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Living on an Edge: Forgiving My Mothers by Finding God By Stephanie LeBlanc “And they overcame him by the blood of the Lamb, and by the
word of their testimony…” (Revelation 12:11) Sometimes I find it hard to believe that I fit the
“Pentecostal” mold. With nearly three feet of hair, a skirt, and a bubbly smile
nearly always plastered on my face, most people are shocked to find out that I
have a testimony. The typical answer I give when asked about my background is a
concise, “My mothers are abusive, alcoholic, lesbian drug dealers.” Although
snide, it provides a quick glimpse into my life before God for those who do not
care to understand the heartache in the world. I suppose that, for this purpose and medium, my response will
have to be elaborated upon. You could say my life was one born out of
difficulty--literally. I was born nearly dead and had to be revived by the
doctors. It turns out that I wrapped my umbilical cord around my neck so tightly
that I strangled myself. Little did anyone know, that was merely the beginning.
To keep things short, I won't say much about my father. He abandoned my mother
and me to sow his wild oats; a lifestyle he is still active in. Because my mother left my father, she had to support us on one
income. For a college drop-out, that was no easy task. My mother worked so much
that I hardly knew her. She would leave early in the morning and come back late
at night. When she was at home, she was too exhausted to do anything but sleep
and pay the necessary bills. Since she was never there, I was the primary
homemaker from the age of five--I washed the clothes, mopped the floor, and cut
the grass. If I wanted food, unless I stayed with my grandparents, I fended for
myself. I was not allowed to have friends over, nor was I to see them. My mother
does not believe friends are necessary--to this day she does not have a single
person outside of the family to lean on. Because of this and the hectic
lifestyle we lived, she did not want to be bothered with any friends I wanted to
make. This was life as I knew it for a long time. Into the Abyss My loneliness changed when my mother drew closer to a woman
she worked with. At the time, I was excited to have someone pay attention to me.
I soon realized that I was not the center of attention. My mother had fallen in
love with someone nearly a decade younger that was immersed in a lifestyle of
alcohol and drugs. I was made to pretend that they were “friends,” or “sisters,”
or even that my mother's girlfriend was my “nanny” to avoid tipping off the
neighbors. Shortly after I confronted them about the relationship as a mere
eight-years-old, my mother, my mother's girlfriend and I moved to a new town far
away from the one I had known. The school and environment in this area was less than
desirable. The environment in my home was even worse. My mother's girlfriend was
an alcoholic drug user and her habits soon wore off on my mother. Instead of
ending the relationship to protect me from any dangerous situations, engaging in
similar activities was encouraged. By the age of 12, I was getting drunk at
school, smoking cigarettes, and doing drugs. To top the situation off, my mother hated me because of it. I
was encouraged, even obligated, to participate in such behaviors by both of my
mothers. It was expected that I would end up just like they had. Oddly enough, I
was hated because of it. My mother didn't want me, and neither did my father;
both threatened to send me to a home. It was at this time that violence first came into play at my
house. Let me precede these statements by saying that I was not beaten
regularly, but it was often enough to make note of it. I do not know the cause
of my actions for the first beating I received, but I do remember my mothers
taking off my clothes so that I would really feel the sting. I got the metal
buckle of the belt to my back, not just the leather strap. I was so heartbroken that I denounced God and claimed that
such situations would not exist if a benevolent Savior were able to rescue me.
During this dramatic low, I attempted suicide numerous times, but never
succeeded for one reason or the next. I did not realize it at the time, but it
was then that God began to tug at my heart. In an effort to get me away from the
promiscuity (of which I did not participate) and drug use at school, my mothers
moved us yet again. All of the relocations and occurrences happened before I
even finished middle school. Before I ever set foot in a high school, I went to
about five different schools, excluding any day care centers. A Ray of Hope We only moved ten minutes away, but it was a drastic
difference. Here I had a fresh start with people outside of my home, but the
troubles inside did not go away. I was still not allowed to go places with
friends, nor were they allowed in our home. Any socialization I wanted to do had
to be done within the hours I was at school. I did make friends, however. These
friends were different than the ones I would drink with in the girls' bathroom.
These friends knew about Jesus. They were not Apostolic/Pentecostal, but they
were still honest and caring. It was after meeting these people that I began to seek after
the God I had denounced in an effort to find some joy in my life. Despite what
you might think, my life did not turn to peaches and cream after this decision.
My mothers were not religious and they did not want me to have anything to do
with religion. I arranged for transportation, got information on churches and
doctrine, and promised to abide by any rules they might impose. All this was to
no avail. Arguments on religion became increasingly violent--so much so that the
neighbors could hear. Life continued on this path. My mother's girlfriend began to
deal drugs to local high schoolers instead of merely using them. As she became
more and more engaged in alcohol and drug dependence, she became more violent.
The worst time was a night she took a gun to me. She screamed at me that she was
going to kill me and that I didn't matter. My mother did nothing to defend me. I did everything I could to involve myself in school
activities and part-time work to get away from my home life. People knew, but no
one talked about it much. It even got to the point where my mothers would leave
me angry expletive-ridden voice mails that could be overheard by people within a
five-foot radius. Those phone calls made people I didn't know cry. College Realities My academics and extra-curriculars were exemplary, and I was
in the Top 10 students out of over 200 graduates. I went to Louisiana State
University on scholarship and vowed never to look back. Out of comfort, I hung
out with the acquaintances I made in high school. Any night at any given bar in
Baton Rouge was like a high school reunion. Drinking was what I knew, but it
wasn't what I wanted. I ended up being the “sober sister” and took care of the
people that I went out with. Not that it helped; I've been thrown through doors
by guys trying to rape my friends and found the same friends half naked in
mud-filled canals after getting calls for help. I was finally pushed beyond my
limits when I was told the most insulting comment I have ever heard. These “friends” I had were sexually promiscuous, but I was not
and felt uncomfortable by the situations. One of the girls I called “friend”
informed me that if I didn't lighten up and engage in such activities, she would
hire someone to rape me. That fear came true one night when my drink was spiked.
I do not remember that night, but was told that I was so afraid of her threat
that anytime anyone came near me I called them a rapist and ran away. I gave
myself a black eye that night by slamming my head into a toilet; I couldn't lean
against the wall, because I was ashamed of the situation. I don't remember the
banging, but that black eye lasted for a week. This was the point that pushed me over the edge. I
excommunicated myself from everyone I knew from my past life; my family, my
friends, even former classmates I had just met. I was determined to start over
and to do it right this time. Missionary Dating The first person I met after I began my “new life” was the man
who would become my husband. The first time I saw him, I knew that he would be
the one I was going to marry. (It took him a week to realize the same.) I had
the stereotypical “love at first sight” dreamy-eyed reaction. Something hit me
in my gut and an instant bond was made. It was as if God intervened in such a
way that I had no choice but to love this man. He was an intelligent,
spirit-filled Pentecostal man who even has his name in the back of the Bible
quizzing books. Although he did not directly witness to me, it was through him
that God worked on my heart. Shortly after we began dating, I stopped smoking,
drinking, and having anything to do with drugs. My bad habits began to fade away
and I began to look to the God that I struggled so long to know. It was in the spring of my freshman year of college that I
decided I would become “Pentecostal.” Unlike most conversions, I hadn't set foot
in a Pentecostal church, never heard a preacher preach, and didn't know what the
Holy Ghost was. I read through the doctrine of every Christian denomination, as
well as other religions, and became convinced through my research that the
Apostolic doctrine was the most Biblically accurate. I wanted to get right with
God and let him convict me about standards, rather than feel pressured to fit
in. Shortly after I made that decision, my grandfather was
diagnosed with cancer. Within two months, he had passed away. He died the
morning I was supposed to board a flight to see him for the last time. I felt
cheated. But I carried on in my attempts to know God, earnestly
believing He would bring me through the tough time and the resulting grief. Not
long after his death, Hurricane Katrina changed my life in a different way. My
family lost virtually everything and all came to live with me. At one point
there were eight people and 10 pets in my tiny apartment before I got them
similar arrangements in the same complex. It was here that adversity first came at me. The night I got
baptized, I came home from church to find my entire family drunk, high, and
smoking in the parking lot of the apartment complex ridiculing me for what I
did. Not even one month later, I was hit hard again. I received the Holy Ghost on Wednesday, November 2, 2005,
during a youth service where our pastor's wife spoke. That Sunday I was hit
head-on in a collision. Because my mothers had never switched the title of my
truck from their names into mine, they took all of my insurance money, bought
themselves two new vehicles, and left me with nothing. Thankfully, my
not-yet-husband at the time let me use his vehicle, since he did not drive
much. A Testimony worth Sharing All was relatively quiet from that point on. I was asked to
share my testimony at Louisiana camp meeting the following spring. The highlight
of my day was when Sis. Nona Freeman hugged me and told me I was doing God's
work. I felt good about what God was doing in my life and was certain nothing
else would happen. By this time, my family figured out that I was now a
Pentecostal woman, and they wanted nothing to do with me. It wasn't until
recently that they began speaking to me again. My father, however, still wants
nothing to do with me--not that he ever did. My husband and I got married June 16, 2007. I invited my
father because I assumed he would want to see his eldest daughter (he has since
had two other daughters from other relationships) get married. My father spent
the entire reception in his rental car getting drunk. At the end of the
reception, he openly chastised me for ruining my life. He has also turned my
sisters and his new wife against me by telling them that I am crazy and horrible
for abandoning my prior lifestyle. Throw in a few months' time and some senior-year final
examinations and that brings us to the present. My Past, My Pain The past still hurts, a lot. But God has worked on my heart so
that I have been able to forgive my mothers for the lifestyle they forced upon
me. They, however, do not believe that they did anything wrong and rather insist
everything was my fault. I accept that, but vow to never put my own children
through anything amounting to one-tenth of what they gave me. My testimony is my story. It is one that I intend to tell for
as long as I live to show what God can really do for a person. He took me from
nothing and made me something. He took me from a loveless situation and has
given me a loving husband, loving friends, and a loving church family in
addition to His own unfailing love. I believe that everyone has a testimony that can be used to
glorify Him. The question now is, what's yours? © 2007, Stephanie LeBlanc ---------- Stephanie LeBlanc is completely in love with her wonderful husband, expanding her photography business and anxiously counting down the days until she is free from LSU. She is planning to get her Master of Theological Studies from Urshan Graduate School (via correspondence, of course), and cannot wait to get involved in home missions. In between being a wife, a student, and trying to do God's will, Stephanie is addicted to watching the funny videos that circulate YouTube and MySpace. |
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