Spiritual Re-Armament 1994

"Let the little children come to me, and do not forbid them; for of such is the kingdom of God." (Mark 10:14)

On the borderline

There was no one to be accountable to, for the way my Christian life was developing or not developing as the case was. And while I was sitting on the borderline, I had no insight and so I was easily deceived. The lies were sugar-coated with half truths, I bought it and had my heart broken many times over. One such situation involved a young man I was engaged to:

He came to me with a bible in his hand. That was a gift to cheer me up then sweeten his way to my heart. We developed a friendship and within six months we were engaged. However, he had no intention of marrying me, it was a trick. Still, I wore his ring with pride and waited patiently for the day of the wedding to be planned. It never happened! What happened was disrespect to the maximum level (physical and verbal abuse; the very thing I ran from all my life. I even prayed a special prayer against this very situation, asking God to provide for me 'a husband who would treat me like a queen.' I didn't want to have to endure anything like I saw my mother and other women endured) but I was a 'Christian girl' I would say to myself 'I must forgive.'

I dared to be different. I didn't want to run at the first sign of trouble, so I forgave him and he had very many 'second chances'. But he would step up the disrespect, until eventually a child was involved by his ex-girlfriend. At that time I was to learn the harsh truth that I was being punished for wanting to do the right thing. I was wearing his ring while he was enjoying marital activities elsewhere. I fell for his lies and forgave over and over again, because I just wanted to be loved. But I was looking for love in all the wrong places. That was the last time I was going to have my heart broken and I was ready to join the convent.

At this point I still hadn't grieved the death of my grandfather nor had I dealt with the issues at home, I had course work and honours project to do and dissertation to prepare for. Plus I never had to deal with any of these issues before, so I didn't know what was normal or abnormal. Nor did I have anyone to talk to about the things that were happening to me. So I started to develop resentment in my heart and I became a hard shell, in the attempt to protect against future hurt. No one was going to hurt me again! But being a hard shell was not my nature, so guilt took over and soon tears became my language.

I remember rehearsing a song called 'Tears are a Language' at youth camp, that year, and in the song there was a line that says 'Tears are a language, God understands'. At this point in my Christian growth, my prayer life was restricted to bedtime and when I rise in the morning. There was no meaning, just a repeat of the 'Our father prayer' and requests like 'Please let me pass my exams' etc. No one would see me cry, but I would go to my classes for lecture, go to the library to study or research, go to work or home, then when I go home I would go straight to my room and there I spoke to God with tears.

I hadn't yet discovered putting my thoughts in writing, so being in such a confused state of mind, I would find comfort and some form of release through those tears I cried. Still I dared to be different in conduct by not being a disrespectful child and instead of showing that resentment to my mother [when I felt she wasn't there for me as a mother; putting her friends ahead of her parental responsibilities] I would let it out in tears. I felt neglected and very much like an orphan. I felt that she went all out to please others and never took the time to discover the person I was; finding out what I would like to achieve in life, then helping me to achieve those goals.

One particular evening I went home really hungry, having had no food all day at university. There was an individual around the dinner table having a meal, I said good evening and made my way to the kitchen to dish some dinner and I was told that what was left in the pot was for this individual to take to work so I would have to prepare something for myself. Suddenly I no longer felt hungry, as anger had replaced that space for food [It was not the first time this individual had been taken the place of priority and I guess at this point it happened once too many]. So I went back outdoors and jumped on the first bus that approached.

I went driving all over South London, just to avoid being in the house while angry, in the event that I was tempted to disrespect my mother. Daring to be 'different in conduct'. For similar reasons I would dread going home sometimes, and so I would sit in the park, avoiding what I would face if I go home. Then I started to slowly find my way back home. I learned that 'a saint is just a sinner who fell down and got up again.' So I did just that. Then I started to pray for my mother to return to Christ because I realised then, that she was blinded to the truth and could not see the pain she was inflicting on me. And unless she re-dedicates her life to Christ and allow Him to open her eyes, she would continue to hurt the ones dearest to her and embrace those who really don’t care for her.

I didn't understand the depth of the message that weekend in the Summer of 1994. But what I understood, I made notes of. And now, more than a decade later, I find value from these notes which made me realise where I had gone wrong and how to get back on track.
There were also encouragements found in my ‘autograph book’ which helped me to see my way clear when the clouds came.

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