Well, here it is. My personal journey. The good the bad and the ugly.

Fair Warning Here: This isn't an easy read. I've endured some horrendous things. People may look at this and go - Geez how could she write this? That's horrible: the things she says about her parents and family and all. I'm sure some people will even doubt if this is true. Now all of what I write concerning my own experiences is true. Of what people have said of their knowledge of my mother, brother or other family members, I can't totally verify; but I believe what my dad and my sister have said to me.

Also:

I'm 41 years old and I'm writing this from the vantage point of some nearly 30 years of recovery. I'd first entered counseling when I was in the seventh grade. My health teacher brought me down to a counselor one day after class, when we'd watched a movie on alcoholism and I was sitting in the back of the room crying after everyone else had gone to lunch. That was the fist step in my journey to stay alive. That odyssey has had a lot of ups and downs and has taken me to some very dark places. This piece is written in somewhat abbreviated "highlighted" form of major life events in my spiritual journey. God has been very good to me through this all. My goal in writing this is that you see His grace in this story!

If God uses this to bring someone else to faith - I'll tell it; regardless of what might be "embarrassing" to me.

Not sure I need to make a disclaimer here but - I don't own me! Any thing good you take out of this is the work of God.

"Reviews" of my life are welcome - but I promise I won't die if you dislike me!

Seriously though, let me know what God does with this for you.

I like to see grace at work in other people too!

Demons in the Nursery:

I grew up with an alcoholic mother. (She's deceased now.) One who had an incestuous relationship with her own brother that started when she was a kid and went on well into her adult life. For what ever perverse sin in her own life - she seemed to be fine with it. She went on to molest her own son. She was going to "make him a man", or so as she'd allegedly told my dad. (I'll explain my dad in a minute.)

My brother of course, turned around and molested his three sisters. I was the youngest in the family and at ten years old; my brother tried to rape me. He stopped when I told him I was going to bite his... reproductive organs - if he didn't leave me alone. He went on to other "participants" - those of both willing and not; (one of which my sister suspects was the family dog). My sexual abuse started with my brother's voyeurism when I was four years old. I recall witnessing a portion of one of my mother's escapades with her own brother when I was about that age; but I recall no other incidents following the one when I was ten. My sister has told me though that she remembers me screaming when I was about 16 because my brother was trying to crawl into bed with me. He'd told her, myself (and I suspect dad) that he'd been "sleep walking". My sister recollected how old we were based on her memory of my brother tripping over the compressor for her airbrush on the way out of our room. My mother had purchased the airbrush for my sister as part of the supplies for her college courses. My sister was going to art school at the time. I was about 16, which would have made her about 18 and my brother around 22 years old. My sister told me about this incident just recently. Personally, I hadn't remembered it until she said something and even than the only memory I have is the vague recollection of my brother tripping over the air compressor. Other than that, I don't recall this incident; but knowing what I know of PTSD and recollection of trauma - my lack of memory doesn't surprise me.

My dad knew about my mother's incestuous relationship and these early incidents with my brother. According to a friend of his, he'd said that he walked in on my mother performing oral sex on my brother when he was about eight years old. The kid was making noise and dad thought he was sick, so he went upstairs to check on the kid. When dad had opened the door to his own bedroom and discovered what was going on; this is when mom had allegedly told dad that "someone had to make him a man". This came out recently too - from this friend of my dads. She relayed this to my sister and myself after we were discussing our own abuse following my recent knee surgery. We guess mom was somehow seemingly trying to indicate to dad that he was "inadequate" to teach my brother how to "be a man".

Yeah, mom was pretty twisted. More on that later though. (Of stuff I started to remember after dad died.)

My dad had told me about what he'd witnessed with my mother and her own brother in the years just before he died. Dad had made some feeble attempts to intervene in all this perversion; but in the era that I grew up - (1970's) he was afraid of not being believed and losing his daughters. And yeah, I can see now where dad was coming from. The stuff that was going on was pretty outrageous. There are times I look back at this and go - woah! Was this real, or were we living in the twilight zone? I know it happened though. The collective memories of all of us put together gives a greater perspective to my own memories. The picture makes more sense.

My mother had threatened that she'd tell the authorities that dad was the perpetrator and that he'd go to jail if he got anyone else involved. Dad's fear of not being believed effectively silenced him; but to his credit - he did stick around. Looking at it now in retrospect. I think from that point on, dad's only hope at saving his girls was that we'd be the ones to open our mouths to the authorities. To that end, I remember him showing us documentaries about child molesters and encouraging us to tell someone if these things ever happened to us.

Amidst all of this - my dad was a troubled soul. But for the grace of God though, he wasn't a pedophile. Dad never molested anyone.

With all this drinking and abuse, of course was a lot of neglect. I recall many days being hungry and cold. Dad worked trick work for the local utility and despite his odd schedule - always made sure we got one meal. (Dinner - even if he had to get out of bed and cook it himself.) When I got into school, dad also made sure we always had lunch money.

As for where dad ends up in eternity? I don't know. I pray he found his peace with God though!

My first 12 Steps to Spiritual Awakening:

Of course in all this mess, I grew up as an atheist and when I was 16 years old, I started attending Alanon meetings. These meetings were my first introduction to the concept of "a power greater than myself". It wasn't really that hard of a notion for me to accept, as it had been quite obvious from as far back as I could remember that there were "powers greater than me" and a lot of circumstances that I had no control over. In the beginning, I still didn't believe in a "Higher Power", but I kept going to the meetings because they gave me hope and a sense of peace in my chaotic world.

Than one day, I was walking home from school, looking at the flowers and the trees and Lake Ontario when suddenly it hit me - I didn't put this stuff here!

(Duh!)

Yes, of course I didn't make the flowers or the trees or the lake - but what a revelation that impressed upon me as to the reality of a Higher Power! This notion stuck in my head and as the weeks past, I found myself suddenly enthralled with Biology class! Wow, look at all the cool stuff in this world - all made by... a power greater than me!

Then on another day walking home from school. I realized something else. The sky was blue, the grass was green, the dirt was brown and the flowers were red! I'd never noticed it before, but suddenly my world had color. Things had color and they were... alive! The world around me was alive - and I being a creature of this Earth realized I was alive too. I wasn't sure exactly what that meant; but at that point I knew - I believed in God!

The other revelation that was coming to bear on me also at that time was love. Strangers, teachers, counselors, friends, Alanon members, the elderly lady that lived behind me, even our pet dog. They said hello to me, they talked to me, they fed me and befriended me. The world was not against me! Looking back at it now, I came to realize - they loved me. That was a good thing - I needed that!

My life was a mess and I knew it. I didn't have the strength, the knowledge, the courage or in some ways - even the desire to figure it out. I was so depressed and I knew if I was ever going to kick these demons out of my miserable existence - I needed help. This "Higher Power" I heard people talk about. The one that put broken lives back together and got drunks, who were just like my mother - sober. What ever it is that you are God - help me!

I came, I came to, I came to believe!

Then one day, one of my Alanon friends took me to a Billy Gram crusade. She wasn't a particularly religious person, but did believe in God. She had a lot of respect for Billy Gram and when she asked me if I wanted to go - I said - sure. Why not!

Well, I don't remember much of what 'ol Billy said, but I do remember one quadriplegic named Joni Erikson-Tada. She'd been paralyzed at 17 when she dove into a swimming pool and broke her neck. She'd been a wheelchair for something like 24 years at that point. She said Jesus got her through that - one day at a time. I thought to myself - wow. I don't really understand all this stuff they say about him being "the son of God" or whatever - but if he can help her get through 24 years in a wheelchair - maybe he can help me?

So I went down to the field and did the "accept Christ" thing.

That started my journey into Christianity.

(I'll get back to the rest of the story later - maybe tonight. Right now I got to go feed my kid!)