(01) Before
When I was 8 years old I told my little brother, Randy, that he wasn’t a real member of our family. The police had come to the door one day with a baby and told my parents, “If he gives you any trouble, let us know. We’ll come back and get him.”
It wasn’t true, of course, but he didn’t know that. I’d spent the afternoon listening to records of Bill Cosby doing stand-up comedy. Bill said he’d done this to his brother and I thought it was brilliant! Lip trembling, Randy went to tell on me. “Holly, stop telling your brother he was dropped off by the police!” my mom yelled from the kitchen. I smirked.
It was the 1980s and we lived in a suburb of Minneapolis, Minnesota. My dad loves gadgets and was always getting the latest tech. My parents both love travel and we took many family vacations together.
We had a large extended family and holidays were a big deal. My dad’s family is Swedish and Norwegian, and my mom’s family is Swedish as well. I remember my greatgrandparents speaking Swedish sometimes. Meals included Scandinavian favorites like lefsa, Swedish meatballs, and lutefisk.
My family was religious and as a result my childhood was sheltered. I never heard a person cuss, no one smoked, drank alcohol or listened to rock music. Divorce was rare and shameful.
I loved animals. I had a collection of small pets. Sometimes I’d invite the neighbor kids to a “zoo” in my back yard. I charged 25 cents to enter. I tried all sorts of little kid money-making schemes. I had a little red wagon. At age 6 or 7 I filled it with toys I didn’t want and went door to door, trying to sell them. One lady paid me with a check for 60 cents. Mom thought that was hilarious.
I also loved gymnastics and figure skating, which were big during the Olympics. I dreamed of being like Mary-Lou Retten. In summer I roller-skated; everyone roller skated in the 80s. I had my own pair of skates, with outdoor wheels. It was all fun and games until I fell during a twirl and broke my arm.
Randy and I were sent to Fourth Baptist Christian School, but as I became a teen I begged to switch to a public school. “Please Mom! Dad! I’m sick of going to Fourth! Can’t I please go to a public school now?”
My mom looked doubtful, but eventually they agreed. I was not sent to the school in our district, however. Instead I was enrolled at highschool in the next district over because my mom knew some of the teachers. Two years later my brother reached 9th grade. By then my parents were not concerned and sent him to the district school. Our schools were long-time rivals. Unfortunately my school was not the cool school.
Despite our rival schools, my brother and I became friends. Once in eleventh grade I suffered a boyfriend breakup. I drove right over to Randy’s school, where he found me in the parking lot crying and comforted me.
I was 15 when I first felt something like depression. I developed an eating disorder. I do not remember the details, just that I didn’t like myself at all. A long-felt but little understood conflict with my mother was also escalating that contributed to my depression. I was daddy’s girl, and my daddy is a merciful man. “Wait until Dad gets home!” my mom would threaten when we were in trouble. Next I remember dad taking me aside and asking, “Holly, do you know what mercy is?” I did not, but it sounded better than a spanking.
My family was religious and as a result my childhood was sheltered.
I remember once when I was very young, perhaps four or five years old. My parents hosted a dinner party. Randy, and I were supposed to be in bed. We weren’t. My bedroom was at
the end of the hall, and as I passed by my brother’s bedroom I urged him to join me in spying. Continuing together we snuck into the living room and hid behind the furniture. The
dinner party was taking place in the dining room, which we could see reflected in the large picture window behind the couch.
Suddenly a guest noticed us also reflected in the window and pointed, “Hey!” Everyone turned to look and we all froze. My mom was the first to recover, leaping up from her chair.
Before she could take a step I matched her leap and ran for my bedroom. Randy, not as quick, sped after me. My dad recovered last and followed us all. My mother pounded down the hallway. Passing my brother’s room I heard him dive inside it behind me. Fortunately for me, my mom chose to follow him first. As I leapt into bed I heard spanking and crying.
My dad opted to skip that room and made straight for mine, arriving just in time to swoop me up and out of my mom’s reach, who arrived behind him to punish me. “No,” my dad said,
“she’s just curious about the party.” He cooed at me with a smile and carried me back to the dining room. Sitting on his lap I thought of my brother and smirked.
I do not know if my mom knew I often received mercy. Probably. What stuck with me was the contrast between them – dad was loving to me and mom seemed angry at me.
I wanted to please my parents, doing my best at school and church. As I got older it never seemed to be good enough. I became angry when I felt unloved, especially by my mother.
These feelings would deepen into rage and depression. I came to resent my mother, feeling rejected. I briefly ran away from home at age 17. Just before my 19th birthday, I married a man I had dated in high school. On a whim we drove to Las Vegas with some friends and got married. My parents were upset by my impulsive decision. They asked me, “What were you thinking? Why did you do that?” It wouldn’t be the last time I heard these questions and felt bad about my decisions.
Romans 7:15 “For I do not understand my own actions. I am baffled, bewildered. I do not practice or accomplish what I wish, but I do the very thing that I loathe, which my moral instinct condemns.”
I became pregnant with my son Noel soon after. My new husband, Scott, began staying out all night, partying and sleeping around. I started cutting myself and was hospitalized, then prescribed anti-depressants which I would take for the next 20 years. A year later Scott and I were separated, then divorced.
I felt shame being a single mom. I lost interest in going to church and had few friends. I worked the night shift and was always tired. Once I got a total of 10 hours sleep, for the whole week.
When I was 21 my brother offered to move in with us. I had a 2 bedroom apartment with a walk-in closet. He made the closet into a bedroom, paid rent, and helped take care of Noel, who was 3 years old. Randy was barely 19.
I was amazed then, and still am, at all Randy did for us at that age. He could have been out partying (and he did like to party). Before he moved in my days started by coming home from work at 11am, falling into bed, and trying to wake in time to pick Noel up at daycare at 5pm. After an evening together I’d put Noel to bed, take a brief nap, then carry Noel asleep to the car and bring him to my parents’ house at midnight, where he’d stay until they took him to daycare in the morning. I worked all night.
When Randy moved in, Noel could spend the night in his own bed. In the morning Randy made breakfast, helped Noel get ready for daycare, and dropped Noel off on his way to work. In the afternoons he picked Noel back up from daycare and brought him home. Sometimes he fed Noel dinner while I caught up on sleep. Once Noel refused to eat his vegetables. Randy insisted he must. A staring contest followed. An image of Randy as a little boy, forced to remain at the dinner table until his green beans were eaten surfaced. A
frequent occurrence, Randy would stubbornly remain at the table for hours. I laughed. Oh how the tables have turned! On weekends Randy stepped in as a father figure and took Noel on ‘guy outings.’ He continued to live with us until I married Chad in 1998 at age 23.
Chad and I had 4 more children over the next 8 years. I became a stay-at-home mom. Without my income we struggled to pay the bills, and soon I looked for ways to be a work-athome mom. I began selling my paintings online and looked for additional ways to make money. In 2001 our family moved to a small town 60 miles west of Minneapolis. We bought a large old Victorian home. I converted the front rooms of our home into an antique/boutique store. I also taught community art classes and sold items on Ebay. Our marriage floundered under the stress.
One day a radio station mentioned a soldier who had been injured in Iraq and was now
recovering at the Minneapolis VA hospital. His family asked everyone, even the public, to come and visit him. I wanted to go, how I would manage it? Our family owned one car, which Chad took to work each day, leaving early in the morning and coming home late at night, but he next day Chad came home early. I shared about the soldier from the radio. He encouraged me to visit, so I did. While visiting, I learned many other soldiers in the hospital had families who could not afford to visit them. I decided to return as often as I could. I was surprised how easy it was to visit these wounded soldiers. I became a volunteer for Soldiers’ Angels. My volunteer work eventually led to a paid position.
Money did not improve my marriage or life. As my second marriage soured, I wondered what I was doing wrong. By age 35 my second marriage was so toxic we no longer shared a bedroom, and I’d grown resentful.
In 2010 I destroyed my family’s life, my life. I was arrested for a sexual relationship with a 15 year old.
“A soldier had been injured in Iraq and was recovering at the VA hospital. His family encouraged everyone to visit.”
It would be 5 more years before everything changed; I would never be the same.
DISCUSSION QUESTIONS
- Holly mentions experiencing responses of apathy and occasional accusation in response to her efforts to be a “good Christian.” Have you ever experienced similar feelings in your faith journey? How did you overcome them?
- Holly initially lacked a personal relationship with Jesus despite accepting Him as her Savior. How does the Bible define a personal relationship with Jesus, and how does it differ from simply believing in Him?
- Holly’s experience with prayer is one of uncertainty and doubt. Have you ever struggled with doubts about the effectiveness of prayer or whether your prayers are “sincere enough”? How did you navigate those doubts?
- Despite her outward success, Holly’s second marriage and personal life were fraught with struggles. How does the pursuit of earthly achievements sometimes lead us away from spiritual growth? Can you share any personal experiences in this regard?
- Holly’s story challenges the notion that outward appearances or religious practices alone define one’s relationship with God. How can we move beyond surface-level expressions of faith to cultivate a deeper, more meaningful connection with God?
