Have you ever wondered why you think like you do? Have you ever considered why you have certain convictions and passion for specific things? Has it ever crossed your mind why you would have remarkable abilities in some areas, yet struggle in others? These are all clues that can help you discover your God-given purpose. Life is filled with so many bits of hidden revelation that can link you to your destiny. We use many terms to describe these moments of enlightenment. Some would say, “That was a pivotal moment.” Others would call them epiphanies. I would call them, “seeds of purpose.” Everything that lives begins with a seed. As I look back over my life, I realize that there have been many moments like this for me. I wasn’t always aware of their meaning, but looking back now, it all makes perfect sense.
My first recollection of one of those seeds I am referring to surfaced when I was around eleven or twelve years old. For some reason, I wasn’t thinking the light-hearted thoughts of a typical girl, at that age. I didn’t care much about parties, teeny-bopper chit-chat, or who was popular this week. When I was alone, my thoughts were amazingly deep. I would dream about the future and how my life would eventually turn out. I would close my eyes and just imagine. I could see myself with this wonderful husband who adored me, of course, and with kids both beautiful and smart. As I pondered these thoughts, the most comfortable, warm, fuzzy, feeling would flood over me. It was such a prevalent thought pattern for me at the time, that it pretty much consumed me.
I had a very special aunt, my Aunt Lucille, and I loved her with all my heart. I always enjoyed being around her, because she always made me feel so special. Anytime I was alone with her, I would beg her to tell me stories. My favorite stories were the ones about “me”. She would sit in her recliner, lean back, and tell me the story of my life. She would begin by setting the stage determining where I would be and what I would be doing that day. She always included herself and my uncle in every story. Finally she would get to the words that thrilled me the most. It was the part where someday, I would meet this handsome young man and have this wonderful little family.
She would describe so vividly what my dream man would look like, what he was wearing, and mostly, how respectful and loving he was to me. She told how he opened doors for me and how he cared for our children. She created a beautiful picture for me in my mind. Even though the stories were sometimes far-fetched, I could really see it happening. I always looked forward to my visits with her, because whether we were at home, or riding down the road in her car, she would repeat these fantasy stories to me over and over. I know this seems quite intense for a thirteen year old, but remember, these stories were some of my “seeds”.
I also recall something else that seemed to mean nothing at the time, but now it seems so significant. It was just an average day. I walked outside to get the mail. In the midst of all the bills and junk mail there was a Christian magazine. I took it inside and sat down with it at the kitchen table. I flipped through the pages, read some of the articles, and looked at the pictures. As I looked at the photos, I recognized the faces of familiar pastors and evangelists. I had seen them in magazines and on television many times. I felt like I knew them personally. I remember looking at these photos of pastors and their wives thinking, “Man, that’s what I want to be one day!.” I didn’t particularly think I had to be a pastor’s wife; I just knew it was my deepest heart’s desire to be the wife of a very godly man. These couples looked so happy and to me, they were pictures of success. I could just close my eyes and imagine myself living a life of ministry with my knight-in-shining-armor. I sat daydreaming and said a little prayer, asking God to make this a reality in my own life. Afterwards, I got up and went on with my day. However; I kept the magazine and looked at it often. Why would a young girl care so much about things of such a serious nature? Part of the answer to that question is to be found years earlier.
The first real memory I have of my childhood is when I was five years old. I was at school that day, sitting in my first grade classroom, when my name was called over the intercom. “Denise Foskey, someone is here to pick you up.” I gathered up my crayons and paper and put them in my book satchel. (That’s what we called them back then) I reluctantly left the room with a question in my mind as I walked toward the main office. There, waiting outside with the car packed up was my mother. “Where are we going?” I asked. “Get in the car! We’re leaving your daddy,” she said.
I remember driving off with a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. She was taking me away from the only security I had. You see, my mother has suffered her whole life from depression and bi-polar disorder. This debilitating illness kept her in a state of mental confusion and made her incapable of being a real mother to me--not in the way I needed, anyway. It also made it impossible for her to be in a functional relationship with my dad. I never really had the opportunity to be a normal kid with a normal family. I had to grow up very fast.
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