Wednesday, November 30, 2016

One Night of Beatings and I Never Felt a Thing.

It was a horrible night.
A night that I have only talked about when asked.
A night that I have spoken about at women's breakfasts or at a few local churches, but nothing that I have openly divulged on my own. I haven't talked about it since the last time I shared at a church, which was three years ago. And I only ever think of it when the Lord touches my heart in my quiet times with Him.

It's not something one would chat about, or at least not me. It's not something I even rest on or ponder about when I'm alone. I don't talk about it or think on it because I haven't found a reason to. The thought may pop up in my mind, but as quickly as it arises, I shut it down. It's not because it still scares me or that I struggle with forgiveness, it's just one of those things that happened and there really isn't any point on dwelling on it, that is until recently.

One day, while I was getting my Bible and journal out I felt the Lord prodding me to think about that dreadful night. The night when my mother and sisters fell head long into a cult. The night I didn't. The night when I wouldn't conform. The night I felt their rage. The night I was beaten, almost to death. I was thrown to the ground. I was forced over on my stomach with my face to the ground. My hands were tied behind my back. My feet were tied together. A pillow case was tied around my head. Then the beatings began.

I hate to think about it, I do, but there it was. God was asking me to think about it- to remember. I tried to fight it. I told Him, "I don't need to remember this anymore. I forgive my mother. I forgive my sisters." But there was that night. Right before me. Bigger than life.

I watched it over in my mind. It was like I was in the first row of a movie theater. What else can you do, but stare at the huge screen before you? I watched how I struggled. I watched how I gasped for breath. I watched without putting my hands over my eyes or squinting. I watched as my brother-in-law repeatedly kicked me in my side and how I tried to protect myself, but couldn't. I watched and remembered how my sister pulled my hair so hard that I was raised off the ground. I remembered them screaming curses over me. I remember thinking, "They won't give up until they have killed me."

Then, all at once, they stopped.
They whispered.
They all left the room.
I waited for their return.
I dreamt about what would come next. A new plot to bring me to my death. Something worse.

This is where the Lord slowed down the film.
This is where a twenty-two year old memory becomes alive with truth.
A horror film turns to redemption.
This is where God is glorified.

He showed me, myself, lying on the floor in my sister's house, alone, waiting for the cult members to come back. He slowed the memory down so I could focus on one essential part.

There I was.
I felt no fear.
I felt no pain.
My head should have been throbbing.
My mouth should have have bleeding.
My lungs should have been giving out.
But I was fine.

The memory sped up again.
They came racing in. Grabbed me and threw me in the back of their car.
I was dumped off.
They were gone.
The End.

God stopped the memory. I went back. I allowed Him to show me again. All these years of wincing at my own memory. My own life story, I just couldn't talk about it. With all their blows, punches, kicks, and hair pulling, I didn't feel a thing. Not a thing. I remembered it, but never talked about it. I asked the Lord, "Why? Why haven't I ever told anyone that I never felt, what should have caused me unimaginable pain, -I never felt a thing? Why?"
The Lord said, "You were afraid that no one would believe you."

Yes. His words resonated in my soul. I've been afraid to tell the whole story. Yes. Why would anyone believe that I didn't feel a thing? I could hear myself saying it. No one would believe me.

I started to cry.
I asked for forgiveness.

The Lord saved my life that night.
I was alive.
I was rescued.

But I'm here today to say, my God fought evil for me. The enemy brought down blow after blow onto my physical body, but my God protected me not only from death, but from broken ribs, bleeding lungs, and a disfigured face. My God stood between me and my own family who decided to follow evil. Oh, how I would love God to show me, HIM, in my movie memory. How I would love to see Him standing over rme, protecting me.
How I would love to see My God protecting me.
But for now, I do not have to have to see it, because I know it is true.
And for all you who know my full testimony of amazing grace, redemption, and miracles, I want to tell you more. My God was there that evil night and He protected me.

Jesus, you deserve all of my praise!

If you would like to read more about my testimony, go to the Page entitled "Mommy Life," on the blog or click these related stories:
Hope Eternal: My Journey from Brokenness to Blessing
On the Bus

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