A Story About Home...

She ran like a phobic woman fighting for her life anytime she came face to face with subjects that were not Calvary Chapel approved. She was hysterical in her over protection and in her religion. She kept us in a bubble, she hid us from the truth, and she left us to find our way through her dark. Sometimes I felt held captive for her comfort. She held our family together, but perhaps for all the wrong reasons.

We've cut her a lot of slack over the years because she's dead, but she talked to God like he was our personal genie obligated to grant our every wish so long as we prayed persuasively enough. There were times we dared God not to care for us by intentionally stepping beyond our means. We were told He would always treat us nice because He loved us. Apparently the Father chastises those whom He loves meant nothing in our home; perhaps because it meant nothing to our church. Grace was synonymous with excuse. Love was a word dripping with guilt and scorn. And mercy is the only word I use for having made it out alive.

I look deep into myself and find that I am a boy with mommy and daddy issues. While there are those that sing their praises I am left standing in dumb founded awe covered in scorched marks and battle scars. I still bleed from wounds long calloused over and I can't seem to keep the cry of my heart quiet long enough to make it through just one day without thinking of those bastards.

With the best of intentions she threw smoke bombs and covered our mouths with duct tape in hopes that our family secrets wouldn't come out. That the outside world wouldn't know that we desperately needed help. Inside she bobbed and weaved and used guilt as a finely honed weapon to scare us into keeping quiet. At times she simply stood between us and the beast, so it wouldn't seem so bad. And while I understand she did the best she could to keep us together, I understand she did it because she was frightened to lose everything. She was frightened to admit that she made a mistake. She was frightened -perhaps- because she loved him.

She painted the walls with barn yards and cows. Sun flowers made everything right. The quaint country theme somehow made her heart tranquil; made her accept the mess. She was hiding, like all of us, in a fantasy. She held the church tight. It made everything a test. It showed her that God was on her side. She told them what they wanted to hear, so she passed their test and received their blessing while four little ones were left to figure out how to survive on their own.

These people, I can't seem to get them out of me. They still haunt me, and all I want is to just let go.