Welcome friend! 
That title is bound to raise a few eyebrows.
I started this blog (is this the correct term?) because I want to encourage the lonely, forgotten people who feel they are so unloved. I want to open you up to a beautiful possibility. Pehaps you are in this place right now so that you can experience the most deepest, the most profound, the most sincere and pure romance you have ever known.
But first my testimony...briefly:
When I was just a year and a half my mother comitted suicide due to post pardum depression. My dad was a boatman who worked on the "tugs" in NYC. In the earlier days he worked two weeks on and two weeks off. Later he worked a week on and a week off. Most of the time he wasn't around for the important events in my life. He was a heavy drinker. He died about 15 years ago. I am now 48.
When my mom died I was nearly seperated from my two sisters and placed in a childrens home because my elderly grandmother couldn't take on the responibility of raising three little ones after having six children of her own. Praise the Lord! My aunt stepped forward and agreed to take me. She herself had two sons.
I must say here that I was emotionally scarred in this sense: I never felt emotionally connected to anyone. I don't recall the first five years of my life. I don't remember when my relatives told me my mom was dead. As a little child I used to call my father, "uncle Bob." When did "they" tell me that my dad was not my uncle? I have vague memories of the next nine years. I don't recall my aunt ever tucking me in bed at night, hugging me, reading to me or doing any of the "hands on" things a loving mother would do. I believe the reason for this is that she knew she would have to give me up once my dad remarried.
On into my young teen years. At twelve and thirteen I started to gain weight due to a "female problem" which was my doctor only discovered a few years ago. I had masculine qualities, facial hair, loss of hair, a deep, slow voice, not inclined to anything flowery. My dad would look at me with absolute disqust. When I was little this was not so. My fear and nervousness around him occured as I progressed into my teen years and stayed with me until the day he died.
Once, when a brother in the Lord prayed over me for inner healing he saw a "vision" of Satan standing over me as a little baby. The devil held a huge club in his hand. He struck me and left a gaping wound.
So where was Jesus in this picture? One of the precious memories I have is going to mass in the Roman Catholic Church. Perhaps I was five or six when I came home one day after church. I grabed some objects, maybe a statue of Mary or a Saint and pretended I was a priest saying mass! When I had my first holy communion I had a lovely little prayer book with pictures of Jesus. I used to look at them and think He was such a beautiful, kind and loving Man. I remember seeing the 1950's classic "The Robe!" I cried so hard when I saw the scenes portraying His passion! I had a child's love for Jesus never dreaming that I could actually know Him in a personal way. That was for Saints and really holy people or certain nuns whom I believed seldom did wrong. How could this bad tempered, angry little girl ever hope to climb up on Jesus' lap and get a "kiss" from Him? He was just too far away. Although we were taught that He was present in the bread and wine, I believed this, but my experience of His presence in a tangible way other than in the communion, did not exist.
Next I will share with you how Jesus revealed Himself to me in a very personal way.
That title is bound to raise a few eyebrows.
I started this blog (is this the correct term?) because I want to encourage the lonely, forgotten people who feel they are so unloved. I want to open you up to a beautiful possibility. Pehaps you are in this place right now so that you can experience the most deepest, the most profound, the most sincere and pure romance you have ever known. But first my testimony...briefly:
When I was just a year and a half my mother comitted suicide due to post pardum depression. My dad was a boatman who worked on the "tugs" in NYC. In the earlier days he worked two weeks on and two weeks off. Later he worked a week on and a week off. Most of the time he wasn't around for the important events in my life. He was a heavy drinker. He died about 15 years ago. I am now 48.
When my mom died I was nearly seperated from my two sisters and placed in a childrens home because my elderly grandmother couldn't take on the responibility of raising three little ones after having six children of her own. Praise the Lord! My aunt stepped forward and agreed to take me. She herself had two sons.
I must say here that I was emotionally scarred in this sense: I never felt emotionally connected to anyone. I don't recall the first five years of my life. I don't remember when my relatives told me my mom was dead. As a little child I used to call my father, "uncle Bob." When did "they" tell me that my dad was not my uncle? I have vague memories of the next nine years. I don't recall my aunt ever tucking me in bed at night, hugging me, reading to me or doing any of the "hands on" things a loving mother would do. I believe the reason for this is that she knew she would have to give me up once my dad remarried.
On into my young teen years. At twelve and thirteen I started to gain weight due to a "female problem" which was my doctor only discovered a few years ago. I had masculine qualities, facial hair, loss of hair, a deep, slow voice, not inclined to anything flowery. My dad would look at me with absolute disqust. When I was little this was not so. My fear and nervousness around him occured as I progressed into my teen years and stayed with me until the day he died.
Once, when a brother in the Lord prayed over me for inner healing he saw a "vision" of Satan standing over me as a little baby. The devil held a huge club in his hand. He struck me and left a gaping wound.
So where was Jesus in this picture? One of the precious memories I have is going to mass in the Roman Catholic Church. Perhaps I was five or six when I came home one day after church. I grabed some objects, maybe a statue of Mary or a Saint and pretended I was a priest saying mass! When I had my first holy communion I had a lovely little prayer book with pictures of Jesus. I used to look at them and think He was such a beautiful, kind and loving Man. I remember seeing the 1950's classic "The Robe!" I cried so hard when I saw the scenes portraying His passion! I had a child's love for Jesus never dreaming that I could actually know Him in a personal way. That was for Saints and really holy people or certain nuns whom I believed seldom did wrong. How could this bad tempered, angry little girl ever hope to climb up on Jesus' lap and get a "kiss" from Him? He was just too far away. Although we were taught that He was present in the bread and wine, I believed this, but my experience of His presence in a tangible way other than in the communion, did not exist.
Next I will share with you how Jesus revealed Himself to me in a very personal way.
