I didn't always see the positive in my childhood because of living the struggles of a single parent home, but now I see how God used my childhood to begin the hard lesson of learning to trust Him.
My Dad
My parents divorced before I was born. My father was never involved in my life. I can count on one hand the times I got to see my dad. He was there when I was born. My mom took me to my paternal grandparents home in Phoenix, AZ when I was five and I remember sitting on my father's lap. I do not remember seeing him again until I was 15 years old. I went to San Diego to visit him and his crazy girlfriend. She was cocaine addicted and diabetic. I remember riding in the car with her when she was looking for my dad to give her a cocaine fix......she ran every stop sign and red light, turning quickly around corners, slamming on her brakes at every bar she thought she might catch him at! I think I have never prayed so hard in my life!!! but, I survived!!
My dad flew to Missouri one time to see me when I was 16. That visit lasted about five minutes, then I saw my dad again at my cousin's wedding in Phoenix when I was 17, then he died that same year. My dad dealt drugs and lived the wilder side of life. His death certificate says he died of a septic infection and that his occupation was a fisherman. The reality is he was shooting up heroin and he had dime size infected holes where the needle was injected. If I understand correctly, he used his boat to ship narcotics from Baja California into the United States. I don't know if he worked for the mob or not, but I know I witnessed some strange behavior on my two trips to San Diego to visit with him. So I like to say, My Dad, the Mobster, My Mom the Missionary!!! Little Ole Me, in the middle!!! LOL
My Mom
My sister and I were raised solely by our mother with little help from anyone else. My grandmother helped when she could and my uncle and aunt helped when we lived close by. My mother gave us and God everything she had. She worked very hard to put food on the table and she always did what she thought was best for us girls. We never heard Mom complain of not getting child support or of the lack of help from our fathers. She just did what she needed to do to be the best mom she could be under the circumstances.
Living on The Border
When I was in the third grade, we moved to McAllen, TX for a year. My mother attended language school. There, she learned the Hispanic customs and the Spanish language. The 9 month program was designed to help missionaries adjust to the culture and prepare us for life on the border. When my uncle and grandma came to Mom's graduation they traveled down through Laredo TX to visit other people on their way through. They ended up passing a little town called Roma. Since my uncle is a pastor, he was curious about a church building that was being torn down. He stopped to talk. Long story short, that conversation opened a door for us to move to Roma, TX when I was entering the fourth grade.
We moved to Bethel Mission. The mission had a school, a medical clinic, eye clinic, church, radio station and missions outreach directly into Mexico. I remember so many wonderful things about Roma, I could hardly begin to post them all here but I will try to give you the highlights. I attended the mission school until the 8th grade. We lived and worked with the missionary teachers. My mom was one of the teachers. She taught the children who learned differently. My mother had a special gift to help these children learn to read where traditional education had failed. My mother knew that not all children fit in the square box called public education. There were a few of her students who were high school age and could not yet read or write. They would not have been able to function in society if it had not been my mom's special gift. They now are productive, married and have children, living their lives to the fullest. She loves helping others. When I was in the fourth through the seventh I did all of my work in English and in Spanish. Since I live in white town America, this has not served me very well but it is an interesting conversation piece at times. LOL
I remember spending Saturday's at the villages for a season in our lives. We would travel to small towns. My sister and I would sing a special for the people who were gathered there. Someone in our group would lead singing and give a lesson. We would visit for a little while then on to the next village we would go. My sister and I, both have beautiful blue eyes. The culture believed a superstition that something bad would happen to us if they admired our eyes and did not touch them. We had hot sweaty hands touching our eyes often!! LOL Not very fun then, funny now. These village people shared an community outhouse and many of the homes had dirt floors. Surprisingly, they were very clean and well maintained considering the conditions. I look back at this time in my life and hope all of the wonderful people are safe, knowing full well they are probably not, due to the horrible violence that plagues the Mexican border. All I can do now is pray for their safety.
I had so many friends in Roma. I loved them all. I don't even remember a lot of bad there. Mostly good. The Peel were the leaders at the mission and they were like parents to many. I do remember some occasions when demon possessed people would interrupt the church service and the men of the church would wrestle people to the ground. Evil voices would come out of the possessed person's mouth. That was a little bit of childhood drama, not everyone can understand...LOL again.
We lived in Roma until just before my junior year in high school. Then we moved to Owasso...and that, my friend, is another story... Be sure to watch my You Tube video about my childhood. Until next time.
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