those high school years

sometimes it helped her to write about things. sometimes it did not. she still wasn’t sure where this would land on the processing meter. the rock band ‘til tuesday‘ played on her itunes. those old familiar songs coaxed her angry seventeen year-old girl back out of hiding to confront this goliath. she was still angry, and she came out swinging. it was safe to be angry now, safe to confront the injustices, the lies and the shame.

she was quite cognizant of the fact that justice would not come from him. it would only come from papa god, the only one who could fix the wrongs, make them right, restore what had been stolen. innocence. purity. trust.

it was all true. he made bad choices in abusing his position of authority. he did bad things to her. he broke her heart, stole her self-worth. it was also truth his actions did not define him anymore than they defined her – that was harder to reconcile. it was ugly all around. the movie reel of those years was painful to watch as it played through her head, even after so much time.

she had no desire to out him, no desire to destroy his life or family. if it came out, it would be because he himself told the story. it would not be her doing. she found a recent photo of him on the internet. he was all gray now. so would she be if it weren’t for hair color.

back in the day, no one said anything when they saw it happening. and it happened a lot. thousands upon thousands of young girls at high schools around the country were manipulated, seduced and sexually assaulted by male teachers. the ones there to protect became the predators. it happened to the boys, too. and it still does.

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photo credit: jane doe

was it easier to overlook adult indiscretions than protect a child? apparently so. it was easier than confrontation resulting in a lost reputation or a statutory rape charge.

no one knew much about soul ties or soul wounds in those days. no one knew what would utterly break the fragile heart of a seventeen year-old girl. maybe he didn’t know, either. maybe he would have made a different choice. maybe not. she hadn’t been the only one.

his history wasn’t any nicer than hers, she recalled. an abusive father. beatings. similar story, different town. too many similar stories, not enough love, not enough goodness. not enough honor. no healthy boundaries. no respect for women. and no jesus.

the summer of heartbreak

it was not the summer of love. it was the summer of heartbreak and more loss, the quick, necessary construction of more protective walls. when he took her up north for a weekend, it was to tell her he was breaking up with her. he was going to go live his dream, moving far enough away to put several states and ocean water between them.

even now, she couldn’t remember when she began to cry or how she stopped. the song ‘voices carry’ played, cautioning her to keep her voice down, “hush, hush, keep it down now, voices carry, hush, hush, keep it down now, voices carry..”

the motorcycle ride home from that weekend was several hours long. a motorhome crossing the center line on a curve nearly took them out. the weather was a mix of sunshine, rain and hail. she had blisters on her face for weeks after.

the questions still came to her. school administrators, why didn’t you protect us? you saw it – you saw it all. the other teachers saw it all, too. teenagers are no less vulnerable than small children – the vulnerability just looks different.

dad, mom, where were you? she knew where they were. miserable in their own mess. did anyone see her? did anyone love her? was she just invisible? helloooo? was anyone there?

sigh. yes, her parents did the best they could do with what they had at the time. no use crying over what was anymore. well, no. not exactly. to forgive without fully feeling anger or grief leaves a wound that weeps silently for years. righteous anger demands expression as much as it demands justice.

she loved her parents, honored them as a choice of her will. it was the right thing to do. in the big picture, it mattered quite a lot, even though there were days she wanted to be jenny from the movie, ‘forrest gump’ and throw rocks at the house she grew up in. throwing rocks only caused more brokenness. it wasn’t a solution.

throwing rocks wouldn’t take back the hand of the parent that slapped her, upsetting her so much she hyperventilated, her left lung collapsing. she called him to take her to the hospital. there was no one else she could call. he was bothered, annoyed even. he was getting ready to leave on vacation and there she was all emotional and unable to breathe. he took her to the emergency room in his pickup, went home, and headed west on his motorcycle.

she told the doctor what happened at home. he blew it off, didn’t report it. when her mom came to visit her in hospital, she spoke firmly to her. “tell that ********* if he ever hits me again, he’s going to jail.” 

all the #metoo stuff triggered memories and opened old wounds. she could see his face, even recall the last time he showed up at her house at 2 am, throwing little pebbles at her bedroom window to wake her up. her father came downstairs to wake her, announcing, ‘that guy is outside waiting for you,’ as she wondered what he wanted.

perhaps he had guilt.

she’d heard he slept with another high school girl. more insult heaped upon injury. and now he was here, quite drunk. she was seventeen. he was twenty-four. the numbers said what they said. he should have known better in a few things.

they walked off the farm yard out to the creek. he was playing, acting strangely, teasing her. she was not amused. they walked back to the farm. she begged him not to get back on his motorcycle. he was too drunk to drive. he left anyway. that was the last time she saw him.

she wondered if he’d given up the scientology cult, if he’d recognized jesus coming after him hard yet, she hoped so. now, she prayed for it.

her emotions still registered anger. but it was good anger. it was okay. be angry, sin not. she looked him in the eyes in the spirit. he could barely look back at her hazel eyes on fire.

“let me be clear. you had no right to take what was not yours. but i forgive you.” with a choice of her will, she forgave him. she’d asked jesus to take it all. maybe throwing a bucket of rocks one by one into the river would help process any remaining feelings of anger.

there was more. hidden freemasonry curses on her life demanded things of her she never knew, never agreed to. the unknown agreement her grandfather made with the occult set her on paths of death and destruction. grandpa didn’t know what he signed up for, and when he realized it, he couldn’t get out. momma’s life was cursed, as was her dad’s, their life together. curses of all manner came on her, beginning in the womb, bringing devastation on every level.

she realized she had rejected her own beauty because it was always used to destroy her. now, she could embrace that same beauty with no more fear of exploitation, manipulation or abuse of authority.

she was papa’s girl before anything else these days. she had overcome the past. she wasn’t defined by the things that were done to her or said about her. she wasn’t the whore the clique girls at school said she was. she wasn’t the broken, unloved seventeen year-old anymore, either.

absolute truth tells her a different story about who she is, about who the people who hurt her really are. absolute truth declares all humanity is made in the image and likeness of papa god.

humans are good, the very crown of creation. even in the darkest moments, true glory dwells within the man or woman doing the bad things. humans already in the light of papa god must seek it and see it in those still sleeping, to awaken them, to call them into sonship with papa god.

she did a once-over of her life now. she was rich. rich in peace. rich in friendships. rich in love, compassion and forgiveness. rich in laughter, rich in joy.

the visual came a moment later.

smiling now, she sat right down in the weeds and waited for the poppies to grow up around her. for years, they’d been watered with her tears, sorrow, forgiveness, laughter & hope. they grew strong, tall and brilliant, drowning out the dullness of the weeds.

jesus took her through her healing when it was safe.

he made her new.

she was a graceful, glorious one. and always had been.

(copyright © 2017 jane doe productions)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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grief, healing and rest

life changed after the big move.

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photo credit: jane doe

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

she now lived with a younger married couple.

she recalled meeting them, visiting for the first time. she heard holy spirit say, ‘family,’ softly to her. it was how she knew she belonged with them. it was confirmation.

the woman became a sister and a daughter. the man became a son, a brother, a protector. she had missed growing up with her siblings. these relationships provided restoration and fulfillment of those longings and desires.

papa. he was good to her again. over and over. always. forever.

she had long talks with papa about him after the big move. in the first conversation, he asked her to wait for him one year. he gave her choices and options. they reasoned together. she agreed to wait one year.

two months later, papa spoke again on the same topic.

she was at her desk when she heard his voice.

“i am no longer asking you to wait for him.

you have waited long enough.

i want you to move forward. 

i will restore.”

his words stunned her as she sat up straight.

she took a breath and a minute to process his words.

his voice was strong, tender, purposeful, fatherly.

his direction came as a surprise. but papa knew the end from the beginning.

the cord had been cut.

the processing began soon afterward. grief, anger, shock, betrayal, sorrow.

sometimes the deep longing to hold his hand again would unravel her.

she blessed him. she prayed for him when he came to mind.

papa had movies for her to watch. they helped her process emotions, to see beyond, to see glimpses of what he would do for her.

he encouraged her, sometimes saying, “great is your reward, child.”

she believed him. she had been faithful and obedient.

she began to sleep again. she learned to breathe again.

she soaked in worship music and healing frequencies at night as she slept.

sweet praise and rest brought healing.

jesus beckoned her to the beach. it was time to meet again. she went.

the touch of the sand under her feet brought more healing and balance to her body.

she worshipped as she walked, singing into the wind at the top of her lungs.

then he was there. suddenly. he’s like that. suddenly. it took her breath away.

the lion spoke.

“it was harder for you to let go because you didn’t really trust that i loved him, that i had him. but i want you to know this: i love my son more than you love your husband.

you can trust this. you can open your hands all the way and release him to me.”

she looked up in the sky. waves washed over her feet. the sand was cool.

She opened her hands and spoke the words out loud. she let him go.

then she drew an imaginary line in front of her.

with great joy and intentionality, she stepped over it.

there would be no more sorrow over what was, over what might have been.

her bright future beckoned.

she answered.

‘yes, lord.’

(copyright 2016 jane doe)