The illness my mother dealt with had a big impact on my concept of God. During my formative years there were many seizure episodes with my mother. Along with her illness there were times when the relationship between my mom and dad was turbulent. The image of my dad leaving for a week or two was pretty vivid.
Growing up we were not insulated nor isolated from Christian faith. In fact, I remember going to a one-room clap board Methodist Church as a child. We, the family, attended that little church on a fairly regular basis. After church we would drive to see Grandma Galloway in her little second story apartment in Flatrock. Grandma was a petite lady with snow white hair and a very strong faith. She prayed five of her sons through combat zones in World War Two.
To me, there was a disconnect with what my parents said they believed and how they lived and treated each other. This became even more evident on one occasion when my mom and dad had a fight and my dad put his fist through the wall; breaking his fingers and knuckles, requiring having his hand wired together. For weeks he had to deal with two wires extending out from his knuckles, covered with cork.
With quite a few areas of stress and the constant wondering and worrying about my mother I was becoming a confused and burdened young man. Now, I do not want to paint an entirely dark picture. There were great times of fun and escape. All summer was given over to fishing under the toll bridge and playing ball in the field at Memorial Elementary School. Yet, even in the fun times I was always ready to run home.
In the desire to be forthcoming and still respect privacy I have detailed only a portion of the trauma and experiences that formed my early concept of God.
No comments:
Post a Comment