My Story

I used to think that when sharing about God it wasn’t necessary or beneficial to talk about myself. I thought that somehow God spoke through me as a vessel but that it was Him not me and that God’s spirit was going to move independent of me. I also believed that when I became born again my past was no longer relevant because “old things have passed away.” Acknowledging that error now in writing makes me realize how ignorant I was. Now I understand that my experiences is the only way to truthfully share my knowledge of God and my certainty of His existence. Everyone has a story. For those of you that don’t know mine here it is.

I am the youngest of five children. I loved being the baby. Actually for many years no one called me Adoria, everyone called me baby. My brother Rex still calls me baby today. I don’t mine. As the story goes I drank a bottle until 6 years old and only stopped because the glass bottle broke on the front porch one day after school. I shared this because it is insightful to my foundation.

I don’t know how old I was when our parents divorced. I have no memory of my parents ever living under the same roof. I do know it was bitter. Both of my parents remarried. A point came when our father sued our mother for custody of us. I have a vague memory of being in the courthouse. I do remember the judge putting us out of the courtroom because we were giggling. He said, this is not a laughing matter. I also remember the judge considering splitting us up, boys to our father and girls to our mother. But he said all of wanted to stay together. So, my father was awarded full custody of all of us. I don’t know what visitation rights my mother was given. I just know that once we moved to live with our father I never saw her again until after my father died. I was sixteen.

We didn’t live with our father very long before my 3 brothers were sent to live in Louisiana with our grandmother. I still don’t have the words to accurately describe the impact that had on me. I’ll just say devastated. My world changed. Children weren’t consulted about adult decisions then or even asked how we felt. I wasn’t taught how to cope. I wasn't allowed to communicate my feeling or express my thoughts. I was taught to obey. My Stepmother Wanda told me something about myself that always stuck with me. She said Adoria you’re like a rubber ball, you always bounce back. She also told me I had a twinkle in my eyes. I share those comments because those kind words helped shape me.

I was a good student even though I never went to the same school more than two years. We were a fractured family even as our family grew with two younger sisters. I have no blame for anyone. I believe everyone was doing the best that they could with what they knew. I knew without question that our father loved all of us. His personality could fill a room.

After a few years our brothers came home. The day they got home I was standing in the kitchen near the counter top. I vividly remember seeing three giants walking into the house. When they left they were boys now they were men. 6’4, 6’3 and 6’10 men. I was frozen. I didn’t know how to feel. I didn’t know what to do or say. My daddy told me to kiss my brothers so I did. It was awkward at first but slowly we all reconnected.

A year later my sister Eva and I were sent to live in Louisiana with our grandmother. Eva wanted to go. I didn’t. My brother Michael had warned me that he overheard a conversation that we would be staying there. I was scared and unable to say how I felt. My only saving grace was Eva would be with me. I remember being at the train station in Los Angeles and looking at my little sister Inga. She was my heart. I didn’t know how to say goodbye to her. She looked so lost. No one had the words. Eva and I took the train alone to Louisiana. I was 14 Eva was 16.

The culture shock of Louisiana from Los Angeles is another story, but we had lots of family. I have wonderful memories of my time there after I adjusted. I loved school and excelled. Eva graduated and moved back to California. I was alone. It was very hard for me. I missed my family terribly. The following summer I found my voice and asked if I could go home for the summer. They said yes. It was a strange time. I was happy to see my younger sisters, but my older siblings were all grown and living on their own. I now (while writing this) realize I didn’t see any of my siblings that summer. My parents were now separated. When my father took me to the airport to return to Louisiana I didn’t know that was the last time I would see him. I remember his bear-hug embrace. I remember him telling me he loved me and that he was proud of me. Two weeks later coming home from volleyball practice I was informed he was dead. He was 43 years old.

All of my older siblings came to Louisiana for our father's funeral. I remember at the wake standing there looking at our father’s body with two of my big brothers flanking me on either side. A old woman said, “kiss your daddy.” I was scared. My brother Rex spoke up for me and said, no. Then my brother Michael told me that daddy wasn’t there, that was just his tent. I remember when we sat in the church together Michael sat in the middle of us and stretched out his long arms. He held Butch and Rex on one side and Eva and I on the other side. They only stayed two days and I was alone again. As you can imagine it was a horrible time of uncertainty, confusion and grief.

The next several years are a blur of crisscrossing across the country. I had no direction. No one telling me what to do. You know how you find yourself in circumstances and someone asks you, what were you thinking but you have no answer? Well, the answer is I wasn’t thinking. That is the only way to describe my life after my father's death. I wasn’t thinking. I couldn't. I didn't know how. All of sudden people were asking me questions about what I wanted. How was I supposed to know what I wanted? I had never been asked. The ability to determine what I wanted had never been cultivated in me. I wasn’t taught how to think I was taught how to obey. That might sound odd but it’s true. It’s my truth. I had a void a big gaping hole inside of me.

Life went on. I continued to function. I graduated with honors. I moved a lot. Then I had a child that forced me to settle geographically. I worked, I partied, I made money. I met Donnie and I got married. I matured in functioning in life and was somewhat successful. However, at the core of me the heart of who I am was desolate. I was painfully aware of vacuum within me. And then....

My story, Part 2 coming soon...