It all begins on the island of Borneo, Indonesia. Matt was bought into this horrible world of sin. My parents were Christians and decided to try and raise me as a Christian. What they didn’t realize was they just brought to the world, either a great spiritual leader or the most hellish child of Satan. All they had to do was raise me right.
At the age of three my dad and mom would punish me for hurting myself. I ran head first into walls and sat down and smashed my head as hard as I could on the tile floor until I got my way. A couple times they had to take me to the hospital for gashes in my head. I would love to further agitate them just to hit me.
I turned five when we moved to New Zealand and my dad went to America. He left my mom with us three kids as he worked in America. One of the reasons my hate for God grew was for seven years I didn’t see my dad, with the exception of Christmas. The family life was going smooth for about a year, until at the age of six I realized daddy wasn’t there for me. My anger and hatred built to where I would not even mention my dad's name, not so much as I hated God for letting the situation occur.
I got into fights at school just to feel pain, I had nothing else to feel, I was completely empty. To make things worse the punishment of my behavior was out of control. Beatings would take place for a full hour. My legs have scars all over them from my mom beating them to where I had to beg for mercy. I acquired a dent in my head where my mom got so mad at me one day she hit me in the forehead with a bat.
After forced to Sunday school I still did not understand why lovers of God would be haters of their own flesh and blood. The hatred of God was a lot greater than the hatred of my dad. He had his own people beat me because he cannot teach them how to raise a kid. At the age of eight, my anger arose to help me stab a kid with a thorn and smack a kids face on the pavement.
“Our first lesson about God made the deepest impression on us. We were told that He loved us, and then we were told that He would burn us in everlasting flames of hell if we displeased Him. We were told we should love Him for He gives us everything good that we have, and then we were told that we should fear Him because He has the power to do evil to us whenever He cares to. We learned from this part of the lesson another: that “people,” like God and parents, can love you and hate you at the same time; and though they may love you, if you displease them they may do you great injury; hence being loved by them does not give you protection from being harmed by them. We learned that They (parents) have a “right” to act in this way because God does, and that They in a sense represent God, in the family.”
I grew up in a church congregation that taught of God’s vengeance and not of God’s love. I spent the majority of my pre-teen, teen and adult years in fear of God. In fear of what would happen when I sinned. And of course I did sin. Instead of asking God for forgiveness for what I deemed unforgivable sins, I figured in my own mind, that since I was going to Hell, I might as well continue to sin. Today, I will share with you my life choices, my life circumstances and the plan that God had all along for my life to serve him.
Growing up, I was raised by a single mother of four and I was fortunate enough to have an extraordinary mother, who always put her children before herself and sacrificed a lot for our well being. I was brought up, in a Baptist Christian household, which has strongly influenced my beliefs, values and life decisions. My mother made it her duty to help build her children’s relationships with God. By making sure, we knew the importance of having him in our lives, and that we knew the word of God. I remember as a child, my mom use to read us scriptures from the bible and explain them to us in an age appropriate manner. I greatly appreciate her efforts because she was the force behind my connection with God and it has made me into the women I am today. Some
...eight years old when my father was murdered. It is almost impossible to describe the pain of losing a parent to a senseless murder.…But even as a child one thing was clear to me: I didn't want the killer, in turn, to be killed. I remember lying in bed and praying, 'Please, God. Please don't take his life too.' I saw nothing that could be accomplished in the loss of one life being answered with the loss of another. And I knew, far too vividly, the anguish that would spread through another family -- another set of parents, children, brothers, and sisters thrown into grief."55
Looking back on my childhood, I have many memories shrouded in fear and self-loathing. I was raised in the Baptist church. My mother and grandmother made sure that I attended church every Sunday morning. My grandmother was from the mid-west. She carried her strict Bible belt background with her as she traveled west with my grandfather. The many lessons I learned from my grandmother and the minister at our church played a big part in how I began to see the world and my place in it.
There was a moment when I doubted religion. An avalanche of tragedies piled upon my life in the blink of an eye. My father moved seven hundred miles away, people died, and family members began to discover the effects of methamphetamine. I began to think religion might be a lie. I asked myself, “Why would God make me suffer through this hardship?” By enduring this oppression, the silver lining became apparent. I grasped the true concept of my series of unfortunate events. The circumstances of my childhood have molded me into a stronger
Skipping years ahead, I remember the first occurrence of emotional abuse coming from my mother, when I was in middle school and I had started changing my look and gaining some weight, my mother began humiliating me through name calling, and excessively criticizing me, in addition to swearing and yelling which she engaged in more frequently. The effects that this particular pattern of
To Serve Man is the 24th episode of the 3rd season of The Twilight Zone(1962). It is known to be based on the story by Damon Knight which is also called To Serve Man. This particular episode is very significant because it is one of the few occurrences where an actor breaks the “fourth wall” (an imaginary wall supposed to be at the front of a stage; represents the boundary between a play and its audience.) and actually speaks to the audience at the episode’s closing.
My Dad worked a lot and he’d come home and take his aggressions from the day out on us, his family. My mother took the brunt of his aggressions in most cases, but some days he would change things up and would set his sight on my brother or myself. There were also many cases where my brother or I would get the courage to try and stick up for our Mother and that never ended well….My Dad was always careful not to leave marks that could potentially be visible to those looking in. Fast forward to 5th grade...this was when my Dad slipped up and broke his cardinal rule: he hit me so hard that he left his handprint across my face. There I was, eleven years old, sitting in the counselor’s
My mother was more of a camera that would watch my every move and report it to my father if there was ever a problem. They had set rules which required me to act mature, but I was not fully aware of many rules they required me to follow. Although, whenever I would be punished for breaking a rule, either my father of mother would come in to comfort me and explain why I was being punished. This allowed me to continue to love my parents through the countless punishments I would receive. Until slowly they had no longer come in to comfort me after being punished. Because of this I had started to build a resentment towards life, and was an angry child. I felt as if the world was my problem because nobody understood my feelings. Being punished and not understanding why caused me to fall behind not only in grades but in my social skills as well. It seemed as if every other day my parents were receiving calls from the school about my bad behavior, which didn’t help since I would be punished once more while not aware of the phone calls they received. I felt as if no one had understood me within school as well as at home. I had an unhealthy amount of anger that lingered with me wherever I went. The parenting style they used was an authoritarian and authoritative parenting style. Both of my parents would waver between strict rules that
...t. She would throw books or dinner off the table in a rage, and he would start cursing and throwing whatever he could get in his hands on. While they would continue throwing and breaking things, my father would charge at her to either try to slap her, to shove her, or just to grab her. But my cousin would get away from him because she was much bigger and faster that he was. Out of her anger she would break things and punch holes in the walls. Then she would run out of the house in a fury. Over the years from fighting with her dad, she has gotten numerous scars on her hands.
Parents Hitting Their Children For this coursework, I will be looking at whether parents should be allowed to hit their children or children that are being looked after by them. Like most questions there are usually two sides to the argument. The 1st reason why parents should be allowed to hit their kids is to enforce a form of discipline. The other reason why hitting children is bad is because by hitting a child, they may be emotionally scared for life.
My most vivid childhood memories were of my mother screaming at me, calling me names, and putting me down. Occasionally, she would spank me. When she did, she would be so angry that she would lose control. When she would get angry with me, she would yell and call me names, purposely being hurtful. My childhood is filled with many memories. As long as I can remember my mother has been angry or depressed. Her temper was frequent and frightening and then the next day, we just “moved on”. My mother has never ever apologized for any wrongdoing on her part, for as long as I can
As a child I was bullied at school by my classmates and for this reason I dreaded going to school. At a very young age I made myself believe that I was ugly and overweight, I would hear it so much in school that soon enough that is what I would tell myself. I was a very depressed child, with parents that could not understand what was happening. Therefore I kept it to myself. Until one day I ...
I started to cry all the time, even during school. I just couldn’t hold back the tears any longer. I was not the same person anymore. I felt hopeless. I didn’t think that anything would work and no one could do anything about it. I felt so alone and powerless. I kept thinking, "how could God be doing this to me. I 've been in so much pain for so long, when was it going to stop?" I was so frustrated with God that he wasn’t answering my prayers, he wasn 't helping me get through my problems, and I couldn’t help but feeling abandoned by him. This led me to start thinking that he wasn’t there listening to me. I started to question if there really was a God or if this whole Catholic faith was just a joke. I stopped believing in God, because if He was really there, then how could he let his child suffer like this? I would go to church still, but only because my parents made me, but I didn 't sing or say any if the prayers because I didn 't believe in anything they