March 19, 2005

• Glad you liked the picture of Katherine, she is very sweet. In fact mostly my kids are sweet and kind, but now they are teens with hormones going, and in their eyes, often they wonder how I survive with what little brain I have when I don’t bow to their wisdom. I know that when they get older we get wiser again.

  
  

  The tension is strong in our house as the trip to Washington DC draws near. The boys are jealous and Jim is a bit upset that we are going over spring Break. This trip has been discussed openly for a year, and at the time we, the Girl Scouts made plans, the boy scouts were talking about a big trip over spring break as well. Unfortunately the Girl Scouts got it together, raised the funds by working hard, and the boy scouts did not. I don’t know the solution to this, but this is the first time I have been away from the family for four days doing something fun with my daughter. Most trips are done as a whole family. Also, when the plans were made and tickets bought we did not anticipate that my husband may have some work related problems come up. I am praying so hard for travelling mercies and that things go smoothly for my husband and the boys. Because I am the leader of the troop, I am stressed because of the responsibility, but at the same time stressed because the boys are not happy. Sigh. Then, when the boys asked our iteneary I told them what the girls want to do, and got comments about that, why go to the zoo they say because you can go to the Bronx zoo, why go see Imax there is Imax here. I stopped telling them what the girls wanted to do, but the key word is it is what the GIRLS want to do, and it is their troop and they earned the money. Of course we are going to make sure that they see the important things, but Girl scouts is about Girls directing their troop, making plans, reasearching, etc. It is not about what the adults want to do. Adults are to help facilitate, and make sure the girls are safe. sigh. I told my husband and sons that they can plan a trip to Washington DC and see what they consider important. But right now it is the girl’s plans that are important. Will be glad when this stress is over.

  
  

  Thinking about what to share tonight before going away. I do have one more chance to check Xanga tomorrow morning, and then am gone until sometime Thursday.

  
  

  More of my history, a continuation of March 15th entry.

  
  

  A few days ago I shared some of my past history and pointed out that at the age of 8 I decided that praying to the wall next to my bed netted better results than praying to God. As a child my parents did not attend church at all and what little I learned about God I learned from the TV church services that my mom sometimes watched on TV. Of course, when my father was home it was sports, sports and more sports and repeat sports. But my mom was a bit more varied in her TV viewing. But I did get the idea about praying to God, and unfortunately I also saw God as a distant figure with a notepad recording every sin I committed, and spying on me.

  
  

  A few key things happened at this age. One was that my father had a heart attack. Because of his brutality, I was torn about whether I wanted him to live or die, but could not think clearly. He came home with nitroglycerine pills, and medicine for his heart. My mom was very grateful. I think she loved him in her own way, even though he was cruel to her. I know that she only had an 8th grade education, but I am certain my brother and sister would have helped us if she had ever chosen to leave that house (she never asked them and they never offered). But back in the 60′s much of what occured in that house was shameful and not talked about in public. Not to mention that I was sure I would be killed if I opened my mouth.

  
  

  The sexual attacks of my father escalated, and sometime at this age my father raped me. At first the visits were touching, and me touching him, but as time went by they became progressively worse. He told me that I was so stupid and ugly that no man would ever want to marry me, so he was teaching me how to please a man so that I would at least be able to do that. Then he told me if I told my mom about what he was doing, he would kill me. As you know, he would have, he had tried twice, my mom once.

  
  

  The first time he came into my room was one of just groping and me having to touch him. I felt vile, and remember feeling my hand and wanting to cut it off. I could not get out of bed to wash until my father went to work, and after that I washed, came out to the kitchen where my mom had already started drinking and she said to me, “I heard him in your room last night, tell me what he did.” I grew to hate those words because everytime my father came into my room from the age of 8 to 15 she greeted me with those words, and I had to stand and repeat to her what he did. She wrote the facts down in her notebook, filling up two notebooks front and back with what I told her. And when things were so bad that I repressed them, she tried to get the information out by telling me she heard bedsprings creak, etc. And I was terrified that I had to tell her because she was a drunk and I was afraid in a fit of rage that she would let my father know that I told her, and then we would both die.

  
  

  Well now I tried praying to God. I prayed three prayers. One was that God would make my father love me and stop the abuse. No answer. Two was that God would kill my father. No answer (kind of glad that one did not get answered for I think I would have felt very guilty), Number 3 that God would kill me. Sometimes I have mixed feelings about that one, but now I more want to live than die.

  
  

  Well God did not answer and believe me, there was passion behind those prayers. So songs like Jesus loves me this I know, were met with derision by me because if Jesus loved me and this is what happened to me, what kind of love was that???? Did I want an abandoning God or a Jesus whose love hurt me so much. I decided that God had turned his back on the earth, and on me. I figured that something was wrong with me because God could not love me. I figured something was wrong with me because of what my father was doing. I looked at the kids in my class who had “normal” lives and knew that mine was way different. I grew to hate myself, blame myself.

  
  

  And then there was the guilt. First thing to be guilty about was that I had squirrelled away a can of Draino so I could do myself in if things got to bad with what my father was doing. Only I never took the Draino, so I felt that maybe a part of me wanted what happened because I was too afraid to kill myself.

  
  

  I also wanted my father’s love, and he seemed nicer to me right before he was going to come into my room. I liked the reprieve of him being nice.

  
  

  Also my mom told me I should push his hand away, tell him no, and not go over when he called me to the sofa to grope me, but I couldn’t do that, I had to obey him or risk death (of course I was too chicken to die, so what did that make me?)

  
  

  At the time that this was happening my father returned to his childhood church of Christian Scientist. That is very close to the occult in their doctrine. Their concept of God could be summed up in a definition, I remember some of it, “God, the great I AM, the all knowing, all seeing, all acting, all wise, all loving, principle, mind, soul, spirit, all substance, intelligence. Not really a personal God. They had services called healing services where people would stand up and give testimonies of healing, but the healings were sort of bogus, like I lost a button, retraced my steps and found it, or I sprained my ankle, and by prayer, reading the Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures by Mary Baker Eddy, and resting my ankle, it was healed in two weeks. We had to sit through these meetings and if I coughed or made a sound or moved I got in trouble later.

  
  

  Also my father would lay on the sofa and have me read aloud the weekly studies, from the Bible and Science and Health. If I paused too long at a comma, too short at a semicolorn, or mispronounced a word I had something thrown at me. I would break out in a sweat and had to work hard not to have a quiver in my voice or duck when something was thrown.

  
  

  And I had to mark the books with blue chalk markers, precise right angles.

  
  

  When sick, I had to read these texts and pray, but he went to the doctor, smoked, and did things that they would not have approved.

  
  

  It served to put a wedge between God and me.

  
  

  I will share more later when I get back from vacation, but here are a few more thoughts about dealing with Abba God when you come from abuse.

  
  

  The concept of God is love is hard when you grow up in a home where love is perverted. Where if someone says “I love you” it means that they want something from you and it will hurt. Where I love you meant you had to do something to be loved.

  
  

  Remember our first sense of God the father is our earthly parents. That is such a vast responsibility to be a parent, please use your power wisely. Fortunately I was able to break the cycle of abuse, I would never have had kids if I still were like them, but even now I have to work to make sure I don’t bring some of the past forward. For me that involves staying patient, something that is way more challenging now that I have three teens. But the difference between my parents and me is that if I feel my temper rising, I may snap verbally at them, but most often I leave the room and spend a few minutes praying in the bathroom until I have calmed down, then I go in and deal with the situation.

  
  

  TV Religious shows are a lifeline for those who may not be able to get to church. They may not all be doctrinally sound, but they do give some important facts about God.

  
  

  When you are hurt big, and God does not seem to answer it is crushing. I still struggle with the why’s of this, and I know the answers that most will give only serve to condemn or to make it worse. I know God is sovereign, I know that God had to honor what Adam did in giving the earth over to satan, I know God sent His Son to die for me and that is awesome, I know that God knows all, past/present/future. But there are still haunting questions and pain that surface.

  
  

  One thing that does not work is the Bible verse of being a new creature in Christ, old things are passed away and behold all things have become new. That is true internally in our spirit, but the past still has to be dealt with, It cannot be pushed aside, for it will crop up at odd times and situations.

  
  

  I asked Pastor Don if I was doing something wrong because of the memories and feelings that are emerging now, from years ago, and he told me God is letting them come up now because I am saved, am in a situation where it is safe to deal with the issues, and have people around me who will love me through them.

  
  

  Please have patience if people who have been abused don’t get the idea of abba father right away.

  
  

  Just a few thoughts.

  
  

  Heather

  • 9:25 pm
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