When Enemies Bear My Name

By Frances Campbell

You have been given an anointing to walk in peace, even if standing firm means standing alone.

Frances enjoyed an idyllic childhood growing up in a small town in East Texas during the 1950s. She married the man of her dreams, her college

sweetheart-a wealthy business student who only had eyes for her. As they flew off to their hone

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trilogy Christian Publishing
• Release date: Dec 22, 2020
• ISBN: 9781647737139

Book preview

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Frances Campbell

When

Enemies

Bear My Name

When Enemies Bear My Name

Trilogy Christian Publishers

A Wholly Owned Subsidiary of Trinity Broadcasting Network

2442 Michelle Drive, Tustin, CA 92780

Copyright © 2020 by Frances Campbell

All scripture quotations are taken from the New King James Version®. Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson. Used by permission. All rights reserved

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

Rights Department: 2442 Michelle Drive, Tustin, CA 92780.

Trilogy Christian Publishing/TBN and colophon are trademarks of Trinity Broadcasting Network. For information about special discounts for bulk purchases, please contact Trilogy Christian Publishing.

Trilogy Disclaimer: The views and content expressed in this book are those of the author and may not necessarily reflect the views and doctrine of Trilogy Christian Publishing or the Trinity Broadcasting Network.

Manufactured in the United States of America

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available.

ISBN: 978-1-64773-712-2

E-ISBN: 978-1-64773-713-9

Dedication

To the glory of God

and

To those who tenderly nurtured my soul back to the family of faith.

I love you all very much!

Acknowledgments

Amy L French, editor with a Christian heart

Jason Harris, head pastor of Evangelistic Temple, Palestine, Texas

Andrea M. Morris

Angela Woodard

Millie L. Tanner, LPC with a Christian heart, Tyler, Texas

Barbara

Carol

Clare

Jean

Sandy

Sharon

Table of Contents

Foreword

Train Up a Child

But Without Faith

The Lord Is Close to the Brokenhearted

But God Meant It for Good

Lord, If Only You Had Been Here...

For the Battle Is Not Yours

The Woman at the Well

Bow Down Your Ear

Notes

Bibliography

Foreword

A couple of years ago, there was a frontpage news story in the Dallas Morning News about a prominent lady who found herself on the losing end of a divorce and child custody battle. We both came to the same fork in the road, but that is where our paths diverged. She went one way, and I chose to go 180 degrees in the opposite direction. This beautiful, young sophisticated lady succumbed to an early death, a slow suicide marked with pills and alcohol.

It has taken me almost twenty years to peel off the dead layers of hurt, resentment and un-forgiveness so that I can now write from a vantage point of closure and victory, not victimhood.

If you are enduring a season of hardship and estrangement with your loved ones, it is my greatest desire that you will be comforted by my real-life experiences. May the Word of God define who you are in Christ.

Blessings on you.

Train up a Child

We must tell them that there is no pit so deep that He is not deeper still. They would listen to us, Corrie, because we have been here.¹

—Corrie ten Boom

It was dark in the outside world. Zombie-like creatures were stationed outside of our home, peering inside the lighted windows. At some appointed time, they were programmed to infiltrate our home. Their mission was to steal, kill, and destroy. I tried repeatedly to call the police. No one answered. I tried frantically to corral my children into a safe room. They just laughed at me and ran away.

Then the scene changed. I was by myself and was frantically searching for an apartment to rent. Any old thing would do. This one would do. This particular one was just around the corner from my therapist’s office. It was there that I had felt most safe and secure.

An intermittent slamming against the windowpane in the morning sunlight forced me to open one eye. A cardinal repetitively pounded his tiny, bloodied beak at its reflection. His attack had dragged me up from the nightmare.

Groggy, shaken and confused, I tried to gather my thoughts. Where am I? Am I safe? Then… I remembered. Today was an anniversary of sorts—but not one to celebrate. On another September morning, fourteen years ago, the devil danced on my back. I lost nearly or almost everything: a husband of 20 years, three teenage children, a lovely home on the lake, and an affluent lifestyle. All of it gone in spite of my desperate attempts to salvage a failed marriage.

It seemed like an ordinary Thursday. I waved good-bye as my children left for another day of school. Two hours later, the moving van pulled in the driveway and my life was changed completely and forever. In one fell swoop, my husband and children’s possessions were gone, along with every dream that a devoted mother had for herself and for her family.

Caroline, my close friend for the last fifteen years, was with me. We climbed the large, graceful spiral staircase and walked into my children’s bedrooms. They were empty except for some random pieces of furniture. Caroline shouted, but in a whisper, Let’s get out of here! We fled the house. I camped at her kitchen table for about five hours, waiting for the shock to wear off. My husband’s departure was not unexpected, but my precious babies? That night, a dozen or so of my girlfriends swarmed my home. They had come to voice their disbelief and offer comfort.

Gone were the anticipated shopping trips for a new prom dress. Gone were the rites of passage with my son as he matured into the independence of manhood. Gone were the memories of the happy homecomings for the holidays. Gone was the joy of planning a wedding. On that one fateful day, my family moved only one mile away, but it may as well have been light years away from my open arms.

This was inconceivable! It was too wide and too deep to ever imagine the hurt. This was a brand-new paradigm, where following the rules of Christian life did not win the game. Never in my wildest dreams could I have anticipated this. I was stunned and heartbroken. A jumble of painful memories gnawed at my mind.

But not all the memories were painful. There were times when I would wistfully reminisce about the carefree days when we were college sweethearts. Over spring break, his family chartered a yacht so that we could island hop in the Caribbean. Soft-spoken, fun-loving and highly educated, he was poised to take over his family’s big-rich, thriving business.

So what in heaven’s name happened?

From a young age I always believed I held the whole world in the palm of my hand. I lived in the greatest nation the world had ever known. I lived in Texas—the finest state in the Union. And it was not just any old part of Texas; I lived in East Texas! This land of green, rolling hills and piney woods was the land of fine black crude that supplied a nation with oil during the Great Depression. That same oil supply was crucial to helping save the world from the evils of Hitler. I was, I believed, lucky. I was lucky enough to be born into what many people would call God’s Country.

My mother said that her family was known for bringing the railroad to town. Back then my hometown of Palestine was just a frontier town with Indian raids. When the railroads showed up, Palestine sprouted opera houses, hotels, and churches. It was considered the western outpost of the Old South.

Just down the road from the railroad station was the Presbyterian Church. My mother said that our church had some of the oldest and finest stained-glass windows in town. They were made by glass workers in Germany. The church’s steeple was so big and tall that you could see it from all over town. It was easy to imagine that the prayers and petitions from that church would naturally be propelled right into heaven’s throne room, right to the feet of Jesus.

I was convinced this was the center of the universe.

Twice a year, my mother would don her finest hat and high-heel shoes. We would get on the passenger train and make a pilgrimage to the Mecca of Neiman Marcus in downtown Houston. In the fall we bought dark cottons and velveteen dresses for the holidays. We picked up sports coats for my two brothers in the men’s department. They did not like to shop and squirmed at the thought of having to wear those dress up clothes.

In March, my mother and I would get on the train again to pick up summer short sets and an organdy Easter dress. Family photos show those dresses and petticoats were so