Ten Years of Hell

When I was nearly 7 years old my father married a woman he had impregnated because it was the honorable thing to do. She was divorced and had two daughters already, ages 11 and 12. It was an instant family of five with number six on the way. My father thought he had done me a favor.

The troubles began right away because my pregnant step-mother despised me and so did her daughters. Six months later a baby girl was added to the family and I went from being an only child, that several aunts and uncles lovingly took care of, to being hated and part of a crowd.

My father abandoned me by working two full-time jobs, from midnight to 8a.m. and then he came home, showered, drank a pot of coffee and then worked from 9-5 at another marble quarry. He got home at 5:20 ate supper and went to bed to sleep til 11. I saw him for 15 minutes a day- at suppertime - for the next 10 years.

When I graduated from high school I joined the Women's Army because it was a ticket out of the hell I was living in. I served as a medic changing the bandages of my peers who had come back from Vietnam with their arms and legs blown off. I'd gone from one kind of hell to another. A doctor put me on anti-depressants. Life did not look good to me.

I married another medic -hopeful- because he claimed to love me. We were young and I am not even sure we knew what love was.

A few months later my father dropped dead of a heart attack.
He was 42 years old. I was 19.
My husband got an emergency leave to come home from Korea to help me bury my father since he was my "last living relative". Then we moved my things to Iowa so I could live with his parents while he finished his tour of duty in Korea. But while moving here we had a head-on collision with another car and I ended up in the hospital. The Army graciously gave my husband three additional days of emergency leave and I got pregnant.

In one week's time I had lost my father, buried him, moved to an unfamiliar place, gotten my face crushed in and gotten pregnant. And once again I was alone and despairing of life.

But just a few weeks later when I realized that there was a child growing in my belly, everything changed. I had a reason to live.

New Beginnings

For a long time I thought that believing in God was something that we chose or not. Now I believe that salvation is more like admitting that you are drowning and screaming out for someone to help rescue you. The screaming doesn't save you, it just draws the attention of someone who throws you a life jacket or jumps in the water to help you. You can't claim any credit for the rescue.
I do believe we need to hunger and search for God zealously, like for a hidden treasure but we can't take the credit for being "wise enough to choose God".
He chooses us, He rescues us. He gets all the credit.
Once my eyes had been opened to the truth of God, I gradually began to desire more understanding and wisdom for life. The problem was that I was discovering that I couldn't enjoy a deep relationship with God all by myself. His plan involved other people, serving them, loving them, worshipping with them, letting them teach me. His plan was that I be part of a family and community. I had no desire to open myself up and give people a chance to hurt me. People were the source of all my pain. I preferred solitude.

The pain of my childhood was still seriously affecting my ability to make good decisions, my attitude toward people, the whole course that my life was on! I was crippled by the past. I couldn't let myself love or need people because they might die or abandon me in some other way. I felt so alone and as a young adult I turned to many different substances and behaviors to dull the pain and make myself feel better.
Once I had embraced Christianity those substances and behaviors were no longer acceptable. I was convicted of my deep need for change but I felt so powerless. Some things, like smoking and swearing were fairly easy to give up- you either do them or you don't. Plus, when you hang out with a different crowd of people they can influence you to make changes by their example. Other things, like thought patterns, cynicism, critical attitudes, defensiveness, were not so easy to change. They seemed permanently ingrained in me.

Although I changed a lot of my outward behaviors my heart was still tough and alone. God would have to lead me to a place of healing and forgiveness before that would change.

Never Really Alone

When I was a young mother my children would ask me deep questions like "why can't the kitty move anymore?" after the car had run over it. I felt a responsibilty to be able to explain something about life and death to them but I didn't really know what life was about.

Was it a gift from some powerful Being or was it just an accident?

Would I one day be held accountable for how I had lived?

I was completely lost and clueless. I waffled back and forth between drowning out the questions with drugs and alcohol and seriously seeking for life's meaning.

Then one day my eyes were opened and I knew that there was a God and that He had a plan for my life and that I would indeed be held accountable for what I did with the life He gave me. The incredibly, deep sense of aloneness, that I'd had nearly all of my life, began to go away. I had a Creator.

First Pains

My earliest memories involve me getting hurt. One time I cut my hand while standing on a chair "helping" mom peel potatoes and another time I fell down the stairs. Both times the thing that sealed the memory in my mind was my mom's hysteria. She over-reacted to my injuries probably because she was so young, she was only 16 when she had me. She lived a short life. She was only 19 when she was killed in a car accident.

Mom loved sweet, creamy treats and I remember eating pudding with her and we would make uumm sounds and giggle then take another bite and uumm again. I had just turned 3 years old when she was killed. No one would tell me where she had gone. They just told me to "go and play".

Dad and I went to live with his parents so grandma could take care of me. Grandma was a busy, hard-working farm wife but she was happy to spend time with me and she let me "help" her with all kinds of work. I quickly became attached to her and to grandpa. Our time together was short though because she died eight months later of a heart attack. I was still three.

Suddenly gone. Again. Grown ups were crying and that was frightening to me. But still, no one would tell me where she went. "Why don't you go outside and play?" That was how they responded to my questions.

So, I hardened my heart. I decided to just go outside and play-- alone.
I wouldn't count on anyone being there tomorrow.

Getting started

The hardest part for a lot of things is just getting started.
It can seem so overwhelming.
When I first started peace hunting, I was terrified. I had to open the dark closet of the past and look at the junk I'd packed away in there. I was afraid to open the door, afraid of the avalanche that might cascade down and crush me. But somehow, with the help of supportive people on a similar journey, I began and once I had a taste of peace there was no turning back, I wanted more.

That is why I decided to blog. I want to tell my story in the hopes that others will believe there can be an end to the emotional pain and they can enter a place of peace and calm. If I can do it- others can too.