Stormie: A Story of Forgiveness and Healing (18 page)

BOOK: Stormie: A Story of Forgiveness and Healing

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“God, I forgive my mother,” I confessed daily whether I felt like it or not. “Help me to forgive her completely.” I knew without a doubt that harboring unforgiveness would keep me from the wholeness and blessing God had for me, and that it would make me sick physically. I knew I could never be completely whole as long as I had any unforgiveness. I had to keep working on it. It was during this time I learned that forgiveness doesn’t make the other person right, it makes
you free.

God was faithful to answer my prayer, and forgiveness for my mother developed in me to such a point that I was eventually able to see her as God made her to be and not the way she was. I saw how the traumas of her life had misshaped her, and how she, like I had been, was a victim of her past. Only she never found the way out. Every time I pictured the 11-year-old girl who lost her mother and felt responsible for it, believing that life and God had deserted her, I felt deep sadness inside. I cried over her life and wished that somehow things could have been different. I saw her like I had never seen her before, and instead of hating her I felt sorry and began praying for her healing.

I read up on the subject of mental illness and began to understand that Mother’s brain did not function like the brain of a normal person. I had known that long before, but always blamed her for it. Now I saw that she really couldn’t help herself. She was at the mercy of disassociated, unorganized thinking patterns that made no sense. Her illogical and inappropriate behavior, like laughing when I was hurt or becoming enraged when I cleaned my room, were normal for someone in her condition. There was a short circuit somewhere. Everything she imagined was completely real to her, and common to those with the same illness. Her mind simply could not sort things through clearly. I felt pity for her and regretted all the times I had been mocking and cruel in my attitude toward her. I now had respect for how well she navigated life considering all she had going against her.

My ability to absorb this knowledge about my mother was directly related to my forgiveness of her. But forgiveness not only made me a more compassionate person, it also allowed me to recall good memories of my mother. Previously, because my hatred and unforgiveness had been so overpowering, no good thoughts of her were ever allowed to stay with me. But now, one by one, things I had long forgotten, or never even acknowledged, popped up in my memory.

I flashed back to Mother making pancakes for me when I was three, and how she smiled and exclaimed with pride that I had eaten five of them. When I was in third grade, Mother and Aunt Jean came to town one hot afternoon and surprised my class at school with cups of ice cream for each child. How proud I was that she had done that! When I was nine, Mother gave me a birthday party and invited all the girls in my class. She served a full dinner, with slices of watermelon, ice cream, and cake for dessert, and then she and Dad took us miniature golfing. We were very poor, and that must have cost them greatly.

On the day of my twelfth birthday I came home from school feeling sorry for myself because no one had remembered. I went to my room and saw that it had been cleaned and straightened. On the bed was a box containing a beautiful turquoise wool suit that I had dreamed about owning. Mother had bought it for me. At Christmas she always cooked a big dinner, made popcorn balls, and bought gifts for the family. I could see now that she had tried hard to make the season something special even though it must have been terribly difficult for her. Every part of life must have put tremendous pressure on her, but I never before saw her misery—only my own.

I had forgotten these events because immediately after each one she always did something hideous to cancel out any good that had been accomplished. But now, because I had forgiven all the cruel acts, I could just focus on the kind ones. What a relief this brought, as well as a sense of fulfillment! The bad memories began to diminish and the good memories increased, paralleling exactly my level of forgiveness toward her.

I did have a major setback every time I saw Mother in person, however, because even though I became more forgiving of her, her hatred toward me increased along with the progression of her mental illness. However, with practice I was able to work through the problem more quickly each time. Forgiveness became an art: The more I practiced, the better I got at it and the freer I became.

Another key was
saying yes to God.
Every time I thought I had all my problems solved, I found myself at another crossroad. I knew that God was asking me to give myself to Him in ever-deeper commitment. The more I understood what was accomplished in Jesus’ death on the cross, the more I realized He was asking me to nail parts of myself to the cross and let them die too. Just as I had given up my dyed-blonde hair, drinking, smoking, and drugs, I now had to give Him my dreams about becoming an actress or someone important. These were all things in which I had placed my identity. But God wanted my identity to be in Him.

I had desired as a child to be an actress or a singer—someone that people would love. It was the only way I thought I could be worth anything to anyone. God was telling me, “You must know that you are worth much to me whether you accomplish anything or not. Even if you are rejected in the world’s eyes, you are valuable to me.”

Everything I desired of God to be implanted in me couldn’t happen until I let my own life go. So now, with these major deliverances taken care of, God began His cleanup program. Excess baggage had to be eliminated, the most major of which was self. All my desires to be noticed, to be somebody, to do something great had to be given up to Him. My dreams had to be
His
dreams, the ones
He
placed in my heart. They couldn’t be the ones I thought I should have, or needed for the purpose of making other people like me.

“Okay, Lord,” I finally said with much reluctance. “I give up my desire to be anyone important or to do anything significant. I will no longer regard not being a success in the world’s eyes as a failure, because You love me the way I am.” I stopped doing all TV shows and studio singing. I did nothing but go to church, take care of my home and husband, and watch all my dreams come crashing down as a part of me died a little every day. The death process was long and painful.

Nearly three years later I was in a large Bible study at church. Just before the start of the final class, the assistant pastor, who was also the teacher, came up to me and said, “I have been praying for you and I feel that God has shown me you are to begin singing again.”

“He did? I am?” I exclaimed with surprise.

“Yes. There is deliverance and healing for others that He wants to work through you. You are to tell what the Lord has done for you and sing the songs He has put on your heart.”

“That’s wonderful!” I responded with mixed emotions. I was eager to serve God, but still miserably aware of my inabilities.

“I want you to begin tonight and sing for the group.”

“What!” I jolted as I felt my mixed emotions turn to one single emotion—terror. “I can’t do it tonight.”

“Do you feel in your heart that God has called you to minister His life to others?” he asked firmly.

“Well, yes, but I thought I would have more time to prepare.”

“This has been a class in ministry development, and this is the last night of this class. These are people who love you. You need to take a step of faith, and tonight is the time to do it. This will be your beginning point.”

“But you don’t understand,” I continued to plead. “I can’t sing. I have serious speech problems, and when I’m afraid, my throat closes off and I lose my voice. That’s why I never sing alone, and I haven’t even sung in a group for a long time.”

“God is asking you to be willing to fail in front of all these people. Are you willing to sacrifice your pride to be obedient to God?”

“Pride! Me?” I protested. “I’m the one who has been humiliated all my life. I’ve always struggled with a low opinion of myself. How could I have pride?”

“You do have pride. You’re too proud to fail in front of others. You’re overly concerned about their opinions. You’ve been comparing yourself to others for years. That’s pride, Stormie. If you don’t sing now, you’re giving in to it.”

As difficult as this was to hear, I could see the truth in all he was saying.

“What’ll I sing?”

“Sing one of the many songs you’ve written,” came the obvious answer.

My heart was pounding and my legs were shaking as I got up in front of the people.

Slowly I swallowed my pride, closed my eyes, and cautiously sang “All the Time in the World.” My throat was so tight and pained that I could barely croak it out. My face was hot and perspiring. It was truly terrible and totally humiliating. I sang as badly as anyone could possibly sing, but when I was done, everyone in the room clapped and cheered. I opened my eyes and was surprised to see expressions of love, support, and caring, and even some people with tears. As awful as the experience was, I felt like something had been broken in the spirit realm.

A few weeks later I began receiving invitations to speak and sing, and it was apparent that God was calling me out into public ministry. “I don’t really sing,” I told the people who called because I wanted them to know my problem right away.

“That’s okay—we want
you
,” they replied.

After a few months of explaining to people that I wasn’t really a singer, so don’t expect too much, God spoke to my heart and said, “Don’t say those words anymore.”

“But God, they’ll think I don’t realize that I have vocal problems. They’ll judge me. How mortifying not to be able to explain this to anyone.”

“I’ll
decide who is the singer,” I heard God say. “The singer is the one in whose heart I put my song. Take your eyes off of what others think and put them on me. You will not sing to win prizes and favor. You will sing to bring deliverance to those who have been locked up and hurt just as you have.”

I couldn’t see how this was all possible, but I soon realized that it could only be accomplished through the aid of the keys and my willingness to say yes to God and step out in obedience. So the death I went through became a door that led to life. It was opened by the key of saying yes to God.

Shortly after that, God showed me another very important key—
the key of praise and worship.
It was to be a key that would unlock many doors, but especially that of fear.

Anytime I felt the walls of life closing in and my emotional closet door slamming shut, I would clap my hands, sing worship songs, and praise the Lord out loud. I didn’t stop until I felt the walls come down and the door unlock. Whenever I saw the cloud of depression trying to settle on me again, I would do the same until it lifted. When I heard the lies of my past shouting, “You’re worthless, you’ll never amount to anything, you’re no different, you’ll never change,” I would say, “Thank You, God, that You are all-powerful, that You reign in my life and in the midst of this situation. Thank You, Lord, that You love me and have made me to live in health and power and victory and joy and peace. Thank You that in my weakness You are strong.” On and on I went until the black cloud over my head evaporated and the fear was gone.

My husband and I had been recording albums together since we were married. On the first two, “White Horse” and “Adam Again,” he was the soloist while I sang background and wrote all the lyrics. However, on the next three albums, “Seasons of the Soul,” “The Builder,” and “Mainstream,” he insisted that I sing a solo or duet with him on some of the songs.

Those albums, plus the concerts we did together and my speaking engagements, were all very frightening. The only way I got through them was with praise. Every time fear came over me, I began to thank God for all He had done in my life and for the voice He
had
given me. There were many times of failure, when I forgot to praise altogether and allowed the fear to control me. But more and more I had success in that area and saw myself and my circumstances being transformed. Praise was the key that got me through impossible situations in my life.

One more key was
fasting,
which I began to do on a regular basis. Because of this there was ongoing deliverance and freedom. Every time I fasted, it was like getting a holy oiling so I could slip through the clutches of the devil. I positioned God as everything and nothing else could hold me. With every denial of myself I gained more of Jesus, and more of Jesus meant more peace, love, and wholeness. Along with the entire church I fasted and prayed every Wednesday. But several times a year, when I felt the need for a deep spiritual as well as physical cleansing, I went on a three-day fast. The benefits far outweighed the discomfort and inconvenience, so I looked forward to each time of fasting.

By using all the keys that God had given me, I began to function more like a normal person. I could see I was on the road to wholeness. The keys were so effective that I was eager to learn more about God’s ways. Apparently God was eager too, for I embarked upon a time of major spiritual housecleaning that had unexpected practical application in my life.

CHAPTER TWELVE