A Life Divided: My Journey to Salvation

By Stephanie Morgan

A life divided is what got me into trouble. I thought I could live in the space in between choosing right or wrong. I learned the hard way when we refuse to make a decision we are making a decision. The predicament I found myself in was of my own creation. I knew I was intentionally defying God. I did not know how far on the other side of that division I had gone. When I did, I laughed to myself and figured I might as well keep going. I wanted to know exactly how far was too far. I found out the hard way in 2018 after my life hung in the balance. Jesus gave me a second chance. I still chose to walk away even after a brief visit to hell. It had been another ten years before I finally gave in and allowed love to heal my wounded heart and mind.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Covenant Books, Inc.
• Release date: Jun 24, 2022
• ISBN: 9781685260286

Stephanie Morgan

Ontario author with a strong passion for horses, and learning.

Book preview

What Divide?

There was so much yelling, cheating, punching, and screaming. I was never sure what to do. I couldn’t understand why no one seemed to love anyone else in my family. It seemed as if love was a word used to manipulate or hurt someone else. Love was a lie. It didn’t exist or at least not the way I thought it should. Yet Jesus tells us this is our greatest commandment.

Master, which is the great commandment in the law? Jesus said unto him, thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind. This is the first and great commandment. And the second is like unto it, thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself. On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets. (Matthew 22:36–40)

I learned how to play the part or thought I did anyway. I only wanted the yelling and hurting to stop. I rehearsed and rehearsed all my lines to know what to say and how to behave. I became very manipulative as a result. I understood that saying the right words at the right time would get me anything I wanted or thought they could anyway. Despite all my lessons, I still couldn’t get it right. I learned to function within my family’s own created dysfunction. I played by their twisted rules, why was I losing? I didn’t understand that without Christ we can do nothing but fail. I am the vine, ye are the branches: He that abideth in me, and I in him, the same bringeth forth much fruit: for without me ye can do nothing (John 15:5).

As soon as I got what I was after, I acted like I did not know you or care to know you, unless I could further use you. Unfortunately for almost everyone who ever knew me, their pain was something I cared very little about. I didn’t care how I affected others. If I was confronted, I lied or tried to fight my way out. I was the victim, and how dare anyone say otherwise. When people said otherwise, and some did, they were further victimizing me. What people didn’t see, nor did I express, is that everyone is going to bail as soon as things didn’t go their way. Everyone leaves, and nobody wants me. I had all this figured out by second grade. I had to grow up quickly. I decided that nobody cares about my hurts. No one listens. So it seemed fair I shouldn’t either. I didn’t know how to care even if I wanted to. I learned to play their demented little game, and I thought I became good at it. I could manipulate teachers, friends, almost anyone. I couldn’t win at home for losing though. I took the blame for my brothers so they could hopefully avoid trouble. I was young at this point and as manipulative and vindictive as you could get. My mother tried to correct this in me, but from where I stood, she was the same.

I thought I became sufficient at playing the good little girl. My mother would probably disagree. I wasn’t sure she ever seemed to like me much. Looking back, I am not sure I liked myself much. By the time I was nine years old, I knew it was only going to be a matter of time until they split apart again. I didn’t care if they stayed together or not. It became a twisted way of life for us. There were battle lines drawn in cement and weapons at the ready. I am not sure either one was sure how to forgive, and if they could, someone would eventually throw the first punch, literally.

I had unfortunately been raised in a family with very few boundaries. I was molested by a family member, which lead to my parent’s eventual breakup. I was nine or ten at the time. I was praying to God, Please make it stop. The abuse didn’t stop, and my parents didn’t seem to like each other any less than they always have. We lived in Philadelphia at this point, and I felt forced to come back to