By Celia ~
I'm not an ex-Christian, but I'm fighting with God none-the-less. I fell in love with Jesus when I was four. It was the deep, like-warm-melted-wax-flowing-through-my-heart falling in love that may only happen once in a life-time, and it was real. I loved Jesus, and I loved God, and I knew nothing about the Holy Spirit, or I would have loved her (carrying over the gender from the original languages, no disrespect) just as deeply and just as much.
But there was a problem, a big problem, in my life. It was my father, but it was bigger than that. It was the conspiracy of silence and violent and violating disbelief around the things my father did.
I was eleven, and our Sunday School teacher presented a lesson on prayer based on John 16:23-24: "...Verily, verily, I say unto you, Whatsoever ye shall ask the Father in my name, hHe will give it you. Hitherto have ye asked nothing in my name: ask, and ye shall receive, that your joy may be full." My heart was filled with joy. What it meant to me, and really meant because I asked and I really, really believed, was that the beatings were going to stop.
The next day my father beat me to unconsciousness. It was the worst beating of my life, and by no means the last. Where did I go wrong? That was when I realized I could not trust God. He wasn't there for me.
Over the years there have been so many just normal things I wanted from God that He withheld, that He refused to give. Love. One special person (male, because that's the way I swing) to love and to love me. A decent home (not a mansion) in a safe neighborhood. Financial resources to adequately care for my children. A couch. Nothing extravagant. Absolutely nothing extravagant. Just the low side of normal. I didn't get them. It isn't true that I do not have because I do not ask or ask amiss that I may consume it on my lusts. (James 4:3) It's true that I have never asked God for anything that wasn't simply on the low side of normal, and even those things He does not give. To me. He gives them to others, but not to me.
I'm not an ex-Christian. But I am fighting with God. For the past 5 years, I have had a stalker in my life. This man is not someone I ever dated, or wanted to date. He is a 62-year-old creep who runs a cult based on "old African religion" (which a web search shows is hoo doo and vodoun, parent religions to voodoo) who "saw" me in 2006 and has proceeded to destroy my life. I prayed and prayed and prayed and prayed for protection, and got none. I got punished - the police and other authorities don't seem to believe that stalkers actually exist. I got labeled "crazy" and accused of doing the bizarre things that have been done to myself and targeting him (I didn't even known him when they started) for blame. He has now cost me 4 jobs.
I'm not an ex-Christian. But I am fighting with God.An unrelenting stalker. Really? From an 11-year-old's earnest and fervent prayer full of faith for horrendous abuse to stop, which didn't happen, through an abusive 31-year marriage marked by abject poverty, to being a 61-year-old woman with a cult leader stalking her. Really? I keep telling God that was really overkill. It really was. I haven't learned anything from it. I'm not learning anything from it. It has been the blow that has put my faith into agonal breathing.
Jesus took comfort in His knowledge that nothing could happen to Him without authority being given by His Father Who is in Heaven. Of course, He only lived to be about half my age. I don't take comfort in it. The only conclusion I can reach on this is that God just hates me. I don't know why. It makes me weep. It makes me sob. It makes me scream. God turns His deaf ears to my broken heart.
I still believe God exists. I really do. I do believe He is all knowing. I hope He's all powerful, but I'm not sure. I do know He doesn't protect me. He seldom blesses me. I don't know why He, in His omniscience, has chosen me for unrelenting suffering. I don't know why.
He did give me two children, but their lives are cursed in many of the same ways as mine. I continually pray for good things for them. At 29 and 31, they can't find love. Their finances are somewhat better than mine. But they can't find love.
Other than that, whenever God runs a nice blessing across my hand, He jerks it away from me before I can even finish telling Him how grateful I am for it. I accuse Him of not caring, of not loving me. He is silent. I wish I was wrong. But it seems I am not.
I have faith in His love for other people. I see many people blessed by Him. I have been relegated to spiritual solitary confinement and forgotten by Him.
I know there are those who are worse off than I am. I know there are those who are starving. I have been hungry and not known where the next meal was coming, or when, but I haven't starved yet. I know there are those who are homeless. I have a crappy two-room (not two bedrooms, which is what most people hear when I say two rooms, just 2 rooms) apartment that is dark and cold and I hate it, but it's better than a tent under the bridge.
Although the Bible says there is no partiality with God, it seems there is, and I am in the group of people He really doesn't like. It hurts. His silence hurts. To be rejected by God is a terrible thing. Does it ever end? Not yet, in 61 years. If He changes His attitude towards me, I'll be sure to return and let you know. And if He does, I'll be sure to tell you how it happened. Right now, He seems to be set against me for life, and unmoving and unmovable in it.
But there was a problem, a big problem, in my life. It was my father, but it was bigger than that. It was the conspiracy of silence and violent and violating disbelief around the things my father did.
I was eleven, and our Sunday School teacher presented a lesson on prayer based on John 16:23-24: "...Verily, verily, I say unto you, Whatsoever ye shall ask the Father in my name, hHe will give it you. Hitherto have ye asked nothing in my name: ask, and ye shall receive, that your joy may be full." My heart was filled with joy. What it meant to me, and really meant because I asked and I really, really believed, was that the beatings were going to stop.
The next day my father beat me to unconsciousness. It was the worst beating of my life, and by no means the last. Where did I go wrong? That was when I realized I could not trust God. He wasn't there for me.
Over the years there have been so many just normal things I wanted from God that He withheld, that He refused to give. Love. One special person (male, because that's the way I swing) to love and to love me. A decent home (not a mansion) in a safe neighborhood. Financial resources to adequately care for my children. A couch. Nothing extravagant. Absolutely nothing extravagant. Just the low side of normal. I didn't get them. It isn't true that I do not have because I do not ask or ask amiss that I may consume it on my lusts. (James 4:3) It's true that I have never asked God for anything that wasn't simply on the low side of normal, and even those things He does not give. To me. He gives them to others, but not to me.
I'm not an ex-Christian. But I am fighting with God. For the past 5 years, I have had a stalker in my life. This man is not someone I ever dated, or wanted to date. He is a 62-year-old creep who runs a cult based on "old African religion" (which a web search shows is hoo doo and vodoun, parent religions to voodoo) who "saw" me in 2006 and has proceeded to destroy my life. I prayed and prayed and prayed and prayed for protection, and got none. I got punished - the police and other authorities don't seem to believe that stalkers actually exist. I got labeled "crazy" and accused of doing the bizarre things that have been done to myself and targeting him (I didn't even known him when they started) for blame. He has now cost me 4 jobs.
I'm not an ex-Christian. But I am fighting with God.An unrelenting stalker. Really? From an 11-year-old's earnest and fervent prayer full of faith for horrendous abuse to stop, which didn't happen, through an abusive 31-year marriage marked by abject poverty, to being a 61-year-old woman with a cult leader stalking her. Really? I keep telling God that was really overkill. It really was. I haven't learned anything from it. I'm not learning anything from it. It has been the blow that has put my faith into agonal breathing.
Jesus took comfort in His knowledge that nothing could happen to Him without authority being given by His Father Who is in Heaven. Of course, He only lived to be about half my age. I don't take comfort in it. The only conclusion I can reach on this is that God just hates me. I don't know why. It makes me weep. It makes me sob. It makes me scream. God turns His deaf ears to my broken heart.
I still believe God exists. I really do. I do believe He is all knowing. I hope He's all powerful, but I'm not sure. I do know He doesn't protect me. He seldom blesses me. I don't know why He, in His omniscience, has chosen me for unrelenting suffering. I don't know why.
He did give me two children, but their lives are cursed in many of the same ways as mine. I continually pray for good things for them. At 29 and 31, they can't find love. Their finances are somewhat better than mine. But they can't find love.
Other than that, whenever God runs a nice blessing across my hand, He jerks it away from me before I can even finish telling Him how grateful I am for it. I accuse Him of not caring, of not loving me. He is silent. I wish I was wrong. But it seems I am not.
I have faith in His love for other people. I see many people blessed by Him. I have been relegated to spiritual solitary confinement and forgotten by Him.
I know there are those who are worse off than I am. I know there are those who are starving. I have been hungry and not known where the next meal was coming, or when, but I haven't starved yet. I know there are those who are homeless. I have a crappy two-room (not two bedrooms, which is what most people hear when I say two rooms, just 2 rooms) apartment that is dark and cold and I hate it, but it's better than a tent under the bridge.
Although the Bible says there is no partiality with God, it seems there is, and I am in the group of people He really doesn't like. It hurts. His silence hurts. To be rejected by God is a terrible thing. Does it ever end? Not yet, in 61 years. If He changes His attitude towards me, I'll be sure to return and let you know. And if He does, I'll be sure to tell you how it happened. Right now, He seems to be set against me for life, and unmoving and unmovable in it.
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