Part 1 - The Beginning

I was conceived out of wedlock. My mother, whom I will call Joan, had a wonderful future ahead of her in regard to her vocal abilities. She attended a Christian college in Springfield, MO, along with my father (whom I'll call Jeff), who later dropped out of school to help support the family. My mom was humiliated by her sin, and the effect on her reputation was devastating. Citing her desire to never drag her child on the road for tours, she became an elementary music school teacher and spent the majority of my childhood moving from town to town, which of course meant I, and eventually my younger brother, went with her. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

My mom, aside from having a wonderful voice, is also a genius. I mean that literally. However, like many genius adults, she also suffered from a mental illness, which I later discovered as Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD). Being a very young 18-year-old mother with emotional problems made life difficult for her. A common symptom of BPD is a lack of self control and an increase in impulsivity, often resulting in violent rages. Some "borderlines," as they are often called, take that anger out on others, while many simply take it out on themselves. My mom was the former for most of her life.

After my birth, my mother continued attending church, though inwardly she was convinced all Christians were hypocrites. As a young child, I was blessed with an intimate and sustaining relationship with God as my Heavenly Father. I grew up spending every spare minute praying, or as it stood in my mind, simply "talking to God." Thus, my first relationship to God (after being saved) was as a Father whom I went to with tears, pains, and trials on a regular basis. This blessing from God served to bring me through the next 15 years, during which I endured spiritual, physical, mental, emotional, and sexual abuse from various people.

One of my first memories took place at age three while living in a trailer court in Missouri. Due to the stress my tiny mind endured at that age, I began to hallucinate, especially at night while tired. One event in particular that sticks in my mind was a late evening near Christmas, 1986. My parents and I had already gone to bed when I began to "see" my closet door opening. What came out next, while it sounds funny today, terrified my little mind and left me frozen in fear. As I lay in bed watching, a "mean" Bert and Ernie exited my closet and made their way to my bed, where they stood mere feet from my shivering frame. I'd never enjoyed Sesame Street, but my father forced me to watch it anyway, citing its educational value. I'm sure that must have played into the Bert and Ernie part, as the characters in my bedroom were like taller (much taller) versions of those on television, only with angry expressions on their faces. I lay there praying, and finally got up enough courage to run to my parents' bedroom. I hurriedly woke my dad, who tried to talk me out of my fear. Eventually, however, my mom also woke up. She insisted my dad do whatever it took to get me to shut up, so he took me into the living room and let me open a Christmas gift a bit early. The wrapped gift turned out to be a "Glow Worm," which my little hands were not strong enough to operate. Nonetheless, I knew when enough was enough, and my parents would not believe me nor comfort me about the hallucinated images. So I went back to bed, and eventually managed to sleep.

Another memory, this one at four years of age, serves to demonstrate my relationship with God from early on in life. During this particular day my mother said something to insult me because of my being a Christian. While I don't remember her words or the precise subject, the feeling is all too familiar. It was a feeling of pain, and of being misunderstood. I made haste to my bedroom, where I sat cross-legged alone on my Winnie-the-Pooh bedspread and cried out to my Father. I remember today how His presence enveloped my little four-year-old frame as if God has somehow wrapped His arms around me and comforted my mind. Eventually the tears stopped, but not for long.