The Memoirs of a Microwaved Believer

By Linda Pakaz

In this memoir, the author shares a transparent and candid journey of childhood woes, adolescent adversity, and the life-changing trials of womanhood while being under the Christian label. Walk through time as she discovers that her difficult story evolved into her greatest testimony of faith. Join her as she challenges you to embark into a deeper and more devout relationship with God.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Covenant Books, Inc.
• Release date: Jan 2, 2024
• ISBN: 9798888511824

Book preview

Table of Contents

Title

Copyright

Acknowledgments

Introduction

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

About the Author

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The Memoirs of a Microwaved Believer

Linda Pakaz

ISBN 979-8-88851-181-7 (Paperback)

ISBN 979-8-88851-182-4 (Digital)

Copyright © 2023 Linda Pakaz

All rights reserved

First Edition

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Covenant Books

11661 Hwy 707

Murrells Inlet, SC 29576

www.covenantbooks.com

Acknowledgments

To my God, thank you, for I awaken grateful that your mercies are new every day. Let me seek you knowing that only you can fill the void in me. Let me finish my day with praise knowing you are the giver of life.

To my mom and my dad, there are not enough words to express my gratefulness, appreciation, and love toward you both. It is because of your characters that I learned persistence and determination. Thank you for your support in all the seasons of my life.

To the Aarons and the Hurs in my life that have held my arms when I had nothing left, thank you for the dear, magnificent, compassionate support that has kindled love and amazingly perfect memories.

To my loving husband and my children, in my darkest day, you have outshined the sun, the moon, and the stars. Thank you for the privilege of being your human.

With love,

Linda.

Introduction

The culmination of every ounce of hurt I experienced was like the crashing waves of an angry ocean chanting, Where is your God? This seemed to be my life's narrative. Like David said in Psalm 51:5, For I was born a sinner—yes, from the moment my mother conceived me. That was me.

Chapter 1

Iwasn't born into what was ideal and acceptable or into Christianity. My mother gave birth to me at a young age. She was inexperienced, immature, and carried within her unaddressed battles that she fought for a while. Looking back, she wasn't prepared to be a mother, but how on earth was I supposed to understand that being just a kid?

I have repeatedly searched my mental archives to gather memories of my beginnings, to no avail. There aren't a handful of pictures to substantiate my life as an infant or toddler. For a long time, I was convinced cameras did not exist in my decade, or maybe we plainly couldn't afford one. My life in photographic images was basically nonexistent, and so were my memories.

Most of my recollections begin with my grandparents. Their home became my home. They were my second set of parents, and my aunts and uncles never held an official title because they saw me as an addition. My fondest memories are synonymous with my grandparents' home.

At a very young age, I developed an affinity for the hamburger place and the Kolache Shoppe at the end of their street. My admiration for the beauty of a soft-served vanilla ice cream cone began about two miles away. My dad would take my mom and me on dates there.

My love for music began within the four walls of my grandparents' home. My grandmother always had her kitchen radio on, and she whistled along to every song. My grandfather played guitar and sang. My uncles had an array of musical instruments in the room they shared. I believe life began there, and so did my memories.

As a kid, everything looked ideal, but in hindsight, it wasn't. One of the clearest memories I have is of my mom picking me up from my grandparents' house after work. I remember more than occasional bickering between my mother and my grandfather. It always ended with her in tears and a quiet ride home. I could hear my mother share her plights, disillusionment, and hurt. I didn't fully understand.

My inner monologue always jokes around that I could have been the youngest therapist of my time. Unknowingly, I became my mother's confidant and her undesignated protector. As a result, I believe our roles