I find it interesting that my Independence Day falls on Reformation Day. I don’t expect all my readers to know the details about it, but here are the basics:
Once upon a time in a land far away, there was a dude named Luther. His teachings radically reformed Christianity, and even formed a denomination (called, you guessed it, Lutheranism! Wow, y’all are a smart lot!). Luther, more or less, decided enough was enough and nailed the 95 Theses to the door of the Schlosskirche, a castle church in Wittenberg in 1517. This sparked the Reformation. That’s a very barebones version, and likely not the most historically accurate. I’m not a profound theologian.
It’s certainly interesting. This day is also Halloween – grim grinning ghosts, candy, trick or treat, and more. Halloween was banned when I was a kid because, you see, Jesus wouldn’t go door to door begging for candy. Clearly.
But when I think of 31.10, my brain goes back to a different place. 31.10.2005. I was 18 years old, and a senior in high school. A few days later I got the rest of my possessions out of my father’s apartment, but that was it. It’s hard to believe I’ve been away from him for six years. It’s hard to believe where I was when I was 18. I was still cutting at the time. I was deep in depression (understandably! I had faced things that no one ever should, and made decisions that some adults never have to make). My father later sent me emails chastising me for my decisions.
It gets more complicated because this anniversary also marks the shattering of my faith. Up until this point, I was pretty confident in my faith. But when I went to the church for help and assistance with a difficult, painful choice, and was turned away, my heart broke. When they helped him (note: he needed help, he NEEDS help so badly. But he didn’t get what he needed and it breaks my heart. I still want nothing more for him to get the help he needs) instead of helping me and literally turned me away, then I got angry and bitter.
This is a song I remember hearing on Christian radio a far amount those days:
She fools all of her friends into thinking she’s so strong,
but she still sleeps with the light on
and she acts like it’s alright on
As she smiles again
And her mother lies there sick with cancer
And her friends don’t understand her
She’s a question without answers
Who feels like falling apart
And she knows, she’s so much more than worthless
She needs to find a purpose
She wonders what she did to deserve this
And she’s calling out to you
This is a call, this is a call out…
This Is A Call – Thousand Foot Krutch
I think this song sums up that time frame well. Replace mother with “grandfather” (who died the summer after I graduated high school) and there you have it.
I don’t know anymore. I sometimes wonder if I’ll ever recover from what my father did to me. Maybe I will. Maybe I won’t. Maybe I will and it will always shape a part of my personality.
But sometimes, oh sometimes, I wish when my insomnia is rampant I could pick up my phone and cry to my Daddy. I wish that I could find a friend to get in a car with and drive home, knock on the door, and shock him by showing up randomly. Oh, how I wish beyond wishing that I had a Daddy. But I NEVER had a Daddy – I had a father. And at times, since I don’t speak to either parent, I feel orphaned. It makes for some really awkward moments in class some times. For example: “How did your parents parent you when you were five?” Cue instant panic attack from me trying to avoid thinking about it. We had to do a family survey in adol. psych and thank GOD the prof bailed me out when she took one look at my face and could tell it was distressing me.
Gosh. As much as people say it’s boring to be normal, trust me, this is one place where I’d love to be normal. Trust me.