Growing with Grace Part 2

I write these posts because as I grow in life experience the more I am impressed that we all have a lot more in common than we have differences. Each time I am inspired to write it is couched in the idea of what I wish I could have read for myself. There are so many biblical truths outlined in the Bible which are good to learn and study but we have a much easier time translating principles into application when we see those principles work through someone's life. As a naturally intellectual person I am drawn to Paul's dense theology but only once I have heard how those principles have affected someone else do they begin to move from my head into my heart. I think that's why Jesus spent a lot of time teaching through stories. 

What I would like to share is the ways I have misunderstood who God is and the many ways he has shown me grace and taught me about himself over my life. My goal is to write the things that could have helped me at a younger age so that maybe, by God's grace, someone else can learn from my mistakes and live a fuller, stronger, more confident life. Specifically, confidence in your relationship with God. Just in case someone jumps in thinking this is going to be a bunch of feel good stories and fluffy theology: believe on the Lord Jesus and you will be debt free, happily married with 2.5 kids, and have a house in the 'burbs. Sorry, I don't have many of those. Most of the time they are traumatic and the spiritual lessons learned from them required a whole lot of separation by time and professional therapy.

And where better to start than at the beginning?

I was raised in a suburban home with as much love as possible by people who are human and broken. Thankfully, I was taught about the grace of God from a young age. My mom was a new Christian when I showed up stage right and she consistently brought me, my two sisters, and two brothers to church. We were a blended family, one sister and brother from my dad's first marriage and the three "younger" siblings from my parents. My father was a well respected auto mechanic and functional alcoholic with blackout anger issues and my oldest brother, Bobby, was already addicted to drugs, smoking, and alcohol years before I was born. My older sister, Kimberlie, came to live with us when I was three years old (or so? Someone correct me if I'm wrong?) because her mom had to serve jail time for drug possession with intent to distribute. Bobby mostly stayed with his stepfather but would bounce between that house, our house, and rehab. Kimberlie stayed with us until leaving for college. I remember being so confused and sad when she left for the big city but was just too young at the time to understand the process of growing up and flying the coop.

But my earliest memories are the nightmares. Some nightmares are a result of trauma, some don't have an explanation. Mine were the latter. They were intense, repetitive, and always a struggle between life and death. I would wake up in the middle of the night and cry for mommy and she would always come to comfort me. Until she didn't. 

No one remembers exactly how old I was, perhaps three, on that fateful night, but I distinctly remember that I had the "lost" dream again. The one where mom brought me to a business function and we sat in a small auditorium and listened to someone speak. Of course, I dreamed about playing while the adults droned on about adult stuff. Afterward we left the second floor of the venue via elevators. In the crush of people mom and I got separated. She went in the elevator but I couldn't get there in time before it closed. I was scared but knew I could ride the next one and catch up to her. I couldn't find her in the first floor lobby. I couldn't find her outside the building. I went back up to the empty auditorium then back down to the lobby. She was gone. Forever. She left without me and never came looking. At that point the dream would always fast forward and I would see myself as several years older, around 7, a lonely street urchin dressed in rags and dumpster diving for food. Then I would either wake up or it would start again from the beginning. 

Like usual I woke and cried for my mommy to come find me. I was lost and would never see her again. But she didn't come. I cried myself back to sleep and the dream repeated. I remember asking my mom in the morning why she didn't come when I called her and she said something to the effect of "I was really tired and it's time you become a big girl." (As an adult and a parent I realize it is unlikely she worded it this way but this is the impression I got at three years old and my mother has no memory of this exchange to refute it.) 

In my three year old mind what that meant to me was "I won't come find you in real life either because I'm too tired." I was not loved, cared for, cherished, valued. I'm still carrying around these scars despite forgiving my mother for inadvertently hurting me so deeply. It is still painful even to write about these memories 30 years later. So when God refers to himself as "father" or a "mother hen," my first feeling is not positive. I think it is true for everyone that your growing up experience greatly influences how you view God and authority figures. God calls himself a "good father" but so does my seriously flawed father. So what does a good father mean? I've had to learn that over time through a series of events that my heavenly father will in fact neither leave me nor forsake me. God knows just how sinful I am yet continues to love me. I have often rejected Him yet he continues to pursue me. All things my early father has failed to do.

I have wanted to die. God said "I am here with you."

I have cursed his name. He said "what else are you keeping hidden inside?"

I have committed the same sins over and over and over again. Still he says "I died so you could be clean." 

According to Merriam-Webster's dictionary grace is defined as "unmerited divine assistance given to humans for their regeneration or sanctification." The Sunday School answer I learned was "the unmerited favor of God."

So by definition the only one capable of grace is God himself. So how do we learn what grace is? We learn it directly from Him or indirectly through his followers in whom he lives. I have learned a lot about grace by hearing other people's stories and now I feel it is time to share mine.

Did your experiences with your parents color your understanding of God? For good or bad? Why? Do you have feelings of inadequacy, worthlessness, unworthiness? Do they affect how you relate to our heavenly father?