I am not quite sure why I was born. I mean that literally. My parent’s did not accomplish any major fetes while they were married. My mother and father met at a bar while my mother was still married to my half-sister’s father. It’s quite fascinating actually; my father had nothing more than an old trailer and a couple pair of old boots to his name when they met. My mother is a very clean person. She prides herself on her cleanliness, and cannot stand mess, clutter, or any of the sort. To think back and imagine her leaving her marriage for a poor addict, who lived in a trailer, and who also was working on his 5th DUI has never really made sense. I have never really looked too incredibly hard into it though, so it may reveal it’s-self as we go along. Keep your eye’s out for it, but I somehow never asked beyond what they told me. Maybe I was too selfish and self-consumed then? That was probably it.
When my mom left us, I was 4 years old. My grandma (Dad’s mom) came and stayed with us because my dad had to go to jail on the weekends for his 5th DUI. I cannot remember this, but I would assume that my grandma was who kind of helped to straighten me and my dads lives out together. 1+1 was definitely not adding up at first.
When my memory starts to kick back in is during one of my grandma’s visits and she was trying to help me with potty training. My dad had pretty well adjusted. He didn’t have a license, so around 3:30 AM he’d wrap me in a sleeping bag and his buddy would pull up, and off we’d go. He would drop me off to the babysitter and I’d fall back to sleep until the other kids came. And that’s what we did.
I can remember at times being mad at him. I threatened to call the cops on him once because I was up to no good and he put me in time-out, haha! I was probably 5. This man had no idea what he had brought into this world. As time passed on we grew together. He grew a garden that we ate from, he started getting his money figured out. Our first Christmas together looked like the toy store had just thrown us one of everything to try. He would take me to his job sites with him sometimes. These were my favorite adventures! Where was he working this time? Do I get a hard hat? What is his office in this time? WAS THERE GOING TO BE A GATOR TO DRIVE!? Ohh, Heavens, I just loved it.
My dad is a brick mason, and was a superintendent for Eli LIlly for many, many years. Starting out was a different story though. This was a “kind of” recovering addict who was just left by his wife, and left with his 4-year old DAUGHTER, while fighting to keep that daughter out of the system over his 5th DUI, and trying to figure out how to work weekend jail into his new found “single” parent lifestyle. The good LORD worked him DOWN HARD! [“GET IT RIGHT, Kenny! This time.”]. And he stumbled, but we made it, one step, one day, and one obstacle at a time. As he started really figuring things out he started to rise at work. His talents were expert. He headed some pretty amazing projects, was pictured with political administrators, and received many accolades for his talents and abilities. As I got older I would ride along still on the weekend work days. I never knew where we were headed. Purdue? The “originally named” Conseco Fieldhouse? Wabash College? Colt’s Stadium? Indy 500 Track? Airport? Indiana State Museum? Lucas Oil Stadium? A parking garage? Where we going DAD!? – His hands were so strong, and his mind so smart, I could never even see him trying. It was effortless.
One day he and I were driving down Old Division Road and I was looking out of the window. I remember looking up, seeing the power lines, and behind them was the biggest, bluest sky with little accents of white fluffy clouds. I cannot remember if he said it out loud, but my dad let me realize that day that I could be anything I ever dreamed or wanted to be in this big, huge, fluffy cloud filled world. So I started my personal journey then and there.
Not long after things started to become routine for me and dad I had my first encounter with “status”. Two boys on the school bus looked at me one morning, and told me I was poor, and they asked me [why]. They said that it wasn’t good, and that it made me dirty. I went home that afternoon and I was sitting in the recliner and dad was at the kitchen counter going through his mail. I was nervous. Paraphrasing I said -[” Dad, can we get a new house?” He asked why. I said, “Some kids on the bus told me we are poor today, and kind of made fun of me for living in a trailer, and said it was not cool. They called me poor.”] – I will never in my life forget the look that came over my dad’s face and the feeling I got over that reaction. He told me yes, and that we would work on getting that new house, because we deserved it.
I never really considered “class” growing up. Not before I was told I was poor, and not after. Yes, it did make me feel great to get a new house, and I thought it was awesome, but I never considered the type of home or it’s size, I just thought it was awesome that my dad was able to get us a new home, and I was proud of him, and it boosted my confidence to transition to something so symbolic of my dad’s victories. Plus, it would get those kids off my back, FINALLY!
For such a small town, in the middle of no where, I will say that I met a lot of different walks being taken in life there. It was almost as though the town was so small that each and every kid had to own their own identity, because there were so many identities that needed to be filled that we didn’t have enough kids to cover them all- just put multiple scenarios in one journey- and get a lot of similar, yet very different kids. No big deal. There was something for everything though. For my wandering mind and soul of curiosity, I found myself lost in the stories of those that seemed so “particular”- Little did I know that this was all just part of the bigger plan. God has looked at me many times, and said “Hold on, Lynnsey! Just wait! This is about to get insane!”
And so it begins…
My first encounter with my spiritual journey was when I was a young girl. My dad had met my step-mother, who had my step-brother, Lucas, and we were all starting to settle into our roles in one-another’s lives. My grandmother used to come visit us. After all, she was kind of the main reason I was still around, and the main reason my dad was too. She would stay for a while. She slept with me each night. She is who taught me to pray, what a bible was, why it was written [ to tell the story of our father, and Jesus, and to share his miracles for all generations to understand his greatness and abilities, and to help guide us to to and through our purpose], She more or less explained it all to me and told me who this “God” was, and who this “Jesus” was that I kept hearing about, and why I kept having to go to this place called “Church” to “learn about” all of “this”. The first time she opened my children’s bible, my eyes got about the size of ping-pong balls, and they about popped out of my head. – WHAT IN THE WORLD IS THIS, GRANDMA!? – THIS IS TRUE? Yes? WHAT! – I could hardly comprehend that this all really happened. I was so excited!! AHH, Miracles, they are a thing, they happened, praise God for this! – Oh, I just knew God was going to give me a miracle. I just knew it!
Time goes on, and one afternoon we are outside and grandma is watching me play in the front yard, from our patio area, and she tells me “You know you can pray and ask for things, Lynnsey, don’t you?” I was looking up at the sky with my arms out and spinning in circles. “Huh?” the look of perplexed contemplation and shock on my face was probably one for the record books. You would have thought she just gave me the secret key to the door that opens into a room filled floor to ceiling with gold. “Uhh, grandma, what are you talking about?” – She went on to explain that in the bible there are instances when people pray and God answered those prayers after they ask correctly. “Correclty?” She then went on to explain that I could not ask for material things, because that was not [Godly] desire. She said I need to ask for something special, a gift, and not one that I could touch. She then listed off a few examples. I was listening, and she said “wisdom”. I immediately felt this urge to just start praying for it. She didn’t need to say another word. I knew how to ask for it with my soul. I was saved before I was touched by any water or ceremony. My grandmother unlocked my mind that year. She made me realize that the Lord God’s capabilities were absolutely endless. As I stood there and talked to God about wisdom, he asked me what I thought that gift would mean. I thought about it and showed him pictures in my mind about what I thought it would mean. To this day one of the most common attributes that get tagged to my character is “Wisdom”.
So, I may not know why I was born yet, but I am starting to find out that my journey and the purpose of my existence may bring insight to that, and bring me back to just why those two parents of mine needed to meet that night, years ago, in that bar.