Dreamer
Member
- Joined
- Nov 18, 2005
- Messages
- 2,134
I've been thinking of writing this down for awhile now. I have no idea what I'm going to say.
My dad was a Methodist pastor when I was a little girl. We lived in a big parsonage and I really, really loved Jesus and anything to do with Jesus. My mom played piano at the church and taught Sunday School and Bible Clubs for the kids. She knew how to tell bible stories better than anyone else I knew, as far as I was concerned. I thought my mom was super.
My dad was kind of distant, and at times even abusive. I just stayed out of his way mainly. I had two older sisters and an older brother. I was the baby.
My dad had a nervous breakdown when I was around 6 years old. Everything went downhill from there. Before I could count to 4, we were out of the parsonage, my dad was permanently hospitalized, my teenage brother was becoming an alcoholic, my sisters left the state as soon as they were old enough, and my mom was always depressed. I began a lifetime cycle of advising myself and setting my own responsibilities. Two christian counselors I've been too have stated that I "raised myself". This is kind of true. I mean, my mom had food on the table and washed and ironed our clothes...but she wasn't...present even when she was there she wasn't there. Didn't listen, didn't care. I got straight A's and she just signed the report card year after year with no praise, no nothing. She had problems, and didn't have time for mine. She took valium and slept alot. She started having panic attacks.
But we always went to church. I had my church friends, from the youth group, and I had my school friends, from school and sports. I just sort of walked the fence, didn't go to one side or the other spiritually. Tried to please everybody and be a pleasing person.
When I was 16 and in the 11th Grade, I got really, really mad. I'm not sure really what caused it, but all of the sudden I went into an instant rebellion.
First, I got my long, thick hair cut into a pixie cut. Then I got rid of my glasses and got contacts. But more importantly than that, I took upon myself a tough, "don't touch me" attitude. Class mates knew it wasn't just a physical change. "Don't mess with her," I heard some of them say. "She's a jock (slang for athlete in the '70's), she'll beat you up, and she's got a temper." Funny thing is, I never really had to beat anyone up. Just acted like I would. Even put my fist into a locker and dented it. But never punched anyone's body. I was determined I wasn't going to be hurt anymore.
My father was hardly ever in our home. Sometimes the hospital would let him out for holidays, or they'd let him out to see how he'd do. I'm not sure what was wrong, exactly. One doctor said he was schizophrenic, but to me he just seemed like an angry, hurting person. He was severely abused my his mother, of which I heard all about. My mother told me. My mother confided in me quite often by the time I was 14. She needed a counselor and I was a good listener and mature for my age. But she never had the time to listen to my stories. If I had a crush on some boy, she just laughed like I was a freak, and didn't take the time to listen to everyday stuff. She spaced out, or went to her room, or played her piano. It was like I was invisible. My brother was there too, but she didn't talk to him all that much either. He had his own life.
I went out of the state to a christian college and had a great time. I acted up and made friends and probably should have studied a lot harder. It was a two-year college at that time. So when the two years were over, I didn't know what to do. I know that sounds silly, but I had absolutely no direction in life, no goals, no idea of who I was. A preschool where I'd done an internship for a class decided to hire me so I stayed there in Kansas instead of going home to Pennsylvania.
Later, I ended up going back to Pennsylvania. I dated a young man that had asked me out in high school and I'd declined back then. I'd promised my friends I wouldn't go out with him. But now...I was so depressed, it didn't really matter. Ended up marrying him. Still had no goals, no direction in life, no self-esteem of my own. Just thought my husband was wonderful and supported him in everything he did.
On Feb. 17, 1991 I gave my life to Christ. I was 30 years old. He changed me inside and out.
After about 15 years of being married to that husband, I found out that most everything he had ever told me was a lie. He was a pathological liar, was in debt up to his ears, was addicted to pornography, and had had several affairs. All the while, I'd been raising our children, been active in church, had even been by his side while he was an Interim Pastor for one year.
But I still had God and relied closely on Him. When I found that my daughter had been molested, (probably by her father, but I was never able to prove it), I left with both of my kids. Later, he took both of the kids from me while we were living in a shelter. I did get my daughter back, but he kept my son and took him to Pennsylvania before the divorce was final. My daughter is now 14 and my oldest son is 19.
The confusing part of all this is that God called me to full-time ministry in the fall of 1994, while my marriage was falling apart at the seams. And I still don't know exactly what I'm supposed to be doing. Did I miss something somewhere? I love being a moderator at talkJesus, but I'd like to be in the ministry full-time. It seems like everything I've attempted has failed; I dabble a little with free-lance writing; have had very little success. I help with jail ministry and help with things at church. But I really don't know who I am or what I am for. Does this make any sense?
My dad was a Methodist pastor when I was a little girl. We lived in a big parsonage and I really, really loved Jesus and anything to do with Jesus. My mom played piano at the church and taught Sunday School and Bible Clubs for the kids. She knew how to tell bible stories better than anyone else I knew, as far as I was concerned. I thought my mom was super.
My dad was kind of distant, and at times even abusive. I just stayed out of his way mainly. I had two older sisters and an older brother. I was the baby.
My dad had a nervous breakdown when I was around 6 years old. Everything went downhill from there. Before I could count to 4, we were out of the parsonage, my dad was permanently hospitalized, my teenage brother was becoming an alcoholic, my sisters left the state as soon as they were old enough, and my mom was always depressed. I began a lifetime cycle of advising myself and setting my own responsibilities. Two christian counselors I've been too have stated that I "raised myself". This is kind of true. I mean, my mom had food on the table and washed and ironed our clothes...but she wasn't...present even when she was there she wasn't there. Didn't listen, didn't care. I got straight A's and she just signed the report card year after year with no praise, no nothing. She had problems, and didn't have time for mine. She took valium and slept alot. She started having panic attacks.
But we always went to church. I had my church friends, from the youth group, and I had my school friends, from school and sports. I just sort of walked the fence, didn't go to one side or the other spiritually. Tried to please everybody and be a pleasing person.
When I was 16 and in the 11th Grade, I got really, really mad. I'm not sure really what caused it, but all of the sudden I went into an instant rebellion.
First, I got my long, thick hair cut into a pixie cut. Then I got rid of my glasses and got contacts. But more importantly than that, I took upon myself a tough, "don't touch me" attitude. Class mates knew it wasn't just a physical change. "Don't mess with her," I heard some of them say. "She's a jock (slang for athlete in the '70's), she'll beat you up, and she's got a temper." Funny thing is, I never really had to beat anyone up. Just acted like I would. Even put my fist into a locker and dented it. But never punched anyone's body. I was determined I wasn't going to be hurt anymore.
My father was hardly ever in our home. Sometimes the hospital would let him out for holidays, or they'd let him out to see how he'd do. I'm not sure what was wrong, exactly. One doctor said he was schizophrenic, but to me he just seemed like an angry, hurting person. He was severely abused my his mother, of which I heard all about. My mother told me. My mother confided in me quite often by the time I was 14. She needed a counselor and I was a good listener and mature for my age. But she never had the time to listen to my stories. If I had a crush on some boy, she just laughed like I was a freak, and didn't take the time to listen to everyday stuff. She spaced out, or went to her room, or played her piano. It was like I was invisible. My brother was there too, but she didn't talk to him all that much either. He had his own life.
I went out of the state to a christian college and had a great time. I acted up and made friends and probably should have studied a lot harder. It was a two-year college at that time. So when the two years were over, I didn't know what to do. I know that sounds silly, but I had absolutely no direction in life, no goals, no idea of who I was. A preschool where I'd done an internship for a class decided to hire me so I stayed there in Kansas instead of going home to Pennsylvania.
Later, I ended up going back to Pennsylvania. I dated a young man that had asked me out in high school and I'd declined back then. I'd promised my friends I wouldn't go out with him. But now...I was so depressed, it didn't really matter. Ended up marrying him. Still had no goals, no direction in life, no self-esteem of my own. Just thought my husband was wonderful and supported him in everything he did.
On Feb. 17, 1991 I gave my life to Christ. I was 30 years old. He changed me inside and out.
After about 15 years of being married to that husband, I found out that most everything he had ever told me was a lie. He was a pathological liar, was in debt up to his ears, was addicted to pornography, and had had several affairs. All the while, I'd been raising our children, been active in church, had even been by his side while he was an Interim Pastor for one year.
But I still had God and relied closely on Him. When I found that my daughter had been molested, (probably by her father, but I was never able to prove it), I left with both of my kids. Later, he took both of the kids from me while we were living in a shelter. I did get my daughter back, but he kept my son and took him to Pennsylvania before the divorce was final. My daughter is now 14 and my oldest son is 19.
The confusing part of all this is that God called me to full-time ministry in the fall of 1994, while my marriage was falling apart at the seams. And I still don't know exactly what I'm supposed to be doing. Did I miss something somewhere? I love being a moderator at talkJesus, but I'd like to be in the ministry full-time. It seems like everything I've attempted has failed; I dabble a little with free-lance writing; have had very little success. I help with jail ministry and help with things at church. But I really don't know who I am or what I am for. Does this make any sense?
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And I still do. God's love never changes! He is here with me today. Right now at the present time He is trying to teach me to just be still and know that He is God. I have developed a habit of thinking that I have to be doing something special for Him for God to love me. He loves me just where I am.
