I shared a little earlier about my childhood. In my blog post "The Least of These," I wrote a bit about how it felt to go hungry and be afraid as a child — that was a small glimpse into a part of my life. However, there was another side too. A side of my life that the pendulum swung in the opposite direction. From poor to rich. OK, not really rich, but it sure seemed that way to a child. I'll do my best to describe it. However, you will have to trust me and just go along for the ride because, as preposterous as this story might sound, I assure you it is the truth--from my viewpoint anyway.
I've often wondered, as an adult, why I am so flexible and/or ambivalent about finances. My husband and I started off as many young couples do — working hard at our full-time jobs, paying the bills, and saving for our first home. We had some struggles, but nothing that God could not handle. He taught me to have complete and total trust that He would meet our needs. When troubles came, I prayed. I can look back now and see where that faith and trust came from.
I realize now that I had been conditioned as a child to ride that roller coaster in the area of finances. The ups and downs, the rich, the poor--the come what may. Yes, when you belong to a family, you ride the ride of life right along with them, whether you want to or not. I will share later how this has affected my adult life, but for now, I want to focus on my childhood years.
One thing I would like to interject here is that my father has an IQ of 140. That is not abnormal for someone who has been diagnosed with bipolar disorder. I won't bore you with the details, but if you'd like to look it up, it's classic. Intellectual, big ideas, high roller, and sometimes, sadly, delusional. My father was a real estate broker and developer — he designed and built homes, and he financed and brokered major deals. His business grew, money flowed, and life was good. Until. Until he would have another psychotic break, and another black mood entered our home. Depression can be a home wrecker. It can scare and scar a child. It can turn a person and a home into something altogether different. Family dynamics can drastically change, as was the case in my little home. My mother had to resume working full-time, my father lay in bed for months on end, and I took over the house. I cleaned, cooked, and made sure my sister and I were taken care of.
Sometimes we would even lose our homes and have to move into an apartment. In fact, we moved around a lot. Apartment to apartment, city to city, and always, always, the reasons were shrouded in secrets. Never the truth, never. We never went on family vacations, we never ever did the normal family outings that my friend's families did. No, we were kept in the dark. We were not told that our father was mentally ill and that he was depressed. My mother went to work, we went to school, and then after school, I had chores to do. I became the caregiver. I kept quiet, I read, and I daydreamed a lot. I believe that it was during this time--my early years--that I developed my close relationship with the God I serve. I believe that it was Him and Him alone who kept me from turning to other outside sources to meet my needs — other than normal teenage curiosity, I pretty much stayed out of trouble.
So, one year we were rolling in the dough, and the next we were eating spaghetti and hot dogs. One year we lived in a nice home and neighborhood, and the next we were in a crowded apartment in a not-so-nice neighborhood. Each year, and sometimes even every 6 months, we would move, and I would have to start all over again, making new friends. Hence, my blog is called "13 schools." Can you feel the hardening layers beginning to build around me to protect my heart? I soon began to escape into the world of books, libraries, and fantasy--to a make-believe world where families were normal and happy, and life was fun. Because mine was not. Mine was scary and dark and sad and lonely. Unless, of course, life flipped again and my father came out of the depressive state that he'd been in. Then the money, cars, houses, and fun would rev up once again, and life was good for a time.
In my high school years, things took a more positive turn. I was growing up, and I was gaining control. At least I thought I was. I learned to stand my ground, and I became a force to be reckoned with. In my opinion, if I were going to do the laundry, clean the house, and do the cooking when the chips were down, and my mother was working to support us, then I needed some say in our lifestyle. I at least wanted to have some sense of stability in my life. If it couldn't be a stable home life, then at least I wanted to go to the same school. And I did, I went for 3 years to the same high school. I latched on and wouldn't let go. Security at its finest. A private all-girls Catholic college preparatory school. A school for smart girls. I loved that school and still cherish the relationships that were built there. Yes, finally some stability. We still moved several times, but my school remained the same. We had a couple of great financial years during that period of my life. Private schooling, horses, money--yes, I was able to surround myself with material goods for a time, and yet all the while I lived in absolute fear of the crash that I knew would eventually come. And come it did, right after I graduated from high school. But that's another blog for another day.
Rich girl, poor girl. Back and forth. Money, no money. House, no house. Friends, no friends. Sad, then happy. Happy, then sad. Manic, depression. This was my life as I perceived it, real or not. It was my reality, my life. This is how I saw it, and maybe, quite possibly, not how my parents saw it. Maybe they thought they were doing their very best. And, maybe they were. So, as I write this, please understand that I am not judging them. I am exploring the whys of my personality. What makes me, me? What happened to make me into an optimist, a roll with the punches type of person?
This is what I believe. When I shifted all my dependency onto God all those years ago, I believe that He rescued me. In my eyes, he became my real dad. He became all that I really needed in this sweet life of mine. He's the one who protected my heart, who taught me life lessons, who comforted me when I was afraid. He made sure that I had food, shelter, and friends in times of need. And with each trial and each layer of protection that I tried so desperately to cover my heart with--I found that He wouldn't let me do that. He said no! He made me watch, listen, learn, observe, pitch in, grow up, and depend solely and completely on Him. Yes, those were great life lessons to be learned--they were not to be angry over, not to be ashamed of, and not to stay quiet about. Rich or poor, I am who I am. I am happy, content, whole, and thankful. I love my parents and my God. Life is good. Layer by layer, life is what I am discovering. Life is sweet. And God is good.
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