Rejoice...: The Bricks Have Fallen; I Will Rebuild (Isaiah 9:10)

By Fenella Stevensen

In the second of Fenellas three books, happiness is short lived in marriage
eleven days to be exact, followed by a seven year nightmare before finally
bailing ship. The first book: Rejoice I Will Fear No Evil (Psalm 23) begins with
physical abuse, but the marriage as told through the character of Jessica, was a
relationship of emotional abuse, that led to planning suicide as the only escape.
Having counselled and helped others, Jesse couldnt help herself!
Of course, Jesse lives to tell the story, but has many sadnesss and three
major bereavements to deal with, not to mention the unleashing of a great
anger and bitterness in her heart and the spoils they bring. Whilst succeeding
in a career working with young people having been forced out of mission, her
personal life becomes a non-stop quest for love, internet dating, and a total
failure, hidden behind the mask of a clown.
A finger of fate flicks the switch bringing sickness - ME, and the ensuing
realities of limitations, causing Jesse to go in pursuit of yet another lifelong dream
to improve her quality of life requiring her to sell up, saying farewell to friends,
seeking pastures new and fresh opportunities.
Priding herself on being a survivor, Jesse brushes the hurts under the carpet
and moves on til such a time when the hurts and disappointments become a
mountain impossible to avoid and a volcano bursts beyond the mask, spewing
the poisons within... and a realisation that something has to change.
Returning to her waiting Perfect Valentine, He empowers and encourages
Jesse to break free from the chains of self-pity, low self-worth, and the constant
cloud of failure, to a place of victory - with the dreaded mountain as rubble at
her feet!
When I stand before God at the end of my life, I would hope that I would
not have a single bit of talent left, and could say, I used everything you gave
me.
I am touched by the almost childlike way Fenella Stevensen views life in her
early years of Rejoice I Will Fear No Evil (Psalm 23) struck by the sincerity in
each word, and the emotion which at times jump out of the pages. Fenella has
unearthed an incredible talent in that her life story, but most of all in spreading
the word that no matter where you come from, what dark journeys life makes
you take, hope prevails. Patrick Jason - Malta Now

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Apr 8, 2013
• ISBN: 9781481788533

Fenella Stevensen

Fenella Stevensen. Fifty Six years old, born in Stockport and moved to Torquay - UK, having lived also in Malta, Denmark and Holland and traveled more extensively. I am a smooth jazz singer including swing and power ballads, and have enjoyed many of the arts such as drama, creating drama, dancing, singing, dressmaking, interior design, and painting... but I have never written in my life before. Having always considered the English language beyond my reasoning, to add 'author' to my list of achievements gives great delight. I guess you can say that I have lived life from both sides now... with money, a flash lifestyle, beautiful car, beautiful house, lots of friends... and also as a missionary living by faith and travelling the world with an outstretched arm to help others. It is out of these experiences I have written my books. The experiences of great highs, and desperately deep lows, and still live to tell the tale. Not only to tell the tale, but to say proudly I am who I am because of this great journey, including the painful and heartbreaking times together with mountain tops levels of pure joy. I have been married, but now divorced and happy to live a single life with my cat Princess, in the warm climates of the Mediterranean Malta.

Book preview

Rejoice…

The Bricks Have Fallen;

I Will Rebuild (Isaiah 9:10)

Fenella Stevensen

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© 2013 by Fenella Stevensen. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 04/03/2013

ISBN: 978-1-4817-8852-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4817-8851-9 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4817-8853-3 (e)

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

CONTENTS

Foreword

Chapter 1

Happily Ever After

Chapter 2

Born Again

Chapter 3

A Plan Thwarted

Chapter 4

Home from Home

Chapter 5

A Song In My Heart

Chapter 6

Out Of The Frying Pan; Into the Fire

Chapter 7

Letting Go

Chapter 8

The Unusual Suspect

Chapter 9

Boundaries Expanded

Chapter 10

Internet Devils

Chapter 11

Pastures New—2003

Chapter 12

The Sheik of Arabique… My Egyptian Pharaoh

Chapter 13

A Change in the Weather

Chapter 14

Malta—here I come!

Chapter 15

Maybe This Time…

Chapter 16

’Til Death Do Us Part

Chapter 17

The Pharaoh Returns

Chapter 18

Happily Ever After

Chapter 19

My Perfect Valentine

Chapter 20

Friendships:

Season, Reason or Life

Chapter 21

Help Is On The Way

Chapter 22

The Volcano Erupts

Chapter 23

A Victor’s Crown

About the Author

Dedicated to my Mum and Dad

They gave their best;

I could not have asked for more.

Foreword

In my first book; ‘Rejoice . . . I Will Fear No Evil PSALM 23’, Life looks positive as a young woman still in my late teens, when I fall madly in love with my Prince Charming, a wonderful man of good looks, money and power… until he attempts to kill me with the carving knife.

Meeting my Perfect Valentine becomes a major turning point in my life, directing me through important choices to be made and amazing experiences where I travel and begin to fulfil my childhood dreams. It is a story of growth, pushing boundaries, dealing with pain, re-learning basic truths, and actually beginning to love myself. Having always been told I was ugly—well that I have eyes like a cod fish—would you like to kiss a cod?

Selling everything I own, and travelling as a missionary, each journey reveals inner truths, baring strengths and weaknesses, and taking me closer to my awaiting husband, the desire of my beating heart. But life continues to take turns causing my father at first to disown me, and push boundaries in my parents own minds of acceptance. There are times of incredible worthlessness and fountains of fruitfulness and joy. Lessons to be learned, and mountains to be climbed experiencing the mountain tops of life… but life is rarely lived on a mountain top, and the downhill climb can be treacherous leading you back into the valley of the shadows of death. Those days being single were some of the most fulfilling times of my life, a privilege to be the ‘hand of love’ to those in need.

Climaxing to the words I had longed to say all my life, and be asked the question that required my answer of ‘I do’, leads me to the imaginary place of all fairytales… to live Happily Ever After or not!

Now in Rejoice . . . The Bricks Have Fallen; I Will Rebuild (Isaiah 9:10) I am a master of disguise, hiding the deepest hurts and disappointments from others, so many hurts… that a mountain builds within my heart. Reaching the heart of the mountain, eruption is inevitable as a volcano spews its contents like a giant fountain, releasing the pressure that had built within. Still searching and hoping for love, the truth of what lies within is revealed. Truth revealed isn’t always what we want to see, and it is often ugly, however it is the truth that sets you free.

Where pain had once reigned, now I begin to see victory in my life. ‘The Winner’ had always meant to me the first over the line… it was a competition of the best, and the first wins. Suddenly however, I see for the first time, we are all winners when we cross the finishing line. Some will cross it in a day, and others may take twenty years like me, but a crown awaits all who cross, ready to run the next race.

My ‘Victors Crown’ is received, creating a milestone of such release, joy and complete freedom of self-pity, with the mountain of my past now as rubble at my feet.

This is my story, as told through the character of Jessica which starts with hopes and dreams, but as we all know the roads have many bends and crossroads to choose along the way. This is the road map of my life, which includes mountains and valleys. The names of all people have been changed or omitted. It is not a witch hunt for those in my story that play the villain, but villains need to be included for my story to be told, therefore I ask you not to dwell on the people, but rather the things that moulded my life through them.

It is a story about how I responded to elements in my life—the circumstances of choices or decisions made. We cannot avoid making decisions, but I do believe that we need to look closely at whom or what is influencing those decisions.

Looking back on my life now at the age of Fifty Six, I have travelled an incredible journey, meeting some of the most fantastic people whom I feel privileged to call friends. When you reach the finale to my story—which of course hasn’t ended yet—but at least to the point of this journal, there are no villains, everyone is trying to live their lives as I, making choices and dealing with consequences. Sometimes they become as sandpaper—rubbing us up the wrong way. Some are rougher than others… but everyone has a part to play in our development and growth.

Maybe you are reading this and have had things happen that were not about your choices, it is not to belittle what you have experienced or suffered… but I believe we still have a choice to allow the things of the past to shape our future, OR we can change the future by refusing to allow the past to govern us.

Learning these lessons is not easy. I would like to quote the lyrics of a song that I think best describe my journey you are about to embark upon:

Why did the right road, take the wrong turn? Why did our hearts break? Why did we get burned? There are reasons for the paths we take . . . There are no mistakes—only lessons to be learned! No matter how many times you stumble or fall, the greatest lesson is: Loving yourself through it all . . .

Chapter 1

Happily Ever After

Dressed in my wedding outfit, and a happily married woman, Gorg’s father dropped us at the train station in the pouring rain, (pouring rain in June!!! Not a good start) to travel to our honeymoon destination. On the train, I kept looking at Gorg with such excitement and happiness. This man who looked like Cliff Richard, my childhood dream, was sitting opposite me as my husband. Oh, such fulfilment and great expectancy for our future together bubbled within me like a champagne bottle waiting to explode its cork. My heart was happy.

On arrival to the island of Fyn, we first visited Gorg’s uncle and aunt, where they had a special celebration drink waiting for us. They had promised that it was alcohol free, but even before Gorg sipped it he could smell the alcohol. Checking the bottle, it had a minute percentage, but it was enough for him to say no.

Gorg had been an alcoholic prior to knowing me, prior to becoming a Christian, and now he never touched it… so iced water was poured, and I didn’t let his go to waste! Once we were ready, they drove us to our honeymoon residence. It was an old fisherman’s cottage, and it was rustic and perfect with our own private beach. There was a beautiful flower decoration of wild flowers and a mixture of Danish and English little flags. It was all so lovely and thoughtful, together with a booked table in a local restaurant for dinner all paid for, including taxi as our wedding present. I couldn’t believe it—we were man and wife… Mr and Mrs… I, Jesse, was married to the most gorgeous looking man in the world. The restaurant was cosy, and the food was excellent, but the day had been long and exhausting, and we were longing for our bed. According to custom, the following morning we gave morning gifts. I had bought ‘him and hers’ bathrobe each, and Gorg bought me a watch. Although it was June, the weather was cloudy and windy, but nothing could dampen the happiness in my heart. Nothing!

Later that day, his mum and dad arrived at the cottage, with great joy and excitement for their new daughter-law… but there was un-rest between us. Gorg clearly struggled with his father and no matter how much mum and dad tried to bless us both; it seemed to cause an undercurrent. We went for a walk together along the road, and the beautiful poppy-filled hedgerows were so romantic… He took my photo sitting in the midst of poppy-red, and then asked if we could go home early, to sort out the things in the flat instead of staying with mum and dad. Of course I didn’t mind, after all it’s not the most normal thing to have a honeymoon with your parents, so we planned our early departure, saying we needed to get some things sorted in the flat, and I was looking forward to time alone with my new gorgeous, handsome husband.

Gorg had a routine, and he didn’t really like it to be altered. One was his sport! He had to do some kind of sport every day, weight training in the beginning, cycling, swimming, or running. The second routine was his prayer time. Every afternoon, at the same time he would go into our little walk in wardrobe, with a chair, and pray for at least one hour. It was loud… actually very loud, so much so that despite being surrounded by our clothes hanging, he would also place a duvet over his head and pray into a pillow, to dampen the noise… for the neighbour’s sake of course.

As a wedding present from monies we received, we bought a TV and Sky channels so I could watch UK programmes and the world news. At the time of Gorg’s prayer time, I became an addict of ‘The Bold and The Beautiful’, an American soap, with the sound turned up to drown out the noise. Then after dinner, we would sit down to read the Bible together, and share with each other the meaning, or at least what it meant to us. I found that Gorg wasn’t too comfortable that I had some understanding of such things.

Day eleven of our wonderful marriage, and it was now on the rocks. We had both returned to work. I had returned to YWAM on a daily basis, but office hours only. I was currently involved in teaching a drama for a team, and working in the Family Camp, held during the summer months offering Christian counsel and training for married couples and their children. On this eventful day, after dinner, Gorg and I went to read our bibles together as was now usual, and he told me I had a choice, leave YWAM or leave him! I was not the teacher at home; I was his wife and had to decide one or the other. At first I thought he was joking, but when I looked in his eyes, I saw hardness and anger. I was stunned. I tried to talk to him, tried to discuss the problem so we could work it out, but he was adamant, it was him or YWAM!

The following day, I returned to the camp, and poured my heart out to the leadership… of course they supported the fact that the marriage needed to take priority and agreed to let me go. I finished that day training the drama—and left! I never returned to work with YWAM again. I didn’t understand, we had discussed before he had a ring on my finger, my ‘already-planned’ teaching engagements up ’til August, and he was happy to allow them to be worked out. Otherwise, I would have waited to get married. Why now the change of heart? A wedge of doubt had lodged in my heart, the man I had learnt to know was not the same man I was now married to… and what’s more, what kind of love for me did he have that after eleven days he was ready to send me away.

I didn’t really know how to fill my days with nothing to do… so I did the washing, the ironing, the cleaning, the shopping and the cooking, like every normal housewife. I would pop over the road for a morning coffee with my new mother and father in-law at eleven o’clock. Later on I also started going to free lessons in the community for foreigners, learning Danish, and also a maths course. The maths course was too easy, so I raced ahead all the time doing more homework than requested. Remember I failed my maths O’ Level exam whilst still at school… but had I re-sat it, I would have passed, because in the end he was giving me old O’ Level papers as homework, and I was getting them all correct. The maths papers were also in Danish—so I understood the language too. I learnt Danish in four months, and people said I spoke it better than the Crown Prince, who had been speaking it for years.

One day, shortly after we were married, there was a knock on the door. I was going to open it, and Gorg told me not to move, not to go near the door or they may see my shadow in the spy glass, not to make a sound until whoever it was had gone again. I had the strangest feeling in my own home, one of being in a prison. Not only being in a prison, but afraid of who was outside the door. I had always had an open door policy, so this was completely opposite for me. Five minutes later the phone rang and it was Gorg’s mum asking why we hadn’t opened the door to our visitor. She had seen him from her kitchen window, enter our building and shortly out again, carrying flowers, making his way to the bus stop. He told her that he wasn’t open for surprise visits from anyone. His house, he could choose who he opened the door to!

I was now beginning to worry about who I had married. This man was a completely different person behind closed doors than the one everyone saw outside. I began to realise I was in a nightmare, and somehow I knew it was only going to get worse.

I had now stopped sharing what I understood from our bible readings, just allowing him the chance to share. I wanted to build him up and encourage him as the leader for the household. He told me that all his life he had been dominated by his family, and manipulated by others because he didn’t know how to say no. I saw him as a man needing to break free from his own prisons, so I tried to give him that place he needed, as a show for him of my love.

Of course we had discussed the possibility of children prior to getting married. I was not on any form of contraception, there had been no need, and now we had said that if we were to have children we would see it as a blessing from the Lord. I was not feeling my normal self, and my breasts were sore and heavy. That day I had arranged to meet Charmaine from the church for lunch, and I can still see her sitting on the bench at Nye Havn, outside the Opera House, when I told her I thought I might be pregnant, explaining the symptoms. She was almost in tears for joy for me, for us.

I was lying down on the sofa when Gorg came home, and I told him that I had missed my period, and feeling very strange, thinking that I might be pregnant. As he stood behind the sofa, he leaned over towards me pointing his finger in an angry fashion, and his mouth contorted as he was praying and casting out demons! I couldn’t believe it, I thought I was having his baby, and he thought it was demonic. I was so broken hearted. When he went into his wardrobe to pray, I retreated in tears.

I have to say that our sexual union had not been the best of times. Each time we were about to make love, he would put his hand on his private part, and pray that Jesus be with us in this act of marital duty. Can you imagine how it made me feel inside? I wasn’t obviously turning him on. He considered making love purely as his duty in the marriage, to ward off the temptations of looking elsewhere. At least that is how I was seeing it. I felt ugly, rejected, and utterly worthless after he had tried casting out demons at the thought of being a father to my child!

Who was this man I had married?

He had booked us in to a Christian summer camp that the Pentecostal church held every summer, at their High School in Mariager—yes the same place where I had been teaching on the tall-ship. I met up with Charmaine and her husband, and she delicately asked me about the pregnancy, as there had been no announcement, and not wanting to be disloyal to my husband, I just said—false alarm. As it happened, I did have my period about two days after Gorg had prayed. Had his prayer cursed my womb, or had God seen it better for me not to have a baby at this time? Or was it just a false alarm… whatever, I had seen another side of the man I had married.

Whilst still at the camp, he went into a fit of temper. I had been talking with someone at the camp, and he was jealous. It was not another man or anything like that; I was talking with Lisa, who I had worked last time with, on the outreach team for the tall ship. Back at the room, I had never seen anything like it, shouting and accusing me of always being in the light and him in darkness, I was his wife now, and I ought to remember that fact. The past is past—I am a new creation in him!!!! I ought to listen and not speak. What happened to the bible verse about submission—it was not obviously something that I was willing to do—and it’s about time I learnt it! He left the room slamming the door, and I crumpled into a heap onto the bed in tears. What had I possibly done to deserve this?

Anne-Mie, from YWAM, tried keeping contact with me. She came over one day when we were home, and we went to the beach together. Now that was a culture shock. At that point of time, I was not used to seeing topless women on the beach, and one elderly woman, was completely nude, jumping up and down in the water as if to say ‘Look at me.’ Despite that, we had a great day together, laughing and joking. I didn’t tell her how awful married life was; I still believed that God would perform a miracle and turn it into a beautiful testimony to Him… I knew He could do it. Actually, it was the last time I ever saw Anne-Mie. Some years later she died of breast cancer which I only learnt of many years later. She was a great team mate, and close friend until Gorg forced my hand to cut all contacts with my former YWAM colleagues.

I forgot, when we had only been married a month, it was Gorg’s birthday, so I planned a surprise party. There was an older lady called Marge, who had been to our wedding, with YWAM, whom he loved, so I used her as a decoy for the surprise. I had made lots of party food and hidden it in cupboards etc. When Marge arrived, Gorg was shocked that I hadn’t bought any nibbles to offer her with her coffee, so excused him to go to the shop and buy some bits and pieces. It wasn’t what I had expected to happen, but it was a bonus, however, he was not happy with me! Whilst he was out—all the guests arrived, with more party food, we decked the table ready for his entrance—and with loud cheers, he actually blushed in surprise. Henning and Annemarie, and Elias with his new wife Sasha were there.

Elias and Sasha actually became our closest friends. They too were not finding life easy in marriage either, maybe it was because we were older, and needed to bend more to comply with one another, having been used to our single ways for too long!

About November, I think, there was a guest speaker at the church called Ian. He is a great man of God. He actually has a stutter, but when he is delivering a word from God—he can speak without a single incident. Gorg and I both liked him, and I remember us speaking with him after the service, sharing how difficult the marriage was. He encouraged us to persevere; the first year is always the hardest. I can’t remember if he had a word—or if Gorg had a word, but it was that I was like the sun, and he was like the moon—shining in the dark, when everyone was sleeping so they didn’t see him, whereas everyone wanted to talk with me. Gorg took this word to heart, and as long as we were together would throw this back at me… even as a kind of threat to me.

That Christmas, I was asked to sing in the church for an evening service, and I invited his mum to come… and she came, but my husband refused. He was angry that he had not been asked. It was a perfect picture of me as the sun in our family, and him the moon. Instead of being proud of me and supporting me saying—‘this is my wife,’ he refused.

It was also a duty to visit his mum and dad. I loved them dearly, so caring and they truly accepted me with open arms, but it was always awkward, whenever we were there, Gorg would turn it into a ‘Bible Bashing’ event. It had never been my way to share the Gospel message, and I actually found it embarrassing, especially with the things happening behind closed doors that no-one saw. Instead, if there was football on the TV, I would watch it with dad, so if Gorg was talking ‘bible’ with his mum, it prevented a full scale argument. I have to say though I have never been a football fan—so I was learning new skills!

Another new skill—though not sure that is the correct word, was to watch the Tour De France. Me and bikes—not good! . . . and watching men on bikes ride for miles was at first like watching paint dry, but it was a passion of Gorg’s, so in an effort to build positively in the marriage, I would watch whilst he was at work, and then tell him about it when he got home… I was remembering names like Indurain, and of course their own Danish hopeful Bjarne Riis. I understood the yellow jersey, spotted jersey and the green jersey. He was so impressed that I could tell him of the different teams and how they were doing. It actually became a yearly enjoyment.

In that first year, I think it was September, we took a trip home to Torquay, for the wedding to be blessed in my home church, as no-one had come to the service in Denmark. We had a special wedding cake made like a picture album, with a photo of our wedding invitation on it. Being amongst people who I know and loved was even harder for us—he saw everyone as a threat. Not face to face, he didn’t have the courage to say anything to anyone except to me behind closed doors. When one of the elders asked me how we were, I burst into tears, and two of them instead came to visit us one evening to talk and pray for us. How can I best describe the way people saw Gorg? I think probably with the word ‘charming’. Even on the streets as we walked around, people would look at us and giggle, thinking he was Cliff Richard. He would smile to everyone. I had at least learnt his secret for shining eyes—he used oil and Nivea on his face, so he was always shining.

That holiday in Torquay, every day the afternoon was interrupted by his need to pray, so he would go off somewhere on his own for two hours, and I would need to find something to occupy myself with. He was driven—that’s how I saw it—driven. It was impossible for him not to have that time of prayer. I wondered what it was he prayed for so much… it couldn’t be the marriage, because it didn’t seem to be turning for the better!

Chapter 2

Born Again

Henning and Annemarie were moving, and asked if I would like to look after their piano, which I jumped at the idea, and Gorg agreed. I was so excited. I had brought with me a music book with praise and worship in, so I could teach myself to play and sing, reading already written songs. It wasn’t at a performance level—but it was great to be able to have worship times with the Lord.

In YWAM, we had often held meetings where some would pray at the same time as some would worship. It was a spiritual cleansing through worship, making way for the prayers to go unhindered. It was called Spiritual Warfare. I decided, instead of watching the ‘Bold and the Beautiful’ when Gorg prayed; I would sing and have my worship time with the Lord. A perfect solution to being able to cut out his muffled, yet still very loud praying which was now almost two hours every day. I was lost in the song when the door opened to the lounge and Gorg walked in, shouting at me at the top of his voice. When I turned to look at him in such surprise, his face was red—well it would be sitting under a duvet and his face in a pillow between clothes hanging in the wardrobe and the door shut! The wardrobe was only six feet wide and three feet deep. His eyes were however, something else. I had seen the likes once before, when Carl was about to kill me with a carving knife. They were unusually red and blood shot, and angry… very angry.

How dare you play and sing, whilst I am praying. You are interrupting me, preventing my prayers from going through!

But Gorg, I am helping you with your prayers by worshipping at the same time, like we are a team playing for the same side.

Stop! You need to learn to submit to me your husband! I have to pray more because you are walking in disobedience, and I am praying for you to change into the person you are supposed to be as my wife.

I was stunned—I could not believe what I was hearing. I was in love with a man who seemed to be living according to a different Gospel message than me… and I was afraid.

We were having less and less sex and I would be admonished for failing to give him his marital rights. I would have to try and plan a day that I would ‘give myself’ to him. Each day I liked him less and less. One day, I went to meet him from work, with a long overcoat on, and just my underwear on underneath. I tried to make it like a game… actually I tried to think myself as a prostitute, making it fun for him, and to get it over with as quickly as possible. I’d