LOVE AT FIRST LIGHT

by Cherry Stoltz
(KZN, South Africa)

I was physically abused by my mother for as long as I can remember. It probably started when I was a baby. I was so scared of her that I would wet myself and shake all over - even as an adult.

My father was an alcoholic but I loved him very much. He died when I turned 15 and I went to pieces. My mother hit me every time I cried for him, saying that he was her husband, not mine, so I had no right to mourne for him. She did everything she could to prevent me from having friends because she said they would be a 'bad influence' on me. She had a thing about that ... I was not even allowed to walk to the shop a few blocks away, even though it was very safe in those days. The physical abuse grew worse. At times, I stayed away from school and hid away from my mother because I was ashamed of the enormous bruises on my legs that my uniform didn't cover.

Then, she took in a boarder to help pay the rent. I was 15 and my sister was 11. The boarder was a paedophile. I had enough sense to know what he said and tried to do to me was wrong, so I kept out of his way. My mother was furious, believing I was to blame for the boarder's complaints about my 'rudeness' - and I was terrified to tell her. Unknown to me and mom, he was sexually abusing my little sister.

Our boarder's son emigrated from England. We married a few months later. I just wanted to leave home, by any means I could. Being only 16, I was just a child. He was 23. I left him about a year after we married and went from one relationship to the other, looking for love in all the wrong places. My mother had told me I was a really bad person and there was no hope for me, so I behaved like one. I also began reading all I could find about Eastern religions, and even began practicing transcendental meditation. This made the depression worse.

By this stage, I was severely depressed and tried to end my life. No one seemed to care whether I was alive or dead. I had quite a good job but it didn't pay enough to support my 4 children and I. I was widowed and so depressed that I couldn't look after my children properly. My husband had died leaving no will, so I got nothing. All I owned was two single beds, an old fridge, a carpet and a chair. I moved into an ancient, dark, gloomy, two-bedroom flat in the city and attempted suicide a few more times. God wouldn't let me go. I survived every time. Eventually, my psychiatrist shouted at me, "Don't ever try that again!" I remember saying, "I WILL. As soon as I get out of hospital !"

One evening, a friend and her husband introduced me to my beloved husband. We fell in love hook, line and sinker after about 6 months. He knew all about my past but loved me anyway. He was divorced and has 4 children of his own, so he had to bring up 7 children without complaining. Nevertheless, I was still very depressed.

Shortly before we married, I didn't have a car, so I walked about 3 kilometres to the nearest English-speaking church and sat right at the back. I found the service so boring that I just waited impatiently for it to end so I could leave. While I was sitting there, all alone, I noticed a piece of folded paper in the rack in front of me and picked it up. It said, "If you would like the minister to visit you, please fill out your details and drop it through the slot of the box just outside the church door." I did so. And then I panicked. What if he comes to my home? I thought. He'll see what kind of person I am. I tried getting the form out of the box but it was locked so I went home, hoping the form would get lost.

On that Wednesday evening, I formally gave my life to Christ and confessed my sins. That Sunday, I met Jesus in the most amazing way. For 4 to 5 years afterwards, I felt as though I was floating on Cloud Nine! But God knew I had to grow up. The depression slowly returned and I crept back into my private hell, trying to hide from the world in general. By 2002, my husband and I were arguing so much that I left him and moved into a cottage on my own. For 8 months, a wonderful counsellor at my church listened and prayed and advised as I sobbed and sobbed. The memories and guilt were so painful that I nearly gave up. But she and God refused to give up on me. I found out just how many wrong beliefs I had about God and myself. I learned to place my trust in God's Word and made a decision to believe Him and not my own deceitful heart or the enemy's lies.

My husband and I reconciled. He was so gentle with me, terrified that I might leave him again if he said one wrong word. Every day was a new victory. I kept expecting the depression and pain to return, but it never did. Every week was better and then every month. God was clearing out every cupboard in my heart. I asked Him to show me how to love other people because I realised I never had before - not even my own children. My mom died in England. On her deathbed, she told my sister that my dad was a homosexual - not bisexual - and I was the result of the only time they slept together. My sister has a different father but mom couldn't, or wouldn't, recall his name. My sister was devastated when she let me know but I just smiled and held her close. There was no pain! I heard her news without feeling rejected, alone, unloved, cast aside or anything else that is negative. And I was able to comfort her without thought for myself. At last. God had done the ‘impossible'.