Healing Begins Here

     Secrets aren’t secrets from God. I know… not the most shocking revelation I have ever come up with, but at this juncture in life, it is one that I am currently dealing with. We can pretend all we want that we are keeping something hidden from Him, but the truth of the matter is that nothing is hidden from God. We can hide things from ourselves and push them down, but eventually things hidden in the dark will be brought into the light. They are brought out into the light not as a means to shame, embarrass, or humiliate but to be dealt with so as to bring about healing, peace, restorations, release, and most of all rest.

     For nearly three years, I’ve kept things hidden, pushed down, and refused to deal with them. There was no “perfect” time to deal with them. I had just started teaching full time and to be quite honest was failing miserably at it. My classroom reflected the vast amount of chaos that I continued to push down. What a shocking revelation. I hadn’t thought about it like that until I started writing. I guess it’s true that their spirits reacted in direct correlation to mine. Really makes me wonder who else this affected. I do believe I have gotten a bit ahead of myself.

     My first year as a fifth grade teacher did not go how I had planned or imagined it would. My students were out of control, I had a hard time teaching, and my test scores weren’t exactly where I wanted or needed them to be. In the middle of all this, my mother passed away unexpectedly. Well I say unexpectedly … she’d never been quite the same health wise after it took so long for her to heal after having quadruple bypass surgery.  She came home from a doctor’s appointment on a Thursday with an advance directive and news that she had probably six weeks or less to live. She didn’t live but six more days. Her health declined more rapidly than I’d expected. We made plans for Thanksgiving and Christmas, vowing to make the most of these last few weeks we had together. However on Wednesday, November 11^th, Mom passed away. Almost instantly I was forced to deal with things that I had no earthly idea how to handle. I had no clue how to deal with the grief. I walked back into the church after getting the dreaded phone call. One of my friends, Lynn, escorted me to a quieter place than a fellowship hall full of curious children. I made several phone calls, talked to a chaplain, and then I simply sat. I had no idea which way to go, what I needed to do, or who to talk to about all of this. I was taken into Bro. Neal’s office to talk about what needed to be done. He wrote down a list of things for me to do and after a time of prayer, I left to go to my house to prepare. I had to be off for three consecutive days. Thursday and Friday for bereavement and Monday for a workshop. I made some plans for my classes and my wonderful co-workers helped out with the rest. I headed for my Aunt Carole’s house to take care of the panning. She had a list for me as well: funeral home, florist, church, pastor, numerous family gatherings… It was the never ending list. I held up well at the funeral home, signing the necessary paperwork and even in writing the obituary. Family gatherings weren’t too bad. I can deal with the occasional suffocating heavily perfumed hugs. It was when we met with the pastor to talk about the service that I lost it all. I’m talking no communication abilities. All I did was cry. The service was nice. Things went smoothly. I cried out my contacts… and left them on the front pew of the church. It seems almost as soon as the service was finished, I turned off my emotions and went back to my daily life. I didn’t have time for grieving. I had responsibilities. It was important for everyone to see me as okay. Tears were the surest sign of weakness and I couldn’t show signs of weakness. I was miserable. My mom, the one who understood, encouraged, and listened to me was gone. I felt lonely and lost. I would be lying if I said that I don’t still feel that way sometimes. Holiday gatherings weren’t nearly as much fun. There was something missing.  It was work to be happy. I didn’t want to be happy because in some ways it felt like I wasn’t supposed to be. My new normal wasn’t easy. It was a daily challenge. Some days it was more than I could handle to get up. I wanted to be angry. I didn’t understand why. It didn’t make sense. Of course there were people all around offering platitudes of condolence. “She’s better off.” “She’s in a better place.” Those words, while often heartfelt and sincere really made me angry. It seems like those are the sayings that are preprogrammed into us. They are nice words, but often they are said with a vague sense of insincerity. I often wished people would have just not said anything and instead offered a hug, their presence, or a listening ear. As much as you want o, you don’t know how I am feeling. You may have had a similar experience, but you have no idea what emotions I am going through at this time. That was probably the most frustrating part. I couldn’t seem to find anyone that would just listen. I didn’t want to be interrupted or asked questions. I just wanted to talk. I had things that needed to be said about how I felt and what I was dealing with. Since there was no one who would just listen, I did what I am best at; I pushed it all down, slapped on that happy face, and went on with life.

     I suppose now is as good of a time as any to insert that in the middle of all of this, I was dealing with some other intense issues. While working as a cashier at a gas station, I was taken from there one night by a man. This man was one that I thought I was just being friendly to like all of the other customers in the store. He grossly misinterpreted friendliness for attraction and began to make innuendos. It all came to a head one night when he came into the gas station and pulled me out from underneath the table that I was cleaning and said that I shouldn’t put myself in such positions that would turn a man on.  I told him to leave the premises, and thankfully my dad came in right about then and made sure he left. The man did tell my dad that it was all my fault that I was dressed so provocatively and if he had better control on his daughter things like this wouldn’t happen. He left and my dad reassured me that everything would be alright. It wasn’t until I was leaving for the night that things took a drastic turn. I didn’t realize that this man had come back to the station and parked out of my line of sight on the side of the building, close to where my own car was parked, I dropped my keys, and when I bent over to get them, the man grabbed me in a bear hug and put me into his car. He used the middle seat belt to tie my hands together so I couldn’t get myself out of the car. He drove down a dark and basically untraveled road to some kind a gas well. There were many trees that blocked the view from the road. He pulled the car up into the grove of trees, turned the lights out, and began to rub my face with his hands. I tried to scream but no sound would come out of my mouth. He got out of the car, walked around to my side, untied my hands and pulled me out of the car. He had to force me to walk where he wanted. I wasn’t going willingly. He threw me down onto a huge pile of pine needles that looked like they had just been raked up. He roughly climbed on top of me and pinned my legs down with his. He held my arms up above my head. I will not go into the details of this. It wasn’t pretty. When he was finished, he calmly stood up and told me that it was entirely my fault. I was told that no one would believe me because I had asked for him to do this to me. It was my fault that a married man committed adultery and that God wouldn’t love or want me anymore because I had come between a married man and his wife. He walked quietly to his car and left. I was laying there on that bed of pine needles with no idea of what to do or where to turn. I found the clothes that he had removed, out them back on, and walked back to the gas station to get my car and head home. I had to get home and wash the dirty disgusting feeling off of me. I couldn’t get back there fast enough. My friends from Wendy’s were outside. They asked what was wrong, and I calmly replied nothing. I climbed in the car and hurried home. Everyone was asleep. I showered and examined the wounds. Bruises, cuts, scratches, and tear stains covered my face and arms. I got up before everyone else that next morning and covered up the evidence with long sleeve shirts and some make up. I had classes to attend, assignments to complete, and graduation plans to make. No one really noticed, or if they did, they didn’t say anything about it. That was just fine with me. I didn’t want to remember or relive that night. It goes back to the experience of pain. No one likes it, and they certainly don’t want to relive it more than once. `It was all okay until this man showed up at church. I panicked. It had been three years since I had thought about or dealt with this incident. One of the pastors knew that I was scared and told me to either go tell my father what was going on or he would tell him during the announcement time at the front of the church. Fear is a great motivator.  I knew I had to be the one to tell my father what had happened three years before and it wasn’t going to go well. I ran over to where he was sitting and whispered in his ear a very brief version of what had happened. I started to cry, but had to go take my seat because church was starting and it wouldn’t have been long before the praise team would start to play. As we walked up on stage to play that day, I watched my father walk out of the sanctuary with his fists balled up ready to hit someone or something. I am not sure what he said to his friend that went out with him. This wasn’t something that was discussed at any length at any other time. During the invitation that morning, Daddy and I went down to pray. The prayer never happened. Daddy was shocked two times back to back by the defibrillator in his chest and was unconscious on the floor at the front of the church. I was scared. There was a voice saying distinctly that this was entirely my fault and if I had just kept my mouth shut none of this would have ever happened. Lies from the enemy, but at the time an effective tool to keep me quiet. I would again be lying if I said I wasn’t hurting just writing this. I have been blessed with an incredible imagination that brings printed words into a startling and beautiful reality. As I am writing this, pictures of the happenings of that night flash through my mind. I am reminded of the way the pine needles smelled and how sticky and humid the air was that night. It's almost like I am there reliving the events again in person and not just through my memories. In fact the truth of the matter is that the pain from the bruises and cuts feels just as real as it did then. Screams echo in my mind. Unpleasant is the word that comes to mind.  Through counseling, some of the pain has been dealt with. Not all of it I am sure. I believe that there are more hurts to be dealt with as time goes on. This healing is a process that takes time. It isn’t instantaneous. I just have to be patient while these wounds that I thought were healed are opened up, cleaned out, and healed the right way this time.

     It is rather interesting to me that these two events have become so intertwined. They were years apart from each other. I suppose that is how things go in the end. One thing affects another and another and so on.

     How much of my life has been affected because of my refusal to face up to the reality of the things that have happened in my life? How much would have been different if I had dealt with things in their appointed time and not put them off? Would I still have a teaching job with Longview ISD? Would I be married? Would I have children of my own? Would I be happier? Would I have the same friends? Would I be the same person? I don’t know the answer to these questions. I know that the reality of my situation is that I can no longer function the way that I have been. It is not profitable. I am missing out on some big things. I am in a unique position at this time in my life. I am not tied down and have the freedom to go and do incredibly wonderful things. Wonderful things with an eternal impact. I have said in previous posts that I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that God has big things in store for me and that I am supposed to be a missionary. I am not sure how all of that is going to play out in the grand scheme of things. I know that it isn’t up to me to decide or determine how or when it happens. I do believe that until I deal with the things that I have pushed down and out of my current reality, things can’t and won’t happen. 

Part two coming soon!

Melody