fast lane, going around 60 mph and the car suddenly started fishtailing, and spinning. This freeway was packed. And when I say packed, I mean each car had about 3-4 car lengths between each of them. Semi trucks were everywhere. Right before the car started spinning, I had looked to my right and saw a semi pulling up next to me. Paul was sitting in the passengers seat and was using his laptop to play a game. TJ was in the back seat, sleeping peacefully. We had music going and everything had been peaceful up to this point. I was enjoying the drive. Our car began to fishtail and spin and I just closed my eyes and screamed, "Jesus! Please HELP us!" Carrie Underwood had just come out with the song, "Jesus take the Wheel" and that song came to mind. I felt someone take my hands off the wheel and our car did a full 360 about two times. We crossed into the other lane, backwards, looking into oncoming traffic, and then kept twirling through the median and ended up on the frontage road, facing the right direction. The entire time, I didn't have my hands on the wheel. I can only believe that an angel took control of our car and guided it safely to the frontage road. Paul and I looked at each other and he asked me what happened. I honestly didn't know and I still don't know! We got out and checked the car over and there was not a scratch. A very nice couple pulled over and came to check on us. They told us they were driving behind us and saw the entire thing. They told us it was like someone or something had grabbed our car and spun it like a topper, glided us into the grass and placed on us on the frontage road. I checked on TJ and he was still fast asleep. We could have been easily seriously injured or even dead! I thank God every single time I remember this experience. And when I feel like God doesn't care, or doesn't remember me, I am reminded of this time. His mighty hand of protection was over us that day and if anything proves He cares, this experience shows us He absolutely does.
That night we stayed in Arizona at the best hotel I have ever stayed at in my entire life! It had the fluffiest pillows and the most comfy bed ever, and they even had a crib for TJ. In the morning, we went to breakfast and it was the most scrumptious breakfast ever! They had an all you can eat buffet and it was full of fresh fruits, yogurts, cereals, pancakes, waffles and biscuits and gravy. I'm sure they had more too.
That day we finished our drive to San Diego. The day we arrived, it was chilly, cloudy and a bit gloomy. I remember having a sense of excitement to discover our new home, but I also felt this sinking feeling of feeling alone, tired and unsure of our future. We drove by the base and looked around. We went to the dry-dock where Paul's ship sat, being worked on. He was to join the fleet of the USS Bonhomme Richard (Richard is said like, "Rishard." It was HUGE! I don't think I realized how big those ships are! Then we headed to the housing office to get the keys to our new home. We had picked a nice military housing district and a nice two bedroom, two story home. It was very nice to have a home to call my own. That was December 30th, I think or maybe the 31st. I get my days confused. January 1st, 2011 Paul went to report to his ship at 10 am. They had him sign a couple of papers and then he was free to go for the next 2 weeks while they got his paperwork in order and gave him time to get settled into our new home. That was the beginning our our journey in San Diego as a new military family.
Near the end of November 2010, my parents came up to Chicago to see us for Thanksgiving and so my Dad could meet our little man. That was really special to see him holding TJ and getting to know his first grandchild. It was also near that same time that Paul was able to put in his requests for orders. We were given the option of Virginia, or California. We chose California. We didn't think we'd actually get California, because everyone in his A-school wanted that duty station. Who wouldn't? California is such a gorgeous place! On December 11th, my hubby called me to inform me that we would be transferring to San Diego, CA and that he had to report on January 1st. His discharge date from A-school was nearing rapidly, so we packed up our little car and got ready for the long drive to Texas. We would have about 2 weeks to pack up our stuff at my parents place and then we'd head for San Diego.
I want to back up a little though, because there are some things that happened right after boot camp that changed the course of our lives for a while. I hesitate to share some of this, because it is sensitive in nature, but it's part of our story, and I feel it is a vital part to sharing how we got to where we are today.
Paul spent 6 years of his life locked up in a boarding school that was highly abusive, both verbally and physically. The boys that lived on this "ranch" were abused and hurt, so much so that to this day, a lot of them won't even talk about God, won't have anything to do with Christians and struggle on a daily basis just to keep breathing. More than one of them have committed suicide because of their experiences there. They leave that place depressed and more angry at humans than when they went in. This place has caused a lot of issues for all of them, except for those who were brainwashed by the men who ran this place, claiming that they're God in the flesh and convincing these boys that they're these horrible, decrepit people. Paul came out of that place with PTSD and he still struggles with emotional issues from his experiences there. The horrors he went through are unspeakable. I would love to explain some of it, but I'm hoping that he will feel to share some it here, on this blog, someday soon. My heart goes out to these boys, now turned men, that went through so much there. The lack of love, acceptance and the physical/verbal abuse has turned many of them into unfeeling, detached, deeply hurt human beings. I can only pray that they will all come to know the true love of Jesus and feel His tangible presence and peace someday.
Bootcamp in the Navy reminded Paul a lot of his time in boarding school. It brought back a lot of suppressed memories and he struggled to maintain his feelings. He began to feel extremely depressed and even suicidal at times. He would talk with his instructors and they offered the family services and counseling, so he would also talk to them too. Things would improve for a while, and then he would get flashbacks, and the PTSD would resurface and overwhelm him.
During all of this, I didn't know how to handle any of it. I am a protective type of person and when I see someone I love hurting, I just want to find out who hurt them and make it right! I try to not be vengeful, or angry, but my humanness shows through sometimes and I forget how Jesus wants me to act. So I began to lash out at different people that I felt were responsible for him being this way. I wanted him to feel loved, and he hadn't felt loved. I want him to feel taken care of, and he didn't feel taken care of. He was angry, hurting and dealing with a lot of emotions and I wanted to see him happy and feeling like life was worth living! So the people I felt were the cause of all this beared the brunt of my accusations and hurtful words.
We felt alone during this time. We didn't have church family at the time. We didn't have real family around us, except for my parents and even then, they were thousands of miles away. We didn't have friends. It was just us, our baby and God. While God is always enough to bring you through anything, sometimes a person just wants a tangible human being to sit and listen, love and help when you're going through something crazy, and out of control.
Along with Paul's struggles, I began to have struggles of my own. Being in the US Navy is no easy task. Being in the military in general isn't easy. While I wasn't an actual member of the military, I was my husband's biggest supporter, cheerleader and friend. What he went through, I went through. What bothered him, bothered me. What he experienced, I would try to understand. In the military, you do exactly what they say, ask no questions and just "trust the process." Here began my struggle with feeling like I had no control over my life, my child's life, or my husband's life, and especially my marriage. I remember the time I first felt very out of control of our situation and actually got angry over it. It was probably 13 degrees outside. It was snowing and absolutely dangerous outside. I had left our hotel room to drive to the base, as I hadn't seen Paul in 2 days. He had duty for a while and then had a late class, so it had been a while. I wanted to see him and made the treacherous 18 minute drive to the base. After arriving, I texted Paul to let him know I was there. On normal occasions, he would normally text right back, saying he would be out soon. To leave the "ship" he had to stand in line (if there was one), salute, request leave, sign out and then walk out to the car which was across the road from where he was staying. But this one time he didn't text me back for nearly 30 minutes. Here I was in 13 degree weather, with a newborn sitting in the back, with snow coming down and he wasn't responding! Grrrrrr. I kept texting him over and over and then suddenly, probably around 300 Sailors poured out of the buildings around me and stood at attention. Their instructors and overseers were yelling and screaming and everyone looked tired, frustrated and even angry. By this time, I had been sitting there for nearly an hour. I still had no clue what was going on. Finally they called dismissal, but still no one was allowed to leave, so they were all still standing outside, in the cold and wind, waiting. Paul was finally able to text me and he told me someone had pulled a prank and had pulled the fire alarm bell, causing panic and disruption. When it was discovered that it was a prank, they all had to file out and get yelled at. After nearly 2 hours of waiting in the cold, all the Sailors were dismissed and were able to go about their normal evening. I was near livid. I had watched them all get yelled at. I had watched several sailors double over in pain from the biting, nipping cold. I had watched my husband stand there, huddled in the cold, all because of one stupid act of another immature person. Why did everyone have to be punished? Why did they have to get yelled at? What the heck had we got ourselves into?
Paul finally got in the car and I turned the heat up to get him warm. He was shaking and after a day or two, he came down with the flu. I was convinced it was from standing out in the snow for hours. He kept trying to tell me that everything was ok, that this was normal and that it didn't bother him. But that didn't calm me. He reassured me that the Navy trained them for stuff like this and that it was ok. But I knew deep inside that all the yelling and screaming was causing him to go back to his boarding school memories and how it was affecting his PTSD. I could see the look on his face and I knew that he was just trying to calm me. This would only be the beginning of me feeling like our lives were out of control. This experience would later prove to be a more "relaxed" experience in the Navy. We would face a lot more, including hazing, verbal abuse and men backing me into a corner, yelling and screaming at me! We would experience a lot worse and my feelings of being out of control would deepen and things would get a lot crazier.
So began our journey with learning to overcome feelings, thoughts, PTSD and all sorts of other things.
We left Chicago, drove to Texas and packed all our stuff up. It was such a nice trip to see my parents and spend some time with them. They had an early Christmas with us and that was really nice. The Navy movers showed up and packed all our stuff up in a truck and told us it would be delivered in about 3 weeks. The morning of December 28th, we left for California.
While we were on our way, we had barely left my parents place and had just entered El Paso, Texas when the craziest thing happened. I was driving and somehow lost control of the car. To this day, I have no clue what happened. I was driving in a two lane freeway, in the fast lane, going around 60 mph and the car suddenly started fishtailing, and spinning. This freeway was packed. And when I say packed, I mean each car had about 3-4 car lengths between each of them. Semi trucks were everywhere. Right before the car started spinning, I had looked to my right and saw a semi pulling up next to me. Paul was sitting in the passengers seat and was using his laptop to play a game. TJ was in the back seat, sleeping peacefully. We had music going and everything had been peaceful up to this point. I was enjoying the drive. Our car began to fishtail and spin and I just closed my eyes and screamed, "Jesus! Please HELP us!" Carrie Underwood had just come out with the song, "Jesus take the Wheel" and that song came to mind. I felt someone take my hands off the wheel and our car did a full 360 about two times. We crossed into the other lane, backwards, looking into oncoming traffic, and then kept twirling through the median and ended up on the frontage road, facing the right direction. The entire time, I didn't have my hands on the wheel. I can only believe that an angel took control of our car and guided it safely to the frontage road. Paul and I looked at each other and he asked me what happened. I honestly didn't know and I still don't know! We got out and checked the car over and there was not a scratch. A very nice couple pulled over and came to check on us. They told us they were driving behind us and saw the entire thing. They told us it was like someone or something had grabbed our car and spun it like a topper, glided us into the grass and placed on us on the frontage road. I checked on TJ and he was still fast asleep. We could have been easily seriously injured or even dead! I thank God every single time I remember this experience. And when I feel like God doesn't care, or doesn't remember me, I am reminded of this time. His mighty hand of protection was over us that day and if anything proves He cares, this experience shows us He absolutely does.
That night we stayed in Arizona at the best hotel I have ever stayed at in my entire life! It had the fluffiest pillows and the most comfy bed ever, and they even had a crib for TJ. In the morning, we went to breakfast and it was the most scrumptious breakfast ever! They had an all you can eat buffet and it was full of fresh fruits, yogurts, cereals, pancakes, waffles and biscuits and gravy. I'm sure they had more too.
That day we finished our drive to San Diego. The day we arrived, it was chilly, cloudy and a bit gloomy. I remember having a sense of excitement to discover our new home, but I also felt this sinking feeling of feeling alone, tired and unsure of our future. We drove by the base and looked around. We went to the dry-dock where Paul's ship sat, being worked on. He was to join the fleet of the USS Bonhomme Richard (Richard is said like, "Rishard." It was HUGE! I don't think I realized how big those ships are! Then we headed to the housing office to get the keys to our new home. We had picked a nice military housing district and a nice two bedroom, two story home. It was very nice to have a home to call my own. That was December 30th, I think or maybe the 31st. I get my days confused. January 1st, 2011 Paul went to report to his ship at 10 am. They had him sign a couple of papers and then he was free to go for the next 2 weeks while they got his paperwork in order and gave him time to get settled into our new home. That was the beginning our our journey in San Diego as a new military family.
Wednesday, October 15, 2014
The Beginning of a New Life
I want to back up just a little bit to talk about something I forgot to mention that was key in my story, in my last blog post.
After getting married, Paul and I began to talk about getting our lives right with God and maybe trying to attend church again. My parents lived in Waco, Texas still, at the time and were going to Antioch Community Church. One Saturday night, my Dad just mentioned that we would be more than welcome to tag along, if we wanted.
Sunday morning came and we decided to go. I was still extremely sick with morning sickness and felt a lot of shame over being pregnant longer than I was married. I remember putting on a loose shirt and tight waist pants, trying to hide the growing bulge of my belly. We walked into the church and while I don't remember what the sermon was about, I remember thinking that I liked it! The word that came spoke to my hurt and struggling heart. Everyone was so friendly! But of course, I kept thinking, they were friendly because they didn't know my story. They didn't know how awful I had been. They didn't know that I got pregnant before marriage. What would they think of me after they found out?
After a couple of weeks of going to church on Sunday, I began to look for a Life Group so we could have some friends. I found one and we went, hesitantly, scared, but it turned out wayyyyy beyond our expectations.
This group was a God-send! We are still in Facebook/Twitter/Instagram contact with them all, and hope to meet up with them later on still. We made friends and there was this one couple, who were engaged at the time. The sweet lady, Courtney Binkley, sat down with me and asked me about my pregnancy, and my story. I hesitantly told her my story and her response blew me away! I don't remember her exact words, but she was so accepting and even interested in my story. She told me that unless we have failures, we can't have testimonies. It amazed me that I was accepted and loved. Slowly, our story got around in the group and all of them were so loving.
Before Paul left for the Navy, a couple found out we didn't have a car yet and really had no means of getting one. So they GAVE us their car! It was the biggest blessing that could have every happened to us. We felt so loved, and I believe it was God's way of showing us He still cared and loved us too. Despite our failures and our weaknesses, He showed Himself strong.
Once I got up to Chicago, I attended a couple of churches, but ended up not enjoying any of them, so I watched Antioch's sermons online.
Paul graduated from Bootcamp and that was a glorious day! I couldn't sleep all night and I was ready to go around 3:30 am! :) I needed to be on base around 6:30, so I left around 5 am to get to the Navy Base. I was shaking with excitement and just couldn't wait to get there. The line to get into graduation was nearly a mile long, but once we got inside, it was smooth sailing from there! I was nearly 7 1/2 months pregnant at the time and still experiencing some nausea and dizziness, so the Sailors who were seating people made sure I was comfortable and had some water. The 10 divisions soon marched in and I searched in the sea of white clad sailors for my tall, handsome man. But everyone looked alike, so I resigned myself to seeing him afterwards. My greatest fear was that I would mix him up for someone else and hug the wrong person! Haha!
This picture was taken later on in the week, right after graduation. I was still pregnant with TJ at the time.
They soon called "Liberty!" and the newly graduated Sailors were free to see their families. I ran through the crowd and searched each face as I passed. Where was he?! Then there he was! The first thing that hit me was how skinny he was! I think I asked him first thing if he had eaten enough. He promised me that he had! It was so nice to get a nice long hug from him.
That was the beginning of our journey in the US Navy, as a military family. It would be a journey that would take us into a lot of ups and downs. We would go through unbelievable hell in the next few months. To be honest, I am glad I didn't know the future on that happy day, because if I had, I think I would have been running to the other side of the world with him in tow. But I'll get to that part of the story later on. We had from September 10th (when he graduated) to December 15th to be in Chicago, while he was in A-school. He was required to stay in his "ship" (it was actually just a regular brick building, but in the Navy, everything is a "ship." lol). He would have been allowed to stay with me if his school time would have been over 80 days long, but his actual school dates didn't quite add up to that....of course they would add up to 78 days. Haha! Just our luck, right? Anyways, we made the best of it and every evening I would drive to the base and would eat dinner with him and spend some much needed couple time with him. We would sit and talk in the car, or go in the NEX and walk around. We bought some things for the baby and got ready to be parents.
He asked his teachers if he would be able to get off from class when the baby came, and it must've been God, because they said yes! Normally, from what we had heard, they didn't allow that. They even allowed him to bring his phone to class, just in case I went into labor. What a blessing, right?! Sure enough, the morning of October 8th, I started to have pains, and I felt like the baby was going to be coming soon. I went to be monitored, alone, at the hospital, to see if I was having real contractions. They told me that the baby would be coming, but for me to go home and rest for a bit. I went home, and relaxed, called Paul and told him it would be soon. He got out of class early and I went to pick him up (I had our car). We went back to the hotel and I rested. I woke up a lot in the middle of the night with pains and we went to get checked out again. Later on, after the horrors of my first delivery, I would do research on safer, more relaxing deliveries and regret my decision to get checked so much! But I was a first timer and didn't know much at all.
I had dilated a bit, but still wasn't in "active" labor, so I went home to rest some more. We went and walked the mall, we walked around the hotel, we did squats and I rolled around on my birthing ball. That evening, Paul was still with me (his instructors had told him to just take the rest of the week off since the baby would be born soon), and he cooked dinner for us. He was heating the last part of our meal up and I was rolling around on the birthing ball. Suddenly there was a pop and a gush...my water had broken! I was so excited and scared at the same time. We went to be checked out again and sure enough, they confirmed I had broken my waters. So I was admitted. That was October 9th, near 10 pm. I had been in labor for a while and couldn't imagine the pains getting much worse. I was laboring and progressing pretty good until around 3 am, when suddenly, the nurse who was checking on me panicked. The room filled (I think there was around 20 people in there! At least it seemed like a lot) with people and I was lifted and flipped over onto all fours. They attached a head monitor to the baby and they put an oxygen mask on me. I had absolutely no clue what was going on. Paul was standing by my head and I kept asking, "What's going on? Is the baby ok? Am I ok? What is wrong!?" No one was answering and they were just pushing a lot on my belly and rearranging the baby. Fear and terror took over my heart. I remember Paul laying his hand on my shoulder and just standing there in shock. At the time, my faith in God wasn't strong and my first reaction wasn't to pray. I wish it had, because since then, I have learned that praying is the best calming method there is!
Finally, after what seemed to be a long time, they told me they had nearly lost his heart beat completely. It had dropped down to 17 and was intermittent. They told me I needed to lay on my side because if I laid on my back then I would be squishing his cord and he would loose oxygen. Around 10 am, they came in and told me I had been laboring a long time and that I wasn't progressing as fast as I should be. (Little did I know that this was a scare tactic and that they would have pushed a c-section on me). I was already at 7 cm and if I didn't progress to a full 10, ready to push, by 12, then they would be suggesting surgery. I told them there was no way I wanted to have a c-section and asked for a little bit of pitocin. They gave that to me, along with an epidural. I was so exhausted that I knew if I didn't have some relief, I would be too tired to push. (By the way, the epidural did nothing for me besides numb my legs and made the delivery so much worse! My other two babies were delivered without an epi and I am so thankful for that). Anyways, at 11:30 am, they came in to check my progress and low and behold, I was ready to push!!! The pushing began and at 12:23 pm my little man, TJ was born! He didn't cry at first, and he was very purple. So they rushed him over to check him out and got him some oxygen help. After a few moments though, we heard his little cry and they brought him to me to hold!
The feeling of holding my baby in my arms overwhelmed me. I cried and cried! I couldn't believe I was actually a mother and that my little man was finally here! He was very early (he wasn't due until November 17th, originally, and then they pushed the date up to November 7th). So we stayed in the hospital for 3 days while he was watched closely. He ended up having jaundice, so he had to be on a blue glow light. The only time we could take him off was when we were holding him. I had lost a lot of blood (let's just say, don't let a nurse rip your placenta out of you....let nature take it's course. Unless, of course, there is a threatening situation going on. My nurse just wanted to get the mess cleaned up and get it over with and rushed the process.) On top of that, I had extremely low iron levels and they wanted to get my iron levels up before I left.
After going home, life as a mommy and daddy became the norm. Sleeping in became a thing of the past. Sleeping, in itself, became a thing of the past. But the joys of having a little one to hold was so worth it!!!
Well, this blog has been long enough for now. I'll get to more of the story later on! Blessings~
Monday, October 13, 2014
Leaving CFNI
In the beginning of the Spring Semester at CFNI, I ran into issues where I didn't feel comfortable there anymore. As an RA, I was privy to certain struggles going on with different students and there was a situation where I felt a student was treated like I was at my old church. Now when I look back, I realize that I was overly sensitive to the leadership decisions, but at the time, it felt way too close to home and I felt I needed to leave.
I had also begun dating my now husband, Paul, and he was leaving the school too for other personal reasons. (If he wants to share his story sometime, I might see if he'll guest blog on this!) I knew why he was leaving and it added to my feelings of wanting to leave.
Right now, I want to stop and say that CFNI is a GREAT place and would highly suggest it to anyone who is wanting to have a deeper walk with God and learn what He wants for them in life. There is nothing wrong with CFNI, it was all me. So please don't take my negative comments as if CFNI is a bad place, because they're wonderful! I miss it and we have considered going back to search after the heart of God, for His plan for our lives!
While I feel that I made the right decision, for me, to leave, I also regret the decisions I made afterwards. When I left, I was angry at God, I felt insecure in myself and even though I knew God was real, I didn't feel He was real for me. Unless you've been in that place, what I described above might be confusing. I thought He cared about everyone else and could care less how I felt. I didn't think He cared about me. If He cared, why would he allow all this stuff in my life that was confusing? Why did He let me suffer in my church, where I felt alone and sad the last four years I was there? Why didn't He just stop the elders from abusing their authority? Why didn't He save me from all that? So ultimately, when I left, I didn't care about God. I didn't care what He thought. I didn't want to know Him. I didn't want to go to church. I didn't want to have anything to do with God.
I remember one day that my Mom was talking with me about my struggles and snapping at her when she mentioned God. I didn't want to hear His name. I didn't want anyone telling me God cared, or loved me. I closed myself off, and even to this day I have a hard time accepting love from anyone, especially God. It's something I'm working on, because God loves to love, and He loves through His people and accepting love from Him is apart of being His child.
So right after I left CFNI, I was in a carnal state of mind. I had no desire to please God. He was too hard to please anyways, in my mind. I couldn't please the people in my old church, or anyone else for that matter, so why not just live my life for me? Make myself happy, became my motto.
Paul didn't want to go home to his parents place at the time, and he loved me, so he wanted to stay close to me. My parents offered for him to stay with us (maybe I should have my Mom guest blog on here to share their side someday!) and of course, the risks of two young-loves came with that. We promised we weren't wanting to be inappropriate with each other and that we would abstain from sexual activities. We wanted to get to know each other better and have a regular dating life. But one night, I was coming out of my room to get something and he had come out too, and we kissed. While our parents knew we were holding hands and kissing, they didn't know we had met in the hallway. The first time wasn't planned. But then our carnal natures took over and we met nightly to kiss. And those kisses led to touching and touching led to sex. I remember that day clearly. I was so upset over my failure to keep myself pure for marriage. I felt dizzy and in shock. I knew I had displeased God, and I felt my soul had been condemned to hell forever. I kept thinking, "What is the point of trying to live for God after having sex before marriage? He's never gonna forgive me and I'm going to just go to hell anyways." Paul felt the same. I won't go into a lot more detail on this part of my life, because I feel part should remain private, but ultimately, we fell pregnant.
My first missed monthly warned me that something was up. I went and told Paul that I thought I was pregnant. We hadn't figured out how to tell my parents that we'd betrayed their trust and had failed our promise to them. I was so scared of how they'd respond. And I was disappointed in myself for disappointing them. I hated hurting them. And I knew that when I told them, that they would be disappointed, angry and that the trust they had in me would be broken. On top of the fear of telling them I'd had sex, now I had to tell them I thought I was pregnant. So after letting nearly 3 weeks pass, Paul and I went to the grocery store and I bought a pregnancy test. I went into the grocery store bathroom and took the test. In minutes, the two little pink lines told me what I thought to be true: I was pregnant. I had a mixture of feelings wash over me. I was going to be a Mommy! But my stomach churned at the thought of having to tell my parents. To be honest, I panicked and even considered abortion for a few haphazard, fearful, scared minutes. I voiced my thoughts to Paul and he immediately told me there was no way we should consider that; that this baby was wanted and we would get through this together. He brought me back to earth and I have regretted thinking those thoughts ever since that day.
I hesitate to share what I did just now, but I feel it is a vital part of my testimony. Am I ashamed? Am I sorry? Yes. A BIG resounding yes. I just hope my story can give someone else hope.
Another day passed and I began to experience worsening pregnancy symptoms. I knew I needed to tell my Mom and Dad about my pregnancy. So I asked my Mom if we could go out to eat and talk. I had no clue how to tell her what was going on. We sat down at the table in this little Mexican food restaurant in West, Texas. We ordered our food and I let her talk. I kept biting my lip, wishing the news would just flash across the sky, so I wouldn't have to open my mouth to tell her. Tears threatened to overflow several times. Finally I said, "Mom, I need to tell you something. Paul and I broke your trust and....I'm so sorry. I'm pregnant." She put her fork down and began to cry. She didn't finish her food, and asked the waiter for a box to take her food home. She didn't say much at the time. She just wanted to be alone and figure it all out in her mind. She did ask me why. I had no answer for her. My heart still breaks as I write this. The lump won't go away. I wish I had never broken my parents trust. I wish I had done things different. I wish I had cared about God. I wish I hadn't gotten pregnant. I wish, I wish, I wish..... But wishes don't fix things. Wishes don't change what happened.
I texted Paul and told him I had told Mom. He was at my house, waiting on me to get back. My Dad was in town, so my Mom dropped me off at the house and went into town to meet up with my Dad and tell him what was going on. We waited at the house for them to come home and tell us what they wanted us to do. I knew they were going to have a range of emotions and I was unsure of what to expect from my Dad. After about 2 hours, they called and told us that they didn't want Paul in the house and that we needed to leave and meet my Dad somewhere, so he could talk to us.
My Dad was extremely calm with us. It was the best thing for me at the time. I was relieved and thankful that he was understanding; disappointed, upset a bit, but understanding. He told us that Paul needed to find another place to live, but that he was welcome to keep talking with me. After all, he was the father of the baby and we needed to figure out how we were going to work our lives out, to raise this baby. My dad and Paul worked together to find him a place to temporarily stay while he worked at getting a job and finding a place to live permanently. Paul and I began to discuss what we wanted to do; we decided on getting married. During this time, we told his family, and it wasn't received very well. We had disappointed and angered everyone.
Paul began putting in a few job applications to some places, but there wasn't really any interest to hire him, and he was a little unsure of how to even get a job. At the time, both of us were young and immature. We had no clue what life held for us and we were embarking into unchartered waters that felt scary, dark and lonely. My Dad talked to Paul about joining the military, because it would be a stable environment for us. Paul had already considered joining the US Navy when he was 17 years old, so he began looking into different military options. He was mostly interested in the Air Force, but after talking to them and having issues with getting his paper work done, we went to the Army office to talk to them. We completed the paperwork and even went to MEPS to pick out his job. He had a couple of options with them. I got cold feet and told him I didn't want him to join the Army. It was way too scary, especially with the US being at war in Iraq and Afghanistan. So we went to talk to the Navy recruiters about his options with them. I felt a little better about him being in the Navy. We began the process with them, got the paper work done and picked out his job. We wanted a quicker start date, so we had two options for his job; he chose to be a Machinist Mate. (They work in the belly of the ship with the steamers. They are the ones that make the ship move.)
During all of this, I was having some complications with the pregnancy. I was loosing tons of weight (I had a total loss of 19lbs during the entire pregnancy and I was already skinny when I started out). I started to bleed a lot and have contractions that were so severe I could hardly move or talk at 15 weeks. We rushed to the ER, thinking I was miscarrying. They did an ultrasound and told us that we had twins, but that one had passed away. The other one was just fine and it's heart was beating steadily. My midwife kept a close eye on me for the next few weeks. My heart was breaking the entire time. I thought God was punishing me for being a horrible person and sinning by having sex before marriage. We didn't know that I was pregnant with twins either, so it was a shock to Paul and I. We were grieving the loss of our baby, but also celebrating that we still had one! I guess when we went to the Care center for pregnancy, the sonographer didn't detect the twin. Maybe she just didn't even look once she saw the one. I'm not sure. I've heard of twins hiding behind the other in the early stages too. We had our first sonogram at week 8. We named our Angel baby, "Blessing." We didn't get to find out the gender, but we have felt it was a girl, for some reason. I still miss my baby! Sometimes I still ask God why!
I was also throwing up daily; I couldn't hold water, or food down. I could barely move away from the bathroom for the first 6 months of my pregnancy. And things were getting stressful while we prepared for him to go to the US Navy bootcamp. His ship off date was July 16th, 2010.
The military wouldn't accept me as a dependent unless we were married, which meant his paycheck would be smaller, no insurance for me and no housing for me and the baby. So we decided to push our wedding date up before his ship date. We planned our wedding for April 18th, 2010. We didn't have a whole lot of friends at the time, so we just had family and two friends of mine there, Anna and Chelsea. Paul's family was unable to make it, so we flew out to California to be close to my family who lived there. They all came and made our day very special. My parents bought me a beautiful dress, and rented a gorgeous place that was outdoors with roses and wildflowers all around. It was the most beautiful wedding ever! I am so blessed to have had such nice wedding, even after all that I had put my parents through.
After our wedding, we began getting ready for him to leave for 9 weeks for bootcamp. I dreaded missing him, especially with me having issues with the pregnancy. We found out he would have A-school (a specialty school for training him as a Machinist Mate) up in Chicago, where his bootcamp was going to be. So my parents offered to help me move up there, and live in an extended stay hotel. I took them up on the offer and I packed up, and moved there. He was to be in A-school for around 18 weeks, I think it was, so he would be there when I had our son. We wanted him to be close by when the baby was born. We didn't know if he would be able to attend the birth or not, but on normal weekends, unless he had watch duty in his ship, he would be able to spend time with me and then he could see the baby. We also knew he would have some evenings to spend with me.
This has been long enough....so I'm going to stop here and pick up later on.
I had also begun dating my now husband, Paul, and he was leaving the school too for other personal reasons. (If he wants to share his story sometime, I might see if he'll guest blog on this!) I knew why he was leaving and it added to my feelings of wanting to leave.
Right now, I want to stop and say that CFNI is a GREAT place and would highly suggest it to anyone who is wanting to have a deeper walk with God and learn what He wants for them in life. There is nothing wrong with CFNI, it was all me. So please don't take my negative comments as if CFNI is a bad place, because they're wonderful! I miss it and we have considered going back to search after the heart of God, for His plan for our lives!
While I feel that I made the right decision, for me, to leave, I also regret the decisions I made afterwards. When I left, I was angry at God, I felt insecure in myself and even though I knew God was real, I didn't feel He was real for me. Unless you've been in that place, what I described above might be confusing. I thought He cared about everyone else and could care less how I felt. I didn't think He cared about me. If He cared, why would he allow all this stuff in my life that was confusing? Why did He let me suffer in my church, where I felt alone and sad the last four years I was there? Why didn't He just stop the elders from abusing their authority? Why didn't He save me from all that? So ultimately, when I left, I didn't care about God. I didn't care what He thought. I didn't want to know Him. I didn't want to go to church. I didn't want to have anything to do with God.
I remember one day that my Mom was talking with me about my struggles and snapping at her when she mentioned God. I didn't want to hear His name. I didn't want anyone telling me God cared, or loved me. I closed myself off, and even to this day I have a hard time accepting love from anyone, especially God. It's something I'm working on, because God loves to love, and He loves through His people and accepting love from Him is apart of being His child.
So right after I left CFNI, I was in a carnal state of mind. I had no desire to please God. He was too hard to please anyways, in my mind. I couldn't please the people in my old church, or anyone else for that matter, so why not just live my life for me? Make myself happy, became my motto.
Paul didn't want to go home to his parents place at the time, and he loved me, so he wanted to stay close to me. My parents offered for him to stay with us (maybe I should have my Mom guest blog on here to share their side someday!) and of course, the risks of two young-loves came with that. We promised we weren't wanting to be inappropriate with each other and that we would abstain from sexual activities. We wanted to get to know each other better and have a regular dating life. But one night, I was coming out of my room to get something and he had come out too, and we kissed. While our parents knew we were holding hands and kissing, they didn't know we had met in the hallway. The first time wasn't planned. But then our carnal natures took over and we met nightly to kiss. And those kisses led to touching and touching led to sex. I remember that day clearly. I was so upset over my failure to keep myself pure for marriage. I felt dizzy and in shock. I knew I had displeased God, and I felt my soul had been condemned to hell forever. I kept thinking, "What is the point of trying to live for God after having sex before marriage? He's never gonna forgive me and I'm going to just go to hell anyways." Paul felt the same. I won't go into a lot more detail on this part of my life, because I feel part should remain private, but ultimately, we fell pregnant.
My first missed monthly warned me that something was up. I went and told Paul that I thought I was pregnant. We hadn't figured out how to tell my parents that we'd betrayed their trust and had failed our promise to them. I was so scared of how they'd respond. And I was disappointed in myself for disappointing them. I hated hurting them. And I knew that when I told them, that they would be disappointed, angry and that the trust they had in me would be broken. On top of the fear of telling them I'd had sex, now I had to tell them I thought I was pregnant. So after letting nearly 3 weeks pass, Paul and I went to the grocery store and I bought a pregnancy test. I went into the grocery store bathroom and took the test. In minutes, the two little pink lines told me what I thought to be true: I was pregnant. I had a mixture of feelings wash over me. I was going to be a Mommy! But my stomach churned at the thought of having to tell my parents. To be honest, I panicked and even considered abortion for a few haphazard, fearful, scared minutes. I voiced my thoughts to Paul and he immediately told me there was no way we should consider that; that this baby was wanted and we would get through this together. He brought me back to earth and I have regretted thinking those thoughts ever since that day.
I hesitate to share what I did just now, but I feel it is a vital part of my testimony. Am I ashamed? Am I sorry? Yes. A BIG resounding yes. I just hope my story can give someone else hope.
Another day passed and I began to experience worsening pregnancy symptoms. I knew I needed to tell my Mom and Dad about my pregnancy. So I asked my Mom if we could go out to eat and talk. I had no clue how to tell her what was going on. We sat down at the table in this little Mexican food restaurant in West, Texas. We ordered our food and I let her talk. I kept biting my lip, wishing the news would just flash across the sky, so I wouldn't have to open my mouth to tell her. Tears threatened to overflow several times. Finally I said, "Mom, I need to tell you something. Paul and I broke your trust and....I'm so sorry. I'm pregnant." She put her fork down and began to cry. She didn't finish her food, and asked the waiter for a box to take her food home. She didn't say much at the time. She just wanted to be alone and figure it all out in her mind. She did ask me why. I had no answer for her. My heart still breaks as I write this. The lump won't go away. I wish I had never broken my parents trust. I wish I had done things different. I wish I had cared about God. I wish I hadn't gotten pregnant. I wish, I wish, I wish..... But wishes don't fix things. Wishes don't change what happened.
I texted Paul and told him I had told Mom. He was at my house, waiting on me to get back. My Dad was in town, so my Mom dropped me off at the house and went into town to meet up with my Dad and tell him what was going on. We waited at the house for them to come home and tell us what they wanted us to do. I knew they were going to have a range of emotions and I was unsure of what to expect from my Dad. After about 2 hours, they called and told us that they didn't want Paul in the house and that we needed to leave and meet my Dad somewhere, so he could talk to us.
My Dad was extremely calm with us. It was the best thing for me at the time. I was relieved and thankful that he was understanding; disappointed, upset a bit, but understanding. He told us that Paul needed to find another place to live, but that he was welcome to keep talking with me. After all, he was the father of the baby and we needed to figure out how we were going to work our lives out, to raise this baby. My dad and Paul worked together to find him a place to temporarily stay while he worked at getting a job and finding a place to live permanently. Paul and I began to discuss what we wanted to do; we decided on getting married. During this time, we told his family, and it wasn't received very well. We had disappointed and angered everyone.
Paul began putting in a few job applications to some places, but there wasn't really any interest to hire him, and he was a little unsure of how to even get a job. At the time, both of us were young and immature. We had no clue what life held for us and we were embarking into unchartered waters that felt scary, dark and lonely. My Dad talked to Paul about joining the military, because it would be a stable environment for us. Paul had already considered joining the US Navy when he was 17 years old, so he began looking into different military options. He was mostly interested in the Air Force, but after talking to them and having issues with getting his paper work done, we went to the Army office to talk to them. We completed the paperwork and even went to MEPS to pick out his job. He had a couple of options with them. I got cold feet and told him I didn't want him to join the Army. It was way too scary, especially with the US being at war in Iraq and Afghanistan. So we went to talk to the Navy recruiters about his options with them. I felt a little better about him being in the Navy. We began the process with them, got the paper work done and picked out his job. We wanted a quicker start date, so we had two options for his job; he chose to be a Machinist Mate. (They work in the belly of the ship with the steamers. They are the ones that make the ship move.)
During all of this, I was having some complications with the pregnancy. I was loosing tons of weight (I had a total loss of 19lbs during the entire pregnancy and I was already skinny when I started out). I started to bleed a lot and have contractions that were so severe I could hardly move or talk at 15 weeks. We rushed to the ER, thinking I was miscarrying. They did an ultrasound and told us that we had twins, but that one had passed away. The other one was just fine and it's heart was beating steadily. My midwife kept a close eye on me for the next few weeks. My heart was breaking the entire time. I thought God was punishing me for being a horrible person and sinning by having sex before marriage. We didn't know that I was pregnant with twins either, so it was a shock to Paul and I. We were grieving the loss of our baby, but also celebrating that we still had one! I guess when we went to the Care center for pregnancy, the sonographer didn't detect the twin. Maybe she just didn't even look once she saw the one. I'm not sure. I've heard of twins hiding behind the other in the early stages too. We had our first sonogram at week 8. We named our Angel baby, "Blessing." We didn't get to find out the gender, but we have felt it was a girl, for some reason. I still miss my baby! Sometimes I still ask God why!
I was also throwing up daily; I couldn't hold water, or food down. I could barely move away from the bathroom for the first 6 months of my pregnancy. And things were getting stressful while we prepared for him to go to the US Navy bootcamp. His ship off date was July 16th, 2010.
The military wouldn't accept me as a dependent unless we were married, which meant his paycheck would be smaller, no insurance for me and no housing for me and the baby. So we decided to push our wedding date up before his ship date. We planned our wedding for April 18th, 2010. We didn't have a whole lot of friends at the time, so we just had family and two friends of mine there, Anna and Chelsea. Paul's family was unable to make it, so we flew out to California to be close to my family who lived there. They all came and made our day very special. My parents bought me a beautiful dress, and rented a gorgeous place that was outdoors with roses and wildflowers all around. It was the most beautiful wedding ever! I am so blessed to have had such nice wedding, even after all that I had put my parents through.
After our wedding, we began getting ready for him to leave for 9 weeks for bootcamp. I dreaded missing him, especially with me having issues with the pregnancy. We found out he would have A-school (a specialty school for training him as a Machinist Mate) up in Chicago, where his bootcamp was going to be. So my parents offered to help me move up there, and live in an extended stay hotel. I took them up on the offer and I packed up, and moved there. He was to be in A-school for around 18 weeks, I think it was, so he would be there when I had our son. We wanted him to be close by when the baby was born. We didn't know if he would be able to attend the birth or not, but on normal weekends, unless he had watch duty in his ship, he would be able to spend time with me and then he could see the baby. We also knew he would have some evenings to spend with me.
This has been long enough....so I'm going to stop here and pick up later on.
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