Sexual Molestation

I recall one time when I was in my thirties, I dropped my hearing aid on the hard floor and stomped my feet and said oh noooo in a pouty way. Please understand, hearing aids don’t respond well to impact with a hard surface. Thankfully, the hearing aid was ok and didn’t need repair…

BUT!

The comment from my then husband opened a wound from long ago. He said, “Sometimes you act like a three year old.” I realized it was truth.

That same night I started having what would become a recurring nightmare.

The sleeping me saw a huge face.

A HUGE FACE!!

A HUGE MAN”S FACE

A HUGE BIG FAT UGLY MAN’S FACE

It was terrifying! It was progressive and progressively terrifying.

I realized that God was trying to show me something important, so I asked, “God why is this so important?” I didn’t get an immediate answer so I asked a new question. “Who is that Lord?” I immediately was given a name. No need to repeat the name here, but it was not a name that was familiar to me at that time. I began praying for “Revelation Knowledge” about this person.

I continued to have the dream for some time but it wasn’t as scary as it had been at first. I was mostly curious, but then the curiosity turned to anger. I was mad enough to want to hurt that “Big Fat Ugly Man”

At some point, I was visiting my Mammy when in the conversation, she mentioned a man who had died with the same name God had given me. I said who is that and how would I know him. She went on to explain the family had been neighbors when I was just a tiny girl. The age of the man who died seemed too old to be my “BFU, (BIG FAT UGLY), so I asked if he had a son by the same name. He did, but the son was called by a nickname. When she said the nickname, I immediately recognized it. I now knew who the BFUM was.

But what good was the information when I didn’t know why God was giving it to me? The dream was almost nightly and the terror returned. Fear became my constant companion until one day I grabbed a cart and walked through the door of the local grocery store. As I walked down the produce aisle I looked at the man ahead of me and became furious! There he was in the living stinking dirty flesh. I wanted to ram him with my cart. I gripped the cart handle and started forward but God in his mercy stopped me. I let the cart where it was and fled the store.

For weeks I had been fighting aginst something that was unknown to me but suddenly it was there in front of me and I knew I had to acknowledge it and allow the Holy Spirit to heal me. I got home from the store and lay down on my bed sobbing I told The Lord I was ready to deal with it and forgive. I just couldn’t fight the memory any longer.

We lived in a cabin by the river. Between us and the neighbor was a hunting cabin that had Lady Bugs painted on it. We called it the cootie cabin. It was mostly vacant in the off season so my older Aunts would meet the neighbor kids there to play. I was 3 years old. My Aunts were probably 7 and 10 or close to those ages. The one who came to be known as the BIG FAT UGLY MAN was most likely in his late teens or early twenties.

There is no need to elaborate with details. As I lay there on my bed, I allowed the memories to unfold. I saw very clearly what was happening. I so wanted to save that child from the horror that was happening to her. It was as if I became her.

I was her! Jesus where were YOU??????

Lying on my bed, yet lying on a rock with BFUM hovering over me I was compelled to look to my left. Jesus! I saw Him! He was there all the time! Why oh why didn’t you stop it? Why oh why have I had to carry this with me so deep in my spirit? Why God? Why?

No answer. Silence. BFUM throwing up in the weeds. On my bed, I feel comfort surrounding me like a cloak. I know it’s the arms of my Saviour! In the vision Jesus sweeps me up in His arms and wipes my face with His beard, dries my tears with His hair. I lay like that for a long time, just resting in His love and Presence.

The next day, I was in my car at a stop sign. BFUM passed by me. I pulled out behind him. I forgave him in that instant. When the passing lane opened I passed him with a wave and a smile. I was free!

Over the next few weeks, I would remember other molesters, other incidents, but it wasn’t as difficult. I was able to remember, forgive, and let it go…

This is Day 3 of the rest of my life. My Dear and Beautiful friend Betty, (my Mom’s 92-year young neighbor), invited us to lunch today. She made homemade mac and cheese, lima beans drowning in butter, pickled eggs and beets, and biscuits. Her friend added a roast pork loin which was melt in your mouth tender.

Those are all foods I love and need to give up most of them. I am determined with God’s Help and Guidance I will use food and exercise to heal my body, which is His temple. I am learning as I go. I am very thankful to a few friends who have successfully battled autoimmune illnesses and shared books and articles with me so I have a starting point.

As I think back over the last few years I am amazed at how far I’ve come. Actually, as I look back at my life I realize what a miracle I am and how precious is the gift of life. I digress. (LOL I often do that as I type and different thoughts pop into my head).

Anyway, back to day 3. I ate Betty’s wonderful lunch as though it was my last meal so to speak. I actually have too much food in my pantry to get rid of to go cold turkey so I am adding more fruit and vegetables, fresh or frozen of course and will no longer purchase canned and prepared foods as I use what I have. I am trying to keep a very detailed food journal so I can know which foods make me feel bad. So far I have learned some fats are on the no list. I believe sugar and gluten are major causes of inflammation so I am gradually eliminating them from my diet.

**Note added Sunday 1/14 – Today Betty brought us banana cake! I did really well. I didn’t eat it until Monday. 🙂 It didn’t make me feel bad.

It is very hard for me to add this video, but it shows how much better my speech is when I modulate it. It will also be a clear representation of how much my speech improves.

Day 2, January 7th.

My first walk outside in a long time. I didn’t make it far, but I DID make it back. My friend Susan wrote a blog recently wrote an excellent blog, The Four Letter Word We All Need to Banish. The word is ONLY. A few years back I would have said I ONLY walked .2 miles. Considering that a week ago I could barely make it to the bathroom, that .2 miles make me feel accomplished. I know my limitations but I also know my God!

“…You are in the ICU at Evangelical Hospital”.

Those were the words I heard just after I pulled the mask off my face and the tube from my throat. Terror filled me. I didn’t know where I was or what was happening to me. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. I was supposed to be in a medically induced sleep for another 12 hours.

My hands were tied down. BUT, the will to live was greater than the ties that bound me.

I must say in retrospect, there was immediately a cool half dozen medical professionals attending me. A nurse later told me there was no foreseeable way I could have gotten my hands on my face. BUT, the will to live was greater than the ties that bound me.

My last memory was calling 911, grabbing my purse which is always ready for the ambulance ride, opening my front door and collapsing. I couldn’t stand. I was trying to crawl onto my front porch so they could be sure to find me. This was the fifth time I had called 911 since June 13th. You’d think they would know me by now.

I couldn’t reach the handle on the storm door. I could see my body there on the floor with my hand on the window. My eyes were just level with the bottom of the glass so I could see the police car stop in front. That was noon.

I was intubated. I’ve heard that word many times, but believe me, you don’t fully understand the meaning of it. It was 9 PM when I pulled the tube from my throat. Then began the most horrific 12 hours I have ever spent, and I have been through a lot.

This was not the first time I have experienced near death. I have been sick off and on for a little over 3 years. February 10th, 2016 at 8:05 in the morning was the first time I called 911. I simply stopped breathing. I lay down on my floor and died. Sounds dramatic but there is no other way to say it. I was immediately in the Light of God’s Presence. Oh, I know there are those who will say I was hallucinating or some such other excuse to discount the experience, but those who Believe with me know that Light is a reality. God gave me a second chance that day.

God gave me a third chance this past Monday, September 18th at 12 noon. How many chances do I need?

Why am I even writing this? I’m probably rambling but I don’t care. I need to get it down. Every chance is a chance to say something, to do something to be something different…better? more? for whatever reason.

The Will to Live is stronger than the things that hold me bound. How dare I abuse God’s gift with junk food and unhealthy habits? Random thoughts I guess.

How did I get to this point? The first time the devil tried to take my life I was unborn….