All for Good

As I sat down to write this post, four months ago, I couldn't do it. I've wanted to do this for a while, but was always too overwhelmed to actually finish. Here we are, four months later, and I finally accomplished my goal. My intent for this post is to not only express my gratitude for all that Christ has brought me through, but to hopefully show someone else what Christ can do for them. It's because of that second reason that I pushed through the discomfort of delving into and exposing part of my past. A while back, I wrote "A Letter to My Nine-Year-Old Self" which touched on my past, but the real hurt in my life occurred before I was nine. I'm only going to talk about two specific events in my life, but they're by far the most influential of anything that has happened to me.

When I think back as far as I can, one of my first memories is being about two years old, sitting at the front door with a box of raisins, crying for my dad. Not because I could remember him or that I missed him, but because I wanted one. My dad left when I was a baby. Maybe my dad had his reasons, but in Eminem's song, "Headlights," he hits the nail on the head: "I guess he had trouble keeping up with every address, but I'd have flipped every mattress, every rock and desert cactus, own a collection of maps and followed my kids to the edge of the atlas." Even at two years old, because of TV, books, and seeing dads picking up their kids at daycare, it was painfully obvious to me that I was missing my daddy.

I usually tell people that my mom was a single mom until I was nine. That's a half-truth. When I was three, she got married. This marriage ushered in three years from hell. This "father figure" did more damage to me than all the time that my mom was truly a single mother. My first vivid memories begin during this time. They're marked with drug and alcohol fueled rages on his part, and tremendous fear on mine. I remember watching him beat my mom, throw things, and "Break Stuff." (That was probably his theme song. I'm not even kidding. He listened to Limp Bizkit a lot.) When he would start in these fits of rage, which seemed like every day, I would run to my room and try to block the door with a couple gallons of water that I hid for that reason. I thought they could protect me. After "blockading" my door, I would go in my closet where I would cry, pray, listen to the fighting, and wait in absolute terror. When it was quiet for a while, I would come out to find him gone, and my mom usually crying. I would do my best to make it better by giving her pink things - literally any pink thing I could find. (Because pink is the best color and it clearly fixes everything.) Some of the scariest times were when he would go into a rage while driving. Not only was I trapped, but he had the ability to do whatever he wanted with the car - speed, swerve, run off the road, slam on the brakes, at his worst, drive into oncoming traffic on the interstate, or a combination. Despite all this, he had a *gentle* side towards me. I guess you could call it that. A more fitting term would be extremely inappropriate. Sick. Twisted. Disgusting. You get the point. Even though I couldn't control what he did, and I know it's not my fault, I still feel a lot of shame because of this. It makes me feel second-rate, flawed, etc. (Colossians 1:22 tells me different, "... He has brought you into His own presence, and you are holy and blameless as you stand before him without a single fault.") Without a single fault. Ahhh, brings a tear to my eye. (A good tear of course.)

So there you have it. The foundation of my existence is one of loss, fear, lies, and abuse.

Why does that make me grateful for Jesus? Because these are just some of the statistics that I defied only becuase of Him:

• 5x more likely to commit suicide
• See, "Confessions."
• 32x more likely to be homeless
• 9x more likely to drop out. 
• I graduated high school and am currently attending college on a full ride scholarship. Take that, statistics!
• 20x more likely to go to prison
• 111% greater chance of teen pregnancy 
• 68% greater chance of drug/alcohol abuse
• PTSD/Anxiety
• I would say this is what I couldn't really get away without. I'm not saying I have PTSD, but I definitely struggle with anxiety. I still have nightmares. Even recalling a lot of my memories to write this was stressful. I could feel the fear gripping my heart as I wrote, my eyes kept tearing up, and my hands were shaking. This is the area that I still have to come to God every day to manage because I need His grace to pull me through. And He does. Every day. ("Three different times I begged the Lord to take it away. Each time he said, 'My grace is all you need. My power works best in weakness.' So now I am glad to boast about my weakness, so that the power of Christ can work through me." - 2 Corinthians 12:8-9)
• 92% higher divorce rate
• I am not yet married, but I am very aware of of this statistic and am preparing myself to be a great wife and to rely on God for fulfillment rather than my husband. Honestly, I just can't get enough of passages like Proverbs 31, 1 Peter 3, and 1 Timothy 2. So. Dear future husband, I'm already working on doing my part in making sure we end up in the 8%. (I can hear Michael Bublé singing it now, "I have faith in us, I believe in you and me.")

Obviously I have struggles that stem back to this, but I am well aware of the fact that Christ has healed and protected me in so many ways - more that I can remember and of the ones I can, too many to list. I don't resent anything that happened to me, and I don't hold grudges towards those who hurt me. It's because of these things that I am the person I am today. If it wasn't for them, I wouldn't be as empathetic as I am, I wouldn't have gone to counseling - which is what inspired me to pursue a career in psychology, I wouldn't know how great God really is, and I wouldn't get to experience the kind of healing that I have. 

A lot of people assume that I've had a "normal" life. People have made jokes to me about me not knowing what meth is because I seem so innocent. They don't know that I have permanent scars because of a meth-addict. I guess I'm unsuspecting. Underneath the smile, the curled hair, the painted nails, and the pink clothes is a girl who has lots of skeletons in her closet. It's a little frustrating when people make jokes about things that you've actually lived through and are still dealing with the effects of. I try to change my perspective and think of it like this: How beautiful that God can take my life and heal me to the point that people don't look at me and see someone who obviously "has a past." Maybe the fact that I'm my generally happy, typical-Jesus-loving-girl-self is a bigger testimony to who Christ is than anything I could ever say. I hope so.

"You intended to harm me, but God intended it all for good. He brought me to this position so I could save the lives of many people." Genesis 50:20