Okay, after finally sitting down and blogging the journey that just the first few verses of chapter one in Jeremiah has taken me on, it is time to move on to the rest of the chapter. I had no idea why God took me to Jeremiah, but the very first 5 verses were very enlightening for me, and had very little to do with the prophet himself. If you haven't read it, you should go back and do so. It is a prime example of why we are to study the word of God for ourselves and not depend on what people have taught us.
For those who want to continue on this study with me, I have decided to continue blogging it instead of filling handwritten notebooks as I usually do. Be aware, these posts are just as my private notebooks would be during my Bible studies, and so what is pouring out of me is quite personal...way too personal, but maybe there will be things in them that touch others as well? So I am posting them for "whosever will." I have been feeling that it was time for some truths to come out, and wow, are they ever.
And with that, here we go.
Jeremiah, Chapter 1, Continued
In the first five verses of this book, we see that God knew who Jeremiah would be before he was ever formed in the womb. What some refer to as "a blob of cells," was already ordained and sanctified by God Himself to be a prophet and warn the people of judgments to come. Laying aside my own personal journey with these verses, I went back to look at verse 5 as it would apply to the world and not just myself.
Jeremiah 1:5 "Before I formed you in the womb, I knew you. Before you were born, I sanctified you. I ordained you as a prophet to the nations."
This verse is a very strong argument against those who are trying to convince the world that a baby isn't human, and has no right to life. All throughout the Bible, we see stories about satan trying to take out the competition by killing important men of God while they are still babies, literally trying to wipe out generations. Just look at pharaoh and King Herod, for examples. If you don't think that satan will try to use abortions to destroy someone who God has ordained, then you haven't been paying attention.
In verse 6, we begin to see the humanity in this man who had been called of God. Despite the fact that God had chosen him, ordained him, and sanctified him before he was even born, Jeremiah still felt inadequate.
Jeremiah answers God in Jeremiah 1:6 "Ah, Lord God! Behold, I cannot speak, for I am a youth."
Wow, do I ever get this one. I mentioned in my last post that I was saved at a very young age. By the time I was 8 years old, I was already singing in the adult choir, going up to the alters in church, laying hands on people and praying for them. I often felt that people watched me with doubt and even condemnation in their hearts, and this was confirmed for me in an interesting event that took place when I was somewhere around 8 years old.
I attended the Thomson Church of God with my parents when I was a child. My Dad was not yet a pastor at this time, but my parents were active in the church, sang in the choir, attended men's meeting and ladies' meetings... the whole nine yards. People from the church would often meet in each other's houses and have prayer meetings. There would be snacks, and Bible studies, but mostly prayer time - and I mean old-fashioned, shouting, praising, rebuking, getting-ahold-of-God and ringing prayer bells type of praying.
The kids usually went to a bedroom somewhere to play while the adults met in the living room or den of whoever was hosting that week. By this age, my parents let me stay with adults and pray with them. There was a friend of my parents, an older lady named Margaret, who was hosting one particular night. Margaret's daughter, Sheila, was a young woman who sometimes babysat me and my little brothers when my parents attended church functions, studies, or went out.
On this night, while everyone was praying to themselves, I kept feeling like I should go over and lay hands on Sheila. I wasn't really close to Sheila...as I said, she babysat me and my brothers, but I can't say that we really had a bond. She knew me well enough, though, and had insight into the dynamics of or family that others may not have had. I argued with God. "I'm just a kid...I can't go over and lay hands on my babysitter!"
He insisted. With extreme anxiety, I went over and did exactly as I was told. I laid my hands on Sheila, who seemed a but reluctant at first, but she didn't stop me. In seconds, I was sobbing. I began praying in tongues over her, feeling emotions that an 8 year old simply could not understand. I didn't know the words to pray, and the Holy Spirit took over and prayed for her through me. I understand that those who aren't Pentecostal may not get this. That's okay. I am just sharing my experiences and the thoughts that this book of the Bible is bringing to my mind, just as I would in my own private notes. It is a bit unnerving.
As I was saying, while I prayed for Sheila, I felt deep emotions...feelings that were beyond my ability as an 8 year old to grasp. I sobbed so hard and prayed utterings and groanings that only God could understand. It was an extremely emotional experience for me. When it was over, I retreated to my usual introvert's corner of the room near my parents to take my cues from the adults. Sheila started to walk over.
I began to feel anxious. What was she going to say? Was I in trouble? Did I do something wrong when I was praying? She walked up to me and my parents and said, "I have to apologize to y'all." She went on to explain that when she would see me participating in alters, choirs, adult things in the church, she felt that it was wrong. She thought that it was blasphemous and that I was too young to understand what was happening. She felt it was almost mocking God to allow a child in the alters, laying hands on people and praying in tongues over them. I apparently had unknowingly made her, and probably others, uncomfortable in church.
Sheila went on to explain, however, that when I came over and laid my hands on her and began to pray, she "felt God." She said that there was no doubt that it was real and that she knew God had sent me to her that night. So she wanted to apologize to us for the thoughts that she had had, and possibly even spoken to others, about me being active in the church as a child. When I was 10 years old, we moved away from that church. My Dad got his first church as a pastor at the Greensboro Church of God, and I didn't see Sheila again for years. I still had no idea why I was led to pray for her, or what I was praying about when we left that town.
My life became a bit more complicated as I got older, as lives often do. My parents had a rather nasty divorce when I was 14-15 (it took a while). We moved a lot. I ended up in Sandersville, Ga, and enrolled in high school there. My home life was not a great one, but I won't publicly go into too many details about it, unless God leads me to one day. I will show that I was extremely sheltered, although that word sounds too safe and warm. The correct term might be, "controlled." I was extremely isolated and controlled.
When I was 16, I wasn't allowed to go out with friends, have sleepovers, attend concerts (still never been to one), meet up at the Dairylane, go to football games (a few exceptions when a woman from church took me), be a cheerleader, play sports, join the band, go to movies, or date anyone who didn't go to our church. I was basically only allowed to participate in church functions. I had no idea how to cook, wash clothes, buy groceries, write a check, balance a checkbook, fill out a job application, change a tire, pump gas...I didn't even know how to drive or have a license. Although I was extremely "book-smart," my emotional maturity was probably about the same as most 12 year olds at the time...but even they could have sleep-overs, so I really don't know.
During this time, at just 16 years old, I met a 22 year old Marine who I dated for 6 months. I was allowed to because he came to our church. Three of those months he was in Massachusetts. I was only allowed to talk to him a few times a week for about 15 minutes on the phone. When he was home for those other 3 months, I was only allowed to go out with him 2 nights a week, and had to be home by 11. So I had most likely spent less than 80 hours with this man when he asked me to marry him. I had just turned 17. I was ecstatic. He was kind, gentle, attentive, and the first time I had ever seen him, he was in his uniform...which any 16 year old would flip flop over back then.
While we were dating, there were a few times that it began to be obvious that some of our family members didn't approve. His Dad loved me, my Mom liked him but felt I was too young for love, but some of his family wasn't at all thrilled with me and said so quite frankly. I began to doubt if I should be dating him, and started to express this to him one night in his car. "Maybe they're right. Maybe we should break up for a while." His fist slammed into the dash of his car at the same time he yelled, "No!" I jumped out of my seat. Although it scared me, it also gave me a warm feeling... he was passionate about not letting me go. That's how my immature brain processed the interaction.
He wanted to do things right and ask my mother to let me get married, which didn't go very well at all. She had ran away at 16 to get married, and didn't want to see my life end up as hers did when her marriage didn't work. Of course, I was young, and in love, and saw no way that this would ever happen to us. My Prince Charming had come and nothing would stop me. I literally ran out of my mother's house with her yelling and jumped into the window of the Marine's car as he slowed down going by my house like something out of the Dukes of Hazard. Since I was 17, Georgia law allowed me to leave home, but not get married without a signature. Mama eventually signed because she didn't want her daughter "shacked up with a man."
(You may be wondering what all of this has to do with Jeremiah and my childhood prayer for Sheila. Hang on, we're getting there, I promise.)
That marriage was wonderful at first. We were married 3 years before we had our first child. We'd bought a home, went to church, had a baby girl. I had to learn how to wash clothes, cook, etc, but his family helped me with some of that. He taught me to drive, and because I was underage when we married, he literally had to sign as my guardian for me to get a driver's license. He left the Marines and eventually got a good job at one of the chalk plants. To the world, I had it made. Beautiful home, wonderful, providing husband, and eventually, 2 gorgeous children. I didn't work, I stayed home.
When I had my second child, I suffered from post-partum depression, but at the time, we had no name for it. I was depressed all of the time, crying, guilty, sad, miserable, and had no idea why. My husband would sometimes come in from work and find me and both kids in the floor, with all of us sobbing. He felt that I needed to pick myself up by my bootstraps....I was a mom now, it was time to get over my mental issues.
He eventually stopped coming home from work, except to sleep. My kids were 2 years apart, and truthfully, I was still a kid myself... and I was overwhelmed, isolated, and alone, just as I had felt before I married him. There was no social media, no internet...we only had 2 channels on the television, and he didn't want me to go anywhere with friends. He was constantly afraid that I would do something that would let the kids get hurt, and his repeated reminders of that began to make me doubt myself all of the time. My anxiety that I was a terrible mom and would hurt my kids somehow grew unbearable. I had deep and serious issues from my relationship with my own Mom and was terrified of hurting my kids in the same way.
I wasn't the best wife. In fact, at times, I was downright awful. I was still very emotionally immature, and would throw fits if I didn't get my way at times. I only hung out with church people and his family. In many ways, I went from one controlled environment to another, and still stayed a child emotionally. He took care of everything, the bills, the groceries, the decisions. I still had no idea how to balance a checkbook or fill out a job application. I had no idea how much money he made or how much we had. I had no access to the money without his permission. He took care of me and the kids, and was an awesome provider.
I made a LOT of mistakes. I was honestly an awful wife. Eventually, he grew tired of my immaturity, and that, along with some of my worst mistakes when I ran from God (as explained in my previous post) led him to want a divorce. Although I was still living in the house with him, he had met someone else, but would not tell me who she was.
I also strayed from our marriage with someone younger (yet probably still more emotionally mature than I was), but not until after my husband had already asked me for a divorce and stopped sleeping in our bed. I had, however, admitted to it, and asked for forgiveness. He simply was not able to get past it for months. One day, while I was still living in our house, he came home and told me that he forgave me. He slept with me in our bed that night, "knew me" in the Biblical way, and promised me that everything was going to be ok. He was going to stop the divorce and we would work it out. I slept in his arms.
The next day he went to work, and I was on cloud nine. I had confessed my sins before God and man, forgiven my husband's sins, and prayed for my marriage...and God was going to fix it! I spent the day with my babies, playing, making crafts, etc. Then the phone rang. I didn't recognize the woman's voice, but she asked, "What are YOU doing there?" I answered, "I live here, who is this?" She replied, "Well if you and your husband are getting a divorce, then I don't think you have any business being there." And I retorted nastily, "Well, if you had any idea the last time that he was in MY bed, you wouldn't be calling here anymore." She hung up on me and my stomach twisted into knots.
I was sick for the rest of the evening with worry. I knew she had likely hung up on me to call him. I fell asleep holding my baby boy in my arms in his bed. Some time later, my husband came bursting into the house and told me to get out. He snatched my son from my arms and pushed me out of the house. He told me that if I came back, he would call the police. I had no idea at that time that the house belonged to both of us and he could not force me to leave.
I simply knew that he had worked for it for 9 years of our marriage, and I had not worked, so it was his...still so emotionally immature and naïve. But, because I had also broken my vows and sinned, I felt guilty...like I deserved this. I honestly do not know who broke our vows first, I thought I did, but later realized I may not have, and at this point, it does not matter. All I know for sure is that within a couple of months of our divorce being finalized, they were married.
So what does me finally telling parts of the story of my first marriage have with Jeremiah, Sheila, and how God uses children? Well, when that marriage ended so abruptly and violently, I believe that I suffered a breakdown. I had no idea how to live without him...authentically no idea. I was an emotionally broken child by any standards, and I fell for the first guy to come along and promise to "take care of me," because I had no idea how to do it myself yet. That marriage was very bad and hurt my kids. In fact, I seemed to have a habit of attracting abusers after that first marriage and ended up in several abusive relationships, one of which stalked me for 5 years, but that's another story.
When the Marine divorced me, I had no idea how to get a job, pay bills, get a home, take care of 2 kids. I had come from a broken home myself. I moved so much as a kid that I had no roots. I did not want to do that to my kids. I wanted them to have what I never had... a secure home, the same school, the same friends, the same town, the same life throughout their childhood so that they could grow up whole.
My life was a train wreck at that time. I was living in such darkness that I did not want my kids in it. So, although I fought for only one thing in that marriage, joint custody, I left my kids where they were safe...with their Dad. I did visit them when I could, but literally had to ask permission from their stepmom, because apparently their Dad was still working all of the time. And when they did come to see me, they saw a peep into the ugliness that was my life, which I never wanted them to see and they still hate me for. So they were mostly raised by their Dad and stepmom... which is how we get back to the beginning of this story.
See, unbeknownst to me, the woman who my husband met and decided to divorce me for was someone who had recently moved to our town and her and her Mom had started going to our church. She had even prayed for God to send her a husband that would be there for her and her 2 kids. It was a total shock to me when I finally found out who she was just after my divorce. See, the woman that married my Marine, who moved into my home, who drove my car, kept my dog, and raised my kids...was Sheila.
Yep. The young woman who had babysat me as a kid married my ex years later. The woman who God told me to pray for when I was only 8 years old, was the very woman who would raise my children, and honestly, despite the ugliness of that divorce, she seems to have done much better than I would have at the time. She isn't perfect, neither is he, neither am I. I do feel that perhaps they could have handled some things differently, specifically how they referred to me around my kids while they were growing up, and how they don't encourage a relationship with me and my kids now, even though I have tried for almost 2 decades now to make up for my past and be in their lives.
I kept silent on these truths for decades because I did not want to degrade their Dad or stepmom...that breakup was the fault of BOTH parties, but they needed him...he was their security and I was a mess. So I let them believe whatever they were told.
It took me years to forgive myself for my past mistakes. I feel it is important to note that I have also forgiven those who hurt me. Whether or not they have forgiven me is between them and God. This post is simply what poured out of me as I read that one verse.
But, now, the whole story gives me chills every time I think about it. When I was just 8 years old, God led me to pray for the woman who would raise my own kids one day.
What if I had said, "No Lord, I am too young?"
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