When God's Hand Is Upon Your Life!

Chapter 1

Rough Beginning

No Blame

The End of a thing is better than its beginning.

—Ecclesiastes 7:8a

As vivid as the stars are on a dark and clear night and the full moon brightly shines against the dark sky; so are my thoughts and memories of a time that has long since passed.

There are certain experiences we remember from our childhood that have a great impact on how we live the rest of our lives. Some of the memories and thoughts are good and some of them devastating. Nevertheless, they both, in their own way, shape our thoughts about ourselves and others and play a huge part in our decision-making process, not just for ourselves but for our children as well (if we have them). Whether good, bad, or devastating, there is a purpose that they serve for our lives and the lives of the people we will encounter.

Now, as for me, I was born in the spring of nineteen sixty-six as the story is told of the day that I was born; my appearance came as quite a shock to my father. As a mother now myself and having had the experience of childbirth, I understand the complications that can occur and the alternative measures that must be taken to bring a child safely through childbirth. As you may have already guessed, yes, I was privileged to be born by one of these methods. I was literally pulled into the world. Forceps were the tool of choice used to assist in my arrival. The birth canal aided the forceps in assuring that my physical appearance would be temporarily altered. My head had taken on the cone shape, while my eyes were dilated to be as large as golf balls. I can visually imagine that I must have been quite an unpleasant sight to see that day.

According to my father’s memory and as often as he shared the story, I was the ugliest thing he had ever seen. Imagine, if you will, a pale version of the alien without teeth. Thanks be to God that we do not stay the way we look upon our arrival. I suppose when you think about it though, our birthing experiences could represent to a degree what we would endure here on this earth for the kingdom of God, as well as what we are to birth in God’s ordained purpose for us.

Nevertheless, my family and I survived that shocking ordeal, and I changed significantly over the next few weeks. The change was so significant that my father did not recognize me by the time I was six weeks old. It would appear that the next few years as I grew, I began developing naturally as the time passed. My mother tells me that I was a prissy little girl. And as I learned to dress myself, I was extremely slow, and everything had to be perfect. The ruffled socks that we, mothers, adore for our daughters had to be perfectly folded down with every ruffle in its proper place. Now that I have reached adulthood, I am still the prissy little girl my mother called me.

By the time I was five years old, I had a sister and a brother. Because I was the oldest, I was responsible for both of them. My mother told me that I was still prissy and had become stubborn. She says there was this time I got into trouble; and while she was spanking me, instead of crying, I just stood there looking at her with a straight face. I was a quiet child and stayed to myself most of the time.

I remember one night it was our bedtime and my mother tucked us in and went to prepare herself for bed. She thought as the house had quieted and settled down, she would check to make sure that everything was in its proper place and secured. To her surprise, as she came out of her room, there was a trail of rice that started in the kitchen from the refrigerator, through the living room, and ended in my brother and sister’s room.

She got extremely upset and came into my room and woke me up by yelling, Get up, get up. I did not know what was going on. I only knew that something had happened, and she was angry. I recall her tossing a sweater to me and a small bag, taking me to the front door, opening the door and yelling, Get out, and don’t come back! I stood on the porch, crying and holding my bag, confused about what was happening. My mother opened the door again and said, Get off the porch, and get away from here. As I looked up at her, she said, Go on and don’t come back. I stood there looking at the house, still crying, contemplating where I would go, especially since I was so young. I remember it being cold, damp, dark, and scary. I walked down the street to the end of the sidewalk that stopped at the gate to my elementary school, which was right next to the house we lived in.

I was not standing at the end of the sidewalk very long when my stepfather pulled into the driveway. He got out of the car, and when he saw me standing out there, he said, What are you doing out here? He walked down the sidewalk to where I was standing, picked me up, and asked me again, What are you doing out here? I told him about the events of the evening, and I really do not know why I am out here. He put me down and walked me back down the sidewalk, up the driveway, up the steps, and sat me on the couch on the porch. He got up and said to me, I’ll be back. Sit here for me. He then went into the house. When my mother saw me sitting on the porch, she said, I told you to get away from here, and don’t come back.

My stepfather closed the door and left me on the porch. I could hear them talking but could not understand what they were saying. It felt like an eternity that I was waiting on the porch in the cold, damp, dark night. Finally, he opened the door and came back on the porch, picked me up with my bag, took me into the house, and put me back into my bed.

I can imagine what some of you are thinking, saying, and even feeling at this time. How could she do that to her own child and only five years old? Poor child, what could she have done so horrible to receive this type of treatment? And/or she probably got what she deserved. Well, in case you didn’t know, allow me to shine some light on this for you. When God’s hand is upon your life, there are situations, circumstances, and dilemmas that He allows to take place in our lives as He molds and shapes us into who He has purposed for us to be.

Now I have a question for you to ponder; what if there was a testing that my mother was undergoing during this time so that God’s purpose in her life can be fulfilled? God, our Father, is in complete control of everything at all times. There is nothing that takes place on this earth, whether hidden or in the open, that He does not know about, have orchestrated, or has allowed to be.

God brought me through that ordeal as I continued to grow up. For the glory of God, the memory stayed with me to share with you all so that you will know that God loves each of you and desires for you to be set free from experiences like this that have kept you in bondage for all these years, like my experience had kept me. I must take this moment to give God all the praise, honor, and glory because He is deserving of it all by Himself. He gets the glory out of this situation, "And we know that all things work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose" (Romans 8:28).

That enemy of ours, Satan, the accuser of the brethren (Revelations 12:10) is constantly on his toes, making sure we stay defeated, distracted, and discouraged. To offer you some comfort, know that before he can do anything, he has to get permission from God, our heavenly Father and Creator. When we stay focused on all that Satan uses to distract us, we begin to feel overwhelmed by what we see and hear and either forget that we have a Father in heaven who sits high and looks low, or we don’t ever come in contact with God because the enemy keeps us trapped in what we are being surrounded by. My prayer is that you will either remember and hold onto our Father as you go forward after reading this book, or you will seek to get to know the Father through His son, Jesus Christ.

By the time I was seven years old, my stepfather no longer had a job. The company he worked for went out of business, or the owners closed the business. My mother worked, and my stepfather got us ready for school every day. One morning, after my mother left for work, my stepfather came and got me out of my bed and carried me into his and my mother’s room. He hugged me and tried to comfort me by telling me not to worry and that everything would be all right. As we laid there, he began touching my little body and saying things I did not understand and that little children should not hear.

He caressed my body by moving his hands down to touch me in between my legs. I was scared and uncomfortable while I was thinking, This is not normal. I became tense and nervous, not sure of what was happening or what was about to happen. He began kissing my face, neck, and on my lips while whispering to me, Do not be afraid. Everything is all right. I became restless, and I started squirming; the gentle voice and tone changed. The look of genuine concern disappeared, and a scary one appeared in its place. The comforting words became these words of warning, If you tell anyone about this, I will kill you, which rang in my mind for the rest of my childhood, and I was emotionally bound by this event for much of my adulthood.

I do not recall the exact year that my family started attending church; nevertheless, I remember going to church at seven. I loved going to church and hearing all the singing and preaching although I was not sure what was being said. I know there was no safer place for me to be except at church. I recall that as long as I was there, I did not think about what was going on at home. At home, I felt afraid and alone and as if no one there cared about me. When my mother told me I could not go to church, my feelings were hurt, and I would cry. That was my safe haven, and there was no other place on earth that made me feel like that.

When I was eight years old, I remember seeing the ladies at church shouting and running around saying, Praise the Lord and hallelujah. My sister, brother, and I used to come home and play church and do what we saw the ladies in church do. For a while, we thought it was fun, and we would laugh as well, fell out on the grass as if we fainted. Then one day, we set up the church in the front yard. My brother was the preacher, and my sister and I were the ladies who would always shout. My brother started saying what we heard the preacher saying, and my sister starting saying praise the Lord loudly like always. This time did not feel the same as all the other times for me. I felt something I had not felt before, and I starting crying for real. I remember thinking to me myself, What is happening to me, and why can I see myself crying and yelling out to the Holy Spirit to come and help me? My shouting was different than all the other times. The Holy Spirit had come upon me; and I was praising, shouting, and magnifying the Lord for real.

I can remember hearing my sister running to the house and calling my mother, telling her that something was wrong with me. I saw my mother come out of the house and stand on the front porch as she watched me for a minute. She then told my sister not to worry, that the Holy Spirit had a hold of me, and that I would be all right. I do not know how long I was praising God before the Holy Spirit released me. What I can say is that my experience with the Holy Spirit was the most awesome experience of my life.

As I sit here and write these words, the memories of this experience bring me joy and confirm for me that God has always been there with me, and I was not alone. All I can do right now is give Him all the praise, honor, and glory for who He is and always will be in my life—my Father, God, who has loved me so much that He allowed such an experience for me at this young age. I must thank God for having His hand upon my life! I was different after that day. Being at church every Sunday after that was the highlight of my week. There was such peace that I felt every time I walked through those doors. I pray that you have had the same or a similar experience no matter what your age was or is. Our Father loves us, and His plans and thoughts for us are exceedingly and abundantly more than we can ask or think. I continued to grow up and started going to spend time with my father on the weekends. Being with him became my second safe haven.

Of course, I continued to grow as time passed. I stayed to myself every chance I got. I figured that if I stayed out of sight, I would be out of mind. Know this; the devil did not stop trying to destroy me. I