As a little girl, I remember laying in bed as a storm rolled in. Since my father worked outside all day, he refused to have air conditioning. He didn't want to come in from the hot sun to a cold house and then back into the hot sun. So we always kept the windows in our house open. We lived in South Florida. The weather was always unpredictable. During hot summer nights, lightening would flash across the sky followed by a long, loud roar of thunder. Sometimes, it would rain and sometimes it wouldn't. I was always able to predict the rain by the sweet, damp smell in the air and the feel of the cool, soft humidity. It's always humid in South Florida, but the humidity seems refreshing right before rainstorm. The morning after a good rainstorm, I could hear the joyful songs of the Robins. Robins can't outrun a storm, they have to stay and face it in the shelter of the trees. However, after a storm they feast on all the stunned grasshoppers.
I can't remember ever being afraid of the storms. They made me feel alive. The vibrations of the thunder would reach inside of me and make a connection. My heart would race and my nerves would tingle. The louder the storm the better. After each flash of lightening, I would count "one-mississippi, two-mississippi..." hoping the storm would move in closer. What most people considered a bad storm, I consider a competent presence of a larger force.
I only remember going to church a few times with my family, but my parents explained all of life's mysteries using God. God created the earth, animals, and humans. When we die, we go live with God. God gives us our blessings in life. However, the gifts under the tree were from Santa Claus, the Easter basket at the foot of my bed was from the Easter Bunny, and the dollar bills under my pillow were from the Tooth Fairy.
When I was eight, my oldest brother decided I was too old to believe in Santa Claus anymore. He used to pick me up from school in our parent's old station wagon. One day, on the way home, I was telling him about an argument I had with my classmates about the existence of Santa Claus. I argued that I knew Santa existed because I saw him in my house ever Christmas Eve. My brother bluntly responded, "Santa Claus doesn't exist, dummy. Mom and dad buy the gifts and has our neighbor Jim dress up like Santa and come to our house." I was crushed. But who can believe anything a big brother says anyway? I went straight to my mom. "Mommy, Danny said Santa Claus doesn't exist." My mother looked almost as heartbroken as I felt. "It's true honey, there's no Santa Claus."
"What about the Tooth Fairy?" She just shook her head.
"The Easter Bunny?" Her eyes connected with mine, "No Easter Bunny."
I thought for a minute. "No God either." My mom was shocked. "There is a God, honey." I just nodded and walked away thinking, "yeah, for how long?"
We had a Saint Bernard named Dynamite. She was a pure breed show dog who couldn't be neutered or else she would lose her value. However, when she was given to us, we were told if she ever got pregnant she would die. I was eight, I didn't know what complications she had. I just knew I loved her and didn't want her to die. My family and I went camping one week. We never thought of keeping Dynamite in the house while we were gone, or bringing her to someone else's house. We just had a neighbor come over and give her food and water. We were forced to return from our vacation early because a hurricane was heading toward the Florida coast. However, the storm took a last minute turn and missed our house, but hit where we were camping. The following days we noticed that Dynamite was sleeping a lot more than usual. She wasn't eating well and she kept going to the shed. My parents figured out that Dynamite had gotten pregnant by a stray German Shepherd. I was going to lose my dog.
An eight year old is virtually powerless in a family. I was not able to suggest going to the best vet in the world. I couldn't make her pregnancy go away. All I could do was pray and hope that there was a God. I still remember every detail of that prayer. I sat in my father's brown leather recliner with my legs tucked underneath me, my eyes shut as tight as I could get them. "God, I'm sorry if you're mad at me for doubting you. But PLEASE, PLEASE don't let Dynamite die from her pregnancy, and let her puppies be OK too. If you do this, I'll believe in you forever. "
Dynamite had thirteen healthy puppies, and she was healthy.
A month later Dynamite was diagnosed with intestinal cancer. She was going to die. I thought about my prayer. <em>Don't let Dynamite die from her pregnancy.</em> My only question was, "Did it have anything to do with the puppies?" The vet said, "No, miraculously giving birth didn't hurt her like we believed." Dynamite's death was inevitable, like the hurricane that brought us home. But to answer my prayer and perhaps restore my faith, God made a last minute turn. Anytime I am faced with the possibility that God doesn't exist, I think of Dynamite, and my faith is unshaken.
I was very young, around two, when my parents first divorced. My memories of that time flicker through my mind as though a few seconds of a number of scenes in my life were recorded and flashing on a screen. From those few memories and rumors I've heard about our family at that time, I've put most most of the story together. But to me it's just a story, not my memory. My memory of my family becomes clear about the time my parent's remarried three years later. I was the flower girl. When I was about nine, my parents separated again.
One night, my mom came into tuck me into bed, something she had stopped doing a few years earlier. She sat on the edge of the bed looking down at her hand holding mine. "Honey, mommy is moving out this weekend. Daddy and I can't get along so I think I should leave. This has nothing to do with you, OK." I just nodded my head and laid down to go to sleep. I never felt that my parent's problems had anything to do with me, I just wish they didn't have problems. It rained that night, the gentle, sad rain drops gave me comfort and sympathy.
After my mom moved out, my dad came home more often. He had three kids to care for. He was usually quiet and always seemed tired. My parents had a waterbed and their room was the only room with air conditioning, so my brothers and I would fight over who would sleep in there. My dad didn't mind if all three of us piled in, it was better than sleeping alone. One night, my father had a few friends over. During the party he disappeared. I found him outside sitting on his motorcycle crying. I remember asking him if he missed mommy. I don't remember his reply. After he went back inside, I looked up at the stars and prayed to God to help my parents get back together. I also wished on the stars, and pulled out some eyelashes and made a wish as I blew them away. Something had to work. That night, I won the battle to sleep in the waterbed. While I was asleep, I kicked what I thought was my father. "I'm sorry," I said sleepily. There was no response. I opened my eyes and found myself on the couch. I was furious. One of my idiot, bully brothers must have moved me. I went stomping into the bedroom to reclaim my territory. I put my hand on what I believed to be my brother. It was my mom.
The happy reunion was brief. The screaming, slamming doors, and crying could be heard by our neighbors across the street. They were Jehovah's Witnesses, and would attempt to minister to my mom for comfort. Eventually, my mom began going to their Bible studies and church, or Kingdom Hall. She decided I should join her. I was open to religion, but felt a solid connection to God without claim to any specific religious belief.
The message that our neighbors stressed was that one day the world will be peaceful. With the turmoil in my mom's life, she was happy to accept this belief.
But I had questions.
"If the world will be so perfect, with no pain, how will we know when we are hurt?"
I was told people wouldn't get hurt anymore.
"Then how will we learn?"
They said people would already know what they needed to know to live, and there would be no danger. That world sounded really boring to me. I envisioned a world full of androids, already knowing everything, no mix of emotions, no proud feelings of overcoming obstacles. I stopped going to the studies because I could not believe in their message. My mom never became a Jehovah's Witness. Instead, she divorced my dad again.
I was the first in my family to receive a college degree. It was only an Associate's degree from the local community college, but it was still a college degree. I took a couple of years off from school to try to figure out what I wanted to do with my life. Since the next two years of college was supposed to prepare me for my future, I wanted to know what I was dedicating my life to. I asked my manager at the hotel I worked at assuming he would know what my skills were. He suggested marketing. I didn't see myself in Business School. I didn't have the background. My parent's were blue-collar workers. My dad worked for the phone company and my mom did paper pushing jobs. The business world was completely foreign to my family and me.
At the time my fiancee, Matt, was in a band that had an expanding number of groupies. People were always asking when and where the band was playing again. The band played from one gig to another, never knowing where the next one was. I got bored sitting around a club by myself while Matt was on stage. So I made fliers and started a mailing list. As the list grew larger, it became apparent how much people loved this band. Matt and I designed a band logo and printed them on t-shirts. We sold at least five a night for fifteen dollars each. The fun I had and the success I saw convinced me that my manager may have been right.
My application was in at Florida International University. I was going to be a marketing major. The only problem was the plus sign of the home pregnancy test staring me in the face. I really believed that the test must show up positive first and then a line would fade away leaving a negative. I stared at it for ten minutes. I thought about my views on abortion. I was pro-choice, but there was no good reason for me to choose abortion. Matt and I were already engaged and had been living together for a couple of years. Our families would help as much as they could. But what about school? Would I have to give up my dreams and get a job? I didn't want a job, I wanted a career. Storms have a way of energizing me. They are unpredictable, sometimes coming at the most inconvenient times. However, the worse they are, the better I feel about myself for facing them. No line faded; I was pregnant. This was a big storm. I was ready to face it.
Matt and I had been living somewhat luxuriously. However, we were working constantly to pay for our large apartment with a deck, across from the pool, ten credit cards, and new car. I was a waitress. Once I got pregnant, I couldn't work as many hours on my feet and suffered mildly from "morning sickness." We were evicted from our apartment when I was in my fourth month. I had been on my own for years, now I had to swallow my pride and move back in with my mom. My family believed that Matt and I should give up the idea of going to college and get a job. Or, I should work and put Matt through college. I didn't know how I expected to raise a child while both Matt and I went to school. I didn't know where I was going to live. I didn't know where the money would come from. I just knew I would get through this. My perception of God had evolved from a mysterious being that watches over people to a positive energy that I can work with. I was scared to death at times. I felt alone and lost. I couldn't give up my life just because I didn't have all the answers. I knew if I could keep going, and trust in the connection that I had with what many people call God, I would find the answers along the way.
Matt and I had been engaged for over a year. We had been planning a large wedding with all our friends and family celebrating with us. I bought my wedding dress a few months after we were engaged. It hung in my mom's closet for a year waiting for the big day. It was March when I discovered I was pregnant, our wedding was planned for October, the month the baby was due. I was determined to wear my wedding dress, which meant we had to get married before I could no longer fit into it. We planned a small ceremony for our family and friends, to be held in my brother's backyard, in six weeks.
On the afternoon of my wedding day, black clouds rolled in. Rain pounded down destroying our tissue paper decorations around the dance floor and the paper bells that hung in my brother's orange trees. My brothers rushed around the tent we had set up trying to put the sides up so that the rain would not come in. My mom stood in the living room crying. I was in my brother's room sitting by the window in my wedding dress, watching the black clouds rolling in with no end in sight. This was a storm I was not ready to face. We got through the ceremony in the rain. The clouds went away during the reception, unveiling a beautiful sunset. That night there was a full moon. My husband told me, "God gave us everything for our wedding, a powerful storm, a beautiful sunset, and a full moon." I like to think that the weather was a personal message to me that beautiful things waited for me, after the storm.
When my son was born, I stared at his tiny fingers and toes for hours. It amazed me that he had fingernails and toenails. It amazed me that a healthy baby developed inside me. It still amazes me that I got pregnant. I read everything I could get my hands on to learn the best way to care for a child. However, I was caught off-guard by the way he crept into my heart. I love my family, my friends, my husband, but I share my heart with my son. Going back to school and living up to my full potential meant more to me than ever, because I wouldn't expect any less from my son.
I've learned to respect the storms that come at me. They can be scary and dangerous. The wind can get so strong that I can't tell which direction it's coming from, or going. Sometimes I forget about the relationship I have with God. I forget the lessons from my past, that the storms have a purpose, but that I have the control to work with them. The rain can be loud and brutal, or soft as a whisper, but it always leaves its impression. The flowers that can handle a storm's beating will grow strong and beautiful. The birds that can face a storm will sing their praise. I have no label for my beliefs. My perception of God comes from the way I have decided to look at things around me. I try to learn and grow during the storms of my life and rejoice in the sunshine.
