Another dream

This will more than likely be one of my cathartic-healing type of posts that I will use to process/vent about my past and my former family. It might need to be rated PG-13 or R. I may use profanity (which was rolling around in my head earlier today), but I'll try not to. At any rate, if this is the type of stuff that you're not comfortable reading, please feel free to skip this post, and I look forward to seeing you next time.

This morning, I awoke from a disturbing dream around 4 a.m. (no, I didn't set my alarm that early today). It was another one of those symbolic dreams like I had before (which I also blogged about).

In this dream, I was living (as an adult) with my parents. We were all living in a house that used to belong to my grandmother (who has been deceased since the 1990s and who was also deceased in this dream). It was an old house that had a strange security system. I think the outer gates were always securely locked, but the most convenient exit from the house was from a closet-style door that didn't lock or latch. We lived nextdoor to neighbors who had two vicious dogs.

One afternoon, my mother and I decided to go out, so of course we took the easy way out, through the flimsy unlocked door. We were lingering in the gated front yard for a while -- I'm not sure why -- but during our delay, the neighbor's dogs broke through into our yard, through the flimsy wooden gate, and attacked our poodle. While one of the dogs was clutching her helpless little curly-haired body in his fangs, none of us did anything to stop it. I think my sister observed the attack helplessly. I think my mother and I just stood there. Then I woke up.

Of course, after I woke up from this dream, all sorts of ideas flooded into my head as to what I could have done to the attack dog. I could have poked its eye out with a stick. I could have poked its eye out with one of my keys. I could have kicked it in the stomach. Of course, in response to my counterattack, it probably would have turned on me and gnawed my arm off. I wouldn't have cared. That's what you're supposed to do when an outsider attacks someone in your family -- you fight back.

Sorry for the violence in this post, but I'm just being honest.

For starters, yes, I am a cat person who was raised by dog people. Of course, there's absolutely nothing wrong with dogs. I like dogs. I grew up with dogs. I'm just saying that the incompatibility of my personality/interests/gifts/callings with my former family is staggering. God truly had His work cut out for Him when He saved me, drew me into His arms, and called me out of my family.

But while I was a member of my former family, all kinds of things went wrong.

Of course, the flimsiness of home security in my dream, in a way, reflects the flimsiness of spiritual security in my past reality. Hmm. I think in reality, though, I didn't really have just a flimsy little wooden fence protecting my home. I think maybe it was as if my former family printed up fliers, distributed them to burglars, and advertised our home as ripe for the plundering. Then they would wait until after the burglars left to start gossiping about them. They'd have fun making fun of the burglars behind their backs, but they'd also complain like crazy about all their goods being stolen.

If your husband were to kiss another woman, even if he weren't having sex with her and all they did was kiss, you'd call it adultery, wouldn't you? Of course you would. You should.

Like I've mentioned before, this is exactly what happened to me repeatedly, with two separate married men over the course of several years, under the roof of a church building that my former father pastored. My former mother knew about it and did nothing except tell me to not tell my blabbermouth father about it... which I equate to doing nothing. What the bleepity bleep were you afraid of? He was just a bleeping usher. Tell him to keep his bleeping hands off your daughter. If the neighbor's vicious dog breaks through your flimsy little wooden fence and sinks his fangs into the precious life that you're in charge of, you grab the nearest sharp object and poke his eye out. Or you take your heavy purse and punch his lights out with it. Or you take your manicured nails and scratch a fresh design into his leathery mustached face. Whatever it takes, you communicate to him that you're uncool with him touching your daughter with his bleeping bleep little hands. You don't let him have his way. Otherwise, what kind of mother are you to allow your child to involuntarily commit adultery?

Perhaps I shouldn't be too hard on you. Your husband's mother wasn't all that faultless, either. I'm not sure why she married an unbeliever, especially one who had an inner itch to go out partying. I never met him, but I hope he was an awesome guy. But then she freaked out when he was drunk in front of her kids. Um, I'm not sure why this would have surprised her if she already knew how he was and that he hadn't already repented.

And now I get to deal with this partying/rebellious itch that I inherited from him. Thank you.

You can show up for all the church services you want, and you can follow all the new rules that you want, and you can whitewash your face as much as you want. But your house won't stop stinking until you actually take the trash out to the Dumpster.

That's what I've had to do. I've had to dig through my basement, my closets, and those scary-looking storage boxes that beg procrastination. I've had to sort through it all, keep/fix some of it, throw most of it away, and burn the rest of it to a crisp. And when I'm done with one batch, I find another batch to work on. Sometimes this process has felt great. Other times, it's felt like Somebody was gutting me out with a butter knife.

"You shall not bear false witness against your neighbor." (Exodus 20:16)

Out of the Ten Commandments, this is number nine. After I disowned myself from my family, people kept quoting number five at me -- "Honor your father and your mother." But I think number nine, which basically says, "Thou shalt not lie; thou shalt tell the truth," is just as important.

That's definitely not to say that I shouldn't forgive my former family. That's definitely not to say that I don't love my former family. That's just to say that I need to be honest about what happened, about what my relationship with them was really like, and about the fact that they aren't God to me anymore. (It says, "Honor your father and your mother," not "Worship your father and your mother.")

I think in 1998 when God told me to leave my parents or it would "lead to death," He wasn't kidding. I didn't keep a log of all the suicidal thoughts that were flung at my brain since 1998, but I'm thinking that's the kind of stuff that God wanted to prevent.

Many years later, after I finally obeyed God, I can barely begin to tell you how much of a difference it made in my life. Of course I went through hell and back while I was grieving over my family being ripped away from me. But after I went through that, I learned more than ever why God wanted me to leave.

Father's Day was this past weekend. Many people celebrated their dads and the relationship they have or had with them. I hung out with Father God. I ate hot dogs (He didn't eat because He doesn't need to), and we watched Pollyanna together. It's an interesting movie about control, appearances, religion, repentance, love, joy, and adoption.

I realized that my former father (the spiritually abusive one) blocked me from getting to know my Heavenly Father. It stung a little bit realizing that I didn't really have a good relationship with my former father at all, but I'm honestly relieved that I know my Heavenly Father now more than ever.

Technically, I was saved when I was 10 years old, so even though I had a father and a mother, spiritually I was adopted by Father God (as every Christian is) when I was 10. But when I left my natural father and mother when I was 35, God became my only Parent. It was almost like getting adopted all over again. I can barely begin to tell you how different it was living under my former family's covering versus living under God's covering. My gosh, it's like night and day. With them, I had chaos. With Him, I have order. With them, I had anxiety. With Him, I have peace. With them, I had worry. With Him, I have hope. With them, I had sickness. With Him, I have health. With them, I had mockery. With Him, I have dreams.

Also technically, my issues are my issues. Yes, of course I could have thrived under my former family's covering. And to a degree, I did. But when God says go, you go.

If you lived in a house that was old and mildewed, and if the security system was a wimpy little wooden fence, and if you could hear the termites munching away at your shelter while you were trying to sleep at night, and if the head of the house was a namby-pamby narcissist with an anxiety disorder, and if the lady of the house was a cable-TV addict who bought magazines with money that she probably should have used to pay for your college education, and if you could constantly hear the walls creaking, which indicated that the entire house could crumble on top of you and crush you at any given moment, how secure would you feel?

But if you lived in a house that was always quiet, except for the angels loudly praising the King of the house, and if your Father provided for everything you needed, even the stuff you didn't dream of asking for, and if your house belonged to the Wisest Counselor in the universe who never left you alone, and if your belly only remained empty until you asked for it to be filled, and if your Father gently picked you up with His strong arms and held you every time you needed to cry, and if He snuggled up to you every time you needed a Friend, and if you believed that you could do anything He asked you to do, or be anyone He asked you to be, just because you knew He would help you do it or be it, how secure would you feel?

All I'm saying is that the former was my previous covering. The latter is my current covering. My gosh, it's like night and day.

Speaking of day, I have a job interview to get psyched up for. Game face on!