My Story

In February 2012, my parents got a divorce. Never in my childhood did I expect to be able to tell people that my parents were like most everyone's: separated. I never thought I'd have that in common with many of my friends. I thought I would always have a family together who were bonded closely and did everything together. So much that I wished would never come true.

The divorce was not so much hard to get used to over the years as the side effects that came with my parents being separated. Don't get me wrong, they haven't been harsh towards each other and hating the sight of one another, they have forgiven each other as far as I know but just cannot be together as they were. I do not doubt their love for all of us and their worry that we are affected by the divorce, that was never their intention. But there is no way that you cannot be affected by your parents separating permanently. No way. No one can say that it is something light. It affects your thinking, your life, your future, your past...it affects your beliefs, makes you question the need for your existence anymore, it brings your hope to a halt at some times, leaves you feeling unable to trust those in your own family who you know should be the last people you distrust. These are all feelings I experienced once things had started to happen, and I realized it was real and would have to be faced. That being said, there is another side to the story as far as their opposite influences on their kids that are still around; those being myself and my younger brother.There was no way I could have ever have been prepared or expected to know what came next from my parents who...love me?

In no way is anything I am writing here influenced by either of my parents, nor am I taking direct information from either of them and putting it on paper to publish to the world. I have no intentions of twisting someone else's words. I take them as I see them and as I know them to be true or not. Everything you have and are about to read is from my real-life experiences the past two years, and the thoughts and ideas I express here are my own. This writing is completely independent of anyone else's influence.

You should know that a large part of my life from birth on has been the influence of Christianity and the majority being Independent Baptist congregations I was a part of with my family growing up. I knew love from people I didn't know very well, and didn't even have to think twice to know everyone cared about me. I was surrounded by Christ-like loving people who taught me the life and death and resurrection of God's Son, by the name Jesus. I was raised in the literal mind of a child that every other religion was wrong and they needed to be brought to salvation and come to Church (a Baptist church being preferred of course), to be taught the right way to live.

My mom was a big influence on me mostly because I spent every day with her because she homeschooled all of us, and myself and two brothers who were still in school were taught at home by her. She taught us from the Bible and showed us the meanings of words and often translated words that meant more than they appeared in English. She loved to learn about the original Hebrew version of the Scriptures because she knew that the copies we have today are full of mistakes and mis-translations that change the wording of parts of the text, leaving her concerned she was missing the real stuff. So she would show us what she knew to be what the Bible really said and not what many people took it literally to say, leaving us with open minds towards the scriptures.

My dad kept us straight in attending church every Sunday, both services, and every Wednesday. We had to be deathly ill to be allowed to stay home from a church service, because there was no excuse for skipping. He never failed to be routine in knocking on our doors each Sunday morning and telling us to get up, "we're leaving in an hour!" often we would have escapades of someone not getting out of bed and almost being left because my dad would not wait any longer. Pretty much every week we did the same thing and Sunday morning wasn't always fun on the way to church. But of course as soon as we got there we'd all have to put a smile on our faces and tell everyone who asked (which was literally everyone there) that we were doing fine!

I think of these times fondly, remembering that we were all together then. I can't say that we were always happy, but we had many good times. Many memories were made with my family as I grew up and I miss those things, though I know I can't have them anymore.

Things started to fade away. My family did nursing home visits for as long as I can remember. We would bring a load of hymnals from the church and we would sing together for the elders in the lunch rooms, sometimes receiving requests to come to a bedside just before someone died, or if they could not get out of bed. We would bring smiles and tears to the faces of those people. When I was younger I didn't want to shake their hands or hug them because they wouldn't want to let go of me. They just wanted to see us kids again and again and loved us singing. As I got older I grew to love the people we visited and sang for. I became attached to nursing home ministry, and it became a part of my life. My enthusiasm grew and I would hug and hold their hands before we left and I would talk to them as real people instead of people who were disabled. I did my best to leave them with no doubt that they were loved. I truly loved them, I didn't know why but I did. Of course we lost a few of those dear souls during our time with them, and it was sad, but we knew they loved the Lord as we did and we had no doubt they had no pain, no loneliness, no unsettlement of mind anymore.

But these times didn't last. We started to drop visits and soon we were doing only one place each week, eventually dropping that one as well. I was miserable each time we left each place and the last one was the hardest. Then I felt lost, like there was no purpose for me, like I had nobody to influence and bless greatly each week. Now all I had left was my church family.

The most ridiculous part was they completely avoided speaking to my mom herself and asking those things of her; persisting to ask us instead and avoiding our urges to speak to her. We even gave them her phone number but it seemed they would forget until next time they saw us at church and would presume to ask about her again. It became ridiculous and silly.

She noticed that I wasn't as open with her anymore and I told her exactly why I didn't share with her anymore. She was taken aback. She had never realized what she was doing had hurt me so much and apparently didn't know that I had confided in her personally. I don't know how she came to the conclusion that what I had told her was okay to share, but she did. And I told her she was wrong and she had hurt me by revealing things I had told her in confidence as I knew it.

He had many stories and many worries for us. But one day he called my mom with an upsetting story that he had heard people at our church talking about her and us kids very slanderously. He meant well of course and my mom flew at it and grabbed me and my younger brother away from our church and told us we couldn't go there anymore. My dad was very upset and he thought we hated him. I couldn't believe anyone from that church could say anything of the sort! They were kind loving christian people I thought. Who would spread such a lie about them and why would my mom just believe it like that. It wasn't her choice in my opinion. We had every right to go where we wanted and worship how we wanted, regardless of the gossip she had heard. But she was determined to protect us from it and so we were forced to leave and go with her on Saturdays instead.

Oh, the resistance and the hate and the resentment and bitterness that set in. My mom was now the enemy. I kept it to myself most of the time but when an argument started it all poured out in hateful words towards my mom, blaming her for everything. The divorce was her fault, the pain was her fault, leaving our church was her fault, her fault, her fault...the pain made me and my brothers hate her. But there was nothing we could do as her children but to go with her. We took every opportunity to skip out though, you better believe we did. We weren't going to be a part of her cruel Jewish beliefs as we saw them. Those people had torn our family apart as far as we were concerned. We needed someone to blame and they were the obvious ones who started it all influencing my mom against my dad.

Finally she understood. It was quiet. She left and I stayed home. I cried and talked to God and hoped this would be the end of the hardship. I hoped she would stop making me go. Weeks passed and she didn't even mention us going or not. She didn't even ask us to go. Eventually she stayed home altogether, at one point simply group calling the people and doing an over the phone study time with them.

After a time she asked me and my brother to do Sabbath with her again on Friday evenings, and we started reading some chapters in the scriptures on Saturday afternoons. She didn't force us to go anywhere. She only asked us to be a part with her at home.My mom, though, took time to listen to my feelings and she seemed to be open to letting me do what I needed to do to find where I belonged.

During this time as we left the nursing home ministry, my mom stopped attending church with us. My parents argued more it seemed. They had fights and disagreements each week. I started hearing contradicting ideas from them. One parent would tell me the other was poisoning my mind, the other would tell me they weren't thinking right.

People at church questioned my mom not attending anymore and bombarded us with questions about her and why she left, what she was doing and where she was going now...things we weren't sure how to answer at this point, so that it became overwhelming and we avoided the approaches of some who seemed nosy about our family, particularly about my mom. They wanted to know everything because they wanted to know where we stood I suppose, and they were concerned that my mom wasn't a christian anymore and that was of course a dangerous thing.

Some of us had to ask our mom what exactly she believed to be sure of how to answer the people at church. We pretty much became accountable to answer for her leaving, which was unnecessary to put on her family who had nothing to do with the changes she was going through in her own heart.

My brothers, and sisters and I all resented my mom somewhat in that area for a time until things died down. I know I blamed her a lot for things that took place after she left, and my dad took it as an opportunity to show us kids that he was our friend. This lowered my respect for him because he was supposed to be with my mom in everything. As my parents they should agree and not teach their children separate beliefs.

My mom had been leaning towards the Jewish belief-system and soon found a messianic congregation on the other side of town where she began attending every Saturday for sabbath services. She started taking us kids with her. I went just to see what she was doing and what it was like. Of course, my dad became defensive and on Sunday in the car he would tell us all about the wrong beliefs of Judaism, and he would tell us the verses that proved they were wrong in their beliefs. He told us that Sunday was the day that God had appointed to worship on, and the old laws had been disestablished by Jesus himself, and that the Sabbath was pagan. Which was all the opposite of what my mom told us when we were with her every Saturday and every school day at the table. She told us that the things Christians said about the day of worship being changed were not true and were changed by the Catholics etc. who wanted to establish their own ways of worship to get what they wanted. Along with many other ideas she had learned of pagan worship and the real reasons for Sunday worship, holidays, etc. She showed us that the Sabbath was never done away with and everyone who believed Sunday worship was right was in the wrong and lied to.

As I think back, I remember my mom never outright told us as kids that Sunday was the wrong day to worship the Lord. She went along with my dad's beliefs and so I never saw an immediate difference. But when she stood up for her convictions and left the church, I started to see areas in what she had taught us growing up that became more obvious leading up to this. She had always been adamant about the Hebrew text in the Bible, and she had always taught us the pagan origins of holidays like Easter, Christmas, etc. and the traditions alluding to those. At times I remember she told us Sunday wasn't the real day God wanted us to worship on, but she never kept us from going to Church on Sunday with our dad.

There was one particular man who visited the group my mom attended each Saturday. He and my mom talked and eventually became very close. This was after she had left the church, and just before the divorce. A few of us kids and of course those in my family who knew little of his influence on my mom blamed him for her suddenly announcing that she was going to divorce my dad. My mom told the few people who she confided in pretty much everything that was going on and she got their advice and I know for a fact that he didn't tell my mom to divorce my dad, it was her decision. But he was indefinitely one of her confidants and one of the influences she had that brought her to the conclusion that she was wrong to stay with him when her religious convictions told her otherwise. At first I was afraid he was trying to steal my mom and adopt my brothers and I. My sister lived in his house for a time when she needed to get out, and he was like a third parent to her. I came to understand his rough demeanor and underlying softness and kindness as his love language and not as what it appeared. He was a truly kind man who had hardships of his own and he meant to help my mom and us as much as he was able to without meddling in our business if possible. Though my mom left him out very little and often we would all go to his house and she would discuss things about her and my dad with him and he would tell her his opinion. I didn't think it was her place to tell him so much, especially when it was things I had confided in her personally and she told him and others who she spoke with about them, using my stories as proof of her reasons for divorcing my dad. I became really bitter towards her for using me that way, and I lost trust in my mom and became unable to confide in her anymore of my feelings and personal experiences, fearing that she would repeat them.

My dad had never been someone I was very close to. Sure, he was my dad but he wasn't someone I was close to like some people's fathers. I just never magnetized to him like I did with my mom. He was always physical in his love and gave us kids whatever we wanted on our birthdays and Christmas he would spoil us, expecting in return that we would love him as much as he did us. That wasn't for me what it might have been for my younger brother and my other brothers and sisters. I could get what I wanted by giving him a hug and a kiss. Whereas with my mom it would have had to be a valid point, my dad would usually just let me do things because he wanted to be the one I liked better. To me, love was discipline, teaching, quality time, and things that were lasting. He would give us things, take us out to eat once in awhile. But he didn't spend close time with us like my mom did and I didn't ever grow close to him. There were things I saw him do that I decided I didn't like. I formed opinions towards him, some were partly because of things my mom told us about him. She never meant to make us think badly of him. My dad was convinced she did and he would tell us she was wrong and he was doing his best and he loved us. But for me, love was supporting the family, working hard to give us what we needed, and he seemed to fail in those areas. He was laid off when we were little and stayed at home for many years, just sitting at his computer sometimes doing editing jobs he got here and there. It didn't seem like he tried very hard to be in his place as the supporter of the large family he had, or so I thought, and so I resented him for it.

As I'm sure you see now, I was pulled between my parents and it felt like a war of who is right and who should I please. The divorce blew that up in proportions that tore me away from both my parents in many ways. But the bond I have with my family keeps me close to them at the same time.

The reason I brought up the man my mom knew, was because he had something to do with my mom taking me and my brother out of our church.

So much blame spread around and caused us to all magnetize to our comfort-zones. I stuck with my mom, my younger brother stuck with my dad and resented my mom. We all had sides and we bombarded the other side when there was a conflict. Such was the war-zone I lived in for a year or two...almost til now. Eventually somethings were brought to my mom's attention about the group she was in and she and several of the people there separated and started their own study group. Not labelling themselves as messianic or anything else. But as Torah believers and following what they believed was right. My mom continued to make my brother and I go as we were the only ones left. My sister was somewhat free to attend as she wished as she was much older than us and couldn't be made to go. It was unfair and with the internal conflict I had going on with beliefs, I felt forced upon and that I was being made to go where I felt wasn't my place. My brother and I fought my mom over it and made it hard for her to do what she felt was right for us, taking us where she was convinced was the best influence for us. In our eyes it was a punishment, being forced to go every Saturday to her place of worship and go through all the movements. No one there told us we were wrong to be Christians. They were quiet about it. And we didn't argue with them when we disagreed. But we had plenty of arguments there and back in the car with my mom, and at home.

Eventually my mom let go of my brother and allowed him to go with my dad to his church, but we were still bonded as long as we lived with her to do sabbath every Friday evening and to go every Saturday to the Torah study. It was law now. We didn't have a choice. It was prison. Home was prison. I hated being home and took every opportunity to get away and visit my friends and go on trips. I wanted to get away so bad. I wished with all I had to fly away and never come back. To be independent, to be free of religious bonds. There had to be some way I could get away from the clash of religious rivals in my family. I knew if I went to church with my dad and brother that my mom would resent me for not honoring her beliefs. If I went with my mom and respected her wishes my dad would really think I hated him more than he thought already because I mostly ignored him, not wanting a conflict.

My sister and I found a church that some of our friends were going to and we attended there for several months. Going back and forth Saturday to my mom's study, and Sunday to our church. My mom didn't keep me from going, nor did she say there was anything wrong with it. But she wouldn't stand for me replacing sabbath with my Sunday. It was either both or hers. I had no choice. My independence was being shortened and I struggled to be free. I argued with her that she was trying to force her beliefs on me and she insisted she was not. To me, making me attend a study that I didn't completely agree with was forcing her beliefs on me. To her it was not. I don't know where her logic came from but that's how it went.

Eventually I stopped going to my church and stayed home Sundays, not wanting to go anywhere and feeling that two days back to back of two different kinds of worship was unnecessary, so I only went where I had to. Which was the Torah study. I didn't want to go to church anymore. I didn't want to be forced to go anywhere.

My brother and my dad went on a two week trip to visit my two other brothers and my mom and I were left together (my sister had moved out). I managed somehow to gather the courage to tell my mom the first week exactly how trapped and imprisoned I felt under her roof. I told her that her making me go with her every week was against my convictions and if as she said I had freedom to choose where I wanted to worship, then she had to let me go and not make me go with her anymore. I just needed time to be religiously free...I needed time to think about what I believed. My ears rung with what to believe, so loudly they rang that I could not think for myself and see what I really believed.

For me the conflict had not ended. I was no longer made to worship anywhere but at home, but I still could not be free from people who didn't understand what I was going through. I still could not confide in my parents regarding my beliefs because I would be argued with and told I was wrong. I tried to tell my dad why I could not attend his church but he took it as my mom had put things in my head and convinced me he was wrong and they were bad. So when I went to talk to him about it, he threw his ideas at me and belittled me, telling me that the people my mom associated with were bad, and poisonous. I left him realizing there was no way I was ever going to make him understand where I stood.

I find myself between two religions. The walls built up around me force me to try to be one or the other or else lose the respect of one or both of my parents. Some days I wish I could drive away and never have to face my family again. I just don't want to be placed in a religious category. I am a Christian, but I will not be put anywhere in a religious category because of the conflicts I see between people who get so involved in their religions that they push everyone else away. It tears families apart. It ruins people's lives. So many people do not want to be Christians because of this rivalry. I feel that what I decide will effect me from both sides so much that it would be too hard to live with. So I remain dormant. Not facing either which way. Not claiming any religion, or belief system. It's not for me.

This has been longwinded, I know. But I had to tell my story.