PART VIII: Walking with God

So this is the point where anyone who's not a Christian, or cannot handle any tolerance towards my religion, should thus be kindly warned. From here on, this is what this blog will be about. The updates about all my children are done, relaying our lives for the past 10 years is (mostly) done, and I said my peace about some events. We're now starting with the reason why I had to pick up blogging again and it has everything to do with my religion.

This will be my testimony.

It will thus not only be a testimony of the years with Boeboe, but I'll also delve into my childhood years, and then the ultimate reason, the past 5 years, as well as future events. Everything that lead up to what's coming. So as a reader, you have reached the end of my story as a mother to a special needs child with an occult Tethered Cord, and there will be very little updates or information on that or my children any more.

This will now totally focus on my road, walking with my God, the Lord Jesus Christ. If you're interested, please continue. If not, then I thank you for having been a part at one point or another of my journey by either reading or following this blog and I bid you a warm goodbye. May your journey be as blessed as mine.

For those interested, this is now all going to be about who I truly am, and will be, and have been. Not as a mother. But as a person, a woman, and especially, a Daughter of the Most High God, the only Living God.

So I'm going to start at the very beginning and work my way back up to 2018, where everything truly started for me.

When I was age 5 (yes, FIVE!!), I had a dream. It was about lions, and terrifying for a 5-year old little girl. I told my mom about it, and she dismissed it as “just a dream”, of course. But a few nights later, I had the EXACT same dream again. It started at the exact same point in time, played out exactly the same, and ended at the exact same point like the first time. Everything was the same. The conversation, the environment, the emotions, the event, the people in it, everything. It was short, but intense.

I ignored it, but it happened again. And again. At some point, I remember telling my mom (again) and my brother was there too. He laughed and then taunted me on how I thought I was so special, getting this “dream”, and who do I think I were? How it was just all in my imagination and I'm basically lying.

It devastated me. As the youngest, I had a bit of an unhealthy hero-worship of all three my eldest siblings. I was a rule-abider, a follower, and a weakling. I didn't know how to stand up for myself at that point. I was unsure, uncertain, no self confidence and of little self worth. We were all very close in age, and as the youngest, it left me as the one always dragging behind, always falling behind, always the one picking up the crumbs left by the others, always trying to reach them but just never getting there. I was always too small, too slow, too thin, too weak physically, too this or too that. It left me with just about zero confidence. So being told I'm imagining things and there's nothing special about me, hit me hard. My mom didn't deny it.

So I took on that label. But deep inside, I knew this dream wasn't my imagination. I wasn't the one initiating it. I didn't even want it, because it was terrifying. A nightmare. So repeatedly dreaming the same terrifying nightmare about lions who want to eat me, is not something that I would “make up” or wish for. But being told I was imagining it, made me realise.... I could not share it any more. They don't believe me.

So I never spoke about it again for almost a year. For almost a year, I dreamed the dream most nights. At least about 3 or 4x a week. Sometimes even more. Always the same dream. Exactly the same. Until it was branded into my brain.

Then I turned 6 and as I blew the candles, I realised. I'm now 6. And I STILL dream this dream that started when I was 5. So I told my mom that night or soon thereafter. That it was now just about a whole year of it happening over and over again.

So my mom stopped what she was doing, immediately, which was so unlike her. She sat with me at the kitchen table and asked me to tell her the dream, which I did. She said nothing. Just stood up to continue her cooking. But I saw her face. It was contemplative. She believed me!!

That night, I did not dream it again. Nor the next, or the next. It disappeared completely. Until I was 18 or 19 years old. I was in University then, and out of the blue, I dreamed it again. Exactly the same dream. I was flabbergasted. And almost scared, because I did NOT wanted to start it all over again. But it didn't. It only happened that once, and then never, ever again.

This, as well as some awful things (no, not molestation) that happened to me when I was about 6-7, caused me to turn to my Bible. I was taught to read around age 5-6, and the Bible was one of the first books I read, around age 6-7. First it was “children's Bible stories”. Then my mom bought me my own, “real” Bible. I can't remember when exactly, I believe around age 8 or 9. I clung to that and got very very close to God. I adored Him. Whenever I was sad, angry or upset, I would open the Bible and a verse would jump out, giving me courage, comfort, hope or showing the way. I realised that God truly was speaking to me through His Word, and I held on to that as a lifeline. It made the sad things in my life okay, and the hard things bearable.

During those years, there was something else I wondered about. It's too personal, I won't divulge it. It was just about my own past, and something I felt as a little girl. And I always queried God. For years and years I wanted to know why I felt it. One day, it overwhelmed me, and I cried and called out to Him. This time, He answered me personally. Not through His Word. But in His voice, through His Spirit. I heard Him inside my head. You can almost call it telepathy. Except that I immediately knew it was Him speaking. He answered my question, and gave me a command about it. Only 2 small sentences. Acknowledging my heartache and that it was true, as well as what I must do about it. (Again, to reiterate, this was not about molestation, just about a loss I experienced years and years before that moment.)

I was flabbergasted. I did not know God in this way. I never heard of anyone (at that stage) talking about God speaking to them in their heads, like that. I sat there stunned, almost not even blinking, for what felt like hours. Then stood up, went to my bedside table, picked up my Bible and opened it up at a random verse, asking God.... was that you, God? I can't remember at which verse I opened it up, but it basically said “It is I AM”.

God spoke to me.

I can still feel the wonder that caused me. And then I knew. I couldn't tell this to my family. I could not share this and let them defile this memory. It was too special. Too real. Too pure. Too Holy. It was mine, and mine alone. So I told no one. Not even my mother. Never. 

Until a few months ago, age almost 50, when I told my sister. In a letter. She ignored the letter, apart from acknowledging that she received and read it.  (That basically summed up what my life as a child was about. Being ignored was still preferable to being mocked about it.)

From that moment that God spoke to me in my head/heart/spirit at age 10, I knew that everything else I always felt was from Him, was true. The dreams, the repetitive one and others that I now knew were from Him, the knowledge He gave me about my mother, as well as the fact that His Return was not too far off. At that moment, I trusted everything He told me during that first 10 years of my life. Oh, how I begged that His Return could come sooner. Especially during my teenage years when I went through much heartache. But I was told not yet. So I put it all on the back burner, realising I had to live my life in the meantime. Which I did.

Continuing with some more history here...