Revived from Spiritual Unconsciousness: Facing a Generational Curse

By A. Kearney

Because of overwhelming violence in our streets recently, weve began looking more intensely and speaking out against the racism within. Although street violence is nothing new, most who grew up in the seventies, eighties, and even the early nineties know that guns and killing were not an issue because most were taught to value life. Today there are nearly ten times as many black youth being murdered by each other than by police or any another nationality.

I agree that police brutality and homicides against African Americans are and have always been serious issues. But in understanding this country, which was formed through racism, and facing the realization that its not going anywhere, we as a people should have progressed to a level of adapting while exceling. Unfortunately, by abandoning the increasing wisdom of our ancestors means to continue flourishing through the generations. Many of our youth are now growing up guided by their emotions rather than instilled wisdom. Emotions only show narrow views, but wisdom gives a wider scope of things leading to a wiser response to the circumstance.

Negative emotions leave little to no room for level-headed reasoning. Actions as well as reactions can easily exhibit thoughtless and even hostile acts brought on by negative emotions. Instead of wise decisions aimed toward smothering a fire, negative emotions only add fuel to a fire.

Not all police are racist, but the negative mentality of fellow officers can quickly be passed on as they witness whats taking shape in our youth through the never-ending street violence. How can we expect to be taken seriously in any movement against injustice when our young people are constantly killing each other as well as innocent bystanders while showing no remorse? How many times have we witnessed disturbingly violate acts by our youth posted on the internet for the world to see, and the saddest part is, because of lack of guidance and wisdom, our youth see nothing wrong with it, and this is what its come to.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: May 14, 2018
• ISBN: 9781546237907

Book preview

© 2018 A. Kearney. 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 05/11/2018

ISBN: 978-1-5462-3791-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5462-3790-7 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2018904485

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

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.

Scripture quotations marked KJV are from the Holy Bible, King James Version (Authorized Version). First published in 1611. Quoted from the KJV Classic Reference Bible, Copyright © 1983 by The Zondervan Corporation.

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. [Biblica]

Scripture quotations marked NKJV are taken from the New King James Version. Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Contents

Born into Darkness

False Sense of Freedom

Experiencing New Life

In God’s Time

World in Doubt

Personal Relationship

Faith is the Key

Never Alone

Believeing the Evidence

A Change has Got to Come

Facing a War for Our Eternal Souls

Nothing to Lose Everything to Gain

33135.png

Born into Darkness

To better understand my belief in God who I realize today has kept me through the worst of times, I thought I’d began by sharing a little childhood history. Romans 8:28 informs us that God causes all things to work together for good to those who love Him, to those who are called according to His purpose.

I want to journey back to reflect how an unhealthy childhood sent me spiraling out of control. For over thirty years my life consisted of living in the shadow of others because I had no identity of my own. Following in the footsteps of others led me down so darks paths but I was never deterred. Never feeling excepted in the home I grew up in I was always looking for acceptance in others. My life was a constant search to fill a void, a desire to belong, but because of a wounded juvenile mentality my search led me in all the wrong directions.

In my early years blaming my deep seeded issues on my upbringing may have had some validation however, it would be years later before realizing that although my issues started there, the choice to remain on a self-destructive path was mine and mine alone. Most of all, I want to share how God used my good and my bad in molding and shaping me for this purpose.

We’re born, we go through hell, and we die. As a youngster I heard this saying, in fact it became my view of life. Back in the day was a movie titled Nightmare on Elm St. If I had to pick a title that reflects my childhood it would be Nightmare on a Dead End. Besides it being a place I very much disliked the house was actually the last one on a dead end street.

As a child made to feel less than through constant verbal and physical abuse, now well into adult years, as I look back I believe my adopted mother was a person with very deep seeded issues. Unfortunately her issues made her a very bitter person, and that bitterness was inflicted upon me. Up until sixteen she had literally made my life a living hell each and every day. According to her I wasn’t and never would be any good because my biological mother wasn’t any good and I was just like her.

Her verbal abuse was so constant I can still remember word for word, mind you, what you’re reading is the clean version. Continuing she’d say, that so-n-so didn’t want you because she knew you was going to be as stupid as they come. Even though her shape words had already pierced my heart that wasn’t enough, she had to give it a twist, "I didn’t want you either but they begged me to take you referring to my biological mother and supposedly god-father. Needless to say I grew up feeling unwanted believing my biological mother didn’t want me and neither did my adopted family, so where did I belong?

Till this day I still remember her verbal attacks. Receiving these messages with a child’s intellect you can only imagine the heartfelt pain I had to carry. Now and then she would add an apology along with "you make me act like this but you know I love you, don’t you?

Common sense told me that the wrong response would only made matters worse, therefore the only answer I could give is what she was expecting to hear, a simple yes. Anything other than that was not an option for fear of the consequences, I probably wouldn’t have been able to get the words out anyway. So a simple yes with a bowed head was always me response.

I also had a very bad stuttering problem especially around her and I guess you can imagine that only made matters worse. I can honestly say I can’t recall a day that went by I didn’t get slapped or worse for something or other. Being around my adopted mother for me was like walking on egg shells, my nerves were constantly on edge. I use to blame my stuttering on my adopted mother’s harsh treatment although I found out differently more recently from my biological mother which we’ll get more into shortly.

I remember clearly in the fourth grade she was supposedly helping me with my homework. I was spelling out a word and evidently I wasn’t say the letter W correctly. Trying to correct me she’d tell me to repeat after her. Apparently I kept missing the mark and each time her voice would grow louder. The louder she became the more nervous I became because I knew what was coming next. Trying my hardest and believing I was saying exactly what she was saying apparently I wasn’t.

The next thing I knew there was a loud pop along with a stinging sensation across one side of my face. Another time involving homework. She was helping me with math problems. The following day at school I found all my answers were wrong. When I got home, as a child not realizing how she might take the news I told her what the teacher said, all my answers were wrong. I had no idea she had very little schooling and was unable to help me. But because of her embarrassment she chose to react as though I was in the wrong. The news sent her into attack mode and she began yelling and slapping me. After that I didn’t need any more help.

For the most part my adopted father was a decent man and a great provider, but in this house there’s always a dark side. He voiced his opinion once in my defense. I was about eight when he suggested she try talking more and hitting less but the words went in one ear and out the other. She wasn’t even trying to her it.

My mother being more of the stay at home mom my father was the sole provider spending close to seventy hours a week away from the house. Being a church Deacon back in the day I guess it was a responsibility going to funeral homes paying respect to the deceased and grieving families because he did a lot of it. There were plenty times he’d come home and arguments would break out, I imagine my mother had other suspicions.

I recall as young as eight years old arguments taking place in the kitchen. I’d find myself standing in the darkened next room with my back up against the wall not wanting to but hearing the yelling, and scared to death because I knew the more it intensified the more I’d suffer the repercussions the following day. You can only imagine the confusion and fear that paralyze my very soul.

From as far back as I remember up until I was about ten years old my parents ran a weekend after-hours in our basement. Every weekend the dead-end street would look like a New York parking lot and the basement would be wall to wall with family and neighborhood faces. My father would tend bar while my mother prepared and sold chicken and biscuit dinners which was slamin but also wonders for feeding that alcohol. Her disposition wasn’t easy for anyone to deal with including her own siblings, but she had a gift for southern cooking and all the gathered guest knew it.

One late Saturday night still eight years old, the party was on in the basement. I’m not sure why I was up later than usual but I was in the living room watching T.V. while my mother was in the kitchen cooking. People had to come upstairs through the kitchen to reach the bathroom, the reason this night stands out is because it’s the night I met my biological mother for the first time or what I thought was the first time.

She came up from the party going to the bathroom and on her way back my adopted mother called for me, when I reached her she looked down at me and said without any sensitivity, "this is your birth mother". My biological mother smiled as she greeted me by name. As I stood there dumbfounded my adopted mother said "ain’t you gonna say hi"? I said hi and was told to go back and watch T.V. Being so young I can’t even attempt to describe how felt but I am sure there was confusion, how could there not be.

Needless to say during this time both parents drank. Short tempered was normal for my mother, but it wasn’t until my father occasionally drank that he became short-tempered, towards me anyway.

It didn’t happen often but there were times without legitimate cause I was slapped just because I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. He would find anything to yell about, and if it seemed like I might start to cry it would angrier him more and he’d just walk over and slap me. I remember I was about fourteen when he had me backed up against the wall hitting me with his fist over the way I was drinking water.

I had recently chipped a front tooth and to prevent the cold water from touching it I would tuck in my top lip to shield the tooth. Small amounts ran down my chain maybe onto the floor I’m not sure but he didn’t like that. He started yelling to drink the water right, unable to explain myself because of my nervous stuttering the next thing I knew I was against the wall covering up.

Other than the occasional drinking the only time I feared him is when I did wrong and my mother would say wait till your father gets home or if I cost him money like having to leave work to come to school which happened a couple times. In later years he admitted that he always thought I was too nice, but what he really wanted to say was soft.

Because he worked long hours and gone most of the time he was blind to most of what was going on. My weekdays was a daily routine, because of my constant bed wetting I would get a beating daily as if it was supposed to stop something I couldn’t help. All though the day I would be so wound up because of my nerves were damn near shot from having to endure the constantly verbal and physical attacks. At night I would fall into a comatose like sleep.

The funny part is many times I would be dreaming about going to the bathroom and all the while I was really going, but not in the bathroom. Every morning she would check my bed and after leave me with fair warning of what to expect when I got home from school, and every day I dreaded going home.

My father’s presence somehow made me feel a little safer because the atmosphere was a little calmer. What I remember most about my childhood is how timid it made me? This was my life from as far back as I can remember, being made to feel like a misfit, somebody nobody wanted.

Also as far back as I can remember up until age ten during the summer two of my aunts would send their kids to our house for a month. Four in all and all around the same age and me years younger I was constantly overlooked.

When they were paying attention because I was so timid and naive it was too tease as young teens tend to do but at the same time they knew their aunt had done a job on me. The reason for bringing up my cousins stay is because I realized that during their younger years their stay must have been anything but a vacation.

Under their aunt’s roof whatever you’ve been used to, forget it. I’m sure she took full advantage of the extra hands around the house because believe me she knew how to create work. Although too young to really know their circumstances I’m almost sure that after a couple summers they came to dread being sent to their aunt’s house.

I came to this conclusion after witnessing that in their young adult years being from Maryland and Arkansas, whenever they came into town visiting family and friends I would have to go to other family member’s homes to see them.

They rarely showed up to visit their aunt, and when they did it would be their last stop before leaving town. She would be hurt and upset because she couldn’t understand why they treated her like that.

When I was about age nine my sister entered the picture and months later the weekend parties began to fade out, nonetheless I still faced hell on a daily bases. Yet as years pasted I watched my adopted father become my sister’s protector even going as far as forbidding my mother from physically disciplining her. Almost five years older and I was still catching hell while she lived a semi normal childhood.

They had raised another boy before me who had left before I came along so I knew little of his childhood except what I learned from him in conversation. In comparing experiences he believed his childhood was unhealthier than mine but I found that hard to believe. However, the one thing we both agree on is that we consider ourselves blessed to have made it through with a stable mind.

Being the only girl my sister was treated differently. She was their pride and joy who could do no wrong. Coming into my early teens still catching hell regularly I’d observe her at eight and nine talking back. As a response she’d face yelling, cursing, and threats from our mother, and then she’d be on her merry way. In fact the more I think about it I can’t remember her being punished in any way for anything. All I had to do was look wrong and she