- Jan 26, 2017
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[SIZE=medium]It would take too many words to share all the work God has wrung out of my life over the past three years. I have chosen to share one; a testimony of God’s faithfulness to the broken. My mother and father separated when I was only three. My father never really held me or told me that he loved me. It wasn’t until years later that my mother told me that every time my father did come to see me, my new stepfather would run him off. I was too young to understand. My father was a good man but he had a really hard time showing emotions. I am the exact opposite. What I remember most about my father was his coming to get all of us children every Sunday for church although those trips dissipated over the years. My father never missed a birthday or a holiday though, but still…I never quite felt loved or sheltered. [/SIZE]
[SIZE=medium]My stepfather was a religious tyrant. A control freak. Every Friday and Saturday night my stepfather would end up drunk and would pull out his guitar, singing and slurring old hymns. Then, he would be at church Sunday morning. I remember—even when I was too old to be bathed—my stepfather coming in to the bathroom to inspect whether I was clean . [/SIZE] [SIZE=medium]I never was clean in his eyes, so he would scrub my flesh until it was raw, exclaiming, “we have to get you clean.” Bible verses were often used as a means of torture rather than out of love. “You are going to burn in hell,” was implanted in my young mind and, “Girls hold no real value in God’s eyes. A man has all the authority over his home.” My stepfather's favorite means of torture were his beagles. Every afternoon he would release his beagles and purposely take out one of the bunnies I played with and force me to watch them hunt the rabbit down and tear it to shreds. [/SIZE]
[SIZE=medium]Today, I am a very damaged woman. My thoughts are not normal. My husband tells me that I constantly "live on the edge" and he is right... I am always tense, [/SIZE][SIZE=medium]waiting[/SIZE][SIZE=medium] for the next torturous thing to explode. For the longest time, I was convinced God wanted my husband, but he didn’t want me. There were times when I was truly convinced God wanted to take me out of the equation because I was of no use. “Why did you allow me to be born." I have often asked God. "I do not do life well." [/SIZE][SIZE=medium]I spent countless hours in counseling where, by going back to my childhood, I wondered if my life would have been different had I ever experienced a father’s love. [/SIZE]
[SIZE=medium]Three years ago, I had a dream that I was held captive in an abandoned home. I was held captive by a brutal man, his two sons, and a pack of wild dogs. I was a prisoner. I shared the dream with my counselor who said the dogs being different breeds were symbolic of all my fears that hold me captive every day. [/SIZE][SIZE=medium]The counselor said, “Work with me for a minute...think...How do you get free?” [/SIZE]
[SIZE=medium]My answer, the only logical answer, “someone opens the door.” The counselor prompted, “Ok. Who opens the door?” [/SIZE]
[SIZE=medium]I had no answer but the answer soon came. [/SIZE]
[SIZE=medium]God spoke and life-as-I-knew it up until that point changed. The first thing God did was earn my full attention in a profound way and once God had my attention…a courtship began. During this time He gave me a verse, and I have held tight to that verse: [/SIZE]
[SIZE=medium](Job 25-27) “Who hath divided a watercourse for the overflowing of waters, or a way for the lightning of thunder; To cause it to rain on the earth, [/SIZE][SIZE=medium]where[/SIZE][SIZE=medium] no man [/SIZE][SIZE=medium]is[/SIZE][SIZE=medium]; [/SIZE][SIZE=medium]on[/SIZE][SIZE=medium] the wilderness, wherein [/SIZE][SIZE=medium]there[/SIZE][SIZE=medium] is no man; To satisfy the desolate and waste [/SIZE][SIZE=medium]ground[/SIZE][SIZE=medium]; and to cause the bud of the tender herb to spring fourth?”[/SIZE]
[SIZE=medium]I would walk daily with God in the woods and bare my soul and all my fears and my failures. I would plead before the only One that had power to open the door to my prison. I prayed, “You know me better than I even know myself. You have seen it all, God, even what my memory has suppressed. Show me! Show me who I am! Give me a new perspective, Father.”[/SIZE]
[SIZE=medium]A couple of weeks later, a new perspective came whenever I was told that the man I thought was my father my entire life…was not my biological father. I was told my mother had been with a man once, a man none of us children had ever met and I was a product of that one time. My siblings were older. I was the baby. [/SIZE] [SIZE=medium]They knew the secret. I did not. The secret had been kept from me my entire life. [/SIZE]
[SIZE=medium]I was told that I have another family, one I had never met; three brothers and a sister. Since then I have spoken to my biological sister. She is younger than I am. She looks like me. That was the weirdest moment: looking at a picture of my biological father's obituary and seeing...me. My nose. My eyes. [/SIZE]
[SIZE=medium]Two things were solidified whenever the truth was revealed. [/SIZE]
[SIZE=medium]1) Who my father really is... my heavenly Father. [/SIZE] [SIZE=medium]He had prepared me for the truth long before it was ever told.[/SIZE] When the truth was revealed I was able to experience it and receive it without bitterness but rather with joy and awe in the healing power of God. [SIZE=medium]And 2) The man I had spent years complaining and whining was not a good father…well, he had loved me enough to remain a constant in my life even after his divorce from my mother. He had never missed a birthday. He had never missed a holiday. I don’t remember him ever using the truth as a weapon against my mother. In fact, this man had claimed me as his own child up until the day he passed. [/SIZE]
[SIZE=medium]My counselor once told me I have a warped lens through which I view scripture. That I hear my step-father's voice in scripture. [/SIZE]
[SIZE=medium]God has healed that lens and put Christ at the center. [/SIZE]
[SIZE=medium]My stepfather was a religious tyrant. A control freak. Every Friday and Saturday night my stepfather would end up drunk and would pull out his guitar, singing and slurring old hymns. Then, he would be at church Sunday morning. I remember—even when I was too old to be bathed—my stepfather coming in to the bathroom to inspect whether I was clean . [/SIZE] [SIZE=medium]I never was clean in his eyes, so he would scrub my flesh until it was raw, exclaiming, “we have to get you clean.” Bible verses were often used as a means of torture rather than out of love. “You are going to burn in hell,” was implanted in my young mind and, “Girls hold no real value in God’s eyes. A man has all the authority over his home.” My stepfather's favorite means of torture were his beagles. Every afternoon he would release his beagles and purposely take out one of the bunnies I played with and force me to watch them hunt the rabbit down and tear it to shreds. [/SIZE]
[SIZE=medium]Today, I am a very damaged woman. My thoughts are not normal. My husband tells me that I constantly "live on the edge" and he is right... I am always tense, [/SIZE][SIZE=medium]waiting[/SIZE][SIZE=medium] for the next torturous thing to explode. For the longest time, I was convinced God wanted my husband, but he didn’t want me. There were times when I was truly convinced God wanted to take me out of the equation because I was of no use. “Why did you allow me to be born." I have often asked God. "I do not do life well." [/SIZE][SIZE=medium]I spent countless hours in counseling where, by going back to my childhood, I wondered if my life would have been different had I ever experienced a father’s love. [/SIZE]
[SIZE=medium]Three years ago, I had a dream that I was held captive in an abandoned home. I was held captive by a brutal man, his two sons, and a pack of wild dogs. I was a prisoner. I shared the dream with my counselor who said the dogs being different breeds were symbolic of all my fears that hold me captive every day. [/SIZE][SIZE=medium]The counselor said, “Work with me for a minute...think...How do you get free?” [/SIZE]
[SIZE=medium]My answer, the only logical answer, “someone opens the door.” The counselor prompted, “Ok. Who opens the door?” [/SIZE]
[SIZE=medium]I had no answer but the answer soon came. [/SIZE]
[SIZE=medium]God spoke and life-as-I-knew it up until that point changed. The first thing God did was earn my full attention in a profound way and once God had my attention…a courtship began. During this time He gave me a verse, and I have held tight to that verse: [/SIZE]
[SIZE=medium](Job 25-27) “Who hath divided a watercourse for the overflowing of waters, or a way for the lightning of thunder; To cause it to rain on the earth, [/SIZE][SIZE=medium]where[/SIZE][SIZE=medium] no man [/SIZE][SIZE=medium]is[/SIZE][SIZE=medium]; [/SIZE][SIZE=medium]on[/SIZE][SIZE=medium] the wilderness, wherein [/SIZE][SIZE=medium]there[/SIZE][SIZE=medium] is no man; To satisfy the desolate and waste [/SIZE][SIZE=medium]ground[/SIZE][SIZE=medium]; and to cause the bud of the tender herb to spring fourth?”[/SIZE]
[SIZE=medium]I would walk daily with God in the woods and bare my soul and all my fears and my failures. I would plead before the only One that had power to open the door to my prison. I prayed, “You know me better than I even know myself. You have seen it all, God, even what my memory has suppressed. Show me! Show me who I am! Give me a new perspective, Father.”[/SIZE]
[SIZE=medium]A couple of weeks later, a new perspective came whenever I was told that the man I thought was my father my entire life…was not my biological father. I was told my mother had been with a man once, a man none of us children had ever met and I was a product of that one time. My siblings were older. I was the baby. [/SIZE] [SIZE=medium]They knew the secret. I did not. The secret had been kept from me my entire life. [/SIZE]
[SIZE=medium]I was told that I have another family, one I had never met; three brothers and a sister. Since then I have spoken to my biological sister. She is younger than I am. She looks like me. That was the weirdest moment: looking at a picture of my biological father's obituary and seeing...me. My nose. My eyes. [/SIZE]
[SIZE=medium]Two things were solidified whenever the truth was revealed. [/SIZE]
[SIZE=medium]1) Who my father really is... my heavenly Father. [/SIZE] [SIZE=medium]He had prepared me for the truth long before it was ever told.[/SIZE] When the truth was revealed I was able to experience it and receive it without bitterness but rather with joy and awe in the healing power of God. [SIZE=medium]And 2) The man I had spent years complaining and whining was not a good father…well, he had loved me enough to remain a constant in my life even after his divorce from my mother. He had never missed a birthday. He had never missed a holiday. I don’t remember him ever using the truth as a weapon against my mother. In fact, this man had claimed me as his own child up until the day he passed. [/SIZE]
[SIZE=medium]My counselor once told me I have a warped lens through which I view scripture. That I hear my step-father's voice in scripture. [/SIZE]
[SIZE=medium]God has healed that lens and put Christ at the center. [/SIZE]
