A few years ago I self-published a book under a pseudonym called, Dukin’ it out with God. I wrote it to help my family, friends, and whomever else might be struggling with depression and the aftermath of all kinds of abuse, not to mention troubles that kept piling up day after day. Heartache, tragedy, crisis, drama… sigh.
My faith in God was challenged, at best, and the guilt was eating me alive. I’ve decided to share excerpts from my story here in my blog. So, without further ado…
Excerpt from Dukin’ It Out With God:
There is an undercurrent of depression, even on the most festive occasions or otherwise joyous moments. Sometimes during those moments I think, “Wow, this is really nice, I should be happy.” But I’m not. Then I feel kind of ashamed and guilty on top of the sadness.
I wish I could say that when I let go of my past and forgave the people who started me on this roller coaster, that the sadness lifted off me. But that’s just not what happened. I wish I could say that I asked God to heal me and deliver me, and, VOILA! It was done. But not yet.
I can retrace my steps to when I was around nine years old. Like so many young girls and boys, I was a victim of sexual, mental, and emotional abuse. Two uncles on my mother’s side of the family, who were most likely abused themselves, were the main abusers. They were barely teenagers themselves when they did it, but it happened repeatedly for years.
I was confused; I reacted in the most common ways children do: I became violent on occasion with other kids, I withdrew, I isolated myself, I BLAMED myself, my self esteem plummeted, (I felt like walking dog doo).
Right in the middle of all that, my dad got a new job, we moved to the suburbs, and, wow, I got picked on like crazy by the kids at my new school. I didn’t know why at first, but eventually learned that I shared the same last name as a girl in the “slow learning” class who had been the victim of their cruelty just for that reason. They never gave me a chance.
One day I had sort of a “nervous breakdown” in class. I couldn’t stop shaking and sobbing. The principal sent me home. When my mom asked me what was going on, and I told her how mean the kids were, she asked me what I had done to them. She said that people don’t pick on you for no reason. That reinforced my belief that there was something wrong with ME.
Some things happened that made me aware of God and other spiritual forces. For one thing, my aunt took me to vacation bible school, and my parents and I went occasionally to a Methodist church till Dad decided it wasn’t for him. Mom wasn’t interested in attending without dad, so that was that. A strange thing happened one day, though, that made this God person very real to me. I’m going to take an excerpt from a novel I penned (Secret Doors) to describe this for you:
I wasn’t even playing funeral or anything, just lying there on my bed thinking up songs for Maggie and me to sing now that we had formed a singing group. Just lying there, thinking, with no plans to die what so ever, when all of a sudden I started floating upward, lifting right up out of my body.
On either side of me was a being of light. But a brighter light shone in through the window to my left, out by the Tulip tree. The warm light reached in and embraced me, and completely filled me with serenity. For some reason, though I had never met him, I thought the light must be Jesus. Then I heard one of the light beings, the one on my right say, “Not yet. Not yet.”
And I floated back into my body.
Ok, that’s it for today! More to come. Thanks for listening.