Childhood for me wasn’t bad at all. We lived in Alabama until I was about 6 years
old. My memories of Alabama that young
are scarce. I rode the bus to my great
Aunt Mae’s house after school every day.
My granny lived in a house on a big hill in the town of Greenville. My me-maw and pe-paw lived in the country in
McKenzie. We lived in a house next door
to the Brushy Creek Baptist Church. Our
play room was beside the kitchen. I
received a spanking once for being too close to the road when a big semi-truck
came by – I only wanted it to blow its horn at me. When we packed to leave Alabama, my mom had a
red station – and that thing was a boat on wheels.
We moved to Florida for reasons I never knew. The move was a good move. We lived in the house my grandfather (pe-paw)
built with his hands. A small framed
house with 1 bathroom, 3 bedrooms, blue kitchen cabinets and window units for
air conditioning. I didn’t understand
the beauty of that house when I was young…however, that is the house that built
me. I walked to school from that
house. I became the oldest of 3 girls in
that house. I learned to drive my
daddy’s 4-speed truck in that house. I
learned to tie my shoes in that house. I
was saved and taught to pray in that house.
I had my first crush while living in that house. I learned to ride a bike in the yard of that
house. I made my first best friend while
living in that house. I learned to love
church while living in that house. I
learned to hang laundry on the clothes line at that house. I watched my parents love each other in that
house. I watched my parents grow apart
for a short time in that house. I turned
13 in that house. I was part of the
neighborhood kids in that house. I spent
summers riding my bike in circles around the block in that house. I played spin the bottle in the yard of that
house – and yes, my dad caught us (so embarrassing). I learned to attempt to put on makeup in that
house. That house – it built me. It taught me the value of life – and that
value isn’t in the things we have but what we do with what we have. Wealthy we were not. We were always comfortable, but never had an
abundance of anything. Clothes were
always given to us at Christmas and by other families of the church. Life, it was simple back then. I never remember worrying about much – other
than daddy saying “no you can’t ride your bike today.” I have recently wanted to go back and ask the
people to allow me to go inside and look around – I have just never worked up
the nerve.
At the age of 15, I became somewhat withdrawn from my
family. I never really shared with them
why. I was an outcast in school. I was awkward and didn’t quite fit. I attended a school of poverty and most of
the kids I hung out with were always allowed to do things I wasn’t. I didn’t understand the importance of being
set apart at that time. I had a me-maw
that prayed for me long before I was conceived.
Little did I know then that her prayers have carried me 35 years as of
today. My parents were also in a very
dark place of their marriage. Things
were stressful for the first time in my life – it was a stress that I couldn’t
understand. All marriages hit that place
– and during this season, being invisible inside the house was easy.
One day, my parents told us that they were separating. I don’t know the day, but I remember the
feeling. Confusion – disbelief – not
content. Us 3 girls knew it was coming,
but when it came we weren’t ready. My
parents are full of grace – especially for us.
As gently as they could they prepared us for this part of their hard
times. My dad, my middle sister and
myself packed a few things and went back to Alabama. We had not lived in Alabama for almost 10 years,
but here we were going back without the other half of us. Something inside of me died that day – or at
least went to a numb spot. A new school,
new friends, new beginnings – I was looking forward to it, I needed it. It’s easy to say that moving is a great
experience – many parts of it are – but when you are a borderline introvert,
your family has been disheveled and your world has changed, it isn’t.
A new life began. We
enrolled into the smallest school in the county, I was in the 10th
grade. There were not enough classes to
offer me so I was a library aide and an office aide. We moved from a town of hundreds of thousands
to only a couple of thousand. I was now
part of a graduating class of less than 30.
T-H-I-R-T-Y-! Obviously, I was
the “new girl” – to some I was the “cool kid” and to others I was now
“competition”. As a child I was not
nearly as competitive as I am now – I was not that outgoing and I certainly
didn’t want to be the center of attention.
The very first day of school I was told my shorts were too short by my
business teacher (bless her, she meant well but McKenzie dress code was
something I was not accustomed to).
People in general were very kind.
Inside I was sad and confused – but outwardly I did my best to try and
fit in. I would be lying if I said I
made great choices all the time once I moved, but that isn’t the case. I did however stay away from the “bad crowd”
– everyone knew everyone. There were
wild ones and others who hid their wild side better…so it was safe to say I
still had my share of bad decisions.
Things rocked along well for a while – things within the
house settled in. We were living with my
pe-paw. He cooked breakfast every
morning and made supper every night. Dad
worked long hours – his words were always few and his eyes had lost a lot of
life. We would go days without talking
to mom or to our baby sister. I turned
16 and still rode the bus to school every day.
I made the cheerleading team but was never granted a curfew, so I was
home 99% of the time. Depression as a
teenager set in quickly. I felt like I
was missing a lot but I had no idea what it was. I tried to “date” a few guys but that didn’t
work out.
One day, a guy asked me if we could go out and I said
yes. I told my dad about it and he made
it clear I couldn’t “car date” but I could actually go to dinner and stuff with
others. So, I did. We talked and hung-out, mainly at my house,
but I began to feel as if there was finally someone other than my middle sister
who wanted to hear me talk. We did what
all teenagers do – we talked, hung-out, teased each other, argued, rode
4-wheelers, made plans and broke them and ultimately we had sex. I had to sneak out to even get any “time”
with him. Each time, my heart pumped
harder out of sheer guilt and panic…but I did it. It seemed like purpose and direction but felt
like rebellion and completely immoral.
It wasn’t long before I was pregnant.
I was a cheerleader.
I finally had friends. Life
seemed to at least be on somewhat of a positive and here I was, hiding a
pregnancy. Scared – upset – in disbelief
– those are a few of the feelings I had.
I hid my pregnancy until late April – which means I was about 5 months
pregnant. Every day was hard…even harder
to hide this baby growing inside of me.
Let me pause here – life is a miracle. No matter the circumstances, it is a
gift. As a scared 16 year old girl, it
doesn’t feel like that. It is so easy to
get lost in disbelief and it’s so easy to talk yourself into believing that
what you really are, you aren’t. I was
born purposed in Christ – perfect in His image.
Life and circumstances made me lose sight of that – I convinced myself I
wasn’t that. Being pregnant at 16 – I
literally talked myself into believing that wasn’t real and it would go away. It didn’t – with each precious kick and each
flutter inside of my stomach, I yearned to yell it out and someone say “it’s
ok”.
It was finally revealed to my dad that I was pregnant. The father of my baby called him at work and
told him because he knew I didn’t have the courage to tell him and I could
really no longer hide it. We attended a
wake that night for my dad’s cousin…dad didn’t breathe a word to me until after
we left. He pulled into the yard, I was
sitting in the truck – he told my sister to go inside, that he needed to talk
to me. Panic filled my veins – my heart
raced – my ears rung louder than they ever had before – my hands shook along
with my voice – my thoughts ran wild. I
sat down in the truck, closed the door and held my breath. Then daddy spoke, “Rachel is there something
you want to tell me?” My insides were
screaming “YES!!!” but my voice shook out, “no sir”. He asked me again, my answer the same. He looked at me, pain in his face and shame
in my eyes.
He took a deep breath and asked, “Are you pregnant?” Tears streaming from my face, all I could
muster out was, “yes sir”. There isn’t
much else I remember about that conversation other than feeling totally
deflated and that this was now real. We
came home and I went straight to bed.
That next morning when I woke up, my mom was sitting on my bed
staring at me. Her eyes were heavy as if
she had been crying for days and awake for hours – both of which were true. She hugged me and asked me why I hadn’t
called her or talked to her about it. I
never answered her – truth was, I didn’t have the words. Things with her and daddy were scarce and
distance kept us apart. I didn’t feel
anything I was going through trumped what they were going through. I didn’t go to school that day.
Mom asked me what I wanted to do. Through scared thoughts, naïve thought
processes and plain disbelief, I told my mom I would consider giving the baby
away or not even having it. Pain pierced
her heart and mine too. What was I
saying? What was I thinking? This wasn’t who I was! But, mom being mom, it was my decision. She scheduled an appointment for me to talk
to the doctor to terminate pregnancy. I
didn’t sleep waiting for that appointment.
My dad didn’t speak to me – mom could barely get up words. We drove to the clinic that day – my heart
raced so hard. Mom parked, I went to
open the car door and could not muster up the strength to get it open. After a couple of attempts, it opened. I sat – my heart beating so fast I was sure
it would stop at any moment. I looked at
mom and said, “I want to go home, I don’t want to be here”. And with that, I closed the door, momma
hugged me and wept and I had finally began making the right decisions. I was finally grabbing a hold of the unconditional love and grace God sent His Son, Jesus for!
We went straight to my dad’s work and told him I was going
to have a baby. He, too, wept. He hugged me like I had never been hugged by
him before. My knees locked and I
finally felt as if God saw me again. I
had been hiding long enough. Over the
next couple of days we made doctor appointments and visited family. My mom drove me to my granny’s house and I
had to tell her I was pregnant. She too
was in disbelief, but she had been where I was.
She gave me words of encouragement and advice. She, like my parents, loved me through it.
I soon found out I was having a boy. I knew I wanted him named after my dad, who
was named after his dad. So, Chandler
Lee Hatch was born on August 18, 1999.
I can’t say my pregnancy was a wonderful experience – to
give birth to a baby at 17 years of age isn’t for the faint of heart. 18 years ago, it was still very much frowned
upon in all walks of life. I attended
night school to finish my senior year. I
had 1 friend from church. I spent days
alone while mom worked and dad and my sisters were in Alabama. The days were long and the nights were
longer. I knew one thing, this baby was
my world, and there was nothing in this world that would take him from me other
than God Himself – and He had already proven to me that I was equipped to be
his mom, I just had to believe it.
Chandler means “molder of wax”. His name fits his purpose so well. He was a great baby – an easy baby. He slept.
He ate. He cried some. He loved me.
I loved him. My parents began
mending their relationship through my pregnancy and the birth of this precious
child. He did after all, give all of us
new purpose and meaning. He brought life
back into what was broken, he mended my relationship with my parents and mended
their relationship with each other.
During the alone times of this part of my journey, I remember
my me-maw speaking life into me. She
would make us daily say “Let the words of our mouth and the meditations of our
hearts be acceptable in your sight oh Lord!”
I clung to those teachings during this time…God blessed me greatly with
Chandler – an 8 pound 2 ounce baby boy! God has used this chapter of my life to set the stone for my salvation....there is a glimpse of my 18 year blessing...and I look for a lifetime more with him!!
