Who I am, part 1

I have been given the task of blogging about who I am.  This is pretty convenient since I had previously told you that I would share my testimony.  Since there are so many aspects of who I am and what my testimony is, I will be doing this in several posts, rather than just one long story.  For my first post about who I am and what my testimony is, I will be sharing my first college essay.  My second week of class in Comp I, we came in to a list on the board.  We had to choose a prompt and write about it.  I was terrified because, up to this point, I was convinced that I was a stupid person.  By this, I mean literally unintelligent and incapable of learning much.  I chose a topic that I thought would be fairly easy.  I was supposed to write about what I would do if I could go back to a single day in my past.  I put my pencil on the paper and froze, but then it just came out of me.  As I began to write, I felt like something had taken over me and the words just flowed onto the paper.  This is not the most amazing essay ever, but it is a part of my inmost being.  In that classroom, sitting at that desk, I learned so much about myself.  It was the beginning of an awakening that has not died since.  I hope that you enjoy it...

I Can Be Healed

            I see him sitting there.  He is watching the Elvis marathon.  I am not sure how I got here or what has happened, but he is right there.  I am afraid.  Can he see me?  Hesitantly, I walk up and sit down beside him.  I am trembling.  I feel as though I might choke on the knot in my throat as I fight back tears.  He looks at me like nothing has changed.  Do I look the same?  He tries to hand me the joint in his hands.  I finally speak.  “I am not a little girl anymore, Daddy Mike.  I don’t smoke.  I don’t drink.  I am not the same.”

            He doesn’t seem fazed by my change.  I am still trying to figure out if this is real.  We talk a little about the past.  We talk a little about my present.  I am dying to ask him, but scared to death at the same time.  Finally, the word jumps out of my throat as if it was trying to break free.  “Why?”  The next thing I know a string of questions and rants come out with years of tears and anger.  All of them end with the same word, “why.”

            I do not expect much of an answer.  He is the same man that did all of those horrible things.  He does not give an answer right away.  He just sits there watching Elvis and smoking.  I sit there with him, broken and silent.  I wonder how I can hate him and love him at the same time.  I wonder how he can bring fear and comfort at the same time.  I do not know where to go from here. 

            As I sit there wondering what to do next, he actually answers me.  “Because I wanted to.  Because I didn’t think you would remember.  Because I didn’t think I would get caught.”  I did not expect the truth, but there it is.  I got what I wanted, but I am not sure I feel any better.  The truth is still the truth.  I am still broken and scarred.  He is still sitting there watching Elvis and smoking his joint.  There is nothing left to say.

            I am sitting there on that awful couch, memories pouring in.  I think about the time I asked him if I could call him Daddy.  I think about how I used to look forward to our time alone at night.  I think about how excited I was to see the strawberry wine, the joint, and the marathon.  It was supposed to be our father-daughter time.  It was supposed to be normal and healthy.   The reality of his deception makes me sick.  I was so innocent, so naïve.  I struggle with thoughts of guilt and sorrow.  My heart is groaning and I feel as though I might be taken over with despair.

            In my heart, I know I have to forgive him.  It is the only way I will ever find peace.  It is the only way I will survive with my sanity intact.  Some days, forgiveness will be easy.  I will remember that my past made me who I am today.  I will remember that it led me down the road that gave me my husband and children.  I will remember that it led me to Jesus.  Other days, I will have to fight the anger.  I will have to choose to forgive, regardless of how many flashes of his face go through my mind.  I will have to remember the grace that made me new.

            I do not know if I am dreaming or really sitting here.  Will I wake up soon?  Am I stuck here?  I have to pick myself up off this couch.  I have to walk out the door.  Maybe I just have to open my eyes.  Either way, I know I have to go on living.  I can to choose to forgive.  I can keep on raising my children and thanking God that they are safe.  I can allow my broken past to make me stronger.  I can be who he said I would never be.  I can be healed.  I can be free.

I thought that it would be best to start with this essay because the reality of who I am and where I come from is not all roses and sunshine.  I cannot say that I have lived a beautiful and perfect life.  It has been rough and I have gotten dirty.  I do not love Jesus because that is what I was taught to do.  I do not want to inspire kids because I had an amazing childhood.  I love Jesus because He is the first taste of love I have ever known.  I love Him because He loved me when I was unlovable.  I want to inspire kids because inspiration was so void in my childhood.  I want to be for others everything I never had.  I am at peace with so much of my past.  Right now, there are children out there that are going through the same things that I experienced.  I want to be there to recognize the fear and sorrow.  I want to be there to be the spark that fans into a flame.  I want to be there to set them on a path better than the one I felt doomed to follow.  If I can be healed, so can they.  To all of those in the Education system, determine to be the spark.  For me, it was Jesus.  For them, it can be us!