Yes, I have. My parents were both born in the Witnesses. My mom's family since Pastor Russell. My father's family I am not certain. As I related in another post, I was severely abused by my father. I fought for my very life several times. School was so impt b/c it was a haven from the Witnesses. He undertook a campaign to pull me out of school because I was so bad. He wanted to supervise me bagging groceries in a store. An Ivy League scholarship was at stake. The agency my mom and I sought help from promised he could not. I knew I had to admit the abuse to the principal and go to a foster home. Leaving my mom and siblings was tough. Also, no restraining order could keep him from me. I had a rape monitoring system in place. Shortly before he died from heart disease, he announced I was so bad and worldly I was killing him and I would watch him die. He trapped me in the bathroom and jammed his body in the door sill. I completely freaked out. The police came. It was decided I had to go in exile far away to be safe. I sought guns and knifes to protect myself. I always let him beat me. Something snapped and I fought back with all my might. He wasn't a body guard for no reason.
He died in the hospital. People were so worried that he would die beating me. We, the family, could breathe. It was glorious. Freedom! I'm free at last. Later, I graduated from an Ivy League college and law school. I practiced on Wall St and the U.S. Senate. It was glorious. I had subscriptions to two ballet companies and two opera companies in NY. My life was better than I ever imagined. I partied in Paris. Seeing the Capitol for the first time, knowing I would be a lawyer there, was awesome.
I've known great tragedy, too. I became active at the Cathedral Church of St. John the Divine. In my time of trial when I was suicidal from pain, the relationships I formed there sustained me. People showered me with God's love. I experienced God at the Sistine Chapel and at the Picasso Retrospective at MOMA. This past week I took a downtown bus with a friend. I felt God as I laughed.
There is another side that bothers me. Where was God when I was abused? Where was God when I suffered utter agony with facial neuralgia? I volunteered in homeless ministires at two Manhattan churches. Where was God for those people? Why are little children abused? How could God allow the Holocaust and the other genocides? The God I encounter is very reminiscent of Job. I have no answers. Perhaps God cannot have answers. I have felt God, though.