This
is my story, painful but full of wonderful parts too.
Born
into a family of 7 children, I am the second oldest and the oldest daughter. My
father contracted polio in the early 50’s and from that time was not well. His
job was a very poor paying one so that left us never having much.
My
mother was so young when she married my dad and too soon after became a mother.
Life was a deep struggle for her as she tried to cope with motherhood and
poverty.
From
an early age, I remember visiting relatives and staying for long periods at a
time so as to give my mother one less child to look after.
I
was the poor relative. Most of the time, it was at my maternal grandparents
home that I stayed. Life seemed good from a small child’s perspective.
At
age 6, school began and I had the most wonderful teacher. I walked 2 miles each
way to school and this kind teacher would take me home at lunchtime to eat and
rest. To this day, my first teacher is a close friend and an exceptional
believer in God.
Life
at home began to change for the worse when I was approaching my teen years.
Raised Salvation Army, all our family life was connected with church functions.
Church rules were rigid in our home and the consequences for disobedience were
very painful.
By
this time, my mother began to sink into a depressed state and was no longer
able to handle home life without violent outbursts. This usually was in the
form of unreasonable chores or cruel discipline. I hated life at home and
sought to escape whenever I could.
Being the oldest girl, I
was expected to handle adult responsibilities. Being too immature, I couldn’t
cope with the weight of such an unsupervised role. Mom spent most of the time
“doing church stuff”, thus escaping the home. School life suffered, as I never
could handle homework and housework. When I was in grade 10, Mother suffered a
mental breakdown and I had to take over the entire home care.
I
missed so much schooling that I wasn’t going to pass that year. I remember
Mother saying that I was going to fail, a remark not from concern but from
criticism. I determined to prove her wrong and I did. I passed, but just
barely, with not enough ability to have a strong grade foundation for the next
2 years. Grade 11 was hard but I passed. However grade 12 was a nightmare. I
couldn’t understand any of the sciences or math but I loved French and anything
to do with English.
God
had given me a wonderful mind but there was such a lack of feeding it. I never
passed the year and was heartbroken.
I
can’t put into words the atmosphere I lived in at home. Mother told me that she
was sorry for the day I was born – a remark that cut deeply into my fragile
heart. My Dad tried to fill in the gap but was living also with the same
treatment. Only my brothers seemed to escape her wrath. I never found out why.
I am glad they did.
When
I was in grade 11, I fell in love with a neighborhood boy named
We
dated against my mother’s wishes but my Dad could see what God had in store for
us. Dad was the buffer between my mother and me. It would cost him dearly in
their relationship.
Dad
and Mother’s relationship floundered when Dad became ill with a brain tumor.
Mother sought solace elsewhere but never left home.
In
March of that same year, Dad committed suicide and my hurt and years of wounds
turned to immense hatred for my mother. This last act was just too much to
bear.
Two
years later, Mother took up with another man and moved 1200 miles away. Her
walk with God was long over and she sought a new way of life – void of marriage
and church.
Many
times God sought to speak to me about my feelings toward my mother but I always
missed His point about who was to blame or how to accept any blame on my part.
I
tried once to re-connect asking forgiveness for any wrong I might have done and
the answer was both scathing and more wounding. “I forgive you for your wrong”.
No “please also forgive me”. I was devastated. Trying to reconcile just didn’t
work. “God, how can you ask so much of me?”
In
1995, God dealt with me once again, in a powerful dream: In the dream, I was
among a vast crowd of people standing in an enormous grand judgment hall. On
the throne, seated, was The Most High God – the One who I loved. Before Him stood my mother with head bowed and in a humble stance.
The arrogance was gone as all present heard God read from a scroll. It
contained all the actions that He had recorded against her, many of which I
recognized as things that she had done to me. The verdict was “Guilty!
Hell is your punishment!”
Hell! A place without God! No love, no
mercy, no joy, nothing but darkness! “No!” I cried out. “Please change your mind, Father.”
“I can not,” declared
God, “for I must avenge on behalf of all who trust in me.”
“Is there no hope for her?”
I asked. God replied that I had the power to forgive everything that she had
done to me and if I did, He would wipe away all record of those deeds done to
me by her. The choice was mine.
Hell! My mother sent to Hell! Forever in
torment with no God there!
“No! Please wipe them away, Father.” I pleaded.
This dream ceased and I found that I was
looking through new eyes.
Eyes
that saw what God was asking me to do. Actions that I really wanted to do.
Later
that year,
I
never mentioned to my mother about this dream but I learned some of the Godly
reasons why I needed to forgive her – unconditionally. God has since showed me
heavy chains that were around my Mother, weighing her down, keeping her a
prisoner to
Praise
His Name that I did.
I
also learned, in scripture, that I set the measure by which God will forgive or
judge me. If I am faithfully generous with others, He will use that amount to
judge me. I don’t know about you, but I need all the help I can get for what I
have done.
If
you would like to know more than I can share here please email me.
I
do not, however, wish to malign her nor talk about the ungodly details that
took place in our home.
God
has indeed set me free.
“Whom
the Son sets free, is free indeed!”
Editor’s note: amen,
AMEN, A M E N!!!!!
