It didn’t take long yesterday for me to know why I didn’t have any particular thing on my mind as I wrote the blog. When I finished it I went immediately to the lesson completion for last night’s recovery class on Abuse. The activities we were to complete were all about intimacy in our relationship with God ( including our belief of Who He is, how we see ourselves, etc.). The questions and activities we were to complete ended up being grueling to do. I had read these things a year ago when Kathy and I were in Charleston, SC and knew God wanted me to get this going in our church. Now they are going and I’m caught in the midst of my own recovery doing them.
What was astounding to me was the unexpected part my mom had in this. In my mind my mom has always been a saint. It was easy to see it too because she was being compared to dad’s explosive, abusive physical beatings and verbal beatings. Mom was never this way. However, one of the questions that shed light on this stunning discovery was what influence did my parents have on my view of God? I’ve always known God wasn’t like dad. Good grief, how could a God be like him? I just knew that wasn’t true. What I’d never had revealed to me was the view I had of mom being like God. Mom was wonderfully kind in taking care of us. What she wasn’t good at doing was coming along side you to counter dad’s abuse or in my case, my brother’s abuse. She simply was SILENT. She knew, but she never responded. Maybe she prayed (which I’m sure she did) but I definitely needed to hear from her. This action is what solidified in me my belief about God. I’ve said so many times that I always thought God was just like scripture describes Him–loving, kind, compassionate and so much more, BUT, He just didn’t care much for me. How could a God allow all of this to happen and never stop it or at least comfort you afterwards with words or a touch of support somehow? This is what I longed for with my mom.
All day yesterday I was perplexed about the lesson and then having to process it with the men last night, hearing them and telling my own, gave me less emotional trauma and more ability to see it as it is–neglect. The class identifies the different types of abuse–blatant, like dad’s and my brother’s, and neglect which is more like mom’s. I’ve dealt forthrightly with all of dad’s and my brother’s, but I’ve done little to face the truth of mom’s neglect. I never wanted to hurt this dear mom of mine! Even if I felt hurt she didn’t deserve to be hurt by throwing something like this in her face. This morning, however, I knew I needed to do this. God, mom and I had our time together and I was able to give all of this absence of support to Christ so it can be buried at the foot of the Cross with the sins He’d already buried there. Wow, do I feel raw right now! However, I sense a love of God penetrating me like I’ve never known. Thank you Father, Jesus Christ and The Holy Spirit!