Why Would God want Someone like Me?

The cover picture is of my actual tattooed back.

The story behind my book, Bondage; From Addiction to Salvation.

I was born on July 19, 1973. I was the 3rd child of 4 kids. I had one older sister, one older brother, and then the twins, Gregory & Angela; oops I mean Thomas and Nia. But that is a different story. Before age seven my life had seen multiple traumatic events. I remember being awakened countless nights by my mom as she hastened us, kids, to get some clothes, pillow & sheets. We rushed through the house, police lights flashing as we entered the car and were driven to a church or a friend’s house. There, in peace and safety, we would sleep off the rest of the night. I could hear my mom in the distance talk about my dad being in another drunken state. She exclaims how she is so tired of him. As a young child, I could not comprehend what was going on. However, given the regularity of it, I got used to it. By age seven my father died. The cause of his death was cancer. However, among the adults at the time, it was understood that he drank himself to death. The way I found out he died, was when my mom walked over to me and said your dad is dead. She quietly walked away. For weeks afterward the house streamed with church members and friends. No extended family was invited over to mourn. Although my cousins lived less than twenty minutes away and adored my dad, I was not allowed to grieve with them. The product of a strained and strange relationship between my mom and every member of my dad’s family. Back at the house, many of the words shared about my dad’s death was “good riddance”. I never mourned for my dad. It was not allowed. Mom sternly reminded us of how much she “took” for us from him and now life would be better.

We never attended my dad’s funeral. His body was shipped back to his native home in Long Island, Bahamas. The first time I saw his grave was when I was over 30 years old. That viewing was by courtesy of a picture that was shared with me. Still, at that time I did not grieve. Between the age of 7 and 13 years old, life was confusing, erratic, religious, and abusive. Starting at 7 years of age, I would spend my nights by my mother’s side (now a widow) reading to her. She would often work at home late into the night trying to provide for her family. She was a fine seamstress and work was plentiful. The first night I tried to read to her, she rushed me back to bed. Kids must sleep, were her instructive words. I refused. She spanked me. Granted I was not trying to disobey her, and the spanking was not harsh. My mom understood I wanted to be by her side. I did not like the thought of her being up all night by herself, working to put food on the table. At a very early age, I was highly insightful. I remember asking mom why she spanked me. She responded that she wanted me to get rest so I could perform well in school. I cleverly replied, “if you keep spanking my bum, I will not be able to sit down in class and it would affect my grades. Either way, there was a risk of my school grades being affected”! She laughed and softly shook her head. From then on, she allowed me to join her at night and read to her.

For the next several years, each night I would lie on the floor in the “shop” and read as my mother worked. During that time, my siblings were fast asleep comfortably. They loved my mother as I did. However, I was very sensitive about her and the little things I did were borne out of that tenderness. Throughout those precious years, I read various books to my mom, like the bible, encyclopedia, Nancy Drew, Hardy Boys, newspapers, etc. Together we had lively discussions, debates, laughs, and bonded. Obviously, at those times, alcohol was not part of my life. For me, life was all about school, church, and family time. Yet, that perfect picture we created did not include the harsher spankings, which became customary and the occasional reminder from a thirty-year-old newly widowed mother, that my dad had stuck her with kids she never ever wanted. These are harsh words for anyone to hear at any age. Consider the emotional weight that places on a seven-year-old. Juxtapose this reality with the constant stream of opportunistic men who would stop by the house to check on us. Each used a similar vice that they wanted to see how they could help a struggling widow and her fatherless children. All the while I would hear their private conversations and true motives for their interest in our welfare. My mom was a beautiful young woman, fit and charming. Many of the men who tried to seduce her I personally knew. They were pastors, deacons, police officers who also knew my dad. Now that his widow wife was all alone, these mostly married men stood in line to see how they could benefit.

By age 13, I was a popular middle school teen, active in church, school band, and known around the community. I spent as much time away from home as possible. Everywhere was my safe place. Teachers and my friend’s parents loved my manners, contentiousness, and good nature. Each trusted me and I liked it. At home, it was another story. My mom trusted her kids less as we grew older. Looking back, I now know that she feared what could happen to us in the world that she knew. This unhealthy fear caused her to become intolerant of any perceived misbehavior. Harsh discipline was the norm, and all options were on the table. These were very difficult and even scary years for me. Day to day I walked on eggshells, not knowing what to expect. I could get a snack for something good or a thundering slap across my face for saying the wrong thing. It was a very confusing time for me. My only escape was my hobbies, friendships, and the church. I no longer saw the parade of unprincipled men who came over trying to woo my mom. They were always there, I just no longer acknowledged them.

Between the ages of 18 to 21 years old, I had been homeless multiple times. This was never caused by a refusal to work. I had worked since I was fourteen years old. The years I was homeless were the result of family members who swindled me out of all my money and possessions. In fact, one called the police on me to kick me out of the house I was renting from them. After they witnessed how well I fixed up the home, they wanted it back. So, they took it illegally and by force. Each time these things happened to me, I had to rebuild my life from scratch. By age 21, my relationship with my mom was non-existent. She had gotten remarried and, in her words, wanted to live her life. I on the other hand was equally ready to live my life as well. It was during these years that I fell in love which ultimately led to starting my own family. Tragically, I never confronted the pain and damage inflicted on my psyche from my childhood. This regrettable mistake would cause more pain and harm than I could ever imagine.

Today I have experienced how unresolved adolescent pain grows into deficient adults ill-equipped for the emotional toll the world will require them to pay. The damage I eventually brought on my life was unfathomable. When all the wreckage became too much to bear, I ran, ran, ran until I could not run anymore. Finally, with no options left to dull my pain, I looked up. I cried out; God help me. Finally, the God of my childhood, whose voice I never heard before, called back to me. I thought He wanted to make it “all better”. Yet to my surprise, He told me something I never expected to hear. He said, “my son, I finally got your attention”. I called back; “what do you mean”? He replied, “You are right where I always wanted you”. I did not understand what he meant. Does He not know what terrible shape I am in? Of course, He knew! He is the Father to the fatherless and was raising me for this moment, all along.

Be encouraged.

Thomas Knowles, Minister of the Gospel of Christ Jesus

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