Diary of a Broken Vessel

 ^{This post is to explain why I wrote “Some Things You Taught Me.”}

Preface: How I Got Here

It is no secret to my regular readers that the home I grew up in was a war zone, and the church of my youth served to greatly fuel the insanity that was my youth.  My family is severely broken, and since my mother’s passing three years ago only a few of us are speaking to each other. There have been olive branches offered, but when shots are fired upon a white flag you learn to keep your head low and wait upon the Lord’s order to move.

A few years back I was diagnosed with PTSD. (Heh…I guess you don’t have to be shot at to find yourself with PTSD.) While it is now greatly -by the grace of the Lord- under control, when I was first diagnosed I was having nightmares and flashbacks frequently (along with the other “pleasures” that go along with PTSD). It was a difficult thing to learn to deal with, and in those early days I responded with great malice and sin against those who contributed to the brokenness of the Brewer family. (And I have long since repented and asked for forgiveness.)

But great is the Lord, and worthy to be praised! The issues that come with PTSD (obsessive thoughts, intrusive memories, flashbacks, nightmares, altered social interaction, etc.) are no longer in control of my life. This, however, is not to say that I still don’t struggle. 

It Started with a Dove

The struggle began when I saw a picture of the all too familiar Calvary Chapel Dove, followed by a visit to the blog of a young gentleman I know from the church of my youth. Maybe it was the time of day, maybe it was that I was exhausted from a long duty day, maybe it was the fact that I had just confessed to myself the jealousy I had over my coworkers and the pretty strong relationships they had with their parents; truth be told I simply don’t know what the spark was.

I found a flood of intrusive memories flooding the forefront of my mind. Images of wrong doings, insincerity, hurtful words, and the justification offered for those things done. Then I could hear the phone call I received while I was working in Washington; my brother was calling me to ask for help. My father had become erratic in his behavior, he was hallucinating, and growing violent. My brother and sister had been at the house (this was after my mother’s death) in hopes to help my father resolve pressing issues which remained opened. My brother had called my father’s doctors, the local hospital, and even that church which loved my father so much, all to find that no one was willing to help. (But that church’s lack of assistance stung worst of all.) And so my twenty-one year old brother and my eighteen year old sister had to take on the weight of the world alone.

It was well that I worked at a Navy Hospital and happened to have good contacts in the E.R. I explained the symptoms my brother had described to me, and the doc had only one answer: have them call 9-1-1 and get him to a hospital! When my brother called back to find out what I had been told by my contacts I found that things had gotten worse. My brother called 9-1-1 and they had to take my father to the hospital via ambulance.

My father had become violent and fought against the doctors and it was my brother who had to immobilize my father so that the nurses could strap my father down. My father screamed and cursed and uttered foul and disgusting things against my brother and my sister who only wanted to help him. Then eventually he fell into a coma.

The doctors said it was an overdose (I will not say of what), and that when he woke up from the coma -if he woke up at all- there would be a strong chance that there would be some brain damage. And my siblings were left to deal with the weight of the world alone.

They called that church of our youth, and no one came. No one, save myself, offered any suggestions. And certainly, locally, no one came to their aid. My brother and sister believed in that moment -based on what the doctor had shared- that my father would not be able to live alone. He could not live with any of us, we were not equipped to take on such an unstable man; but we knew that we had to honor him by making sure he would be taken care of.

My brother and sister went to every assisted living community they could find. We had high standards that had to be met, and we wanted -despite how he had treated us- the best for him. Eventually after walking away from homes that did not meet our standards, my siblings found a home that would care for him in a strong Christian environment.

For his safety they had taken weapons -which were hung all over our walls- down and planned to place them in storage. In only a few days he awoke, and by grace, he was okay. He refused what my siblings had offered and demanded his weapons be returned (which the church likewise strongly suggested we do.) (REALLY? How would you have felt had he relapsed and hurt himself or someone else with those weapons?)

Eventually that church finally came to visit him, and he sweet talked them -as he always did- to stand in his corner while wagging fingers at my sibling for making bad decisions during the whole ordeal. (ARE YOU SERIOUS! YOU OFFERED NOTHING AND THEY DID THE BEST THEY COULD!) 

Gossip and accusations flew about that my brother and sister had tried to do my father in by drugging him; and some even insinuated that he should file charges. (I was made privy to some communications that later confirmed this.) Others wagged their tongues freely at the bad choices they made. 

The three of us were deemed as liars and horrible unloving children.

It was the final straw regarding that wretched and hurtful place. If they wanted my father so badly, then my youngest brother, my sister, and I were resolved to let them have him. They had interfered against us and were unwilling to help us in the situation, so we gave them what they wanted. We said our farewells to a hateful man, and moved on.

Even now as I type these words, I hear the voices, see the images, remember the words, and it hurts so much. (But writing does help.)

Now to Explain: Some Things You Taught Me

As these wretched things played in my head I remember becoming so angry. More things -minor things- played themselves over and over again as well. And then I remembered a letter from her who condemned me the loudest for the anger I had towards them, and the fact that I struggled to forgive them -which I must actively strive to do almost daily. She recounted nice things done, as if that justified and excused the excessive cruelty while dimissing anything I claimed. And I remembered being called a lost lamb who they hoped would one day return to their fold.

And something about that phrase, lost lamb, seemed so especially foul. As if because now that I am found in Christ and submitting to His will in my life and not conforming to whatever plans they had for me I was lost. 

I wrote, as a way of to comprehend  some of the things that place taught me (and perhaps I could have done something different). Not necessarily what was taught in the pulpit, but what was taught by the words and actions of the people in that place.

I left that church at twenty-0ne years old knowing little of God. I knew generals about Scripture, but truly I did not know much of God. What the Distinctives demanded, that I had seen; that I had been taught. And the Distinctives are indeed wretched! That place was a place of heartache and bondage. A contributor to a problem that I didn’t know how to properly express, and a problem some of them didn’t care to see.

But Such Grace…

As much as it hurts. As much as I hate what happened, I can rejoice in that God has set me free. The Lord has drawn me to Himself. What was done for evil -or good intentions gone wrong- God meant for His good. I am His utterly and completely. And these moments drive me even further and further into His arms.

If it were not for what I had experienced I would not be given to the doctrines of Grace and Reformed theology. I would still despise Scripture when it conflicts with my personal sense of right and wrong and seek to reason it into my worldview. I would still live a life that attempts to imitate the greatest Christian rather than living a life that strives to imitate Christ.

Because of all this the Lord has given me a heart to seek after Him. He called, and this lamb heard the voice of his Shepherd.

Oh how I wept last night. I prayed. I sought after Him…and in the end He found me.

But as a Note:

The next time you want to quote something that upholds the authority of Scripture over all things, remember that it is your founder that taught: 

Some people object because they feel that I gloss over certain passages of Scripture, and they’re correct. But glossing over controversial issues is often deliberate because there are usually two sides. And I have found that it’s important not to be divisive and not to allow people to become polarized on issues, because the moment they are polarized, there’s division.

~Calvary Chapel Distinctives, Chuck Smith, pp. 55

Which is how I learned out to mock other denominations for holding to doctrines different than our own; mock just like I heard at the pulpit. (So many things labelled as “weird.”) (And Chuck, they become polarized because they have not properly been taught the full counsel of God on such matters!)

I guess so much for:

Now, I believe that I can say to the people at Calvary Chapel Costa Mesa, “I have declared unto you the whole counsel of God,” because we have taken them from Genesis to Revelation seven times…We don’t skip anything. And that’s why in the majority of the Calvary Chapels, and the most successful ones, you’ll find the systematic teaching of the entire Word of God…

~Calvary Chapel Distinctives, Chuck Smith, pp. 60