purple slippers {my story part I}

Every Saturday morning she made pancakes. In her nightgown and purple slippers, my mom would breakdance on the kitchen floor as we waited for the pancakes to bubble. It’s a memory that often brings a smile to my face.

Growing up, my mom was fun. She knew how to laugh and have a good time…even when life was really busy. She would always crank up the radio on full blast and jam as we drove to school. She ate bowls of cereal for dinner and would sing some kind of crazy song to wake us up in the morning. She vacuumed incessantly and could often be found chasing us down to smother us with kisses.

Even though she worked day and night, somehow my mom still made everyday seem like a good day. But her specialty was holidays. I remember countless pictures of me surrounded by friends blowing out a birthday cake. Skating rinks, pool parties, twister parties…it was always a memorable event. She also had a love of gift giving. Especially Christmas gifts. She spent so much time planning and picking out the perfect gift. She would lie about it, hide it, and even disguise it on the big day. Her joy made Christmas amazing, no matter what was under the tree.

Of course my childhood wasn’t one big party, I’ve just purposed myself to focus more on the ways that God took care of me even when times were tough. Sometimes I think it’s easy to look back on life and remember the tragedy, focusing on the hard things, the broken hearts, and the times I felt alone. But these aren’t the only memories. They are just the loudest. For most of my life, I have allowed the destruction of our family through divorce to define me. I allowed those circumstances to determine the color of the lens through which I viewed life.

I lived a life full of fear. It began with the black racer that slithered it’s way under the gate while my 7 year old body clung for dear life. But it didn’t end there. I’ve been afraid over nearly everything from darkness to being alone. Fear so crippling that I didn’t function as a normal adult. Fear that destroyed nearly ever relationship that I have ever had. Fear that became the insecurity that first began in self mutilation and would carry me into a decade of self destruction.

I spent years making up lies and stories that would make my life better than it really was. By the time I graduated from college, I was so lost in lies, I wasn’t even sure what was true anymore. Somehow it became my escape from who I thought I was. A girl who was never good enough to be truly loved. If I could just make things alright in my head, then things would be alright in my life.

I spent years wishing for the family that my friends had. Not because my life was so horrible, but because there is something in a child’s heart that knows what a family should be. There is something inside that says, “I would give anything to be whole.” And I can honestly say that 33 years after the destruction, there is a part of me that still longs for this to be right.

As for my parents, I still don’t know what happened and I won’t bother trying to point fingers. Neither or them were bad or horrible people. Both loved me, it was just never enough. The brokenness defined me until I reached the absolute rock bottom (more about that later).  In the bottom of that pit I learned that while I couldn’t change the past, I could change the lens. I could choose to see myself as God sees me. Choose to focus on what God was doing despite the circumstance. And become diligent to document what God has done in each part of my life, looking for ways that HE has shown His glory.

Blessings like praying grandmas. A VERY unique day care that provided excellent care for my sister and I. Always having enough to eat. The continual voice of God in my head through Sunday school and youth events. No STD’s or teenage pregnancies. And for continuing to place amazing Christian friends in my path who walked through the hard life with me, daily challenging me to stay above water.

While I don’t mean to diminish the obvious effects of divorce, as an adult I must DAILY choose to live past these scars. I must give God the opportunity to redeem, restore and heal. Surrendering it all to Him.

{to be continued… the rest of the story is worth the wait}

Read the rest of the story here…

the scarlet letter {part II}

he left {part III}

Join the conversation…What was your childhood like? Do you have a favorite memory? Something that you wish had been different?

photo credit

Linking with The Better Mom, Raising Arrows, Modest Mom

Kim Sorgius

Kim is just a girl, crazy in love with Jesus. She's a single mother of 4, a passionate homeschooler and life-long student. After teaching 8 years in public school, she traded her M.A. in Early Childhood for sippy cups and homeschool co-ops. Kim is the owner and editor of The Homeschool Village and Not Consumed where she encourages others to rest victoriously in the hands of God, rather than allowing life's difficult circumstances to consume.

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Last updated by Kim Sorgius at June 7, 2012.

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