I haven’t always been a faithful servant of God.
Rejected by my biological father before birth and the divorce of my parents when I was 7, resulted in east coast and west coast addresses. Consequently, living with one parent, meant you didn’t see the other but maybe twice a year. Guilt enabled my younger brother and me to choose our living arrangements. Hence, like a lot of children of divorced parents, we vacillated between residences. Enough so, that I don’t think I stayed in any one school for more than 2 years at a time.
When I was 10, my mom made a promise to God that if I placed in my skating competition that she would get back in church. Unaware of her commitment, I took home the gold. Nonetheless, it wasn’t until hell was breaking loose in our home that she divulged her broken promise. We went to church the following Sunday. Roughly, 2 years later, I gave my life to Christ, when I was 12.
Still, my teenage years were the most difficult. Regularly changing homes meant new schools, new friends, different house rules and expectations. Living with dad brought stability – financially and to my daily life. Rules and routines were the norm. Whereas with my mom, freedom was the basis of her parenting style. Though, in her defense, I was no rookie of a manipulator. Both of my parents later remarried, which also came with its own set of challenges.
Then in January 1995, I became a mom. Nothing thickens your skin and prepares you for womanhood at the tender age of 19, like a high-risk pregnancy, out of wedlock, in a rural talky-town. Shortly after my daughter was born, her dad and I married and God blessed us with a little boy in ’97.
Life seemed to be settling down, so I thought. We had a nice home, worked Monday through Friday, did chores on Saturday and partied Saturday nights. We were no strangers to alcohol. Church attendance was reserved for Easter and maybe Mother’s Day – Not exactly a wholesome recipe for growing old together.
Fast forward to Y2K, single with 2 small children, waiting out our state-required separation period in a mobile-home park – humbling for sure. Shortly thereafter I met the guy with whom I would share a son and the next 12 years of my life. We married in 2001 and spent 4 years together in rural “talky-town.” In 2007 we moved to the Triangle area of NC. Thank you, Jesus! Things were good until they suddenly weren’t, and while I didn’t see the writing on the wall back then, the signs were there. In 2013, when our son was 10, he asked for a divorce.
With 2 broken marriages in the books, [insert serial dating and a rebound relationship here]. I was emotionally bankrupt, spiritually broken, financially strapped, and burdened beyond belief. It’s what inspired my very first post: Broke, Broken, and Backslidden…But God
God is Faithful
Where was God when I was falling apart? He hadn’t forsaken me, I had forsaken Him. But, God is faithful even when we are not; and where we are weak, He is strong. So while I might have strayed from the faith and found myself in less than desirable circumstances, it wasn’t all in vain. God had a plan even if I didn’t. His plan included growing me for ministry and my final marital union, which brings me where I am today. I remarried in 2017 and in spite of the occasional legal shenanigans from an entangled ex-wife, our relationship is secure, and our lives full of joy. Though, even when things get crazy, God is still God and He is always good. So, whatever He ordains, to cultivate our growth, we will count it all joy.
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