Kill the Goliaths
My well-intentioned parents were too afraid to face their villains. They denied them. In my family of origin, multiply by two the generations of Goliaths. Two generations, on both sides of the family tree! Goliaths multiply and spread, like Corona Virus germs. Too many Goliaths were squeezed into my snug childhood home, and they lacked personal hygiene habits. They stunk.
I have spent decades trying to write my story, side-tracked by many distracting and time-consuming rabbit trails. It is complicated. I am learning that my story does not begin with surviving a dysfunctional and alcoholic childhood home. It does not begin when I was frightened into salvation at age 20. Or, when I was married at age 21 and moved states away. It does not begin during struggles raising two sensitive children. It does not begin at pivotal age 35 when I joined the Motherless Club after Mom's premature death. No, my real story began 20 years ago, 25 years after I accepted Jesus as Savior.
My story begins at age 45, because that is when my eyes were beginning to open. For me, 45 is the new 20. That is when my blinded eyes began to see, after some years of learning family history. I started to see where I fit into the family mix. I grasped my sin, and I felt great sorrow. Sorrow that I should have felt when I was initially saved so many years before.
Family history can be like a puzzle, discovering that one or two pieces are missing. Not knowing family history is like a young adult finally learning of their hidden adoption. The feelings are surreal; they step back confused. And the questions about identity begin.
It felt like I was adopted, because a part of me was missing. Mom's tragic death created a seismic family shift; I deeply grieved, for years. Dad moved on, and emotionally away, with a rebound marriage. Soon after the funeral, I learned from an aunt one tightly-held secret that eventually created a hunger for heritage hunting. I yearned to ask, "Mom, why was it so important to never tell that secret?"
I now realize that if she had not died prematurely, I might never have known two key secrets. And my parents’ response to hide the secrets, even after opening their hearts to Jesus, taught me. And it still teaches me, so much. Finally, when a deeper and critical layer or two peeled back, with time to decipher, the "aha" headcock-combined-with-nose-squint occurred, "Now, so much of the heated family dysfunction makes sense!"
Two grandmothers: One grandmother's 20-something shame [next-generation Goliath] caused her to over-compensate as a mother, needing her children's achievements for affirmation, to prove that she was good. Widowed twice by age 65 created in her an even greater need. My other grandmother was also basically widowed, because in her 40s, in a 1945 middle-of-the-night escape, ever-leaned-upon and hyper-secretive grandfather quietly left her, his children, and his war-time thriving business for another woman, never to return. Sweet 16 Mom and her family fought shame and a messy divorce [next generation Goliath], while other families helped fight WWII.
Two needy widows, both holding emotional baggage of which I never knew. Baggage that affected my parents, spelling dysfunction in my childhood, to the nth degree. I am my grandparents and my parents, and they are me.
A supportive father figure could have helped my non-Christian parents, but they had none. Their real need was for a personal relationship with Jesus Christ, but their concept of Jesus was severe and distorted. They didn't want the hyper-rigid religion of Dad's maternal grandfather. For years, my parents banded together to stubbornly fight that idea, but unfortunately they fought each other, too. Dad's sporadic nocturnal outbursts toward Mom were at times scary, and occurred throughout much of his children's key developmental years.
Childhood, in a nutshell, was full of secrets. Plus, there was denial. That was my parents' attempt to keep up the important "good family" facade. A variety of puzzling tensions, jealousies, and unfounded suspicions were heightened (Shame Goliath, WWII Goliath, and a few others felt quite welcome in our home). I sensed the tensions, 24/7. They were always there.
Maybe it was the number of children my parents had. Six, and household disorder exacerbated mild learning challenges. Mom was overwhelmed, but quietly balked at help from her mother. Maybe it was the pressurized legal field that made chain-smoker Dad a multi-a-holic (addicted to snacking and a variety of other tension relievers). Maybe he was mentally stuffing away an overbearing and rigid mother, needing to protect his personal boundaries, even though she lived hours away. All I know is that there was crazy and sometimes intense dysfunction going on!
More than that, and more than ever, I see clearly. The pink elephant in the room was denial combined with inordinate fears or hyper-sensitivity (causing no family closure, ever)... the need to puff oneself up and awareness- or EQ communication- lack, of which I am the greatest offender! “But I’ll get over it, and probably much too quickly, Lizzy” (Pride and Prejudice).
I, too, was in denial... until age 45, when God saved me from myself.
Goliaths are not welcome in my generation. And I pray they will think twice before residing in the homes of the next generation. Shelter-in-place generates a greater sense of urgency, with lots of focused time. In our state, 2 or 3 more weeks of sheltering remain, giving hours-a-plenty to kill remaining Goliaths. And, decide if there is more to the story (surely not)!
Hopefully this writing is the grand finale. After 45 years of life and living, + 20 years of deciphering... at age 641/2 could this be a part of my purpose that is over? It might just be time to move on, and motivate others to write their story.
I Samuel 17 (The Bible)
David & Goliath
(YouVersion is the free Bible App we use)
David & Goliath
(YouVersion is the free Bible App we use)
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