E
Hi all,
I have been thinking about putting something up about my story (because of some mild pressure from a certain individual).
So, I’m not really sure where to start so I will start some where near the beginning.
I was raised in a southern Baptist church and that was always a big part of family life. My father went now and then, but if you were a kid, you were going to church.
So I pretty much just always accepted that I was supposed to do that and I had fun and I was afraid of preachers because I heard so many ‘FIRE & BRIMSTONE” sermons.
It’s still hard for me to get those attitudes out of my own head at times, but I am trying to live in a more real space these days. One thing about growing up that way was all those pot lucks, man we ate good.
So,
Um quick disclaimer here: if you are a huge proponent for organized fundamentalist religion, you may not want to read this at all
, don’t say I didn’t warn you.
I feel that many of my problems were caused by a distorted view of who God actually is.
I don’t blame the churches I attended for all of my problems, I was wrong a lot and I had an abusive father who was very ill. So I am messed up in plenty of ways, but I do think that the picture I got in my mind of who God is, was really twisted.
The funny thing is, early on I totally believed there was a God and that He cared about me. I’m not even sure when I started believing that part. I was young though I know that.
I even remember actually sensing God’s presence when I was in a church service (something most Baptists that I grew up around would not admit).
I want to make one more small statement just in case any one is offended: I am not anti-Baptist, but I no longer attend a Baptist church and I haven’t since I was 17. As soon as I was allowed not to go to that church I stopped going.
So yeah , my dad beat the crap out of me on a regular basis and I was a really violent person early in life. By the time I was 9 my mom had stopped spanking me at all because one day she spanked me 3 times and after the third time I said,” That didn’t hurt either” because my dad knew how to apply the pressure. My mom had nothing on him. lol.
Any way, um before I knew God at all I knew a lot about Him.
Even with the bad aftertaste of the church experience of my youth I still believe that for the most part Baptist theology is good and probably as accurate as anyone else’s.
I guess what I mean is, I don’t think anyone has it ALL dead on. After all we are a fallen species. We think in twisted ways (I know I did/do).
There was a lot of good that came from that experience too though. I could read the KJV and pretty well understand it at a very early age. So I think that’s good? Any way,
There was many times, a feeling of belonging that I wish I could get back. Maybe I will someday, I am confident that there are people really engaged in community in real life. I have just not found this for myself yet.
When I was around 11 or 12 years old I said the sinner’s prayer in my Sunday school class, and I really meant it and once again for a little while I felt like I belonged to this group.
It never has lasted though and I still carry that brokenness in my life. God has changed many things about me and I am quite sure that He deeply cares about my personal well being. But I have always been sort of a loner, not because I wanted to be alone, but it was always safer for me and I never felt quite normal, I still don’t really.
The good thing that I realize now about that is, as far as I can tell, normal doesn’t exist.
Long story short, my “relationship” with God pretty much always happened inside a church building or at some church function.
It never dawned on me till I was older that God wanted to be with me and actually live with me.
My church life ended abruptly when I was 17. One Sunday morning my mom came into my room and asked me why I wasn’t ready to go yet. I said ,”because I don’t want t go” and my mom said ,”OK, you don’t have to”.
I was shocked. I couldn’t believe what I had heard; I think I even asked her if she was sure it was ok.
I didn’t go back to a church building for a few months then I went a couple of times, but the looks that I got from the people who I had gone to church with for years were enough to let me know I no longer belonged there either.
I was alienated from the church, but I was happy .
I hadn’t really enjoyed being there in a couple of years.
Once I was old enough to recognize the hypocrisy of the people who would gladly point their finger at me and tell me how I should live, I wasn’t so sure that this church thing was for me.
My family doesn’t believe in letting young children be baptized, or I probably would have been when I was really young because I was seriously following Christ the best I could up until I was about 12 years old.
After that, when I started seeing how so many people who were willing to cast judgment on me, weren’t living up to the standard they set I took it way to seriously to ask to be baptized.
I couldn’t do it, because I knew in my heart that I didn’t live for God. I didn’t want to either. I was just starting to get into getting high and there were at least a few girls who noticed me and I wanted to fit in with the crowd. In my mind, I didn’t have what it takes to follow Jesus; because I was sure of one thing: It would cost me my life.
I had also watched my father die over a period of a few years. He passed away when I was 15. Frankly, it was a relief when he died. He was out of his freaking mind for the last couple of years and I was rebellious which didn’t help matters.
So that was one of the things that led up to me not going to a church building any more. When he passed away I made a vow to my self that no one would push me around or tell me what to do any more, ever again.
I was relieved, but I was still way pissed.
I was a very angry young man. But Pot calmed me down a lot, so I just stayed high for about 20 years. I started at around 12, by 15 I was smoking pot every day (when I could) and getting drunk or just popping any pills that I could get my hands on. I really liked getting high.
I also found I was really good at it. So I kept it up.
A few years later, I was 18 and my first son was born.
It was a good thing that he came along because I didn’t have any hope fro the future. I was a high school drop out, I did work I always wanted to please my mom so when she told me that if I drop out I had to get a job I did right away. Then I quit. Then I got another job (same job different place, washing dishes) then I lost it.
Then I got another job and I stayed there for a couple of years.
I found that I could totally do restaurant work, so (especially after I flunked out of art school) I stuck with it.
I did a lot of living and never gave God much thought. I tried to never have a conversation with any spiritual depth because I knew that I supposedly was saved, but if God had reason to send anyone to hell He had reason to send me.
My only comfort in that knowledge was that I never did get baptized, so at least God couldn’t say I was faking that. I just couldn’t fake that.
So life just went on and I got my girlfriend pregnant and we got married way too young. We had 2 sons. My oldest son was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes when he was 18 months old. We had another son 5 years after the first and he was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes when he was 24 months old.
When crisis came I can say I did always pray, and then I would laugh at myself because God had no reason to listen to me. After all, I wanted to have a life apart from Him because I wanted to be real.
We were young, stupid and inept at life.. The living hell that was my marriage ended very, very badly even though the divorce part was sort of anti-climactic.
I had a 12 year old and an 8 year old when my marriage fell apart for real. Actually I guess it was already broken beyond repair I was just in denial about that.
My ex-wife made it clear that it was over, even though I think she really tried to change for me (or in order to keep me) but she never could. I won’t go into details about it but, I ended up in jail when I had let myself believe the lie one more time then discovered that she was with off with another man.
I was consumed with hate and I acted resourcefully on that hate.
There are images that are burned into my memory from that night. I was arrested in the early morning of Sept 20th 1999, I had just watched Oscar DeLahoya get beaten by Felix Trinidad with a couple of my friends. I really wanted DeLahoya to win.
See, I had this messed up thought process about why my marriage wouldn’t fall apart.
I was 31 I knew we were in dire straights I was starting to lose my grip on reality about a year and a half before. I was in counseling for about a year, started to get my head into a better place and I had gotten my GED. I even started college classes after that but I ran out of money and my wife hated the new me. I didn’t get high any more, that was a HUGE problem.
So turns out my effort to get better was one of the last straws to breaking down my marriage.
I thought because we had started going to church together and we were hearing all this great stuff about how if we submitted ourselves to God he was going to fix our marriage and everything would be wonderful again , like when we used to drink tequila and listen to Prince.. HA !
I was so full of pride for being able to go back to church (it wasn’t Baptist mind you, but it was a church). Plus I really loved it there. I was so pumped up with emotions and I was so hopeful that everything would go better because we were gong to serve the Lord now. Then the rug was ripped out from under my feat and I didn’t have anything to cling to except anger and hate.
I even tried to pray that night, I tried to call someone. There was no response.
In a short couple of hours I ruined my whole life and I still live with the consequence of that.
It doesn’t go away, but it reminds me of just how much I need this grace that Father God has poured out on me.
You have heard of Jailhouse religion I am sure. I understand why they call it that. That’s where God met me, in a jail cell replaying the video in my head over and over. That look in my little boy’s eyes as I walked away from him knowing that I may never get to hold him again and I totally deserved it.
I had become what I most despised, I was literally the lowest life form I could think of and I wanted to die.
I sat in a cell for a few hours the first time and I tried to keep it together, sort of.
I was on a suicide watch for the first 2 hours I was in jail, but the real thoughts about suicide came after the second day there.
I remember sitting in this cell, thinking about the different ways I could do it. I had a cot sack and I was on the second tier, hanging was an option. I also was in with all violent offenders; I could probably get into a fight where I could get killed. There were actually many possibilities and I was weighing them all.
I must have sat meditating on how I should die for 3-4 hours that night. I didn’t talk to anyone I just sat and cried for the life I had destroyed. I eventually prayed. I asked God to please help me or to please let me die.
He took the help me option (not that he had to or anything, I totally deserved to die).
I found a book the next day at breakfast. I think it was called The Joy Filled Life by James Gills. I just remember reading that cover and saying, “man I could use some joy”.
I took that book and read it and I prayed and I cried and I prayed. And I read on and then the most wonderful thing happened, For the first time in many years I felt the presence of God. Like I felt Him there with me and just a peace that made no sense what so ever came over me, completely enveloped me and I was calm, serene even.
It was God speaking directly to me, and after all that time I recognized Him.
Everything that could be wrong was wrong at that moment, yet I was completely at peace (albeit temporarily). So I started praying and thanking Him and worshiping Him the only way I knew how. I stayed on my bed face down for about 6 hours praying that night and I have never been the same person since.
I have been thinking about putting something up about my story (because of some mild pressure from a certain individual).
So, I’m not really sure where to start so I will start some where near the beginning.
I was raised in a southern Baptist church and that was always a big part of family life. My father went now and then, but if you were a kid, you were going to church.
So I pretty much just always accepted that I was supposed to do that and I had fun and I was afraid of preachers because I heard so many ‘FIRE & BRIMSTONE” sermons.
It’s still hard for me to get those attitudes out of my own head at times, but I am trying to live in a more real space these days. One thing about growing up that way was all those pot lucks, man we ate good.
So,
Um quick disclaimer here: if you are a huge proponent for organized fundamentalist religion, you may not want to read this at all
, don’t say I didn’t warn you.I feel that many of my problems were caused by a distorted view of who God actually is.
I don’t blame the churches I attended for all of my problems, I was wrong a lot and I had an abusive father who was very ill. So I am messed up in plenty of ways, but I do think that the picture I got in my mind of who God is, was really twisted.
The funny thing is, early on I totally believed there was a God and that He cared about me. I’m not even sure when I started believing that part. I was young though I know that.
I even remember actually sensing God’s presence when I was in a church service (something most Baptists that I grew up around would not admit).
I want to make one more small statement just in case any one is offended: I am not anti-Baptist, but I no longer attend a Baptist church and I haven’t since I was 17. As soon as I was allowed not to go to that church I stopped going.
So yeah , my dad beat the crap out of me on a regular basis and I was a really violent person early in life. By the time I was 9 my mom had stopped spanking me at all because one day she spanked me 3 times and after the third time I said,” That didn’t hurt either” because my dad knew how to apply the pressure. My mom had nothing on him. lol.
Any way, um before I knew God at all I knew a lot about Him.
Even with the bad aftertaste of the church experience of my youth I still believe that for the most part Baptist theology is good and probably as accurate as anyone else’s.
I guess what I mean is, I don’t think anyone has it ALL dead on. After all we are a fallen species. We think in twisted ways (I know I did/do).
There was a lot of good that came from that experience too though. I could read the KJV and pretty well understand it at a very early age. So I think that’s good? Any way,
There was many times, a feeling of belonging that I wish I could get back. Maybe I will someday, I am confident that there are people really engaged in community in real life. I have just not found this for myself yet.
When I was around 11 or 12 years old I said the sinner’s prayer in my Sunday school class, and I really meant it and once again for a little while I felt like I belonged to this group.
It never has lasted though and I still carry that brokenness in my life. God has changed many things about me and I am quite sure that He deeply cares about my personal well being. But I have always been sort of a loner, not because I wanted to be alone, but it was always safer for me and I never felt quite normal, I still don’t really.
The good thing that I realize now about that is, as far as I can tell, normal doesn’t exist.
Long story short, my “relationship” with God pretty much always happened inside a church building or at some church function.
It never dawned on me till I was older that God wanted to be with me and actually live with me.
My church life ended abruptly when I was 17. One Sunday morning my mom came into my room and asked me why I wasn’t ready to go yet. I said ,”because I don’t want t go” and my mom said ,”OK, you don’t have to”.
I was shocked. I couldn’t believe what I had heard; I think I even asked her if she was sure it was ok.
I didn’t go back to a church building for a few months then I went a couple of times, but the looks that I got from the people who I had gone to church with for years were enough to let me know I no longer belonged there either.
I was alienated from the church, but I was happy .
I hadn’t really enjoyed being there in a couple of years.
Once I was old enough to recognize the hypocrisy of the people who would gladly point their finger at me and tell me how I should live, I wasn’t so sure that this church thing was for me.
My family doesn’t believe in letting young children be baptized, or I probably would have been when I was really young because I was seriously following Christ the best I could up until I was about 12 years old.
After that, when I started seeing how so many people who were willing to cast judgment on me, weren’t living up to the standard they set I took it way to seriously to ask to be baptized.
I couldn’t do it, because I knew in my heart that I didn’t live for God. I didn’t want to either. I was just starting to get into getting high and there were at least a few girls who noticed me and I wanted to fit in with the crowd. In my mind, I didn’t have what it takes to follow Jesus; because I was sure of one thing: It would cost me my life.
I had also watched my father die over a period of a few years. He passed away when I was 15. Frankly, it was a relief when he died. He was out of his freaking mind for the last couple of years and I was rebellious which didn’t help matters.
So that was one of the things that led up to me not going to a church building any more. When he passed away I made a vow to my self that no one would push me around or tell me what to do any more, ever again.
I was relieved, but I was still way pissed.
I was a very angry young man. But Pot calmed me down a lot, so I just stayed high for about 20 years. I started at around 12, by 15 I was smoking pot every day (when I could) and getting drunk or just popping any pills that I could get my hands on. I really liked getting high.
I also found I was really good at it. So I kept it up.
A few years later, I was 18 and my first son was born.
It was a good thing that he came along because I didn’t have any hope fro the future. I was a high school drop out, I did work I always wanted to please my mom so when she told me that if I drop out I had to get a job I did right away. Then I quit. Then I got another job (same job different place, washing dishes) then I lost it.
Then I got another job and I stayed there for a couple of years.
I found that I could totally do restaurant work, so (especially after I flunked out of art school) I stuck with it.
I did a lot of living and never gave God much thought. I tried to never have a conversation with any spiritual depth because I knew that I supposedly was saved, but if God had reason to send anyone to hell He had reason to send me.
My only comfort in that knowledge was that I never did get baptized, so at least God couldn’t say I was faking that. I just couldn’t fake that.
So life just went on and I got my girlfriend pregnant and we got married way too young. We had 2 sons. My oldest son was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes when he was 18 months old. We had another son 5 years after the first and he was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes when he was 24 months old.
When crisis came I can say I did always pray, and then I would laugh at myself because God had no reason to listen to me. After all, I wanted to have a life apart from Him because I wanted to be real.
We were young, stupid and inept at life.. The living hell that was my marriage ended very, very badly even though the divorce part was sort of anti-climactic.
I had a 12 year old and an 8 year old when my marriage fell apart for real. Actually I guess it was already broken beyond repair I was just in denial about that.
My ex-wife made it clear that it was over, even though I think she really tried to change for me (or in order to keep me) but she never could. I won’t go into details about it but, I ended up in jail when I had let myself believe the lie one more time then discovered that she was with off with another man.
I was consumed with hate and I acted resourcefully on that hate.
There are images that are burned into my memory from that night. I was arrested in the early morning of Sept 20th 1999, I had just watched Oscar DeLahoya get beaten by Felix Trinidad with a couple of my friends. I really wanted DeLahoya to win.
See, I had this messed up thought process about why my marriage wouldn’t fall apart.
I was 31 I knew we were in dire straights I was starting to lose my grip on reality about a year and a half before. I was in counseling for about a year, started to get my head into a better place and I had gotten my GED. I even started college classes after that but I ran out of money and my wife hated the new me. I didn’t get high any more, that was a HUGE problem.
So turns out my effort to get better was one of the last straws to breaking down my marriage.
I thought because we had started going to church together and we were hearing all this great stuff about how if we submitted ourselves to God he was going to fix our marriage and everything would be wonderful again , like when we used to drink tequila and listen to Prince.. HA !
I was so full of pride for being able to go back to church (it wasn’t Baptist mind you, but it was a church). Plus I really loved it there. I was so pumped up with emotions and I was so hopeful that everything would go better because we were gong to serve the Lord now. Then the rug was ripped out from under my feat and I didn’t have anything to cling to except anger and hate.
I even tried to pray that night, I tried to call someone. There was no response.
In a short couple of hours I ruined my whole life and I still live with the consequence of that.
It doesn’t go away, but it reminds me of just how much I need this grace that Father God has poured out on me.
You have heard of Jailhouse religion I am sure. I understand why they call it that. That’s where God met me, in a jail cell replaying the video in my head over and over. That look in my little boy’s eyes as I walked away from him knowing that I may never get to hold him again and I totally deserved it.
I had become what I most despised, I was literally the lowest life form I could think of and I wanted to die.
I sat in a cell for a few hours the first time and I tried to keep it together, sort of.
I was on a suicide watch for the first 2 hours I was in jail, but the real thoughts about suicide came after the second day there.
I remember sitting in this cell, thinking about the different ways I could do it. I had a cot sack and I was on the second tier, hanging was an option. I also was in with all violent offenders; I could probably get into a fight where I could get killed. There were actually many possibilities and I was weighing them all.
I must have sat meditating on how I should die for 3-4 hours that night. I didn’t talk to anyone I just sat and cried for the life I had destroyed. I eventually prayed. I asked God to please help me or to please let me die.
He took the help me option (not that he had to or anything, I totally deserved to die).
I found a book the next day at breakfast. I think it was called The Joy Filled Life by James Gills. I just remember reading that cover and saying, “man I could use some joy”.
I took that book and read it and I prayed and I cried and I prayed. And I read on and then the most wonderful thing happened, For the first time in many years I felt the presence of God. Like I felt Him there with me and just a peace that made no sense what so ever came over me, completely enveloped me and I was calm, serene even.
It was God speaking directly to me, and after all that time I recognized Him.
Everything that could be wrong was wrong at that moment, yet I was completely at peace (albeit temporarily). So I started praying and thanking Him and worshiping Him the only way I knew how. I stayed on my bed face down for about 6 hours praying that night and I have never been the same person since.