Hard Things of Faith

If you have read the recent posts, 19, Knocked up & no good  , Honor Thy Father , you have been given a small picture of me, my dad, and generational sin. The conclusion to this is about the Lord and his hand upon my life even before I knew him. It's about how he provided the way for me to find healing and forgiveness and love after abuse. I was 16 years old when my father almost drank himself to death. He had stripped the lining of his esophagus and was bleeding internally so severely that they weren't sure if they could save him. They told us that if he lived through the night, he would not live another five years. I went into that hospital chapel that Christmas night, and I prayed to God, whom I did not know, for my father to die. This was a result of all the verbal and emotional abuse that happened in my home. I thought life would be so much better without him. The Lord disagreed; my father made it through the night and lived another 25 years with a cirr

As a child, I loved Christmas. I believed in magical things like the North Pole, Santa Clause, flying reindeer, and elves. It was easy to imagine Santa flying all over the world. It was not just about the presents he was bringing but the fact that he would be visiting the home of every child in the world. We all were waiting for his arrival.   There was the great anticipation of Christmas Eve and the joy of Christmas morning.  Even in all of the excitement of the day, there was still a longing I couldn't quite grasp.  There was something about being united in something, but I didn't know what that was until I was older.  This longing still lives in my memory. The picture is of a community gathered around a giant Christmas tree in the city square, snow falling, lights twinkling, everyone singing Christmas carols.  The gift being, everyone knowing that they are where they belong, with friends, with family, with people they love.    In this idealistic fantasy there is no o