I have a story to tell.
A heroine addicted mother finds Jesus. She waits 5 years for her drug dealer husband to get out of jail before giving birth to me. Protecting her pride, she spent most of my life telling me I was a product of rape in the back seat of a car when my dad got out.
Rejecting her new love of God, my biological dad did what he did best and left for another woman soon after his release. He always did have a wondering eye. At least that’s what I’ve heard.
I never spent more than a day out of a each year with him before he died at age 52 from diabetic complications. He chose another family to give himself and his money to. My mother went through an emotionally turbulent pregnancy to where she feared she’d lose me. A prophet pulled her out of a crowd of pregnant women and told her she would not lose me and prophized over me in the womb. Soon I’d sit decades younger and alone from my siblings and than it was just my mom and me for a while.
She divorced one more time until she found my step father Reyes Gonzalez who is still with her now 27 years later.
He saw me as competition to my mother’s time, affection, and love. I had to fight to be noticed. I had to fight to be accounted for. I’m still fighting. In every relationship I’ve had, I’ve had to fight for my share. I’ve had to fight for equal importance. I’ve had to fight for love.
The invisible child who shrank away in the back seat listening to Madonna’s greatests hits on her Walkman rages war to never be silenced again, ignored, or neglected. I sat most of my childhood and teenage years shrinking myself internally so I wouldn’t be noticed. If they didn’t notice me they couldn’t hurt me. If I were quiet enough he’d leave me alone. I wouldn’t be his competition anymore. I sat witnessing the only male figure in my life give lavishly to another woman: my mother. I never begrudged her this. I never even thought it affected me much. But inside there is a voice who keeps asking “will you love me now? Why don’t love me? What can I do to make you love me?”.
My mom constantly roared and struggled with Reyes for her cubs but I gave up. I stayed within and I took my food bowl with me.
So the first affection I ever received from a man was sex. Sex is love. That’s the message it sends to someone like me. That HAD to be it right? The first touch of a man that wanted me there. Such an intimate moment how could it not be? I went into relationships (I use that term loosely in many cases) based on the physical and even now as a Christian struggle with purity within relationships because of this definition.
The one thing I craved for I rejected for many years. (Whatever, I don’t need love. )
I didn’t need love because at the end of the day I wouldn’t believe any man was capable of loving me. I rejected it and God’s love because I believed all love from man was forced or guilted out of him. I had never received anything from a male that wasn’t received because he was asked to by another female ( mom,sister, friend). Jesus was the first male love I ever accepted as truth…the only genuine reason I’m still here.
As a true believer and lover of Christ, why did I still go around with this burning hole in my soul? I finally knew God’s love so what gives?
The neglected child within demands affection and will never settle for less than her fair share. But what is her fair share? Is it ever filled? I walk around with what the Holy Spirit has called a: Love Deficit.
Deficit: A shortage, especially the amount by which a sum of money falls short of what is required; a debt.
The Holy Spirit said I have suffered a love shortage my entire life. Every man I’ve known has failed to love me and I go into each relationship trying to fill up a life long debt. But it’s never enough. How could it be? They can only fill what is required now and would never have enough for the major lack I had experienced in my past.
So I asked the Holy Spirit to heal this debt. You’ve paid this debt for me Jesus on the cross so heal me of this debt tonight in my dreams. He sent me a dream of three areas He was healing. I woke up in the middle of the night whimpering and crying and I knew it was done. (Invite me for a smoothie at Alladins and I’ll tell you everything. Caramel macchiatos work too!)
Only one man can heal the neglect and poor form of another man ( or parent) and that is Jesus.He reminds me to focus on the positives of each man that is a staple in my life: Hard worker and provider (Reyes), Heart of Gold (brother), deep intellectual conversations (best friend). If I were to look at the vast negative I’d be absorbed by it. Find the light in those who have hurt you. Focus there, forgive (they owe you nothing) and move on.
Write me a New Love Story O’Lord
Write me a new love song O’Lord. Sing a new lullaby to wing your little one to sleep. The old has gone and in the new there is no more sorrow or pain for the former things have passed (Rev 2:4). Write me my very own love story and let the world hear its song. A new song of Grace, Hope, and new Adventures in Love. Fill up my life’s shortages with your spirit and let my heart be satisfied all of my days with all of your ways. O’Lord write the next chapters of my life now and forevermore.
For the last 7 years which is my entire Christian life, I call Reyes Dad in hopes that one day he is able to fill those shoes. He’s started to call me Mija, a Spanish term of endearment meaning daughter. He’s never done this. I’ve been so very blessed these last few years that now daddy Reyes approves of me. He’s giving me dating advice but I know he may never embrace me fully the way I need him to. He too equates sex as love. He stands guarded from physical touch and it just may not be something he is capable of (at least that’s what my mom says). I found out just a year or so ago that I WAS indeed planned. My dad just didn’t want to have a baby while he was in prison. He wanted to be a dad to me so they waited until he got out. Oddly enough he never did accomplish his heart’s desire. At least it was one.
Above is the only picture I have of my biological father and myself.
The only reason I have it is because my half sister posted it on Facebook
because I said I had never taken a picture with my father.
She begged to differ.