Overcoming My Bitter Childhood Memories

When I was sixteen years old, I told my parents that I didn't want anything to do with God. I didn't want to serve a God that would allow me to experience what I had been forced to grow up with. I was at the peak of rebellion and bitterness because of my tragic upbringing.

My parents had adopted me three years earlier when I was thirteen. Before my adoption, I was brought up by a single father. My mother had left before I was even old enough to remember what she looked like. My dad was a heavy drinker and often very violent. He would beat me and make fun of me. To this day, I have scars on my body as a result of what he did to me.

A Struggle with Bitterness and Hate

Following my adoption, I grew to resent my family situation. I looked back on my childhood with contempt and bitterness. I despised the experiences that I was forced to suffer through. Why would a loving God let an innocent child experience such brutality and mistreatment? What had I done as a child to deserve that type of life? These questions plagued my mind. They tortured me.

I would often sit in my room, isolated from the world and from my new family. Alone. I didn't spend time with friends. I didn't talk to people on the phone. I avoided leaving my room at all costs. My mind and thoughts were consumed with the depressing memories of my bitter past. As I sat there in my room, my mind haunted me with so many things that I fervently wished I were able to forget.

Only by the Grace of God

It was at this time that I stumbled across this verse. To my hungry father-starved soul, these words became as sweet as honey. No matter, what my family situation was physically, God wanted to draw close to me and personally fill that void! He wanted me to look to Him as the father that I never had.

"Behold, what manner of love the Father hath bestowed upon us, that we should be called the sons of God:" ~ I John 3:1

My outlook slowly began to change as I grew to realize how beautiful my relationship with Him could be. I began to pray again. I would always begin, "Father..." Before I would even begin my requests, I would pause after that amazing word and let its meaning soak into me. Father. I grew to love that aspect of my relationship with God.

My mindset began to transform! Christ's love began to work in my life and I began to overcome my hatred for my father. My love for him renewed and was now much stronger than it had ever been as a little child before he was violent. I began to pray for my father's salvation. I would visit him often and invite him to church. God's grace is so far beyond my understanding.

It was at that period in my life that I wrote this poem. This poem is the expression of that struggle and the victory that I found in Christ. It was an expression of this new relationship that I was learning to enjoy. Oh, how sweet God is!

A Child of the King
by Nicholas Z. Cardot

Walking through life as time passes me by,
Surrounded by people who can’t hear my cry.
Living and searching for a place to belong,
I find in my heart there’s no joy, there’s no song.
Where is my place in this world of despair?
Could anyone love, or just try to care,
For a small lonely boy at the end of his rope?
Yet no help I find, no man gives me hope.

As a child with my father, we shared such a joy,
To him I was Son, his proud little boy.
My dad was not perfect, but his love I could see,
When he’d hug me real tight as I sat on his knee.
Those times that we shared, that love that we had,
Filled my heart with great pride as I called him my dad.
As my mind now goes back and I think on those days,
My eyes fill with tears and all my sight is a haze.

Things were so grand, yet how could I see,
That life would soon take my dear father from me.
I took it for granted, that time that we shared,
Seldom would I let him know that I cared.
And now that he’s gone I understand what love is,
I’d give my own life if I could save his.
I never understood what great things I had,
Until on that day I was taken from my dad.

My mother was gone; when I was young she had fled.
She lived her own life as if I were dead.
Though I’ve missed her at times and longed for the love,
Of a mother who cares, a sweet gift from above,
I’ve learned to press on, to keep going forward.
Hoping to see her, I keep walking toward,
The goals of my life as I still long to see,
The one who has power to bring great comfort to me.

I dreamed of her often, I dreamed of her much.
To look on her face, to reach out and touch,
To live my whole life with a mother to share,
My heartaches and pains and know that she’d care.
I longed for a shoulder to cry out my fears,
A women to love and take all my tears.
But all these were dreams, fantasies at best,
So yet in my heart I still found no rest.

Walking through life as time passes me by,
Surrounded by people who can’t hear me cry.
I look up to the savior, who for me gave his life,
And I know in full faith that he can calm all my strife.
And when all had forsook me, God sent from above,
The savior to guide me through his holy great love.
Now I bow down in shame as he walks by my side;
‘Tis the greatest of all who now acts as my guide.

Walking through life as time passes me by,
Surrounded by people who can’t hear me cry.
Living and searching for a place to belong,
I now find in my heart a great joy, a great song.
I’ve now found my place in this world of despair,
For Christ gave his love, much more than mere care,
For a poor lonely boy at the end of his rope,
Christ now holds my hand and gives my great hope.


A Living Testimony of God's Grace,

Nick

Childhood Memories: A Night With The Monsters

As I have been reading through Infidel by Ayaan Hirsi Ali, I have been overwhelmingly amazed at the immense horrors that she faced as a child growing up in the Middle East. Yet she doesn't dwell on the issues seeking pity. She uses them as an accellerant to propel the truth about Islam and the culture she was forced to be brought up in. Her response to her childhood and background is inspiring and although my childhood experiences don't quite compare to what this woman had to live through, I have decided to share some of them in an effort to do exactly what Ali has done. Promote the truth. The truth that I wish to promote with my childhood stories is a simple yet too often rejected one: God is good regardless of our troubled backgrounds or emotional scars.

When I was a child, I experienced some pretty crazy times while I lived with my father. He did a few things while raising me that normal people would consider less than orthodox.

One night around midnight, he staggered into my room reeking of alcohol and declared that he wanted to go for a ride. When my father said that he wanted to go for a ride, I knew exactly what he meant. He was ready to go cruising through the gravel country roads that stretch out for miles outside of our little town of Amboy, IL. When I say cruising, of course, I mean going about 90 mph, laughing like a drunken hyena, and blaring The Jimi Hendrix Band through his stereo system.

I remember nights that we had raced down the gravel roads so fast that that I was sure he was going to lose control. One night, he took me down a long straight patch of road that climbed up to the top of a hill. A patch of straight road was all he needed to max-out his little Chevy S-15 Pick-up truck. As we were approaching the peak of the hill, my dad was trying to push the speedometer up over 100. Then suddenly, he slammed on the brakes and we began to slide up and over the hill. The truck began twisting sideways and the tires through gravel into the air. Then as we hit the very peak of the hill, I saw what I thought was the end of my life. Just a short distance ahead the road turned a very sharp ninety degrees. If our truck decided to go straight, we were going to be embedded in the sides of some tall oak trees. The entire truck frame lurched toward the side as it slammed to a halt just a few feet from the edge of the point-of-no-return.

I always imagined us overturned in the ditch miles from the nearest house not to be found until we had been there for hours. He never seemed to want to 'go for a ride' when he was sober. Somehow God smiled on me because He never let that happen. After many rides like this, however, I had become conditioned to his drunken tours through the countryside. Sometimes I viewed them as a nuisance or a waste of time and other times I enjoyed the thrill.

This was the type of ride that my dad had in mind that night and I knew that it would only make matters worse if I begged or whined about not wanting to go so I just gave in and went along. The night started out with the usual speeding and using the emergency brake to do 'donuts.' For some reason that night my dad decided to terrorize me in another way. That certainly wasn't unusual. He was always looking for ways to do just that.

Just outside of Amboy, the little town we lived in, there was a large cemetery that had probably been around for the past 150 years. The alcohol must have impaired my dad's ability to read the signs stating that the cemetery closes at dusk. It probably stopped him from even seeing the signs. The night was dark as he drove far back into the cemetery. Finally, he came to a stop and turned off the lights. I was scared out of my mind.

"Get out." His words were slurred.

"No, dad."

"Get out!" He shouted throwing in a few curses and threats. I had no choice. I either had to do what he said or he was going to make me do what he said. I slid the seatbelt off and slowly pushed the door open. At that age, I was scared to death of monsters so I looked all around me as I put my feet on the ground.

As soon as I stepped out, he shouted at me as the vehicle jerked away from me, the door slamming shut from the momentum. "I'll see you in the morning if they don't get you!" I could see his tail lights as he sped down the road towards the gate.

Tears were streaming down my face as I stood there. My father had forced me to watch horror movies with him. He said that it would make me a man and that it would put hair on my chest. The only thing it did for me was give me nightmares. And now, as I stood in the pitch black night in the middle of a graveyard I was completely terrified that monsters or zombies were going to get me. I was too afraid to sit down or even to run. I turned to my left, and then to my right. I turned around. I was constantly looking to see if anyone of anything was coming for me. It probably sounds silly but I was a little kid and I didn't know any better.

Finally after what seemed like an eternity, I saw his lights reappear in the distance. It had probably been about fifteen minutes. Tears were still streaming down my face when I crawled back into the truck.

I had to grow up in a bizarre environment. Yet I can still say that God is good and his mercy is more than any of us deserve. No matter what you experience, God's love is extended to you!

For a while when I became a teenager, I resented the fact that a loving God would allow me to have to grow up with such a crazy father and with no mother. In fact, at one point as a teenager, I boldly proclaimed that I didn't want anything to do with God. Yet somehow God spoke to my heart and caused me to realize that those experiences were what shaped me into who I am. The traumas that I faced only served to make me stronger. They became stepping stones that provided me with a greater ability to help others in similar situations. I can relate to people and situations in a totally unique way that nobody else can understand. I now stand thankful for every trial that I experienced as a child.