In my last post, I shared about the conversation that had me reflecting on my life—who I am, where I was, and where I was going.
I mentioned how my pastor had talked about my life and the crashing waves I had lived through while still staying connected to God.
What were those crashing waves? If they were so tumultuous, how did I come to find that the Lord was with me in those moments?
I’ll start from the beginning, and we’ll see where it takes us…
I was born in September of 1991. My dad was serving on active duty in the U.S. Army, just returning from the Gulf War, and my mom was a new young mom and military wife. They were a young couple, with my mom just about to turn 20 and my dad only 23. My sister was born two years after me, and soon after, our parents divorced.
Dad moved away to Arkansas, and Mom entered a relationship that would carry through much of my story… [Eventually, we’ll get into more stories involving my dad, but he’ll be absent for a lot of these next parts – though he wasn’t absent in real life.]
*A small caveat before I continue: My mom had a hellacious childhood herself. She knows that I am sharing my story, which may expose painful moments for her. That is not my intention here.
This is simply my life and my story. I have grace for my mother because I know that my pain didn’t start with me—and her pain didn’t start with her. There are generations of trauma and unhealed spaces that carried on until they reached me. It stops here.
She and I have a good relationship, and we’ll get to that. But as I share, I ask that you don’t look at this through a lens of judgment. Instead, see it as the story of a person trying their best with what they have.*
After Mom and Dad separated, my mom met this suave ladies’ man who always smelled good and had great hair. At a local bar called The Jukebox, Mom met Steve. Steve was one of five children and had a mama who was tougher than nails.
Their relationship began in that bar and continued through years filled with alcohol, substance abuse, and instability. DUIs, domestic disputes, time in jail, and poverty would all become part of my childhood. But one key person, Steve’s mom, Mrs. Orbie Cobb, would become the catalyst for my journey out of it, without even knowing it.
Orbie, or Nanny, was tobacco-barn tough, with hands that knew hard work and a backbone that poverty had no hope of breaking. Life had never been particularly gentle with her, and she had long since stopped expecting it to be.
One thing about her, though, she was going to try to get you to church.
The Church on the Hill
Nanny attended a small Pentecostal church called Victory Tabernacle.
Victory Tabernacle sat on top of a hill in what felt like the middle of nowhere—an old Army barracks turned into a place of worship. It wasn’t impressive or polished. But it was perfect.
Nanny invited my mom to come with her to that little church, and she did—along with my sister and me. That invitation would lead Mom to a place that would become the foundation of something much greater in our lives. That little church on the hill became the beginning of my exposure to God.
I remember lying on the floor during Sunday night services, staring at people’s shoes under the pews and trying to figure out who they belonged to. The other kids and I would run along the hillside while church services carried on inside. There were times when I’d be sitting next to Sister Bonnie, the pastor’s wife at the time, in the front row—sometimes because I wanted to, and sometimes because I had talked too much and was made to.
The congregation sang and clapped along to nothing more than the piano and Sister Dwendle’s voice. My favorite song, “Everybody Will Be Happy Over There,” would play, and I’d happily clap and sing along.
Those memories feel simple and safe.
In those early years, we often went to that little church with Nanny. Sometimes we’d visit the church where my mom grew up, but we’d always go back to the church on the hill.
Over the years, Mom got involved and often sang the specials from those little green tapes. A couple of songs she sang often were “Fight On” and “Praise His Name.” She had a couple of rotating dresses I can still picture. A long, button-down plaid green-and-blue dress and a long, button-down blue jean dress. I can also still see Nanny sitting in her normal place in the second-to-last row in the back.
That church was full of life and laughter. The Spirit of God, though I didn’t know what it was then, was in that place! As I write this, I can vividly picture that small room and what took place. God moved there.
Eventually, Nanny’s health declined to the point that she didn’t attend church much anymore, and Mom began going less often, too. In those early days, I didn’t recognize the place that church was beginning to hold in my heart. I didn’t recognize the Lord just yet, but I knew I wanted to be there.
In this place, a tether was formed…
I wish I remembered more about those early days in that little church. The memories I do have come with a smile.
So much of my connection to Jesus began in the church on the hill. Later in life, that connection would truly take root and impact me at a foundational level. But I believe those early days still imparted something good into my life.
Though those years inside that building hold great memories, things were going on outside that no one knew about. You can be in a building filled with God and people who love him and love you. But church attendance, worship, and a smile on your face can hide what you’re feeling and facing outside of those church doors.
Next week, let’s dig a little more into the church on the hill and the little girl who everyone thought was fine..
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