He’s engagaed… AGAIN. This is not the first, second, or third time.
Maybe this time it’ll work out. Maybe this is the woman he’s been waiting for all his life. Maybe he’s finally ready to settle down and be a husband. Not a father, but maybe a husband.
Ooooorrrrr, since he just became pastor of a church 😐, maybe he needs her to be his slave like my mom was.
But what’s going through her head? Why is she willing to say yes to this man who has no relationship with his children? I’m sure he’s lied to her too, but the type of person I am, I need background info. I guess she just doesn’t give a fuck, she about to be a “Preacher’s Wife” -RealityOfAPreachersDaughter
I get it. “You’re dead to me” may seem harsh to some people, but to some of us, it’s the only way to be. Me and my father just can’t get along. I’ve tried over and over to make the relationship with him work, but he intentionally abuses that, and the fact that he’s a preacher. My aunt died last week and I had to talk to him for the first time in 2 years. It was awkward and disappointing. He doesn’t see anything he ever did and said we just need to let the past be the past and move on. Absolutely not! In order for us to have a relationship we will talk about what has happened, or I don’t see there ever being one.
Yes that may seem harsh, but if people knew what I’ve had to deal with when it came to him, then maybe they would understand. As for now, that relationship is dead to me. A person can only take so much heartbreak, abuse, lies and stabs.
What is Christianity? Where did it come from? How many wealthy people consider themselves a Christian? How many Christians are wealthy?How many Christians are miserable? How many Christians are Happy? How many Christians are Black? How many Christians are White? How many Christians are “other”? Who started Christianity?
Maybe not all of those questions are relevant, but maybe they are. From a child I was taught, but growing up I taught myself. Know who you are and what you’re doing. With that being said, I lost my religion a long time ago. I said I was not a Christian, I follow God. In some people’s eyes, that makes me a horrible person, a blasphemer. Well I’ve said worse… -RealityOfAPreachersDaughter
You ever think about how you know your life should be. Everyone seems to be content with their day to day struggle and do nothing about it. Living with no purpose. Just a slave to your own existence.
It takes a thought. A simple decision can rewrite your story. It can take you to another direction. Your life doesn’t have to be all about drama and bullshit. You should be enjoying everyday because you’re doing what you love. Figure out how and do it.
The life I’ve experienced has brought me to a place where change is necessary for me. I talk so much shit to myself. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” “Why won’t you try?” “What are you afraid of?”
After asking myself a lot of questions and answering them, I realize I have a lot of issues. LOL. But everyone does!!!! So I need to stop making excuses about why I’m not good enough for this and that and DO THE DAMN SHIT!
My dad and mom were preachers, they still are, but we still didn’t have shit. I refuse to become my parents and keep myself from all the happiness I can have. I don’t want their lives. I have to make the decisions they didn’t make to have the life they didn’t have.
That’s what I do. I hold on, and it holds me back. I hold on to shit that doesn’t even matter anymore. Real insignificant shit. It’s sad. It’s embarrassing. And I’m not the only one.
My reasoning for holding on is something I need to let go of. It will be a step in the right direction, but it’s scary. Why? When I let it go, will I forget? Will someone forget they don’t matter? Will that be my only chance to have “that thing”? Will that mean I’m giving up ok that dream? What if the special opportunity comes and I don’t have this…
Damn this is sad… –RealityOfAPreachersDaughter
When I was a little girl, I remember going to an old baptist church. I’m sure it’s still there. I can still hear the songs, I can feel the rumble from stomping feet, I can smell the scent of the old pews, I can see the large narrow stain glass windows and pulpit where my dad sometimes stood. I can taste the communion crackers and the strong wine that left a burning sensation in my chest at 4 years old. I knew when the church ladies were cooking downstairs because you could smell the fried chicken coming through the basement up the stairs into the sanctuary.
I don’t remember whether I was excited for the food or not because my mom cooked just like that at home and everyone loved my mom’s cooking.
I just remember when there was no food being cooked downstairs and my father would have me and my mom waiting. My little brother didn’t count. He was too little. We seemed to always be one of the last people leaving, but the Reverend didn’t care.
I remembered today that I’m blessed. This time in 2001 I was in California experiencing slave labor from my uncle.
- Worked 7 days per week
- Dresses only
- Using me to bring in customers
- Had to be in his church every service
- Had snitches to tell on you if you did something he wouldn’t approve of, so they could get in good with him
- Told me my nose ring was demonic
- Cussed me out and tried to fight me in front of his church in Downtown San Diego