Today I’m linking up with a special blog, Chatting with The Sky, and with some of my other favorite blogs listed at the end of this post.

from chatting with the sky:

Why write a letter?

This younger generation is all around us, but sometimes we forget the types of things they are thinking and walking through. As a way to introduce my new book, Graceful, I wanted to encourage my peers to remember what it was like to be sixteen again.

Perhaps writing a letter to ourselves will help us to see the people who are sixteen still. And maybe be moved with compassion on their behalf.

I have been thinking about writing this letter to me for at least a week now.  I thought that I would easily just put down a few things and be done.  NOT.  So here is my effort to write a letter to myself . . .

The Back Story:

You see, I did not have the best childhood.  Well, I did have a great childhood–until my dad died when I was 7.  I came home from school with my brother and found him dead.  Then my brother left to get help leaving me with my dad–meanwhile, my Mom calls (like she did every day at that time) and I tell her that Dad is laying on the kitchen floor and he won’t wake up for me–I hear the click.  I can still her that click in my mind–you under 35 crowd may have never experienced a true “click” before.

But before you give me the whoa is me–that is a horrible thing.  It gets worse.  Much worse.  My mom get married within two years of my dad dying and I just did’nt get it.  Then this new Dad–that I never, ever, called Dad–changes everything.  Like physically changes everything.  The land, the pond, what we grew on our farm . . .  gets rid of all of my animals.

During this process I lose whatever kind of a Mom that I had.  She mentally checks out and doesn’t really ever come back in the same way–the way that I think that I need her.  My oldest brother hit the road and my other brother just three years older than I endure a life that is not pleasant.  We both moved out of the abusive house as soon as we could.  For me it was 17.  I thought when I left that I would be free of the abuse–and I was but I was broken to say the least.

My step father was very ill and I came back home the next summer to take care of him.  We had Hospice care during the day, I worked my day job and took over the hospice care in the evening.  My young life was filled with giving this man, a man who was so abusive, his shots, tube feedings, breathing treatments.  My Mom was at a friends house, at the pool enjoying a few cocktails, while I kept the night watch.  Night after night it was the same thing . . . all summer long.  He died three days after my 19th birthday.  I watched him take his last breaths.  I thought that maybe “now” I would be free–but I was still broken.

A week later (after the funeral) I left.  I was 19 and made 10 years of bad choices.  Only by the grace of God did I manage to survive.  I do not exaggerate.  I did not always have food or a place to sleep.  I found the world to be a cold, hard place–there is no compassion for the poor and begging.

Oh, did I mention that my Mom got married again–she was engaged 6 months after she buried her second husband.

So I had a really crappy childhood.  If I wrote a letter to myself–about how I would turn out I would have never believed myself.  I don’t think that I could have given myself hope.  I was broken but not yet blessed.

I’m not sure just when it happened (after editting that is a lie–I know exactly when it happened).  Long after I was married, long after I had my babies, long after listening to Oprah say “your past does not define your future” a million times on every show about abuse–shows that I had to watch.  I felt compelled to watch.   Those broken women were telling my story.  But those were women on TV–it was Oprah.  They weren’t like me.

I’m in a bible study and the leader tells of her abusive childhood.  I couldn’t breath.  Her story was my story and she wasn’t famous (yet).  And you know what–no one gave her a pity party.  They were shocked and suprised but they didn’t treat her differently or like a victim.  They didn’t minimize who she is by what had happened.  That moment I had the courage to go home and tell my husband everything.  I hadn’t told anyone ever!  And you know what he didn’t treat me any differently–he may actually have a better understanding of why I am the way I am!   He still loves me.  I think that was my biggest fear or just his reaction.  Would he still want me.  That is a horrible feeling.  The not knowing.

I cried and he held me.

I woke up the next morning feeling as though the world was just a little brighter and I was able to breath a lot easier.  I no longer felt shame, broken, or unloved.  The words of Oprah kept playing in my head, “you are not defined by what happened to you”.

When my friend told her story–that inspired me and gave me the courage to move to a better place.  I am forever grateful for her courage and her fortitude.  I thank God for putting me in the bible study–that moment was years in the making for Him.  I also thank all of the women who showed such compassion.  Without knowing it–they changed how I felt broken into how I feel blessed.

So that is the back story.  We all have one.  I would invite you to think about the back story of the women in our lives . . . I invite you to show compassion to everyone.

My life now is the husband of my dreams, the kids that are perfect for our family (more to come????), a house that I love, my cabin (that my biological dad built) that over looks the lake, I’m a homeschooling mom who gets to finally write about my life and how it ALL serves God–even the crappy stuff.

Talking like my 13 year old self:  “Like I’m totally going to believe any of that $%#^&*.  I am worthless and I don’t believe that anyone really cares if I live or die.”  I don’t need you, I can’t trust you, and nothing matters.”

My 46 year old answer:  “I know of 6 others who totally care–in fact they wouldn’t be here without you, not to mention a bunch of friends, and all the animals that you have nutured over the years.  Your life is going to be awesome–you just need to be patient for the next 33 years–yeah, I know that seems like a long time but you’ll be busy.”

Thank you for reading this far!  My hope is that when you see a young girl or young man you will think of my story–that you will in some small way show compassion.  A genuine knowing smile can go a long way.  And please remember when people are at the very bottom . . . they can’t see out.  They need something bigger than you and I–they need prayers, they need grace, they need to be able to hear their soul sing, they need to feel the presence of God and know that they are loved–no matter what.

I tell my kids that–no matter what–I love you.  That is all that I ever wanted to hear . . .

Be Blessed my friends.  If you are so incline please pray for me–that I will continue to find peace and show unlimited compassion to all that I meet.  That I may not forget the road that has lead me to finally finding peace.

Miscellany Monday
Hear it, Use It
Playdates with God
Multitudes on Monday
The Better Mom
Motivating Mondays 

{Mindful Mothering Mondays}