Faith, Grace, and Conquering the Impossible

By Brooke Ryan

Certainly, she must be crazy! I know they were thinking it. I stood there, cradling my newborn baby, and announced to my family and friends that I wanted to go to medical school. OK, so I have a babyand I am nineteenand I am not married. Cant there be a way to make this happen?

The baby changed everything, but they did not understand what that really meant to me. I am not sure I understood where that would lead me, but I knew that God had something in mind for me that I could not even begin to comprehend yet. He understood that I would need an incentive to find my full potential, and this would require digging through the mire of dysfunction that led me to this place. He would need to help me learn to truly forgive those who hurt me and to let the anger go. He would need to help me pick up the broken pieces in order for me to help others in their brokenness. He would have to remake me.

This is the story of how the Lord brought me through growing up in a divided home plagued by domestic violence and fueled by my stepfathers binge alcoholism, how He brought me through single parenthood, and how He placed me on the road to achieving my elusive goal. The road was difficult, and complicated by lots of other annoying things, like three operations for cancer, and being hit by a car! However, nothing is impossible for God! Through faith, and by His Grace, He helped me to conquer the impossible!

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Feb 13, 2017
• ISBN: 9781512773583

Brooke Ryan

Brooke Ryan is a practicing OB/ GYN physician in Florida and Christian recording artist, who loves to share the love of God, promote the pro-life message, and encourage others.

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Copyright © 2017 Brooke Ryan.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This book is a work of non-fiction. Unless otherwise noted, the author and the publisher make no explicit guarantees as to the accuracy of the information contained in this book and in some cases, names of people and places have been altered to protect their privacy.

Scripture quotations marked NIV are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version. NIV. Copyright 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved.

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ISBN: 978-1-5127-7359-0 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5127-7360-6 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-5127-7358-3 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2017901310

WestBow Press rev. date: 02/07/2017

Contents

Foreword

The Pot Boils Over

My Loving Mom

My Dad

The Early Years

The Emergence of Violence

Coping

Trust Issues

Trying to Find Peace

Needing a Soul Mate

Crisis

And then Comes Baby …

A Sense of Purpose

An Equal Partner

A Dream Begins

Hard Work Ahead

Road to Achieving the Impossible

A Miracle

Trouble

Decisions

Another Miracle

Medicine Pearls Gained from My Personal Experiences

What I learned About Keeping a Positive Attitude

How do We Know When We are in God’s Will?

How to Trust in God’s Will

What I Learned About the Role of Forgiveness

What I Learned About Guilt

Dealing with Anger and the Need for Forgiveness

Respecting Yourself as a Child of God

Respect for Life in the Unborn

Grace

Where Am I Now?

I would like to

dedicate this book to the glory and love of my Lord in Heaven.

Thank you, Mom, for your endless love, patience, courage and willingness to help others who have experienced abuse by telling this story.

Thank you to my awesome husband and children, who have loved and supported me in all I do and lived through this story with me. Your endless support is endlessly appreciated!

Thank you to my dad, for always being there, and for all of your prayers year after year.

Thanks to my special friends who have been a part of my story and loved me through it, and to two specific friends who encouraged me to write this book and gave me feedback on the original manuscript and cheered me on.

Foreword

Each life is a collection of stories, beginning with the first breath and continuing until the last breath. What we experience during the course of this life touches each of us at every step in the journey. As I progressed through the process of living my own story, I realized I wanted to be of service to others. To realize this goal, I needed to grow and develop as a whole person. As I searched for inspiration and meaning, I learned to trust the Lord to help me discover His will for me.

Jesus enlightened the world through stories. People could relate to stories and better understand the more complicated issues He needed to convey. By telling my story, I would like to convey the idea that as human beings on this flawed and sinful Earth, we will experience tragedy, heartbreak, and surreal events. But we aren’t doomed by our past. We need not only survive—we can thrive. Through Christ, we can turn the darkness of our past into a light that shines for all to see. We can transform something terrible into something wonderful.

We just need to allow Him to change our hearts. We can embrace a life filled with hope and love. It sounds so simple, and yet this is so difficult for those of us who struggle with letting go of self, who always want to be in control. My deepest desire is that my story illustrates God’s incredible love. He can work through the most unlikely people to bring about a magnificent result, a miracle pointing to His unfathomable grace and mercy.

I urge my readers to understand that all the accomplishments I’ve achieved have been through the grace and generosity and guidance of my Lord, Jesus Christ. Through the trauma and strife I experienced, my life was forever changed because I had to truly rely on the Savior. He brought me hope when I had no reason to believe in the impossible.

God did not give me this amazing redemption story to keep it bottled up inside. He’s impressed upon my heart the importance of sharing my story to illustrate what He can do through us, even in the most seemingly hopeless situations. Nothing is beyond the power of God. In sharing my story, I also want to highlight some of the problems and damage domestic violence causes, how abuse overtly as well as insidiously injures every member of the family.

God has been very merciful to me, and He has blessed me immensely. He has shepherded me from humble beginnings and tough times to redemption and success. He’s been my rock and my guide. It’s my sincere desire that Jesus will be your hope and guide in both this life and the next.

The Pot Boils Over

My arms ached after three hours of waving them for band practice as I fished my keys out of my backpack and opened the front door. I was the drum major, and we were rehearsing the half-time show for the football game on Friday. On top of relentless practice sessions, I also had a physics test the next afternoon. I was hungry, exhausted, and my brain was barely working, but still—I could sense that something was wrong. The house was empty. The house was almost never empty this time of day.

Mom was at work, doing one of her 12-hour shifts at the hospital as a registered nurse. That wasn’t what worried me though. I was concerned about my step-father, Van. He rarely left the house most evenings. He was an angry, unhappy man. If he was missing in action, he was probably out drinking. When he drank, he lost control. That’s when bad things happened.

I microwaved some leftovers, changed my clothes, and locked myself in my room. Uneasy thoughts fluttered through my head. Where was he? Was he drinking? If so, how much? And how enraged would he be when he finally came home? I got up and checked the lock again. I kept the music low so I could hear if anyone came home. I stared at my Physics textbook, the words blurring. I couldn’t focus. My stomach churned. I couldn’t eat.

At 7:30 that night, my mom returned from work. She came into my room, still dressed in her blue hospital scrubs. She was short with blonde hair. Her eyes were tired, yet she always appeared fresh and professional. Her big blue eyes, framed by long lashes, reflected her worry. Where’s Van, honey?

I don’t know, I said, dread creeping into my voice.

My mom’s face reflected my sense of foreboding. He hardly ever came home this late. When he did, it was bad. When he finally did come home, there’d be hours of yelling and screaming. There’d be fighting. He would hit my mom, slap her, and pull her hair. Sometimes he punched her.

Brooke, I need you to stay in your room tonight, Mom said. Don’t come out.

Sweat beaded on my forehead. I bit my lip. Okay, I said, like I always did. She wanted to protect me. She wanted to keep me safe. But what about Mom? Who would keep her safe when Van came back, drunk, angry, and ready for a fight?

He was truly terrifying when he was drunk, hurling a barrage of ugly words at my mother or worse, striking her with his heavy fists. Afterward, he would try to make it up to her. He would be good for a few weeks or months. Good for Van meant lying around on the couch all day being miserable. He watched our favorite TV shows with us and ate dinner at the table every night. He refrained from yelling, screaming, or hitting. Even when he was good, he could still become irate if we did something to tick him off. Mom and I had to wear the right clothes. The grass had to be cut a specific way. He wanted to control every aspect of our lives.

Promise me, Mom said again.

I promise. I stayed in my room most of the night, finishing my homework. I tried to study for my Physics test, but worry plagued me. What would happen when Van came home? How awful would it be? I prayed that he would just stagger in, pass out on the couch, and leave my mom alone.

Luck, however, was never on our side. Headlights swung into the driveway. The car door slammed, then the front door. I could hear him stumbling around the kitchen. His speech was slurred. My mom’s soft voice answered his belligerent grunts.

Where were you? she asked.

I grimaced. When she asked those kinds of questions, it always touched off an argument.

That’s none of your business! Van hollered. You spend all your time with your little friends, anyway.

It’s almost midnight. I just want to know where you were.

Where were you all day? he snarled. You cheating on me?

Of course not! my mother cried.

I huddled on my bed, hands clasped over my ears, trying not the hear the shouting through my closed bedroom door. It didn’t matter. I could hear almost every word. Over the next hour, things went from bad to worse.

Suddenly my mother started screaming. She was almost right outside my bedroom door. Call 911! She shrieked. Brooke! Call the police!

She’d never asked me to call before, despite what went on in our house on a weekly basis. Did she really want me to call? If I did, would she be mad at me later? This sounded different, though. There was a desperation in her voice I’d never heard before. I opened my door with fearful resolve.

My stepfather Van was on top of my mother, his hands clenched around her neck. He was big and broad-shouldered, much stronger than she was. Mom’s face was bright red, turning purple. Adrenaline surged through my body. My hands balled into fists, my heart jackhammering against my ribcage.

Get off her! I screamed at the top of my lungs. But it didn’t matter. He was going to kill her this time. I was sure of it.

I had to do something. I ran into the hallway and hurled myself at Van. He was short but stocky and built like a bull, somewhere north of 220 pounds. Fear gave me strength. I grabbed him and yanked as hard as I could. Get off her!

Surprised, he fell back, releasing his stranglehold on my mother’s neck.

My mother crawled out of the hallway and stumbled to her feet, gasping for air. She made for the door. But Van wasn’t finished. He ran after her, screaming horrible things. He grabbed her arm and dragged her to the door, throwing her body like a rag doll out onto the concrete sidewalk.

Mom ran for the neighbor’s house. She called the police, and a few minutes later, a squad car pulled up to the curb, sirens wailing. Back then, the police wouldn’t arrest Van unless Mom formally pressed charges. But Mom was afraid he would seek revenge. She didn’t want me dragged into court as a witness, so she didn’t press charges.

Even though Van was the criminal, we were the ones who fled. We were given just a short period of time to leave, with just a few belongings, from our own home.

This terrible night was forever etched into my memory.

How had our lives come to this?

My Loving Mom

All stories have a beginning. I am the product of two amazing and unique people. My mom is an affectionate and loving person who would do almost anything for family and friends. My father is intelligent and gifted, a man whose talents include the ability to repair or rehabilitate almost any kind of machine or gadget. My parents parted ways while I was very young due to their many incompatibilities. I was raised by my mother.

My mother is a wonderful woman. She loves people unconditionally and sacrifices her time and energy for others, often to her own detriment. She was the second born in a family of four children. Her parents also took in a cousin whose mother was incapable of caring for her appropriately because of mental illness. They also took care of my grandfather’s aging mother, who was mentally impaired with dementia. Four children and Granny bunked in the same room, with two children sharing each of the two single bunk beds. My mom’s baby brother bunked in my grandparents’ bedroom. The house was tiny, with only an eat-in kitchen, a living room, a bedroom that you had to pass through to get to the master bedroom, and a basement. The original bathroom was an outhouse in the back yard. A bathroom was later added to the other side of the pass-through bedroom when my mom was around seven years old.

My mom often told me how she was scared to