I experienced childhood in a typical Christian home. My folks took me and my two sisters to chapel each Sunday, sometimes twice a day. I knew what God’s identity was and what Jesus’s sacrifice meant from a pretty early age. I just didn’t really know what it all meant yet.

I grew up in a broken home. I saw that my sisters regularly disputed with my mother. I realized something was wrong. The normal was just to go on with the drama household and keep living our lives. As I got older and the fights got heavier at home I began to fall into a deep depression. By this time, I was in high school so the pressure of doing good in school, while surviving my home life and trying to make a plan to move out, was weighing on me.

My sisters were getting ready to move out but I just knew as soon as they left that my mom’s fury would all be pointed at me. I had to get out. We still went to church and I remember several times listening to the services and scoffing at the idea of “together-ness” and family love. God didn’t live my live. How could I believe in a deep love so big when I couldn’t even feel the love of my own mother?

I managed to escape my household by the end of high school but my relationship with my mother would never be the same. Months would pass without any communication from either one of us. My sisters seemed to have the same plan. Holidays went by and the family remained apart. It wasn’t until late 2013 that I received a call from my dad. He wasn’t much for words and had pretty much stayed in the background for most of my life. Unsurprising considering how overbearing my mother was. His voice was calm yet unnerving. He said, mom has cancer.

I had to ask again what he said. I heard the words but they hadn’t registered yet. I could only muster and “ok” before hanging up the phone. I sat in silence for a moment before falling over on my knees and sobbing uncontrollably. I knew my mom loved us, but the constant fighting kept the true love from building, and now we may not have a chance to put our relationship back together. 

Before we knew it, mom’s health was worsening and we hadn’t made time to rebuild anything. Her passing was inevitable and I couldn’t find the will to keep hope alive for her, for my happiness or for my future. After her funeral I began a downward journey with alcohol. I dropped out of my freshman year of college and got by on short-gigs that would allow me the freedom to drink as much as I wanted.

One morning, as I awoke from a drunken stupor in someone’s couch, I had the urge to go out and get some air. I was still a bit buzzed and nothing was open besides bad diners and coffee shops. Nothing sounded good and I just wanted to rest, but not on a couch again. I stumbled upon a little church in the corner of who-knows-what and where darkness lives. I walked in not really knowing why, I just wanted to sit

I sat down inside and it was empty except for one, little old lady with a blue veil on her head. She sat quietly several feet away from me. She seemed very upset and sobbed quietly. I had no intention of talking to anyone, let alone hep anyone that morning, but something compelled me to go and sit beside her. I began by apologizing for my demeanor and smell, but she didn’t seem to mind. I asked if she was ok and she proceeded to tell me about her late husband who she had been married to for over 40 years. He had developed cancer after several years of drinking he went too fast and too soon.

I asked if there was anything I could do, and she said, “no God is the only one who can help me now. He will silence my grief in due time and heal my wounds so I can move on.”

I must have made an audible scoff because she continued, “You look like you’ve been in pain for some time now. If you believe in Him, trust Him and trust his will, he will guide you to a better place.” She ended with, “Make your mother proud.”

I didn’t really know what to say to that but I sat there in silence, not even realizing the old lady had left and I was sitting there alone. A Bible sat on a seat next to me and I began to read it, not any particular passage or page, but I read and I read until the day got longer. I felt satisfied, renewed and ready to begin a new path. A path lead by Him and a path serving Him in order to help others that might have been in my situation. I wanted to love like he did, true and loving. I may not have had the relationship I wanted with my mother, but through Him and with his word, I could be full of enough love to help me get through my new life-journey.