When I was pregnant I was afraid of so many things. I was afraid of what people would think of me when they found out I was a single mother. I was afraid to have the baby, afraid of the hospital and the delivery. I was afraid of my water breaking when I was singing in the choir or at the grocery store. I was afraid of being alone.
But, the thing that I never thought about when I was pregnant is what scares me the most now. That my family, that my children will never live lives that honor Jesus.
My oldest son was practically born in the church. He grew up in the nursery, attended Sunday school and children's church, went to a Christian school until 4th grade. One of his first words was preach and Jesus was his best friend. He sang the words to Jesus Loves Me and knew the difference between Jesus music and devil music. He asked to wear a suit on Sundays and fell asleep with his Bible storybook by his side.
He prayed every night for a Daddy and a family, for brothers and sisters and in 1999 I met his stepdad, who was a single father with a daughter my son's age and a son four years younger. I was so thankful that he was getting the Daddy he prayed for and siblings, too. When we married in the summer of 2000, it was with promises of love and God's blessings.
My stepdaughter and stepson got saved and baptized within the first few years of our marriage. They woke up to Veggie Tales on the TV, praise and worship music on the way to anywhere and family devotions around the dining room table each night. When they were with their mom on weekends they would call for my husband to pray with them and we'd pick them up for church.
All of the children got involved in youth group and VBS, mission trips and my stepdaughter confessed to wanting to be a singing missionary veterinarian so she could sing and minister to people and animals in China.
My husband and I were in awe of how God was working and changing in all of our lives. It was refreshing and encouraging to have a blended family with children that wanted to live for the Lord and loved each other.
We added to our family in 2002, moved to a new neighborhood and the oldest children started middle school. And everything shifted.
As our family dynamic changed, the older children began to change as well. They began to stretch and grow in ways that made my momma's heart proud and in ways that made that same heart weep. They were no longer innocent and sheltered from the hardness of the world, but thrust right into it, embracing it at times, pushing their roots aside and taking down new roots in dangerous and damaging territory. The weeds grew right up around them and even though their foundations had been sure in His Word, they began to choose things contrary to what I had prayed and dreamed for them. For what they had prayed and dreamed for themselves.
There was theft, tobacco use/abuse, sneaking out, lies and promiscuity. Events began to spin out of control, fueled by sin and selfishness leaving a path of hurt and destruction that would forever affect our family.
One of the things I had forgotten when I prayed for our blended family to become a functional, growing, spiritually distinct unit is that the older children do not just have the genes of my husband and myself. They also share the DNA of parents that have distorted their values and opinions with selfishness and abandonment. They were encouraged to lie by the other parent, birthdays and holidays were missed, money was used to secure visits and affections.
All of this was damaging and started to peel away the layers of a Godly foundation we had fought so hard to lay and secure for them. But, a person's spirituality is not built on another's and our older children are responsible for their own relationship with their Savior.
My heart is broken over the wayward lives of my adult children, but I can no longer feel like I missed something or could have done something more or better to secure they stayed on a path of righteousness. That is a path they can only keep themselves on or choose to veer off of by their choices and lifestyles.
Daily my prayer is the same for each of them to leave the sin that has beset them and turn their hearts and lives back to a loving Savior Who is graciously waiting for them.
I am still fearful that I may never rejoice in the fact that all of my children walk in the truth, but I am choosing to cling to the hope that God can and still does redeem and restore.
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
Thursday, April 5, 2012
Things in Motion
I am sure that both of us had very different plans for the future. I imagined college degrees, followed by white picket fences and church ministry. He imagined working hard, getting married, having babies and a boat.
I wanted to teach in a Christian school. He wanted me to be a nurse. There wasn't any money in Christian education he countered, look at how my mom struggled. His mother, a single mother, teaching in a Christian school, trying to keep her children from being part of the majority of single parent homes. She pushed him to be the man of the house, wanting him to grow up faster than he needed to, rescuing him from any and every situation that could teach him natural consequences or hardship. She hadn't married his father and knew it was the best thing for him. A father on drugs and in and out of jail was not the man she envisioned to help her raise her son. But, she had given him his name. To remind him or to remind herself, I am not sure, but it always plagued him. To have a namesake of a man he wouldn't know until it was too late for him to have or need a father, too late for him to know how to be a father to his first son.
We were laying in the grass on the side of my house, looking at the stars. He quietly confided in me that he hated his father for leaving and never be a part of his life, how he'd seen him passing by his yard in his car as he stood in his backyard, knowing that he had a connection to the man in car, but not knowing how. How when he showed up at work with a little girl on his hip introducing her as his sister and he was his father, how he wanted to hit him. "I would never abandon my son. Never. I can promise you that", he had whispered.
We both made promises to ourselves and to each other. Many times those promises were not intertwined and would later unravel around the birth of our son.
When I finally made the verbal declaration that I could not, would not marry him, he left. He was hurt and heartbroken, his vision of our future shattered. His mother would respond with a letter, so fiercely defensive stating that he would not support me in my pregnancy, but be a father to our child once it was born. She made it clear where she stood, where he stood and where I would have to stand. On my own and with God on my side.
My family and my church became my strongholds. Their love and support for me was amazing. It was not easy to be a young unwed mother on campus or at church or even at family gatherings, but having their support made it bearable. I spent long hours in prayer and God's word, crying and pleading for direction and guidance and I know that God had allowed me to be on the path that I was, but I longed for him to be there, to care about me apart from our child. I knew I had caused him immeasurable hurt and that I couldn't reverse it. I just wanted someone to hold me and tell me that it was all going to be okay. And Someone did. God became by companion and held me through the sleepless nights.
My older sister came to live with us during my last trimester. We took college courses together and she literally pushed me through the semester, driving to on campus classes, recording the telecourses, taking notes, typing up my papers. She also became my defender against him hurting me or me dwelling on my pitiful thoughts of loneliness. She was my labor coach and my friend. She reminded me during the tough times that I was not alone and that I could and would get through this.
As soon as my classes were finished and my taxes were filed for the year, at 10 days overdue I went into labor. I had determined that I was going to have a natural birth to prove to myself that I could and to remind myself of the consequences of my sin. I felt like I deserved to feel all the pain and discomfort of labor as a reminder of the hardship that I had put everyone through over the last 10 months. I leaned into the Lord and allowed Him to bring me through the hard hours of labor and into the exhilarating process of motherhood.
On March 17, at 7:39 PM my son entered the world. Weighing in at 7 lbs 14 oz and 21 inches long he already bore the weight of the situation on his little shoulders. His birth set things in motion. In a way and at a speed that would again alter the lives of the people who conceived him and those that had grown to love him before he even entered the world. And his life would be affected the most.
I wanted to teach in a Christian school. He wanted me to be a nurse. There wasn't any money in Christian education he countered, look at how my mom struggled. His mother, a single mother, teaching in a Christian school, trying to keep her children from being part of the majority of single parent homes. She pushed him to be the man of the house, wanting him to grow up faster than he needed to, rescuing him from any and every situation that could teach him natural consequences or hardship. She hadn't married his father and knew it was the best thing for him. A father on drugs and in and out of jail was not the man she envisioned to help her raise her son. But, she had given him his name. To remind him or to remind herself, I am not sure, but it always plagued him. To have a namesake of a man he wouldn't know until it was too late for him to have or need a father, too late for him to know how to be a father to his first son.
We were laying in the grass on the side of my house, looking at the stars. He quietly confided in me that he hated his father for leaving and never be a part of his life, how he'd seen him passing by his yard in his car as he stood in his backyard, knowing that he had a connection to the man in car, but not knowing how. How when he showed up at work with a little girl on his hip introducing her as his sister and he was his father, how he wanted to hit him. "I would never abandon my son. Never. I can promise you that", he had whispered.
We both made promises to ourselves and to each other. Many times those promises were not intertwined and would later unravel around the birth of our son.
When I finally made the verbal declaration that I could not, would not marry him, he left. He was hurt and heartbroken, his vision of our future shattered. His mother would respond with a letter, so fiercely defensive stating that he would not support me in my pregnancy, but be a father to our child once it was born. She made it clear where she stood, where he stood and where I would have to stand. On my own and with God on my side.
My family and my church became my strongholds. Their love and support for me was amazing. It was not easy to be a young unwed mother on campus or at church or even at family gatherings, but having their support made it bearable. I spent long hours in prayer and God's word, crying and pleading for direction and guidance and I know that God had allowed me to be on the path that I was, but I longed for him to be there, to care about me apart from our child. I knew I had caused him immeasurable hurt and that I couldn't reverse it. I just wanted someone to hold me and tell me that it was all going to be okay. And Someone did. God became by companion and held me through the sleepless nights.
My older sister came to live with us during my last trimester. We took college courses together and she literally pushed me through the semester, driving to on campus classes, recording the telecourses, taking notes, typing up my papers. She also became my defender against him hurting me or me dwelling on my pitiful thoughts of loneliness. She was my labor coach and my friend. She reminded me during the tough times that I was not alone and that I could and would get through this.
As soon as my classes were finished and my taxes were filed for the year, at 10 days overdue I went into labor. I had determined that I was going to have a natural birth to prove to myself that I could and to remind myself of the consequences of my sin. I felt like I deserved to feel all the pain and discomfort of labor as a reminder of the hardship that I had put everyone through over the last 10 months. I leaned into the Lord and allowed Him to bring me through the hard hours of labor and into the exhilarating process of motherhood.
On March 17, at 7:39 PM my son entered the world. Weighing in at 7 lbs 14 oz and 21 inches long he already bore the weight of the situation on his little shoulders. His birth set things in motion. In a way and at a speed that would again alter the lives of the people who conceived him and those that had grown to love him before he even entered the world. And his life would be affected the most.
Under the Shadow of His Wings
I was two weeks late, but chalked it up to the stress of starting college and trying to break off my engagement. I had been super tired and just feeling off, but I didn't want to admit that I could be pregnant. I knew it was a possibility, but I couldn't wrap my brain around the possibility.
A dear friend drove me to a nearby clinic and waited in the waiting room for me. I watched a video about the miracle of life and I was just numb. I walked to the bathroom down the hall to collect my urine sample, passing several business men in the hallway with my plastic cup. I waited for the young volunteer to complete the test and what should have taken several minutes yielded results in seconds. It was confirmed. I was 9 weeks pregnant.
My friend cried when I told her the news and we drove to the grocery store to get another test. The cashier asked if it was a happy occasion and I just smiled a weak smile. We went to one of her friend's houses, not wanting either of our parents to know what we were doing. I was only 17 and having to tell me parents was becoming a scary reality.
The second test confirmed what we already knew and I called him at work to ask him to come and see me, that we had to talk. He picked me up and we went to a park. I told him and he said he knew. He seemed satisfied and happy. I was numb.
We went back to my house and didn't tell my parents. We just watched TV for awhile and then he went home. I decided that I would go see my friend and youth pastor's wife in the morning. I am not sure that I even slept that night.
I skipped class the next day and went to confide in my friend. I couldn't even get the words out, only tears. She had been in a similar situation and knew exactly how I was feeling. She cried along with me and advised me not to wait to tell my parents.
I went home and let me parents think I had been at school. I was so tired and was starting to feel the weight of the whole situation. I was scared and uncertain. I could not believe that this was happening to me. I was in college, in the church choir and girls' group, had just received the Christian Character award at graduation and had made the decision to break off my engagement. I could not have this baby. I could not be pregnant.
Talking to him made things more confusing. He wanted to get married right away. He would tell his parents and I would tell mine and then we would decide what to do next. I didn't want to get married, especially when I was certain we needed to break our engagement. I regret not telling our parents together. But, I wasn't sure how my father would react and wanted to protect him.
I was sick the next day and my mother was sure it was a stomach virus. I knew it wasn't. I had decided to wait to tell my parents when my father got home from work. It was his birthday and I didn't want to ruin it, but I had waited long enough. The last two days, knowing and not being able to tell them was torturous.
I read Psalm 51 over and over until they were both home. I let me father eat his celebration dinner and then I told them. It was a mix of emotions, tears and questions, silence and accusations. I was at an odd place of peace, finally being able to share my secret, exposing my deepest fears and newest heartache.
I never wanted to disappoint them. I wasn't sure what they would even say, but was so thankful that they offered their support. They said they would support me if I decided to marry him, if I decided not to marry him, if I decided to place the baby for adoption...whatever I decided, they would support me.
The next few days were the hardest I have ever had to deal with up to that point in my life. I went from a scared young girl to a scared young woman overnight. I had to tell our pastor and our church, my college professor and my older sister. It was overwhelming for me and yet I chose to do it alone. I hadn't yet told him that I would not marry him, but had decided with my actions of keeping him out of everything that I had indeed chosen to do this on my own. I regretted not being able to trust him enough or love him enough to marry him, but I couldn't. And that drove him away and he would never return to be the father his child needed.
A dear friend drove me to a nearby clinic and waited in the waiting room for me. I watched a video about the miracle of life and I was just numb. I walked to the bathroom down the hall to collect my urine sample, passing several business men in the hallway with my plastic cup. I waited for the young volunteer to complete the test and what should have taken several minutes yielded results in seconds. It was confirmed. I was 9 weeks pregnant.
My friend cried when I told her the news and we drove to the grocery store to get another test. The cashier asked if it was a happy occasion and I just smiled a weak smile. We went to one of her friend's houses, not wanting either of our parents to know what we were doing. I was only 17 and having to tell me parents was becoming a scary reality.
The second test confirmed what we already knew and I called him at work to ask him to come and see me, that we had to talk. He picked me up and we went to a park. I told him and he said he knew. He seemed satisfied and happy. I was numb.
We went back to my house and didn't tell my parents. We just watched TV for awhile and then he went home. I decided that I would go see my friend and youth pastor's wife in the morning. I am not sure that I even slept that night.
I skipped class the next day and went to confide in my friend. I couldn't even get the words out, only tears. She had been in a similar situation and knew exactly how I was feeling. She cried along with me and advised me not to wait to tell my parents.
I went home and let me parents think I had been at school. I was so tired and was starting to feel the weight of the whole situation. I was scared and uncertain. I could not believe that this was happening to me. I was in college, in the church choir and girls' group, had just received the Christian Character award at graduation and had made the decision to break off my engagement. I could not have this baby. I could not be pregnant.
Talking to him made things more confusing. He wanted to get married right away. He would tell his parents and I would tell mine and then we would decide what to do next. I didn't want to get married, especially when I was certain we needed to break our engagement. I regret not telling our parents together. But, I wasn't sure how my father would react and wanted to protect him.
I was sick the next day and my mother was sure it was a stomach virus. I knew it wasn't. I had decided to wait to tell my parents when my father got home from work. It was his birthday and I didn't want to ruin it, but I had waited long enough. The last two days, knowing and not being able to tell them was torturous.
I read Psalm 51 over and over until they were both home. I let me father eat his celebration dinner and then I told them. It was a mix of emotions, tears and questions, silence and accusations. I was at an odd place of peace, finally being able to share my secret, exposing my deepest fears and newest heartache.
I never wanted to disappoint them. I wasn't sure what they would even say, but was so thankful that they offered their support. They said they would support me if I decided to marry him, if I decided not to marry him, if I decided to place the baby for adoption...whatever I decided, they would support me.
The next few days were the hardest I have ever had to deal with up to that point in my life. I went from a scared young girl to a scared young woman overnight. I had to tell our pastor and our church, my college professor and my older sister. It was overwhelming for me and yet I chose to do it alone. I hadn't yet told him that I would not marry him, but had decided with my actions of keeping him out of everything that I had indeed chosen to do this on my own. I regretted not being able to trust him enough or love him enough to marry him, but I couldn't. And that drove him away and he would never return to be the father his child needed.
Wednesday, April 4, 2012
Rewriting My Story
I still remember the first time I saw him, standing in the doorway. I remember his eyes and his sideways smile. I remember the second time I saw him, standing by the windows, ball cap on, jeans and a t-shirt. I remember thinking I'd like to date him.
I had gone through the whole "making circumstances turn my way" so, I decided to wait on the Lord and pray a lot. And it didn't hurt to talk to his younger sister and best friend about how I felt about him. But, I mainly wanted it to be right with God before I let myself believe it was right for us to be together.
There were doubts among his friends due to his recent bout with alcohol and drugs. There was concern for how his mother would treat me. I was definitely not a party girl and could not see myself with someone wrapped up in all of that. His mother didn't scare me, but inspired me since she was a teacher. I loved helping out in her class and didn't mind at all that she was a strict, concerned single mother wanting the best for her son. I hoped and prayed I would be, could be part of that best that she desired for him.
Apparently, I was and when he asked me to be his girlfriend, I accepted with anxious anticipation of what our relationship would hold. I had never dated someone like him - soft spoken, polite, respectful. He was so talented on any ball field, holding everyone's attention during soccer and basketball games. It was an honor to be his girlfriend. He was well known among his peers and adults alike for his quiet spirit, involvement in his church's bus ministry and his athletic ability.
I expected so much of our relationship since he was the first Christian boy I had ever dated. I dreamed of dates starting with heads bowed in prayer, reading Scriptures together on park benches, attending youth activities and naming future children after Biblical figures.
Reality hit pretty hard and fast when before our first official date he was detained at the school for possible drug possession and intent to sell. Three students were involved and two were expelled. His mother plead his case and he was allowed to stay. Instead of heeding this as a warning, I longed to help him, find out what would make him want to turn to drugs and away from God and see him change. That desire would prove to be harmful in so many ways.
No one can be someone else's Holy Spirit. If someone does not want to change, no one else can make them. Only God can take a heart and turn it toward right. As much as I prayed, as much as I gently encouraged him there was so much hurt and misunderstanding in his heart and mind that he wasn't able to turn from the past and toward what God had planned for him for the future.
Our relationship had not started out as a physical one. It took him a month to even kiss me goodbye. But, when we consciously made the decision to delve deeper into an intimate relationship it happened quickly. Lust is not love and when a relationship turns to be mostly about sneaking away for a sexual experience, it deadens the quiet whisper of the Holy Spirit, it hinders the prayers of a conflicted heart and it compromises the decisions and futures of its participants.
And that is what we became. Participants in a relationship that was primarily about the next time we could sleep together and less about growing closer to Christ and deeper in love with each other. We allowed ourselves to be tricked into believing that a future promise of marriage allowed us to act like a married couple. We abused the free will God had given us to choose to be pure until our wedding night and it destroyed our relationship.
After graduation, it became apparent that we were traveling down very different roads, that we wanted completely different endings to our fairy tale romance. He wanted to be free from his parents and out of his house as quickly as possible. I wanted to pursue a college career and to renew our promise of purity, to wait to get married until we were financially ready. I asked him to take a break, to allow us to have some time to figure out if we really wanted the same things or if we needed to break off our engagement and go our separate ways. He was devastated and insisted that we stay together, but agreed to take some time, to give me some space. Two weeks later I found out that I was pregnant.
I had gone through the whole "making circumstances turn my way" so, I decided to wait on the Lord and pray a lot. And it didn't hurt to talk to his younger sister and best friend about how I felt about him. But, I mainly wanted it to be right with God before I let myself believe it was right for us to be together.
There were doubts among his friends due to his recent bout with alcohol and drugs. There was concern for how his mother would treat me. I was definitely not a party girl and could not see myself with someone wrapped up in all of that. His mother didn't scare me, but inspired me since she was a teacher. I loved helping out in her class and didn't mind at all that she was a strict, concerned single mother wanting the best for her son. I hoped and prayed I would be, could be part of that best that she desired for him.
Apparently, I was and when he asked me to be his girlfriend, I accepted with anxious anticipation of what our relationship would hold. I had never dated someone like him - soft spoken, polite, respectful. He was so talented on any ball field, holding everyone's attention during soccer and basketball games. It was an honor to be his girlfriend. He was well known among his peers and adults alike for his quiet spirit, involvement in his church's bus ministry and his athletic ability.
I expected so much of our relationship since he was the first Christian boy I had ever dated. I dreamed of dates starting with heads bowed in prayer, reading Scriptures together on park benches, attending youth activities and naming future children after Biblical figures.
Reality hit pretty hard and fast when before our first official date he was detained at the school for possible drug possession and intent to sell. Three students were involved and two were expelled. His mother plead his case and he was allowed to stay. Instead of heeding this as a warning, I longed to help him, find out what would make him want to turn to drugs and away from God and see him change. That desire would prove to be harmful in so many ways.
No one can be someone else's Holy Spirit. If someone does not want to change, no one else can make them. Only God can take a heart and turn it toward right. As much as I prayed, as much as I gently encouraged him there was so much hurt and misunderstanding in his heart and mind that he wasn't able to turn from the past and toward what God had planned for him for the future.
Our relationship had not started out as a physical one. It took him a month to even kiss me goodbye. But, when we consciously made the decision to delve deeper into an intimate relationship it happened quickly. Lust is not love and when a relationship turns to be mostly about sneaking away for a sexual experience, it deadens the quiet whisper of the Holy Spirit, it hinders the prayers of a conflicted heart and it compromises the decisions and futures of its participants.
And that is what we became. Participants in a relationship that was primarily about the next time we could sleep together and less about growing closer to Christ and deeper in love with each other. We allowed ourselves to be tricked into believing that a future promise of marriage allowed us to act like a married couple. We abused the free will God had given us to choose to be pure until our wedding night and it destroyed our relationship.
After graduation, it became apparent that we were traveling down very different roads, that we wanted completely different endings to our fairy tale romance. He wanted to be free from his parents and out of his house as quickly as possible. I wanted to pursue a college career and to renew our promise of purity, to wait to get married until we were financially ready. I asked him to take a break, to allow us to have some time to figure out if we really wanted the same things or if we needed to break off our engagement and go our separate ways. He was devastated and insisted that we stay together, but agreed to take some time, to give me some space. Two weeks later I found out that I was pregnant.
Just Words
I can remember story time being one of my favorite things about school. In kindergarten, I loved listening to Mrs. McCormick read stories to us and then my friends and I will act them out during centers and free time. My mother was always reading a book and every birthday and Christmas seemed to include some new book or series. I would breeze through Nancy Drew, Encyclopedia Brown, Little House on the Prairie...any book I could get my hands on would be devoured quickly with anticipation of the next one.
I loved writing stories, too. And poems. I loved Miss Yate's 4th grade language arts class because she was always having us write stories about being an eraser on a pencil, or about who our hero was, writing haiku or acrostics of our names or a holiday. I always waited anxiously for the literary magazine to come out at the end of the school year, so I could see my name in print under a story or poem or if I was lucky several of my writings may be published.
In middle school, I started keeping a folder of all my poems, turning some of them into songs. I still have the folder and can still sing one the poems/songs.
In high school, I went from writing to acting. I was in several dramas and loved the challenge of memorizing the lines, the nervous excitement of being on the stage, the reaction of the audience and the applause. I dabbled in writing plays for a bit, but pushed all of it aside when I fell in love.
I forgot that my writings were not merely words, but part of me, representing who I am and who I wanted to be. They have never been just words.
I loved writing stories, too. And poems. I loved Miss Yate's 4th grade language arts class because she was always having us write stories about being an eraser on a pencil, or about who our hero was, writing haiku or acrostics of our names or a holiday. I always waited anxiously for the literary magazine to come out at the end of the school year, so I could see my name in print under a story or poem or if I was lucky several of my writings may be published.
In middle school, I started keeping a folder of all my poems, turning some of them into songs. I still have the folder and can still sing one the poems/songs.
In high school, I went from writing to acting. I was in several dramas and loved the challenge of memorizing the lines, the nervous excitement of being on the stage, the reaction of the audience and the applause. I dabbled in writing plays for a bit, but pushed all of it aside when I fell in love.
I forgot that my writings were not merely words, but part of me, representing who I am and who I wanted to be. They have never been just words.
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