Nothing Ever Wasted

By Deyona Kirk

In this raw and transparent book, Deyona takes you on a journey through the power of forgiveness and healing after being violated most of her childhood and becoming a mama at the age of 12-years-old. Other people may have given up on God completely had they shared in her multiple experiences of abuse, homelessness, domestic violence, alcoholism, divorce and more. Many would have thought God had given up on her, but instead he kept her even when she didn’t want to be kept.

Thirty years after becoming a 12-year-old mama, she shares valuable lessons learned and poses life-changing questions for you to ponder. Deyona demonstrates how God does not waste any life experiences. She shows the power of the grace, mercy, and the redemption of God.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Oct 11, 2019
• ISBN: 9780359972296

Book preview

APPENDIX

Acknowledgments

First, I would like to thank the Lord because He made this book possible. God gave me the courage and strength to share my story of how He transformed my pain into purpose so that I can help others do the same. I would also like to thank you for picking up this book. This book is for anyone who has experienced pain and rejection in one’s life and anyone who has been violated in his or her life, especially as a child.

This book is the story of my life. I share my story from being a child who had her childhood hijacked and then endured a teen pregnancy. It’s a story of a young survivor whose pain was turned into purpose through divine encounters with Christ. It’s my truth and my testimony of how God used me to show His healing power, grace, and mercy and the lessons that I’ve learned along the way.

I want to thank my family and every wise and patient person who has come alongside me and loved me unconditionally. Thanks to my Pastor who used her gift and walked in her purpose; and by doing that, she helped God heal me. To my winning circle, I love you and thank you for believing in me, pushing me, holding me accountable, coming along beside me, and fervently praying for me as I wrote this book. Trenda, this book would not have happened without you.

To my brother, Jeremy, you already know! I love you and thank you for always having my back. To my sister Avis, I love you and admire your strength and your courage. I especially would like to thank my children and grandchildren who love me unconditionally and for their steadfast support in writing this book. Thank you for supporting me when I told you that I was writing this book. Thank you for being amazing. Ray, thank you for pushing me into my destiny and Velle, thank you for loving me when I felt like I didn't deserve to be loved. Tati and KD, thank you for letting me be your mom, too. RJ, Speedy, Mason, and Stan, thank you for making me a nanna. Thank you for loving me in ways that I didn’t even know existed.

As you read this book, I pray that you see that you aren’t alone and that it wasn’t your fault. I pray that you have a divine encounter with Christ, and that any unforgiveness that you have in your heart flees from you. I want you to know that you’re bold and courageous and loved by God. God doesn’t waste any experience; and as you continue to read this book, you’ll see that my life is evidence of just that.

CHAPTER 1

My Childhood

If I had one word to describe my childhood, it would be Short! When I think about the first nine years of my life, I embody both good and bad memories, like most people I’m sure. I was raised in the ghetto. We called it the the ghettos in a small town in Texas with my mama, younger brother, and sister. Our family lived all around us on every side. My grandma, aunts, uncles, cousins, and even my dad lived down the street with his girlfriends when he wasn't locked up. We all lived in the ghettos, except for my Grandma Gladys, my dad’s mom who lived in a house behind us.

As a child, I had a lot of fun times with my siblings, cousins, and friends. We played in the park that was right behind our side by side duplex. It was a park in the ghettos, but it had everything: several swings, monkey bars, slides, and a merry-go-round that I loved. I loved the merry-go-round, pushing it so fast that the other kids would get dizzy or fall off or I would. In the open field on the side of our house, we played games like Hide-Go-Seek, Red Light-Green Light, and my favorite hand clapping game Miss. Mary Mack. We made up games like Hide-Go-Get-It, where if a boy caught you, he could bump up against your body. We went craw-egg fishing in the creek that ran behind our house. Some kids would catch the crawfish and put them in a bucket, and their mamas would cook them. I liked throwing them at people. They looked like little crabs. There were huge trees behind my aunt’s house that grew these large sticky green horse apples, and we loved throwing them at each other. We were always outside; we were not allowed to play in the house like kids these days. We didn’t have any electronics, and we only had one television in the living room. We only watched cartoons on Saturday mornings.

If we weren’t at school or church, we were outside. There were rules about when and how you entered the house. We came in to eat, go to the bathroom, and to sleep. If mama had company and they were talking, you didn’t interrupt or speak up because that was grown folk’s business. If you walked to the door and smelled pine-sol and heard Luther playing, you didn’t enter because the floors were wet, and mama was cleaning up. If you came to the door and smelled food cooking, you’d bet not say you hungry, because you could see and smell that she was cooking.

There was no running in and out of my mama’s house. When we got thirsty or hungry, we would take turns going to our house, my aunt’s house, or our friends’ house. Trying to go in and out of anyone's house would get you fussed out, cussed out, or knocked out. That’s just the way it was. We had to be outside all day, and we’d bet not get dirty. I love going through my mama's photo albums and looking back at pictures of us playing outside and pictures of us outside in our Easter dresses and suits. We were always casket sharp.

My Mama

Mama was a wonderful hard-working woman. She was a beautiful woman! Mama was thick with beautiful brown skin and average height. She didn’t take no mess from us and would whoop our butts in a minute. You might call it a spanking, but we called it a whopping. She was an amazing cook and kept a clean house. Mama always kept a job; in fact, I’ve never seen her not working. I definitely get my work ethic from her. She had a lot of friends, but her best friend was my nannie, her sister. They were so close; mama was several years older than her, but they were ride or die for one other. Maybe that is how my brother and I got so close watching them over the years?

Despite the men she chose to be with, she was good to us. We were poor, but we never missed a meal and always had clothes on our backs, even if she had to buy them from the neighborhood boosters. The boosters were women who went and stole the expensive clothes from the mall and sold them in the ghettos for affordable prices. Mama did not sew a lot, but she could sew. I took my kindergarten picture in a shirt and skirt that she made. Mama was kind and God fearing. We were raised in the church and even when she didn't go, she would send us on the bus to the white people’s church who would drive around the ghettos every Sunday morning and each summer for Vacation Bible School. Most of the time we were members of the local Baptist church. However, there was a season that I won’t forget. That was when we went to the Full Gospel church. During this time, we got more whoopings than ever before, and we would be in church for hours.

Mama always made holidays special. That’s why I love them still so much today. No matter what we were going through, we always had amazing Thanksgivings and Christmases, thanks to my mama. She did whatever she had to do to make those days special.

CHAPTER 2

Mama’s New Man

I think my mama got with Red when I was in the first or second grade. That’s when everything changed. Red was tall, skinny, and his skin color was red. His eyes were always bloodshot red. He reminded me of the devil, and my mama loved him. He was a horrible drunk and drug addict, but I didn’t really know about the drugs until I got a little older. He would come home drunk and beat my mama. We would hide in the closets, bathrooms or hide our heads under the cover. We were terrified and felt so helpless, we couldn't help mama. My Grandma Shirley, aunt, and uncles would get involved and we would leave, or he would, but my mama would always go back to him. No one in the family liked him, but they tolerated him because she loved him. How could they, the way he treated her?  She was grown and she chose him. We lived in the battered women’s shelter and homeless shelter in a few of her attempts to leave him.

We would get gifts like bikes for Christmas, and they would come up missing. He would claim that someone stole them, but we knew the truth, he had sold them; he was the thief who stole our bikes.

I never understood, How could you love someone that beat you? Once I became an adult, learned about domestic violence and was involved in a couple of violent relationships of my own, I understood a little better. What brought greater clarity is when I gained an understanding of the power and control wheel, which is a tool that describes the different reasons why women stay in abusive relationships. (See Appendix)

Unfortunately, Red wasn’t the only Boogeyman in my childhood. Red was the second man who molested me. I was first sexually abused on several occasions