Joyce meyer four personality types

you have!

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• Accepting God's Love

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• 5

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• Learn to Follow the Holy Spirit

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• Seek Godly Counselors

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• Ministry of the Holy Spirit

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• 6

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• Pain

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• Doors to pain

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• Without pain there is no result!

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• Exverts leads to joy

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• 7

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• To win, you need to go to the end of

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• to go until the end of

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• Patience reapes the execution of the vanny
• 8
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• No condemnation in Christ

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• Dealing with guilt

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• What about shame?

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• Freed from a sense of shame

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• Depression

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• Rejection and hatred in relation to itself

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• The temperament under the control of the spirit

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• Strengthen in the inner person

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• adopted in the beloved

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• A others?

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• 10

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• Fear of rejection and its impact on relationships

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• Pretense! Pretense! Pretense!

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• The fear of rejection generates rejection

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• Syndrome "Prove your love"

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• 11
• Self -confidence as an individual

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9001
• What we need is not self-confidence, but confidence in God!

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• Courage to be yourself

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• Trust God to change your feelings

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• 15

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• Paying for past wrongs

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• I agree to put everything in God's hands, but how do I do it?

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• 16

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• Environment

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• Part of the same body

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• Freedom to compete

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• Fighting

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• 17

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0010
• Strive for the goal

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• Stand firm in difficult times!

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• 20

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• Walls or bridges?

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• Bridges instead of walls

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• Decoration instead of ash

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• Wonderful completion of history

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We continue to listen to Rita.

My family

Mother married father after 3 months of dating. Her father dispersed all her admirers and showered her with courtship, flowers and gifts. But the hasty wedding was not only the result of falling in love. Suffering from the difficult nature of my mother, my grandmother, my mother tried to save herself from her by marriage. The saddest thing is that it did not save her. On the contrary, she found herself between two fires.

Dad started flirting with other women already on his honeymoon trip. Despite the fact that my mother was very beautiful, once drunk, my father confessed to me that he chose her precisely because he needed a city registration (he is from the region).

There were often scandals at home. The father turned out to be despotic, criticized and beat his wife, cheated, and defiantly. It got to the point that 90,502 of my father's mistresses came to my mother at work and threw tantrums. The betrayals were so demonstrative that everyone knew about it.

Even I, a child, knew the names of his mistresses and what they looked like. Also, my father took his mistresses home in our absence. Some of his women were engaged in black magic, so that during cleaning, the mother found strange objects under the beds and wardrobes: candles pierced with needles, rag dolls with pins, horse tails. I don't know if magic exists, but at that time my mother was really very sick and often.

Several times the mother tried to run away from her husband, and a couple of times she almost succeeded . When I was 5 years old, after another beating, she ran away with me and hid in the dacha of friends. Papa tracked her down for a long time, found her and, after waiting for the owners to leave the house, pulled out the glass from the window and climbed into the house. He arranged a sugar show, lay at his feet and asked for forgiveness.

The father was obsessed with his appearance, as was the mother. He did not get out of the rocking chair, was shifted to harmony, did styling in the morning, smeared himself with creams, even did a facelift at the clinic. He constantly criticized the appearance of not only my and my mother, but unfamiliar women. He liked to repeat that I was lop-eared, I had cellulite, and when I was complex and offended, I immediately became a hysterical woman with a difficult character who did not understand jokes.

On the street, he could shout out a vulgar "compliment" to a passing girl or, conversely, tease her if, for example, she did not shine with beauty , so it was funny to everyone who heard it, except for the girl to whom the cry was addressed. He was not at all embarrassed if his wife or daughter walked nearby. Once a girl with beautiful legs, he shouted: "Such legs would be on my shoulders," and got very angry when he received the answer: "and piss in your mouth!" He repeatedly voiced his position: "fools" who rudely respond to compliments (that is, verbal harassment) are not a sin to slap on the Ipal.

In public he was a merry fellow. By the way, in front of people above him in position, he never showed his temper, fawned, and carried all the negativity home. When he came home from work, the toilet and baths had to be free or vacated immediately. I remember brushing my teeth in the bath. Dad returned from work in a terrible mood, flew into the bath, and without saying a word, grabbed me by the scruff of the neck and threw me out like a puppy, calling me obscenities. Naturally, I was offended and closed myself in the room (there was still a castle then).

When he got over his anger a little, he came to "apologise". I did not unlock, and he began to break and kick on the door. I had to open. He began to squeeze me: they say, I'm sorry, my beloved daughter. When I said that I was not going to forgive him, and his act was disgusting, he sent me, saying that I was vindictive, I have a difficult character, and left, slamming the door

He was a slob and always lost clothes, socks, etc. , from -for which he put the whole house on his ears with his yell. Everyone was to blame and everyone should have started searching immediately. One day he was rummaging through a drawer and throwing out shoes that didn't fit. I passed by, he took a shoe and threw it right in my face. Then he justified himself, they say, by accident, he did not see me. But I don't think it was an accident.

My mother loved to rummage through my desk, through school things and notes, sorting through literally every sheet. I could throw out anything: a notebook with important information, a piece of paper with written homework. She always rearranged everything so that I couldn't find anything later. I kept rummaging through my wardrobe.

When my brother went to school, his parents decided not to fork out for furniture, they just gave mine. My chair, oak school desk and orthopedic bed were moved into his room. They put an old uncomfortable sofa in my room (which they had previously wanted to throw out) and a knee-high coffee table. I had to learn my lessons while squatting.

The parents made it a condition that my room should be in perfect order after I left. Oddly enough, such conditions were not presented to my brother, and his room was always a mess. Because of my parents' unhealthy obsession with cleanliness and order, there was not a particle of me in the room. All nice gifts, souvenirs could be thrown away, because "it's not good to litter the house with all sorts of garbage." Also, they could rearrange the furniture or replace it with another without asking me. My room has turned into a warehouse of unnecessary things that seem to be unnecessary, but it's a pity to throw them away.

When I was 5 years old, my grandmother and father quarreled, the quarrel reached the level of assault: my father threw a chair at her, and my grandmother stabbed my father in the buttocks in response. In general, they cost each other with dad. But still, the grandmother was afraid of her father, and in his presence she behaved more or less restrained, but when he was not there, she revealed her insides. Often, out of the blue, she began to hysteria, yell, curse, so that we all die, threw herself with her fists at me and my mother.

One morning they had an argument with their father. And when I returned from school, my grandmother began to pour out anger on me and squeal that she wants my dad to go to the next world as soon as possible, preferably taking his wife (her daughter) with him. I said that she was completely sick in the head, since she was sculpting such monstrous things. She squealed, “What did you say? Well, repeat, creature!!!”, and grabbing my hair, hit my head against the wall several times.

Then she dragged me by the hair to work with my mother. Parents by that time opened their store in a nearby street. I remember that all the way I sobbed and begged her to forgive me. But she hissed angrily: "I'll arrange for you, creature!" By the hair, she dragged me into my mother’s office and began to sob: “Your daughter is completely out of hand, she studies badly, insults me!”

Meanwhile, I stood at the door and sobbed: “I beg you, forgive me. I did not do anything". Mother grabbed me by the hair and dragged me to the toilet, turned on the water tap and started dipping me in it by the hair . Thank God, at least not down the toilet...

There were two such cases, and after the second one I ran away from home and stayed with a neighbor for about a day. The police were looking for me near the local pond. I don't know why, but my mother thought I drowned myself. It was in 7th or 8th grade.

Mother never stood up for me. When a grandmother or husband rushed at her, I ran to separate them, as a result of which I also flew. But if someone offended me, she watched with indifference and never interfered.

One day I was learning a piece on the piano that was given in a music school. Only my grandmother was at home. As always, she was completely naked. She went to the piano and slammed the lid shut with all her might. My naturally good reaction and peripheral vision helped me remove my hands in time. I silently got up and left the house, fully convinced that I would never play here again. I had nowhere to go, so I went to my mother's shop. The accountant had a day off and my mother allowed me to sit in the accountant's office. The walls between the offices were thin, and I heard a grandmother come running after 5 minutes. She asked her mother where I was and went to the office where I sat. With the sweetest smile on her face, she asked, “Why did you leave and stop doing the play? Go home". I said that I left because she had just almost broken my fingers, that I would not play at home anymore and demanded that she clean up and leave me alone. To which she replied that I was lying and inventing, she did not slam the lid. And she went to complain to my mother that I did not want to study and I was behaving disgustingly. Through the wall, I heard my mother say, “Yes, Mom, she has a difficult personality.”

Religion

From grade 7 to 11 I was in complete social isolation and loneliness. I have no friends left. Firstly, because of the constant change of schools, secondly, because I gradually withdrew, and thirdly, because I practically didn’t go anywhere and studied lessons all day, because I had to be round honors student to avoid home bashing.

When I was in the 7th or 8th grade, I accidentally stumbled upon a program by the American preacher Joyce Meyer on TV. I liked the program so much that I started watching it every day. Joyce Meyer was raped by her father as a child and went through many hardships. This half-hour program became an outlet for me. Joyce motivated and convinced that a person can go through any difficulties and heal any spiritual wounds if he believes in himself and the help of higher powers. At the end of the program, they gave an address where one could write a letter asking for moral support.

I wrote a letter to America, in which I told that I was lonely, I was treated badly in class, and there was no mutual understanding with my parents, and asked them to pray for me . I don’t know if they understood what the letter was about, but in response they sent two small pocket books in Russian with positive affirmations, prayers and inspiring stories. I put the books on the table and every time I came home after school, I read them, and my mood improved noticeably.

Once I returned home, and my father said that he and his mother had a serious conversation with me. My legs buckled with excitement. The Rodaks sat me in front of them as if they were interrogating me, and my father said: “We are very concerned about your behavior. You completely stopped communicating with your peers, you became kind of downtrodden, and I don’t like it. And today I understand why.”

Then mother put two books of Joyce on the table and said: “My father and I understood that the reason for such changes in you is that you joined a sect. The neighbor saw you wandering around the churches.” (yes, I went to the local church a couple of times).

That evening I was given a two-hour lecture about the terrible consequences for people who have fallen into the faith, under fear of flogging it is forbidden to go to church, read any religious books and watch Joyce's program (apparently, the parents saw that I was watching this program, because the door in my room was glass and completely transparent).

But that didn't work out. My father demanded that I burn these books and personally supervise the process. We went outside and he gave me matches. When I burned these books, my tears flowed, and at that moment, along with these books, something inside me also burned.

“I demand that you become a normal child like everyone else. Walk, go to discos, communicate, ”the father commented. “Remember, faith is in the soul. And books, churches are all superfluous, ”the mother agreed. The next day, my mother called her friends and told me that I had fallen into a sect, but by some unthinkable miracle, they managed to save me.

After she told her mother (my grandmother) about this, my grandmother gave me the nickname “church bolt”, which meant moving on the church. Despite the fact that the program, books, and my faith in goodness and justice were finished on the same day, this nickname stuck to me for about a year . When I was returning from school, I heard: “It seems that the church shutter has returned”, “The shutter, will you eat?”…

I remember how in middle school I decided to fast and sit on vegetables. Just a couple of days later this was noticed and my post quickly ended up being grandma held me by the throat while dad shoved meat down my throat, and I choked and swallowed it in tears.

Creative life. The Shawshank Redemption.

Already at the age of 5 I knew that I would connect my life with music. I remember graduation in kindergarten, where each child was asked what he dreams of becoming. I proudly said: "Singer!" Even before school, I told my father that I wanted to study music, but he replied with his trademark smile that this would not happen , and she and her mother have already decided everything for me. When friends came to visit dad, he liked to say: “A woman should always go silent and pregnant!” I realized what future my daddy was preparing for me and was filled with a deep disgust for starting a family. And the constant showdowns in our house did not add to the desire to get married and have children.

In elementary school, I came across a channel that played opera and ballet. After watching the ballet, I started trying to copy the movements of the ballerinas. At that moment, I went into some kind of trance and experienced real happiness, but all this suddenly broke off when I saw my father's smiling face in the doorway. He neighed and commented: “You should have seen yourself from the side!”

After that, when his friends came to visit us, he didn't miss the opportunity to ridicule and tease me. He told them: “The other day, then, I pass by my daughter’s room, open the door and see this,” after which he began to parody my movements and facial expressions. His friends, who were as stupid as he, laughed at me, and I was very hurt. I tried not to dance in my room anymore.

One day my father came into my room and said he wanted to talk to me about life. He sat down next to me and said, “I often watch you dance or sing. But understand, another fate awaits you, this is not for you. I, too, was once dreamy, but life put everything in its place. Don't dream and don't go with a pig's snout into the Kalash row .

Mother also tried to keep up with him. In high school, I discovered the movie The Secret, about the power of thought. The film inspired me, and I wrote a list of my most cherished and wildest dreams. Nothing special. Just childhood dreams. For example, I want to become a rock star, go to live in America, tour the world. I wrote a list and forgot about it. Mother periodically rummaged through my desk and briefcase, and one day she found this list. She yelled at me like she found drugs in my bag. She crumpled up a piece of paper and threw it in my face, then picked it up and took it away. Then I heard her read out the list of my dreams in the next room, and my father laughed and commented: “She wanted to live abroad, she’s a fool.” According to my parents, I had no right to even dream.

Every time from my 5 to 19 years old when I watched opera on TV, my dad would look into my room (and he did this every time he passed her, it was a control) and comment: “Oh, again you listen to your shit" and grinned. Shit jokes soon became a tradition. Every day he asked: "Well, have you listened to your shit yet?" "Will you listen to your shit today?" . A couple of times he even managed to bring me to tears with jokes about shit, but as soon as I got offended and asked not to insult my favorite music anymore, he answered that it was difficult to communicate with me, that I couldn’t even say a word, and he always ended with the phrase that with such a sense of humor in life I will have a very hard time.

The last time he joked about shit was when I was 19years. I was listening to jazz, the door opened slightly, a smiling muzzle stuck in it and once again let go of the usual joke about shit. I replied that shit is currently sticking out in my door and asked me to close the door from the back, and no longer stick my stupid smiling muzzle into the doorway of this room without knocking. There was a scandal. Dad was offended by the way I called his face. And he added that he thought that the ban on calling my music shit only applies to opera, and you can say that about other styles of music that I listen to. He again emphasized my sense of humor and advised me to be treated by a psychiatrist, and then added: "Your hatred will eat you someday."

My dad's humor was very specific. He never joked just like that, he always made fun of someone or made fun of someone. I remember that at one corporate party he provoked his friend with jokes, as a result of which he rushed to fight him . As a child, I remember that dad had many friends, but because of his bad temper, they gradually dissipated until there was no one left at all. But the father sincerely believes that everyone turned away from him, because they envied his success, opening his own business, and so on.

When I was in the 5th grade, I was diagnosed with severe scoliosis, because I studied lessons all day long, but I didn’t have any physical activity. My parents only monitored my homework, not my posture. One day my father looked at me and laughed out loud: “Well, wow, daughter! What a curve you are." Scoliosis was already quite strong, between 2 and 3 degrees. The back was hooked, the stomach was thrown out, and the left shoulder was 8 cm lower than the right. When I broke up with my parents and went to study in another city, I improved my back with dancing and gymnastics.

When I was still in elementary school, , I asked my mother to enroll me in a ballet club, but she refused, saying that ballet and music are a disgusting and stupid hobby, and you should not climb with a pig's snout to the kalashny row . Like, no one has done such stupid things with us, and you don’t need to. “Why make the neighbors laugh, no one needs ballet in our time.”

A little later, when I decided for myself that I wanted to study music, I asked my parents to send me to a music school, which caused a terrible scandal. As a result, I, a 10-year-old child, went to enter a music school on my own. Despite my age, they took me right away, because I naturally had a clear voice and perfect pitch. “Okay, to hell with you, if you want, study,” the mother waved her hand.

When my parents noticed my voice data, my father began to demand that I sing in front of all the guests. Rejections were not accepted. If I refused to go out to the guests, my father dragged me by the scruff of the neck. The guests admired and asked: “In whom such talent was born?” Once, someone even joked: “On what lunar day do you need to conceive children so that they are born so talented?” Father was proud and commented: "Yes, it's genetics, it's all about me!". But when the guests left, he sneered at me, saying that my classes were useless, I was mediocre, and my music was shit.

I remember when in first grade my father hit me hard with a belt for no reason. Some kind of creative activity was taking place in our class, there was a lively atmosphere, all the children were actively raising their hands, including me. It was fun. Dad came to pick me up from school, the door to our class was open, so he stood and watched how the class was going. I remember that in this lesson I answered well and got an A. But when I looked at my dad, I saw that he was looking at me with hatred and showing his fist . I was scared, I began to go over in my head what I could be guilty of, I seemed to answer very well. All the way home, my father dragged me by the scruff of the neck and yelled that I behaved indecently at the lesson and immodestly stretched out my hand. At home he beat with a belt.

I went to study at the conservatory in another city against the will of my parents, but to this day, when I go on stage, I behave extremely stiffly, because I constantly hear the voice of my father in my head, telling me that I am a mediocre schmuck, and my place in the kitchen.

Once at a music school (I was 15 years old) there was a parent meeting where each student had to play something. Dad came to listen to me. I was always very shy in front of my father, and I played tight and not very well. On the way home, dad said that he had never experienced such shame and shame in his life, that I was worthless, disappointed him and should quit music. I was so crushed that after that I came down with a cold. Noticing my depression, my father finished me off, saying that he had a better opinion of me. Say, he thought that his words motivate me to work on myself, but, on the contrary, I became limp, and now he is completely disappointed in me.

I graduated from school with a silver medal, which came to me with sweat and blood, and unjustified nerves. It's still gathering dust on my grandmother's shelf to this day. After graduating from school, I wanted to enter a music school, but this caused a stormy scandal. I was promised that if I disobeyed, they would kick me out of the house. Rodaki chose the technical school at their own discretion for the following reasons. Firstly, they study at the technical school for only two years, which means that I can quickly start working as an accountant in their store. And so I, a medalist, went to study at a technical school.

It was very hard for me mentally, but I accepted that my dreams were nonsense. Before lunch I studied, and after school I helped my parents in their store. I continued to study music, but purely for myself.

My father often yelled at me even in front of buyers, he didn't pay me or my mother anything for work, because "all the money goes to the family anyway". Only after 2-3 years, the mother, through swearing and scandals, begged for her salary. Before that, she asked him for money even for travel.

Somehow at work I entered the invoice incorrectly. My father exploded and yelled for half an hour without a break that I was useless and I would ruin the store. I left crying and felt that I could no longer endure this hell. I needed some kind of relief.

The next day I went to the dean's office of the technical school and said that I decided to transfer to the last course of the evening department and I want to pass all the exams in 2 years. The dean's office was surprised and initially refused. But I said that I would take the documents then. They treated me very well, because I studied perfectly, and they decided to give me a chance. For several days and nights I studied subjects and in a week I passed everything perfectly. I didn't say anything to the parents about my transfer. So I freed up daytime, and I could do what I want.

I liked studying in the evening, I made friends for the first time. There is also more time for music lessons. In principle, I studied music for myself and buried my dreams a long time ago. But one event prompted me to remember them again and run away from home.

My mother ordered me to keep the house clean and clean up after my father and brother, since cleaning was not considered a man's job in our family . That is, when I was at home, I had to keep the kitchen clean after my father or brother had eaten, so that by the time my mother arrived, there was not a single dirty dish in the sink, and the table and floors were torn.

So, the last academic year is over and tomorrow I have to take state exams. I returned from school, cleaned the house and went to study for exams. Soon my mother, irritated and angry, flew into my room and started pulling my hair. It turns out that while I was preparing for the exams, my father came to the kitchen, ate and, as always, screwed me up. The table was strewn with breadcrumbs, and there was one plate in the sink.

Mother dragged me by the hair and yelled that I was doing nothing and sitting on their neck. Having sobbed enough, I threw away all the tickets and notes, and the next day I passed the state exams for two, passing a blank sheet out of principle. I did not come home for 2 days , hanging out all this time with a classmate. Mom recognized her phone and begged me to come home. In the technical school they were dumbfounded by my trick and indifference to obtaining a diploma. Out of a good attitude towards me, they allowed me, or rather, even persuaded me to retake the exams, and I passed them on four and received a diploma. When I returned home, my mother, sobbing, threw herself on my neck.

While I was staying with a friend, I searched the Internet for information about exams for music universities. When I hinted to my father that I would like to enter the conservatory, he reminded me that he had a gun that would blow my brains out.

Without saying anything to my parents, I started to pack my things. I remember the day I left, warm and sunny. On this day, my mother grabbed my hair for the last time. Papa cursed. There was op in the house: “Without us, you will disappear, die under the fence, except for us, no one needs you anymore, we are the only people you can trust in this world. You betrayed us. You were supposed to work for the family."

I left and enrolled. I was taken to the faculty of academic vocals with only one base of the music school. It was difficult without a secondary special (music school), but I managed. For the first year, I felt great guilt towards my parents for feeling like I had betrayed them by choosing my path.

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