Where HE Leads

The Fixer Upper

   That is what I like to call my life. Because it was truly broken, run down, worn out and just plain ugly to look at.  I guess I should start somewhere near the beginning so you can see where I am coming from.
   I was born into a Christian home, my father was a Baptist Preacher, my mom played the piano in church,. And when I was older my dad taught Sunday School and was a deacon. I was given every opportunity, and there was no reason, other than my own stupidity, for my life to have gone so wrong. Like many teenage girls growing up in church, I was fairly sheltered from many of the harsh realities of this world, but there was something about those bad boys that I just could not leave alone.  I found myself at a bowling alley once a week when I was 15 because my dad played on the church bowling team.  I have often thought about one particular night being the turning point for my entire life. On this night I was sitting down, eating some nachos or something and notice that I am being watched  and talked about by a small group of , well, let's just say, non church-y looking guys.  So, as any self respecting 15 year old with a younger sister does, I paid my little sister a nickle to ask for the phone number of  one of them in particular...you guessed it, the baddest looking one.  A few minutes later my father, who by the way was a superior judge of character, looked at me, looked towards the group of boys and said "NO SPEAKY" Which I knew meant that those boys in particular were completely and totally off limits.  As you can imagine I ignored my dad's instruction and called the young man the very next day. Oh, I wish I could tell you that I saw him for what he was and decided he was not worth my time.
The truth is that 3 short years later I boarded a greyhound bus in South Carolina and headed to the West Coast to marry him, leaving nothing behind but a note to my family. So we were married, and apart from the normal spats of newlyweds, the first year was fairly uneventful. When I found out that I was expecting our second child things started changing, I had discovered that his mother had a drug dependency, and my young husband was on probation for some alcohol and drug issues that had happened before I arrived, yes, looking back this should have been a red flag. 
So I find out that I am pregnant about the time he starts acting strangely, he won't go to work, He won't stay at home, and his alcohol use increases, not that I could judge because I had my share of it as well. Our arguments were coming closer together and they were escalating in intensity, until one day he hauled off and hit me, I am not talking about a slap, or a shove,  I saw stars, I do not remember falling down, but I opened my eyes and saw nothing but carpet.  Of course he said he was sorry, swore he would never drink again, blamed the booze first, me second, and every other circumstance imaginable, except himself.  I found myself in what felt like an alternate reality. If you are asking yourself if he straightened up his act, sorry to say the answer is no. Shortly after that I found a syringe floating in the toilet, he claimed that the previous owner must have been diabetic, then they started popping up all over the house. I noticed that he was wearing a lot of long sleeved shirts, in mid August, and started to question him. This just made him angry, which caused more arguments, which gave me a lot of bruises. The law intervened on several occasions, one such instance when I fought back, I got to experience a ride downtown in the squad car. His drug use increased, he preferred Meth but would honestly use anything he could get his hands on. I came home from one of my 3 jobs one night to find that every stitch of furniture we had was gone from the house, he had sold it to get high.  Things went on like this for over a year, he got high, I got got hit, I will spare you all of the details. I tried leaving a few times, but he always found me. When I found out I was expecting baby number 3, I knew that I could not live the way I was. I called my parents who had been trying to get me to leave for years, and told them that I was ready to come home.  Long story short, I had some issues with trust, I blamed God for my situation, I blamed my, now Ex husband.  I was broken, bruised, devastated, and I was convinced that no one would ever love me. It has been more than 10 years since then, and I can honestly say that God has healed those scars, He loves me, He cherishes me, and He feels exactly the same way for you. If He can take my wreck of a life, my broken heart, and give me new hope, and a life worth living, He can and will do the same for you, won't you let Him?