This story is a part of my history; You could call it part of my Spiritual Genealogy. If you would have known me at ten years old, you would have never predicted my life would have turned into such a dumpster fire later on.
I grew up in a household that went to church. A lot. Maybe a little bit too much. We were a family of five; working class with a mom who stayed at home.
My mom got saved in the 1970’s and I have no idea if my father ever gave his life to Christ (because he’s never shared his faith with us).
Our church was Baptist; there was a lot of fire and brimstone, not a lot of love or compassion. My understanding of God was very confusing. At home, in my personal time of prayer, I would feel God’s loving presence. When I would go to church and hear these condemning messages, they caused a deep fear of God. Fear He was out to strike me dead for making mistakes.
My father never shared much about himself. Anything we learned were little snippets that would leak from my mom when she was frustrated or angry.
One thing I did know was my Grandfather was always addressed by his first name, George. My dad would simply say he wasn’t worthy of the title of Dad. I’d ask what that meant but he never expounded on it. I heard his family was so poor that grandpa killed my father’s dog because they couldn’t afford to feed it. I thought this was the worst of his story, but unfortunately it was not.
During my youth, my grandfather didn’t come around much. When he did, he had to be coerced out of his home. He was gruff and never shaven; wore wool as I remember his hugs were bristly and uncomfortable. He had a strong Lithuanian accent and didn’t say much but curiously mentioned every time we saw him, I should remember him by his favorite bread, Pumpernickel. Grandpa B. would attempt to teach me to bend a spoon with the power of my mind and how I could astral project in my sleep. (Which I did a few times and got scared and stopped.)
When I learned the history of my father’s childhood, things began to get clearer for me.
My dad was around the age of eleven, when his father decided never to return from work. His wife did not speak English as she was an immigrant from Lithuania. She had no skills outside of motherhood. My grandparents had three children, of which my father was the youngest.
When my grandpa did not come home, nobody knew what happened. He could have died, got abducted; days turned into weeks and food was running out. Then the electricity got turned off. Eventually, my grandmother’s mind and spirit broke from the trauma of being left behind without a word or a clue on what to do.
At some point, she was put in a state mental hospital and the family was transferred to government housing. At the age of eleven, my father got a job to help out and learned if he wanted to see his mom, he had to go to the mental ward. About twelve to fifteen years later, my grandfather walked back into the picture as if he’d never left.
Turns out, he abadoned the family to join the church of Scientology. All of his finances went to support the church as he left the family to fend for themselves and pick up the pieces of what was left.
I’m sharing the story because it’s important to understand how generational curses work.
I’ll lay out my story so you can see the template of the enemy’s plan. Because of my dad’s trauma, he was unable to give or receive love. This effected me greatly as a child. Without doing it consciously, My father abandoned me in many ways; emotionally, financially and morally. Like him, I was left to fend for myself. The spirit of rejection, although it looked different (for my grandfather did FAR worse) this neglect still effected my spirit.
Because I carried that spirit of rejection, I began opening doors of witchcraft and rebellion which created an unstable mind. From this you can see how the generational curse of Mental Instability and even the curse of witchraft activies were being passed down. Like my grandma, I too was place into a mental institution.
I’m not sharing this story to highlight my best parts. This is so you can see how Generational Curses effect families. If you see a pattern, you can do a pattern interrupt. Which is what I did!
When I came to Christ, He promised to make me a New Creation. He promised a new family with a fresh bloodline. I accepted Jesus and received the blood of His sacrifice to heal me from all curses. And I know with confidence, He has. I’ve chosen by an act of my will to be the generational curse breaker of my family.
Now the question I have for you is: Are you Ready? Are you sick and tired of trying to figure out what is wrong and how you’re supposed to fix it? Let’s give your life to the King of Kings and Lord of Lords today:
“Heavenly Father,
I come from nothing. Trauma and dysfunction has me running into your capable arms.
Lord, I can’t fix my life.
But, I’ve come to the end of myself.
Jesus, I’m ready to give you my mind, heart and life.
Your blood was a sacrifice for my sins and the sins of my forefathers. Forgive us!
Tell me, Lord, why did you create me? Show me Lord, Who will I become when I partner with your greatness?
Rejection has distorted the way I feel about myself.
Wrap me in your Love and Truth. Banish every lie of the enemy with the knowing I’m forever held by your love.
Let me hear your voice and lead me into righteousness, holiness, abundance and blessing.
For without you, I will continue to be nothing but with you…anything is possible. In Jesus’ name, I receive all you are. Thank you for your amazing love. Amen.”
