Part 10

It was an interesting time living with my grandparents.

My grandmother would probably be the only relative that I would actually consider as my friend,

especially when I was a child as I had spent a lot of time there in the summers.

They weren't perfect people.

My dad's home life had been awful.

It was one full of extreme physical abuse and hate.

My grandpa beat my grandmother and all three of the kids severely.

My dad had been beaten to unconsciousness once when he was five years old.

They actually thought he was going to die.

My grandpa hated God,

not as strongly as my dad,

but he made it clear he did not like God.

Despite the pain that happened there, the place was a beautiful place.

It had a beautiful barn on it.

I loved seeing the Brahma bull out in the pasture whenever we went over there.

It was a sign that we were almost there.

It was also where my dad learned to ride bulls.

Some of the great rodeo stars got their start there,

on their property, in the little arena.

Grandpa had been a stock contractor back in the 60s, among other things,

and they had taken a lot of kids to their first rodeos.

They drank a lot.

Their lives revolved around alcohol.

Even though my dad drank,

alcohol had never been

in our home till later.

He drank at the rodeos and with other people,

but rarely at home.

It was only when my grandparents would come over

that we had beer around the house

as they always brought a cooler full of beer.

I remember one time as a little girl

going to a rodeo in Silverton.

They had run into a bunch of old friends there.

The sat there and drank, and drank, and drank.

I remember standing there, just outside the circle,

in the darkness, wondering if I should call a taxi since I had learned

in school that one was never to ride with a drunk driver but then,

I didn't want to make anybody mad either.

I didn't call a taxi and we did make it home safely that night.

It wasn't the last time though that I got in a vehicle with a drunk person driving.

There were many times during my teenage years,

coming home from rodeos or team ropings,

that my dad would be flat out drunk while driving.

There were many times that I was just so thankful we made it home safely.

I have no clue why my grandpa's heart was full of hate towards God.

I know he had suffered some extreme abuse from his mother.

She had left his father when he was young and moved to Oregon with another man

going so far as leaving his sister behind while she was at school that day.

My grandpa wasn't a great man but I enjoyed him.

He was a fabulous leather worker. He was very skilled in that area,

making hackamores and just about anything from leather.

When I first moved to Salem that spring,

my mother called me every night to inform me that

“I wasn't going to make it in the real world.”

She called every night asking if I had “found a job yet”.

After a week of this I just hung up on her.

I wasn't going to listen to her condescending, accusing words anymore.

It was about this time that my grandpa informed me that he

“hated my mother.”

That hurt my heart.

I didn't want to hate her.

I don't want other people to hate her,

but her words and life had never brought joy or hope to anybody’s life.

It was painful to see someone who professes to “love” God so much

but yet turned people off from her as well.

God was with me there despite my mother wanting me to fail.

I got a job working at a thrift store in Salem.

The thrift store raised money to help the homeless men and women that lived on the streets.

Most had drug addictions or were alcoholics.

They helped them to recover and move back out into society again.

The women that I worked with met together every morning

for a half hour to pray together and do a Bible study together.

It really was a wonderful time of fellowship and encouraging one another.

I made some great friends there.

I also enjoyed the time I spent with my grandparents,

just talking with them, helping them.

We would go for a drive and grandpa would show me the different places they had lived

or where he had grown up.

Grandma and I ate ice cream with chocolate syrup. It was our little thing.

Once in a while, she would go to church with me when I went.

Grandpa never did go.

Honestly, I am glad that I had that time in my life as I would never see them again.

For me, I saved all the money I could.
I had a $100 spending money, paid my insurance,

bought some food, and paid for my braces

and saved the rest. I didn't know exactly what I was going to do,

but I knew I couldn't live there forever.

Once a month I had to make a trek from Salem clear to Lakeview

to get my braces tightened. It was over 9 hours one way.

I would stay with my other grandparents

avoiding my house as much as possible.

It was on one of those trips over the mountain that I was crying out

to God in frustration over my mother and how she was treating me,

my brother, my dad.

And He said plainly, “Let me deal with her.”

And I did. I gave it all to Him.

And it was freeing.

She wasn't my problem.

She was God's.