Wednesday, October 12, 2011

My story: A voice.



Jeremiah 1:5
I knew you before I formed you in your mother's womb.




She is seven months pregnant, drunk and passed out on the floor.

She awakens in her drunken stooper, and stares at herself in the mirror, only to realize that she is still alive, and still very pregnant.

She sighs, curses, and cries in anguish.

She is pregnant with her sixth child.

An unwanted surprise after her husband's needed vasectomy.

Seven kids in all.
All under the age of ten.
And now with a baby on the way, their yours-mine-and-ours family continues to grow.

Her depression rises.
Her anger furies.

A baby girl is born way too early in September of 1972.
The caboose to a family in deep turmoil.
Sickness would engulf her tiny little body tainted by the poison of alcohol and grief.

These words would bring tears to the little girl's eyes at the innocent age of six.

"I didn't want you.  I cried my entire pregnancy.  I drank in an effort to lose you, but it didn't work.  I just drowned in my sorrow. But, I'm glad I kept you. I love you."

Those last two sentences would never be heard by that little girl.
The first part would do more damage than her mother ever knew.

A lifetime of  damage.



 We have a little cat that we rescued many months ago.

She showed up on our door step and we knew nothing, but to take her in our arms and love her.

Her tiny little body was broken and fragile. She was literally starving to death.

We would soon realize a few weeks later, that she had no voice.

Well, at least not the normal cat voice.

She would open up her little mouth, and nothing would come out.

No sound at all.

There was a sadness about her.
A heaviness.

Something had happened to her before she got to us, something that stripped her voice away.

She is about eight months old now, and she has begun to find a tiny wimper within side her.

It's not a full "Me-oww" yet, more like a soft shakey "Muhr".

"Muhr."

That's all, but it's something.


My memories of my mother, and the memories of myself as a small child, are all jumbled up in my head.

It's a messy pile of memories that float up to the surface when I least expect it to.
Sometimes, I wish it didn't.

There aren't a whole lot of times that I remember her being extremely happy.

There was a sadness about her, that my small adolescent mind could not comprehend.

She was just sad, and alot.
I would hear her crying as I laid in my bed at night. 

Something had happened to her before she got to us, something that stripped her joy away.

When I first heard those words that would haunt me for years to come, I knew without a shadow of a doubt, that I was the cause of her sadness.

I mean, to a small child it just made sense.

I learned early on to stay quiet.
To not speak unless asked to.

To do whatever it took, to cause the least pain possible...for her.

I lost my voice.
I lost my innocence.
I lost who I was.

I took on my new role as the "happy child",
 doing what needed to be done to make sure Mom wasn't sad.

I had a mission, at the fragile age of seven...to become her joy.

To undo the sadness, that apparently I had caused.




We learned early on to cover up any pain that was inside of us.

It was just the thing to do.
The joy that we showed was much more soothing for her,  than any pain or grief we felt.
Complaining just wasn't allowed.

Her pain became the focus of our daily life.
We did whatever it took to ease her pain.

Whatever it took.

I remember the first time that I served her.
I was elated.
It had somehow become a right of passage in our family, to "get" to serve Mom.

She was sitting in her bed, with her Bible in her lap.

She smiled as I walked in with her tray of eggs and toast.

I placed it in front of her, as I beamed with gladness to see her happy.

Happy was so much safer than sadness.

I watched as she took her first bite.
I watched as her face frowned.
I watched as anger rose up within her.

I jumped as the plate was thrown across the room.
I listened as she cursed and screamed.

I felt my body shiver in fear.

It wasn't cooked right.
She became sad...and angry.

As I scurried to get things done right, my heart beat faster and faster within my chest.

I brought her a new plate of eggs and toast.

As I walked in her room, I noticed her smile was gone.
All that was left was the heaviness of her disappointment.

Her sadness had returned.

What had I done?

In my mind, I had failed her.
I wasn't enough.

The sound of her voice would begin to bring shivers down my spine each and every time I heard it.

My voice, would slowly begin to fade.



I was almost eight years old when I asked Jesus to be my personal Lord and Savior.

I  knelt quietly beside my mother's bed, closed my eyes and repeated the words that would change my life forever.

I opened my eyes, saw her joy, and knew I had made her happy with my decision.

I placed my tiny hands over my heart and welcomed my new Friend.
It felt familiar. It felt safe.
My heart smiled as it embraced His Light.

And that He would become...

The Light in my very dark world.

I would begin to forever search out His voice through the darkness.




And when all else fades You remain ,
You are God with us,
You're victorious
You are strong and mighty to save ,
For Your word stands true, there is none like You.

~~Song lyrics by Starfield, Remain










2 comments:

  1. ...and when all else fails, He remains.

    i love you. that sweet story about the cat, paralleling yours, and even your mom's, so closely... it's heart-wrenching. so sad. but then God. who inclines to us and heals all our diseases. that story is heart-warming, and helps you to feel like you've been surrounded by the light all of your life... that He never left you. and He never will.

    ReplyDelete
  2. I am so proud of your courage to tell what needs to be told, but mostly I am so glad that she failed!

    ReplyDelete

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