My beginnings
I have been feeling the urge (okay, maybe the blatant pushing) from God to share my story. I never thought my story was all that interesting, but I am trying to be obedient, so here it goes.
I was the second born into a nuclear family, bringing with me the end of my mother's career as a special education teacher. She had me less than two years after my brother, so I can imagine even before I really became a handful, it was all too much. My father always said that he was blessed to be able to provide for our family so that my mother didn't have to work. I definitely felt blessed by the time I got to spend with my mother, day in and day out. She was there for class field trips. She was my girl scout leader. She carted me around to ballet classes, soccer practices, gymnastics, choir...you name it. Whatever I wanted to do, she was there to help me achieve it. I remember looking admirably at my mother, who was always busy with one thing or another, wondering how she did it all. She had many, many friends, she volunteered and made us volunteer, she sang in the choir at church, she would cook for anyone who needed it (and maybe even for those who didn't), she taught Sunday School, she was overly generous, and she was the best mom to my brother and me. It wasn't until later in my life that I started to think about the things she gave up to be our mom. I wish I'd had some of that perspective back when I was a bratty kid. She was my first example of a godly woman. My mom showed me what it looks like to live selflessly. She showed me what it looks like to love with a fierceness that won't break or bend. Inside me, these traits have taken their foothold.
I didn't spend quite as much time on a daily basis with my father, as he often left for work before I went to school and came home right at or after dinner, but we had our special times as well. Some of my favorite times were when we'd get up at 5am to go fishing. We'd sneak out of the house in the dark stillness of the morning, load up the boat and head to the dock. My Dad would gas up the boat while I went inside the convenience store and picked out "breakfast". It was always one of those Hostess "fruit" pies and a half liter of chocolate milk because I just knew that my mom would not approve. We would slip out of the boat dock and slowly troll our way out past the markers and then my Dad would put the boat into high gear and we would race as fast as we could to a spot where we would sit as long as we could, quietly baiting hooks and throwing lines in the hopes of catching a fish. We also went on a father-daughter camping trip annually and I even remember some special vacations we took, just the two of us. Maybe it was even more special to me because my dad wasn't able to make it to a lot of my activities. He spent a lot of time at work, so the time we had together meant a lot to me. I always admired my dad for how intelligent, insightful, loyal and hard working he is and how he never targeted anything less than exceptional. Inside me, these traits have taken their foothold.
This childhood sounds pretty ideal, huh? Well, for the most part, it was. I mean, my parents stayed married, my dad had a good job, we lived in a middle class neighborhood and we had really great friends. My parents made sure I got a good education. We got to visit family in Alabama on a regular basis and family in Oregon, about once a year. My mom brought us to church because it was important to her, although my dad never came because the act of going to a church wasn't important to him. He didn't really talk about his faith much, but I knew he was a believer.
There was one thing that marked my childhood and that was my father's alcoholism. I don't really remember when I figured out that he was an alcoholic. I know it must have been early on because I remember worrying about riding home with him driving drunk at a pretty young age. I remember fights he and my mom would have about his drinking. I remember nights he came home really late. I remember nights my Mom would kick him out. I remember fights he would pick with us when he was drunk. I remember never wanting to have to talk to him because I never knew which Dad I was going to get. My Dad was a functioning alcoholic and it would be much later in life when I learned that all that time he was at work....well, maybe he wasn't actually at work. When I was a bit older, in high school, I remember confronting him with his alcoholism. That never went well...always an exercise in excuses, downplaying and pulling rank. I remember worrying that he would make a scene or embarrass me in front of my friends. This concern was at an all-time-high when I got married.
Not too long after I was married (and shortly after my brother got married), I received a phone call from my Dad that would forever change his and my life. He told me that he was an alcoholic (this was the first time he had admitted it to me) and that he was going to go get treatment. I was in shock, but was also so relieved and appreciative of this new turn of events. When I asked him about what happened, he told me about a book he'd read, a friend he'd turned to and his determination. He entered into a treatment facility and within a week was sent home in recovery. Shocked by the quick turnaround, he told me this. "I asked God to take away my desire to drink. And he did".
This was the first time I witnessed first-hand the power of God. It made an impact on me because if it weren't for God, I don't think this day would have ever come. Today, my father has been sober for more than 15 years. My children never knew the person who used to be owned by alcohol. They only know him for all those other wonderful attributes that the alcohol made it easy for me to forget at the time. There is no greater joy for me.
I was the second born into a nuclear family, bringing with me the end of my mother's career as a special education teacher. She had me less than two years after my brother, so I can imagine even before I really became a handful, it was all too much. My father always said that he was blessed to be able to provide for our family so that my mother didn't have to work. I definitely felt blessed by the time I got to spend with my mother, day in and day out. She was there for class field trips. She was my girl scout leader. She carted me around to ballet classes, soccer practices, gymnastics, choir...you name it. Whatever I wanted to do, she was there to help me achieve it. I remember looking admirably at my mother, who was always busy with one thing or another, wondering how she did it all. She had many, many friends, she volunteered and made us volunteer, she sang in the choir at church, she would cook for anyone who needed it (and maybe even for those who didn't), she taught Sunday School, she was overly generous, and she was the best mom to my brother and me. It wasn't until later in my life that I started to think about the things she gave up to be our mom. I wish I'd had some of that perspective back when I was a bratty kid. She was my first example of a godly woman. My mom showed me what it looks like to live selflessly. She showed me what it looks like to love with a fierceness that won't break or bend. Inside me, these traits have taken their foothold.
I didn't spend quite as much time on a daily basis with my father, as he often left for work before I went to school and came home right at or after dinner, but we had our special times as well. Some of my favorite times were when we'd get up at 5am to go fishing. We'd sneak out of the house in the dark stillness of the morning, load up the boat and head to the dock. My Dad would gas up the boat while I went inside the convenience store and picked out "breakfast". It was always one of those Hostess "fruit" pies and a half liter of chocolate milk because I just knew that my mom would not approve. We would slip out of the boat dock and slowly troll our way out past the markers and then my Dad would put the boat into high gear and we would race as fast as we could to a spot where we would sit as long as we could, quietly baiting hooks and throwing lines in the hopes of catching a fish. We also went on a father-daughter camping trip annually and I even remember some special vacations we took, just the two of us. Maybe it was even more special to me because my dad wasn't able to make it to a lot of my activities. He spent a lot of time at work, so the time we had together meant a lot to me. I always admired my dad for how intelligent, insightful, loyal and hard working he is and how he never targeted anything less than exceptional. Inside me, these traits have taken their foothold.
This childhood sounds pretty ideal, huh? Well, for the most part, it was. I mean, my parents stayed married, my dad had a good job, we lived in a middle class neighborhood and we had really great friends. My parents made sure I got a good education. We got to visit family in Alabama on a regular basis and family in Oregon, about once a year. My mom brought us to church because it was important to her, although my dad never came because the act of going to a church wasn't important to him. He didn't really talk about his faith much, but I knew he was a believer.
There was one thing that marked my childhood and that was my father's alcoholism. I don't really remember when I figured out that he was an alcoholic. I know it must have been early on because I remember worrying about riding home with him driving drunk at a pretty young age. I remember fights he and my mom would have about his drinking. I remember nights he came home really late. I remember nights my Mom would kick him out. I remember fights he would pick with us when he was drunk. I remember never wanting to have to talk to him because I never knew which Dad I was going to get. My Dad was a functioning alcoholic and it would be much later in life when I learned that all that time he was at work....well, maybe he wasn't actually at work. When I was a bit older, in high school, I remember confronting him with his alcoholism. That never went well...always an exercise in excuses, downplaying and pulling rank. I remember worrying that he would make a scene or embarrass me in front of my friends. This concern was at an all-time-high when I got married.
Not too long after I was married (and shortly after my brother got married), I received a phone call from my Dad that would forever change his and my life. He told me that he was an alcoholic (this was the first time he had admitted it to me) and that he was going to go get treatment. I was in shock, but was also so relieved and appreciative of this new turn of events. When I asked him about what happened, he told me about a book he'd read, a friend he'd turned to and his determination. He entered into a treatment facility and within a week was sent home in recovery. Shocked by the quick turnaround, he told me this. "I asked God to take away my desire to drink. And he did".
This was the first time I witnessed first-hand the power of God. It made an impact on me because if it weren't for God, I don't think this day would have ever come. Today, my father has been sober for more than 15 years. My children never knew the person who used to be owned by alcohol. They only know him for all those other wonderful attributes that the alcohol made it easy for me to forget at the time. There is no greater joy for me.
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