I grew up in what would now be considered a dysfunctional family. Wikipedia defines this type of family as, "A dysfunctional family is a family in which conflict, misbehavior, and often abuse on the part of individual members occur continually and regularly, leading other members to accommodate such actions. Children sometimes grow up in such families with the understanding that such an arrangement is normal."
That defines my family. I am the oldest of eleven children, my father was an alcoholic and my mother was the product of incest.
I was molested by my uncle when I was five. I told my grandmother, whom I was living with at the time, but it continued to happen. I still blame my mother and grandmother for allowing this to continue. My mother had this same uncle come live with us to baby sit us later.
My infamous father, William Post, the lottery winner who died a pauper was only around long enough to make another baby or beat my mother. He never really was a daddy, just a father... or now I can call him a sperm donor. He was separated from his eight wife when he died, alone.
When you grow up in this type of atmosphere as Wikipedia put it, a child might believe that this is normal. I know I did, until I saw the Brady Bunch. Then for years, and perhaps even today, I escape to television where the ugly of life can be forgotten for a moment. But, when you turn off the television, or put down the book - reality rears it's ugly head. Today, as an adult, I sometimes look at children and see in their eyes signs that they are living the same life I had to live.
For a long time, I HATED God, if He even existed. This God I first heard about in a tiny Mennonite church in PA, who would send bad people to hell. Supposedly all powerful, creator of our world and universe....if that were so, why had I been molested? Why did He put me with William and Hazel? Why wasn't I born to the Brady Bunch? It wasn't fair. So, if there was a God, I hated him for allowing me to be molested. God could have struck my uncle dead when he first tried to molest me. He could have had my father die in a alcoholic over dose. But He didn't. Why?
I was past thirty when I learned why, because God is long suffering. God is patient. God is forgiving, when a sinner comes to Him and asked for forgiveness. (KJV) I John 1:9 If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness. A tiny word, "if" - yet powerful in meaning. If you confess. If you don't no forgiveness or cleansing is given.
(KJV) Jeremiah 29:11 For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, saith the LORD, thoughts of peace, and not of evil, to give you an expected end. The hardest thing to handle even today at almost fifty, is the last part.... waiting for the expected end.
If you put your nose on the nose of the Mona Lisa, you would see flesh tones and perhaps cracks. Nothing amazing, nothing beautiful. But, when you step back, move away to get perspective, you see a beautiful work of art by a master painter. I think that is helping me to get a better handle on what my life has been about, and perhaps how I can live it a little sweeter and less judgmentally. And see just what God can do with this sinner.
