Be strong and of good courage, do not fear nor be afraid of them; for the LORD your God, He is the One who goes with you. He will not leave you nor forsake you. And the LORD, He is the One who goes before you. He will be with you, He will not leave you nor forsake you; do not fear nor be dismayed. Deuteronomy 31:6, 8 NKJV
"No man shall be able to stand before you all the days of your life; as I was with Moses, so I will be with you. I will not leave you nor forsake you." Joshua 1:5 NKJVAt the tender age of 8, I cracked for the first time. I had never been exposed to God, or to church as of yet, and so had no idea of a God out there that cared about me. You see, by this age, I had already endured abuse, heaped upon abuse, and yet I functioned normally until that fateful day that my brother died.
He may not have been my biological brother, but he was family, and the closest thing to a brother I had. His mother was my father's cousin, and she was our caregiver when my mother was out of town working, which was most of the time. (My parents were already divorced, and my mother had remarried to the man that was our primary abuser.) My "aunt" and her two children lived in our home, and she took care of us. When she was caring for us, was the safest I had ever been at that point in my life. She did not abuse us. And as much as she was able, did not allow others to abuse us.
However, when my brother died, she and I both cracked. I did not know it at the time, and in fact became, I guess, somewhat schizophrenic; because I had no recollection really, of the moments when I was not myself. I do recall one incidence, though, and that was the day of his funeral. I apparently ran outside and screamed "NO!" and "WHY?" while looking up at the sky. Remember, I had had no exposure to the concept of God, yet. My father (one of the few times my mother and father were in the same place at the same time, without arguing) was outside when it happened, and he looked at me strangely. I told him that I was answering a question that someone asked me, inside the house. This could not have been the case, because I was well outside the house and could not have heard anyone, even if they had asked me something. That was my first "Cracked!" episode.
I managed to get well enough that I was functional, even throughout almost a two full years of continued abuse, neglect and abandonment. (My "aunt" quit being our caregiver soon after Michael, my "brother", died.) I grew up into a rebellious teen, complete with drug abuse, promiscuity, and every other nightmare a proper parent has for their kids. I finally managed to start getting my life together about the time I had my first child. (Out of wedlock, of course.) But let me back up a bit.
My mother's third husband had much to do with my healing, and in fact was my first exposure to God at around age 12. Between him and a neighborhood lady, I learned who God was, as much as my childhood psyche would allow. The little bit of healing and knowledge that I obtained was not enough to keep me from being the teen that I became. I was a very broken individual, with no idea of where to turn. The God that I learned about, though nice enough to think about, was not taught to me as someone that you go to when you are in trouble. He was not the kind that got you out of trouble. He certainly wasn't someone that would take care of me. I mean after all, He was a Father, and fathers couldn't be relied upon. That was what I thought then.
When my first child was 2 1/2 I married my first husband. Our relationship was mostly good for the first 4 years, and we had a son together. Then I became weary of taking care of everyone, being the only one with a job most of the time, and not being able to be the young woman I saw all the other girls my age being. I became unsatisfied with my marriage and began to look for a way out.
I eventually left my husband and very quickly met someone else. We became pregnant within about 7 months of our relationship, which was rocky at best. For the first time in a long time, I cried out to God to take the child in my womb, because I did not want to have an abortion (though I had no religious qualms about it, I did believe it to be a life, that I could not take.) He did not answer my request right away. He did not answer my request until a few weeks later, after I had decided that for the best of the child I was carrying, I would try to make it work with the father, and began to get used to the idea, and to even like the idea. Then WHAM! I miscarried. I was angry at God for giving me what I thought He should have known better than to give me, and I cracked again.
I decided after that miscarriage and another subsequent one, that a Father like that, and like all the others that had been in my life (even my mother's third husband, though a nice man, had abandoned me, I felt; and in my biological father's defense, my mother went out of her way to keep him away from us) was unneeded and unnecessary. I would just take care of myself. If I didn't ask anyone to care for me, then I wouldn't be hurt, and I wouldn't owe anybody anything. Certainly not love. Did it even exist???
Finally, I did find love. Though our marriage was not perfect, my husband was the best man I had ever met, and he actually did care for me, and did want me around, and I knew somehow that he would never abandon me. I also knew that he would never abuse me. I thought that somehow I had managed to finally get it right. And I had done it all on my own. Or so I thought.
In November of 2004 my mother died. That rocked me to my core. So many unresolved issues! But that wasn't the worst of it. Because of issues that I've related to you before, my husband- the one I was sure would never abandon me, was getting ready to do just that. I cracked again! BIG TIME! I couldn't take it. I needed someone, anyone to make my life better. It was so bad there was only One that could do it. I cried out again, in desperation. He answered my prayer, and to this day, I keep my promise I made. I do not doubt Him. (My marriage now, is one of the best that I have knowledge of.) I know now, that He was with me every time I cracked, and in all the times in between.
The purpose of this long story of my life, has not been to make you feel sorry for me, but to show you that after all I've been through, to know that God has been there with me, and used my experiences to draw me closer to Him, has been healing beyond words. I am no longer "cracked" and in fact do not recall the last time I had an episode that was severe enough to even warrant the medication that I finally received after my eventual diagnosis, resulting from my mother's death. (Yes, I went my entire life in utter, perpetual darkness, without knowing why, until then.)
If I can be healed, so can you. Now, I'm not saying that sometimes, medication isn't necessary. I know that for some it is. But healing can come from the Lord, if you allow Him to heal you, and to have faith that He will. Rely upon Him. He won't let you down. I promise. Or better yet, He promises. Even in the dark moments, He is there, holding you up. I can guarantee it. Meditate on this today.
Let your conduct be without covetousness; be content with such things as you have. For He Himself has said, "I will never leave you nor forsake you." Hebrews 13:5 NKJV
