C
This is really difficult for me...so I'm sorry if it gets a little muddled here and there.
I was raised in a family that seemed to go back and forth on opinions, belief, and faith. With the exception of my grandparents, who took my older sister, younger brother, and myself 'under their wing' as far as making sure we attended Sunday school and church for the greater part of our lives, and of course my cousin's (that would be AlaynaJ to all of you) immediate family, most of my family was not religious. My mom set a poor example by refusing to go to church with us, although I know she spent a lot of time studying her Bible and praying. My biological father, as far as I know/remember, did not believe in God. And so my story begins...
As a child, I had no idea that we were poor. I knew only that Mom went to work and we rarely saw her, and that Dad stayed home and let us watch movies all day long. I knew that Mom was always busy, but that Dad would take my sister, brother, and I for McDonald's, or for a random drive, or let us help him work on his car. I didn't know that meant that my father, who was perfectly capable of working, was letting my mom work 2-3 jobs to support him and 3 young kids. We always had what we needed, and even a little extra sometimes. I never even knew that anything was wrong between my parents, they hid it really well. So when I was 7, and my mom told us that Dad was away and wouldn't be coming back, I was not only blind-sided, but incredibly angry at her. I didn't understand what she'd been put through, I only knew that she had taken my Daddy away from me and it wasn't right.
So even though I was fortunate enough to be raised going to Church and believing in God, but even though I've always been a forgiving and understanding person, there was a lot of anger that I've held on to most of my life-towards not only my mom, but also towards God. I spent the years between age 7 and 13 or so idolizing a Dad who didn't call or visit, got busted for drinking and driving and dealing drugs, and spoke badly about my mom in front of me. I asked God, for years, to let me have my dad back...and when God didn't answer, my anger and hurt only worsened.
My mom used to tell us that God has a special place in Heaven for children who don't have an earthly father. Much as I believed that, it didn't make me feel better.
As a teenager, I was fairly well behaved, I joined my church's youth group of my own volition, and I finally realized that my dad didn't want me. I poured my heart out to God, I begged his forgiveness for my years of anger, and I had a lot of long talks about it all with my youth pastor. With his help and guidance, and at the urging of one of my friends, I was baptized when I was 16. It felt like things had finally fallen into place, I thought I'd released my anger and forgiven those who had hurt me up to that point.
A few months later, I met a 19 year old who was in the Army. We did what teenagers do; we fell in love. He was a non-believer, and I put a lot of effort into changing his mind. I prayed for him and read him scriptures, I tried to show him what God had done for me as far as giving me a new start in life. He listened and was polite, but I don't think he ever took it seriously. We dated for over a year, and when I was 17, half way through junior year in high school, he asked me to marry him. So I did what any other love-sick, silly girl would have done...I dropped out of school, harrassed my mom for permission to get married (I still don't know why she let me do that, but I was probably really awful to her until she let me), and hopped on a Greyhound bus to Ft. Bragg, NC, where he was stationed then.
I was scared silly. I'd never been away from my small hometown before on my own, and I'd heard a lot of horror stories at that time about soldier at Ft. Bragg killing their wives. In my heart, and when I prayed about it, I knew that I wasn't doing the right thing, but I can be incredibly stubborn.
So on February 4th, 2003, my fiance and I went to the Fayetteville (the town surrounding Ft. Bragg) Courthouse and got married. A couple of his soldier buddies witnessed it, and since I wasn't allowed to live on the base with him, we stayed in a 1 bedroom apartment with 2 of his also newly-wed friends.
Being married to him wasn't anything like what I'd thought it would be. He didn't try to get us our own place, he was hardly ever around, and his mother, who had met me once, disowned him for marrying me, which caused him to be angry at me quite a bit.
This only went on for a month, but I prayed daily that things would get better. They didn't, and I didn't know what to do. He got shipped to Iraq at the beginning of March, and I stayed and lived with our room mate's wife (her husband was also shipped out). We didn't really like each other much, but she was all I had, and vice versa, so we made the best of it. I tried, for a little while, to keep busy by witnessing to her- she had claimed to be a witch, part of the Wiccan religion, and I thought that I could help her. The only thing that happened was that I pushed her away, and she started spending a lot of time out of the house, at bars with men she would bring home with her.
I was really saddened by that, and jaded. I prayed for her, and for her husband and mine, but it seemed that God still wasn't listening to me. I started to get frustrated, because I was so lonely and afraid, and I hadn't yet heard by letter, phone, or e-mail from my husband. I was alone at my apartment a lot, and I stopped going to church because I didn't have a car and was afraid of getting lost or worse in the unfamiliar city. I realize now how silly my fears were, but at the time, I was basically immobilized by fear- fear for my husband's life, fear that God had left me in that situation, fear of the people my room mate would bring around me.
A couple of the "friends" she brought home seemed ok. There was one woman, 10 years older than myself, that befriended me and made me feel a little better. She was 27, and so was her boyfriend. I started spending time at her house with them, and they both seemed to care about me. They were really sympathetic about my situation. But they also got me into drinking pretty heavily. It started the first night I went to her house; she was throwing a party, and because I'd been shut up and cut off from people for a while, I decided, against my better judgment and against what God was telling me in my heart, to go. My new friends encouraged me, they said how pretty and funny I was, and what a hoot I was when I was drunk. That's no excuse for what I was doing, because I was old enough to know better. All I can say is that at the time, the partying felt better than sitting at home, alone and worried, and I repeatedly ignored the voice in my head and heart that was begging me to stop what I was doing before I got hurt.
Everyone I met through my new 'friends' was a lot older than me, and none of them were believers. They seemed so cool...they snuck me into bars, went shopping with me, took me to concerts, and said they were just trying to keep my mind off of my husband. I was so busy with parties and everything else that I was completely shocked when my husband finally was able to call me. I broke down and cried during that conversation, because he told me that he had decided that week to accept Jesus as his Lord and Savior...and he thanked me for setting him down that path. And there I was, running wild and ignoring God...
I was raised in a family that seemed to go back and forth on opinions, belief, and faith. With the exception of my grandparents, who took my older sister, younger brother, and myself 'under their wing' as far as making sure we attended Sunday school and church for the greater part of our lives, and of course my cousin's (that would be AlaynaJ to all of you) immediate family, most of my family was not religious. My mom set a poor example by refusing to go to church with us, although I know she spent a lot of time studying her Bible and praying. My biological father, as far as I know/remember, did not believe in God. And so my story begins...
As a child, I had no idea that we were poor. I knew only that Mom went to work and we rarely saw her, and that Dad stayed home and let us watch movies all day long. I knew that Mom was always busy, but that Dad would take my sister, brother, and I for McDonald's, or for a random drive, or let us help him work on his car. I didn't know that meant that my father, who was perfectly capable of working, was letting my mom work 2-3 jobs to support him and 3 young kids. We always had what we needed, and even a little extra sometimes. I never even knew that anything was wrong between my parents, they hid it really well. So when I was 7, and my mom told us that Dad was away and wouldn't be coming back, I was not only blind-sided, but incredibly angry at her. I didn't understand what she'd been put through, I only knew that she had taken my Daddy away from me and it wasn't right.
So even though I was fortunate enough to be raised going to Church and believing in God, but even though I've always been a forgiving and understanding person, there was a lot of anger that I've held on to most of my life-towards not only my mom, but also towards God. I spent the years between age 7 and 13 or so idolizing a Dad who didn't call or visit, got busted for drinking and driving and dealing drugs, and spoke badly about my mom in front of me. I asked God, for years, to let me have my dad back...and when God didn't answer, my anger and hurt only worsened.
My mom used to tell us that God has a special place in Heaven for children who don't have an earthly father. Much as I believed that, it didn't make me feel better.
As a teenager, I was fairly well behaved, I joined my church's youth group of my own volition, and I finally realized that my dad didn't want me. I poured my heart out to God, I begged his forgiveness for my years of anger, and I had a lot of long talks about it all with my youth pastor. With his help and guidance, and at the urging of one of my friends, I was baptized when I was 16. It felt like things had finally fallen into place, I thought I'd released my anger and forgiven those who had hurt me up to that point.
A few months later, I met a 19 year old who was in the Army. We did what teenagers do; we fell in love. He was a non-believer, and I put a lot of effort into changing his mind. I prayed for him and read him scriptures, I tried to show him what God had done for me as far as giving me a new start in life. He listened and was polite, but I don't think he ever took it seriously. We dated for over a year, and when I was 17, half way through junior year in high school, he asked me to marry him. So I did what any other love-sick, silly girl would have done...I dropped out of school, harrassed my mom for permission to get married (I still don't know why she let me do that, but I was probably really awful to her until she let me), and hopped on a Greyhound bus to Ft. Bragg, NC, where he was stationed then.
I was scared silly. I'd never been away from my small hometown before on my own, and I'd heard a lot of horror stories at that time about soldier at Ft. Bragg killing their wives. In my heart, and when I prayed about it, I knew that I wasn't doing the right thing, but I can be incredibly stubborn.
So on February 4th, 2003, my fiance and I went to the Fayetteville (the town surrounding Ft. Bragg) Courthouse and got married. A couple of his soldier buddies witnessed it, and since I wasn't allowed to live on the base with him, we stayed in a 1 bedroom apartment with 2 of his also newly-wed friends.
Being married to him wasn't anything like what I'd thought it would be. He didn't try to get us our own place, he was hardly ever around, and his mother, who had met me once, disowned him for marrying me, which caused him to be angry at me quite a bit.
This only went on for a month, but I prayed daily that things would get better. They didn't, and I didn't know what to do. He got shipped to Iraq at the beginning of March, and I stayed and lived with our room mate's wife (her husband was also shipped out). We didn't really like each other much, but she was all I had, and vice versa, so we made the best of it. I tried, for a little while, to keep busy by witnessing to her- she had claimed to be a witch, part of the Wiccan religion, and I thought that I could help her. The only thing that happened was that I pushed her away, and she started spending a lot of time out of the house, at bars with men she would bring home with her.
I was really saddened by that, and jaded. I prayed for her, and for her husband and mine, but it seemed that God still wasn't listening to me. I started to get frustrated, because I was so lonely and afraid, and I hadn't yet heard by letter, phone, or e-mail from my husband. I was alone at my apartment a lot, and I stopped going to church because I didn't have a car and was afraid of getting lost or worse in the unfamiliar city. I realize now how silly my fears were, but at the time, I was basically immobilized by fear- fear for my husband's life, fear that God had left me in that situation, fear of the people my room mate would bring around me.
A couple of the "friends" she brought home seemed ok. There was one woman, 10 years older than myself, that befriended me and made me feel a little better. She was 27, and so was her boyfriend. I started spending time at her house with them, and they both seemed to care about me. They were really sympathetic about my situation. But they also got me into drinking pretty heavily. It started the first night I went to her house; she was throwing a party, and because I'd been shut up and cut off from people for a while, I decided, against my better judgment and against what God was telling me in my heart, to go. My new friends encouraged me, they said how pretty and funny I was, and what a hoot I was when I was drunk. That's no excuse for what I was doing, because I was old enough to know better. All I can say is that at the time, the partying felt better than sitting at home, alone and worried, and I repeatedly ignored the voice in my head and heart that was begging me to stop what I was doing before I got hurt.
Everyone I met through my new 'friends' was a lot older than me, and none of them were believers. They seemed so cool...they snuck me into bars, went shopping with me, took me to concerts, and said they were just trying to keep my mind off of my husband. I was so busy with parties and everything else that I was completely shocked when my husband finally was able to call me. I broke down and cried during that conversation, because he told me that he had decided that week to accept Jesus as his Lord and Savior...and he thanked me for setting him down that path. And there I was, running wild and ignoring God...
Unfortunately, things got physical and violent in what seemed like no time at all.