The last year and a half or so has been traumatic, trying, frightening, frustrating… shall I go on with the list of emotions we have all felt? I have wondered how many people out there who once stood strong in their convictions with their faith have began to question if God does exist. I wonder how people are coping by asking themselves such a question because I remember asking this same question many years ago.
We were not in a pandemic. I do not think we were in a recession or anything like that either. There was not a natural disaster that had happened. It was something else. The first time I remember questioning whether God was real or not was when I was around the age of 6 years old.
I had mentioned in a previous blog that I was sexually abused for what appeared to be several years when I was younger. I say what appeared to be several years because the timeline before I was about 5 or 6 is fuzzy. I am surprised that I can even remember back this far and even then, I know there are still pieces missing. I found some of those pieces recently and I wanted to share my story on how I wandered off the path from God, found Him again, felt ashamed and lived in silence, and finally reconnected with my Creator once again.
I realize this can be a touchy topic, especially in Oklahoma, especially with the condition that the world is in. But this is important to me and I know that God is important to so many of you. And please remember, I am sharing my experience. I want to hear about yours if you want to share.
When I was younger, under the age of 8, my mom, my brother, and my little sister lived in a neighborhood that required us to be in the house before the streetlights came on. One evening, there was a drive by shooting. A bullet came through our window in the living room right above my mom’s head. It was close. And it was terrifying. This was one of those moments where I just
knew God had to exist. It really was that close. I would continue to have experiences like this, no more drive by shootings, but experiences that could not be explained any other way. The problem was all the trauma I was experiencing was drowning out what I considered to be miracles.
When I was not at my sitters’ house being sexually abused, I was unfortunately dealing with physical and verbal abuse at home. I will expand more on my relationship with my mom in a future post, but for now, just know that I am so proud of the woman she has grown into. She is an amazing mom, the best grandma my kids could ask for, and she is now one of my best friends.
In the beginning, it was rough.
When I was not at my sitters’ and I was not at home, I was being bullied at school. It seemed like everywhere I went, I was on the receiving end of someone’s anger and pain. Again, this is all before I was 8. The things I overcame were a lot for I believe anyone to handle… especially for an 8-year-old child.
I can remember going to church with my mom a few times as a young child. I can also remember going to church with my grandfather and his mom. I was Baptized in a Methodist Church in Burkburnett, Texas right down the street from my great-grandmothers. I also can remember going to church with different friends and there was a bus that came around and picked kids up and took them to church. I guess you can say I was looking for this fellow that I kept hearing people call God.
So many of my memories of attending church from different denominations are pleasant. I cannot recall a time that I left feeling like I did not belong there. There was one experience I had later in life though that was by far the most inclusive experience I have ever had at church. So many good memories, yet, until I started dissecting every inch of my life, I could not remember why I stopped going or why I started to question Him.
I escaped to church because I was on a search for God.
I was on a search for God because I kept being told that if I prayed to Him, He would answer all my prayers.
I thought that if I could just find Him, I could pray and maybe, just maybe all the pain would stop.
While most kids spent their time wondering if Santa Claus were real and dreaming of what they would get for Christmas that year, I was searching for God. I did not care about what I would find under my tree. I just wanted to be able to be a kid.
If I had to count on Santa to save me then maybe I could ask for an invisible cloak.
If I could not find God and ask him to stop the abuse, then maybe Santa could help me disappear.
This would be the first time I thought about committing suicide.
When I think about the pain and despair a person is in when they reach that point…when they reach the point of wanting to end what feels like a crowd of zombies ripping into your flesh, they typically feel deflated, defeated, unworthy, and unloved.. I know what it feels like because I have found myself there, on more than one occasion.
It is miserable.
And although this post is not about suicide awareness or prevention, I do think it is important to mention that the hotline # can be found at the bottom of this post should anyone need assistance.
I think it is safe to say that I became a bit jaded on my search to find God. By the time my mom remarried, and we moved to a small town where I began going to a Catholic Church on a regular basis, I think I was over it. To make things even more confusing for me, we moved to a town where it seemed as if everyone was either a Catholic or a Baptist.
I never liked being shoved into a box with a label slapped on it that I did not agree with. There may have been other options. It was a small town, but I just remember feeling like at any given moment, the town was going to shut down like they do on football game nights so that the two denominations could go head-to-head in a game called “Who Does It Better”. I can honestly say that I never stepped foot in the Baptist Church in town. I have gone in the gym that is across the street. I never went in the church. Call me a little paranoid, but I felt like I was going to be struck dead if I crossed “enemy” lines.
I know I made that sound a little dramatic and now as an adult I can see it all in a different light. At the time, that was the message I was internalizing. Plus, how many of you have heard someone say “there’s a church on every corner” or have even said this yourself? Now, how many of you say that with love, excitement, and passion in your voice? I cannot recall ever hearing this with a positive tone. It just further cemented this idea that church and God were not for everyone. That religion had a sense of negativity attached to it.
It did not help that my family lost my grandfather shortly before we moved out of the city. He was my rock for so many years. I believe I was around the age of nine when he died. At that age it was hard for me to wrap my mind around the fact that God would “take away” someone who meant so much to me. Just as my life was starting to look like it was taking a turn for the better, he was gone.
Looking back, I can see now that God knew that we were in good hands and that it was my grandpas time to go. I am not sure he was in all that good of health really. I have found peace knowing that my Creator had my back all along because my dad, the man who has raised me as his own, is the best example of a man, husband, and father. Heaven gained an angel and God gave me and my family a bright new angel to keep with us for years to come.
To be continued…
Part two will come shortly. Stay tuned to find out more about the journey back to God and ultimately back to myself.
Take time today to reflect on your own spiritual journey. Have there been times in your life where doubt took over? What was that like for you? Can you see the ways in which your Creator has been beside you, guiding you and loving you? I’d love to hear your story. Feel free to email me @ energyshift.cms@gmail.com.
If you are in need of help the National Suicide Hotline # is 800-273-8255. You are not alone!!
Until next time… The Joy is found in the Journey!
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