Wednesday, October 08, 2008

• The Blessings of Our Parents

   by miss goldenrod

  

  I had just swallowed between 8 and 12 pills.  I don't remember how many exactly, but it was at least 4 times my evening dosage.  I didn't want to kill myself; I just wanted to forget for a while all the emotional pain I was in.  I hadn't slept well in weeks, was hardly eating; I couldn't focus at work, couldn't zone out in front of the television...I couldn't forget my current troubles.

  The relationship I allowed myself to fall into was so devastating, that I literally felt I was going crazy.  My mind was a constant jumble of anguish and turmoil, and that particular night, I felt if I could cause my body to feel more pain than my heart, perhaps I could turn my attention to something else.

  The epilepsy medication normally results in nausea, dizziness, severe headaches, loss of coordination, fatigue... and this is when I take it routinely, which I hadn't been.  I can understand what brings some people to cut; I attempted it, but hate the sight of blood, so I turned to my prescription.

  The last thing I remember was swallowing a small handful of those pills, taking a drink of water, and laying down in bed.  It was well past midnight, and my nightly anxiety attack had reached an especially bad point.  Before I met that man, I never suffered from anxiety, I never cried; I hated what I had become and what I brought on myself.  But the relationship had become an addiction; only when I was with him did I experience some poor imitation of peace.

  The next morning, I opened my eyes to a beautiful, sunny day.  I was hungry and well-rested for the first time in weeks; my mind had stilled, and I had one clear, concise thought: "Thanks a lot God.  I didn't want to deal with this today."

  I knew he had saved me, and I resented it.  Again, I didn't want to die or end up in a coma (both of which perhaps ought to have happened); I just wanted my body to be in enough pain so that I might focus on something other than the mess I had made of my life.  God didn't allow it.  I know he saved me that night, though I still didn't turn back to him.  I continued to pursue the life I chose, doing everything I could to make it work.  As bad as things were at that point, I had no clue how much God had been protecting me.

  I was raised in a Christian home; I went to Christian schools and church, and our family talked about Jesus constantly, and as long as he was giving me what I wanted in life, I was okay with it.  I knew what the Bible said and the direction I ought to go, so when I met that man, I knew he was the opposite of everything God wanted for me.  Yet I resented God for he hadn't given me what I wanted.  So I told him I was sick of waiting on him and I was going to do things for myself.  My plans didn't go well.

  I was actually angry God saved me that night, and continued running.  But I began feel God saying to me, "Fine.  You want to see what life is like without me.  I'm going to show you."  It was as though he lifted his protective hand just enough to wake me up.  I would get into three car accidents after this, and the anxiety attacks escalated until I developed a heart condition.  Worse, no longer was being with my man a temporary pacifier.  I began to see through every lie he told me, to doubt his every word... to hate him.

  So I ended all communications with him.  Having my addiction removed from my life, the only solace I could find was in reading the Bible; only then would the turmoil in my mind be deadened, and the only time I could literally draw a full breath.  I hadn't finished Exodus before I saw how amazing God is, before I realized how much he loved me.

  In talking to old schoolmates, I began to see the same pattern in their lives.  We all lived a fairly charmed childhood; never perfect, but we were healthy, provided for, loved.  All of our parents were strong Christians; some were elders in the church and some pastors.  They all had a relationship with Jesus, and were living a blessed life in that relationship.  However, at some point, each of us children made a choice to turn from God... and I think it was at that moment that the blessings God had put on our parents began to slip from us.

  God said to the freed Israelites that if they followed his commands and loved him, their children would be blessed to the third generation.  I can attest, as can all those I talked to on Friday, that this is true.  Perhaps it is this promise that resulted in each of us ultimately finding God for ourselves... or rather, in him coming to us in our darkest hours and making a very good case as to why we'd be better with him then without.

  If you're a parent of a child who is finding him- or herself in a similar predicament, believe what God said concerning them.  Don't stop praying, don't stop hoping, don't stop loving them, and leave the hard parts to Jesus.

  Do you think that the faith of your parents has translated into blessings in your life?

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