God loves a hot mess......

Hypocrite.

Fake.

Useless.

Judgmental.

These are merely a few words that have been spoken to me by others.  Christians, nonetheless.

I have had a rough past, more than most but not as bad as some.  It consists of molestation, rape, drugs, alcohol, abuse, dark magic, mutilation and feelings of worthlessness.  So how did I find God in the midst of all that mess?

I did not become a Christian because it was instilled in me at a young age.  I went to church until I was about ten years old.  It wasn't a priority.  My dad believed church wasn't the archway into heaven.  He studied his Bible at home and I assumed he prayed although I never actually saw him do it.  God was spoken of in our house but it was as if it was a scape-goat; an after thought.  I have no doubt that my dad is in heaven at this very moment.  Although, I also don't believe he did everything he could to ensure his kids would meet him there.

So as I had gotten older, my life took a down hill spiral that was out of control.  Most weren't aware of the pain and the skeletons I kept locked away in my proverbial closet.  There was such a void in my life that I tried to fill it with anything that could possibly numb me to the false reality that I was worthless.

Once I found God, I no longer was locked in a darkness that I created for myself.  It was as if it all sloughed off.  I realized that I was created with purpose.  I had something I had never truly experienced in my 30 years ---- hope. 

I had something to hope in; I had a desire to get to know God intimately and let Him lead the course of my life.  I knew I could no longer hold the reigns because my wild horses were leading me down a rocky path.  I gave it all to Him and knew it would all be okay.

That was in 2005.  Since then I have had to cut ties with some pretty influential people in my life.  While some of those relationships pained me to end, I knew I had to.  I was an addict.  I couldn't put myself in a position where I would have to rely on myself to be strong.  I knew I couldn't.  It took years before I would go anywhere that had alcohol.  I can be transparent and say I still stay clear of anyone who may have illegal substances on them.....I am not sure I can trust myself.  I was that much gone.  While I know that God is my strength, I still have to do my part and recognize my weaknesses and stay away from them so the devil has no foot hold to use them against me in a moment of weakness.

Since I became a Christian, I have been put down, ridiculed, called names, been told I was not truly me, been told I was being brainwashed, and the list goes on.  Once I took a leadership role, I was called much worse by those who professed they were of faith as well.  Starting out, I let it get to me in a way that I either lashed out or just sat and folded inside my self and cried.  I kept saying that I was not equipped for this.....I was not trained.  God told me what to do and I did it.  I thought that was what we, as believers, were suppose to do?  Seemed pretty cut and dried to me.  However, others didn't understand and they attacked me.  When I was trying to help, they viewed it as me being "holier than thou".  When I would offer insight, they would deem me as "holier than thou".  They didn't believe the change I had made was genuine.  It hurt.  It hurt deep because I knew the joy I felt and the unexplainable sense of hope that I had NEVER had.....and I have people saying that I am not truly who I claim I am.  Doubt crept in and I about threw in the towel on more than one occasion.

That small voice; that small still voice of God kept me focused and he said - "I called you, therefore I will equip you."  I was then reminded of the scripture - Matthew 13:57 "And they took offense at him.  But Jesus said to them, “A prophet is not without honor except in his own town and in his own home.”

In Jesus' hometown, he went to preach and the crowd recognized him as Mary's son and knew his dad was a carpenter.  They were thinking they knew Mary and Joseph and they knew Jesus since he was a boy.   And now he is coming back claiming to be the Messiah?  They were probably thinking there was no way this young boy they used to know in the man before them was the Son of God.  And because of their lack of faith - Jesus did not perform any miracles there.

Point being - those that know us the closest are the hardest skeptics.  When I catch up with someone in my past and they say - "Hey!  What are you up to these days?"  In which I reply, "Not much, I am a youth pastor now with my husband."  I get one of two reactions - they either laugh and say "no, really what do you do?" or there is an awkward pause as the smiles fade and a cloud of disbelief shadows their faces.

I didn't decide to follow God because I was raised that way.  In fact, I was molested by a preacher that followed God, so if nothing else, I should be angry at Him.  I didn't decide to follow Him because it makes me feel warm and fuzzy - in fact, being a Christian is hard.  I still have doubts, fears, sadness, depression, anger but the difference now is I can rely on God to help me through and I am a work in progress.  I am better but I haven't arrived.  

No, I followed God because I had tried to find happiness and peace in every other avenue.  I was miserable and unhappy.  Life had no meaning and I was in such a dark place that the enemy thought he had me with no fear of losing me.  When I made the decision to accept Jesus into my life, it wasn't by accident.  God was saying it was time to make a choice.  Choose wisely....and I fell to my knees and I chose Him. 

I chose Him because He was the only one who loved me when I was unlovable.  He loved me despite my imperfections.  He never judged my mistakes and welcomed me each time I ran to Him.  The love He showers on me is so perfect that I cannot imagine my life without Him.  I think back on who I used to be and I can hardly remember that time and when I do, I mourn.  Not because I miss who I used to be but I feel like I wasted so much time dancing with the devil.  

I chose God for the simple fact that He first loved me.  Do I need any other reason? 

 

Birthday Girl!

Today is my mom's birthday.   She is one, if not THE, strongest woman I know.  She is a strong-willed, take-no-crap-from-anyone, rough-n-tough, southern woman.

She has had a pretty rough life, more so than most.  An accident at the age of 16 left her in a wheelchair for a year.  She had to learn simple tasks such as walking and using her legs all over again.  The accident left one leg shorter than the other, making her walk with a limp and, over time, deforming her foot.  That did not stop her by any means.

Growing up, my mom was the bread winner since my dad was unable to work.  She raised five kids on a mediocre CNA's salary.  She worked many long, hard hours.  It wasn't uncommon for her to work 16 hour shifts to make ends meet.  We may not had the best of much, but I never remember going hungry, thirsty, naked or deprived.  I never heard her complain.  She merely did what needed to be done and that was that.

She was a great cook (and still is).  The best thing was when we saw Mom get out this little square electric skillet.  We knew one of two things - she was either making fried chicken or Poor Man Donuts.  She would take canned biscuits and roll them out, put a hole in the middle then deep fry them in grease and sprinkle them with cinnamon and sugar.  They were so good.  I now find it funny that Pillsbury has that recipe on their biscuit packages!

Growing up, I had very few friends.  My mom was it.  If I went to the movies - I went with her.  If I went shopping - I went with her.  She worked 3-11's; so on the days she had to work, she was gone by the time I got home from school and wasn't home until after I went to bed.  I remember on the days she had off, I would leave her a note before I left for school asking her to wait until I got home before she went anywhere because I wanted to go with her.  We did everything together.  She was my bestie.

When my dad died, I saw the strong, independent woman crumble.  I was the only one at home, so I saw her heart break; her devastation.  When the ambulance came and took him away, she looked at me and said - "Well Mis, I just lost my best friend."  I saw her pull forth a strength that I didn't think she possessed to merely get through 'life'.  She showed strength and weakness in that dark time - both qualities I admired and learned from.

So in light of her birthday, I just wanted to jot down the first things that come to mind when I think of my Mom, so here goes.

She was a smoker for years and one day quit - cold turkey and hasn't picked up another.
She was a hard worker.
She made the best cornbread and chicken and dumplings - ever.
She started work at age 12 and has done everything from a phone operator to a car hop.
In addition to working full time - in the summer she canned, plucked 50 chickens and butchered them for the freezer, hung laundry on the line, kept a clean house and tended a garden.
She is scared to death of mice and snakes.
She has the reflex of a tiger and if she doesn't get you the first time, she will throw the nearest item at you.
When she laughs hard, she cries.
She loved my dad.
She has a southern accent that I pick up when I am around her.
She loves to do word puzzles.
She can crotchet and make ANYTHING in record time.
We may not have had a stitch of food in our house growing up, but you can guarantee we had 12 different kinds of potato chips and diet soda.
She loves animal print - especially cheetah.
My daughter is so much like her, it is rather frightening.
She loves her family.
She enjoys a good margarita every now and then.
She loves popcorn and diet Pepsi.
She drinks coffee like water.
She loves Elvis Presley and Betty Boop.
She hates milk.
She is allergic to everything.  
She doesn't watch too many movies.
Growing up she never missed Wheel of Fortune and Dallas, if she could help it.
When she gets angry, she juts out her bottom lip.
She has 10 grandchildren and 1 great-grandchild.
She (and her husband) own Bangel cats, a Lhapso Apso and a monkey.
She just got over her fear of water last year......but still can't swim.
She is not ashamed of who she is.


So with that being said - Happy birthday, Mom.  I love you!

My momma at age 16, I think.

Me and my momma earlier this year.