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.
Tuesday, December 9, 2014
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.
Thursday, October 9, 2014
Learning to Be Me
Learning to be me has been challenging to say the least. For nearly 17 years, I spent my life pleasing other people and following their leading, believing that their voices were God in the flesh. While I still believe that God can speak through other people as He has proven over and over in the Bible, I have also learned to question the "word" they bring, because so often, people put themselves in the place of God, and speak words that should never be spoken.
As I have said before, too, God might have something for one person, that He doesn't have for another. So the past 5 years have been spent with me searching after what God wants for me.
I remember going to get my hair cut for the first time with my roommate at CFNI. My hair was about 2" above my ankles at the time, so there was a lot to cut off! I walked into that Walmart salon with shaking knees and dizzy feeling in my head. The scriptures that were pounded into my head began to flood my memory, about why women weren't supposed to get their hair cut and how I would be displeasing God and why I shouldn't be getting my hair cut.
The lady behind the desk smiled and was welcoming. She was so excited to be giving me my first haircut since I was five years that she offered to give me the full treatment for the cheap price. I had no clue what the "full treatment" meant. I was just along for the ride! Remember, I am 22 years old at this point. As far as I can remember I only had one other haircut in my entire life.
The sweet lady took me to wash my hair. She kept asking me how long it took to wash my hair normally and why was it so long. It was the first time I'd ever really thought about how different and unusual I was and I started to feel pressure to be like everyone else. She cut my hair to my waist line. I wasn't ready for it to be shorter quite yet! It would take me a couple more years to get to the point I would be ok with shorter hair.
I have to admit that my head felt a lot lighter having less hair!! :)
After that, my roommate took me shopping for clothes. She got me a shirt and some pants. I remember slipping into the pants the first time and I felt so weird! Nothing like wearing pants for the first time since the age of 5. Ha!
Around this time, the summer semester was over at CFNI and the Fall semester was starting. I became an RA for that semester. Probably one of the biggest mistakes of my life. While I enjoyed the "perks" that came with that, like RA retreats and meetings, and stuff like that, I was the one needing ministering to, not to be ministering to others. But I didn't know that, really, at the time. I'm not even sure it had totally hit me that I wasn't in my old church anymore. It was almost as if I were living a good and bad dream.
To be honest, there are days even now that I think I'll wake up and find this is all a dream. I loved that place. I miss all my friends there. There are days I want to make friends, but then I think of the relationships I had there and am scared that nothing will ever compare to what I had there. There were the girlish cliches and rare "issues" amongst women, but never the cliches and issues women have these days within the church. I've tried making friends over and over and either get disappointed or shunned, or pushed away, or forgotten about. There's only so much texting and calling a person can do without realizing they're not wanted, you know? It was never that way in my old church. While they have a lot of issues, and things about them that are really wrong, one thing they have right is the sense of love, community and togetherness. I miss that. A lot of people I have run into are stuck on religion and their feelings on who they want in their groups and who they don't! It has caused a lot of hurt and confusion.....
Well, it's nearly 4:30 am and I need to get some sleep. I'll keep writing soon!
Monday, August 18, 2014
The Beauty of a Hidden Life
In life, everyone has a story. Some people have stories that are shared and open to the entire world, like celebrities, Helen Keller, Anne Frank, Mother Theresa, etc. Then there are the people whose stories aren't shared so publicly, but could have just as much impact as the shared ones.
I have gone to prisons and jails to speak with prisoners and I have sat to listen to their stories of drug use, stealing, abuse and even murder. I have heard their stories of coming to God, or have heard the yearning in their voice for more to life than life behind bars. I have gone to a church in the dark areas of town and heard stories of hunger, violence, terror and sadness. I have heard their voice break as the tears began to roll down their face. I have seen them break beneath the weight of how much they've been through and never having a friend or loved one to care enough to listen to their story. I have passed bars and seen stripper girls going in, or coming out with a look of absolute despair written all over their faces.
Over the past few weeks, we have seen this world break out into fighting all over. The race war in Missouri, the ISIS battle going down in the middle east and children being beheaded in front of their families, women being enslaved, beaten and raped, and men being forced to watch. We have seen children and teens take guns into schools and shoot people. We have seen young people kill their parents. We have seen celebrities commit suicide from depression. We have seen people shoot others because of road rage and all sorts of other horrible atrocities and debauchery.
My heart breaks. I can't even write this stuff down without feeling a deep ache in my heart and a yearning in my soul to reach out and help heal the wounds that are open and bleeding.
Then I look at the church and see the hurt and pain within it's own four walls. I've seen pastors fall to the temptation of pornography, or cheating on their wives with other women. I've seen wives fall into sin with other men. I've seen children leaving because "religion" was just "cliche" and had become full of hypocritical people. I've seen people leave the church because of all sorts of things.
Behind each of these struggles that each person faces (big and small), there is a story; one that is of tragedy, beauty, victory, sadness, depression, hope, faith and all the many numerous things a person in this world can experience and feel. And each story has purpose, and if we can take the time to listen, our hearts could be so touched by each story. Not only would we be bringing hope to someones life by just listening but it could bring the turning point for them to have a miraculous change. I have had many a person say to me, "No one has ever took the time to listen to my story," or "No one has ever cared to hear me out," or "I've never shared my story, because it's just so depressing" etc, etc. But when the time was taken to listen to them, their hearts were renewed, strengthened and brought hope that there was someone who actually cared. Someone wanted to take time for them; to pay attention to them and be interested in their story.
There is beauty behind each hidden story. No matter how crazy, or outrageous, or ridiculous or stupendous their story might be, there is beauty. Jesus brings beauty out of ashes. He raises people up out of their torn and broken world. He cares. He listens. He loves.
He said, "Come to me, all you who are weary and heaven laden and I will give you rest" (Matt. 8:28.)
He sent His Son to earth, to teach us His ways, His thoughts, His words and His actions. He brought hope and life. He sat and listened to the children and blessed them. Each one (I'm imagining) had a story to tell him. You know how children are! He called them blessed! And he wants us to be like them. Jesus is interested in our stories and since He is, we need to be interested too, in every one's stories too. Every time I have taken the time to listen, I find myself going away, encouraged, awed and inspired to be a better person. Life stories are our testimonies. They are what makes us who we are.
Revelations 12:11 says "They triumphed over him by the blood of the Lamb and by the word of their testimony; they did not love their lives so much as to shrink from death." The word testimony stands out here to me, because our testimonies are our stories! They explain where we've been and where we are going. They explain the struggles and the victories we've had. They explain us. Sometimes (I can say this by having experience) when someone takes time to listen to where I've been and where I am going, it gives me even more strength to go on and continue in my journey. Especially when I'm going through something (which is apart of my "story," my testimony) it makes it easier to share my heart, my struggle, or even my victories! It brings me closer to the ones I am in relationship with. It exposes my heart to others and gives them a glimpse into the beauty of my "hidden life."
I read this morning on the "Women of Faith" page on FB this, "We want God to fix all our problems. God says instead, 'I want to use your problems to change you and to reveal My grace and power to the world.' That is truth-- and the truth will set you free...." If God wants to reveal His grace and power to the world, then He will use us to share our problems, and victories. He will use our testimonies and stories to change us, and those around us, if we will allow it. He sees something beautiful about us and our lives. He orchestrates it into a beautiful song. Let's learn to sing it!
To reach the world and to reach others, we don't have to be celebrities with our lives displayed on a pedestal for all to see, although God may call some of us to be the Mother Teresa's of this day and age, or the Christine Caine's, or the Kari Jobes where our lives on on display for everyone. But many of us are called to live the hidden life, where not many know our stories. But we should be willing to stand up and share our testimonies to those close around us. The beauty of our hidden lives will touch others and give others hope. It will give them strength to share their stories and encourage us, or gain help to continue on. Be brave! Your story counts! You have purpose. You have a goal. You have something that is beautiful that people need to hear. Go! change the world with the beauty of your hidden life. Sing it! Shout it! Don't be ashamed of it. It's beautiful and it is a powerful testimony!
I have gone to prisons and jails to speak with prisoners and I have sat to listen to their stories of drug use, stealing, abuse and even murder. I have heard their stories of coming to God, or have heard the yearning in their voice for more to life than life behind bars. I have gone to a church in the dark areas of town and heard stories of hunger, violence, terror and sadness. I have heard their voice break as the tears began to roll down their face. I have seen them break beneath the weight of how much they've been through and never having a friend or loved one to care enough to listen to their story. I have passed bars and seen stripper girls going in, or coming out with a look of absolute despair written all over their faces.
Over the past few weeks, we have seen this world break out into fighting all over. The race war in Missouri, the ISIS battle going down in the middle east and children being beheaded in front of their families, women being enslaved, beaten and raped, and men being forced to watch. We have seen children and teens take guns into schools and shoot people. We have seen young people kill their parents. We have seen celebrities commit suicide from depression. We have seen people shoot others because of road rage and all sorts of other horrible atrocities and debauchery.
My heart breaks. I can't even write this stuff down without feeling a deep ache in my heart and a yearning in my soul to reach out and help heal the wounds that are open and bleeding.
Then I look at the church and see the hurt and pain within it's own four walls. I've seen pastors fall to the temptation of pornography, or cheating on their wives with other women. I've seen wives fall into sin with other men. I've seen children leaving because "religion" was just "cliche" and had become full of hypocritical people. I've seen people leave the church because of all sorts of things.
Behind each of these struggles that each person faces (big and small), there is a story; one that is of tragedy, beauty, victory, sadness, depression, hope, faith and all the many numerous things a person in this world can experience and feel. And each story has purpose, and if we can take the time to listen, our hearts could be so touched by each story. Not only would we be bringing hope to someones life by just listening but it could bring the turning point for them to have a miraculous change. I have had many a person say to me, "No one has ever took the time to listen to my story," or "No one has ever cared to hear me out," or "I've never shared my story, because it's just so depressing" etc, etc. But when the time was taken to listen to them, their hearts were renewed, strengthened and brought hope that there was someone who actually cared. Someone wanted to take time for them; to pay attention to them and be interested in their story.
There is beauty behind each hidden story. No matter how crazy, or outrageous, or ridiculous or stupendous their story might be, there is beauty. Jesus brings beauty out of ashes. He raises people up out of their torn and broken world. He cares. He listens. He loves.
He said, "Come to me, all you who are weary and heaven laden and I will give you rest" (Matt. 8:28.)
He sent His Son to earth, to teach us His ways, His thoughts, His words and His actions. He brought hope and life. He sat and listened to the children and blessed them. Each one (I'm imagining) had a story to tell him. You know how children are! He called them blessed! And he wants us to be like them. Jesus is interested in our stories and since He is, we need to be interested too, in every one's stories too. Every time I have taken the time to listen, I find myself going away, encouraged, awed and inspired to be a better person. Life stories are our testimonies. They are what makes us who we are.
Revelations 12:11 says "They triumphed over him by the blood of the Lamb and by the word of their testimony; they did not love their lives so much as to shrink from death." The word testimony stands out here to me, because our testimonies are our stories! They explain where we've been and where we are going. They explain the struggles and the victories we've had. They explain us. Sometimes (I can say this by having experience) when someone takes time to listen to where I've been and where I am going, it gives me even more strength to go on and continue in my journey. Especially when I'm going through something (which is apart of my "story," my testimony) it makes it easier to share my heart, my struggle, or even my victories! It brings me closer to the ones I am in relationship with. It exposes my heart to others and gives them a glimpse into the beauty of my "hidden life."
I read this morning on the "Women of Faith" page on FB this, "We want God to fix all our problems. God says instead, 'I want to use your problems to change you and to reveal My grace and power to the world.' That is truth-- and the truth will set you free...." If God wants to reveal His grace and power to the world, then He will use us to share our problems, and victories. He will use our testimonies and stories to change us, and those around us, if we will allow it. He sees something beautiful about us and our lives. He orchestrates it into a beautiful song. Let's learn to sing it!
To reach the world and to reach others, we don't have to be celebrities with our lives displayed on a pedestal for all to see, although God may call some of us to be the Mother Teresa's of this day and age, or the Christine Caine's, or the Kari Jobes where our lives on on display for everyone. But many of us are called to live the hidden life, where not many know our stories. But we should be willing to stand up and share our testimonies to those close around us. The beauty of our hidden lives will touch others and give others hope. It will give them strength to share their stories and encourage us, or gain help to continue on. Be brave! Your story counts! You have purpose. You have a goal. You have something that is beautiful that people need to hear. Go! change the world with the beauty of your hidden life. Sing it! Shout it! Don't be ashamed of it. It's beautiful and it is a powerful testimony!
Friday, August 15, 2014
Stop The Cycle!
It's 12:35 am and I'm sitting here, struggling to put my thoughts into words. It's hard to put them into words, because I'm afraid of being misunderstood, or offending someone. But I think is something that needs to be addressed, because I don't think people understand people like me; and there are probably thousands like me.
A lot of people grow up in "The Church" and are raised to be spiritual, holy and "good people." But when the real needy people come in, broken, hurt and needing friends, the "good and holy" people end up pushing them out by (probably) unintentional actions and words. The words, "acceptance" and "unconditional love" becomes cliche and old hat.
When a young, unwed pregnant mama comes waddling into a church service, she slinks into the back row, hoping to not be noticed because she's worried about the judgement that will be cast her way. She keeps her eyes cast down, because she's worried she'll see the sneaked peaks at her and the behind-the-hand whispers that people do.
A young couple comes in, newly married, yet they carry a 1 year old baby on their arm, and they share their story of leaving God, and having a baby out of wedlock, but they've given their lives to God again. Yet the story gets around like wild fire and the young woman is called a "whore" and "horrible woman." The man is crushed into the ground for having sex before marriage and is smeared with phrases like, "lack of respect for women" and "ridiculously immature." So they keep their heads down, listen to the sermon and sneak out as fast as they can, afraid someone will catch up with them and run them into the ground with their words and actions, again.
Young people come out of controlling environments (like cults, abusive parents, bullied at school, etc) and they reach out for friends. But they have a past. They're hurt. They're broken. They need friends. But they're rejected over and over, because they're "different" and people don't feel they "fit" with them. They get told things about themselves and others opinions on why they are the way they are, yet deep down inside, these people are broken, bleeding and hurting deep within. The person speaking to them has no clue the wounds they're inflicting upon a hurt and dying soul. They have no clue they're speaking words of death and destruction to them. They're absorbed into their own world of "religion" and how they feel they're helping, when in fact, it's just pushing them further away.
Where are the true Christians? Where are the ones who are like Jesus? Why do so many judge and not care about the deep wounds that surround them in their daily life?
Why do Christians "avoid" places like Starbucks (heaven forbid! they don't support the troops, or they support the President, etc) thinking that will help people see just how righteous they are? Why do they go on and on about which places they will go and which places they won't? Why do they spend time with this person, but not that person?
Jesus never singled anyone out to make them feel special, or unwanted. He never told anyone to go away, or that they couldn't spend time with Him. He spent time with a woman who had slept around with 5 different men. He ate dinner with people who were "unclean" and weren't "Christians." He spent time with the hurt, the broken, the needy. He didn't have clicks and established groups. He didn't tell someone to go somewhere else because they would be a better fit over there, or tell them that they weren't welcome because he already had his own set of friends.
I see this over and over, not only in my own life, but in the lives of many others. Christians need to rise up and stop this "click" thing!! They need to rise up and realize that people actually need help who are in those Starbuck's and are in those places that are "unclean" and "evil." We aren't to be apart of the world, but we aren't to reject it either. Push aside the religion of hypocrisy. Don't say that everyone is welcome, and then push aside the person you "don't like" or don't "feel good about" etc. Look at Jesus' example that He left behind and follow that. So often we pray with blindfolds over our eyes, because we "sense" something or we believe our own perceptions about people. We can't get beyond our thoughts or feelings. We can't see the need before us, because we are so focused on how we feel.
Reach out! be the life giving hand that gives a breath of refreshment and acceptance to the one who needs you. When you see the unwed pregnant mama, smile, give a hug, invite her over. When you hear a story of abuse and rejection, call, invite them over, be a friend. When you see a couple who is struggling to make friends, be there.
Stop the cycle of rejection. Stop the cycle of judgment. Meet them where they're at. Don't allow current friendships and relationships and "clicks" get in the way of ministering to the needy. Rise above religion and hypocrisy. Don't say one thing and do another. Be there for them. Just be. Love. Help bring peace and forgiveness to their troubled hearts. Accept. Show them the power of love. Show them who the Real Jesus is.
In my own personal life, I have face rejection over and over. I have been told that "I'm not rejecting you." But what they don't know is that their words and actions are hurting and reopening wounds that I keep working at healing. I have left all my family and friends because of the leading of Jesus. I have left God and returned to God. I was one of those moms who had a baby before I was married. I am one of those who was rejected and shunned because of that. I have been told I am worth nothing. I have been told God could never use a sinner like me. I have been told that sex outside of marriage was hell worthy and God would never forgive me. I have been told that I am unwelcome. I have been told to go somewhere else. I have been told that I don't deserve family or friends. I have been pushed around, forgotten about, unwanted, unneeded and ultimately, crushed. Rejection is something that everyone faces in life, at some point. I am not playing the "oh whoa as me, pity me" card here. I am stating facts. I am rising above it all. I am choosing to love those who reject me and push me out of their lives. But it doesn't lessen the hurt.
And I know that many others have faced the same type of things I have. There is a world of hurting people out there! Yet "The Church" doesn't seem to care! They're focused on doing all these good deeds that the actions of reaching out to hurt and dying (whether figuratively or physically) are completely forgotten about. The Church has become a place of clicks and hypocrisy and rejection of those who need it most. Jesus is more interested in our hearts, not our outward appearances. He is more interested in acceptance, than how comfortable everyone feels.
A lot of people grow up in "The Church" and are raised to be spiritual, holy and "good people." But when the real needy people come in, broken, hurt and needing friends, the "good and holy" people end up pushing them out by (probably) unintentional actions and words. The words, "acceptance" and "unconditional love" becomes cliche and old hat.
When a young, unwed pregnant mama comes waddling into a church service, she slinks into the back row, hoping to not be noticed because she's worried about the judgement that will be cast her way. She keeps her eyes cast down, because she's worried she'll see the sneaked peaks at her and the behind-the-hand whispers that people do.
A young couple comes in, newly married, yet they carry a 1 year old baby on their arm, and they share their story of leaving God, and having a baby out of wedlock, but they've given their lives to God again. Yet the story gets around like wild fire and the young woman is called a "whore" and "horrible woman." The man is crushed into the ground for having sex before marriage and is smeared with phrases like, "lack of respect for women" and "ridiculously immature." So they keep their heads down, listen to the sermon and sneak out as fast as they can, afraid someone will catch up with them and run them into the ground with their words and actions, again.
Young people come out of controlling environments (like cults, abusive parents, bullied at school, etc) and they reach out for friends. But they have a past. They're hurt. They're broken. They need friends. But they're rejected over and over, because they're "different" and people don't feel they "fit" with them. They get told things about themselves and others opinions on why they are the way they are, yet deep down inside, these people are broken, bleeding and hurting deep within. The person speaking to them has no clue the wounds they're inflicting upon a hurt and dying soul. They have no clue they're speaking words of death and destruction to them. They're absorbed into their own world of "religion" and how they feel they're helping, when in fact, it's just pushing them further away.
Where are the true Christians? Where are the ones who are like Jesus? Why do so many judge and not care about the deep wounds that surround them in their daily life?
Why do Christians "avoid" places like Starbucks (heaven forbid! they don't support the troops, or they support the President, etc) thinking that will help people see just how righteous they are? Why do they go on and on about which places they will go and which places they won't? Why do they spend time with this person, but not that person?
Jesus never singled anyone out to make them feel special, or unwanted. He never told anyone to go away, or that they couldn't spend time with Him. He spent time with a woman who had slept around with 5 different men. He ate dinner with people who were "unclean" and weren't "Christians." He spent time with the hurt, the broken, the needy. He didn't have clicks and established groups. He didn't tell someone to go somewhere else because they would be a better fit over there, or tell them that they weren't welcome because he already had his own set of friends.
I see this over and over, not only in my own life, but in the lives of many others. Christians need to rise up and stop this "click" thing!! They need to rise up and realize that people actually need help who are in those Starbuck's and are in those places that are "unclean" and "evil." We aren't to be apart of the world, but we aren't to reject it either. Push aside the religion of hypocrisy. Don't say that everyone is welcome, and then push aside the person you "don't like" or don't "feel good about" etc. Look at Jesus' example that He left behind and follow that. So often we pray with blindfolds over our eyes, because we "sense" something or we believe our own perceptions about people. We can't get beyond our thoughts or feelings. We can't see the need before us, because we are so focused on how we feel.
Reach out! be the life giving hand that gives a breath of refreshment and acceptance to the one who needs you. When you see the unwed pregnant mama, smile, give a hug, invite her over. When you hear a story of abuse and rejection, call, invite them over, be a friend. When you see a couple who is struggling to make friends, be there.
Stop the cycle of rejection. Stop the cycle of judgment. Meet them where they're at. Don't allow current friendships and relationships and "clicks" get in the way of ministering to the needy. Rise above religion and hypocrisy. Don't say one thing and do another. Be there for them. Just be. Love. Help bring peace and forgiveness to their troubled hearts. Accept. Show them the power of love. Show them who the Real Jesus is.
In my own personal life, I have face rejection over and over. I have been told that "I'm not rejecting you." But what they don't know is that their words and actions are hurting and reopening wounds that I keep working at healing. I have left all my family and friends because of the leading of Jesus. I have left God and returned to God. I was one of those moms who had a baby before I was married. I am one of those who was rejected and shunned because of that. I have been told I am worth nothing. I have been told God could never use a sinner like me. I have been told that sex outside of marriage was hell worthy and God would never forgive me. I have been told that I am unwelcome. I have been told to go somewhere else. I have been told that I don't deserve family or friends. I have been pushed around, forgotten about, unwanted, unneeded and ultimately, crushed. Rejection is something that everyone faces in life, at some point. I am not playing the "oh whoa as me, pity me" card here. I am stating facts. I am rising above it all. I am choosing to love those who reject me and push me out of their lives. But it doesn't lessen the hurt.
And I know that many others have faced the same type of things I have. There is a world of hurting people out there! Yet "The Church" doesn't seem to care! They're focused on doing all these good deeds that the actions of reaching out to hurt and dying (whether figuratively or physically) are completely forgotten about. The Church has become a place of clicks and hypocrisy and rejection of those who need it most. Jesus is more interested in our hearts, not our outward appearances. He is more interested in acceptance, than how comfortable everyone feels.
Friday, June 20, 2014
What Do I Do Now?
After hanging up the phone with my cousin, I felt a sense of relief, almost like the weight of the world was pulled off of my shoulders. Along with the relief, I felt some terror too, because I had left once before and knew I didn't like the "world" as I had known it. It was big, full of things I'd never done before, things I've never seen, or even heard of.
I want to remind you of a few things. First off, I had never dated, I had barely watched TV, hadn't been to any types of theme parks, never been to a movie, hadn't cut my hair since I was 5 years old, hadn't worn anything besides dresses since age 6, never had a drink of alcohol, or anything that "normal" people had done. I was 21 years old now and trust me, leaving everything I knew and loved was extremely stressful, nerve wracking, and I felt quite like a fish out of water.
Later that morning, after making the final call to my cousin, I went out and told my parents of my decision to leave. The relief in their faces was priceless. The tears flowed, the hugs were plentiful and then the discussions on what I would do with my life commenced. My dad had a friend in Dallas, Texas whose children had attended Christ for the Nations. He suggested we look into me going to that college, as it might be a great stepping stone for me to take, while I got over the craziness of leaving. It was already early June and the summer semester was beginning in just a few short days. So I got the application, filled it out, then faxed it to the Dean of Women at CFNI. Within a few hours, I got a call from her and she asked me a few questions about my relationship with God, what my heart was for serving God and a few other questions. The next day, I got the call saying I was accepted and that I needed to check in the following day!
I packed up my stuff into a couple of bins and the next morning, my parents and I took the drive to Dallas to get me settled in.
During all of this, I think the excitement helped surpress the feelings of sadness and hurt of leaving once again. It hadn't really settled in yet, what had just happened. I remember telling myself that I didn't want to think about it. I knew, that by thinking about it, I would just become depressed, sad and focus on my situation, instead of enjoying the journey. Unfortunately, as you will see in the coming blog posts, that resolve didn't last long. But for now, I was determined to just enjoy CFNI and find some new friends.
I checked into my room, and my room mates began to arrive too. There were four of us packed like little sardines into a one bedroom apartment. We had a couch, a desk, one chair, and the teeniest bedroom ever, with bunk beds. All this was so new and unusual to me! I had no clue what to expect from college, or these girls. They seemed so comfortable in this new environment. I was shy, quiet and withdrawn. As more girls started to arrive and filled the adjoining apartments, I began to make a few friends, but for the most part, I found myself observing people. Looking back now, I realize I must've made some people really uncomfortable. But everyone was SO interesting! Everyone was dressed different. Girls had short hair, wore pants and put make-up on their faces. My room mates looked like one person in the early mornings, and by the time they were done with makeup and stylish clothes, they looked like models. I didn't have make-up, my hair was to my mid shin, I only had skirts and tops I'd worn in my old community. My parents had given me money to go shopping for clothes, but every time I tried on pants, I felt uncomfortable and awkward. So when I would go shopping, I'd always look for long skirts. I think the shortest skirt I wore during this time was slightly below my knees.
My sweet roommate, Lynn offered to straighten my hair and teach me a little bit about putting make up on. My Mom had bought me some Bare Essentials Mineral make-up to try. I was excited and wanted to learn. So we spent an evening learning make-up and she made me feel pretty! After getting my hair straightened, she asked me if I wanted to go to Wal-Mart and get it cut. I was nervous and scared. I'd been taught by the community that cutting my hair would be against God an that I would go to hell. I kept putting it off, but finally, after about a month, I decided to go. Lynn went with me and I walked into the salon with shaking knees, literally. The lady who was there to cut my hair just couldn't get over how long it was and kept asking me why I had it so long and wanted to know my whole story. I've always felt awkward telling my story, because, for the most part, the response I get isn't a good one. But this lady was fascinated. I spent an hour sharing with her about my old life. She was excited to be apart of my story and cutting my hair for the first time since I was 5 years old! She took me back to the hair washing area and washed my hair. She said my hair was the longest she'd ever seen and had to take a picture before cutting it. Then she took me to the hair cutting area, which was right in front of a long line of windows that looked out onto the area where everyone walked into Wal-Mart to go shopping. It was a bit embarrassing, because several people (when I say several, I'm talking about 20-30 people!!!) stopped and took pictures! I didn't realize it was so unusual to have hair almost to your ankles, but I guess it was! She tied a little rubber band around my hair at waist length (our prearranged length that I wanted it cut. I was no where near ready for her to cut it any shorter than that.) Then she took the scissors and chopped it off. When she handed the ends of my hair to me, I cried. It felt like I had just cut off a part of my life and it made me feel even more scared and sad. I let her style it a bit and then I was done. I walked out of there, for the first time since I was 5 years old with short(er) hair. I called my Mom and told her what I'd done and she encouraged me that I was taking steps in the right direction. I kept asking her how on earth I could know that I wasn't going to hell because I cut my hair! It took a lot of prayer, convincing, talks and tears to come to a place of peace.
In the community, God wasn't our conscience, it was the elders, the "brothers," the leaders that were our conscience. Yes, we prayed about things, but it ultimately led to listening to them and following what they said was God. So having an actual relationship with God wasn't common. Hearing His voice and following what He said wasn't something I knew intimately. I had a lot of learning to do.
So pretty much, with everything that I did, I would think, "What would the brothers say or think? Would I get into trouble with them if I did this, or that?" It was rarely that I thought, "What does GOD think about this? What would He say? What does His word say?"
Learning to hear His voice and follow what His will for my life is has been such a challenge, because even to this day, I "hear" the brother's voices in my head. I hear what they have to say, and then I have to stop, tell myself that what they say doesn't matter. What does God say?
Something I have learned is that God loves us. He came to earth to show us the Way to Him. He left a beautiful, easy to follow example on how to get to Heaven. If it seems hard to be a Christian, then stop and read His word. Because He didn't make it hard for His children to love and follow Him. He left us a handbook called the Bible. There are a few black and white things that He said to do and to not do. Beyond that, He leaves room for us to listen to His voice and obey Him. For instance, He gave us the ten commandments.
15 No stealing.
16 No lies about your neighbor.
I want to remind you of a few things. First off, I had never dated, I had barely watched TV, hadn't been to any types of theme parks, never been to a movie, hadn't cut my hair since I was 5 years old, hadn't worn anything besides dresses since age 6, never had a drink of alcohol, or anything that "normal" people had done. I was 21 years old now and trust me, leaving everything I knew and loved was extremely stressful, nerve wracking, and I felt quite like a fish out of water.
Later that morning, after making the final call to my cousin, I went out and told my parents of my decision to leave. The relief in their faces was priceless. The tears flowed, the hugs were plentiful and then the discussions on what I would do with my life commenced. My dad had a friend in Dallas, Texas whose children had attended Christ for the Nations. He suggested we look into me going to that college, as it might be a great stepping stone for me to take, while I got over the craziness of leaving. It was already early June and the summer semester was beginning in just a few short days. So I got the application, filled it out, then faxed it to the Dean of Women at CFNI. Within a few hours, I got a call from her and she asked me a few questions about my relationship with God, what my heart was for serving God and a few other questions. The next day, I got the call saying I was accepted and that I needed to check in the following day!
I packed up my stuff into a couple of bins and the next morning, my parents and I took the drive to Dallas to get me settled in.
During all of this, I think the excitement helped surpress the feelings of sadness and hurt of leaving once again. It hadn't really settled in yet, what had just happened. I remember telling myself that I didn't want to think about it. I knew, that by thinking about it, I would just become depressed, sad and focus on my situation, instead of enjoying the journey. Unfortunately, as you will see in the coming blog posts, that resolve didn't last long. But for now, I was determined to just enjoy CFNI and find some new friends.
I checked into my room, and my room mates began to arrive too. There were four of us packed like little sardines into a one bedroom apartment. We had a couch, a desk, one chair, and the teeniest bedroom ever, with bunk beds. All this was so new and unusual to me! I had no clue what to expect from college, or these girls. They seemed so comfortable in this new environment. I was shy, quiet and withdrawn. As more girls started to arrive and filled the adjoining apartments, I began to make a few friends, but for the most part, I found myself observing people. Looking back now, I realize I must've made some people really uncomfortable. But everyone was SO interesting! Everyone was dressed different. Girls had short hair, wore pants and put make-up on their faces. My room mates looked like one person in the early mornings, and by the time they were done with makeup and stylish clothes, they looked like models. I didn't have make-up, my hair was to my mid shin, I only had skirts and tops I'd worn in my old community. My parents had given me money to go shopping for clothes, but every time I tried on pants, I felt uncomfortable and awkward. So when I would go shopping, I'd always look for long skirts. I think the shortest skirt I wore during this time was slightly below my knees.
My sweet roommate, Lynn offered to straighten my hair and teach me a little bit about putting make up on. My Mom had bought me some Bare Essentials Mineral make-up to try. I was excited and wanted to learn. So we spent an evening learning make-up and she made me feel pretty! After getting my hair straightened, she asked me if I wanted to go to Wal-Mart and get it cut. I was nervous and scared. I'd been taught by the community that cutting my hair would be against God an that I would go to hell. I kept putting it off, but finally, after about a month, I decided to go. Lynn went with me and I walked into the salon with shaking knees, literally. The lady who was there to cut my hair just couldn't get over how long it was and kept asking me why I had it so long and wanted to know my whole story. I've always felt awkward telling my story, because, for the most part, the response I get isn't a good one. But this lady was fascinated. I spent an hour sharing with her about my old life. She was excited to be apart of my story and cutting my hair for the first time since I was 5 years old! She took me back to the hair washing area and washed my hair. She said my hair was the longest she'd ever seen and had to take a picture before cutting it. Then she took me to the hair cutting area, which was right in front of a long line of windows that looked out onto the area where everyone walked into Wal-Mart to go shopping. It was a bit embarrassing, because several people (when I say several, I'm talking about 20-30 people!!!) stopped and took pictures! I didn't realize it was so unusual to have hair almost to your ankles, but I guess it was! She tied a little rubber band around my hair at waist length (our prearranged length that I wanted it cut. I was no where near ready for her to cut it any shorter than that.) Then she took the scissors and chopped it off. When she handed the ends of my hair to me, I cried. It felt like I had just cut off a part of my life and it made me feel even more scared and sad. I let her style it a bit and then I was done. I walked out of there, for the first time since I was 5 years old with short(er) hair. I called my Mom and told her what I'd done and she encouraged me that I was taking steps in the right direction. I kept asking her how on earth I could know that I wasn't going to hell because I cut my hair! It took a lot of prayer, convincing, talks and tears to come to a place of peace.
In the community, God wasn't our conscience, it was the elders, the "brothers," the leaders that were our conscience. Yes, we prayed about things, but it ultimately led to listening to them and following what they said was God. So having an actual relationship with God wasn't common. Hearing His voice and following what He said wasn't something I knew intimately. I had a lot of learning to do.
So pretty much, with everything that I did, I would think, "What would the brothers say or think? Would I get into trouble with them if I did this, or that?" It was rarely that I thought, "What does GOD think about this? What would He say? What does His word say?"
Learning to hear His voice and follow what His will for my life is has been such a challenge, because even to this day, I "hear" the brother's voices in my head. I hear what they have to say, and then I have to stop, tell myself that what they say doesn't matter. What does God say?
Something I have learned is that God loves us. He came to earth to show us the Way to Him. He left a beautiful, easy to follow example on how to get to Heaven. If it seems hard to be a Christian, then stop and read His word. Because He didn't make it hard for His children to love and follow Him. He left us a handbook called the Bible. There are a few black and white things that He said to do and to not do. Beyond that, He leaves room for us to listen to His voice and obey Him. For instance, He gave us the ten commandments.
Exodus 20
The Message (MSG)
20 1-2 God spoke all these words:
I am God, your God,
who brought you out of the land of Egypt,
out of a life of slavery.
who brought you out of the land of Egypt,
out of a life of slavery.
3 No other gods, only me.
4-6 No
carved gods of any size, shape, or form of anything whatever, whether
of things that fly or walk or swim. Don’t bow down to them and don’t
serve them because I am God,
your God, and I’m a most jealous God, punishing the children for any
sins their parents pass on to them to the third, and yes, even to the
fourth generation of those who hate me. But I’m unswervingly loyal to
the thousands who love me and keep my commandments.
7 No using the name of God, your God, in curses or silly banter; God won’t put up with the irreverent use of his name.
8-11 Observe the Sabbath day, to keep it holy. Work six days and do everything you need to do. But the seventh day is a Sabbath to God,
your God. Don’t do any work—not you, nor your son, nor your daughter,
nor your servant, nor your maid, nor your animals, not even the foreign
guest visiting in your town. For in six days God made Heaven, Earth, and sea, and everything in them; he rested on the seventh day. Therefore God blessed the Sabbath day; he set it apart as a holy day.
12 Honor your father and mother so that you’ll live a long time in the land that God, your God, is giving you.
13 No murder.
14 No adultery.15 No stealing.
16 No lies about your neighbor.
17 No
lusting after your neighbor’s house—or wife or servant or maid or ox or
donkey. Don’t set your heart on anything that is your neighbor’s.
------------------------------------
God gave us those commandments.
But when it comes to dress, movies, houses we live in, the cars we drive, etc? He leaves room for our own convictions and what He speaks to us, personally. What He requires of one person, He may not require of you. What He speaks to you, He may not speak to your best friend. For some people, it is ok for them to wear this type of clothing, while for you, He may speak to you to not. God calls us to listen to His voice for US, not others. What counts is that we are doing His will for us. But that takes us listening to Him. If you listen to your friend and what God has spoken to them to do, and then do it yourself, you're not necessarily doing wrong, but God might have something different for you.
So for me, it wasn't particularly wrong for me to wear dresses, never cut my hair, homeschool and live on a farm. But God had a different plan for me. He called me elsewhere. So please, if God has called you to wear dresses and your hair up, don't think I'm judging you, or saying you're not living for God. God has different things for each of us. As long as we are both following His voice for ourselves, then we are both in the perfect will of God. :)
But for me, learning to actually hear God's voice has been a challenge, because it's been so easy to rely on others to "hear" God for me. It was easy listening to others speak and just following. But God has wanted to mature me and lead me in ways I would never have dreamed of going. And part of that, (going back to what I was originally talking about and got quite side-tracked!) was getting my hair cut. It was time for me to listen to His voice and do His leading, instead of following the lead of man.
And I would have a LOT more to learn too, in a lot more areas that I will share in a later chapter of this blog!
Wednesday, June 11, 2014
Going Back Continued
When we were taken out of meetings and put on what I refer to as "visitors status", where we only went to Friday night meetings on an invitation only basis, one of the things that was required was frequent meetings with the leaders of the church. There were several that my dad went to quite often when he was still attending.
When all of this began in 2005, we had just had a church switcharoo where the groups were told about 12 different small groups they could be apart of, and advised to pray about which one they were supposed to go to. We had prayed and joined a group. That is when things sort of went down hill. My Dad had been talking with our original pastor for years about his differences in beliefs, but I think that pastor was willing to keep working with him and helping him "see the light" of "truth." When we joined this other group, my Dad shared with them what his struggles were and his differences of beliefs, and I think it sorta freaked them out. So within a few weeks, we were "disassociated" from the church and stuck on visitors status. I know I am back tracking here, but I want to lay the foundation for where I am going next with my narrative. When the disassociation began, they told my family and me that it would be a "week, maybe two" that we would be out of meetings and participation of church activities. Those weeks turned into months and those months turned into years.
When my Dad left, the leaders of the church started meeting with my Mom on a frequent basis and talking to her on the phone. It kept being reiterated to her that she needed to have the "faith of Sister Andy." We honestly had no clue what this phrase was supposed to mean, and my Mom would ask them what that meant. There was a sweet lady in the church whose name was Andy and she had left her family and husband to be apart of this church. But we didn't know this at the time. No one told us a thing. So when they would say this, my Mom would be confused and they would tell her to search after the heart of God and then she would know what that meant. To this day, we still don't know what "have the faith of Sister Andy" was really supposed to mean. The only thing we can gather from it is that they wanted her to leave her husband to do what the brothers (pastors/elders) of the church wanted. Being married to an imposter (even though in reality, my Dad was following God a lot closer than we were at the time) was inexcusable and leaving him was her only option. But my Mom decided that being married to her husband was more important than the leaders of the church wishes. She kept questioning why they'd want her to leave him since, in the Bible, it speaks about how a believer wife should stay married to her unbeliever husband, and in quietness and meekness, win over her unbeliever. (1st Corinthians 7:13) But that didn't seem to matter to them and I wasn't in the meetings with her to know what was said, but I doubt they had scriptural back up for what they were asking her to do. It was trust them, do what they say, believe they're hearing the Voice of God, and pray until you hear the same voice they're hearing, or leave.
She chose to leave. It was heartbreaking for me at the time. I didn't know what I was going to do, but I felt my life spinning out of control and like I was loosing my best friend, my Mom!
I struggled along for a few weeks, trying to figure out what I was going to do. I was spending a lot of time with my pastors wife and sharing my heart with her. I was also invited to go to some meetings that were in town with the city church that was run by the lead pastor's son. I went to about 3 of those meetings, I think. I kept feeling more and more uncomfortable. I knew it didn't set right with me when they asked my Mom to make a choice between my Dad and the church. That's just wrong and no real Christian would ask such a thing. Or would they? I was so confused! I couldn't figure out what I believed, what I wanted or what I was supposed to do. So I put on a brave act of still pressing forward and working towards baptism. I kept thinking I'd eventually find peace. Maybe it was just because I no longer had my family in the church that was making me so uncomfortable, I thought. I kept reasoning with myself. I kept asking myself questions and going over facts of my situation.
Then one day, I made a call to my pastors wife and asked if I could come over for a bit to talk. She invited me over and I told her a lot of my struggles. I didn't know what to think or say, really. I just poured my heart out to her. I told her I was struggling with what was going on with my Mom and that I was hurting inside that she left. She tried to encourage me, but her words just spun me further into confusion and unrest. She said, "Maybe you should move into town, get away from your parents and start new. Get a job. You won't be able to talk to your parents much longer anyways, if you want to be apart of the church."
I went home and cried. I didn't know what to do. So the next day I called my other pastors wife and asked if I could set up a meeting with her and her husband. I told her I felt uncomfortable with something that was said to me, and that I needed to discuss it with them. I didn't feel comfortable talking to the pastors wife that made the original comment and I was already having struggles with the pastor and the way he was treating my mother, and myself. I had been accused of sharing private things that happened in Sunday church meetings with my Dad and that I was opening up the church to imposters. What was comical about that accusation is that I wasn't even attending Sunday services, so how on earth was I the informant? I didn't even know what was going on. My own friends treated me like a little kid; as if I didn't know my ABCs and acted like I was stupid. I had my closest friend tell me that she "couldn't explain the Sunday meeting to me" because, "You just won't understand it." Really? I had gone to meetings for years and years before being taken out and I understood them just fine. So to tell me that I wouldn't understand what was spoken was outrageous, hurtful and ridiculous. It's been a process to overcome the hurt, to forgive her and move on from it. But forgiveness is the only way to live a free life in Jesus. If you hold onto bitterness, unforgiveness and hatred, you'll only sink yourself into a miry pit of depression and hurt. You're only hurting yourself, not the person who originally inflicted the hurt on you.
Then another accusation that was hurled at me was that my Dad owned a gun and was threatening to shoot someone. That was also outrageous. My Dad owned a BB gun, but the only thing he ever shot was blades of grass. He couldn't even shoot a grasshopper. He's the type that picks up scorpions and takes them outside if he finds one in his home. He doesn't kill anything, let alone have a 9mm gun, threatening to shoot people. I would tell them that their assumptions were wrong, but all that would do was bring on more accusations and things I needed to "pray through about" so I could see the "swamp of lies" I was wallowing in. They just wouldn't believe me! I never could figure out why they thought I was the informant of what went on in Sunday meetings when I didn't even go to Sunday meetings.
So I asked for a meeting and she and her husband scheduled a meeting with me at their home the next evening. I drove up to their house and my heart sank. It wasn't just them there. I had specifically asked for just the two of them to be there. But they had, unbeknownst to me, invited the other pastor and his wife to attend the meeting also. I was not prepared to confront this pastor with the issues I had with him, or his wife. I felt the trust was broken. I called my Mom and told her I just wanted to leave right then and there; that I felt like they had broken the trust I had with them and that dealing with this was too much for me. She encouraged me to just go in, talk with them and see what they had to say.
I walked through the door and they were all smiles. I wasn't in the mood for playing games. In my mind, the games were over. No more deception, no more lies, no more manipulation was going to happen on their part towards me. I had had it. The pastor I had the issue with half smirked at me and said, "I hope you don't mind that we crashed your party." All that did was break the trust even further. So I sat down and they asked me what I wanted to talk about. I spilled it all. The dam of fakeness and trying to be a people pleaser broke. I no longer cared what they thought of me, and trying to make them happy with me. I was determined to be honest for once and share exactly how I felt and how I didn't like being accused of lies that I didn't tell, how I didn't like them accusing my Dad of things that they had no truth to base it off of. I told them that I didn't appreciate being accused of doing things that I didn't do to just get a response out of me. My heart was to serve God and I didn't feel that requiring me to leave my parents and never talk to them again was what God required. I told them that I was not going to do that; that I was going to live with my parents and serve them as their daughter.
They asked me if I wanted to leave the church and I told them I didn't know. They told me to get back with them and to talk with my cousin, Bessie, who I had been spending a lot of time with too. She was leading the city church with her husband and their friends. I called Bessie that night and talked with her about things. All through the night and into early morning, I prayed. I lay on my bedroom floor, crying, asking God what He wanted of me. My heart ached. The tears wouldn't stop. I loved my family, my friends, the community, the lifestyle, the homeschooling, the homebirths and values (the good ones that is!). I felt lost. What on earth was I going to do if I left? Where would I go? What would God have for me? I was scared. Tired. Frustrated. Even a bit angry. But it was clear as the morning hours drifted in that it was time to leave. God reminded me how He told Lot's wife to never look back. He was requiring the same of me. "Don't look back. Leave. Now. I have plans for you."
So around 5 am, I picked up the phone and called Bessie. I told her my decision.
"I am leaving the church, Bessie. I won't be coming back. I love you. But God told me to leave." I told her.
She told me she knew this was coming and that she felt all night that I was going to call with this piece of news. She began to tell me how God gave her a vision of a young man leaving God and how he died a few weeks later and that she would pray that something that drastic wouldn't happen to me, but that I would be riddled with sickness, or something would happen to show me the error of my ways and how I had left God. I didn't know what to say to her words besides, "Those words aren't from God. God spoke to me to leave and so I'm leaving." We hung up and I haven't spoken to her since.
Hang on tight...my journey in words will continue soon :)
When all of this began in 2005, we had just had a church switcharoo where the groups were told about 12 different small groups they could be apart of, and advised to pray about which one they were supposed to go to. We had prayed and joined a group. That is when things sort of went down hill. My Dad had been talking with our original pastor for years about his differences in beliefs, but I think that pastor was willing to keep working with him and helping him "see the light" of "truth." When we joined this other group, my Dad shared with them what his struggles were and his differences of beliefs, and I think it sorta freaked them out. So within a few weeks, we were "disassociated" from the church and stuck on visitors status. I know I am back tracking here, but I want to lay the foundation for where I am going next with my narrative. When the disassociation began, they told my family and me that it would be a "week, maybe two" that we would be out of meetings and participation of church activities. Those weeks turned into months and those months turned into years.
When my Dad left, the leaders of the church started meeting with my Mom on a frequent basis and talking to her on the phone. It kept being reiterated to her that she needed to have the "faith of Sister Andy." We honestly had no clue what this phrase was supposed to mean, and my Mom would ask them what that meant. There was a sweet lady in the church whose name was Andy and she had left her family and husband to be apart of this church. But we didn't know this at the time. No one told us a thing. So when they would say this, my Mom would be confused and they would tell her to search after the heart of God and then she would know what that meant. To this day, we still don't know what "have the faith of Sister Andy" was really supposed to mean. The only thing we can gather from it is that they wanted her to leave her husband to do what the brothers (pastors/elders) of the church wanted. Being married to an imposter (even though in reality, my Dad was following God a lot closer than we were at the time) was inexcusable and leaving him was her only option. But my Mom decided that being married to her husband was more important than the leaders of the church wishes. She kept questioning why they'd want her to leave him since, in the Bible, it speaks about how a believer wife should stay married to her unbeliever husband, and in quietness and meekness, win over her unbeliever. (1st Corinthians 7:13) But that didn't seem to matter to them and I wasn't in the meetings with her to know what was said, but I doubt they had scriptural back up for what they were asking her to do. It was trust them, do what they say, believe they're hearing the Voice of God, and pray until you hear the same voice they're hearing, or leave.
She chose to leave. It was heartbreaking for me at the time. I didn't know what I was going to do, but I felt my life spinning out of control and like I was loosing my best friend, my Mom!
I struggled along for a few weeks, trying to figure out what I was going to do. I was spending a lot of time with my pastors wife and sharing my heart with her. I was also invited to go to some meetings that were in town with the city church that was run by the lead pastor's son. I went to about 3 of those meetings, I think. I kept feeling more and more uncomfortable. I knew it didn't set right with me when they asked my Mom to make a choice between my Dad and the church. That's just wrong and no real Christian would ask such a thing. Or would they? I was so confused! I couldn't figure out what I believed, what I wanted or what I was supposed to do. So I put on a brave act of still pressing forward and working towards baptism. I kept thinking I'd eventually find peace. Maybe it was just because I no longer had my family in the church that was making me so uncomfortable, I thought. I kept reasoning with myself. I kept asking myself questions and going over facts of my situation.
Then one day, I made a call to my pastors wife and asked if I could come over for a bit to talk. She invited me over and I told her a lot of my struggles. I didn't know what to think or say, really. I just poured my heart out to her. I told her I was struggling with what was going on with my Mom and that I was hurting inside that she left. She tried to encourage me, but her words just spun me further into confusion and unrest. She said, "Maybe you should move into town, get away from your parents and start new. Get a job. You won't be able to talk to your parents much longer anyways, if you want to be apart of the church."
I went home and cried. I didn't know what to do. So the next day I called my other pastors wife and asked if I could set up a meeting with her and her husband. I told her I felt uncomfortable with something that was said to me, and that I needed to discuss it with them. I didn't feel comfortable talking to the pastors wife that made the original comment and I was already having struggles with the pastor and the way he was treating my mother, and myself. I had been accused of sharing private things that happened in Sunday church meetings with my Dad and that I was opening up the church to imposters. What was comical about that accusation is that I wasn't even attending Sunday services, so how on earth was I the informant? I didn't even know what was going on. My own friends treated me like a little kid; as if I didn't know my ABCs and acted like I was stupid. I had my closest friend tell me that she "couldn't explain the Sunday meeting to me" because, "You just won't understand it." Really? I had gone to meetings for years and years before being taken out and I understood them just fine. So to tell me that I wouldn't understand what was spoken was outrageous, hurtful and ridiculous. It's been a process to overcome the hurt, to forgive her and move on from it. But forgiveness is the only way to live a free life in Jesus. If you hold onto bitterness, unforgiveness and hatred, you'll only sink yourself into a miry pit of depression and hurt. You're only hurting yourself, not the person who originally inflicted the hurt on you.
Then another accusation that was hurled at me was that my Dad owned a gun and was threatening to shoot someone. That was also outrageous. My Dad owned a BB gun, but the only thing he ever shot was blades of grass. He couldn't even shoot a grasshopper. He's the type that picks up scorpions and takes them outside if he finds one in his home. He doesn't kill anything, let alone have a 9mm gun, threatening to shoot people. I would tell them that their assumptions were wrong, but all that would do was bring on more accusations and things I needed to "pray through about" so I could see the "swamp of lies" I was wallowing in. They just wouldn't believe me! I never could figure out why they thought I was the informant of what went on in Sunday meetings when I didn't even go to Sunday meetings.
So I asked for a meeting and she and her husband scheduled a meeting with me at their home the next evening. I drove up to their house and my heart sank. It wasn't just them there. I had specifically asked for just the two of them to be there. But they had, unbeknownst to me, invited the other pastor and his wife to attend the meeting also. I was not prepared to confront this pastor with the issues I had with him, or his wife. I felt the trust was broken. I called my Mom and told her I just wanted to leave right then and there; that I felt like they had broken the trust I had with them and that dealing with this was too much for me. She encouraged me to just go in, talk with them and see what they had to say.
I walked through the door and they were all smiles. I wasn't in the mood for playing games. In my mind, the games were over. No more deception, no more lies, no more manipulation was going to happen on their part towards me. I had had it. The pastor I had the issue with half smirked at me and said, "I hope you don't mind that we crashed your party." All that did was break the trust even further. So I sat down and they asked me what I wanted to talk about. I spilled it all. The dam of fakeness and trying to be a people pleaser broke. I no longer cared what they thought of me, and trying to make them happy with me. I was determined to be honest for once and share exactly how I felt and how I didn't like being accused of lies that I didn't tell, how I didn't like them accusing my Dad of things that they had no truth to base it off of. I told them that I didn't appreciate being accused of doing things that I didn't do to just get a response out of me. My heart was to serve God and I didn't feel that requiring me to leave my parents and never talk to them again was what God required. I told them that I was not going to do that; that I was going to live with my parents and serve them as their daughter.
They asked me if I wanted to leave the church and I told them I didn't know. They told me to get back with them and to talk with my cousin, Bessie, who I had been spending a lot of time with too. She was leading the city church with her husband and their friends. I called Bessie that night and talked with her about things. All through the night and into early morning, I prayed. I lay on my bedroom floor, crying, asking God what He wanted of me. My heart ached. The tears wouldn't stop. I loved my family, my friends, the community, the lifestyle, the homeschooling, the homebirths and values (the good ones that is!). I felt lost. What on earth was I going to do if I left? Where would I go? What would God have for me? I was scared. Tired. Frustrated. Even a bit angry. But it was clear as the morning hours drifted in that it was time to leave. God reminded me how He told Lot's wife to never look back. He was requiring the same of me. "Don't look back. Leave. Now. I have plans for you."
So around 5 am, I picked up the phone and called Bessie. I told her my decision.
"I am leaving the church, Bessie. I won't be coming back. I love you. But God told me to leave." I told her.
She told me she knew this was coming and that she felt all night that I was going to call with this piece of news. She began to tell me how God gave her a vision of a young man leaving God and how he died a few weeks later and that she would pray that something that drastic wouldn't happen to me, but that I would be riddled with sickness, or something would happen to show me the error of my ways and how I had left God. I didn't know what to say to her words besides, "Those words aren't from God. God spoke to me to leave and so I'm leaving." We hung up and I haven't spoken to her since.
Hang on tight...my journey in words will continue soon :)
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