Praise for Odd(ly) Enough “In a fast-paced world where it’s easy to feel lost, this was a refreshing and humorous reminder to stay focused on my purpose. Her heartwarming and silly personal stories combined with passionate words of encouragement got me feeling like I’m ready to conquer the world!” —Tiffany Jenkins, author and vlogger of Juggling the Jenkins “I loved Odd(ly) Enough from page one. It’s a beautiful reminder of how God has a great and unique purpose for each one of us.” —Susannah Lewis (Whoa Susannah) author, podcaster, and humorist “For everyone who’s been held prisoner by the box the world has put you in, felt compelled to hang drapes on the walls and move the furniture in, Odd(ly) Enough reminds us to bust out, break free, and believe that we are—and have always been—enough.” —Melissa Radke, author of Eat Cake, Be Brave
“My reaction to the first few words of Odd(ly) Enough was, I need to hang out with this woman! Her humor, her transparency (my favorite way to relate), her stories—I loved it all. But it was her hard-won wisdom and humble willingness to lay it all bare before our sweet Jesus that kept me turning the pages. Don’t miss this one, y’all! I may reread it, slower this time!” —Shellie Rushing Tomlinson, speaker, radio host, and author of Devotions for the Hungry Heart “Her story is proof I was never alone. The truth that is laid out in this book is something I wish I would have read, known, and understood years ago.” —Courtney Grill, Mrs. Alabama 2017 “Odd(ly) Enough is a meeting place for the broken, the hurt, and the lost. Jesus will meet you in the pages of this book where He will undoubtably bring healing and restoration. Thank you, Carolanne, for your vulnerability and obedience in fulfilling your calling. This book is life.” —Hannah Martin, Owner of Ruby’s Rubbish
A n Impr int of B ar bour P ublishing, Inc.
© 2018 by Carolanne Miljavac Print ISBN 978-1-68322-789-2 eBook Editions: Adobe Digital Edition (.epub) 978-1-68322-960-5 Kindle and MobiPocket Edition (.prc) 978-1-68322-963-6 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted for commercial purposes, except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without written permission of the publisher. Churches and other noncommercial interests may reproduce portions of this book without the express written permission of Barbour Publishing, provided that the text does not exceed 500 words or 5 percent of the entire book, whichever is less, and that the text is not material quoted from another publisher. When reproducing text from this book, include the following credit line: “From Odd(ly) Enough: Standing Out When the World Begs You to Fit In, published by Barbour Publishing, Inc. Used by permission.” All scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated, are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®. niv®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide. Scripture quotations marked esv are from The Holy Bible, English Standard Version®, copyright © 2001 by Crossway Bibles, a publishing ministry of Good News Publishers. Used by permission. All rights reserved. Published by Shiloh Run Press, an imprint of Barbour Publishing, Inc., 1810 Barbour Drive, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683, www.shilohrunpress.com Our mission is to inspire the world with the life-changing message of the Bible.
Printed in the United States of America.
In loving memory of Ansley Abigail Smith
Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 11 Chapter 1: Who Do You Think You Are? . . . . . . . . . . 15 Chapter 2: Don’t Look at Me . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 41 Chapter 3: Rock-Bottom Revelation: Falling Forward . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 61 Chapter 4: Painful Purpose . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 79 Chapter 5: Hide-and-Seek . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 103 Chapter 6: Death to Flesh . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 119 Chapter 7: Control Freak . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 139 Chapter 8: Ripple Effect . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 163 Chapter 9: Mistakes and Grace . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 187 Chapter 10: Turning Chains into Reins . . . . . . . . . 203
Introduction “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” 2 Corinthians 12:9
Isn’t it odd how God works? All the mysterious ways His plans come together with who He crafted us to be. Have you ever taken the time to look back on all the moments you didn’t think you’d survive, and recognized the purpose in your pain? Or maybe you’ve been stuck in the mud, unable to see any value in your struggle. Sometimes we get so bogged down by self-doubt that we can’t see any potential for a better life. But know this: the greatest lie the enemy has ever whispered into your thoughts is that you aren’t enough. Have you ever had thoughts like this scamper through your mind? You’re not. . . Good enough. Smart enough. Pretty enough. Rich enough. Kind enough. Talented enough. Odd(ly) Enough — 11
Loved enough. Enough already, Satan! We get it! The evil one, the fallen angel determined to destroy those carrying the Spirit of Christ, is on a mission to convince us of all the things we know to be true about him. He hates the potential and redemption of those more powerful than he’ll ever be. The misfits. The oddballs. The unqualified. The ones called to defy the standards of the world and stand in his way. Yes, we are easy targets. We emerge from ditches, broken hearts, and bondage. Minds can be easily manipulated when spirits are broken. This was true for me. I wanted nothing more than to fit in from the time I was a child. By society’s standards, I was poor white trash from a trailer park. Destined to become a teen mom and a drug addict, contributing nothing to society and living out my days in poverty. Many times I attempted to prove society right. Believe me when I tell you I tried really hard to throw my life away. Every inkling of purpose that crept up in my heart was immediately shoved down in disbelief. I know you’ve been there too. I didn’t know it then, but God had other plans. What I was blind to back then, I now can see clearly. This is exactly how it needed to be: I needed to make mistakes so I could look back and marvel at the miracle of God’s plan for my life. It took a lot of wandering in the wilderness to 12 — Carolanne Miljavac
build the character I’d need for His calling. I was weak in my wilderness, and like 2 Corinthians 12:9 says, it is there that His power is made perfect. It is in our greatest moments of imperfection, when we are broken and humbled, aware of our need for God, that He comes in and shows us the beauty in our ashes. So everything that we think makes us an outcast is actually what makes us. . .oddly. . .enough. If you’ve ever felt insignificant, out of place, uncomfortable, or unqualified, I want to encourage you that it doesn’t matter where you come from, what you’ve done, or what has been done to you. You have been qualified by the character built in your fall. The hardest parts of your life have given you the greatest value. By the time you finish this book, I trust you’ll believe that with all of your heart. I’m going to be completely bare, vulnerable, and transparent with my own life stories. A little bit of good alongside a whole lot of bad and ugly. Through poverty, molestation, bullying, sex, drugs, depression, and tragedy, God never gave up on me, and He’ll never give up on you. So let’s get naked. Okay, not legiterally. Keep your clothes on. Just keep reading.
Odd(ly) Enough — 13
Chapter 1 ————————
Who Do You Think You Are? See what great love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are! The reason the world does not know us is that it did not know him. 1 John 3:1
A young girl waits anxiously, her face flushed red with embarrassment as her mother swipes the card again. Groans and eye rolls from the other shoppers in line weigh heavy on her shoulders. Determined to leave with something for her family to eat that night, her mother continues removing items from the buggy and swiping the card—yet again. As they walk away with nothing more than a pack of ramen noodles, the snickers behind them take root. . .a seed of insecurity planted itself deep inside the girl’s spirit. That young girl was me, and those snickers never Odd(ly) Enough — 15
seemed to fade. The grocery store gamble was a frequent occurrence for us at the Walmarts. (If you’re wondering when Walmart became plural, in the South it always was.) I was born and raised southern through and through—a girl from a small country town called Jasper, Alabama. Where sweet tea is the only option, “Yes, ma’am” means you were raised right, and everyone hugs hello and goodbye. If you’ve ever seen Varsity Blues or Friday Night Lights, it’s pretty much what our town was like. Friday night high school football was life, everyone hung out at the mall, Mom dropped you and a friend off at the old, one-screen movie theater where teens in the back row made out while younger kids pointed and giggled. Summers were spent hopping hay bales, running barefoot on gravel roads, and riding bikes through the neighborhood hands-free. Being a country kid was so much fun. When do we lose that carefree, life-loving spirit of a child? Maybe you can pinpoint your moment. Let me tell you about mine. My mom and dad divorced when I was two years old. And I’m thankful they did. Dad would often go to the grocery store and return three weeks later. . . drunk and begging to stay. My dad can be quite the charmer. He’s funny, lighthearted, kind, and a delight to be around. But he’s also very selfish. He was a 16 — Carolanne Miljavac
fantastic drummer, but his rock-and-roll dreams and drinking always took priority over his family. After my parents divorced, there is a pretty big chunk of time where he is missing from my memories. Dad was always in and out of our lives, and my mom was left to raise three young children by herself. She had several jobs at a time—cutting hair all day, working retail all night. Anything she could do just to keep our heads above water. And while she worked, my siblings and I spent a lot of time at our granny’s house after school and on weekends. I loved being at my granny’s house. I didn’t even care that she locked the screen door to keep us from running in and out because the air conditioner was running. “I’m not paying to cool down the whole neighborhood! In er out, in er out. Pick one. Just stay out there. Murder, She Wrote is comin’ on. If you get thirsty, use the hose pap!” (Translation: water hose. I still say “hose pipe.” It drives my Missouri-raised husband crazy.) Granny lived in a nice middle-class neighborhood where you could hear the fountain splashing in the pond, birds chirping, ducks quacking, balls bouncing off bats at the park, and children giggling on the playground. An atmosphere ringing with sounds of a good life. I loved the long and wide driveway we could ride Odd(ly) Enough — 17
bikes on. I loved the basketball hoop where I spent hundreds of hours playing Around the World, dancing around dog turds to get the ball out of the grass. I loved the yard full of prickly stickers that would get stuck in your feet if you weren’t careful. It seemed so huge for hide-and-seek. I loved the trampoline with missing springs that would pinch your skin if you happened to land on one while playing Popcorn. The pond full of ducks was right across from Granny’s house. She kept huge tin garbage cans by her house full of duck feed. I loved playing in the feed, scooping it out, and tossing it to the birds. A lost baby duck would often make its way over by her house, and my granny would take it in and raise it. Ahhh. I giggle just thinking about how many grown ducks would fly into Granny’s yard with their nails painted in her favorite colors so we’d know the ducks were hers. When her adopted duck babies would drop into her backyard to say hi, she could call them by name. It was routine for Granny to strut her happy self right into the middle of the road in front of her house and stop traffic so the ducks could safely cross over. Her glare dared the drivers to even think about honking at her. Granny loved those ducks. I loved that place. It was so different from the rundown, roach-infested trailer park my family lived in. My siblings and I would get so excited when our 18 — Carolanne Miljavac
cousins were around on holidays. We had more kids to play games with, and it was always a lot of fun. . . until one game of hide-and-seek ruined it for me. I have two aunts. One always seemed a little wilder than the other. She had lots of tattoos, wore Daisy Dukes, smoked cigarettes, and had crazycolored hair. She had three sons and a daughter. One of her sons was only a year older than me; at that time, I was around five and he was six. We often stuck together during hide-and-seek, basketball, bike riding, and tag. One day we were hiding behind my granny’s bedroom door, standing side by side, and I felt him put his hand on my butt. It made me feel uncomfortable and weird, so I moved away and removed his hand, but I didn’t want to make a big deal of it. We were so little, I didn’t even understand why it made me feel uneasy. I pretty much forgot about that incident until his advances grew even bolder. One day we were in my granny’s bed watching a movie and resting while the adults prepared food and watched football or car races. My papa was all about watching some car racing with his eyes closed while he snored. It drove us nuts. (I wanna kick something when my husband does it. You’re asleep! Let me change the channel!) No matter how careful we kids were, Papa always woke up the moment our little fingers touched the Odd(ly) Enough — 19
remote. So we would retreat to my granny’s room to rest and watch something more our style. . .like The Sandlot. My cousin and I were watching Smalls learn what a s’more was when suddenly, my cousin lifted up the blanket and told me to look. He had pulled his pants down. I was caught so off guard. I have a little brother, so I knew that boys and girls are different, but I just knew it wasn’t right for me to see his privates like that. He grabbed my hand and tried to get me to touch him. I jerked away and ran from the room. I remember looking around at all the adults talking, laughing, and watching TV and just feeling like I would cause a big problem if I told. I didn’t want to get in trouble or get him in trouble if it wasn’t a big deal. Plus, we always had so much fun with our cousins, and I didn’t want to ruin that. I did my best to avoid him after that. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the end of it. The last time he touched me inappropriately, we were playing hide-and-seek, and I was hiding by myself. My head was under my granny’s comforter, but my body was kind of hanging out. I felt someone begin to kiss my stomach, so I quickly pulled up the comforter and saw it was him. I was mortified, but that was nothing compared to the embarrassment I felt when I looked over and saw his mother’s boyfriend staring at us. He had walked in and saw what was happening. But he 20 — Carolanne Miljavac
just stood there. Staring. He never said a word. I felt my blood get hot and my face get red. I wanted to cry and disappear. I tossed the comforter back over my head trying to hide from the situation, hoping everyone would just go away. After a few minutes, I mustered up the courage to crawl out from under the comforter. Nobody was there. I was so nervous walking down the hall toward the rest of my family. I had no idea what everyone knew or what they would say. I wasn’t sure if I was in trouble. All I knew was that I was so embarrassed. I didn’t want anyone to even look at me. But when I walked out, not a word was said; nobody even glanced at me funny. The kids had all gone outside to play, the women were talking in the kitchen, and the men were watching TV. This meant one of two things to me. Either he told them, and nobody cared because it wasn’t a big deal; or he didn’t tell them because it wasn’t a big deal. Either way, I felt like I was the only one feeling something was wrong. So, in my mind, I was the weirdo. From this point I kept the incidents to myself and kept my distance from my cousin. I pretended nothing had happened. But a few years later, I found myself in a similar situation yet again. My oldest cousin, whom I’ll call Jenny, was the cool, pretty, older cousin, and everyone just seemed to love her. My older sister usually hung out with Odd(ly) Enough — 21
Jenny at the family get-togethers. They were way too cool for our kid games. I didn’t know much about her, but I knew that she sometimes lived with my granny. From what I gathered while eavesdropping on conversations (I was a secret spy, and really good at it), she was always running away from home. My granny and papa loved Jenny so much that they always let her stay with them to keep her from hitchhiking with strangers or running off with some boy. There were a couple of times the police had to find her and bring her home. As a child, I didn’t think a whole lot about these things. Jenny just seemed wild like my aunt. One day I was at my granny’s house, and Jenny was living there at the time. I’m not sure where my brother and sister were. But she asked if I wanted to play a game with her. In her room. What?! The coolest room ever that I was never allowed in. I was so excited. I had always wanted to snoop around in there. Also, I couldn’t believe my cool cousin wanted to hang out with me. She told me she wanted to play pretend. Like house. We would be husband and wife, and she would tell me and show me about some husband and wife things I didn’t know about. She put me on the bed and kissed me. I didn’t like it, but I didn’t want her to get mad at me either. She put her tongue in my mouth, and my mind just shut down. I 22 — Carolanne Miljavac
went to another place. I took myself away from the complete discomfort of rolling on the bed with her. I had no idea how to process what she was doing. I remember having my arms locked in close to my body because I didn’t want to put them around her. When she was done making out with me, I didn’t cry. I didn’t feel sad. I felt overwhelmingly embarrassed and confused. I felt unsafe. I was so bewildered and annoyed that this stuff kept happening to me. Did it seem like I wanted to do these things? Was I supposed to? Why did I feel so gross? I was about seven years old at the time and still harbored what happened with my other cousin. I felt the same confusion—If this is normal, then why do I feel so ashamed? If this is shameful, then why are they doing it? But the biggest question was, Why me? Some time later, I was at home watching TV when someone came to our door. I don’t remember who it was, but this person told my mom that Jenny had been shot and killed. I think she was about fifteen and was dating a man in his thirties. He picked her up from middle school one day, and they were in his car. For some reason he shot her, then waited too long to call an ambulance, and she died on his floorboard. When my mom told us Jenny had been killed, everyone started sobbing. I felt like I needed to get out of our living room. So I ran outside to our little Odd(ly) Enough — 23
red swing set. I didn’t rush out there to cry, though. Instead, I felt a brief wave of relief. I wouldn’t have to worry about being near her anymore. I wouldn’t have to “play house” or feel weird and ashamed every time I saw her at family get-togethers. These emotions were immediately followed by guilt. Then a wave of sadness, because I hadn’t wanted her to die. Next came feeling confused and overwhelmed. This was too heavy a burden for a child to carry. Too many mixed emotions for a nine-year-old to feel. And guess who was right there, waiting to drop some pretty heavy strongholds into my thoughts? . . . The enemy. This was a perfect setup for him. I was too young to understand my feelings. I didn’t know enough about God or the enemy to know that what happened wasn’t my fault. I didn’t know that my selfdestructive thoughts weren’t really me. And so began the identity crisis. The false I Am’s. I Am. . . Weird. Dirty. Different. Weak. Bad. Wrong. Unsafe. Hopeless. 24 — Carolanne Miljavac
Guilty. Ashamed. By nine years old. Nine. This is how I saw myself. I identified with the bad things that had happened to me and the wrong feelings I had about them. I was a victim. I was trash. I was wrong. I should have told someone. Why didn’t you tell anyone? Did you like it? No. No! Then why didn’t you say something? It’s your fault. You can’t tell anyone now, because she died. You can’t ruin her memory like that. Everyone will hate you for waiting until now. Just keep it to yourself. The roots grow deeper. Your secrets make you sick. The truth? I’m freaking out a little as I share this with the world. But I know someone reading my story can relate. Perhaps it’s you. And I need you to know you’re not alone. It’s not your fault, you’re not weird, and your bad experience doesn’t define you. But it will heavily influence how you feel about yourself if you keep it in the shadows and refuse to deal. One of the things the enemy wants to steal away from you is knowledge of who you really are. Your life is what he hopes to deprive you of. He doesn’t want you to experience the amazing life God has planned for you. He knows he has already lost the fight for your soul, so he will do everything he can Odd(ly) Enough — 25