#LIKE CHRIST IN HEAVEN MOM AND DAD A TRIP TO THE DOCTOR IS LIKE NORMAL FOR SMALL CHILDREN | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jancynco · 7 years

Text

Girl, I feel you

Over the course of my life I have encountered numerous questionable events that deepen my understanding as well as broaden my compassion for others. As of late, I have been questioning myself in various areas of my life. These moments of reflection have started to invade my quiet time… my mediation… my sanctuary of solace. There are just some struggles my friends don’t know about… my parents don’t know about… my church doesn’t know about… that I believe allows me the capacity to relate to a full spectrum of individuals from different backgrounds, races, religions, and cultures. I truly despise those who impose their self-taught doctrine, limited ideologies or new found beliefs on me without talking to me and truly finding out who I am as a woman, daughter, sister, creator, friend, and lover.

I was 21 fresh out of college and for a graduation present I was sent to the Dominican Republic for a mission trip. Now thinking back on the first trip, I am almost certain I didn’t take it as seriously as I should have. My boss had informed me that we would be evangelizing in a gentlemen’s club in order to spread the gospel, pray for those in need, as well as offer an alternative occupation for them to change the direction of their lives. While one of my coworkers was preaching their heart out, I found a cozy spot behind the second stripper pole at the back of the bar while I documented the overall moral of the team and gave my assessment in the field report. It’s so crazy to me but at that time I could list off an array of specialty drinks but couldn’t remember a single bible verse. I was so comfortable… I laughed at myself and went back to work. At the end of the sermon I was asked to pray for one of the girls. Reluctantly, I said yes because I really didn’t know what I could do to make her feel better and I didn’t feel qualified. Just moments ago, I had been approached and asked if I was Dominican as well as if I worked there. Of course I laughed but I did what I was told. I preceded to pray for the girl. The most generic prayer I felt I could give without being too intrusive on a life she tried so hard to keep discrete but hopeful enough to possibly guide her to a new one. Later I learned she was taking care of a son who was close by and a family some distance away from the city. She had started really young and made great money. I had no clue what to tell her. How do you tell someone to believe in something that they can’t see… to put their faith in something they might not have experienced before and walk away from the only thing they knew that helped them as well as their loved ones survive. She politely said “gracias”, took the New Testament bible we gave them, sat at the bar and began to read. Now that I think about it, it sucks when your circumstances don’t reflect where your heart and mind wants to go. I know plenty of people including myself (good people not including myself) who are trying to do good in terrible situations. Girl, I feel you.

I was 24 and it was my second trip to Africa. I was in the heart of Nairobi. I am not fond of this word but most people in the states will classify it as the slums. On this assignment, we were providing medicines as well as prayer and information on learning new trades so that the families in the community could be self-sufficient. We entered this hut no larger than a residential four piece bathroom and greeted a mother and her new born. I had just walked through miles of trash, decaying animal flesh and human waste. If anyone knows me and how I feel about germs think of the worst panic attack imaginable and mix that with an attitude that turned me into Ms. What-I’m-Not-Gon-Do. My boss, not noticing the grimace on my face, cheerfully asked me to pray for her. In my head, I was like “my dude, did you not just see what we went through to get here?” Then it dawned on me, after this is done I could go back home… this was her home. I looked at her face and noticed scars that reflected a weathered life that look like it was lived by somebody three times her age. I asked what could I pray for and she let me know that she had two children out in the land fields looking for food, her and her baby were battling HIV and the father had left. All pettiness inside me rose to an all-time high. How could anyone leave their family like this? At that moment, I wanted to put aside whatever Christian values I had and cuss him clear out. Be the witness of a National Geographic moment and pray for the biggest Mufasa lion to get dude up out the paint. I told her okay and asked her how old she was. She said 24. That admission took the air out of me. We were the same age, same color, believing in the same God for completely different reasons. She was simply trying to make it by any means necessary. Doing what she could… her best at her worst… for her kids and not herself. I put my hand on her shoulder, asked her to bow her head and we prayed. I might not understand this… But Girl, I feel you.

I was 26 and at that moment I had the early stages of renal failure. I chose not to tell anyone about the countless doctors’ appointments and the numerous blackouts that would keep me incapacitated for hours alone at my apartment. I went on with life as normal as I could. I was so happy to be assigned to Reynosa, Mexico being that just three months before I had got stuck in category three hurricane in Cabo. This was my opportunity to give back. We were instructed to visit homes and pray for those that were battling various diseases. I selfishly had no desire to do this at all but stayed compliant as it was my job to document our trip. I didn’t want to be a part of it. If I had known this is what we were going to do, I would have stayed back. How can I be a part of helping people, when I myself was experiencing the same thing at the same time. The first house we came to had no windows and looked like it was just comprised of nothing but four cement slabs. As the five of us walked in, I intentionally stayed in the back and observed the interaction with our volunteers, a woman who looked like she was in her early thirties and her young daughter holding a tattered Barbie and a music player. Everybody in the room was all smiles but the little girl and myself. The mother preceded to tell us that her daughter was battling cancer and recovering from a recent surgery to salvage her left leg. She went on further about how long and beautiful the little girl’s hair use to be before she lost it to chemo treatments as well as how upbeat and lively she used to be with her other siblings playing outside like most children her age do. As the mother reminisced about what she used to be the minster, in turn, encouraged them about a future their faith could get them to. I truly sympathized with her because I know how that feels. To be in the middle of where you have been and where you are going… for people to either to want you to look like what you did before or to become this unreachable idea of what you could be. The danger with this is that they don’t acknowledge who you are in the present. I may feel beautiful but what you see may not reflect that. The confidence in my crown fell out with each strand of my hair as I’m just trying to make it another day. My frail body in which I don’t feel like nourishing with food still holds a warm and compassionate heart. The wrinkles in my forehead and the frown on my lips hide a vibrant, happy being that longs to have normalcy. I’m trapped in this body and it betrays the things I want to do every day. So as our volunteers and the mother prayed for a speedy recovery, I connect eyes with the little girl and give her a smile as she lightened up and forced one back. As we parted ways and headed back to the van, I grabbed my new headsets and ran back inside the house. I handed them to her, helped her stick them into her player and ran back out to the van. The six to seven hours I would spend in the clinic doing dialysis everyday took a toll on me mentally. I stayed by myself in a room with no windows, four walls and a ticking clock. Music became my outlet. I completely disappeared and would get lost in between the lyrics and breaths of the singers. I figured why she was going through her treatments, she could create her own sanctuary, be a kid again and drown out the voices… the big scary words doctors use… the uncertainty of mom and dad… maybe a distraction away from the painful needles in her arms. The majority of the time believers push you to be this spiritual person in which I do not disagree with at all. But for those of us who have had more experience with our struggles and vices then the years of encounters in our walk of faith, it can be disheartening sometimes to push for hope. I have personally found it amusing when completely healthy individuals tell me how I should feel or what I should do physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually to be better. Girl, I feel you.

Before you condemn me to hell about my lifestyle, can you love me to Christ? Before you impose your beliefs, can you listen to my heart? Before you throw a scripture in my face, can we relate on a human level so that I can put at ease the voices or memories in my head and become more receptible to what God has given you to tell me? Don’t judge me because if you were perfect I wouldn’t even see you right now… you would already be in heaven. Inspire me by living an inspiring life by being transparent with your own personal struggles and pushing pass them with great effort in your faith. I would feel a stronger conviction to better myself then from the wrath of your judgement. Do you feel me?

0 notes

giftofshewbread · 7 years

Text

Forgiving Those Who Have Hurt Us Most...

Forgiving Those Who Have Hurt Us Most :: By Geri Ungurean Published on:

September 12, 2017

As a writer, there are times when I feel strongly that the Lord wants me to open my life to my readers. Sometimes it is quite painful, but I feel that if my writing helps even one person – it is certainly well worth it.

My early life

I have said in other articles, that I can remember being melancholy at a very young age. I remember feeling so alone. My dad was verbally abusive to me. I would laugh when he called me names, but I remember the hurt which I learned to hide well.

Beauty was everything in my family. My mother was glamorous. My older sisters were stunningly beautiful. Me? I had unruly and extremely curly hair; I had buck teeth before I got my braces, and I was stick thin. I was not a pretty or even cute little girl, and I knew it. My dad would call me Bucky beaver and spaghetti head and other hurtful names. I wanted him to love me, so I would laugh, but I was dying inside.

My oldest sister

She was 7 years older than me, and got pregnant at 16 years old. She left our home – I was so young. I guess I never really knew her. Little did I know that the Lord would bring us together in a beautiful relationship much later in life. I will refer to my oldest sister as (S).

My second to the oldest sister

From as far back as I can remember, this sister was cruel to me. I am not talking about normal sibling rivalry. She delighted in being cruel and torturous to me. She was my father’s favorite child – we all knew it. She would never talk to me, even to answer a question I asked of her. She even told me that I was adopted. She said that I could look in the mirror and see that I was not related to our family. I believed this for about 7 years until I found my Birth Certificate. I will refer to this sister as (J).

Watching friends who were “Daddy’s” girls

Nothing made me more sad than watching my friends who had dads who hugged them; who treated them like princesses. I dreamed of this.

All I could do was dream.

My teen years

To say I rebelled would be a gross understatement. I hung out with the wrong crowd; I self medicated with street drugs – anything to numb my brain. It’s like all of the anger and hurt that had built up inside of me, just exploded when I reached my teen years. I became very suicidal. I became a “cutter.”

When Mom and Dad retired to Florida

I was devastated when my parents decided to retire to Florida. It wasn’t because I was close with them. Perhaps them moving away – the finality of it – and I had not succeeded in making dad love me.

I was a believer at the time they moved. I was married with kids. I felt a burden for my dad. I felt that the Lord wanted me to write to him about Yeshua. I wanted dad to understand why I believed. This had to be the Lord. It certainly wasn’t my own idea. In my mind, I would have just made dad angrier at me.

But God had other ideas.

My dad wrote me back, telling me how proud he was of me. He told me that I was his strongest daughter. He told me that I was his only child who cared about the Ten Commandments. I wondered where this was coming from. I loved it, but it seemed so strange to me.

Billy Graham Crusades

Dad began watching every televised Billy Graham crusade. Mom was getting very frustrated with him. Watching Billy Graham was something my dad took seriously. I had to chuckle when I would hear the frustration in my mom’s voice.

A terribly botched surgery

Dad was having incapicitating pain in his neck. He found a surgeon in Florida who wanted to do a neck surgery on him. I called my mom and pleaded with her not to let dad go under the knife without a second opinion. She didn’t listen and dad went ahead with the surgery. This doctor completely botched the surgery.

The move back

Mom and dad moved back to the Washington area to seek out a neurosurgeon who might attempt another surgery to correct the first one. When I say “botched” – when he would stand, his head would lie upon his shoulder. I felt so sorry for him.

Dad was a type 2 diabetic. When a person has diabetes, healing takes a very long time. The second surgery, done by an excellent neurosurgeon, was not successful. The first surgery had harmed his cervical spine beyond repair.

My mother called me every day at work, saying that my dad just wanted to see me. I went every evening to visit with him. Sister (J) who had been his favorite was livid with me. I was told that she was angry and hurt that dad would ask to see me and not her.

I could see that dad was failing. Eventually, he was placed in hospice care. The Lord allowed me the joyful experience of leading my father to Him in prayer. The angels rejoiced in heaven!

After dad’s death

My mom did not return to Florida after dad died. A couple of times a month I would spend the weekend with her. I felt so sorry for her. One night she asked my forgiveness; she told me that both she and dad knew that my sister (J) had been so cruel to me as we were growing up, but they never tried to stop it. I told her that it was forgiven and that I loved her.

Two years after dad died, my mom was diagnosed with an inoperable cancerous brain tumor. She died within 6 weeks. Before she died, she asked my sisters to be kind to me when she was gone. After her funeral, my sisters told me that I should not consider myself their sister, and that I would never see them again. In 1983, after I was born again, I shared the Gospel with both sisters in a letter. I’m pretty sure that cutting me off as their sister was directly related to me being saved.

Fast forward to recent times

I saw my two sisters and their kids on Facebook. My sister (S) was FB friends with my daughter. I wrote a note to both of them, just expressing my desire to connect with them. Sister (S) didn’t answer. Sister (J) blocked me and had her kids do the same. I felt like I had been punched in the gut.

One day, I asked my Christian brothers and sisters on Facebook to please pray that sister (S) would come into my life again. She had not blocked me on FB. God answered these prayers and she wrote to me. She said that she would talk with me on two conditions. NO talk of Jesus and NO talk of politics. I agreed, and since then we have talked on the phone weekly, and really have a wonderful time together.

Recently, I noticed that she sounded really sick. She would tell me that she thought that perhaps she had Rheumatoid Arthritis. She was so congested that she could hardly talk. She said that she had stiffness in her hands and could barely use them. I asked her if I could come up to her home and take care of her. She sounded elated that I would offer.

It’s a good thing that the Lord worked this out for me to stay with her. She was in bad shape and I drove her to her GP. She had pneumonia in her right lung. I stayed with her a little over a week. The strong antibiotics and prednisone kicked in, and in a few days she was feeling like herself.

We talked about sis (J). She knew that my sister was really hateful to me all of my life. She didn’t know why.

Arriving home

After I returned home, I received a call from my sister and was quite overwhelmed when she told me some things. She said that she called sister (J) and told her that I had come to take care of her, and how sick she had been. She then asked a question that I’m sure shocked my sister. She asked her why she had been so cruel to me since I was a young girl.

She told sister (S) that she saw dad being mean to me and that she began doing it too. Being dad’s favorite, I suppose that does make sense that she would emulate his actions towards me.

My husband said that this excuse was understandable when she was younger, but he couldn’t understand why she remained this way as an adult.

Forgiveness

I told sister (S) that no matter what, I forgave my other sister. I also told her that I led dad to the Lord – that shocked her. I was able to plant many seeds during our visit. She would stop me if I began to tell her about salvation. She has a neighbor who is a Christian. She even went to church with her once. I know that the Lord has His hand on my sister. Nothing is random.

I can’t help but wonder if I will answer the phone one day, and it will be sister (J). But if that never happens, I know that I have forgiven her. I have done what Jesus wants me to do, and that brings me peace.

I hope that the reader understands why I wrote this article. Forgiveness is not a suggestion from the Lord. He tells us that we must forgive others. I’m sure that there are brothers and sisters in Christ reading this who were even physically or sexually abused. Sin in this world has brought the most heinous things into so many of our lives.

If I had not forgiven my father, I would not have shared the Gospel with him. If I had not forgiven my sisters, my trip to sister (S) would not have happened. And who knows; maybe sister (J) will contact me.

When Jesus hung on that Cross, He forgave our wretched sins. How can we withhold forgiveness from those who have hurt us, if the Lord of Creation forgave us?

Is there someone in your life who hurt you badly, and you are still holding onto the anger and resentment? Go to Jesus and ask Him to help you forgive this person. Pray for that person – I know it sounds impossible to do; but when you are praying for someone, it is impossible to hold onto the anger.

Shalom b’Yeshua

MARANATHA

[email protected]

Articles may be viewed at grandmageri422.m

0 notes