In The Beginning
Since the beginning, stories have been central to human existence. It is from stories that we learn the most about a person. If you want to know why someone is the way they are – ask them about their life journey. Each of us has our own journey, so our stories are as unique as their tellers. If we were having coffee right now, I would sit across from you and ask you about your life. What your own personal story is and how it has defined you. How all of it – the good and the bad - has built up until this very moment, making you the person you are today. Not yesterday. Not tomorrow. But today.
Everyone has their story. And this is mine. I am humbled when I consider the fact that my story is merely a blip on the screen in a long line of stories, beginning ages ago. My life is only one life in the billions of living souls out there. My story is not even the most important story out there. But nevertheless, it is my story. My watershed occurred ten years ago this very day. This day, ten years ago, my whole world changed. In a very real way the Christina I once knew died. But it wasn’t a sad kind of death. It’s the kind of death that precedes a glorious metamorphosis. The way winter gives way to spring or a seed becomes a tree. It’s the kind of death that leads to life. The ‘me’ I knew died, and a new Christina awakened in her place. But of course, my journey didn’t start ten years ago. It started long before that.
Everyone has their own demons to face down. And entering into high school, I certainly had mine. I was very much a loner; I had my reasons. What I knew of life up until that point was far from a typical, sheltered childhood. While my childhood was wonderful in many ways it was in this season of life that I experienced many of my deepest wounds. I was fortunate enough to have both a mother and father who loved me and expressed that love. But I had very few friends as a child. What I frequently experienced from other children was exclusion and ridicule. At a very young age I also experienced abuse from someone I knew and trusted, but I did not tell my parents about the abuse out of fear. Instead, I opted to pretend like nothing had ever happened. And at age eight, as a result of having no friends at school, my mother withdrew me from school and placed me in home-schooling. My life took another dramatic turn when my family was burned by our church; they had been like close family to us. But the church was torn down the middle when some of the leaders began to abuse their power in the church, my family on the receiving end. My parents left the church taking me and my brother with them. But the impression it left on me of Christians was not a good one.
Entering into adolescence, I was pretty disillusioned with the world. But I found ways cope. I turned to solitary activities to keep myself preoccupied, becoming consumed with the television, video games, the internet, and fantasies. I became numb and detached from reality. I would spend an average of nine to nine and half hours watching television (can you say high school anime club?). These fixations were my escape. I didn’t “need” anything or anyone. Instead, I looked out for myself. I was fine on my own. Or so I thought.
My first year of high school my parents put me back into public school. To be honest, I hated their decision. My first two years back in public school were not different from my previous experience. I didn’t fit in and I certainly didn’t try to. While all the others kids were worried about being popular and winning a date, I could have cared less. I was the reserved, quiet kid who didn’t talk much and kept mostly to myself. I dressed different, acted different, and was into different things. So I was labeled as an outcast, looked down on and ridiculed for being different. But that was fine by me. I wasn’t interested in following the crowd. As far as I was concerned, I was better than all of them.
Since the beginning, stories have been central to human existence. It is from stories that we learn the most about a person. If you want to know why someone is the way they are – ask them about their life journey. Each of us has our own journey, so our stories are as unique as their tellers. If we were having coffee right now, I would sit across from you and ask you about your life. What your own personal story is and how it has defined you. How all of it – the good and the bad - has built up until this very moment, making you the person you are today. Not yesterday. Not tomorrow. But today.
Everyone has their story. And this is mine. I am humbled when I consider the fact that my story is merely a blip on the screen in a long line of stories, beginning ages ago. My life is only one life in the billions of living souls out there. My story is not even the most important story out there. But nevertheless, it is my story. My watershed occurred ten years ago this very day. This day, ten years ago, my whole world changed. In a very real way the Christina I once knew died. But it wasn’t a sad kind of death. It’s the kind of death that precedes a glorious metamorphosis. The way winter gives way to spring or a seed becomes a tree. It’s the kind of death that leads to life. The ‘me’ I knew died, and a new Christina awakened in her place. But of course, my journey didn’t start ten years ago. It started long before that.
Everyone has their own demons to face down. And entering into high school, I certainly had mine. I was very much a loner; I had my reasons. What I knew of life up until that point was far from a typical, sheltered childhood. While my childhood was wonderful in many ways it was in this season of life that I experienced many of my deepest wounds. I was fortunate enough to have both a mother and father who loved me and expressed that love. But I had very few friends as a child. What I frequently experienced from other children was exclusion and ridicule. At a very young age I also experienced abuse from someone I knew and trusted, but I did not tell my parents about the abuse out of fear. Instead, I opted to pretend like nothing had ever happened. And at age eight, as a result of having no friends at school, my mother withdrew me from school and placed me in home-schooling. My life took another dramatic turn when my family was burned by our church; they had been like close family to us. But the church was torn down the middle when some of the leaders began to abuse their power in the church, my family on the receiving end. My parents left the church taking me and my brother with them. But the impression it left on me of Christians was not a good one.
Entering into adolescence, I was pretty disillusioned with the world. But I found ways cope. I turned to solitary activities to keep myself preoccupied, becoming consumed with the television, video games, the internet, and fantasies. I became numb and detached from reality. I would spend an average of nine to nine and half hours watching television (can you say high school anime club?). These fixations were my escape. I didn’t “need” anything or anyone. Instead, I looked out for myself. I was fine on my own. Or so I thought.
My first year of high school my parents put me back into public school. To be honest, I hated their decision. My first two years back in public school were not different from my previous experience. I didn’t fit in and I certainly didn’t try to. While all the others kids were worried about being popular and winning a date, I could have cared less. I was the reserved, quiet kid who didn’t talk much and kept mostly to myself. I dressed different, acted different, and was into different things. So I was labeled as an outcast, looked down on and ridiculed for being different. But that was fine by me. I wasn’t interested in following the crowd. As far as I was concerned, I was better than all of them.
