Beyond Vengeance to Forgiveness: A Memoir of Christ's Transforming Power

By Frederick A. Moore

Praise for Frederick A. Moore and his personal testimony,

BEYOND VENGEANCE TO FORGIVENESS: A Memoir of Christ’s Transforming Power:


‘5-stars – Recommended!’
“. . . I thoroughly enjoyed reading your—sometimes harrowing—testimony. . . You excel in descriptive vocabulary, a conversational style . . . (and) with Jesus as your Companion, (His) Transformative Power helps bring Light to this dark world in a way that is refreshing and relatable. I look forward to reading more of your works. 5-stars – Recommended."

Eliza Earsman, Christian author, United Kingdom
DAYS OF ELIJAH: A TRUE STORY—BY THE GRACE OF GOD.


‘This story will change the way you look at life, as it has for me.’
“. . . Moore’s journey is real, not only for him but for so many of us in (this) world . . . there are messages about pain, hard-heartedness, forgiveness and redemption in this timely, heart-wrenching, beautiful true story. ‘From Vengeance to Forgiveness’ is a special read from a sensitive, tough and lovely man who lived it first-hand. This story will change the way you look at life, as it has for me. As a first-person account of real life, this book is truly a Blessing.”

Pete Wilkinson, Founder and CEO, Wilkinson Sports and Life Performance Academy, Texas, USA, “Leadership, Life Skills and Performance Through Sports”
Author of LIVING AT THE TOP OF MY GAME, a textbook for THE WILKINSON WAY

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jul 28, 2021
• ISBN: 9781664185043

Frederick A. Moore

Frederick A. Moore has been an award-winning public relations professional, a teacher, a sales and marketing professional, a public address announcer at community events, as well as at high school and small-college sporting events, a guest relations representative for a West Coast League baseball team, and a photographer. He and his wife, Susie, have toured most of the United States and portions of eight countries – all the while capturing thousands of photographic images. They currently live with their daughter and son-in-law in Central Texas – along with the ‘K-9 Corps’ of four Dachshunds and a Shima.

Book preview

Copyright © 2021 by Frederick A. Moore.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted

in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying,

recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system,

without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

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.

Rev. date: 07/21/2021

Xlibris

844-714-8691

www.Xlibris.com

831947

CONTENTS

Preface

Epigraph

Introduction

Chapter 1     Abandoned

Chapter 2     Starting Anew

Chapter 3     A Child No More

Chapter 4     Unmerited Favor . . . What a Concept!

Chapter 5     A Tumor, A Bookrack, and the Hand of God

Chapter 6     I Held Something Back

Chapter 7     A Daddy? Me?

Chapter 8     The Cycle Begins

Chapter 9     A Change of Face

Chapter 10   The Lord Fulfilled Her Dream

Chapter 11   Fighting the Emotional Undertow

Chapter 12   Even My Youth Deserted Me

Chapter 13   Heart Hiccups

Chapter 14   Sinking Under the Weight of My World

Chapter 15   In the Hands of Weimartians

Chapter 16   Plucked from Fields of the Fatherless

Chapter 17   Daddy’s Home

Chapter 18   Rest Assured, Dad

For my late parents, who did the best they could.

Virginia, my mom (1920-1983), who gave us kids all that she had to give.

Homer, my dad (1933-2000), who gave to me when I needed it most.

PREFACE

As I write I’ve just entered my 66th year of life.

Half of those years – exactly 33 – I have spent at war.

Until Jesus Christ offered Forgiveness. I accepted it.

BEYOND VENGEANCE TO FORGIVENESS: A Memoir of Christ’s Transforming Power is, in essence, my ode to capital ‘F’ Forgiveness.

Forgiveness is a gift. Forgiveness can be claimed at any time. It doesn’t matter who you are or where you are. One’s social status has no bearing whatsoever on your ability to claim Forgiveness. Just ask.

In turn, once Forgiven, we are encouraged to extend the ‘healing power’ of Forgiveness. To those with whom you’ve taken issue; to those you have treated unjustly or with animosity – don’t worry, they can all be brought to remembrance. Just trust me, okay?

That’s right, ask Forgiveness from any, and all, that are brought to mind. If the list is long, so be it! Search each one out and seek Forgiveness to repair the rift in your relationship.

Do this on the ‘Wings of Prayer,’ asking Jesus Christ to strengthen your resolve. Take it from me – the experience will be life-changing.

Frederick A. Moore

Not perfect, just Forgiven, 2021

EPIGRAPH

The main worry of my young life, until the late 1960s, could be summed-up with these words from a popular Motown song:

"My father left, he never even married mom

I shared the guilt my mama knew

So afraid that others knew I had no name. . .

. . . Love child, different from the rest."

-- As performed by Diana Ross & The Supremes, 1968

It was the turn of the century before I adopted a new soundtrack for my life:

"And I was lost in darkness

Alone and in need

But then love sent a light to me

And now I see. . .

. . . I see forgiveness. . . ."

As performed by Wendy Foy Green & Sierra, 2001

INTRODUCTION

This is a story of life

My life. My dad’s life. The broken homes out of which we both rose, and then from them went forth into the world.

In turn, it is the story of the lives we touch. The love we share. The pain we cause. The joys, triumphs, and despair we experience. Even the ideologies, the faiths we choose. Or don’t choose, as the case may be.

It is also the story of Divine Power. A Divine Power through which human beings can be Blessed; be Reproofed; be Instructed; be Led; be Redeemed; yes and be TRANSFORMED.

I’m talking a ‘transformation’ that by surprise pulls one up from the bootstraps, flips one head-over-heels, and shakes one so thoroughly as if to wrench one’s very innards out! A transformation so unexpected, so unabashedly life-changing, even you who’s living it find it difficult to believe.

I experienced that Transforming Power of Christ first-hand. I cherish it each time I kneel in prayer. You see, I know Someone Watches, Someone Hears, and Someone Answers that humble prayer. From experience, I know who that Someone is. He is Jesus Christ, my Lord and Savior, the King of my Heart and Mind.

Francis Schaefer, Presbyterian pastor, theologian, philosopher and author, published, HE IS THERE AND HE IS NOT SILENT in 1972. The subtitle of the book asks: DOES IT MAKE SENSE TO BELIEVE IN GOD? I am hopeful that the thought running through the minds of readers, after reading this book, will be: DOES IT MAKE SENSE TO DISBELIEVE IN GOD?

For me, the author of this book, it does NOT make sense to NOT believe in God. To NOT believe is a cop-out. To NOT believe is unsound thinking. To NOT believe is the path to desperation.

From my experience related here—combined with the 20-plus years of faithful prayer and Bible Study before my experience and the 25 years of study and prayer since my experience—I join with Dr. Schaeffer in the assertion: He is there, and He is not silent.

To those who listen. No, not hear, I mean really listen.

To those who see. Not just observe, but truly see.

To those who feel. Not just touch but grasp hold.

To those who taste. More than taste, to those who savor.

To those who smell. No, not stink, I mean smell. To those who can detect subtle differences in a bloom’s unique fragrance.

This is not elementary belief, this is university-level confidence in your belief.

For, in that level of belief, is the story of Life everlasting. Through and by the Power of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.

The One who IS there, and is NOT silent. You can take it from me, I found Him there, and, thankfully, He is NOT silent.

This is the story.

Frederick A. Moore

A humble witness to His Majesty

CHAPTER 1

Abandoned

image1%20%20-%20chapter%201.jpg

The Moore children, circa 1967. Right to left, Ricky Moore, the eldest; seated on

Ricky’s lap, Shirley Jean Moore, the youngest; seated behind and to the left is Cheryl

Lynn Moore; seated in front, Kevin Neil Moore, with his arm around Teddy, our dog

You be out of this house by week’s end!

As if to punctuate his angry ultimatum, Dad slammed the door with such force as he left that I can still feel it nearly fifty five years later.

Dad had a way with doors.

On more than one occasion, he came home late at night in a one-for-the-road stupor— a drunken fog so thick it was a wonder he could find his way or even navigate the few steps across our steep driveway to the front door. But having conquered the highways and the driveway, he would often fail to find the house key.

That’s when the pounding and yelling started. As if by direct circuit, windows lit up all over the neighborhood. If Mom or I didn’t open the door quickly, Dad would simply punch his meaty fist through it, reach in, turn the doorknob, and step into the house.

Then he would pass out in the front room—with an accompanying expulsion of sour vomit.

Daddy’s home, Mom! I thought.

The sarcasm of adolescence was growing in me. At that time, I didn’t announce Dad’s arrival, but one day I would. I knew that mixed with the fear of my father was a growing intolerance for his alcoholism and terrorism. I had no idea that Mom could sense my growing frustration with our way of life. Even if I had known, I wouldn’t have been prepared for what happened next.

The echo of the slamming door had barely faded away when Mom called our young family to her.

Dad stormed out of the house a lot. Usually, we kids would head for our rooms or the backyard—a sort of every child for himself or herself approach to survival. Once safely ensconced in our sanctuaries, we’d read, meticulously add detail and dimension to lifeless coloring books, listen to our favorite music, or play with the toys we most cherished—a little quiet time between rounds.

But this time, June 1967, was different. Never before had Mom called a family meeting.

As Mom talked, a dull ache throbbed to life in the pit of my stomach. With each subsequent word, the pain grew until it was difficult for me to stand up straight.

But this time, June 1967, was different.

Dad and Mom were splitting up.

Our family, dysfunctional as it was, was shattered.

Pack up your things, Mom said. We’re getting out while the getting’s good!

As my younger brother and two sisters went to their rooms, Mom pulled me aside. As the eldest child, I was to be privy to more of what had transpired.

She told me what she had done. She had written Dad a note and placed it on the dresser in their bedroom. In a nutshell, it was an ultimatum from Mom, saying, You clean up your act, or we’re through. No more drinking, no more physical and verbal abuse—STRAIGHTEN UP!

Now please understand my mother adored my father. Despite the acrimony that accompanied daily life, she loved him passionately. To this day, I believe that she thought Dad felt the same way for her and our family. I think she expected him to break down when faced with his foibles. My mother could be naive.

As I listened, I could almost hear the sound of her heart breaking. She looked at me through bloodshot eyes. At this point, with pain knotting my stomach, the import of her words struck home. As a twelve-year-old, my immediate reaction was a selfish one—a survival instinct.

What do you mean ‘Dad’s not coming back’?

When do we have to leave?

Who’s going to help us, Mom?

Where are we going to live?

How will we make money to eat?

Why did you have to write that note?

Way to go! As if Mom wasn’t hurting enough—go ahead, blame the whole mess on her. It was the family way. When pushed up against the wall, look for a place to lay the blame.

Mom’s red eyes seemed to flare for a moment.

I’m doing this for you, Ricky, she said through clenched teeth. She took a deep breath, struggling to express something from deep within. You’re getting bigger now. There would have come a day when you’d challenge your father. Stand up to him. And he would KILL you in a rage. I can’t let that happen. Now go get packed!

It was as if she had slapped me directly across the face. Her words carried a force that sent an electrical charge coursing through my veins.

My jaws tightened. I forced the forming tears back into their ducts. I swallowed—burying the hurt deep within my soul. And the hurt became the kindling for a fire, burning away at the core of my being.

CHAPTER 2

Starting Anew

Saltine crackers—one box.

Catsup—one bottle.

Hot dogs—one package.

Sugared breakfast cereal—one box, half-eaten.

Dog food—one 10-pound bag.

No need to make a list, and certainly, no need to check it twice. The results of our cupboard-by-cupboard search lay arranged before us on the dinette.

Well, it looks like we’ll get to find out why Cheryl found these dog biscuits so tasty, I sarcastically remarked. Cheryl gave me a playful punch in the arm.

Mom turned her tired, worry-worn face to me, opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

I regretted the smart-aleck remark immediately. But I smirked inwardly at the mental image of me wrestling Teddy, our terrier, for his food. Humor, often self-deprecating, was becoming a defense against reality for me.

Here we were—four preadolescent children and a forty-seven-year-old single mother—on the edge of what it’s like to really know hunger for the first time. And the prospects for future meals didn’t look too promising either.

It had been eight weeks or so since Dad catapulted out the front door—and we packed our way out the back door. We hadn’t seen him since. He sent some small checks for a few