Almost as long as I can remember, I had minimal exposure to Christianity, or really any religion at all. I just wasn't around it, and that's not something I could help.
I moved to Texas in 4th grade, and I met my friend Casey. She tried pretty often to get me to go to church with her, I just wasn't for the idea. It didn't appeal to me, at all. I hated church. Then, the summer before 7th grade, I moved to Kentucky.
While I was there, my life and everything I knew was basically torn out from under my feet. I was a military child all my life, so I was used to moving. The difference this time was that Texas had turned into my home. I'd been told we weren't going to move again, but we were, and I hated it. I hated moving away. I hated Kentucky. I was absolutely miserable there. Let me try to put the whole situation into perspective:
I did not, and any circumstances,want to be there. I was so depressed that I only left my room to eat and use the bathroom, and I wouldn't hardly talk to my family for days at a time. My only friend's name was Keizer, a boy who lived in Alaska, and I only spoke to him over instant messenger. When school started, we had uniforms that I despised. I felt so ugly every day, and I was so uncomfortable in my own skin. I had no friends at the beginning of the school year, and I didn't want to make friends at first, because I didn't want to be there. I hated the school, I hated the teachers, I hated the uniforms and everyone at that school. I didn't pay attention in class because I stopped caring, so I was close to failing most of my classes, and I was being picked on by the "popular" kids. My family was in shambles. My parents were fighting with each other, and I was always fighting with my parents. And on top of all of that, I had no one - no one - to talk to. I cried myself to sleep most every night, and that's not an exaggeration. Near the end of the semester, out of desperation, I did something I hadn't done since I was a little girl. I prayed. I remember it almost word for word, because it was ridiculously messy for a prayer. It wasn't a bit like this:
"God... if you're there... I mean, I don't know how this goes, but if you're out there... if you're listening, help? I haven't spoken to you in years, I don't even know if this will matter, but... if you'll just help me out, I'll never... talk bad about Christians again. I'm just so alone. I need something... a way out, or a friend. You're God... you know all of this, right? Take me away if you have to. Please do. This is my own personal Hell. I've never wanted to disappear so much in my life. Just please, if you're out there... please, help me."
I remember putting my hands in my lap and shaking my head and telling myself that, that was stupid of me. I told myself that if there was a God, he obviously had better people to attend to than myself. Who was I, anyway? A mess of remains of what possibly used to be a person. I just cried again, cried until there was nothing left, and then I went to bed. What I didn't realize is that, at the beginning of the second semester of school, the prayer was actually answered. I had to take a semester of gym class to move on to 8th grade, and while taking the class, I met a girl named Carlee. I only spoke to her because she looked equally uncomfortable, and I figured we could at least not be alone. Soon enough, we became inseparable. We did everything together. No matter what, she stuck by my side. I never told her, but by meeting her, my life became a little more bearable. Until, of course, it wasn't.
January 8, 2007, my dad told us he wanted a divorce from my mom. I wasn't worried about my dad leaving, so much as I was that it was just one more thing to add to the list of things that made living in Kentucky so terrible. You have to understand something about my dad and I: we did not get along. We've never gotten along, not as far back as I can remember. I reminded him of his mom, he said, and therefore, he gave special attention to picking at me and doing anything in his power to push my buttons. I got used to being called fat and being called names like "Sugar Diabetes." Nothing I did was ever good enough. I was the "bad" kid, you know, the one that needed to learn her place. My dad was also very sexist. He gave my brothers special treats and attention, while my sister and I were told that cleaning was "woman's work," and therefore, made to do the majority of the chores. And when I argued or brought this up, which was often, I was told that I needed to be grateful he even let my "lazy a**" live in his house. He threatened to kick me out more than once. A few months before he left, we had to move into a new house because the cul-de-sac I lived in was being torn down. My dad threw away everything. I had a mattress on the floor, a mirror that never got hung up, a dresser, enough clothes to get through a school week, and everything else I owned fit in a small box in the corner of my room. My walls were bare. The dresser was bare. My brothers room was the same way. Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying we were poor. We were not. We had plenty of money. What I'm putting into perspective was that even though we had the money, we was allowed to have nothing. During the year and a half that we lived there, my dad got a Harley Davidson motorcycle, a truck, and a 2007 Mustang. But his kids had mattresses on the floor and no furniture, and he couldn't have cared less if we ever got any.
I had to explain all that so that you will understand why I say, when my dad left, I was actually relieved. Of course I was sad for my family, but personally, I was relieved that the fighting and yelling and stress and walking on eggshells were going to stop. My mom uprooted us a few months into my 8th grade year and moved us back to my hometown in Texas, but life was anything but better.
After we moved away, my dad, in fits of rage, broke into our house twice. The first time, we got a call from my sister, who was home alone watching my younger brothers, to tell my mom that my dad said we had 10 minutes to get home, or he was going to "beat her a**." Stephanie had to get the boys out of the house for fear that my dad might hurt them. He ended up breaking some of our things. The cops were called, and I had to sit in the car while they told my mom that they couldn't do anything. He drove off with my sister's car and returned a few days later in another rage. Luckily I was at school when that happened, and nothing was broken, and no one was hurt. The harassment didn't stop there, though. After we found out that my dad had left because he was having an affair, everything got even worse. My mom was receiving death threats,. I was a go-between, while still managing to be a target of my dad's anger. As a matter of fact, I got a call on Christmas where my dad chewed me out and called me a worthless daughter, and got a card for my birthday apologizing for "ruining my life." The summer before Freshman year, my Aunt Grenda (my dad's sister) called and offered to let me stay with them in Beverly Hills, California. It was great for a lot of reasons, but it was definitely not what it's cracked up to be. I realized that I was again in a place with no friends, and it got old very fast. I was in a situation, again, where my only friend was Keizer. And I felt eternally grateful to even have him, because I needed him more than ever. Now, on top of everything going on in my own life, I was was living the Beverly Hills life that everyone would imagine. Glamorous and picturesque, and fake, and not somewhere that someone who already feels self-conscious belongs.
There was one great thing about living there, though. I was fascinated by, don't take this the wrong way, the Jews. There were so many Jewish people who lived there. My aunt and uncle and his family were all Jewish. My best friend there was Jewish, and most of the people I met were Jewish. A lot of them were Orthodox Jews, meaning, they devoted their whole life, every aspect of it, to God. I joined my family, out of respect, to their Shabbat dinners every Friday. If nothing else, they made me think. I'd never seen anything like it. People who were truly devoted to their God, and what else was that, they were so happy. Really happy. The thing I'd been lacking for so long.
I came home from California, and I had a class where my thinking really shifted. It happened in Communications Graphics. I was invited to sit with my friend Clayton, who I'd be friends with for years. That's where I met my friend John, but most importantly, where I met JC. He became my best friend all too easily, and that's where it all really began.
JC ended up playing the biggest part in my walk to find Christ. He invited me to go to his church, and because of my sparked interest since I'd lived in California, I began going on Wednesdays. At first, I was just going to see my friends, but one day, I was listening to JC talk about something God had done in his life. I just marveled at how easily it came to him. I started paying attention when I went to church, and I realized that it made sense to me. A few weeks later, a wrote a note called "Maybe If You Reach Out." It was a note on Facebook, which sounds ridiculous. However, I made the decision to publish it there only because I knew once it was out there, I couldn't take it back. If I made this decision, there was no turning back. Before I published the note, I talked to JC about it. I was nervous and a little embarrassed, but he was very supportive. He said he was proud of my decision, and he seemed so happy for me that I knew I had to be making the right choice. I published the note, and the response was incredible. I had advice and support and praise for my choice. I felt that, that was God's way of nudging me further into it. JC offered to go with me to talk to my youth pastor about getting saved. I was terrified and nervous, but he was there for me, and sat with me while I talked to the pastor. I got saved on September 15, 2010, thanks to my best friend at the time, and a small group of others, who refused to give up on me.
So now that you understand how I got here, let me explain what has happened since. Ever since God became my focus, I'm happy. I'm happy like all of those people I'd watched and envied for so long. The tears that came every night for so many years? Those are gone. I'm not saying I don't have bad days, that I don't get exhausted or that everything always goes smoothly, but I have something to hang on to now that never lets me down. God has never let me down, and I know that now. I just wouldn't open my eyes to see it before. Aside from that, I'm extremely comfortable in my own skin. I stopped looking for the approval of others and focused on the fact that God does think I'm beautiful. On my worse days, I can shake my head, "My, oh, my," put on a smile, pull my hair back and head out the door. God has also healed my relationship with my mom, which was strained by arguing for a long time. The best evidence I have of the changes in my life, though, comes from the fact that there are people who won't believe me when I tell them that I used to be extremely mean. I wasn't even mean, I was just down right cruel. But I truly used to be, and there are people that don't believe it. I know now that, through God, I can let my guard down. I don't have to worry about getting hurt. I'm not trying to beat everyone to the punchline. I know God is watching out for me, and what's meant to be, will be. I have a lot of trust and happiness now. There's a peace... a calmness and security in my life that I was lacking before. So let me finish with this:
Last year, a wrote "Maybe If You Reach Out," where I was reaching out to someone, anyone, to help me see what they saw. Those people who were so happy, I wanted what they had. And no, my life isn't perfect. As a matter of fact, my dad his since disowned me, and I've lost many friends, and JC is no longer a big part of my life. And though it saddens me, these things are much easier to bare nowadays. Maybe you're like me. Maybe you're hurting. Maybe you're feeling lost or lonely... afraid, even. Maybe you're desperate and so ready to just give up that it almost physically hurts. You may not believe me now. I'm not trying to tell you that you need to find God right now or you're going to go burn in Hell and live an unsuccessful life and live a life of misery. But truly, next time you feel like you can't take it anymore, next time you feel alone, next time you feel like everything's going wrong and like everyone lets you down... maybe, just maybe, you'll think about this. And if you do, maybe you could just utter a small prayer to yourself and see how you feel. And if you're been thinking about this for a long time, but you aren't sure, go for it. Reach out to someone, ask someone you trust about God. Maybe you're in the same boat I was, and maybe if you reach out, someone will reach back.
