I couldn’t for the life of me figure out what my beautiful niece was starting to cheer spell. So I listened as she kept going. Gimme a “T” and another “T” and then it dawned on me. She’s cheer spelling her last name. Kettell. Pronounced (Kah-tell) I have to admit, I was taken back as she cheer spelled our family name and then gave the final cheer out; “what’s that spell?” “Keeeeeee-tellllll.”
When she was done, she jumped up in the air, clapped her little hands and then bounced off to her next adventure in a whirlwind of giggles. I, on the other hand, stood there perplexed that she chose to cheer spell that name.
Growing up with the name Kettell wasn’t a horrible thing per se. But it sure never made me want to jump up and down for joy and give accolades through cheer praise. I could in no way be proud of a name associated with such family dysfunction and tied to generations of alcoholism and abuse.
It boggled my pea brain this untainted little girl was cheering for all her worth because she was proud of her last name. But she didn’t know what I knew. She didn’t grow up with my family, and she will never be afforded the opportunity to meet her grandfather and be privy to his style of abuse. She only knew the life she has. Anything else she might learn about her grandfather will be passed down from those who knew him.
You see, when my parents got divorced, my father went out into the world and had another baby. For the life of me I couldn’t figure out why God would allow this abusive man to have another baby. But, it was permitted and my half-brother was born. By the time he was born, I was in the military and other than having a baby picture of him with his name and date of birth, I would not have contact with him for 16 of his years.
I had already had several conversations with God about all this, but I never stopped to hear what God had to say, only what I wanted to tell Him. That’s what our “relationship” was back then; me telling God what was wrong with His plans and thinking I knew it all.
I grew up with 2 brothers. I was the middle child and growing up we learned to survive life. Ask us to share stories about growing up and you’ll hear different versions. Not sure why that is, but when you survive life, your brain does things to protect you. Or so I’ve heard. So when our half brother finally learned about his half siblings, he reached out. My brothers freaked out a bit. They didn’t know what our half-brother wanted and they for sure didn’t want to re-hash the past, so they chose not to speak with him. Eek-gads, let the fear of the unknown take root.
I, on the other hand, wanted very much to talk with him. Hello, I’m a girl, and I’m nosey, plus he was family. So we spoke on the phone. I now had a link to a brother I often wondered about. For years that one conversation was all I knew of him. It would be many years later before we met face to face through circumstances only God could have arranged. Talk about mind boggling awesomeness!
So here we are, 14 years later and I’m watching my niece cheer our family name and I stand in awe as God no doubt smiles down of a piece of this family. A piece only He knew about all those many years ago when I was telling Him what was wrong with His plan. This puzzle piece that He made and knew would fit together for such a time as this has been one of the best, most awesome blessings in my life and I can’t thank God enough for His love and grace.
While my family as a whole still suffers from dysfunction and separation, I hold out hope for reunification and healing. With faith as small as a mustard seed, I pray and lay our wounded family at the foot of the cross and hold onto God’s promises and know there is nothing too hard for Him. Where there is no way, I know, God can make a way! To God be the glory my friends.
To be continued….
Blessed to be Broken 