*May be triggering for some* MA-V
My journey to God started when I was born. 27 weeks, 1lb 6oz and not expected to live through the night. And I didn't. I died, for three minutes I was in all aspects- dead. Because of the Dr's efforts to revive me, I had damage to my eyes that needed emergency surgery. To this day I have vision loss in my right eye because of this. Anyway, three and a half months later I got to go home with my parents and an oxygen tank.
The only problem? My father was an ex-navyman, druggie and an abusive alcoholic. Several years passed, and the first real memory I have of my parents is my father jumping over a large couch and twisting my mothers arm til it broke and throwing her on the floor and presiding to throw a glass beer bottle at me. I was 3 years old and my mother was pregnant. A short while later, just before I turned 4, my brother was born....but he was very, very sick.
He also needed oxygen all the time and had to be helicoptered to hospitals he had holes in his lungs and something called ToF effecting the way his heart worked. My little brother died alone in the hospital room at just 5 months old during a blood transfusion while my parents were fighting yet again in the hall....
This was the first time I heard the word Jesus. In the chapel of the hospital where my mother took me after everything was quiet. I can remember her staring up at this statue of a man with nails in his feet and his arms out. I remember asking her "Why is he stuck up there he can come down if he wants to right?" She told me that his name was Jesus and he was supposed to save people, that he should come down and tell her why he had done this to us she told me he was evil and to never say his name again. We left there, both of us crying... But, she had planted the spark of curiosity...
Through the following 5 years my parents kept fighting, CPS was involved, I got a second baby brother and then a baby sister. She had the same heart problem my first brother had but this time she passed from something else. After she passed away when I was 9 years old my brother and I were removed from my parents care and put in the system.
This was the second time I heard Jesus' name. From the first foster family who took me in. They tried to teach me about Jesus and how he is always there when you need him. I tried to listen but my mothers words always made me question...why?
Fast forward 6 years and 87 placements later, I ran away at 15. I got jobs and a small room for rent in another state. Started over and made what little a life I could for myself. I met a wonderful boy who grew with me and 18 we decided to try for a family... That is when I found out I have PCOS and infertility issues.
It took us 4 years and 5 miscarriages to have what we thought was a wonderful pregnancy. Up until week 37 when I went into labor unexpectedly and after an hour our angel Noah was born sleeping....
Again, I heard Jesus' name from the pastor who came to talk with us.... and now I understood what my mother had meant. Why would a "loving" God do such hurtful things?... I sat with this grief for a very long time.
Even when I found out 5 months later that we would be expecting again.... I was terrified God would do this again...
this time labor started at 35 weeks... the Drs were able to keep our second baby boy inside for 2 days...at 35 w 2 d our handsome beautiful baby boy was born breathing and otherwise healthy....on his younger brothers birthday no less. Only needing 5 days in the NICU.
It was then that I understood everything that led me to that moment. God had not forgotten me nor did he hate me. He was continually molding me. Giving me lessons in pain and empathy and always pulling me towards him even in my anger and hurt. When he breathed life into me when I was born, he was giving me strength to conquer life and death. When he chose my parents he was guiding me into a life full of empathy, compassion and passion to help those out there like my mother and even those with addiction like my father. When he took my siblings, he was teaching me to draw nearer to him even in my darkness and always find a shred of hope- like my first foster family. When he took my babies he was teaching me to trust others and not to shut out the light. And when he gave me my miracle baby boy he was teaching me to trust in his forsaken name and believe that miracles do happen!
My son will be 3 later this year. My boyfriend (no he hasn't put a ring on it yet,haha) and I experienced two more miscarriages since my sons first birthday...and all though I am still learning about God and Jesus and all the different ways and things that people choose to believe, I will believe in the God of the bible. Every dream I have tells me to just keep reading and trust in Him and his plan for me...
My journey to God started when I was born. 27 weeks, 1lb 6oz and not expected to live through the night. And I didn't. I died, for three minutes I was in all aspects- dead. Because of the Dr's efforts to revive me, I had damage to my eyes that needed emergency surgery. To this day I have vision loss in my right eye because of this. Anyway, three and a half months later I got to go home with my parents and an oxygen tank.
The only problem? My father was an ex-navyman, druggie and an abusive alcoholic. Several years passed, and the first real memory I have of my parents is my father jumping over a large couch and twisting my mothers arm til it broke and throwing her on the floor and presiding to throw a glass beer bottle at me. I was 3 years old and my mother was pregnant. A short while later, just before I turned 4, my brother was born....but he was very, very sick.
He also needed oxygen all the time and had to be helicoptered to hospitals he had holes in his lungs and something called ToF effecting the way his heart worked. My little brother died alone in the hospital room at just 5 months old during a blood transfusion while my parents were fighting yet again in the hall....
This was the first time I heard the word Jesus. In the chapel of the hospital where my mother took me after everything was quiet. I can remember her staring up at this statue of a man with nails in his feet and his arms out. I remember asking her "Why is he stuck up there he can come down if he wants to right?" She told me that his name was Jesus and he was supposed to save people, that he should come down and tell her why he had done this to us she told me he was evil and to never say his name again. We left there, both of us crying... But, she had planted the spark of curiosity...
Through the following 5 years my parents kept fighting, CPS was involved, I got a second baby brother and then a baby sister. She had the same heart problem my first brother had but this time she passed from something else. After she passed away when I was 9 years old my brother and I were removed from my parents care and put in the system.
This was the second time I heard Jesus' name. From the first foster family who took me in. They tried to teach me about Jesus and how he is always there when you need him. I tried to listen but my mothers words always made me question...why?
Fast forward 6 years and 87 placements later, I ran away at 15. I got jobs and a small room for rent in another state. Started over and made what little a life I could for myself. I met a wonderful boy who grew with me and 18 we decided to try for a family... That is when I found out I have PCOS and infertility issues.
It took us 4 years and 5 miscarriages to have what we thought was a wonderful pregnancy. Up until week 37 when I went into labor unexpectedly and after an hour our angel Noah was born sleeping....
Again, I heard Jesus' name from the pastor who came to talk with us.... and now I understood what my mother had meant. Why would a "loving" God do such hurtful things?... I sat with this grief for a very long time.
Even when I found out 5 months later that we would be expecting again.... I was terrified God would do this again...
this time labor started at 35 weeks... the Drs were able to keep our second baby boy inside for 2 days...at 35 w 2 d our handsome beautiful baby boy was born breathing and otherwise healthy....on his younger brothers birthday no less. Only needing 5 days in the NICU.
It was then that I understood everything that led me to that moment. God had not forgotten me nor did he hate me. He was continually molding me. Giving me lessons in pain and empathy and always pulling me towards him even in my anger and hurt. When he breathed life into me when I was born, he was giving me strength to conquer life and death. When he chose my parents he was guiding me into a life full of empathy, compassion and passion to help those out there like my mother and even those with addiction like my father. When he took my siblings, he was teaching me to draw nearer to him even in my darkness and always find a shred of hope- like my first foster family. When he took my babies he was teaching me to trust others and not to shut out the light. And when he gave me my miracle baby boy he was teaching me to trust in his forsaken name and believe that miracles do happen!
My son will be 3 later this year. My boyfriend (no he hasn't put a ring on it yet,haha) and I experienced two more miscarriages since my sons first birthday...and all though I am still learning about God and Jesus and all the different ways and things that people choose to believe, I will believe in the God of the bible. Every dream I have tells me to just keep reading and trust in Him and his plan for me...
