My mother was a white witch

Jackie Coggins

My family went to the Anglican Church and the United Church occasionally when I was growing up. Mostly it was my sister and me being sent to Sunday school. Later, when my mom was going through her "singing" stage and liked to do solos, we went as a family for a couple of years. I did not have any personal commitment to Christianity. Yet, I thought I must be a Christian because Canada was a "Christian" country, I knew about a man called Jesus and we celebrated Christmas.

My mother, many times while I was growing up, was hospitalized for mental illness, and later was diagnosed as a paranoid schizophrenic. My parents didn't have a stable marriage, and though they were married over 25 years, some days the atmosphere in our house felt as though you could cut it with a knife. It was not pleasant to come home from school or holidays, as you never knew what could start a fight.

Mom got us involved as a family in a "fun game" called a Ouija board. Many times as a family we played the game. We would all put our hands on the centre piece and wonder what or who was moving it as it pointed to letters and spelled out words, predicting the future and telling us things to do.

Not long after, Mom talked me into going to a night course on "Metaphysics" taught at the local school. We were taught about auras; I was told to sit in front of a mirror in a dark room by myself, light a candle so that it shone on my face and look into the mirror "to see what you could see". After doing it a couple of times, I decided that this wasn't for me. It felt wrong, though at the time I didn't know why. I realize now that God was working in my life even then and that He wanted something better for me.

Mom later went to a place in Vancouver where they sold tarot cards and metaphysical supplies. She also took more intense "occult training" classes at night. She started to call herself a "white witch"--"white" being good as opposed to "black" being evil. Now I realize that there is no such thing as a good witch--all witchcraft is evil. Mom started reading tarot cards and advertising to read the cards for others. She also took me occasionally with her when she went to the "Rosicrucian church" in Vancouver a few times. This place struck me as very weird, as they talked about their personal "familiars" who stayed with them and gave them advice. Familiars were anything from an Indian guide to a chicken.

This obsession with "the occult" did not help my mother's mental problems. She seemed delusional at times, and the problems at home were made worse. My parents divorced after many troubled years of marriage. I learned later that Mom had had a "dream" or "visitation" which my dad told me frightened her very much; it seemed like a visit from a demon or devil. But this did not stop her obsession with the occult. Mom was always listening to voices in her head. As she got worse mentally, she would sit in her favourite chair and seem to stare right through me at something that was behind me. She would talk about the voices telling her to "kill you girls again". This was a very tense time.

Finally, when Mom was in the mental wing of the hospital for the fifth time in about three months, I found myself sitting in a corner crying. I realized I couldn't help my mother and I needed to leave for my own sanity. I moved into an apartment with my dad for a while, and later was on my own. I still didn't know God, and I wondered why I always felt so depressed and alone.

Sometimes in life, when you look back, you see things in perspective. Looking back now, I see that God was working in my life and that His timing was perfect. I was living in an apartment by myself and was not happy. A girl at work told me her father had two duplexes on acreage in Langley, B.C. I said that if one ever became empty, I would like to move there. Then I forgot about it, as there were no vacancies. One day, I was rushing back to the apartment after walking the dog to hurry to get ready for work. As I unlocked the door, I heard the phone ringing. My friend's father was on the phone. He said, "I was just about to hang up. This was the last time I was going to try to get you to see if you were interested in renting a suite in my duplexes." We arranged a time to view it, and I moved in the next month. I did not know in how many ways this would change my life.

The next month, another girl moved into the other half of my duplex, and we became good friends, visiting other friends and going on car trips together. Also, we took turns cooking together so we didn't have to cook for one. She said she had become a "Christian" just recently. Sunday mornings were the only time we didn't do things together, as she went to her church. I started to feel lonely on Sunday mornings; I was bored and wondered if I should start going to church rather than sitting around doing nothing.

I felt very restless and lonely. I wanted "something", though I didn't know what it was. I had very deep depressions, and I smoked at least a pack of cigarettes a day. At times, I would drink to the point of almost being drunk. I had at least a glass or two most days to feel better. There were times I would drive down the freeway and think about driving off the road at 100 kilometres per hour, wondering if that would kill me instantly--and considering doing it. The only thing that stopped me was the image of my pets, and knowing that they would not have a home and be put down. I felt I owed it to them not to kill myself. I realize now that God was using this to stop me, as He had a better life planned for me if I wanted it.

About this time, a single guy moved into the duplex across the driveway. The landlord had described him to my friend as a "Christian". Little did I know that he was my future husband. All I knew was fear of this "Christian". Except for my friend, I thought that all "Christians" were fanatics, wore hair shirts and were always down on themselves. I was a little surprised at this person who moved in who seemed friendly and assumed that everyone helped one another. He asked me to help him move something into his apartment the second day, after I had only met him for two minutes--and he took it for granted I would. I did, as I was too flabbergasted to say no. This was surprising because, after growing up with a mother who manipulated me and used guilt to make me do what she wanted, I still have a tendency to say no whenever anyone asks me to do things.

Because we were all single, my neighbour and I got Jim involved with our cooking schedule. I began to realize that Jim had an unassuming grace and love for people. Because he was new to the area, he was also looking for a church to go to, and so we went to a few churches together and eventually started attending a Baptist church in Langley. I still thought of myself as a Christian. Wasn't everyone?

One evening I went to a Christian business people's dinner in Vancouver. The speaker was very funny, doing a skit with a "Kermit the Frog" puppet. Suddenly, he became very serious. He talked about how Jesus was waiting to come into our lives, and how we could make a conscious commitment to allow Him in. He quoted Revelation 3:20 from the Bible, where Jesus talks about how He is knocking at the door, waiting for us to allow Him in. I went home that evening very thoughtful. For three nights, I mulled over his talk, and I realized there had never been a time when I had invited Jesus into my life. I had assumed, like a lot of Canadians, that I was a Christian. I had never heard it said that it was a conscious thing that I needed to do. I accepted Jesus Christ that night. Three months later, on May 7, 1978, I was baptized and joined the Baptist church.

Many things changed in my life over the next few months. My drinking stopped. I realized after a while that I didn't have liquor in my house any more, nor did I miss it. I made a conscious effort to stop swearing. I realized that though in some ways life was still hard (my family thought I was crazy to become a "Christian", and Mom still demanded attention), I wasn't as depressed, and when things felt like they were going wrong, God held me as tight as I was holding Him.

Three months after I accepted Jesus, I had an overwhelming sense one morning that God was telling me to "quit smoking immediately". I was scared and didn't want to. I tried to argue the point for a while but realized that God meant it, so I put my ashtrays in my top cupboard, gave Jim my gold lighter and got rid of my cigarettes. I have not smoked for over 20 years now. It was hard for the first couple of weeks especially, but if God tells you to do something, He will also help you through it.

A year to the day after Jim moved in, we were engaged, we were married in January 1979. There have been good times and bad, but always Jesus has been there through the tears and the joy.

My mom over the years continued to have many problems, although she was finally released from the mental hospital. When we visited her, she seemed evil and dark. Later she got cancer; she died about nine years ago. On one of our last visits to her, she said she had become a Christian. After she died, we found some Christian pamphlets in her apartment. We do not know for sure if she had really become a Christian, but that sense of evil that had always been in her presence, seemed gone.

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