[et_pb_section fb_built=”1″ admin_label=”section” _builder_version=”4.16″ global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_row admin_label=”row” _builder_version=”4.16″ background_size=”initial” background_position=”top_left” background_repeat=”repeat” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_column type=”4_4″ _builder_version=”4.16″ custom_padding=”|||” global_colors_info=”{}” custom_padding__hover=”|||”][et_pb_text _builder_version=”4.23.1″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”]
Somedays, my faith waivers, and I don’t always (almost never, actually) understand exactly what that purpose is…other than hanging on for the ride.
Susan Catlett
Sometimes, accepting the “why things happen” part of life is hard. When reading my mom’s blogs, she communicates the peace she experiences in trusting God’s ultimate purpose for her life.
Her view reminds me of the story told by Amy Carmichael (as told by Elizabeth Elliot in Be Still My Soul) in Amy’s first year of missionary work in Japan. She and a missionary couple were delayed on a journey because of a boat that did not arrive. Not just hours but days went by, and the young missionary began to fret because of the time lost and the consequences to others who counted on them. The older missionary said calmly, “God knows all about the boats.” It became a maxim of faith for the rest of her life.
God knows all about your boats.
–Tricia
—
The idea would be to tell you I was the perfect oldest daughter. I wasn’t. There are many stories to be told about my poor decisions, but I will forego those for now. The purpose of this story is to explain what I believed when I became a Christian at 14 and what I believe now: God has me in His hand. He has a purpose and a plan. He goes before me and has chosen me and not left me. These may sound like easily spoken clichés, but I believe them with my whole heart.
How I handle what is before me depends on those statements of faith and God’s promises.
This is how I remember it, and no one around knows any difference. I didn’t remember it until I was an adult, so I am pretty confident my memory may not be entirely accurate. I was about five years old when my mother told me about my father. I am most certain we lived on 61st Street, the second house from the corner, and my best friend Judee Harvey lived next door. We lived there until 3rd grade.
My mom was in the kitchen combing my hair when she told me about my dad being killed in World War II. As an adult, when I thought about this, what I remember hearing/feeling/thinking as a five-year-old, was my father (my stepfather) was not my birth father and my sister and brother (only one at that time) were not my brother and sister; therefore, I didn’t really belong in this family.
Later, I started putting the pieces together. My mom married Glenn when I was not quite two years old, on New Year’s Eve, 1946. He is the only father I have ever known and has always been my dad. I have only referred to him as my stepfather in conversations as a point of clarification. The fact that I did not have the same father as my siblings were never mentioned. My mother and I had a secret. They did not find out until after I married and left home my sister found a copy of my birth certificate.
I do not want to belabor all the psychological ramifications of thinking I didn’t belong to this family, which has probably affected my entire life. The point is I believe God put me in this family. The irony is, since I was 14 years old, I have felt responsible for all of them. Part of that could be that I am the oldest of four children and believe I meet all the profiling criteria for being the oldest. Some of my bossiness probably stems from thinking I am in charge. I do remember my father (Glenn) telling me I was not in charge of the family. I guess he hadn’t figured it out yet.
The year I became 14, I became a Christian, a major turning point in my life. Several things took place, but probably one of the most crucial was how I saw and dealt with my family, particularly my dad. He was not always a nice person to be around. There was not much love shown. The unwritten rule was, “Do not make Dad mad.” There were times I wanted to shout at him, “You are not my father. You cannot tell me what to do.” I am glad I never said the words, even though I often thought about them. After all, he is my father. God said so.
Lying in bed at night, praying about our family dynamics, God whispered in my ear, He did have a purpose and plan for my life, and He had placed me in that family for a reason. I still believe he has a plan for my life, even with ALS. Somedays, my faith waivers, and I don’t always (almost never, actually) understand exactly what that purpose is…other than hanging on for the ride.
Did I mention it was through the influence of my grandmother (stepdad’s mother) that I became a Christian? God went to great trouble to bring me into His family.
-Susan
[/et_pb_text][/et_pb_column][/et_pb_row][/et_pb_section]