There are some things that God asks/tells us to do through His Word in the Bible. Like for instance being immersed in baptism; that's easy enough. Meeting around the Lord's table each week; that's easy enough.
But then there are some things that God asks/tells us to do that we argue with Him or question Him. There are times that we wrestle with God's Word. Moses did when he was told to go back to Egypt to lead the Hebrews out of slavery. Abraham did when he was told he was going to have a child in his old age. Gideon did when he was told to go fight the enemy. Isaiah did when he was told to take God's message to the Israelites.
I have wrestled with God's Word. For years I wrestled with the command to honor your father and mother. I had my excuses just like Moses, Abraham, Gideon and Isaiah.
Back in 1973, I was in the fifth grade. My father was not able to work due to a back injury. He had worked in a feed mill. I don't remember what he did to hurt it, but I do remember him being in the hospital in traction for his back. He also went through back surgery. Unfortunately, medical advances weren't what they are now.
He also dealt with depression and suicidal tendencies. He was in the psych ward numerous times. He was also an alcoholic. He would take his pain pills for his back with his beer. He would overdose and my mom would rush him to the hospital to have his stomach pumped. This occurred more than once. He also would slit his wrist trying to commit suicide; but never deep enough to succeed.
Also in 1973 was the physical abuse. One time he hit me with his cane. It left a bruise on my left arm. He told me if anyone asked what happened, to tell them I had a wreck on my bicycle (my parents had just bought me a new 26 inch 10 speed).
This abuse caused severe anger in me (before there was anger management classes). I would try to fight back, but I was nine years old and he was 24 years older than me. I was angry at him and I told him I couldn't wait until I was old enough to "cuss him out even if it was over his grave". I had so much anger that I got in a fight with my best friend in sixth grade and hit him in the forehead with a stick, causing him to need stitches and causing me to get my first and only paddling in school.
Well, thankfully my mom wasn't going to put up with it anymore and we moved out. In 1975 we moved in the house that my mom would later buy. However, our landlady invited me to church. I accepted and in 1976 I was baptized, immersed for the forgiveness of my sins and to receive the gift of the Holy Spirit. God took the anger away. However, I could not forget the abuse or forgive my father.
Every time I would here a lesson on honoring your father and mother I would think to myself "but you don't know what my father did to me". I wasn't as open about the abuse then as I am now. I even taught youth to honor their parents. It was "do as I say and not as I do". Then one time Jane and I were co-sponsors of a senior high youth group. It was the other males sponsor's turn to have the lesson. His lesson was on honoring your parents. He made a statement that we need to honor our parents even though they were deceased. Ouch! He stepped right on my toes. Some of the wall was chipped away and I started to forgive. You see, my father committed successfully committed suicide on March 25, 1977.
It was my eighth grade year. I was in band class and my mom's best friend came to take me out of school. I knew her and mom were spending the day together so I thought something had happened to mom. We walked to the car and there was mom. No explanation. As we were driving out of town to my mom's friend's house, we had to pass my dad's place. There was an ambulance there. I said "there's an ambulance at dad's". That's when mom told me he had shot himself. My response: "Oh".
Then in the late 90s, I attended a support group for families of alcoholics. A lady in our church was married to an alcoholic. I attended with her to give her support. As the sessions continued, it was me that was receiving support. I started to open up and share. Finally I was able to forgive. I still haven't forgotten.
While studying for my Master degree, a fellow student stated that we were not victims but survivors. Some don't survive the physical abuse. Some survive the physical, but the mental scars may never heal...
Surviving,
Jeff
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