Surrendered to Hope

By Lisa Wheeler

When I hear of peoples' stories that include torture or growing up in drug homes or other horrific circumstances, I start to doubt that my story is worth sharing because I grew up in a good home. I have been asked by some to share my wounds, pain and experiences so that others can benefit from what I learned about me through those times.

I've never really felt like I was someone special so I never really felt like someone could love me for me, the real me. I spent decades trying to be the one who stood out as unique, but ended up blending in with the "normal" people. I think I always wanted to be good enough to be looked up to, but bad enough to be admired.

But then…one pivotal night, at 36 years old, my world turned upside down.  I experienced the white light of death that I'd only ever heard about in fairy tales. That light melded everything together for me; the good, the bad and the extreme uncertainty.

I pray my story can give you what I found, Hope.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lisa Wheeler
• Release date: Apr 30, 2019
• ISBN: 9781386970842

Book preview

Table of Contents

Foreword

Introduction

Chapter 1 – Earliest Memories

Chapter 2 – Turning Point

Chapter 3 – Moving Away

Chapter 4 – Always Partying

Chapter 5 – New Beginning

Chapter 6 – Everything Changes

Chapter 7 – Love and Marriage

Chapter 8 – Surrender

Chapter 9 – Seeking Wisdom

Chapter 10 – Learning from Others

Chapter 11 – The Company You Keep

Chapter 12 – Do It Now...For You

References

Foreword by Steve Hopper

I can recall the search... As I read through this very powerful book I couldn’t help but think back to some of the key moments that shaped the path I am on today. The search for Love, the search for hope, the search for acceptance and approval, and the inevitable search for purpose in my life.

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In Surrendered to Hope...My friend Lisa Wheeler holds nothing back in describing her personal search for the love and acceptance that would stand the test of time. This successful Business Woman, Wife, and Mother will shock you to the core with a story of trial and tribulation, pain and heartache, infidelity and immorality, all while holding tightly to Hope that something palpable existed.  In the end, Surrendered to Hope gives you the key principles that helped, and continue to help Lisa and many others experience true joy and peace in their lives.

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I pray that as you read it, you find the hope you are looking for.

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Steve Hopper is an International Speaker, Author & Business Coach... whose journey to get here was tainted with bad decisions, misconceptions, and heartache. Looking to find himself...but in all the wrong places.  Carl Jung once said... Who looks outside, dreams; who looks inside, awakes.

June 25, 2016 

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Journal entry 

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I have thought a lot about writing my story, but I haven't started. I don't know how to do it. Do I take a dedicated time in a specific area? Who am I addressing it to? Details can have a different flavor to them depending on what I'm speaking on, so what is the point I am trying to make? What’s the moral of the story? 

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And God says, Just start.

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Okay. 

Surrender: to give up; to cease resistance to an enemy

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Hope: a feeling of expectation and a desire for something to happen

Introduction

We all have had experiences that are worth sharing with others, and some of us have thought about writing an autobiography.  So, what stops us? Is it the fear of rejection? Is it the fear of offending someone? Is it fear of wasting time? I had all of those, and then some. I wasn’t sure who I wanted to share it with, what the purpose of sharing it was to be, or how the story was supposed to end. There never seemed to be a reason for writing it. Until now. 

I am writing to you. This book is in your hands for a reason. There is a connection between us. I won’t say that I understand your confusion or pain, because I am not EXACTLY where you are right now. I will say that you are not alone. I too have felt like something was missing, but I was not quite sure what it was. I often felt... insignificant. There were always so many questions (when I stopped running long enough to hear them). Why am I here? What’s the point? Why am I alone? Why do I always feel like I am performing? Why won’t somebody love me for me? The harder I tried to please other people, the more tired I became, and no one even said thank you. I was the life of the party, but the hurt I felt inside was still there in the morning. Questions plagued me; Who am I? Who do I want to be? How do I know who I want to be? What is love? Where is it? Why? Why? Why? 

I have become a very honest person. That might sound noble but oftentimes, it can be offensive because I'm still learning when not to say anything at all. I really don't like you, is not something edifying, uplifting or encouraging so it probably shouldn't be said. Maybe when I'm finished writing this book, I'll be able to... I don't know, temper that? Have a filter? Think and speak with the heart of the one who created me. 

I see bumper stickers that say, What would Jesus do? This gets me thinking about Him. I have this image of him as gentle and soft spoken. He is The Lamb, which is a meek animal. I am often frustrated that I don’t look, act or feel meek. Are there other characteristics about Jesus that aren’t as obvious? He was obedient (to his mother when he turned water into wine and to his father when he took to the cross), but was he also outspoken? Did he speak his mind when he wasn't asked? How did he start teaching in the temple that first time? When he was 12 years old, did he just walk into the temple and tell the high priest to sit down and listen? Did he teach like a rabbi or tell stories like a daddy? 

I was raised in a church-going Catholic home. I remember my Mom telling me that Christian meant 'Christ-like'. In my humble opinion being Christ-like is, or at least it should be, the daily goal. So I ask myself What would Jesus do? because I want to love people like he does. Maybe, just maybe, he was also bold and sometimes legalistic just like me. Maybe so many people hated him because they were offended by the truth of his words. I want to be more like Him while embracing the me that God created. 

Though I always wanted something, was in search of something, being more like Jesus was never on my radar then. So this is my story; how I remember stories that shaped me into who I am. Insignificant details and some names have been changed to protect those whose story this is not theirs to tell. Although I'm not sure what the purpose of the book is yet, I know that I don't want to hurt anyone. This book is not a compilation of facts. It is the accumulation of MY memories, thoughts and feelings. There are many experiences I have had that are not retold here because they are not as impactful as the ones I’ve chosen to share. There are many positive memories that have been left out because I did not know how to draw valuable lessons from them. People who are not included in this book may still be dear to my heart, but this is not intended to be a complete and unabridged version of my life. I don’t want to cause pain to anyone through inclusion or omission.

I think that if my parents read this book it may seem like I’m saying they were bad parents because they allowed such bad stuff to happen to me. Let me be very clear when I say that my parents were not bad parents. They provided for my brothers and me and they did the best they knew how to do. This book is not a blaming book! 

I think that if my children read this book they will be proud of who I’ve become. I hope they continue to learn from the bad choices of my past. They know a lot of my story, so I don’t think there will be any surprises for them. I am always growing; always learning. I still have lots of areas to improve on. My children are awesome young men, so I must be doing some things right.  

I really like who I am and who I am growing to become. That could not have happened had my life been any different. There are parts of this book that are hard to read, or at least they are hard for me to write. There are things that seem too far-fetched to even be real. Even as I remember, sometimes they sound simply outlandish, though they seemed normal when I was going through them. These are probably the most real memories of all. 

Let me end this beginning by saying thank you to my parents. I know you love me. 

Thank you also to my Aunt Mo. Her words to me on January 11th of 2003 tilted the world as I knew it and changed everything. She said,

You don't have to do anything, baby girl. Just let Jesus love you.

Chapter One

Earliest Memories

The only way I know how to start something is at the beginning. I have been told that I was conceived on January 6, 1966. My parents' wedding date was planned before my father received a change in his orders for his military service. Mom had to move everything up and pull the wedding off in a really short time. Mom is really good under pressure. She’s an organizer, and a planner. Maybe their wedding day, short honeymoon at Niagara Falls and Dad's immediate year-long deployment were prophetic of my life, or at least the perceptions I often had of my life, which were that I would cause chaos. I will do things wrong. I will be impatient. I will test my mother's love and invade my father's time. I am not wanted. 

We moved from Philadelphia to western New York between first and second grade so anything I recollect from Philly was before then and after my brother was born two years after me. Dad studied a lot. I'd sit next to him on the couch with the volume turned off from the TV. I knew he must have been a very important man because he'd take a white seven-inch ruler and underline words in a book with a red pen! I wasn't even allowed to write in books, except coloring books, of course. 

I always felt like I was in Dad’s way, an intrusion. Mom worked a lot, so Dad could focus on his studies. I don't really remember her much at that point in my life. I guess that’s a good thing since these early memories that I’m about to write about are all negative. 

How old are kids when their baby teeth start falling out? My brother Johnny lost his first tooth and then misplaced the tooth before he could put it under the pillow. He must have been crying and upset about it because Dad took a plain, white Lifesaver when Johnny wasn't looking. He broke a piece off to use it as a replacement tooth. He told Johnny that he found the tooth in the hallway so now it could go under the pillow. Did I feel admiration that my Dad was so creative? Did I feel jealous that Dad went through all of that for my brother but seemed to disdain me? Did I receive the message that it's okay to lie sometimes? 

My parents used to smoke back then and smoking in the house was commonplace. They knew, however, that smoking, and drinking, were not things that they wanted for their kids. To teach us this lesson, they sat my brother and I at the table in front of a shot of whiskey and two Kent cigarettes. (Actually, I’m not sure if mom was there for this.) I speak of the brand name because I think the more specific the details, the more valid the memories. Dad told us we can smoke and drink when we grew up only if we can smoke and drink now. I don't think it is any small coincidence that I later became addicted to cigarettes and Johnny became addicted to alcohol. 

The neighborhood we lived in at that time consisted of connected two-story apartment buildings, all around the block, with a playground in the middle and a public elementary school directly across the street. There was only one other kid my age to play with in the playground, although there were also teenagers who hung out there. Teenagers were so cool. I wanted to be just like them. I wanted to be grown up. Maybe this was because I only saw my parents paying attention to grownups and I too wanted that attention. 

Jamie, a boy, and Jamie, a girl, are the two teenagers I remember most. I thought it was awesome that they both had the same name and their gender didn't matter (ominous foreshadowing?). One day, I got my chance to belong. When they noticed Jake and me at the swing set watching them, they called us over and asked if we wanted to play a secret game that only grownups play. Of course, we both said yes. Then they pulled the offer back saying they couldn't trust us to keep the secret. As exuberantly as five-year-old’s could be, we begged them to let us play. So, began the game called 'The Pussy". Each apartment building had a basement door that exited into the playground so all four of us went into Jake’s. I can still smell the cold mustiness of a low-income city building. I can see the cement block walls and floor with