Three Generations:

Three Different Outcomes

It takes three to four generations to break a cycle.

I didn’t know that when I started this journey. I just knew something was wrong. There were patterns I’d inherited. I believed lies. There were ways of relating that kept hurting me and the people I loved. I wanted it to stop with me.

But breaking generational patterns isn’t that simple. My grandmother started the work. My mother continued it. And now, I’m here to stand in the gap. I cannot finish the fight alone. But I had to teach my children how to fight, so they don’t carry what I carried.

There’s a pattern that runs through all three of us. It’s a thread I can trace from my grandmother, through my mother, to me: we don’t believe in ourselves. When fear raises its ugly head, insecurity rises, and we tend to follow someone else. We can’t trust our own voice, our own choices, or have our own connection to God.

First Generation: My Grandmother: “Who Are You?”

My grandmother wanted to marry the man she loved, but her father said no. He wanted her to support the family financially. She was one of eight children, and this responsibility fell hard on her. By the time she was free to marry, that relationship was gone.

She became bitter, but eventually married someone else. She waited a long time, and finally had the home and a family of her own. She had a husband, a home, two daughters and then tragedy struck. The doctors told her that her beloved husband had cancer, with only six months to live.

Insecurity flew at her. Fear took over. She started declaring all the positive affirmations her church taught her. She spoke life into him, and believed for healing. But underneath, she was terrified of losing what she’d waited so long to have.

Then one Sunday, a man walked into her church wearing a bright yellow robe. His hair long dark and curly. A full beard, and no shoes, just like she imagined Jesus would look like. After the service, she couldn’t stop herself. She approached him and asked, “Do you heal?”

“Some,” he said.

That was enough.

He stayed one more week. Before he left, she asked him one more time: “Who are you?”

“I am Jesus who came the second time,” he told her.

Within a month, my grandparents packed up. They left their family and home, and followed this man, Krishna Venta, to his commune in Southern California. My grandmother pursued a man she hoped was Jesus. She was afraid. She couldn’t trust her life without her husband. And she couldn’t trust to seek her creator, she needed someone to hear God’s voice for her. Because someone who looked like Jesus, and maybe Jesus, said he could heal her husband.

Second Generation, My Mother: The Hotel Room

My mother saw this man Krishna Venta, differently. When she met Krishna Venta as a young woman in her early twenties, she saw who he really was. He was just a barefoot man wearing a dress with hair on his face. She didn’t believe he was Jesus.

But her parents did. They followed him, believing he held their future. The daughters left behind, lost their parents and the family home.

My mother the oldest of the daughters, watched her younger sister live her life, and get married. With the turn of events, she suddenly had nowhere to live. One night, she sat in a hotel room with a dead-end job, reading letters from her father. At first what these letters were asking was ridiculous to her. How could she live in a place where men wore dresses and had hair on their face. Could she give up her clothing and everything she knew for security?

But insecurity became too hard. Loneliness pressed in and the future looked impossibly bleak, she gave in. She thought she didn’t have a choice.

From the moment she entered the property, she followed the false leader her parents followed. At first it was not because she believed in him. Fear won out. Security won out. Meeting her future husband on that first day won out. But most of all she couldn’t see herself as an independent soul with her own common sense. She didn’t trust that she could make it on her own. When circumstances pressed in, she ran to the security of a false leader. She bowed to what she didn’t want.

Third Generation: Myself, Hiding in Plain Sight

I didn’t follow a man in a yellow robe. I followed loneliness.

I chose the pain of being alone rather than risk rejection. When I was in a crowd, I stayed against the wall. I didn’t look into people’s eyes. I sat in the back row. If I had to go somewhere, I arrived right on time. I could never be early, I knew I wouldn’t have to socialize if I was right on time. When it was time to go, I was the first out the door.

I became an expert at hiding.

Even now, I know how to do it. When I go somewhere for the first time, such as a church, I arrive just in time. The greeters are about to shut the doors to the sanctuary. Not late enough to be remembered as the one who was late, but not early enough to be noticed. I anticipate the end of service. When the pastor says, “You are dismissed,” I’m already moving. I’m first to the door. I’m first to my car. This all happens before anyone else even thinks about leaving.

I followed what I heard instead of what God was saying. I followed the crowd’s rhythm so I could hide in it. I followed the pattern of invisibility because I was afraid. I was afraid of rejection. I feared someone would see me and find me lacking. I was afraid to take a chance on being known.

All three of us, my grandmother, my mother, I, chose to follow instead of trust ourselves. We chose fear over faith. We chose what looked safe over what was true.

I Stand in the Gap for the Fourth Generation

But here’s what I have that my grandmother and mother didn’t: the gospel. The Holy Spirit. God’s truth to replace the lies I inherited.

For years, I thought my job was to break these patterns completely. I wanted to finish the fight so my children wouldn’t have to deal with any of it. But that’s not how generational healing works.

I can’t erase everything in one generation. What I can do is stand in the gap. I can recognize the patterns. I can choose differently. I can teach my children how to see the lies. I can show them how to fight and how to walk in the freedom God offers.

My oldest watched me struggle with fear and the urge to hide. But he’s also watched me choose to show up, to be seen, to speak even when my voice shakes. He knows the enemy’s tactics because I’ve named them out loud.

My daughter is learning her worth comes from God. She is learning she has a voice. She is also learning she doesn’t have to live invisible, or perfect, or pleasing to everyone she meets.

My youngest is growing up hearing different messages than I heard. He is learning he has value, he has a voice, and he has a place in God’s story.

My Legacy for the Generations coming: Learning to Fight

If I do my part and stand in the gap, I can teach my children to fight. Then, in turn, the fifth generation will have a better foundation than I had. They won’t be free from all struggle. No one is really free from the fight in this life.

But they’ll know how to recognize the enemy’s tactics. They’ll have tools I didn’t have. They’ll start from a stronger place.

I can’t win all the battles. My children can’t win them all either. My grandchildren will still have to fight. But each generation can have a firmer foundation, a clearer understanding of truth, a stronger ability to stand.

That’s my legacy: not perfection, but a generational character of fighting against wrongs and the enemy’s tactics. I aim to teach each generation to recognize the lies faster. I want them to choose truth sooner. I encourage them to walk with God more freely than the generation before.

It takes three to four generations to break a cycle. My grandmother started it when she packed up and followed a false Jesus. My mother continued it when she gave in and followed out of fear. My brother and I followed because we were brought up in it. But now, I’m standing in the gap, for generations to come. I’m learning to stop following and start trusting God’s voice. And my children and their children? They’re learning to fight.