Love Rejoices in Truth
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July 28, 2022
Dear God, good morning. Yesterday Gary had me read his Life Recovery Bible. It says in Corinthians,
“Love is the Greatest.
Love is patient and kind.
Love is not jealous or boastful or proud or rude
It does not demand its way.
It is not irritable, and it keeps no record of being wronged
It does not rejoice about injustice but
rejoices whenever the truth wins out. Love never gives up, never loses faith, is always hopeful, and endures through every circumstance.
Corinthians is my favorite part of the Bible. It writes, “Love is more than a feeling; it’s choosing to behave in a loving way.” It is the fruit of the Holy Spirit. According to the Scripture, the fruits are love, faith, peace, understanding, joy, and hope. These are the attributes that are vital in my life. I thrive on loving others unconditionally. I love 1 Corinthians 13:4
I never knew what love was growing up. My parents never showed any love toward me. Both were abusive, and I thought love was, cleaning the house for my parents. I never disobeyed them. I was too frightened of my mother. One evening when my father was not home, my mother was drunk and started to curse about her mother, our father, my auntie Mary, and my auntie Joanne. We always listened to our mother’s drunken behavior, and it was clear to me to stay out of her way.
Willy came down the stairs from the bathroom and told us that he had flooded the bathroom floor. Denise, Sunflower, and Willy followed me into the kitchen. I was eight then, and I didn’t want Willy to get hurt by my mother. I told my mother that I had flooded the upstairs bathroom. My mother ran upstairs and fixed the toilet bowl. We were right to hide her. The water was racing out onto the ugly gray carpet.
My mother’s gray eyes were staring at me. I knew something terrible was going to happen to me. I was standing in front of my mother; my body was shaking. She grabbed my hand, and we went to the kitchen. My siblings followed. My mother put the stove on, took my left hand, and proceeded to burn my hand over the dancing flames. I screamed so loud, and I began crying. I jumped up high in the room, and my hand began to look like a volcano. Black charcoal appeared on my left hand; red lava was the blood swirling around my hand. I was crying so much because my hand hurt so badly. My mother only gave me a band-aid to put over the wound. Then, my mother said, “Keep crying, and I’ll give you something to cry about.”
When my father got home, he was angry at my mother for burning my hand. He went crazy on her and punched her in the face. He was furious at her. The four of us would get into the middle of them fighting. Hoping my father would stop hurting my mother. That night was a nightmare. I was still in physical pain when my father tried to take the band-aid off to look at the black and red volcano. I cried, “No, daddy, it hurts” He stopped touching my hand.
I went to school, and the nurse at the school saw my wound, and I told her I had accidentally burned my hand. We always protected our mother even if she was pure evil. The Hamilton School in Everett never reported the abuse, even though they are mandated to report all types of abuse against the abuser.
Love was not something we talked about in my family, and it was “Survival of the fittest” in my home. We never took my father’s side and always protected our mother even if she was wrong. We were her little pawns on a chess board, and if our loyalty were directed towards our father, my mother would seek her revenge.
I was writing and quoting the Bible about love this morning. Love meant pain. Love meant being obedient. Love meant being loyal to our mother. How did my sisters, brother, and I survive the madness in our home? We survived by loving each other. We were the four amigos. We went everywhere together. If one of us got hurt by my mother, we naturally nurtured each other. I learned to love by loving my sisters and brother. We had each other. Thank you, God, for my siblings. Amen Love you
