God’s Healing Love

Wanna go for a drive, Karen?” Harry asked late one night as he switched off the television set.

I watched from under my bedroom door as Momma put out her cigarette and replied, “Okay, just let me put my shoes on.”

Harry grabbed his keys, and they headed together for the door.

That was my cue. With impeccable timing, I walked into the living room rubbing my eyes, and in the sleepiest six-year-old voice I could muster, I said, “Mommy, I don’t feel well. I can’t sleep.”

Harry stood with a dumbfounded expression written across his face. I felt his eyes burn my skin as he watched my mother feel my forehead.

Momma noticed I had no fever, yet she wrapped me in her arms, kissed me, and softly comforted me. “It’s okay, honey. We’re going for a drive down the road. You’ll come, too.” She grabbed the throw from the back of the couch and carried me with her to the car.

I would have given anything for us to stay home, but at least Momma and I were together; I didn’t want Harry to take her anywhere. What if he did something to her? I couldn’t afford to lose Momma. And besides that, I didn’t want them to leave my siblings and me at the trailer alone. I hated the rat-infested place, and I couldn’t stand the small, dark room where my siblings and I slept on two worn mattresses covering the floor.

Every night I assumed my post, peering beneath the bedroom door. I felt it was my duty to make sure nothing happened. Someone had to look out for Momma; someone had to make sure that if they left, they both came back. My siblings could have out-silenced a mouse. I don’t know how they could have slept so soundly—perhaps they preferred to block things out. I wished I could.

We climbed into the car in the black of night. Not a star or the moon could be seen. We rode with the windows down, yet the cold I felt chilling my bones seemed to come from within. Lucky for me, the car ride was short. We went down the dirt road to the stop sign, turned around, and drove back. When we came inside, we said our good-nights once again, and everyone went to their respective beds.

My Daily Nightmare Begins

I tossed and turned with fear throughout the night, wondering if Harry would come. Time and again he had come to rob me of my innocence. I would be sound asleep, and then I would feel his hand grab my ankle, and like a rag doll he would pull me from my slumber on the mattress.

I was scared to death. Why did I have to live like this? Why couldn’t we be in Illinois still? Why had we come here? I would have traded this hell for the homeless shelter in a heartbeat. Fortunately, Harry didn’t come that night, and I must have finally drifted off to sleep.

I was just a child, broken and afraid. I didn’t know what love was, and I certainly didn’t have a father to teach me. My father walked out on us when I was only a toddler, when my younger siblings were still in my mother’s womb. This man—this Harry—was not my father. Momma had met him only a few months earlier when we were living in a homeless shelter, sleeping on cots, and eating free food. Harry was a scruffy guy, but he was friendly enough—or so Momma thought.

Harry told us he had a home; it was all the way in Florida, but we could go there and live with him. My mother was desperate. Family had given up on us, we had no support, and she was struggling to raise four young children on her own. She barely knew this man, yet to Florida with Harry we went. If only she could have seen who he really was: a pedophile and a suspected murderer.

God Intervenes

I cannot tell you how long we lived with Harry. Maybe it was four months, maybe a year. But it was enough that I exhibited risky, nervous behavior, and my first-grade teacher took notice.

“Is everything okay at home?” she asked me.

I nodded and gave her a “Yes,” fearful of what would happen if I told her the truth.

Time passed, and things continued to escalate. When my teacher asked me a second time, she assured me that talking to her was safe and nothing bad would happen. I could see her concern, and because I could no longer hide my pain, I told her everything. My palms were sweaty as my story tumbled out, and my heart prayed that Harry wouldn’t hurt Momma.

That afternoon, my siblings and I were called to the office, where we waited until school let out. Our bus left without us, and a large man towering well over six feet came to pick us up instead.

“Kelly, what did you do?” my sister Katie asked, as tears flowed down her cheeks.

I could feel the trembling fear my siblings had. My conscience ached, and I felt awful for separating us from Momma. She was all we really had.

We went home with Mr. George, and his family quickly became ours. Mr. George was not a scary giant, but a loving, godly man. Mrs. Connie was a caring mother, and their children were our best friends. The Bells were truly a foster family sent to us from God.

Never before had anyone shown me how a father was supposed to love his daughter. Mr. George taught me; he disciplined me and cared for my needs. But most importantly, he showed me Jesus. He helped me

to see that I was beautiful and that I was valued. He showed me that I could do or become anything I set my heart to; he gave me hope.

Third grade came, and my siblings and I returned home to live with Momma. We lived in a small apartment complex, but we were united again. Things were different, but we loved each other. Jesus resided in my heart, and nothing that would happen in the years that followed could change that.

Harry was imprisoned for his acts against my siblings and me. I wish my childhood could have been different, but despite these hardships, I have learned to know my heavenly Father more personally. He is the only dad I have. I can honestly say that I hold no bitter- ness in my heart against Harry or my father. I forgive them and desire that they may know Jesus also.

Sometimes I still struggle with feeling loved, but then I look to the cross of Calvary and I see the love that was poured out for me. Sometimes our own flesh and blood may let us down, but there is One who is always faithful and closer than any parent.

God wants you to know that no matter what may have happened in the past, He wants to give you hope and a future. He loves you. You are the work of His hands, and He wants you to cast all your burdens on Him. He can bind up your wounds and restore you into the image He created you to have. Trust in Him, and acquaint yourself with His Word. Do this and your life will never be the same.