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Moments That Changed Me #1

My sister and I were talking last night about moments that changed us. The idea is that we all have experiences that change the core of our beings. We each shared only one last night, partly because we ran out of time as our conversation meandered, but mostly because it's just difficult to sort through our memories for those that really transformed us.

Here's my Moment That Changed Me, #1
I grew up in a home with 2 mentally ill parents: a bipolar mother and clinically depressed father. By the time I was a teenager, I was filled with an unexpressed rage at my life's circumstances. I placed all the blame on my mother's shoulders and reached a point where I could barely speak to her.

During the last night of a church revival when I was 15, I sat in the choir loft half listening to the sermon and half watching my mother in the congregation. I remember the pure rage boiling within me, questiong just what God had in mind when he placed me in that environment.

There was no choir singing during the invitation that night, so I sat in my silent seething, sensing the strong tension in the air. I watched as the meanest man I had ever met wobbled between his pew and the aisle before stepping out toward the front of the church.

When he took his first step forward, the tension in the sanctuary broke. In that moment, I saw my mother in new eyes. She was no longer the zombie who failed to do laundry or the lunatic who insulted me. She was a person with problems that she neither chose for herself nor controlled.

I forgave her. I screamed it within my soul. It was all over. My piano teacher and dear friend was sitting next to me, and she noticed the tears I fought to hold back. The woman looked me in the eye and asked if I was okay. I nodded. Her dark eyes stared right to my soul as she said, "You know I love you, don't you? I love you."

That was the first time I remember ever hearing those words from someone. They spoke volumes to me, and in that moment she served as a surrogate for both my mother and for God. I needed to hear those words audibly.

I have never again felt that level of rage and resentment toward my mother. I have carried with me those tender words spoken in the choir loft, tucked away in my heart.

Comments

Christy said…
That's a beautiful memory. It's such a freeing thing when we begin to see our parents as the flawed, real people that they are. Just like us.

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