Teen pregnancy is, no doubt, a growing epidemic in this country today. While statistics say that these girls are too young to handle this great responsibility, are more than likely to not finish school, will not stay with the baby's father and are more likely to have children who end up in jail or, in turn, become teen parents themselves... does not mean the entire stereotyped group WILL succumb to these statistics. I use my title as 'teen mom' in a past tense. That is something I've gone through, not who I am. I am a grown woman who did graduate high school with my class, has since married (the father of my baby) and has had two more children. We are a close family who make an honest living, own a nice home, raise our children with high morals and value and are respected by the people who know us well.
This subject, nevertheless, is still dear and close to my heart.
The biggest and most important part of growing up is learning from the experiences we grow through. As teens, there are many misconceptions in our behavior. Who hasn't once cheated on a test, sneaked out of the house, lied to their parents or have engaged in even the smallest sexual act? Although these surely do have consequences, they are quickly forgiven and forgotten by others. Lets say, however, that the world ostracized you for life over that one decision. What if you had to wear a sign that always labeled you a cheater or a liar or a harlot - would that automatically define who you are? Even if it just happened once and you've learned from it, are you stereotypically in the same rank as smugglers, launderers, robbers and prostitutes? My bet is most of you would answer 'no' and think that this comparison is ridiculously exaggerated and over the line but to the people who condemn and judge young mothers only because of their age are doing the exact same thing.
The consequence of teen pregnancy is very visible and cannot be forgotten but that consequence is also a gift from God. It takes a special young woman to step up and embrace that responsibility with all of her heart, body and soul along with the blood, sweat and tears. God never gives us more than He knows we can handle. No one is completely and truly ready for a child whether you're 36, 26 or 16. For the girls that have risen to this and have wrapped their lives around this gift... they deserve nothing less than our support and respect.
For the girls that have fallen into the statistics, all we can do is pray for you and hope that one day you'll see the greatest gift that can be given is already in front of you. These statistics are out there in this world but are not 100% and could be applied to certain mothers of any age.
Being a mom at a young age does not mean that your life is over but it has been taken into another direction and a path that God has paved for you.
So... does the 'teen' contradict the 'mom' in teen mom? Only if we allow it to... Lets open our eyes and see each other for our strengths and how we can overcome. Lets take the 'teen' out of the equation and see them as who they are and what they've worked hard to accomplish. Am I considered a teen mom still after 17 years? Don't stereotype, don't criticize, don't judge. We are all created equal and if God has blessed you with a child(ren), he has given us all the same name... 'Mom'.
"Do not judge, or you too will be judged. For in the same way you judge others, you will be judged, and with the measure you use, it will be measured to you. Why do you look at the speck of sawdust in your brother's eye and pay no attention to the plank in your own eye? How can you say to your brother, 'let me take the speck out of your eye', when all the time there is a plank in your own eye? You hypocrite, first take the plank out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to remove the speck from your brother's eye."
Matthew 7:1-5
Sunday, November 18, 2012
Friday, February 3, 2012
ANGELS AMONG US
"Got any spare change?" The older, scruffy man asked my sister and me as we made our way out of the gas station one chilly night last fall.
We had arrived only minutes earlier to see him rummaging through the trash cans by the building and near the gas pumps pulling out anything that could be of use to him. He had on only mere rags and a thin coat. His disheveled hair and long beard, not to mention how filthy he appeared, told us he may have been on the streets far too long.
Being from a small town with only a handful of businesses and one traffic light, it was surely a rare sight indeed.
After making our purchases, we made our way to the car with our hands full of food and drinks that we thought we couldn't afford. He leaned up against the wall and looked at us with painful eyes. As I fearfully averted my eyes from him, my sister smiled and said 'hello' as she walked past.
"Got any spare change?" he asked as we climbed in the warm car.
Without a second thought, my sister grabbed a container of change she kept in her center cup holder and handed it to the stranger.
“God Bless you!” he said with gratitude. “I hope someone helps you someday.”
“Many have helped me, sir. That’s why it’s important for me to help others.” My sister replied.
As I sat in the passenger seat of the car with a warm sub sitting in my lap, I felt guilt that my fear of strangers prevented me from looking this human being in the eyes. I felt pride for my sister that she stepped up to do what I didn’t.
“I could have given him my sub.” I said, shamefully as she got back into the car.
We both looked at one another then up to the man who had made his way halfway across the empty parking lot. My sister pulled the gear shifter back and reversed, back into drive to head for the exit. Only seconds had passed to do this but when we got to the exit, we searched for one last glimpse of him but he was nowhere to be found. It was as if he vanished into thin air. How could he have made it out of sight by now? Even if he was heading to a house, he would not have had time to make it. He was walking away from the gas station, so he didn’t have time to turn and go in without us noticing.
We looked in every direction but all we saw were empty streets.
“Where did he go?” We both said to one another.
Never before and never since then have I seen this stranger.
My thoughts were taken back to when I was six years old. My mother had taken me, along with my four sisters, to an amusement park. We spent the day taking in all the attractions this park had to offer. As we made our way through the children oriented sights, something caught my eye. A big treehouse. Not just a little house sitting on the tree branch but a house made from the entire inside of the tree. It had the big brown trunk and green leafy top with the staircase leading up to the pink and white door with windows wrapped all around with pink panes and a blue glow from inside. I also saw the bright red school building with an arch of vines and flowers at the entrance. “The Bear Country School” - It was the Berenstain Bears!
Like a moth to a flame, I made my way over to check out the buildings, the waterfall, the playground... it was a sight for a fascinated six year old. I snapped out of my amazement as someone bumped into me. I suddenly realized that I was alone. A little girl in a strange place without a familiar face in sight. I didn’t know which way I came, I didn’t know which way to go. I put my face into my hands and began to weep uncontrollably.
“Are you alright my dear?” A feeble voice came from above me with a gentle hand on my shoulder.
I looked up to see an elderly woman with white hair and a wrinkled face staring down at me with gentle, concerned eyes.
“I’m lost.” I said, still crying.
“I’ll help you find your mommy.“ She said grabbing my tiny hand and leading me to the small Berenstain Bear souvenir shop.
I suddenly heard the soft ring of my mothers voice from behind. Still holding the woman’s hand, I watched my mother running toward me. “Are you ok? Where did you go?” She rambled on in a worried tone.
“I wanted to see the bears but I got lost but this lady helped me...” I said cutting off as I turned to see that my hand was empty.
“What lady?” My mom asked looking around.
“The old lady with white hair.” I stated, scouring the area for the lady who had helped me.
She had vanished. I could still feel the warmth of her hand in mine but my mom had never seen the woman and I could not spot her either. Where had she gone? Why could she have not stayed long enough for us to thank her for taking such good care of me?
Growing up, I thought of this woman often and she will not be forgotten.
All of these events were brought back to my memory and attention after last weekend when I was making sure an acquaintance got home alright. I had just met this woman that night through a friend of a friend. I didn’t know her well but after she had become quite upset throughout the evening, she insisted on walking home. Although I understood her wanting to walk, I couldn’t allow myself to watch her wander off into the night alone, so I joined her. Although, she insisted I go back, I promised her that I was not going to leave her until I knew she was safely home.
As the newly falling snow whipped around us, we crossed a street and scurried past a local factory. Two people rushed out of the side door and blew past us as if break time from their third shift couldn’t have come fast enough. As we passed the door they had come out of, I saw a woman leaning her hands up against the wall moving one foot on top of the other, then that foot on top of the other and so forth. I glanced down to see that she was completely barefoot. She had a coat on and seemed appropriately dressed for the weather except for the fact she was missing not only socks but shoes as well. Her eyes met mine as I kept walking, noticing the bare toe and heel outlines in the snow. I stopped and looked back at her as we, once again, locked eyes.
As I stood there in my own confusion, I looked back at the woman I promised to walk all the way home. Completely unaware that I had stopped walking, she was already a half block ahead of me. I felt torn. So many questions rummaged through my head. I couldn’t help both of these women. I had to choose. I wanted to give this shoeless woman my shoes and then I could have caught up with the other woman, as I saw her slipping further and further away. I knew the fragile state she was in at that moment. I knew nothing about what was going on with the lady with no shoes. In my confused and somewhat rushed state, I ran to catch up with the woman I was walking home.
Once again, I looked back to the shoeless woman. She was gone.
Who was this woman? Why was she out at night, in the snow with no shoes? Did she work at the factory? -- with no shoes? Did she have to suddenly flee home from an abusive parent or husband? A sudden sinking feeling came over me... Had I made the right choice? I felt, I knew... that the answer was... no.
From a logical point of view, it’s easy to figure or assume that the scruffy man at the gas station was around but out of sight. He could have been standing near a tree, he could have been sitting on the curb, he may have even gone inside the gas station even though the time couldn’t have made that possible.
The woman at the amusement park could have turned a corner or gone inside the souvenir shop. She could have just been a nice old lady who wanted to help a distraught little girl.
The woman out in the snowy night with no shoes on could have just been ... well, I don’t even know how to logically explain that one.
I do believe there are people out there who truly need our help and support. I do believe there are people out there with hearts of gold who are willing to reach out and help because they know it‘s the right thing to do. Those people give me hope that this world has not lost it’s sense of love and brotherhood.
I cannot help but to wonder, however, how many times God’s angels descend down onto Earth. Not only to help us but to see who would help them. A test of good will... if you will.
It makes me wonder how many times we are tested on one of greatest commandments (“The second is this: ’Love your neighbor as yourself’. There is no commandment greater than these.” - John 12:31).
So, the next time you see a homeless man, give him some change (or your sub sandwich), if you see a lost child, help them find their mommy, if you see a woman without shoes, give her yours. It’s the little things we do that can change another person’s life and you never know... you could be helping your angel.
"The King will reply, 'I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.' Matthew 25:40
We had arrived only minutes earlier to see him rummaging through the trash cans by the building and near the gas pumps pulling out anything that could be of use to him. He had on only mere rags and a thin coat. His disheveled hair and long beard, not to mention how filthy he appeared, told us he may have been on the streets far too long.
Being from a small town with only a handful of businesses and one traffic light, it was surely a rare sight indeed.
After making our purchases, we made our way to the car with our hands full of food and drinks that we thought we couldn't afford. He leaned up against the wall and looked at us with painful eyes. As I fearfully averted my eyes from him, my sister smiled and said 'hello' as she walked past.
"Got any spare change?" he asked as we climbed in the warm car.
Without a second thought, my sister grabbed a container of change she kept in her center cup holder and handed it to the stranger.
“God Bless you!” he said with gratitude. “I hope someone helps you someday.”
“Many have helped me, sir. That’s why it’s important for me to help others.” My sister replied.
As I sat in the passenger seat of the car with a warm sub sitting in my lap, I felt guilt that my fear of strangers prevented me from looking this human being in the eyes. I felt pride for my sister that she stepped up to do what I didn’t.
“I could have given him my sub.” I said, shamefully as she got back into the car.
We both looked at one another then up to the man who had made his way halfway across the empty parking lot. My sister pulled the gear shifter back and reversed, back into drive to head for the exit. Only seconds had passed to do this but when we got to the exit, we searched for one last glimpse of him but he was nowhere to be found. It was as if he vanished into thin air. How could he have made it out of sight by now? Even if he was heading to a house, he would not have had time to make it. He was walking away from the gas station, so he didn’t have time to turn and go in without us noticing.
We looked in every direction but all we saw were empty streets.
“Where did he go?” We both said to one another.
Never before and never since then have I seen this stranger.
My thoughts were taken back to when I was six years old. My mother had taken me, along with my four sisters, to an amusement park. We spent the day taking in all the attractions this park had to offer. As we made our way through the children oriented sights, something caught my eye. A big treehouse. Not just a little house sitting on the tree branch but a house made from the entire inside of the tree. It had the big brown trunk and green leafy top with the staircase leading up to the pink and white door with windows wrapped all around with pink panes and a blue glow from inside. I also saw the bright red school building with an arch of vines and flowers at the entrance. “The Bear Country School” - It was the Berenstain Bears!
Like a moth to a flame, I made my way over to check out the buildings, the waterfall, the playground... it was a sight for a fascinated six year old. I snapped out of my amazement as someone bumped into me. I suddenly realized that I was alone. A little girl in a strange place without a familiar face in sight. I didn’t know which way I came, I didn’t know which way to go. I put my face into my hands and began to weep uncontrollably.
“Are you alright my dear?” A feeble voice came from above me with a gentle hand on my shoulder.
I looked up to see an elderly woman with white hair and a wrinkled face staring down at me with gentle, concerned eyes.
“I’m lost.” I said, still crying.
“I’ll help you find your mommy.“ She said grabbing my tiny hand and leading me to the small Berenstain Bear souvenir shop.
I suddenly heard the soft ring of my mothers voice from behind. Still holding the woman’s hand, I watched my mother running toward me. “Are you ok? Where did you go?” She rambled on in a worried tone.
“I wanted to see the bears but I got lost but this lady helped me...” I said cutting off as I turned to see that my hand was empty.
“What lady?” My mom asked looking around.
“The old lady with white hair.” I stated, scouring the area for the lady who had helped me.
She had vanished. I could still feel the warmth of her hand in mine but my mom had never seen the woman and I could not spot her either. Where had she gone? Why could she have not stayed long enough for us to thank her for taking such good care of me?
Growing up, I thought of this woman often and she will not be forgotten.
All of these events were brought back to my memory and attention after last weekend when I was making sure an acquaintance got home alright. I had just met this woman that night through a friend of a friend. I didn’t know her well but after she had become quite upset throughout the evening, she insisted on walking home. Although I understood her wanting to walk, I couldn’t allow myself to watch her wander off into the night alone, so I joined her. Although, she insisted I go back, I promised her that I was not going to leave her until I knew she was safely home.
As the newly falling snow whipped around us, we crossed a street and scurried past a local factory. Two people rushed out of the side door and blew past us as if break time from their third shift couldn’t have come fast enough. As we passed the door they had come out of, I saw a woman leaning her hands up against the wall moving one foot on top of the other, then that foot on top of the other and so forth. I glanced down to see that she was completely barefoot. She had a coat on and seemed appropriately dressed for the weather except for the fact she was missing not only socks but shoes as well. Her eyes met mine as I kept walking, noticing the bare toe and heel outlines in the snow. I stopped and looked back at her as we, once again, locked eyes.
As I stood there in my own confusion, I looked back at the woman I promised to walk all the way home. Completely unaware that I had stopped walking, she was already a half block ahead of me. I felt torn. So many questions rummaged through my head. I couldn’t help both of these women. I had to choose. I wanted to give this shoeless woman my shoes and then I could have caught up with the other woman, as I saw her slipping further and further away. I knew the fragile state she was in at that moment. I knew nothing about what was going on with the lady with no shoes. In my confused and somewhat rushed state, I ran to catch up with the woman I was walking home.
Once again, I looked back to the shoeless woman. She was gone.
Who was this woman? Why was she out at night, in the snow with no shoes? Did she work at the factory? -- with no shoes? Did she have to suddenly flee home from an abusive parent or husband? A sudden sinking feeling came over me... Had I made the right choice? I felt, I knew... that the answer was... no.
From a logical point of view, it’s easy to figure or assume that the scruffy man at the gas station was around but out of sight. He could have been standing near a tree, he could have been sitting on the curb, he may have even gone inside the gas station even though the time couldn’t have made that possible.
The woman at the amusement park could have turned a corner or gone inside the souvenir shop. She could have just been a nice old lady who wanted to help a distraught little girl.
The woman out in the snowy night with no shoes on could have just been ... well, I don’t even know how to logically explain that one.
I do believe there are people out there who truly need our help and support. I do believe there are people out there with hearts of gold who are willing to reach out and help because they know it‘s the right thing to do. Those people give me hope that this world has not lost it’s sense of love and brotherhood.
I cannot help but to wonder, however, how many times God’s angels descend down onto Earth. Not only to help us but to see who would help them. A test of good will... if you will.
It makes me wonder how many times we are tested on one of greatest commandments (“The second is this: ’Love your neighbor as yourself’. There is no commandment greater than these.” - John 12:31).
So, the next time you see a homeless man, give him some change (or your sub sandwich), if you see a lost child, help them find their mommy, if you see a woman without shoes, give her yours. It’s the little things we do that can change another person’s life and you never know... you could be helping your angel.
"The King will reply, 'I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.' Matthew 25:40
Thursday, January 26, 2012
Me, I'd like you to meet... me. (A story of self discovery)
I thought I'd return to the world of blogging by sharing a personal story about an issue I've faced most of my life and up until a year ago, never truly realized it.
My very abusive father deserted us just before I entered middle school. Although sad and feeling abandoned, it was somewhat a relief. However, whether it was that or the delicate age of being a tween... I went on a mission to find myself- through other people. The easiest group to get into in the 6th grade was what we called the 'stoner' group. All you had to do was act 'bad', skip class every so often and smoke cigarettes (which I had found a way to do so convincingly without inhaling - big accomplishment since we were all only 11 years old). I had made some friends in that group but they never expressed the qualities of true, meaningful relationships I seemed to be searching for. At the end of the year, I was -in turn- hazed out of the group by being picked on and even physically kicked. I was heartbroken even though I knew that is where I didn't belong.
The next year, I entered 7th grade alone. I had no friends and decided to continue the year that way... a loner. Everybody seemed to leave me be and that's how I liked it. "I don't need anyone." seemed to be the thought of getting through... by the end of the year, however, alone is what I certainly was - and I felt the repercussions of it. I wanted some friends desperately.
I made the decision to try to have as many friends in the 8th grade as I possibly could, so I transformed my mind and image to become what we called the ‘preps’. I had big hair and a lot of poorly applied make up, tried out for cheerleading and hung out with the cool people. I attended dances and basketball games and finally felt ‘in’. I should have been happy, then, right? I wasn’t. Something was still missing within myself.
During my first two years of high school, I had a couple of good friends but they all seemed to be short lived only lasting that specific school year. I began to wonder... “what’s wrong with me?”
The conscious decision with a little help from purposely rebelling against my mom led me to a path of thinking... “If I pretend to be like who ever I am with, there is no reason why that person wouldn’t like me... after all, nobody really hates themselves.” This was, unknowingly to me at that time, a destructive path.
The summer before my 11th grade year, I met my boyfriend and carelessly became pregnant after only 3 months. I went through the rest of my junior year so obviously pregnant and endured the turned down and shaking heads, pointing and staring of my teachers and peers, even family.
My original plan to just act like everyone else went into overdrive the moment I had my son. I had just turned 17 but the overwhelming feeling consumed me that I didn’t want to be viewed as a careless teen, I wanted, needed to be viewed as a responsible adult, a mother. I, now, had more than ever to prove to everyone.
I graduated with my class in May of 1997 and moved on to work odd, but full time jobs to get out on my own. My plan to make everyone like me continued except by now it was more natural and more on an unconscious level. It had become ‘me’. That’s who I was now. When I got married and had 2 more children, it strengthened even more. I was more reserved around the reserved, goofy around the goofy, brash around the brash, wholesome around the wholesome, giving around the giving -- a self proclaimed chameleon.
However, the way I was leading my life started surfacing and biting me whenever I would get two or more people together that had the oppositely strong personalities. Having my quiet Christian friends around my out spoken family... or even hanging out with my two sisters, one who is more sophisticated and reserved while the other, off the wall goofy without a care in the world of what people thought of it. I appreciated and respected the personalities of all these people - the problem was... I didn’t know who to act like without the other judging me. It got so bad that I avoided any of these situations.
Even through my years in church and a local bible study, it never occurred to me what I was actually doing. I felt an emptiness inside that people just couldn’t fill. I had so many things to share with others but fear of judgment or just having one person not like me prevented me from contributing things that God had put me through to help others.
The last few years seemed to crumble around me with the very complicated and bitter divorce of my in-laws, which seemed to involve us all, relationship and family struggles and several deaths in the family. Although, these times tend to weaken us... something woke up inside of me. I realized one day, all of these years I pretended to be like everyone else, I had lost something great... myself, my individuality. I didn’t know who I was. I realized something grander... that emptiness that I had felt over the years which I had tried to fill with people was never filled for a reason. It WAS acceptance, love, feeling wanted and needed that I was longing for but I was looking for it in the wrong places. The only one that could fill that void is Jesus Christ.
This revelation struck me. I suddenly felt like an infant having to start over with my life. I decided to start with my personal relationship with God. All of these struggles that had plagued my life, child abuse, teen pregnancy, my less than perfect marriage, how I’ve chosen to raise my children and the personality of mine that wanted to shine through because of all of this... had been hidden from others to protect myself from not being liked. They were actually a gift from God. He put me through these struggles not to weaken me but to strengthen me and to prepare me to help others when He felt the time was right.
I am me and I now know that I cannot please everyone. God loves me for who I am and wants me to be just that. Although some may still turn their noses down on me and wrongfully judge me, God wants me to focus on Him and what he has bestowed upon me to help others. If we all can shine and help even one person get through something we have gone through, that overthrows the five, ten or hundreds of people who do not agree and may form their own judgment upon you.
God is our only judge and He wants our faith, our trust, our friendship and our love. If we give all of ourselves to Him, everything else will follow.
1 Peter 3: 13-17
Who is going to harm you if you are eager to do good? But even if you should suffer for what is right, you are blessed. “Do not fear what they fear; do not be frightened.” But in your hearts set apart Christ as Lord. Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have. But do this with gentleness and respect, keeping a clear conscience, so that those who speak maliciously against your good behavior in Christ may be ashamed of their slander. It is better, if it is God’s will, to suffer for doing good than for doing evil.
My very abusive father deserted us just before I entered middle school. Although sad and feeling abandoned, it was somewhat a relief. However, whether it was that or the delicate age of being a tween... I went on a mission to find myself- through other people. The easiest group to get into in the 6th grade was what we called the 'stoner' group. All you had to do was act 'bad', skip class every so often and smoke cigarettes (which I had found a way to do so convincingly without inhaling - big accomplishment since we were all only 11 years old). I had made some friends in that group but they never expressed the qualities of true, meaningful relationships I seemed to be searching for. At the end of the year, I was -in turn- hazed out of the group by being picked on and even physically kicked. I was heartbroken even though I knew that is where I didn't belong.
The next year, I entered 7th grade alone. I had no friends and decided to continue the year that way... a loner. Everybody seemed to leave me be and that's how I liked it. "I don't need anyone." seemed to be the thought of getting through... by the end of the year, however, alone is what I certainly was - and I felt the repercussions of it. I wanted some friends desperately.
I made the decision to try to have as many friends in the 8th grade as I possibly could, so I transformed my mind and image to become what we called the ‘preps’. I had big hair and a lot of poorly applied make up, tried out for cheerleading and hung out with the cool people. I attended dances and basketball games and finally felt ‘in’. I should have been happy, then, right? I wasn’t. Something was still missing within myself.
During my first two years of high school, I had a couple of good friends but they all seemed to be short lived only lasting that specific school year. I began to wonder... “what’s wrong with me?”
The conscious decision with a little help from purposely rebelling against my mom led me to a path of thinking... “If I pretend to be like who ever I am with, there is no reason why that person wouldn’t like me... after all, nobody really hates themselves.” This was, unknowingly to me at that time, a destructive path.
The summer before my 11th grade year, I met my boyfriend and carelessly became pregnant after only 3 months. I went through the rest of my junior year so obviously pregnant and endured the turned down and shaking heads, pointing and staring of my teachers and peers, even family.
My original plan to just act like everyone else went into overdrive the moment I had my son. I had just turned 17 but the overwhelming feeling consumed me that I didn’t want to be viewed as a careless teen, I wanted, needed to be viewed as a responsible adult, a mother. I, now, had more than ever to prove to everyone.
I graduated with my class in May of 1997 and moved on to work odd, but full time jobs to get out on my own. My plan to make everyone like me continued except by now it was more natural and more on an unconscious level. It had become ‘me’. That’s who I was now. When I got married and had 2 more children, it strengthened even more. I was more reserved around the reserved, goofy around the goofy, brash around the brash, wholesome around the wholesome, giving around the giving -- a self proclaimed chameleon.
However, the way I was leading my life started surfacing and biting me whenever I would get two or more people together that had the oppositely strong personalities. Having my quiet Christian friends around my out spoken family... or even hanging out with my two sisters, one who is more sophisticated and reserved while the other, off the wall goofy without a care in the world of what people thought of it. I appreciated and respected the personalities of all these people - the problem was... I didn’t know who to act like without the other judging me. It got so bad that I avoided any of these situations.
Even through my years in church and a local bible study, it never occurred to me what I was actually doing. I felt an emptiness inside that people just couldn’t fill. I had so many things to share with others but fear of judgment or just having one person not like me prevented me from contributing things that God had put me through to help others.
The last few years seemed to crumble around me with the very complicated and bitter divorce of my in-laws, which seemed to involve us all, relationship and family struggles and several deaths in the family. Although, these times tend to weaken us... something woke up inside of me. I realized one day, all of these years I pretended to be like everyone else, I had lost something great... myself, my individuality. I didn’t know who I was. I realized something grander... that emptiness that I had felt over the years which I had tried to fill with people was never filled for a reason. It WAS acceptance, love, feeling wanted and needed that I was longing for but I was looking for it in the wrong places. The only one that could fill that void is Jesus Christ.
This revelation struck me. I suddenly felt like an infant having to start over with my life. I decided to start with my personal relationship with God. All of these struggles that had plagued my life, child abuse, teen pregnancy, my less than perfect marriage, how I’ve chosen to raise my children and the personality of mine that wanted to shine through because of all of this... had been hidden from others to protect myself from not being liked. They were actually a gift from God. He put me through these struggles not to weaken me but to strengthen me and to prepare me to help others when He felt the time was right.
I am me and I now know that I cannot please everyone. God loves me for who I am and wants me to be just that. Although some may still turn their noses down on me and wrongfully judge me, God wants me to focus on Him and what he has bestowed upon me to help others. If we all can shine and help even one person get through something we have gone through, that overthrows the five, ten or hundreds of people who do not agree and may form their own judgment upon you.
God is our only judge and He wants our faith, our trust, our friendship and our love. If we give all of ourselves to Him, everything else will follow.
1 Peter 3: 13-17
Who is going to harm you if you are eager to do good? But even if you should suffer for what is right, you are blessed. “Do not fear what they fear; do not be frightened.” But in your hearts set apart Christ as Lord. Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have. But do this with gentleness and respect, keeping a clear conscience, so that those who speak maliciously against your good behavior in Christ may be ashamed of their slander. It is better, if it is God’s will, to suffer for doing good than for doing evil.
Friday, November 12, 2010
he loves me/he loves me not
'Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.'
( 1 Corinthians 13:4-7)
God tells us what LOVE is, what it means and how we should use it. When you truly love someone, you no longer put yourself first. You take all your strength and bestow it upon them so that they feel the warmth and power of your love.
I have been told that you should give 100% to the one you love even if it's not reciprocated. To a point, I agree. However, if you withdraw and incessantly take from an account you never put anything into, eventually that account will become dry, depleted, empty.
Is it still love when it is not patient, when it is not kind. When it is rude, self seeking and easily angered? When there is an endless list of wrong doing? Is it still considered a kept record if the wrongs are repeated continuously? Does love conquer when there no longer is any truth, protection or trust? Does love still persevere?Plagued with the questions, full of uncertainties, as I watch the petals fall... does he actually love me or does he not love me at all?
( 1 Corinthians 13:4-7)
God tells us what LOVE is, what it means and how we should use it. When you truly love someone, you no longer put yourself first. You take all your strength and bestow it upon them so that they feel the warmth and power of your love.
I have been told that you should give 100% to the one you love even if it's not reciprocated. To a point, I agree. However, if you withdraw and incessantly take from an account you never put anything into, eventually that account will become dry, depleted, empty.
Is it still love when it is not patient, when it is not kind. When it is rude, self seeking and easily angered? When there is an endless list of wrong doing? Is it still considered a kept record if the wrongs are repeated continuously? Does love conquer when there no longer is any truth, protection or trust? Does love still persevere?Plagued with the questions, full of uncertainties, as I watch the petals fall... does he actually love me or does he not love me at all?
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Daddy Dearest
Imagine, for a moment, a little girl all snug in her jammies on a cold, winter night. Book in hand, she approaches her father as he sat, relaxing in his arm chair. "Can you read to me, daddy?" She'd ask in her sweetest voice. The fathers heart melts as he scoops up his precious bundle, sets her on his lap, covers her chilly feet with a blanket and begins the story.
To those of you who have experienced this, imagine now that this was merely an image, a mirage, something that wouldn't happen even in your dreams. That is my reality.
Some good memories of my father, I do have, but for the most part.. my memories of him are chalice, un-loving, cold and painful.
No, I'm not talking about the kind of parent that 'ruined your life' by making you do homework or embarrassing you in front of your friends or wouldn't give you that $20 and the keys to the car. I'm talking about a man that took the word of God and twisted it into an unrecognizable pile of rubbish. He used these made up laws to control, torture and beat his family.
We did not tip toe up behind him to cover his eyes with the 'guess who' game. We did not tip toe up to him to start a tickle war. We did, however, have to tip toe around him to make sure we stayed unnoticed, stayed on our best behavior and to make sure we did nothing to disappoint or anger him.
We were required to raise our hands, wait to be called on before speaking to ask permission to do the most basic, human deeds… get a drink of water and even go to the bathroom. Yet, we had to earn the right to these things and my father yielded the right to deny us permission.
We received no empathy, pity or understanding when it came to our common child like falters and the clumsy, gauche behavior that most children display.
When I was 4 years old, we had just moved into our new home, when the upstairs, that was later turned into three bedrooms, was my parents room. My father had a pile of hangers laying on the floor while he hung up clothes in the closet. Also in that room, on the floor, was a small register that would serve as the only heat source to the second floor. My father had firmly instructed me not to step on that register. I was a four year old girl and had a lot to say and a full imagination to act out.
“Daddy, look at my new dance.” I excitedly said, looking for an ounce of reaction from him.
“You stay off of that register!” He growled back at me.
Despite the negative response and lack of attention, I started to prance and twirl around the room. For a fleeting moment, I was a graceful ballerina. My fingers pointed up and over my head. I imagined my tutu floating around my waist as I whirled around in a swift spiral motion.
Lost in my recital dream, the crowd about to explode into a standing ovation.. I stumbled. Something caught my feet and would not let go. As I hurdled toward the floor, I was able to free one foot and quickly pull it out in front of me catching my fall.
I opened my clenched eyes to see what had grabbed me. I noticed behind me the pile of hangers. Instead of a neat, stacked pile, however, they were scattered throughout.
I looked up at my father with apologetic eyes.
I wanted to see a soft and forgiving face, his arms extended to cradle me making sure I was not hurt. Instead, I saw fire.
I didn’t understand, at first.. until I glanced down and realized that in my attempt to catch myself, I had stepped on the register.
An innocent mistake but I knew that my father took that as a deliberate show of disobedience.
I wanted to plead my case to him but I knew better. There was no way to convince him that it was not disobedience, it was an accident. Before there was a chance however, he angrily grabbed one of the scattered hangers off the floor and proceeded to ‘punish’ me, beating me on the backside with it.
These are the memories that plague my mind. The life long imprints on my brain of the 'Bible teachings'. The statements that the world was going to blow up next year. Every year, the world was going to blow up the next year. The frightful waiting, the tears. Not wanting to wake up in the 3 o'clock hour for we knew what would be there for us. Our father let us know that it was certain we'd wake up to the devil sitting on the sides of our beds waiting to grab us and rip us into the fiery pits of Hell.
My youngest sister was scared of the dark well into her 20's.
The memories of my father are not all ominous, however. Sometimes, he was great fun. We were allowed to make forts out of blankets underneath the dining room table and he sometimes would go outside with us for snowball fights or to splash around in the yard after and even during a heavy rain. We had a ritual where we all got together and made a homemade granola that was 90% sugar and sweets but delicious. He did occasionally have a sense of humor and would crack jokes with us.
As grand as these memories are, they seemed to be shadowed with the memories of having to tell him our favorite song or movie and sit quiet while he explained to us how evil and immoral they were. The good memories seem to go into hiding when remembering the paddle hanging in my dad’s bedroom, strategically drilled with holes to prevent wind resistance when he beat us with it. The most disturbing part of this paddle was that after our fulmination, we were required to sign our name to it. Needless to say, my sister’s name littered this paddle. She was the oldest, after all, and knew better. It was not tolerated to do wrong even at her, still, young and tender age.
Although his physical existence is not a part of my world and hasn't been for the last 20 years, I still think of him often. Mostly the thoughts of what could have been. The reflections that I could have been that little girl snug on daddy's lap. The longings of what has never been and what never will be.
I have struggled with myself and with God to allow myself to forgive him. What seems to hold me back is the thought that if I forgive, everything he did to us is now, somehow, OK. My stubbornness and pride refuse to allow that to happen. On the other hand, however, the forgiveness I crave is to set myself free. Free from these plagues and free from the empty feelings I continue to carry.
*Excerpts added from my biography 'The Pursuit for Gray'. To be published soon.*
To those of you who have experienced this, imagine now that this was merely an image, a mirage, something that wouldn't happen even in your dreams. That is my reality.
Some good memories of my father, I do have, but for the most part.. my memories of him are chalice, un-loving, cold and painful.
No, I'm not talking about the kind of parent that 'ruined your life' by making you do homework or embarrassing you in front of your friends or wouldn't give you that $20 and the keys to the car. I'm talking about a man that took the word of God and twisted it into an unrecognizable pile of rubbish. He used these made up laws to control, torture and beat his family.
We did not tip toe up behind him to cover his eyes with the 'guess who' game. We did not tip toe up to him to start a tickle war. We did, however, have to tip toe around him to make sure we stayed unnoticed, stayed on our best behavior and to make sure we did nothing to disappoint or anger him.
We were required to raise our hands, wait to be called on before speaking to ask permission to do the most basic, human deeds… get a drink of water and even go to the bathroom. Yet, we had to earn the right to these things and my father yielded the right to deny us permission.
We received no empathy, pity or understanding when it came to our common child like falters and the clumsy, gauche behavior that most children display.
When I was 4 years old, we had just moved into our new home, when the upstairs, that was later turned into three bedrooms, was my parents room. My father had a pile of hangers laying on the floor while he hung up clothes in the closet. Also in that room, on the floor, was a small register that would serve as the only heat source to the second floor. My father had firmly instructed me not to step on that register. I was a four year old girl and had a lot to say and a full imagination to act out.
“Daddy, look at my new dance.” I excitedly said, looking for an ounce of reaction from him.
“You stay off of that register!” He growled back at me.
Despite the negative response and lack of attention, I started to prance and twirl around the room. For a fleeting moment, I was a graceful ballerina. My fingers pointed up and over my head. I imagined my tutu floating around my waist as I whirled around in a swift spiral motion.
Lost in my recital dream, the crowd about to explode into a standing ovation.. I stumbled. Something caught my feet and would not let go. As I hurdled toward the floor, I was able to free one foot and quickly pull it out in front of me catching my fall.
I opened my clenched eyes to see what had grabbed me. I noticed behind me the pile of hangers. Instead of a neat, stacked pile, however, they were scattered throughout.
I looked up at my father with apologetic eyes.
I wanted to see a soft and forgiving face, his arms extended to cradle me making sure I was not hurt. Instead, I saw fire.
I didn’t understand, at first.. until I glanced down and realized that in my attempt to catch myself, I had stepped on the register.
An innocent mistake but I knew that my father took that as a deliberate show of disobedience.
I wanted to plead my case to him but I knew better. There was no way to convince him that it was not disobedience, it was an accident. Before there was a chance however, he angrily grabbed one of the scattered hangers off the floor and proceeded to ‘punish’ me, beating me on the backside with it.
These are the memories that plague my mind. The life long imprints on my brain of the 'Bible teachings'. The statements that the world was going to blow up next year. Every year, the world was going to blow up the next year. The frightful waiting, the tears. Not wanting to wake up in the 3 o'clock hour for we knew what would be there for us. Our father let us know that it was certain we'd wake up to the devil sitting on the sides of our beds waiting to grab us and rip us into the fiery pits of Hell.
My youngest sister was scared of the dark well into her 20's.
The memories of my father are not all ominous, however. Sometimes, he was great fun. We were allowed to make forts out of blankets underneath the dining room table and he sometimes would go outside with us for snowball fights or to splash around in the yard after and even during a heavy rain. We had a ritual where we all got together and made a homemade granola that was 90% sugar and sweets but delicious. He did occasionally have a sense of humor and would crack jokes with us.
As grand as these memories are, they seemed to be shadowed with the memories of having to tell him our favorite song or movie and sit quiet while he explained to us how evil and immoral they were. The good memories seem to go into hiding when remembering the paddle hanging in my dad’s bedroom, strategically drilled with holes to prevent wind resistance when he beat us with it. The most disturbing part of this paddle was that after our fulmination, we were required to sign our name to it. Needless to say, my sister’s name littered this paddle. She was the oldest, after all, and knew better. It was not tolerated to do wrong even at her, still, young and tender age.
Although his physical existence is not a part of my world and hasn't been for the last 20 years, I still think of him often. Mostly the thoughts of what could have been. The reflections that I could have been that little girl snug on daddy's lap. The longings of what has never been and what never will be.
I have struggled with myself and with God to allow myself to forgive him. What seems to hold me back is the thought that if I forgive, everything he did to us is now, somehow, OK. My stubbornness and pride refuse to allow that to happen. On the other hand, however, the forgiveness I crave is to set myself free. Free from these plagues and free from the empty feelings I continue to carry.
*Excerpts added from my biography 'The Pursuit for Gray'. To be published soon.*
BIG WORLD - little me
I am new to the blogging process but I feel I have a lot to say and would love to express my thoughts and feelings to the world. My writing would be worth it if I could impact just one person, help them or even let that one person know that there is someone else out there that is going through the same thing they are.
BIG WORLD - little me seemed an appropriate name for my blog since I feel like a spec on this Earth. I am full of questions, wondering, insecurities and uncertainties. One of my strongest beliefs, however, is that everything happens for a reason. I truly believe that God is in control and guides us into the direction of His works. There was a reason I met my husband, there was a reason I was blessed with my first child at the age of 16, there is a reason I am here, right now. My largest nagging question is WHY?
What am I supposed to be doing? I know it's being screamed to me but I cannot hear it. In the last two years of my faith exploration, I have been picking myself apart to figure out the gifts God has given me. He gave me my children which means He felt me well equipped to handle the job. I feel there's more. He brought my husband and I together, but why? We are complete opposites. Was it for me to keep him on track? Was it for him to keep me grounded? Was it both, for us to contrast each other? Only God knows. Still, I feel there's more.
I know no matter how good you think you are at something, there is always someone out there that is better. With that thought tucked in the back of my brain, I have had trouble ignoring the fact that I've always been a writer. A good writer or not, I feel complete when am writing, I can impact people with my words and possibly touch someones life.
I wrote a Biography of the trials and tribulations I have endured in my short 31 years of existence. I have battled with myself to publish or not, wanting to help others but not quite wanting to reveal some of the embarrassing moments of growing up.
Therefore, I would like to share some of the experiences I have lived, along with the highs and lows of my life today....
"The path of self discovery has many bumps and curves, but will never dead-end."
BIG WORLD - little me seemed an appropriate name for my blog since I feel like a spec on this Earth. I am full of questions, wondering, insecurities and uncertainties. One of my strongest beliefs, however, is that everything happens for a reason. I truly believe that God is in control and guides us into the direction of His works. There was a reason I met my husband, there was a reason I was blessed with my first child at the age of 16, there is a reason I am here, right now. My largest nagging question is WHY?
What am I supposed to be doing? I know it's being screamed to me but I cannot hear it. In the last two years of my faith exploration, I have been picking myself apart to figure out the gifts God has given me. He gave me my children which means He felt me well equipped to handle the job. I feel there's more. He brought my husband and I together, but why? We are complete opposites. Was it for me to keep him on track? Was it for him to keep me grounded? Was it both, for us to contrast each other? Only God knows. Still, I feel there's more.
I know no matter how good you think you are at something, there is always someone out there that is better. With that thought tucked in the back of my brain, I have had trouble ignoring the fact that I've always been a writer. A good writer or not, I feel complete when am writing, I can impact people with my words and possibly touch someones life.
I wrote a Biography of the trials and tribulations I have endured in my short 31 years of existence. I have battled with myself to publish or not, wanting to help others but not quite wanting to reveal some of the embarrassing moments of growing up.
Therefore, I would like to share some of the experiences I have lived, along with the highs and lows of my life today....
"The path of self discovery has many bumps and curves, but will never dead-end."
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