As I mentioned in my last post, belief in God is not a problem. I have always had a belief in His existence. There has been a fear in the back of my mind that, like the imaginary brownies of my childhood humiliation, He might prove non-existent, but it has never been more than a fear of the repetition of that nightmare - never a belief. That belief has even saved my life.
Back in my early years of college, I began suffering severe depression for the first time. I had gone through my Spockonian years and been forcibly evicted from them by a well-meaning fellow student. Allowing myself to feel brought incredible pain which led to depression which eventually led to my fear of the "little white house on the hill" - a defunct psychiatric hospital. I finally went in for counseling and tested "suicidal." After being whacked up with a dosage of anti-depressants what were probably responsible for the dancing crocodiles in Disney's Fantasia, I became pretty much non-functional and failed a semester because I couldn't get out of bed. I finally took myself of the medication because I couldn't live my life that way. My therapist was concerned. The medications were because I was considered suicidal! They were necessary. Finally understanding the purpose of the drastic and very annoying medication, I explained that, regardless of the test, I wasn't going to kill myself. The reason was simple and it came down to this very point: I believe without a doubt in the reality of God and Christ and I could never face Christ and explain to him why I took the easy way out when he had suffered so much for me. That knowledge alone has always kept me away from the edge.
But that didn't mean I truly believed He loved me. There is a huge difference between believing that "He loves all mankind" and "He loves me." And I have what I told was a very valid reason for doubted His personal love - a reason tied to my anger. "If He loves me so much, where the heck was He when whatever happened to me, happened!" I thought that was pretty good logic.
So you can imagine who rebellious I felt when my task was to focus on the following:
"Many witnesses in heaven and in earth testify of God's existence. What evidences of God and His love have you experienced?"
Talk about ripping my heart out!!! Here I was supposed to focus on God's love for His children. I couldn't help but compare my sense of abandonment to their description of the love of God that they felt. It really wasn't helping.
Then, I was supposed to come up with instances of his Love that I had felt!
I fought this step for a long time. And I was not alone. Sometimes we want to hold onto our pain. It is familiar and we love it. We identify with it. Take it away and we forget who we are.
So when I finally started, I started with the one thing I could understand - family.
The first evidence of His love that I could see and understand was my immediate family. He sent me to them. I had broken down and reached out to my sisters, confiding in them the nature of my addiction. They love me still. As hard as it is for me to believe that, at least I can feel it and equate it back to Heavenly Father.
The second evidence was a blessing - a relief. During a period of time last year when every stress that could, fell on my head including the death of my beloved mother. Usually when everything seems to go wrong - out pops the addiction. For once, I found strength in that time and was protected from my addiction during that time of crushing sorrow.
The third evidence is when I did crash back into my addiction, instead of being thrown out with the trash, I was gathered in: my bishop, my therapist, the addiction recovery group, a group at the university, the psychiatrist, and others who gave me blessings all formed a circle of strength around me. And the blessings themselves, whose words were mostly forgotten, except that I retained a strong memory that in every one, I was told that He loved me or was pleased with my progress, or was pleased with my willingness to ask for a blessing.
The more I thought, the more the evidences seemed to appear - some simple, some vividly dynamic.
My mother's strong testimony that bore me up through youth.
The Atonement of my Savior!
In the end, I guess it all came down to my one angry question: "Where were you when I was a child..."
I finally discovered the answer and all the anger began to lose its power.
He was right there. He couldn't take my grandfather's free agency away so whatever happened, happened. But He could protect me in a very different way. By staying with me. By taking away the memories. By being there with me. And the funny thing is: the child knew it. I never doubted His existence as a child. And I loved Him dearly.
It was the adult that became angry and took it out on both of us. It was the adult that wanted to punish and hurt someone for the pain she had endured. It was the adult who had to deal with being an addict.
And now it is the child that is having to find her way back home.
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