I grew up in church most of my life. My earliest memories of church were of that of splashing my little fingers in the holy water cup at the entrance of a dimly lit church, and swinging my green stocking covered legs and shiny red shoe clad feet back and forth while sitting upon a hard wooden pew. Another flicker of memory is that of listening to an angry man dressed in a long dark robe shouting at us - and I remember thinking that I didn't like that very much. As a young girl I observed our family sitting at the dining table and I remember thinking one night, as we mindlessly made the sign of the cross after grace - "Why do we do this? We all look and act like robots!" As I recall, I even asked my mom why we did this, but I honestly don't remember her answer, but I do know she always had an answer to my questions. Through the years we went to many different churches, some better than others I suppose. I can't even tell you with much certainty when I accepted Jesus as my savior, perhaps in a Sunday school class.
According to my mom, who was raised a Catholic, she was finally saved after much soul searching and spiritual experimentation, more specifically, when my sister Lauri was a baby, in the early 70's. Within the corners of my mind, I can recall fragmented memories of listening to the likes of Herbert W. Armstrong, and James Dobson on the radio. I clearly remember watching the 700 Club, Oral Roberts and the Humbards on T.V. Elizabeth Humbard was our family's favorite, she was so sweet and angelic. My mom listened to gospel song birds like Evie Tornquist and Cynthia Clawson. Elvis' Gospel record was a favorite of hers and was also played repeatedly! All of this religious exposure gave me a knowledge of God, that there was one, but looking back, I can honestly say I never really knew Him, even though I thought I did.
I had my own Bible, but hardly every cracked it open. As far as I was concerned, it was just an accessory, something you took to church. My mom had a volume set of the Seventh Day Adventist picture Bible stories, and I still vividly remember the beautiful art work in them. She would read them to us, as well as many other books. But that was the extent of my Bible reading, or studying. Our family had its share of dysfunctional problems, but nothing major like alcoholism, drugs, neglect, or Satanic ritual sex abuse. Even so, one day after many years of underlying family turmoil, my father called most of us, the six Rivas children, into our parent's bedroom. We had been moved yet again, because my father, who was always chasing the proverbial "gold under the rainbow", had us in Austin Texas this time. He told us that he and mom were finally getting a divorce. He was finished. He we was leaving us. I looked at my mom in disbelief. She was quiet, she wasn't crying, but she was visibly upset.
The after math is all mixed up in my mind, just jumbled images really, but I remember going to the room I shared with my sisters, and sat on my mattress on the floor, and cried out to God in great emotional pain. I cried out to the God who I thought I knew, and I questioned why and how He could let all this happen to us, to me. Didn't He care? I just didn't see this coming, I thought my parents would never divorce. When My mom came into our room that awful night, she assured us that he would be back like all the other times he had left us - I was dumbfounded. He had left us before? She explained that all the times we thought he was away on a business trip, he was actually running away from home. Then she told me things I wish she had never told me, about their marriage - - I now understand why she did it. She didn't really have anyone else to talk to, no real friends to turn to, and I can only suppose she felt her family wouldn't have been very understanding, or she didn't want to burden them with her problems. She was stuck. But even so, it was a lot for a girl of sixteen to handle. Mom explained that after a few days he would come back, and she was right, he eventually did come back.
I guess I lost a lot of respect for him at that time. Whatever he thought that stunt would gain him, I didn't know. But the seeds of another kind of distrust were sown, and maybe even the idea to distrust all men in general had taken root in my young heart. I think that is when I started to see what was really going on in our family. Things I didn't allow myself to acknowledge, things I already knew deep inside, things like realizing that my parents didn't really love each other, were finally becoming evident. And from a girl's perspective, that is truly heart breaking.
According to my mom, who was raised a Catholic, she was finally saved after much soul searching and spiritual experimentation, more specifically, when my sister Lauri was a baby, in the early 70's. Within the corners of my mind, I can recall fragmented memories of listening to the likes of Herbert W. Armstrong, and James Dobson on the radio. I clearly remember watching the 700 Club, Oral Roberts and the Humbards on T.V. Elizabeth Humbard was our family's favorite, she was so sweet and angelic. My mom listened to gospel song birds like Evie Tornquist and Cynthia Clawson. Elvis' Gospel record was a favorite of hers and was also played repeatedly! All of this religious exposure gave me a knowledge of God, that there was one, but looking back, I can honestly say I never really knew Him, even though I thought I did.
I had my own Bible, but hardly every cracked it open. As far as I was concerned, it was just an accessory, something you took to church. My mom had a volume set of the Seventh Day Adventist picture Bible stories, and I still vividly remember the beautiful art work in them. She would read them to us, as well as many other books. But that was the extent of my Bible reading, or studying. Our family had its share of dysfunctional problems, but nothing major like alcoholism, drugs, neglect, or Satanic ritual sex abuse. Even so, one day after many years of underlying family turmoil, my father called most of us, the six Rivas children, into our parent's bedroom. We had been moved yet again, because my father, who was always chasing the proverbial "gold under the rainbow", had us in Austin Texas this time. He told us that he and mom were finally getting a divorce. He was finished. He we was leaving us. I looked at my mom in disbelief. She was quiet, she wasn't crying, but she was visibly upset.
The after math is all mixed up in my mind, just jumbled images really, but I remember going to the room I shared with my sisters, and sat on my mattress on the floor, and cried out to God in great emotional pain. I cried out to the God who I thought I knew, and I questioned why and how He could let all this happen to us, to me. Didn't He care? I just didn't see this coming, I thought my parents would never divorce. When My mom came into our room that awful night, she assured us that he would be back like all the other times he had left us - I was dumbfounded. He had left us before? She explained that all the times we thought he was away on a business trip, he was actually running away from home. Then she told me things I wish she had never told me, about their marriage - - I now understand why she did it. She didn't really have anyone else to talk to, no real friends to turn to, and I can only suppose she felt her family wouldn't have been very understanding, or she didn't want to burden them with her problems. She was stuck. But even so, it was a lot for a girl of sixteen to handle. Mom explained that after a few days he would come back, and she was right, he eventually did come back.
I guess I lost a lot of respect for him at that time. Whatever he thought that stunt would gain him, I didn't know. But the seeds of another kind of distrust were sown, and maybe even the idea to distrust all men in general had taken root in my young heart. I think that is when I started to see what was really going on in our family. Things I didn't allow myself to acknowledge, things I already knew deep inside, things like realizing that my parents didn't really love each other, were finally becoming evident. And from a girl's perspective, that is truly heart breaking.
After that, we eventually moved to Dallas Texas, and ended up at Robert Tilton's mega church. Things seemed to be getting better at home on the surface, for a while anyway, because our dad was born again -- again. That is when I really threw myself into my faith, going to church, and reading my Bible. Looking back, I realize that was probably the best scholastic year of my life! I was nearly a straight "A" student. In Texas schools at that time, they had a policy where there was no passing with a 'D.' you either passed with 'C', or you failed, because as every Texan knows: you don't mess with Texas! Here I was, the new girl yet again, and after many months, I still didn't really have any friends. Finally, I gained a wonderful Christian friend half-way through my Sophomore year, named Geniffer, and she was the answer to my prayers! Proof positive that God really is the Good Shepherd of His lost little sheep. Then heartbreak yet again, we were moving in the middle of my Junior year to California. My siblings and I were going to be the new kids on the block yet again!
My family and I had come full circle in a way. Most of us had been born in California, only my mom was born in South Dakota. Here we were, back in the Golden State. I must confess, I don't like to travel much. I much prefer the stability of being a home body. My mom always did a wonderful job in trying to make our moves an adventure. She would pull out her road atlas and show us where we would be going, and then go to the library and bring home books about our next locale. That was back in the olden days! Anyway, this made the move a little more bearable, for me anyway, I can't say as much for my siblings. So we left the Lone Star State and headed for the Golden State. I hated my new school, it was a hovel compared to the one I had left in Texas. My grades tanked a bit, and I earned two D's for the first time ever in my scholastic career! One in Algebra 2 and the other in U.S. Government. I finally realized I wasn't going to be gracing the halls of any college anytime soon, and the big question of what was I going to do with my life, began to loom large. I baby sat most of my teen years to earn money for school clothes, but I had no real plans for my future whatsoever.
My family and I had come full circle in a way. Most of us had been born in California, only my mom was born in South Dakota. Here we were, back in the Golden State. I must confess, I don't like to travel much. I much prefer the stability of being a home body. My mom always did a wonderful job in trying to make our moves an adventure. She would pull out her road atlas and show us where we would be going, and then go to the library and bring home books about our next locale. That was back in the olden days! Anyway, this made the move a little more bearable, for me anyway, I can't say as much for my siblings. So we left the Lone Star State and headed for the Golden State. I hated my new school, it was a hovel compared to the one I had left in Texas. My grades tanked a bit, and I earned two D's for the first time ever in my scholastic career! One in Algebra 2 and the other in U.S. Government. I finally realized I wasn't going to be gracing the halls of any college anytime soon, and the big question of what was I going to do with my life, began to loom large. I baby sat most of my teen years to earn money for school clothes, but I had no real plans for my future whatsoever.
I'm very gifted in art, and I had thought about going to art school, but the tuition was astronomical and the really good schools at the time, and to my knowledge, were in N.Y. city, Chicago, or Paris. Remember, I don't like traveling, I HATE it, so this option did not appeal to me, no matter how adventurous it may have been. Then there is of course the ol' stigmas known as: the starving artist, and the tortured artist - neither of which sounded very attractive to me either. As for church life while in California, we started going to a small Four-Square denomination church. I had no way of knowing just how important a role that little church would play in my life. But looking back, it is amazing to me how God steered me along. I never really liked most church youth groups I had attended, because they were cliquish and full of phony baloney people. This youth group seemed to be more real than most, for a while anyway. I don't really remember for sure when, or at what point my mom and I started down the Word of Faith path; becoming staunch adherents to it's radical teachings of health and wealth on demand for all believers. Word of Faith goes by many euphemisms that I'm sure many of you know well, like: "Name it and claim it", "Say it and spray it", or "Blab it and grab it", etc.