Nightmare

"It was a dark and stormy nightmare." Neil Gaiman

I woke up feeling it....ice cold terror. We had been at a party...somewhere in the country. I couldn't find my oldest daughter. Nobody seemed concerned. She'll show up they said. The night went on. People told me not to worry - I did.  I wandered around gripping my youngest - looking everywhere for my oldest. I couldn't find her. She had vanished. Someone asked me to take a phone call in the house. I took my youngest with me. I wouldn't let go of her. I kept telling the person on the phone I couldn't talk to them....I finally hung up and made my way back to the party. Everything had turned to ice- the ground, the handrails, the steps  - my heart. 

I used to have these dreams all the time - waking up in a panic - a cold sweat - afraid someone would hurt my girls or had taken them away. It's been a long time since I had these dreams.  

A friend of mine read my book. The night before the dream - she called...told me she hated the rapist - told me he should be charged...that he's walking free....that he's still out there. She would help me. She knows the legal system. 

She meant well. I told her I would think about it. I did. I dreamt about my oldest daughter getting hurt.

I can't charge him. Not if my girls will get hurt. Not if something will happen to them. They are worth more than him being charged. I just want to trust that God will deal with him somehow. I don't know if that sounds too airy fairy but I can't charge him. I just can't. I hope that's ok. I hope people understand. I hope they don't think less of me. I'm just afraid to go there. I'm afraid for my girls....not for me. If it was just me...then maybe, but I want to protect my girls...keep them safe - as safe as I can in a world that can be so cruel.

Giving Back

"Giving frees us from the familiar territory of our own needs by opening our mind to the unexplained worlds occupied by the needs of others." Barbara Bush

It was a different kind of Christmas. The kind I really liked. We spent the whole day helping - serving meals to people who had nowhere to go...no one to share the holiday with. We were it. We were their supports...their family...their friends for a few hours on Christmas Day. 

As I did whatever I was asked - talked to people, served meals, goofed around with the kids....I thought of those people who had reached out to me when I lived on the street...when I had no one...when I owned nothing...when darkness was all I knew. 

Now I was paying it forward. Now I could do what those people did for me. They would never know the seeds of hope they had planted with their caring and their gifts of kindness. I had struggled so much with trust...but still - something of their kindness broke through the walls that padded my heart. It was in their eyes. It was in their voice. They'll never know the impact they made. And maybe some even thought...she's just a drug addict, a street kid...what we give her won't really make a difference....but it did. It wasn't the 'things' they gave me....it was their kindness, their compassion, their caring.


Kindness reaches a place that nothing else can. It's not in things, or gifts - it's a feeling that comes from the heart; a feeling that shows, 'I care about you. I really care. You're worth something.' 

I don't like to be touched too much, but I shook lots of hands and hugged a lot of people on Christmas day -The mother who ran from her abusive husband and was living at  woman's shelter with her five kids, the elderly woman who was all alone, the 15 year old who told me she wanted to be a fashion designer and hated being at a place that wasn't home, the 11 year old with the big black eyes who suffers with kidney problems, the older man whose wife had died a few years ago, never had kids and had no one to celebrate the holidays with. And there were more. Many more. All with their own stories of trying to survive the best they could.


And a plug for my girls. I am totally proud of them. They jumped in helping to serve, cleaning up, doing whatever they were asked. I asked them if they were ok that we did this instead of being with friends...my oldest told me she loved being able to give and my youngest smiled and said, 'it was fun.'

And I thought of you guys. I hoped you were all ok. 
You know what makes the difference? Knowing He loves me no matter what and the kindness I've been given by others. 

Christmas Day

"A merry Christmas to everybody! A happy New Year to all the world!" Charles Dickens.

Guys - I just want you to know - you're some of the best people on the planet.  I know from reading your blogs,some of you are fighting addictions, battling illnesses and grieving losses....but still....I hope....I pray - for all of you - have a good holiday. Stay safe. Hoping you have a ton of fun.

Holidays

"...the message of Christmas - we are never alone. Not when the night is darkest, the wind coldest, the world seemingly most indifferent. For this is still the time God chooses." Taylor Caldwell

Holidays....they never meant anything.  They weren't different than any other day. Not to me. My parents prepared food, decorated the house....had friends and relatives over.....did what was expected.  I don't remember ever getting gifts, or feeling special....or being happy.  I felt like I always did - different. My parents made it very clear - holidays were for others, for their friends, for the people they cared about. Not for me...because I was wrong, worthless, an inconvenience. Before anyone arrived, they screamed, they threatened, they cursed - I hid like I always did. I hid in the dark, alone, lost in my head...in another world...a world where no one hurt me and no one made me afraid. I sat in the dark....hearing the laughter, listening to the fun.....alone...No one cared.. Holidays meant nothing. 

Living on the streets.....strangers reached out...strangers gave me gifts...gave me money...smiled....tried to give me hope...tried to give me comfort. But I lived in my head....in another world....separate from people....separate from life....alone...feeling different. Feeling worthless...underserving. ....


It's different today. I want to make the holidays special. I don't exactly know how. We have a tree, with lights, and gifts - People have been giving us cards, presents and inviting us places. My girls are happy. I want them to feel holidays are fun celebrations. I'm doing the things I think are right...the things I think I'm supposed to do for them. I hope what I'm doing is right...because holidays still don't mean too much to me. They're still just another day...


I am looking forward to something though ....I dontated our time to help serve a meal to those who have nobody. Actually I donated the whole day because we're doing it at lunchtime and then again at supper. My kids think it's pretty cool. It's my way of giving back just like those strangers did for me once....when I lived on the street...when I had no one who cared, when I had nothing of value....when I lived in my head.

I've been given so much. But it's like Billie Holiday said, “You can be up to your boobies in white satin, with gardenias in your hair and no sugar cane for miles, but you can still be working on a plantation.”

I look at myself in the mirror...and see someone so different than who I was...someone who somehow overcame  hatred and dope and darkness...But when I close my eyes ..what I lived still lives inside...and in some ways it still affects me, still pulls at me - in different ways then it used to....maybe in ways that now I can use to give back and help someone else.






 

Touching Life

"I finally figured out the only reason to be alive is to enjoy it." Sissy Spacek

I was sick. I think I had the flu or something.  My father pulled me to the table....demanded I eat. Shoving his fist in my face - he threatened if I didn't eat he would force the food down my throat. I took a bite....then threw up. He didn't care. He swore...pushed more food at me.....demanding I eat it. I tried...I couldn't keep it down.. Later.....hiding in my closet - in the dark - I bit my arms until my teeth left indents...and my arms bled.

I think eating and food are metahpors for life and living. Food - it  nourishes the body, keeps you alive...some of my friends  talk about food and eating as pleasurable experiences....they go into great details about textures, tastes...what they love, don't like....baking, cooking, tasting - speaking in animated excited tones...

Food - eating....touching life. Sometimes I still walk around feeling I have no right to touch life...to use things....things that are supposed to bring pleasure...things that are meant for enjoyment. Sometimes I still feel like an intruder....sneaking around a house I've broken into. It's a strange sensation....a sense of not being allowed to really be part of life.

I eat the same things everyday. eggs, popcorn - cereal - something in me still can't let myself touch, feel, experience the pleasures of life. There's a part of me that still believes I don't deserve what others enjoy. Somewhere deep inside - I still think I have no right to life. - It's not the way I used to believe. I used to think I had no right to exist at all.  I don't feel that anymore - I just need to know inside that' it's ok to touch, to feel, to experience life in its fullness. 

I want to feel what my friends feel. I want to touch life as life is meant to be lived. I am really connected when running in the woods  - but it's too cold outside. And my body is always physicially cold. My friends tell me it's because I don't eat the right things. 

Touching life - feeling it's warmth - that's what I want.

Winner

"We read to know we are not alone." C.S. Lewis

I've been blown away by all the people interested in wanting to win a copy of my book. I wish I could send everyone one. My daughter wrote down the names of everyone who commented on the three blogs and then pulled out the name of the winner. 

Jane of the Jungle won the copy. I'll pop it in the mail today. Way to go. 


And for anyone who may be interested in purchasing a copy of the book, I've posted some excerpts of reviews: 

1....Her story is compelling simply because she should not be where she is now: she should not be alive, she should not be whole, and she should not be thriving in society. But she is! As I journeyed through her story, I became aware of a burning passion at work. It is a story of the loving Creator wooing a lost soul. 

I cried as I read of her traumas. I rejoiced as I read of both the miraculous deliverance and the painstaking recovery. And I will continue to celebrate as society’s lost are found through her words and ministry. Anyone who reads this story will have no doubt that God’s love conquers all and trumps even mankind’s best efforts.

- Donna Dawson, author of The Adam and Eve Project, Redeemed, and the double award winning novel, Vengeance
  
2.....I began reading her blog and could gather by her postings that she had endured very painful events in her life.I did not understand the full magnitude of the pain and suffering she endured until I read her life story, In The Eye of Deception. In The Eye of Deception is a powerful book about enduring, surviving and overcoming .... It is a powerful story of redemption....a powerful story of how God can turn what is meant to destroy us into something which uplifts us and glorifies HIM. I give In The Eye of Deception 5 out of 5 stars. The book is awesome. The book is fantastic. The book will indeed set you free.
Valerie: http://simply4god.blogspot.com

 3. As a Child and Youth Worker, it amazes me that she is still alive after what she lived through. Many youth and adults have far fewer problems yet give up because life seems just too difficult. If anyone had a reason to give up, she did, yet God perserved her life and gave her a desire to bring hope and healing to others. May this book change your life as knowing her has changed mine. 

Debbie Thorkildsen: CYW 

Knowing......

"Sometimes, if you lean over to watch the river slipping slowly away beneath you, you will suddenly know everything there is to be known."     Pooh's Little Instruction Book

It's too cold to go running in the woods. Too cold to walk by the water or take the kids and go down to 'cherry hill' where the chickadees and woodpeckers fly right into your hands. 

It's too cold to stand on the hills and feel the soft breeze in my hair, or hear the sounds of the quiet and calm and nature - or to listen uninterupted for His whisper in my spirit......

It's too cold....really cold....But everything inside me yearns to be outside - in the woods, in the hills, .....listening and feeling His presence.....I miss looking up and seeing the hawks, and turkey vultures and blueherons flying with their beautiful wings outstretched - soaring as if they own the sky. I miss feeling the warmth of the sun and the gentle breeze and seeing the deer passing by....It's the place I feel free. It's where I feel safe. And it's where my heart sings..

It's too cold...really cold. There's at least four more months to go - if not five. If I close my eyes, I can imagine it and even feel as if I'm there....but it's not the same as being there - as experiencing it. 

It's cold....just like how my heart used to feel....cold..hard. Angry. Really angry and full of of hate...It was a like a shield that wouldn't let anyone in...or let anyone stay. And I wouldn't stay. But things have changed. Somehow He opened my heart....softed it and helped me stay. I have the best friends....the best family....How did that happen? 


Guys - I just had to write today. I had to put something down here because writing for me is like running in the woods - when I write - I feel free. The book giveaway is still on until late thursday night. The winner will be announced Friday. See post below this one for more info.

Book Give Away

"Not to transmit an experience is to betray it." Eli Wiesel

It took me one year to write what I lived. One year to put it down on paper. One year to remember how far down He had reached to pull me out. One year of fighting within myself to finally come to the place of letting Him use what I lived - to give hope - to someone else.   

It is a story I had never told; I kept it all inside. I started to wonder if it was some crazy dream, or if it had even happened at all. Sometimes I thought maybe I had made it up. Other times I thought it wasn’t that bad – it was no big deal. But last year people I hadn’t seen in a while started surfacing: family, friends... people who knew. “You’re a miracle,” they said. “How did you survive?” 
 “Survive?” “Miracle?”  What did they mean? They started to tell me stories from their memories of how bad things were: how thin I had become, how out of control... My older sister whom I hadn’t seen for a long time returned from living overseas. She needed to talk. She forced me to listen... forced me to remember. 

When the memories hit, they hit hard. I wrote to get the images out of my head. I couldn’t eat or sleep. I wanted to get in my car, close my eyes and drive. It felt like it was happening all over again – the beatings, the confinement, the rape; throwing up time after time after time, even when I had tasted only a small bite of something; shoving needles in my arm  three and four times a day; ripping my arms with jagged rocks to feel something because I was so numb inside.

Why God? Why are you letting me go through this again? 

I didn’t want to remember! Yet in remembering, it dawned on me – finally – just how far down God had reached to free me.

Every day, in heat, rain or cold, I ran - alone in the woods - in the hills near our home. There I felt the gentle touch of God. I heard Him whisper, “You’re stronger now. It’s time to tell the truth of what happened. Tell your story to give hope to others.”

How could I never have told anyone what He had done for me? Nothing else had worked. Nothing had been able to break the chains that kept me living on the edge. Nothing…except the gentleness of His touch. 

The power of His gentleness...
In the Eye of Deception: This is my story. www.gentlerecovery.webs.com

The publisher made an error and printed a couple of books with stretched margins. I thought I would turn this 'error' into a free give away. For everyone who leaves a comment with their email here or on my website -  your name will be written down and my daughter will pull out the name of the winner. The 'winner' will be chosen on Friday of this week. 

Seeing Beauty When There's None

"He who has courage and faith will never perish in misery." Anne Frank

It's hard to think Anne Frank was only 14 when she wrote this. 14 and hated - for no other reason than being Jewish. 14 and having her world as she had known it - turned upside down. 14 and not able to go outside to smell the flowers, or attend a dance or sit in a classroom and daydream about boys, or her future or life.....

In spite of the hatred and brutality that had taken over her world - in spite of  being stripped of all the comforts of home and school and friendships - in spite of those who believed she had no right to exist......14 year old Anne wrote as if her world was normal....as if nothing had changed....putting her thoughts down on paper - the thoughts of a normal teen.....

I try to visualize what it must have felt like to be 14 and forced to live in a small space with people terrified for their lives - fearing the craziness of those who wanted to kill not only you but your whole race - people who lived with fear that if they were found - they would die.....or worse...

Anguish - cries heard in the streets - family, friends, respected elders - taken - their lives stolen - beaten like violent criminals - in temples, in shops, in communities - there was no safe place....nowhere to hide. It was always just a matter of time. 

Yet in the midst of that senseless brutality - 14 year old Anne kept her diary and wrote like any typical young teen pondering the world around her and her place in it.

Her words strong, positive, powerful:

"I twist my heart round again, so that the bad is on the outside and the good is on the inside, and keep trying to find a way of becoming what I would so like to be...."  

"think of all the beauty still left around you and be happy."  

"I don't think of all the misery but of the beauty that still remains."

I didn't have the strength that Anne had. Or the courage - nor her positive outlook. I felt the hatred and I hated back. I felt the brutality and I wanted to lash out against every perpetrator who hurt me. I let the brutality pull me into its lies - into its fear, into its hatred - Everything in my world was black - dark  - I saw no beauty. I wanted so bad to give up and to give in to the darkness. I saw no hope - no light - no meaning.

 Anne had been raised by loving parents - parents who gave her security and a strong foundation  - so strong that when the darkness came - she was able to push it aside and still see beauty. I'm trying to parent my girls that way. Maybe it's working. My oldest 13 - almost 14 - is amazingly positive. She inspires me - she teaches me....

Growing up in a Jewish home - I heard the phrase over and over: "to not remember the past is to be condemned to repeat it." I used to wonder why do Jewish people constantly talk about what happened....and hold memorials and give honor to the survivors.   I was told - 'so it will never happen again. From one generation to the next - we must tell what happened.' 

I think I'm beginning to understand.....to tell of the brutality we lived - in some way is a protection for the next generation - to know - to be aware - to live a bit differently - to understand there is darkness - but there's also a strength, a hope - a light with each survivor who stands up and says, "I survived. The darkness couldn't destroy me."

I never wanted anyone to know what happened to me - all those things I lived - Today I want you to know, "I survived." And everytime I read some of your blogs - and know you too have survived - I'm cheering.

She Made a Difference

"What is soul? It's like electricity - We don't really know what it is, but it's a force that can light up a room" Ray Charles.

She was a woman who touched me...an elderly woman who spent the last few days of her life in a hospital bed... I was moved by her gentleness - her gratitude - her kind spirit. She was a fighter....a different kind than me.....but still a fighter. Her friends came to see me....they told me her story - they spoke with admiration...the same admiration I felt when I sat in her presence. 

She had lived in Poland during the war. Her older brother had been thrown in prison. She tried to sneak some home cooked food to him, but was caught and put in prison too. While there, she was beaten and treated cruelly. Finally they released her. The war became worse and conditions in Poland were bad. Parents were frantic wanting their children to be spared. She had been a teacher. She knew the children.  

On her own...alone...she took a number of those kids and escaped Poland, climbing over the mountains. She brought them to the United States but they were turned away. They settled in Mexico. She raised them until they were of age. Most eventually went to live in the United States....she herself came to Canada. 

To look at her....you would never know she was a fighter. You would never think she had been so brave in the face of brutality...or that she had the courage to bring a group of children across the ocean...to a strange land...where she knew no one - alone....

And she couldn't have known how much she touched my life....made a difference...gave me something - gave me a determination not to waste what He did for me. 

I don't want to be afraid to reach out - to make a difference - to take a risk. I don't want to be afraid anymore or live with shame. I've started telling a few close friends pieces of what I've lived. Their reaction is shock - mine is fear that they'll turn away from me. None have so far. 


Some days I feel really confident and strong - other times.....I cringe thinking of people knowing the things that happened.


That elderly woman - her past never went away. It followed her in some ways - pulling and tugging inside.  She befriended a man - similiar to her older brother. He had problems. He couldn't work. He was  like a boy in a man's body. He needed her - but in many ways she needed him. Her friends didn't understand - why would she bother with him? She had the respect of so many - a great woman - a wonderful teacher. I understood.


We're shaped by what we lived....The hurts, the pain, the traumas leave imprints on our heart - in our soul. I don't think they ever completely go away. Remnants linger...they stay affecting us in ways that seem so contrary to who we have become. 

I don't want my past to pull me down anymore. I don't want what I lived to keep me from living my life in complete freedom. I don't want to be ashamed of how far I had fallen.....how bad it had been. My friend told me if people know just how bad it was - they'll understand hope and grace. And if they understand - maybe they'll reach for their own freedom.

Letting Love In

"To love and be loved is to feel the sun from both sides." David Viscott

 

For a long time I was afraid to love....anyone or anything. I didn't want to get hurt. I was afraid it or them would be taken away. Anytime someone showed they cared - or wanted to get close - I pushed them away - making excuses - leaving. And I never let myself get attached to things. I didn't think they would last either.

But not loving anything or anyone left me feeling alone and empty. That deep hunger for love and being too afraid was a vicious cycle that churned and gnawed inside me - It made me feel like an outsider - not really living. Fear won out for a long time.  


People called me a risk taker. I never knew....to love is to take a risk. Writing, blogging....opened my heart. I don't know how that happened. I wrote the truth - I wrote what I could never say. I wrote and kept writing...Something happened. A light turned on. The heaviness began to lift. The shame didn't feel so intense. I let people look in my eyes - and I could stay in their presence a bit longer. 

Somebody knew. You guys knew. No one had ever said what I lived was awful. I had tried to fight it - to not let it be so big. No one had told me it was bad - no one had said they were sorry it happened. People are saying it now - And that was the key that turned the lock on my heart. I feel a softness inside - a vulnerabilty that wasn't there before - I'm letting people in my world - I'm letting people care - and I'm letting them stay.


I always cared about people - I didn't want anyone to be hurt or afraid - but to care....really care...I'm learning you have to let them love you back....and not be afraid to take a risk.

Love - it started with Him - somehow He cut through all the layers that padded and hid my heart - all the layers that kept the light out  -  I want to love and let others love me back. I want to live free and be a part of life - not an outsider afraid to join in - and I want to give back in ways that make a difference  -

Never Hopeless

"When you say a situation or person is hopeless, you are slamming the door in the face of God." Charles Allan
 

There were professionals who thought I was pretty hopeless. They believed with medication and psychiatric intervention I could live an ok life. They pumped me full of pills even though I was a drug addict and tried to take control over my life. Their pills made me weird....made me want to sleep all the time, and gave me strange side effects. 

Those 'professionals' had the answers. They knew what I needed. I didn't know anything. And they labeled me with borderline personality and other nonesense terms. When I tried to refuse their help and their pills - they forced me - locking me in isolation, tying me to the bed.... hurting me with physical and chemical restraints. They stripped me of every shred of dignity and took away any sense of control I had. Their seeing me as hopeless made me hate them and me even more... and I began to see myself as hopeless.


Then He touched me....and He did what the professionals couldn't. His love - His gentleness broke through and did what no amount of force could. Force never works and nobody is ever hopeless. 

Sometimes when I think of what 'professionals' did to me, how they treated me....their labels, their methods of 'treatment'... I get angry and want to lash out at the system. But I don't want to fight or be angry anymore. I want to forgive....like He forgave me - and I want to treat others different than I was treated.

I want to take what I've been given and extend a hand of hope. Working in a hospital I hear many stories of 'professionals' living on edge, ...in broken marriages, broken homes..living empty lives. A few days ago a 'professional' commited suicide. It's scarey to think these are the people who take control over the lives of others...vulnerable people....people who are broken, lost...

I never want anyone to feel what I did. I want to show kindness and compassion and help whoever I work with to feel empowered. I want to give what He gave to me. Force, humiliation and threats never work. Kindness does. Kindness always does.  And no one is ever hopeless.