Did you know you were the very first kid I ever met who came
from a broken home? I remember so
clearly the day my mother told me I would be meeting you. She explained your circumstances which seemed
quite novel to me. It was difficult for me to wrap my ten year old mind around
the idea of not having both of your parents around all the time. I guess my mother wanted to prepare me so
that I wouldn’t blurt out some insensitive questions and make you
uncomfortable, but after her little talk I had lots of questions I was dying to
ask you. Hopefully I didn’t; I can’t
recall now after all this time. I do recall
being relieved to discover that you were quite “normal” and that I liked
you. I was totally oblivious to the fact
that the seeds of marital discord were already taking root in my own parents’
marriage and that approximately two years later you and I would be in the same
boat!
I know you remember how active my parents were in our church
and church school, helping out in just about every area. I had grown up feeling securely a part of the
“inner circle”, something which shouldn’t exist in churches and church schools
but always does. However, when my parents’ marriage exploded
into a million pieces, the rest of the “inner circle”, after carefully
examining the causes of the explosion, which included marital infidelity and my father's admission that he was gay, took formal steps to disassociate themselves
from both of my parents, and I was the sole survivor of the blast.
As you recall, I lived with my mother who began attending
another church. She expected me to go
with her and intended to enroll me in the church school associated with that
congregation, but I balked. I had gone
to the same church since I was five and the same school since the year it began
holding classes, which was when I was in third grade. My family had participated in the planning
and building of the school. All of my
friends were there. I pleaded my case by
telling her that my church family was all the security I had left. The guilt worked and I was allowed to remain;
but, it was a hollow victory.
As a middle school aged sole survivor I was an awkward reminder
to the church of my parents’, and perhaps their own, failure. No one knew quite how to relate to me. I relied on your mother and others to take me
to church each week. Fortunately we were
in the choir together so the sting of not having my family present in the
congregation was lessened. But it was still painfully obvious that a child without
adult family in church is relatively invisible.
Occasionally one of my parents’ old friends would make eye contact and
self-consciously ask me how I was doing. I would say I was fine, but we both knew it
wasn’t true and neither of us knew what to do about it. I was grateful no one asked about my
parents.
School was better in some ways, worse in others. I had you and my other good friends and none of you seemed to treat me differently; but because neither of my parents felt welcomed
they would not agree to attend any of my school events,
including my middle school graduation, which left me feeling pretty alone and
abandoned.
Around that same time I read an article in a magazine which
talked about the damage suffered by children of divorce. I can’t say what the writer’s intention was;
I can only say that what I gleaned from the article was that I was damaged
goods. There were dire statistics about
higher divorce rates, suicide rates, and an overall poor prognosis for life in
general. The article made me furious! I
felt like this was how everyone looked at me now. I felt like the world declared me to be a
poor risk because of something over which I had no control. I made a vow right then to prove to everyone
that, not only was I not a ruined person, I was a better person because of my
circumstances!
How noble that sounds; the makings of a Horatio Alger
success story! And I did try. I tried so hard to be okay, to be good, to be
undamaged; but, inside I always felt broken and ashamed that the magazine had
been right after all. It wasn’t until
after many years of trying, when I finally heard the Good News of Grace, that I
realized we are all damaged, most often by circumstances beyond our control, and
that our brokenness is what God uses to draw us to him; the one who has always
loved us, never left us and is able to heal our deepest wounds.
And sometimes, thankfully, He also gives us the blessing of dear friends with whom we can share the journey.
Love Always,
Bonnie
I love you Bonnie!
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