Boomerang2Him-My Faith Journey

Let me start by saying that I firmly believe that I am a beloved child of God, loved unconditionally by my Heavenly Father who sent His only Son, Jesus Christ to die for my sins and because of His sacrifice all of my sins have been forgiven.  Furthermore, there is nothing I can do to make Him love me any more than He already does, and nothing I can do will make Him love me any less.  However, that was not always the case.

I belonged to a family that typically attended the Episcopal Church together every Sunday morning. My siblings and I sang in the children’s choir, attended Sunday School, and dutifully covered our heads whenever we were in church, as was the custom at the time.  I memorized the required prayers and Bible verses and was confirmed at the age of 13 like all the other good girls and boys.

My dad was an aviator in the Navy, so we moved every few years, always attending church each week in each new city because that’s what my mom believed was expected of her as the wife of the squadron’s Commanding Officer. That is, until she grew weary of working on the Altar Guild and attending church with 4 young children while our dad was always away at sea--so she quit. To be honest, I didn’t really miss the ritual of kneeling and standing at all the appropriate times and sleeping through the always lengthy and boring sermons.

While my attitude toward church was less than positive, somehow my personal relationship with God grew stronger each year.  Perhaps it was partly due to my Godmother’s continuing prayers for me and the Christian books and gifts she would send me on special occasions, or perhaps because the lack of a strong father-figure in our home through most of my childhood caused me to turn to my Heavenly Father for support. You see, about the time my mom’s mother died when I was in the 6th grade, we stopped going to church, and Mom’s mental and emotional stability started to go steadily downhill.  I, as the oldest child, grew up fast as I tried to take up the slack around the house and offered Mom as much support as I could. Globally, world peace was being threatened by the Bay of Pigs, and while my dad was out defending our country, I assumed the role of family protector. A good friend took me to her Baptist church with her on occasion, and one Sunday morning I answered an altar call and formally asked Jesus into my life.

Things at home worsened by the time I entered high school, and mom’s depression led to violent outbursts and threats to commit suicide. I remember driving around one night after one of her violent episodes, and finding a church whose doors were open.  I ran in, dropped to my knees and plead with God for help. It’s all kind of a blur, but I just remember always feeling like God was my refuge.

After I left for college, several girlfriends and I would occasionally attend church on Sunday during my freshman year at the University of Florida.  However, I had to move home my sophomore year when I was forced to transfer to Auburn University where Dad had a new assignment as the Commanding Officer of the NROTC unit there. Mom’s depression had only gotten worse, and I took a job making Whoppers at Burger King in order to afford my own apartment and move out.

With the freedom my own apartment offered and the stress of balancing the challenging Interior Design Curriculum I was studying with my job, the “Goodie-2-Shoes” I had always been began to let her hair down. My junior year, a new boyfriend stole my heart and my innocence.  Jimmy and I dated almost two years until I discovered him with another girl, who, unbeknownst to me, he had also been dating for several months.  I drove to his apartment, threw everything he had ever given me at him and ran the other way, this time with not only a broken heart, but also a totally demolished sense of pride and self-worth.

You see, I had always believed that one of God’s rules was that sexual intimacy was something to be reserved for marriage, and I had rationalized that breaking that rule was okay because Jimmy and I were in love and would one day get married.  When that dream died, I felt used and dirty, and in my shame, I ran from God, and lapsed into a period of loose living I believed God could never forgive and I prefer to forget.   

As mentioned in my bio, in 1980 after an on again, off again relationship, I married my “knight in shining armor” who I thought would finally be the loving, protector I had craved for so long.  As I shared, our marriage was rocky from the start, and we seldom attended church. Then, in early 1983, a good friend came to see our new baby boy and invited us to his church. 

Giving birth to my son was the grandest miracle I had ever experienced, and I knew he was a gift from God.  I believed it was our responsibility as parents to introduce him to Jesus, so we began attending church on a regular basis and had him baptized when he was two, along with his new baby sister.  I threw myself into a renewed relationship with Jesus and prayed that my husband, who had originally warned me that the church might fall down around us if we tried to enter, would also accept Jesus as his Lord and Savior.  I wanted him to someday be in heaven with me and our children.

Unfortunately, a third child and four separations later, Fred called it quits on our marriage. I would like to think it was all his fault and blame his infidelity, but I now recognize the part I had played in sullying our marital relationship and that my shame and inability to love myself were also to blame. You see, as a Christian, I believe God gives us His Commandments for a good reason—just like when we give our own children rules to keep them safe, so God gives us rules to help protect us from the consequences of the sins that come so naturally to us. I don’t believe my failed marriage was God’s punishment for breaking His rules, but rather just the consequence of my behavior.

Our children and grandchildren are living in a culture today much different than the one in which we grew up. While our Baby Boomer generation had some restraint in our behavior due to the fear of being judged harshly by those around us, now almost everything is accepted, so pretty much anything goes. Most young people today believe there are no more rules—that we can and should do whatever feels good to us without concern about how our behavior might affect the others who by default are involved.

In my case, our divorce not only broke my heart, but it also broke the hearts of my children, my youngest daughter being the one most affected.  I guess I knew it at the time, but I was so busy just trying to get over the hurt, rediscover myself, and rebuild the confidence I needed to re-enter the workforce, that it didn’t really hit home how much she also was hurting. After all, she seemed like such a typical, happy teenager, doing well in school and setting her sights on college. I have recently asked for her forgiveness and pray that God can draw her closer to Him and heal our relationship. As I said, sin does have consequences.

It took me several years of financial and emotional struggle before I could finally free myself from my guilt and the almost overwhelming feeling of being unloved.  As I mentioned previously, my Great Banquet weekend allowed me to finally know with my whole being that I am, indeed, a beloved child of God. I will talk more about the Great Banquet movement in a later entry, but today it is still an important part of my spiritual life as I serve at each weekend and share the miracles I’ve seen take place there with as many people as possible. The healing love of Jesus is meant to be shared!