My Story Part 4

I couldn’t figure out a way to tell you about how Satan has worked in my life thus far in my story. I really don’t want to talk about Him. But He is a part of my story and I’m hoping and praying that this will be edifying to those who have struggled in similar ways. So I’m going to squeeze it in here. When I was three years old, I fell off a two story building. We lived in an apartment (at this time it was with my mom and birth father) on the second floor. I piled up all my toys on our balcony and saw my mom going into the building beneath me to do laundry. Well, I toppled over the railing as I tried to watch my mom enter the laundry room and fell to the ground. Amazingly, I only broke my femur. But was in traction for a few weeks. I do not remember any of this, but putting this incident together with my illness and almost dying in the hospital, I kinda feel like Satan wanted me dead! You might be wondering how I came to this conclusion. Well, on top of these two incidents, when my mom left my birth dad, we went to live at a friend’s house. The woman of the house watched my brother and me while my mom worked. It just so happens that this woman worshipped Satan. She was into spiritual writing and rituals, which my brother and I were exposed to on a regular basis. She ended up going crazy and was put in a hospital. I’m not sure how long we stayed with them, but it was long enough to make a lasting impression on me. Since that time, I had numerous dreams that Satan was trying to kill me. I will spare you the details, but for much of my life, Satan was more real than God to me. But this plan of his will eventually become his demise in my life. My God did not forget me. My God did not leave me. I will discover that my God can conquer evil with his baby finger. But more about that later because Satan showed his ugly face again later in my life.

I barely graduated high school, but never got to walk at my graduation. You guessed it, I ended up in the hospital again. This time for a major operation. They would try once again to fix my bladder . This would be my 6^th surgery. So as all my friends were having parties and going to Hawaii, I was stuck once again in my bed of pain. This was a very depressing time for me. I was so tired of the pain. My body was the source of that pain and it never left me alone. I felt like I couldn’t look forward to anything anymore. It seemed like my body was my enemy. As hard as I tried, I couldn’t get away from this body that tortured me. I hated it. I hated myself. I never knew when the pain would strike. During this time I began reading books by Joni Erickson Tada. She suffered from an accident and became paralyzed. I could relate to her. Her books were so encouraging to me. She gave me hope that God could use this in my life. That nothing is wasted. Even in this dark time, God was reaching out to me and saying “I’m here”!

Since I was “stupid”, I didn’t feel like I could fit in at college. I was really interested in the medical field and I went to Andon College where I became a medical assistant. I started working at 18yo and loved my job. I was extremely good with my patients. They all loved me. I understood their pain and had compassion for them. As I look back I was always very compassionate. I would constantly bring home stray animals and try to manipulate my parents to let me keep them. Most of the time, they allowed me to keep them. I always had this heart for the broken. The broken were beautiful to me. It’s amazing how I had so much love for the broken, but could not love myself. When my mom got mad at me, I would sit in my room as a child and think to myself “I am so bad. I don’t deserve to live.” Yet, it would bring me great joy to love the unlovable. I was still living in my parent’s house while I worked and it was still a place of tension because my brother was 16yo and in the thick of his rebellion. At this time I felt the need to move out. I had a friend, Brad, who wanted to move out as well. So I embarked on the journey called “living on your own” or as I like to call it, “the biggest mistake I ever made”. Ok, I know. We learn from our mistakes. But instead of making me happy and free, moving brought depression and fear. First of all, moving in with a boy was my first mistake. You, dear reader, probably already figured this out. He was messy and was never home so I was home alone most of the time with his mess all around me. At this same time, I had met a boy at camp over the summer before I turned 18yo and he lived in Southern California, but moved up to San Jose to be with me. He was my dream guy. He wrote poetry, was a musician and was super cute. He came up and rented a room so he could be with me. Then the controlling began. He began telling me where I could and couldn’t go. He would sometimes push me up against walls when I didn’t obey him. But I continued to stay in the relationship because of my shame and he just confirmed what I already knew….I was worth nothing. To be honest, I don’t remember much of this time because I was so lost in depression. We finally broke up and he moved back to his home. But his absence left a huge gap in my heart. He didn’t love me, but he was at least with me and sometimes would be kind and loving. Now I was utterly alone. I sat in my apartment and had a serious talk with myself. My life was going nowhere. I had a job I loved, but other than that I was stuck with little hope for my future. That’s when I decided to go home. I left the apartment of turmoil and went back to my parent’s house. I decided I would work and go to community college. So I enrolled at DeAnza College and started taking the “bonehead” classes for those who can’t even do basic math or English. I will never forget the day my teacher took me aside and told me that she felt I might have a gift for writing. I was shocked! It was the first time the thought ran through my mind that I might be smart. I loved her class and she didn’t know it, but a seed was planted deep in my soul that grew and is still growing to this day. I began taking other classes and I was doing well. I took a communications class where we needed to give a speech in front of the class. I was really nervous, but did really well. And my teacher in that class gave me an “A”. “Well”, I thought, “I think this belief that I’m stupid is actually a lie”. I thrived at school and couldn’t get enough. I then transferred to San Jose State and worked on getting my degree in Psychology. If you are a teacher reading this, please know that just one word from you can change a life.

After high school I fell away from the Lord. My Young Life leader was gone and so were the Bible studies. I was on my own and not sure how to proceed. So I hung out with friends and began to go to parties where there was drugs and alcohol. I have to tell you something weird about this. Although people around me were smoking pot and snorting cocaine, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I realized later that I was always high in the hospital on Morphine so I had no desire to do more drugs. This was a blessing from the Lord that I now see as His protection. Although I didn’t do drugs, I did start drinking alcohol. So I spent most weekends making out with boys and drinking. I was having the time of my life. Fun was my purpose in life. On top of that, the boys I liked had long hair and were in bands. I cannot tell you the places I ended up at listening to my latest “boyfriend” playing in his band. It was a miracle that I was not assaulted or raped. I am shocked now, as I look back at what I would do just to get a guy to pay attention to me. I learned that if I dressed sexy and flaunted it around enough times, a boy would take the bait. And I would reel him in and feel like I was loved for short periods of time. I also learned that beauty equaled power. I had never had power, so I used it with a vengeance. Even in this dark place God had His hand of protection on me. I could have gotten pregnant or a STD. I was looking for love. For worth. For hope. I was grasping for anything that would give my life meaning. But it eluded me.

My Story Part 3

In high school I was only occasionally in the hospital and had a fairly “normal” life. I went out with friends, skipped the occasional class and got my driver’s license. Being a cheerleader the year before opened my eyes to the fact that I was worth hanging out with. That I was a good friend. And that I was fun to be around. I enjoyed school enough to want to be there. But since I had been sick my whole life, I was really bad at school. The school system kind of just let me get by and graduate to the next grade even though I did not learn what I needed to know. So by the time I got to high school, it was apparent that I was stupid. And unfortunately, some of my teachers confirmed this belief. So the cycle of shame continued, just in a different form.

When I was a sophomore, my best friend’s sister invited us to attend a Young Life meeting at a local church near our school. We went together and I heard about God. They sang songs about God, did funny skits and taught us out of the Bible. I had heard about God before, but knew in my heart He must be mad at me because I was sick. The God they were talking about was loving and cared about the world. I continued to attend every week because it was fun. One of leaders, Cindy, took me under her wing and began loving on me. She listened to me. Prayed for me. I began reading a Bible and wanting to learn more about Jesus. I started attending a Bible study and learned more and more about how much God loved me. As you can imagine, this idea went against my belief about myself. But I was feeling accepted and listened to, so I continued pursuing God.

There was a brief moment when I actually felt like my beliefs about myself could possibly be wrong, or at least too harsh. But then reality would kick in as it always does and confirmed my demented beliefs. I would end up in the hospital again and the lies would win….I am bad, I am ugly. Things at home were rough. My parents both worked full time so my brother and I were home alone a lot of the time. A lot of time for him to get into trouble with the law. He began his descent to juvenile hall and would end up there more than once. There were many arguments between my parents as you could understand. They ended up at a Tough Love meeting and very soon, my brother began to run away. So between my illness and his trips to jail, we really never connected. On top of that there was the normal teenage angst with boyfriends and friends talking behind your back. Also, when I took driver’s education, the instructor made a pass at me and it ended up going to trial because apparently he made passes at other girls as well. This was all very traumatic for me and confirmed that there was really no hope for me. But I kept attending Young Life and opening my damaged heart to the Lord. There just HAD to be something more for me.

I was invited to go to a Young Life camp for a week. I was still in and out of the hospital, so this was a bit scary. But when you are a teenager, fun trumps fear! So off I went. I had a blast with friends and fun activities. One night, during the preaching time, we were asked if we wanted to give our lives to the Lord. I wanted it! I wanted it more than anything. So I raised my hand and prayed the prayer of salvation. I don’t remember everything that happened after that, but “Bridge Over Troubled Water” was playing in the background as we all prayed together. I don’t remember feeling anything dramatic. Just happy I made that decision.

After that, I attended more bible studies and Cindy, my leader, started a study for those who gave their lives to the Lord at camp. All my friends were in it so it was super fun. I would go through phases where I would believe the Word of God and feel tremendous peace. But then the lies would come knocking and I would not read my Bible for a time. This cycle continued for years. But God had a firm grip on my life. I am in tears writing this as I see how faithful and loving He has been to me all these years of suffering and turmoil. My heart is so grateful that He gave me new life and a new heart. That He was always there with me, even before I knew who he was. He is the reason I am writing this story. This story, my story, is not even about me. It’s all about what God can do with nothing. How God can do the impossible. How God can love the unlovable. AS I sit here writing all of this my heart is being healed. I told God many years ago that I would tell the world about all the wonderful ways He has miraculously worked in my little life! This book is a fulfillment of that promise. To be honest, I’m not sure that this will ever be published. But I can’t stay silent! I must tell of my amazing God!!

My Story Part 2

There came a time around 9yo that my hospital stays were less, but never entirely gone. Because my mom was a single mom and barely making it, we moved about once a year to a different apartment. Then when I was 9yo, my mom married a man 22 years her senior. This union was to be a blessing in my life as it gave me a stability that I never experienced before. We moved to San Jose, California where my new dad owned a home in a high class area with good schools and friendly neighbors. I could finally settle a bit, although our family life was stressful to say the least. Both of my parents worked as my mom still needed health insurance for me. So my brother and I were on our own after school. He did his own thing and I watched TV from 3:00 to 9:00 taking a break when the news came on. This pattern, which began in the hospital, would become my addiction. There were times my mom hired a “nanny” to watch us. I don’t know if there was a nanny shortage back then, but she seemed to hire overweight women who just sat around all day and did nothing. I remember wanting to shave my legs for the first time and our nanny drilled into my head over and over again that if I shaved my legs, there was no going back. She put the fear of the razor into my head! Of course, I ignored her. By the way, she was right….once you start shaving, you can never stop.

My brother and I had a strained relationship with our new father. He already had a grown son and I think being a dad again was difficult to say the least. He married the woman he loved, but gained a daughter who was sick all the time and a son who was struggling with his own emotions. I can only guess, since my brother has not told me, that his emotional turmoil was due to his anger and frustration surrounded losing his father to divorce and having to deal with a sister that was getting all the attention. I look back and wish I had loved him better. He really did need me. But I was not there…emotionally OR physically. So when he came into teenagerhood, he acted out in many ways which included drugs and criminal activity.

Being at a stable school and not being in the hospital so much gave me the opportunity to make friends. My first best friend was in my class in the 4^th grade and walked the same route home as I did. Because of my shame, I would never think of talking to her. Too scary! One day, she was walking up one side of the street and I was on the other. She yelled across the street, “Hey! Do you wanna come over tomorrow and see my new hamster?” And as any kid knows, that’s all it took. We were fast friends and still connect even today. Stability began to give me a slight confidence that I could manage this thing called life. There was school, friends, sleepovers, many trips to the candy store with my best friend riding on the back of her bike. Could I actually be normal?

Junior High was wonderful for me! I loved changing classes and was known for doing my hair a different way each day. I would use ribbons and flowers in my hair and get really creative. I still only had a few friends, but that is all I needed. The summer before my freshman year, everything changed. My best friend decided to try out for the basketball team. She asked if I wanted to try out too. As you can imagine, a small weakling like myself could get smashed on a basketball court. But I saw that there were also cheerleading tryouts. I do not know what came over me, but I decided to try out for cheerleading. Ugly me. I knew I wouldn’t make the squad, but something in me just pushed me to try. I practiced and practiced and practiced. My parents lived on a golf course and so they had a huge window that faced the golf course that was tinted so the golfers could not see in our house. I could see myself from the outside into the window so I used this as a mirror to get every move precisely right. The day of the tryouts came looming over me as I daily practiced my routines. The day finally arrived and I was so nervous as I walked to the gym. Why was I doing this? How could I be a cheerleader? But I gave it my best shot. I stood by myself in front of the current cheerleading squad with a few teachers. I went for it. I was precise. I was loud. I had spirit. I made two mistakes, but kept my composure through the entire, torturous routine. They thanked me and asked me to sit down. I had to wait for every single girl to try out and then we were told to leave the room so they could make their decision. I knew my mistakes cost me from being picked. I berated myself for making mistakes. Oh well, I thought, maybe next year. We were all asked to come back into the gym and get the results. They called one girl and she jumped up yelling and hugged all the girls around her. They called another. Same reaction. Screaming. Hugging. Then, to my utter amazement, they called me. I just sat there. I must not have heard them right. They called my name again. I stood up and jumped up and down. I think as I was in a daze as a couple of the girls hugged me and congratulated me. The rest of the names were called, but I didn’t hear any of them. It was like the room was moving in slow motion around me. This was the best thing that ever happened to me. I was a cheerleader! I was a cheerleader! Maybe I am worth something after all?

This new elite social position did wonders for my confidence. People started talking about me. They would say that I was cute. That I was pretty. This shocked me! Me, pretty? That’s impossible. But as the year progressed, these comments became more common and I began to entertain the idea that I might be pretty. My freshman year was amazing. It’s the year my peers saw me. It’s the year I began to look at myself…and not hate what I saw. But as you know, dear reader, shame can take many forms and is not easily extinguished.