I come from a family of seven, so you can imagine what it was like growing up. It's five women and two men, not including my parents. I love them all, but to be honest I don't really know them as I should, yet. I mean "yet" because I'm still learning about them. You may wonder, how can that be?...
Fights, disease, debts, hatred, depression, rejection was part of what I saw every day in my house as I grew up. Nobody really talked to each other unless it was to complain or yell at one another. I really can't remember every detail since I was very young, but I do remember wishing to have a different family. Listening to other kids in school talk about their mom and dad or what they had done that weekend with their families made me think I wasn't loved. Everyone was going through their own problems so I thought, 'why should I even bother to try?'
My mom had every possible sickness and pain you can think of and symptoms that the doctors didn't know the reason for. As any mother she wanted her family to be different, her son to be healed, and healing for herself so, she tried to find a way out. This includes witch doctors, "healers," going to church and praying to all sorts of saints. If a friend invited her to a church, we'd be there. I remember going every Sunday to a different church, we'd spend a few Sundays in one and if she didn't see anything we'd try another church. We called ourselves "Catholic," and after years of church hopping and witch doctors and nothing happening I personally gave up. Thankfully my mom did not.
In 1997, I was eight years old at the time and my mom once again received another invitation from another friend to another church. Once again, we all hop in the car and drive about an hour and a half. Although I was eight, I abhorred the idea of going to any church, I thought they were boring and a waste of time. My mom as always was the only one who hoped this church would be able to help us all.
To be continued...
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