Eight Years

It was September 2007 when I told my mom I was being baptized. She hung up on me and began the severing of ties between us. She disowned me at that moment. She didn't need to say it or be ceremonious about it. It just was. I had chosen Christ over my family and she knew it. I'd broken one of the rules and so I must be disowned.

At the very moment I accepted Christ, I'm not sure I fully grasped what it would mean for my life. I certainly didn't automatically think I'd have to give up my family. Let me be clear about something. If this hadn't happened, I would have eventually had to make a break from my family because of the depth of their dysfunction. My mom took the first step and created an early out for me.

Despite their dysfunction, they are my only family. I love my two brothers, two nieces, two nephews and one sister in law. It was a lot to lose. Outside of my own life or my husband, it was probably the greatest sacrifice I could have made for Christ.

That was eight years ago. This is my eighth set of holidays away from them. Beside the first, this might be the hardest time I've had with it.

It was hard and lonely the first few years. Then it was a bit of triumph to have a few years when I thrived despite being lonely. Then there were years when the celebration of Christ was sufficient. The last couple years have brought a moderate amount of contact with my brothers family and time spent with his kids. Those years have supplied their own level of hard, but less loneliness.

The past couple months have been extremely lonely for me. Not quite connected here and too far away from there. So much time alone has given my mind too many opportunities to go down crazy paths.

Only briefly have I considered giving up Jesus to go back to my family. You might think that's extreme, but it's not for the situation. There's no place for a Christian to co exist in my family. Extended family, yes. Immediate, no. There's no possibility of balance. Make no mistake, my husband would never allow that level of crazy. My dad is still far too physically and emotionally dangerous. I'd sacrifice my sanity, marriage and possibly my life to go back.

But, my mind wanders and my heart longs. I've considered what it would be like to sneak back into the family and evangelize them. Would God protect? Would Jesus be enough to keep me in line? Yes, yes. The problem goes back to me not being quite healthy enough to do it. I'm good at admitting where I'm inadequate, not enough. God lets me know. I'm not enough to take on the evil that reside there.

Even if I were able to go back, it would not be as I dreamed. It wouldn't be like the return of the prodigal son. There would be no party. Nobody would be waiting with open arms. There would only be suspicion. I'd be in a vulnerable position with a pack of vultures. There wouldn't be cookie baking or reminiscing. There wouldn't be carol singing or sharing life. It would be dramatic and cold.

I hate this place, hate the emotion. It's not even about not having what I want. It's about the loss and grieving what will never be. I can wish, dream and even scheme. Everything still stands as it is. Impossible.

Before you say that nothing is impossible with God, it's not applicable in that way here. It was only possible with God that I was extricated from this terrible environment. That's what was not impossible and I have to be thankful for that.

Even though I know all of this and eight years is a lot of time to accept it, there's nothing which changes the heartache. There's nothing that makes it hurt less.

I can't hardly believe it's been eight years. It's been nine years since I spent a Christmas or Thanksgiving with my family. So much has changed. None of my nieces or nephews were in school. The oldest turned five and the youngest was a baby.

Despite my own loneliness, I always hope others have wonderful holidays with their families.