The Red-Headed Stepchild
October 5, 2025
Faith Story Series — Part One
This post is part of my Faith Story Series, where I share how God’s light met me in the wilderness — one chapter at a time. My hope is that these reflections remind you that no matter how far or fractured your beginnings may feel, God was there, planting seeds of faith even then.
Two Homes, Two Worlds
Sometimes I still picture that little girl — bright-haired and wide-eyed — standing in the doorway of two very different worlds. At my dad’s house, life looked like the all-American family. My dad served twenty-six years in the Air National Guard. He was a man of structure and faith who believed in doing things the right way, even when it wasn’t easy. He built a life centered on family, faith, and discipline.
Our Sundays began in the pews of Pike Lake Presbyterian, where my dad and stepmom served as elders. The house smelled of coffee and French toast before church. There were chores, family dinners, and “ladder of trust” talks whenever I was caught in a lie. He expected honesty, responsibility, and effort — and though I sometimes thought he was too strict, deep down I knew I was safe.
My stepmom mirrored his steadiness with kindness that still anchors me today. She took on the hard role of loving an unruly child as her own, and she never gave up on me. My step-siblings and I bonded so deeply that I still call them my brother and sister.
Then there was my mom’s house — the opposite world. My mom worked long hours, often drinking to escape her exhaustion. After my stepdad suffered a back injury, prescription painkillers turned into a meth addiction. The house smelled of smoke and animals; strangers came and went through the garage at all hours. Fights shook the walls, and fear settled deep into my body.
Food was scarce, love even scarcer. I learned to make ramen, wash my clothes, and disappear when yelling began. My mom’s love came with guilt, often tangled in manipulation. She’d joke that she was a “good Jewish mother,” though we weren’t Jewish, and affection was something I had to earn.
“Though my father and mother forsake me, the Lord will receive me.” — Psalm 27:10
I didn’t know that verse then, but I knew the feeling. Even in the chaos, there was a whisper in my heart: You are not forgotten.
The Girl Between Two Stories
Because my parents’ homes were so opposite, I became two different girls. At Dad’s, I tried to be the rule-follower, desperate to prove I was good enough. At Mom’s, I was the caretaker, doing my best to survive.
I carried shame like a backpack — hiding the truth about my mom’s house from my dad so he wouldn’t be disappointed and hiding my love for my dad from my mom so she wouldn’t feel betrayed. I felt like the red-headed stepchild — too wild for one home, too broken for the other, belonging nowhere.
But even then, God was writing a story of belonging that no earthly home could destroy.
A Seed of Faith
In the middle of that chaos, a simple paperback changed everything. My stepmom gave me Diary of a Teenage Girl by Melody Carlson — a Christian novel that mirrored my inner world. For the first time, I saw a girl wrestling with faith, family conflict, and identity, just like me.
At the end of the book was a prayer: an invitation to ask Jesus into your heart. I sat on a hill in the woods and whispered that prayer through tears. I didn’t understand theology — I just knew I needed saving.
That day, I promised Jesus my heart and made a vow to save myself for marriage.
“And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love Him.” — Romans 8:28
That verse would echo through my life years later, but its seed was planted there — in a thirteen-year-old girl’s whispered surrender.
Wrestling With Love and Belonging
Those early years taught me that love can be confusing. At Dad’s, love felt conditional — something I earned by being “good.” At Mom’s, it felt absent — something I chased but never quite found.
It took years to see that both were imperfect reflections of a perfect love — one that is steady, unconditional, and redemptive.
Even in the quiet moments after fights, in my dad’s embrace on Sunday afternoons, or in the words of a fictional teenage girl who found Christ — God was there. He was writing redemption into my story long before I recognized it.
My parents’ divorce could have hardened my heart completely. Instead, God used it to birth resilience — the same empathy that allows me now to see the brokenhearted and say, me too.
Resilience doesn’t always look strong. Sometimes it’s just surviving one more day, whispering a prayer in the dark, believing — even barely — that God sees you.
Faith Reflections
Looking back now, I can see how God protected me long before I understood what protection meant. My dad’s faith built my foundation; my mom’s pain taught me compassion.
I didn’t belong fully in either house because I was being shaped for something greater — a life anchored in Christ alone.
If I could tell that little red-headed girl one thing, it would be this. You are not the product of divided homes or broken promises. You are the daughter of a faithful Father who never leaves His own.
A Moment for You
Take a moment to reflect:
Where did God show up in your childhood, even when you didn’t recognize Him?
How has your early story shaped your understanding of love and belonging?
What seeds of faith might He have planted long before you saw them grow?
Scripture Reminders
“Though my father and mother forsake me, the Lord will receive me.” — Psalm 27:10
“And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love Him.” — Romans 8:28
Disclaimer: This reflection shares my personal story and faith journey. It is not professional counseling advice or a substitute for mental-health care. If parts of my story resonate with pain from your own, please reach out to a trusted counselor, pastor, or mental-health professional for support.
If you are in crisis, call or text 988 (Suicide & Crisis Lifeline, U.S.) for immediate support. You are not alone — help is available, and there is always hope.
With grace and light,
Jess
