Growing in the Rocks

"Where flowers bloom so does hope." Lady Bird Johnson

When I went to visit my sister in Israel, she took me to the top of this rocky mountain. Nothing was there - just rocks, stones, and gravel. But it was still beautiful. Maybe because it was so isolated and high. Standing there I felt like I could touch the sky.

We sat there - just the two of us - bathing in the soft wind, the warm sun and the peaceful quiet. Then she started talking, telling me how awful it was for us as kids. She talked about the beatings, the constant bullying, ridicule and name calling, being left alone - the fear, the shame, the terror. She said she was sorry she didn't protect me - that she wasn't there for me.

I was still in denial. I didn't believe it had been so bad. She told me how afraid she had been watching me slowly die from the drugs, the eating disorder - not understanding why I wouldn't or couldn't talk. She had run to her friends. I withdrew into myself trying to become invisible.

I'm not sure why we hadn't noticed them before, but there a few feet from us, two flowers, side by side were growing in the rocks. We were stunned. How could they grow in the middle of all that hardness? How could those two flowers survive and grow?

Somehow they had managed to grow without good soil or adequate rain. I looked at my sister. "We survived." My sister is older than me. And more emotional. She broke down and cried. I forced myself to be strong like I had done since I was a kid.

"It was so bad." She said. "How did we survive?"

I looked up at ths sky. I knew. I remember when my mother was dying. We lived in a tight Jewish area. I came home from school and was surprised to see a nun sitting with my mother. I think that woman prayed for us. I think God heard.

Thinking about those two flowers, I wonder if God put them there for us - to show us - even in the hard places He's there helping us to grow, helping us to be strong, keeping us safe. I need to believe that.

The Power of Nature

"The best remedy for those who are afraid, lonely or unhappy is to go outside, somewhere where they can be quiet, alone with the heavens, nature and God. Because only then does one feel that all is as it should be and that God wishes to see people happy, amidst the simple beauty of nature." Anne Frank

I don't do good when I'm around people too much. I crave alone time. When I'm around too many people too much of the time, my mind goes into frantic mode. I stop listening. I stop being present. I daydream about the woods, the mountains, the water. I envsion the birds - the deer and I can even smell the sweetness of the earth. The pull to be outside is so strong. In nature - in the woods - I feel safe. I feel free.

I think nature has to be God's gift to us. If I wasn't so scared of the dark, I would probably live in the forest, up on a mountain somewhere.

I spent a lot of time locked up - My father used to lock me in his car in the worse part of the city for hours by myself. I was terrified. I prayed he would come back and get me. He always did. As a kid I spent hours hiding in a closet, under the balcony or in the basement, holding my breath, afraid to move - terrified, listening, waiting - like an animal being stalked.

The rapist held me for six months. In the cold, in winter, in the snow - with no shoes, no coat - I escaped. I climbed over a six foot high gate to freedom. When I couldn't stop throwing up, cutting myself, shooting dope - they locked me on a psych ward. Threatened to keep me locked up until I stopped the destructive behaviour.

Confined. Trapped. I hate those feelings. Maybe that's why I love being outside. There I hear God's whisper in my heart. I feel His gentle touch. I feel His strength.

Memories

"Memory is the diary that we all carry about with us." Oscar Wilde.

Last night my friend told me she saw a movie. A movie about a woman whose story is similiar to mine. She told me she understands me better. She said she couldn't have survived what I did. She said she's glad I survived.

Hearing her say that, knowing she watched that movie and related it to me made me feel scared. Vulnerable. I couldn't talk. She's read my book. Edited it. Believes God wants to use me to help others. So why do I feel afraid? Listening to her talk about that show brought up painful memories of what happened. The memories hurt. They hurt really bad.

I talked to Maury Blair, author of Child of Woe. He said everytime he shares his story it hurts. The memories surface and it feels like it's happening all over again. But he said he won't stop telling. He does it because God touched him. Healed him. He talks to give hope to others and to help them find some freedom.

I didn't think it would be like this. I didn't think writing what happened would be so hard. When I remember it feels like I'm back there fighting to survive. The anger is there too. Anger at the people who hurt me and anger at myelf for being so powerless.

Why did God let it happen? Why did He allow it? I think of my friends who committed suicide or died by accident. He let me live. He redeemed my life. Why me and not them? I have to tell. Like Maury, I feel compelled to tell even if it's going to hurt everytime I do.