"Do you feel okay about continuing where we left off?" Marlin asked, the next time I sat in his office.

"I can't remember exactly where we were."

"You had been dumped in the street and you went to the Dairy Queen, crying."

"Oh, yes. [laugh] My nightmare wasn't over."

I was so desperate for help, and so afraid the man would come back, but who could I trust. There were quite a few people outside the Dairy Queen, but I didn't know any of them, and they frightened me looking at me like I was something from another planet. My dress was dirty and torn, and my hair had bits of gravel in it. My hands and knees were scraped and bleeding. Not one person looked at me kindly; they all quickly looked the other way.  

Tears continued to stream down my face, as I made my way to the side of the building. I silently willed my mother's car to come back, but it didn't. I squatted down and put my head on my arms. I was only seven years old, in a strange, new town. I had to think.  How would I get out of this? How could I be safe. 

A vehicle pulled up in front of me. I turned towards the wall of the building and hid my face. A man's voice spoke, "Linda, is that you? Are you okay?"

I jumped up, scrambling away from him.

"Stay away from me I screamed. Don't touch me!"

"It's all right Linda, I'm Al Tanahill. Don't you remember me?" He reached his hand out to touch me.

His face was a blur, and all I knew was I would have to fight for my life. Panci drove me.  "Noooo, noooo, nooooo" I sobbed. "Leave me alone. Stay away from me."

IT'S A LONG, LONG WAY HOME...

Just then, the woman got out of the car.  "Linda, don't your remember us? I'm Mrs. Tanahill and this is my husband. You and your family were at our house last week, and you played with our kids."  She motioned towards the car. I could see three young people in there, and I did recognize them.  Miraculously I recognized her.

"Help me," I cried running to throw myself around her. "Help me, please."

"Where's your parents, honey? Are they somewhere around here?"

"No. I don't know."

"Can you tell me what happened?"

I just shook my head.

"Why don't we drive you home? Would that be okay?"

I nodded, and she helped me into the car. I sat as close to her as I could get, not wanting to touch her husband. I began to talk in whispers with Mrs. Tanahill, as she gently asked me questions. I told her a man had taken me and then brought me back and dumped me in the street. I told her my mother had been in the doctor's office, and never came back. She kept her arm around me as the sped toward our home.  About a block from our house we say my mother in the car, speeding in the opposite direction.  Mr. Tanahill honked his horn, and waved at her out the window.

"We have Linda" he yelled.

She stopped her car and came running across the street.

"Oh, thank God!" she exclaimed. "I was going crazy."  She grabbed me, giving me a hug then held me at arms length. "Just look at you! Are you all right?" 

I shook my head.

Mrs. Tanahill explained, "All I could get out of her was that a man picked her up and took her out of town, then came back and threw her in the street."

"Oh, dear Lord," my mother was stunned. "I had a quick appointment with the doctor, and it took a little longer than I anticipated, and I left her in the car. When I came out she was gone. Come on," she continued, taking my hand. "Let's get you cleaned up at bit, and decide what to do."

"Shouldn't you be going to the police?" Mrs. Tanahill inquired.

"Of course. But I want to get her something to drink, and let her use the bathroom first," my mother answered. So I climbed in the car with her and headed the block to our house.

"You had me worried sick," she admonished me. "I didn't know what to think when I came out and you weren't in the car. Why couldn't you have simply obeyed me? I was only gone a few minutes.."

"It was almost three hours," I bravely retorted. I was accusing. I was scared. I needed .. I didn't know what I needed. But it was always the same, and it looked like this would be too. Nobody around to give me whatever it was that I needed right then. I sighed.

"Don't you get smart with me. I"m sorry this happened, but just remember it would never have happened if you had minded me."

At home she took me into the bathroom to wash me up. "I want you to tell me exactly what happened," she demanded.  So I did, leaving out the parts about his kissing and touching. Something told me I had to leave that part out. 

When I was finished she took hold of my arms with her hands. "Look at me. You are never to tell anybody about any nasty things that you might let him do to you. Do you understand me.?

I just looked at her. The walls began to move in my peripheral vision, and I could feel darkness shoving at my mind. I wanted to run and hide and never come out. I held on, and nodded, numbly.

"That's good. Because if you had been a good little girl, none of this would have happened. Now let's go to the police station."

HIDE YOUR FEARS, NO TEARS

Marlin stood and brought a box of tissues to me.

"I'm not crying," I let him know.

"You should be," he said. "There are two answers, we actually three to the fact that you aren't crying. Either you have told the story so much it doesn't mean anything to you, or it never happened to you. Or, it did happen and people never believed you, or acted like they didn't."

"That would be right, probably on one and three."

"Well, I can only think that number three caused number one, and my guess is that it's just about impossible for you to cry. Am I right?"

"That's about right."

"Why do you think that is?"

I laughed, "Why bother?"

Marlin nodded. "How did the police treat you?"

"They were very nice to me. They had lots of questions, and I gave them all the details except for the kissing and touching. I gave them complete details on the man. Maybe I hoped it would erase him from my mind, but it didn't. They insisted that I be taken to a doctor and examined."

"Were you?"

"Yes. Not that day, but my mother made an appointment for later in the week, and I went then."

"What did you tell the doctors?"

"Exactly what I told the others."

"And you left out the kissing and touching."

"Yes."

"Did you cry for the police or the doctor."

"No."

"What was the outcome?"

It was worse than anybody could imagine. The police told my parents they thought I was lying and had just run off to play somewhere. And they said I needed to be taken home and whipped and put in my room for awhile. I didn't get the whipping, but I did stay in my room most of the summer.  When I went places with my parents, the adults all huddled together whispering, and talking about me. I wondered how they could think I was so stupid, and I hated being put on display like that.  But I did wonder if just one of them would hug me and tell me they were sorry. I still yearned for whatever it was I needed.  I didn't find it then, or ever, and that's why I was sitting in Marlin's office now.

TRAPPED! NO WAY OUT!

"Did you have nightmares?" Marlin inquired.

I looked up in surprise. Nobody had ever asked me that question before. "Yes. Every night for a long time, but then I don't sleep very much. My mother told me when I was older that my pillow would be wet from my tears every morning, and my eyes red rimmed."

"Were you afraid?"

"Always. I still dream and have those nightmares. But the story doesn't end there, and that's probably why the dreams have never left."

"What happened next?"

I was washing dishes at the sink, and listening to evening news on the radio. My folks always had it on, even when they weren't in the room.  It was abut 1-1/2 years later. Suddenly I began to pay attention to what I was hearing. They were describing a man who had taken a seven year old girl in another city a couple hundred miles away. There was an all out look out for him and the girl. My heart began hammering hard against my ribs, and my hands shook. Because they described the man in detail, and it was my kidnapper. He even dressed exactly the same. Then the reporter did an update, and let the world know that the little girl had been found raped, tortured and strangled. Now there was a BOL on the man and his black car!

I ran into the living room. "Mom, are you listening to the news?"

"No, I missed it, I was working my crossword."

I told her about what had just been reported. "We have to tell them," I begged, I can tell them." 

She looked at me, frowning deeply, her face turning red. "You just shut up about that. Nobody wants to hear about that from you. And you keep your mouth shut; we're not going to be part of any of it." And she slapped me.

Marlin interrupted, "So, tell me exactly what you thought and felt at that moment."

"I knew nobody believed me, and that if I was a good little girl people would be willing to believe me, and they would have listened to me. And the little girl wouldn't be dead."

Marlin came around his desk again. He took my hands in his, kissed me on the forehead, and said, "I'm sorry this happened to you. I believe you. And I am sorry about what happened to you after."

Suddenly, I knew what I had needed all along. Understanding and compassion. 

JESUS LOVES ME, THIS I KNOW...

Isaiah 51:3 NIV "The LORD will surely comfort Zion and will look with compassion on all her ruins; he will make her deserts like Eden, her wastelands like the garden of the LORD. Joy and gladness will be found in her, thanksgiving and the sound of singing."

Isaiah 54:10 NIV "Though the mountains be shaken and the hills be removed, yet my unfailing love for you will not be shaken nor my covenant of peace be removed," says the LORD, who has compassion on you."

Isaiah 13:18 NIV "Their bows will strike down the young men; they will have no mercy on infants nor will they look with compassion on children."

Psalm 103:13 NIV "As a father has compassion on his children, so the LORD has compassion on those who fear him.."

 

 

 

"I just didn't understand all the mixed signals," I sighed, shifting in my chair.

Marlin nodded. "It couldn't have been easy, and itshouldn't have been put on you to figure it out. What did you feel about yourself in all this?"

"After my kidnapping when we first got to Oregon, and to be told it was all my fault..."

"What kidnapping?"

It started out as a lovely summer day in June 1950. My parents had brought us on a vacation from Michigan to Oregon, and then decided to stay, so we moved to a little bungalow sitting on a corner. My father worked out of town at King Mountain as a logger with his brothers. He was very happy with this work, although it kept him away from home for weeks at a time.

My mother wasn't so happy. She began to complain, often. It was a different lifestyle than what she had been used to in Michigan, and she was trying to make friends in the new city. She had become accustomed to people waiting on her every need every day, as a result of surgery and convalesence. She no longer had  everyone's help, and she no longer had her group of life-long friends. She began to crack under the stress, feeling "ill" quite often, and so began spending time at the doctor's office.

On this day, June 7, 1950 just before noon, she decided to take me along to see the doctor. . When we got to the doctor's office, she parked down the streetand turned off the engine. "I want you to wait here," she explained. "I don't want to have to bother with you in the waiting room. So, I'll go in to see the doctor and be back out in a few minutes. You're not to leave the car."

I nodded and said "okay" as she got out of the car and walked to the entrance of the doctor's office.  She disappeared inside with never a backward glance at me. The sun brilliant in a bright blue, cloudless sky, and was relentlessly heating our maroon colored car. I rolled down the windows, but there was no breeze, and no relief in the still, quiet air.  I had no book, no toy, no water, so I just sat there. 

My mother didn't come back in a few minutes; in fact she never stepped out to check on me The clock on the car showed that she had been gone for better than two hours, and still no sign of her. I was sick to my stomach from the heat. Across the street was a Dairy Queen with a water fountain outside. I decided I would risk being in trouble, so I slipped out, ran across the street and got a drink, then ran back to the car.  Another hour passed, and still my mother didn't appear.  Again, I decided to risk her anger, and ran across the street for a drink.  

When I got back to the car a tall, hefty man, wearing army fatigues was standing next to the passenger door.  

"Hi Linda" he smiled at me.

I stared him down. I didn't talk to strangers. All my senses went on high alert.

"Don't you remember me? I'm a friend of your folks? You saw me last week at the get together at their friends house. Don't you remember?"

I thought for a second. We had been at the Tanahill's home with a huge backyard party just a few days ago. The men were all loggers, and the families got together when the men came down from the mountain.

"I don't remember you," I said. "And I don't talk to people I don't know." I backed away from him.

"Sure, you're the Dunken's girl, Linda. Clarence and Hazel, good friends of my friends.  My wife and I are new in town, just like your family, and we are getting to know everybody."

I looked at him in surprise. He was friends with my parents. That meant that I had to be polite to him.

"Anyway, I drove by a bit ago and saw you just sitting in the car. I told my wife, and she said to bring you home. She will give you some lunch and lemonade, and I will sort things out with Hazel. She's going to be tied up for quite awhile longer."

"She called you?"

"Yes, that's why I came back here to get you. So lets go see Helen, and get you out of the heat."

Well, really! What a fun adventure this day was turning out to see. 

"You'll have to get in on the driver's side," he said. "We're still getting things moved and the car is pretty packed up."

It was, and there was barely space for me to sit down next to him. But we got settled and then her pulled away from the curb, driving carefully and humming to himself. My mind was racing, because I was pretty sure I was in trouble, big trouble.  

Should I scream? Who would hear me.
Should I tell him I changed my mind? I didn't think it would matter.
Maybe though, he was telling the truth. Maybe.  

"I'm really stuck," I complained, and I pushed myself up so I was half sitting and half standing on the things stacked in the passenger's part of the seat.

"That's it," he said. "Just make yourself at home." He smiled at me and winked as the car smoothly rolled past all the streets and out of the city.

I was horrified. The wink. Oh, the wink. It gave him away. How many times in my short life had I seen the wink followed by brutality. My heart was pounding, as my mind continued to race.

"I thought we were going to your house."

"We are."

"But there's nothing out here."

"Sure, see that little turn off ahead, that's the road that leads to our house."

He turned into the dirt road and drove a little way, then parked under some trees.

"Where's the house?"

"Well, I lied to you, and I'm so sorry about that. But I wanted to talk to you before I took you home. I wanted to tell you how beautiful you are, and that I love you, so much more than your mother who left you in the car all afternoon while she went to the doctor. Having you here with me is a beautiful thing," he purred as he unzipped his pants.

He reached for me and pulled me closer, pulling down my shorts and panties. He began kissing and licking and touching me. It was gross.

"How did you know I was there all afternoon?"  

"Because, silly, I was across the street when you pulled up," he murmured nuzzling my private parts. His left hand moved quickly, and I thought he was going to hit me, but instead he grabbed his penis.

"What do you think you're doing?" I yelped, and his eyes flew open. I pushed his hand away and began trying to wrestle my shorts and panties to pull them in place. He let go of his penis and tried to get my shorts back down. I kept wiggling and hitting at him, so he slid his hand up under my panties.  He was cooing, saying sweet things to me.

"Stop it!", I begged, "take me back."

"Oh, sweetheart. Don't be scared. Remember, I love you. That's all I want to do is love you. But if you really want to go back, then I will take you" And I saw snakes glittering behinds his eyes as he looked at me. I could hardly breathe. I was terrified. He backed out of the trees and headed the car in a different direction.

I was gripped with fear. Would he take me back? I hoped so, but I didn't think so. I watched him, taking in everything about him as he maneuvered the car through twists and turns and back roads. I watched him, say nothing, because I wanted to "see" him, to get ready for fighting him.

Suddenly, a voice whispered to me, "You must listen and I will get you out of this, but you must do exactly as I say. You are in terrible danger. See that mountain up there, that is where he plans to take you, he knows the perfect place. He plans to do bad things to you, and hurt you very much. Then he will kill you and leave you there. But I will help you."

At once my breathing slowed, my heart slowed. I was familiar with this friend. I called him Timothy, and he had protected me many times in the past. I nodded my head.

"Here's what you must do. You will pass a mill very soon, and the bell will ring for the people to quit work. I want you to tell him that you know what he thinks he is going to do with you. Tell him to turn around and take you back or you will jump on the horn as scream your head off. Can you do that?"

Again, I nodded.

The road jogged and ahead on the left at the horizon was a mill. 

"I know what you think you are going to do to me," I said matter of factly.

"What is that sweetheart?"

"You think you are going to take me to that mountain up there, to a secret place you know, and you plant to do bad things to me and hurt me. Then you plan to kill me."

"Oh, no sweetheart, I would't do that."

"Oh, yes you would. So if you don't turn around and take me back I will jump on the horn and scream my head off."  

All of this was said as the whistle blew at the mill and people began pouring out the doors.

"But sweetheart, I promise..."

He never had a chance to finish. I leaped and jumped on the wheel, hitting the horn and yelling my head off. Frantically, he tried to move me, but I held on for dear life. Suddenly, he backhanded me, and I slid off the wheel. He slammed on the brakes, kicking up gravel and spun the car around. speeding off the direction we had come from. It pushed the accelerator to the floor, and the car fishtailed, but he kept pushing through. As he approached the city, I could see perspiration running down his face.

I struggled to regain my position, and held on as the car rocketed along. I was quiet. I had nothing more to say to him. I waited. Ready to jump again, if necessary. 

He slowed the car as he pulled into the city limits, keeping to the speed limits and driving carefully.  

"I will drop you off on the corner," he said, flatly. I didn't answer.

He swung around a corner and I recognized where we were. "Just a couple more minutes" I thought to myself, "and I'll be safe."  Suddenly, he grabbed me by the hair, while the car was still moving and hauled me across his lap and out the window, throwing me to the pavement. He never slowed, but kept right on going.

I hit the pavement with my shoulder and head, and rolled into the gutter. I was stunned, but I was free. I pulled myself up and began running towards our car, but it wasn't there!  It was too much for, and I began to cry. I walked around in circles, and decided to walk to the Dairy Queen across the street. I was frantic. I knew I was in for the beating of my life.. could my day get any worse.

At the Dairy Queen I slowly lowered my mouth to the water, but I couldn't stop crying. I was in a new city; I didn't know anybody and I was afraid to ask anybody for help.

"I want you to stop for a minute, and take a break" Marlin said. "Let's get you calmed and at ease. We can continue this next time." He handed me a box of tissue and set down a glass of water. I was shaking all over.  He patted my shoulder.

"I'm so sorry," he said.

"It's not your fault."

"No, but I can be sorry, anyway."

I gave him a watery smile.

"I'm interested to know how he knew your name. Obviously, he got your parents' names off the registration on the steering column. Right?"

"I'm pretty sure that's how."

"But how did he get your name?"

"Oh, I was wearing a shirt. It was all glittery and pink and white. And in big pink letters my name 'Linda' was spelled out across the front!"

2 Thessalonians 1:7 "And God will provide rest for you who are being persecuted and also for us when the Lord Jesus appears from heaven. He will come with his mighty angels."

Luke 4:10 "For the Scriptures say, 'He orders his angels to protect and guard you."

Psalm 91:11 "For he orders his angels to protect you wherever you go."

 

I thank you Lord for this special friend you sent me, and I thank you for the protection. I have seen, through You the might army that you send out at your command to protect, so that even a toe might not be damaged. I thank you. I thank you that You love without discrimination. Let me return the love You have given me, let me return it is some small measure every day to everyone I meet. For there is nothing I can attain that can match the love and wonder of you, dear Lord.

 

 

 

 

As I write my story, I become overwhelmed, and my thoughts scatter like blistered water drops on a hot skillet. I try to reel them in, but they skitter to and fro, until finally they "poof" away into nether regions. And so I try gain to bring some order into my thoughts, into what the Lord compels me to write - to breathe life into my writings and to give them a will to go on. I am reminded of the movie "You've Got Mail" where Tom Hanks paces and paces, looking at, yet trying to avoid his computer - knowing he must yield sooner to later to accomplish what needed to be done. And so I pace. You have caught me, today, in the middle of pacing. My thoughts are on adoption. Some specific adoptions. The knee-jerk surprise of learning that I seemed unable to perfect the poor parenting I received, but would in fact fall far short. These are hideously painful memories, which the Lord makes me bring to Him, so that He might heal me. Were it not for the Lord in my life, I would never be in this place, right now. And looking back, I can see where He has been there; I can see where He has sent his angels to keep guard over me.

I can also see where I have been determined and persistent to plow ahead through the drifts of garbage... holding my breath, keeping my eyes closed and hanging on for dear life. God has been to patient with me, I see that now. I have ridden long and hard on His permissive love. But the time comes when one must move from the permission into the perfect love, and that requires willingness and obedience. These days when thoughts can be like Tinkerbell dust, coming and going, sparkling and flitting... my mind reaches out to take hold of them, but they are gone. Will they ever return? It makes no difference. God requires me to show up and be willing, and to allow myself to be led.

 Why write this now? Because for me to be able to move forward, it seems I must learn to exhale when it comes to adoption. As an adopted girl, experiencing so much heartache, you would think that last thing I would be was a failure when it came to adopting. You would think. But no, I was in fact brought to such a breaking point over adoptions that I am surprised how lovingly the Lord brought me to a place of healing.  This morning I am thinking of this, and so this is where I am led, to put it out there.  When I was 28 years old, my husband and I I adopted two sisters (Cathy and Cheryl). I gave them back to California after four months. Heartbroken and totally adrift, I ran as fast as I could back up to Oregon. You will read all about this later. Today I am remembering how God was so gracious, even when I didn't know it, to use me to bring the perfect home to these beautiful girls. The second adoption was never completed. Here, briefly, is that story, which I first posted to my Facebook page "Dancing In The Rain". Her name is Emily Faye...

Several years ago we were set to adopt a little baby girl(as yet unborn).  We named her Emily Faye. Sadly, we received a call one day, and the father of thee unborn girl forbid the mother to have the baby and adopt her out... he told her to have a abortion or he would leave her. To emphasize his sincerity, he beat the woman up. She had the abortion. I held her after as she cried her heart out; she said she never wanted to see me again - she couldn't bear the pain and shame. All we had left of our little girl was an imagination memory of what she would have looked like. A lively little girl with bouncing red curls and blue eyes.

I think about Cathy, Cheryl and Emily so many days; they are never far from my heart and my thoughts. I believe Emily is waiting in heaven for us. She would be 29 years old, if she had lived. Cathy and Cheryl will be in their 40's now, and hopefully living rich and wonderful lives. Like Emily, I hope to see them someday in the Kingdom. It brings a smile when I think of them, because Cathy and Cheryl would have looked like my husband, with dark hair and blue eyes. Emily would be like my Welsh family side, red hair and blue eyes. Funny, isn't it, how mothers look for the family traits, and although these girls are no longer mine, I can still dream. Can't I?

1 Thessalonians 2:7 "..but we were gentle among you, like a mother caring for her little children."

"How long did this go on," Marlin questioned.

"The back washing went on for probably a year, until my grandparents came to visit from Michigan."

My grandmother Josephine was busy at the counter, getting the final things together for dinner. The tea simmered in a pan on the stove, and the deep well emitted wafts of spicy steam into the room. It would be a home made chili and corn bread night. Tangy apple crisp sat on the cooling rack, ready for the home whipped cream. My mother worked along side of her mother, and they chatted gossipy things, as always, working in harmony. My grandfather John was in the living room purring over the evening newspaper. I was setting the table, and my sister was in our bedroom, when my mother called for her. She came reluctantly to the doorway of the kitchen.

"You father needs his back washed, go and take care of it."

My sister turned and headed towards the bathroom. My grandmother looked at my mother in stunned silence, and turned to me. "Could you get my stomach tablets from my valise in the bedroom for me?" she asked me.

"Sure, Grams!" I headed off to the bedroom in search of the tablets. I couldn't find them in the valise, so I checked the dresser top, but couldn't find them there either. Giving up, I headed back to the kitchen, and passed my sister as she was coming to our room. 

"And that's the end of that!" She exclaimed, throwing herself onto her bed. I looked at her, but all she would do was smirk, as she pulled out homework. Puzzled I headed back to the kitchen.

My grandmother was angry, I could see it in her posture, though she didn't say a word. My mother was not so much angry and upset, and her face was flushed red. Neither of them spoke.

"I'm sorry, Grams, but I couldn't find them."

"Oh!" She cried out, "I should have let you know. I found them here in the cupboard; they were here all the time. Thanks for looking, honey."

"No more back washing?" Marlin raised his eyebrows.

"Never again."

"What about the rest, the explicit touching and exploring?"

"Oh, that has never stopped."

"Even now?"

"Even now, and she knew... she knew it shouldn't be."

My mind drifted back to a day when we first came to live forever with the Dunkens. They lived two houses down from my grandparents, and the families were always back and forth with each other. My grandfather loved to treat me to baths in their kitchen sink. He would fill it was warm, sweet smelling bubbles and then wash me from head to toe, all of me. Every part of me. But he crooned to me and told me how lovely I was, and how he would always love me. This might have gone on forever, except that I asked my mother if I could head over to be with my Gramps. 

"You certainly love him," she smiled, "but I don't want you to be a nuisance."

"He asked me to come. He wants me to come every day so he can give me a bath."

"What?" Her face flushed. "You stay right here, I'll be right back. And no, you may not go have any more baths with your grandfather!"

With that she slammed out the door, with me on her heels. I didn't want her to be mad, or to get my grandfather in trouble. She was so angry she didn't even notice me, as she pounded up the steps and through the door, yelling for her father. My grandmother wasn't home; she never was during bath time. My mother didn't hold back! She tore into him, and he just smirked at her, and turned off his hearing aid. I quietly backed out of the house and ran home, where I buried myself in my pillow.

"How was your relationship with your grandfather after that?"

"I loved him, and always thought my mother was mean to him. Until the day in my early teens when I came home from school and discovered he had been going through my underwear drawer."

I was furious, and stormed into the living room, where my father and grandfather were chatting, each with a pipe and a beer. 

"How could you?" I ranted at my grand father, "You had no business in my underwear? It's private. How could you?" I was crying.

I looked at my father.  "He has no business in my underwear, Dad. Do something! He has been ransacking my underwear drawer."

My father and grandfather exchanged glances, and both of them smirked at each other. 

"Well," said my father "if he wants to go through your underwear, then he can. I can't see any harm in that," and looking at his father-in-law he asked, "is there?"

Then they both laughed, as I ran from the room.

"Did you speak to your mother about it?"

"No, I never did. By that time I knew more about living among creepy, crawly things. It was the day I stopped loving my grandfather."

"Did you ever get that love back for your grandfather?"

"No. In fact, I never saw him again after that trip. I just couldn't find a way to love him anymore."

"But not your father?"

"No, I never stopped loving my father. Remember? I fell in love with him the first time I saw him at five years old; he was the perfect daddy because he opened his arms to me and said 'Welcome home, sweetheart', and, silly me, I thought he meant it."

"And now?"

"And now I know better, but that doesn't make me stop loving and hoping."

"So how do you perceive this relationship, now, today?"

"It's killing me."

Psalm 3:7 NLT  "Arise, O LORD! Rescue me, my God! Slap all my enemies in the face! Shatter the teeth of the wicked!"

 

Psalm 7:1-2 NLT "...I come to you for protection, O LORD my God. Save me from my persecutors - rescue me! If you don't, they will maul me like a lion, tearing me to pieces.."

 

Isaiah 48:10-11 NLT  "I have refined you but not in the way silver is refined. Rather, I have refined you in the furnace of suffering. I will rescue you for my sake -- yes, for my own sake!"

 

The year I was an angel for Christmas was the year I got a doll for my birthday and Christmas. I was giddy with joy when I opened the box. She was one of those all rubber dolls that came out in the 1940's, with eyes that opened and closed. And she had a little bottle so you could give her water, with diapers that would get wet from the water. I couldn't wait to dive into the clothes in the suitcase and dress her. My hands were shaking so badly with excitement. Although she came with a suitcase full of clothes, I was only allowed to choose one outfit. The rest of the clothes were discarded. I chose a little white knit shirt, a fluffy pink baby jacket, diapers, and knit booties, and bonnet. Betty became my hands-on friend. I could talk to her about anything.


"Her name is Betty," I announced. I chose the name from the comic book Archie, and I loved Betty. However, my announcement met with a frown of disapproval from Mom Dunken. I was to learn years later that she had an on-going feud with her sister-in-law, Betty, and so resented the fact that I had given my doll that name. 


"What happened to her?" It was our next session in Marlin's office.


We were riding in the car, and I was holding Betty and crooning softly to her, in the back seat. Suddenly Dad Dunken laughs and pipes up loudly, as he is driving "What ya doing back there, Linda?"


"Singing to my baby." I quipped.


"Looks to me like you have her on the titty. Right? That's what's going on. You have her sucking your titty!"  He guffawed. Mom Dunken joined in. Sadly, they never let up on it, and they didn't care who was around. Every time I picked up the doll they would remark that I had her on my titty," until it reached a place where I just tucked her into a drawer and stopped playing with her.

"Were there always these sexual inuendos?"

"Yes, a lot. But not just that. Everyday there would be something new for them to mess with my mind."


Everyday, it was something. I would wake up in the morning thinking that things would go back to the first time I stayed with them. That those were the real Dunkens, not these people. It was so unexpected. I had trusted them, but now I began to move with genuine caution around them. These precautionary measures would resonate throughout my entire life, until I finally laid my father to rest when he was 91. My whole life with them was like a burn on my hand, unhealed and knowing it would get scraped and the pain would begin again, never healing.


Everyday, I would ask God why He was so mad at me.


"Here's what I want you to do," Marlin broke in. "I want you to go buy a doll, and tell me about the doll the next time you come in."


The next week I was sitting in front of Marlin with a grin on my face. 


"Did you get your doll?"

"Yes."

"A new doll?"

"No, I got one from Goodwill, that just needed a home so badly." 

Marlin laughed out loud. "I knew you wouldn't buy a new doll; I knew you would have to "adopt" a needy doll. I wrote it down. And I knew this because you have a great heart, and a lot of love, and you are nurturing."


I just stared at him for a minute trying to get a grasp on what he was saying, and suddenly I realized he was happy for me.

"Let's go back to that discussion, and pick up on the torment you were experiencing at the hands of your new parents."


The first time I realized Mom Dunken had something wrong with her, I was five years old I didn't know why, but she was mean. She fried up a bunch of parsnips in lard, and heaped a dinner plate for me, telling me they were good for me. Her neighbor lady dropped by about that time, and my mother whispered something to her while pointing at my plate, and they both sniggered.

The first bite of the parsnip sent fumes through my nose and ears; they were dreadful. And so sweet I could hardly get them down. My stomach was churning. I began to wolf them down just to get through them. When I was done, she asked me if I had liked them. I knew better than to tell the truth (little did I know it wouldn't matter which answer I gave, it would all come out the same.) My lips were quivering, but I answered, "yes".


"Oh, good!" she exclaimed. "Here, you can have the rest of them."  And she dumped the rest of them on my plate.


The two of them gleefully watched as I would swallow, wretch and struggle through. When I was finished, I asked if I could be excused, then left the table. I ran as fast as I could for the alley and some shrubs a ways down. There I vomited all of it. I have never eaten one, knowingly, since then.
"There were so many other other things," I sighed, looking at Marlin. "For example, I loved peanut butter on wheat toast for breakfast; therefore, it was forbidden for me to have it. A friend of my mother's came to see me when I was very ill, and brought me a gift of color books and crayons. I was thrilled! My mother took it away from me and gave it back to the lady, telling her I didn't get to have gifts, that I was lucky to have a decent home, and I didn't deserve gifts from people. The lady eyes welled with tears. She patted me and told me to get well, then left immediately. I got a slap for accepting the gift, as well as a lecture. I was six years old at the time. I never saw the lady again. And my parents always made me return gifts other people gave me."


Through the years it was always the same. If there were financial woes, she would tell me I was the cause of the. Without me in the house everything would be fine.
My mother would spank me, (she never spanked my sister), ordering me to cry. I refused. She would lift me by the hair and slam my head in the wall, telling me I was a "pain in the ass" and had done nothing but cause problems for the family. I didn't cry. Continually and repeatedly, she reminded me that I was trash, that I came from trash, and would never be anything but trash... then she would ask me to thank her for giving me a home and food, even though I didn't deserve it. I was adopted, after all. I was trash. I didn't cry.


I was always very modest. One evening they were having company. My mother brought out half dozen pairs of shoes with shoe polish. She set it on all newspaper. I had taken a bath, and she had me put on panties that were too big, and showed everything about me. Then she sent me to the shoes to polish them all - wearing just the panties. Every guest had to pass by me coming in. I can't explain how humiliated and mortified I was, even when they tried to make me feel at ease. They all saw; they all said nothing. I was ten years old when this happened. I didn't cry.


These are some examples. It was getting my mouth scrubbed with Fels Nafta when I said the word "darn"; they swore like sailors. If I tried to make friends, my mother would step in and accuse me of "suck holing" around other people. After awhile, I stopped trying. The day came when my mother "adopted" the young woman across the street from them. That's when my mother turned her back on me. She was sick of having me in her life. So I went my own way, and ended up eloping with Bill Carola (that's a story for another day). She was furious that I didn't get her permission and screamed at me, in front of others to get out of her house and never talk to her again. I was 22 years old. She didn't speak to me for more than two years, while I kept sending birthday, Christmas, mother's day and other gifts, cards and letters. She kept everything. Except the cards and letters. 


"And you didn't cry? Ever."


"No my mantra became "please them, please them... do what it takes to move through day without them seeing you. Please, please, please". I would repeat those words to myself throughout the day, every day.


"Did it work?"


I sighed. "No, of course not. When I was 14 I realized that all hopes of ever pleasing them were gone. Yet, you chain an elephant to a post, and it will walk in the circle you have planned for it. Take away the post, and it will still walk in that same circle."

I had been watching a program on our television, some old comedy show. The TV was new in our house, and I took delight in it. It was a late Sunday afternoon, and I was enjoying a day without recriminations, so it was twice as good. My father left the living room and I thought he went to the kitchen. He liked to make popcorn, and I hoped maybe he was going to do that. What I stumbled upon made my heart pound like it would come out of my chest. My father was telling my mother that he just couldn't stand to live with me anymore, that he couldn't stand me, that he never could, and they should never have adopted me in the first place. She was trying to calm him down. He only got angrier, and asked her why they couldn't have just taken Virginia, and left me. I was disgusting. He hated me. 


I clamped my hand over my mouth to keep from crying out. I was in the hallway, and stopped mid-stride. I wanted to scream and scream until I had no breath left. I was an honor roll "A" student. I was the one with the house cleaning jobs, the ironing jobs, the job at the soda fountain and the babysitting. I designed and sewed my own clothes, and won awards for it. I did whatever they asked, and didn't complain. I sang while I did it. I didn't cry! It was a hard lesson to learn: you can't do anything to make people love you or like you. They either do, or they don't. Even so, I held on to the sheerest thread of hope that at that very precise moment, my mother would rise to the occasion and stick up for me. Instead, she said, "I know, I know. But you need to lower your voice or she'll hear you."  To which he raged at her, "I don't care if she does hear me. I want her to. I don't want her in this house."


"What did you do after that?" Marlin wanted to know.


I ran away from home. Not far. I went to the police station and asked if there was somebody I could talk to, because I needed some help. They called my parents, and drove me back home. My mother came running and crying out the door, real tears running down her face, calling me her darling, baby girl. The policeman looked at me with scorn, and told my parents I was just a spoiled brat, and they needed to be taking a belt to me. He turned on his heel, got in the cruiser and left.


"Then what?"


"I told my mother not to touch me, that I had heard everything, and we all knew what liars they were. So they didn't need to play a game anymore, because the police were gone. And now I was forever trapped. She said it was too bad I had to hear it. Not too bad they said it, just that I had to hear it. I didn't cry."

The clock on the desk softly ticked.

"I learned later that my father lived in fear that I would "blab" to people. Funny thing is, it wasn't me. It was his beloved Virginia that did the blabbing - to anybody and everybody."

"What was he afraid to have said?"

"My father was arrested when I was nine. He was arrested for indecent exposure and spent 60 days in jail, plus three years probation. He also had to go to Portland to meet with a court appointed psychologist twice a month for a year. My folks used to get into horrific fights about it."

"Did it help him?"

I knew my smile was ironic. "Nothing changed in our house. He would come up to my mother in the kitchen, and slip his hands into her bra, or halter top, and give me what I called a "wolf" smile, eyes glittering. And he would pull and massage her breasts, like milking a cow. Next he would put his hands inside her panties and start messing around. He would smile so big then, and call her his "heifer" and he was going to "get some", and she was going to "love all that he had to give her". We could have a look at it if we wanted.


"He did that more than once?"


"He did it often. On a regular basis."


"And she allowed it?"


"She actually almost purred, she liked it so much."


Those times were so painful to me; I wanted to hit him. I wanted to hit her. How could they do this? How could they? She had me go in to wash his back in the bathtub every night. He would be sitting in very shallow water in the tub. And he would have a full-on erection when I went in. Virginia was required to do the same thing - they alternated nights. He would look up with those serpentine eyes, and that horrible smile. Then he would look back down at his erection, and touch it.


"Did you tell your mother?"

"Yes I did. She said 'nonsense', and told me not to be nasty. So I knew I would have to find my own way out. And I did."

I wouldn't look at him or his erection. I closed my eyes, held out my hand for the washcloth and strizzled it over his back. He complained that I wasn't scrubbing hard enough, so I rubbed the cloth lightly over his back one time, and told him it was done. After that, he told my mother that I didn't know how to wash a back properly, and they just sent my sister in.

"And the door was opened while this was going on, so you mother could see all this?"

"No. They told us to close the door."

Lamentations 3:7 NLT "He has walled me in, and I cannot escape. He has bound me in heavy chains."

Luke 21:36 NLT "Keep a constant watch. And pray that, if possible, you may escape these horrors and stand before the Son of Man."

 

Psalm 50:15 NLT

Trust me in your times of trouble, and I will rescue you, and you will give me glory."

WE ARE THE REASON HE SUFFERED & DIED, SO THAT WE MAY KNOW LIFE FREE FROM BONDAGE

While it has been quite a few weeks since I have written anything here, my mind has been a whirl. Such a busy summer of graduations and family celebrations. And all through it notes keep flashing through my mind about my story. I admit I reached a point where I really didn't want to go on. I wanted to give it up, so I asked God, "Who really cares?" His answer?  "I do."

Part of my hesitation had to do with real self-examination. I have a good imagination, and I didn't want to put my "vain thoughts" into the story; I wanted it to be a pure as possible. So I went to God, again for an answer. "Do I really remember all this? And really, Lord, who cares, anyway?"  His answer?  "Were it not so, I would have told you. It is your unique story, and I need you to do this. I do."

To add to all this, He placed in front of me two books to read (see below). Oh, fine! (wee bit of attitude going on there). So, I tried again, "Lord, couldn't I just bypass this cup; You have so many others more worthy and capable..."

He interrupted me! "No. You must, because I love you and I need you to do this. I do."

Sigh...

Well, lucky for me I found a lot of busy work for my hands. And so the days passed into weeks, without my turning back to this ministry. This work He placed in my hands. He didn't scold or berate me, but He did remind every day. Throughout the day. All day. Even during the night when I would awaken! Pester, pester. But, oh so sweetly, softly and tenderly - He was calling me. And reminding me.

And here I am, determined I will settle back into this work He has given me.

In the interim I did read Jacee Dugard's book A Stolen Life. It is her story of kidnapping, captivity, rape and abuse for 18 years at the hands of a man she loathed, yet looked to for sustenance and companionship. What a brave person she was to set down her story so openly and explicitly. She seems to be healing nicely, given all the circumstances. This healing is only for her head and heart, as her only reference to God is that her captor insisted that she read the Bible and listen to Bible tapes. Living in terror everyday didn't allow her to connect with Jesus on a personal level, especially with her captor telling her she was his savior. 

There is another book my husband and I are in the process of reading, Passage Into Darkness. It tells about a couple who were very successful with their money, and could have anything they wanted. But somehow they just didn't feel complete. So they decided to sell everything and give it all up to help the hungry, war ravaged people in Africa. How brave they were to go into the darkness. They bring the word of God in a different way; they bring it as freedom from captivity. 

So here are two compelling stories, both about captivity and freedom. And, after all, that is what my story is about. I feel close to shame thinking I have any business writing my story, when you consider the plight of the people in these two books. Yet, God says it is important. And so I must keep on.

And you have been invited to bear witness through reading my story. If my story remains silent, then it is for nothing that God has me writing it. But He reminds that no words (of a righteous man), which He sends out will return void. So it is that somewhere, somehow my story (with your help) will bear witness of God's never ending love and mercies to someone who has a similar story. And they will be healed, and they will tell their story to help others.

I love you for taking this journey with me.♥ Have I told you that, before? I do. It is wonderful to have your friendship and love as I stumble and fumble. God is so good, so patient with me. And so are you.  Thank you.

Matthew 12:18 NLT "Look at my Servant, whom I have chosen. He is my Beloved, and I am very pleased with him. I will put my Spirit upon him, and he will proclaim justice to the nations."

"I was an angel," I said with a smile. "In a school Christmas program. I was an angel."

Marlin smiled with me, as my mind drifted back to that time.

Christmas didn't mean much to me, because I had seen other homes with trees and toys and laughter, but it was all foreign to me. There were two Christmas memories, two very different Christmas experiences. Yet I believe they were exactly the same one.

My sister, Virginia was attending a small country school. We were both quite young, so I imagine she was in kindergarten. Wonder of wonder! I had been invited to go to school with her one day for "Christmas". They were having a party. Dora and Bud had made sure we had mittens on, and in fact they were new mittens. This was an amazing day for me, school and mittens. So we set off (seriously) through the snow to school. As we were leaving, Bud snarled at me "Make sure you don't lose those mittens. If you do, believe me I will beat you death."

"I won't."

"Mark my words, you'd better not," he scowled at me.

I soon forgot Bud's terrifying threat and bounced around my sister with joy. I was going to school! I was going to a party! And, I had new mittens. When we got to the school, everybody was abuzz with excitement. The teacher, a kind lady offered to take my jacket and mittens for me.

"Oh, no!" I exclaimed, "I have to keep them with me to be sure not to lose them."

"I'll keep them safe for you," she smiled into my skeptical face. "I promise, I will. See? I will put them up here, and they will be safe."  

I nodded, and smiled my agreement. Soon she had me seated at my very own desk, with some crayons and paper so I could draw while she was teaching the class during the morning. The party would begin at noon, but first there were last minute assignments to take care of. 

The room dazzled my eyes, I had never seen such wonderful things. There was a tree with lights and decorations at the front of the classroom (this was a one room school house), holly and candles inside wreaths at all the windows. I wanted to stay there forever, so happy drawing and listening to the lessons. Before long, they began to sing Christmas songs. One I especially like, because I thought it had been written especially for my sister... "'round yon virgin, mother and child". I didn't understand it, but it was beautiful to my ears. 

We were lined up to get apples, and I was the last one in line. Just as I got there, I saw the apples were all gone - someone had taken my apple! Before I could say anything, I heard a loud "Ho! Ho! Ho!" and looked to see a very big man in a red suit, with a white beard striding into the school.  He looked down at me and laughed, "Hello, little angel!", and picking me up swung me around in his arms. I am sure my eyes must have been huge, as I had no idea what or who he was. Still laughing, he set me down and asked, "Well, my little beauty, would you like some sweets for the sweet?" So saying, he handed me a bag of Christmas candy.

Then he swung around and called out "Ho! Ho! Ho! Merry Christmas" as he entered the classroom, handing out the candy. 

Too soon, the party had to end. Everybody got their coats, and candy and yelling "Merry Christmas" to each other rushed out the doors. I went for my coat and mittens. My coat was there, but my mittens were gone! Gone!

"Oh nooooo," I wailed.

The teacher, all concerned, asked what was the matter. 

"My mittens are gone!"

"They can't be, I tucked them inside your jacket when I laid it on the shelf," she answered, frowning. "Let's look again."

But no matter how much we looked, we couldn't find the mittens. And without the mittens, I wasn't leaving.. I simply refused.

"But, you can't stay here," the teacher explained. "Your family will be wondering where you are."

"Bud said he would beat me to death if I lost the mittens," I begged, "don't make me go home".

"He was only teasing, just to be sure you took good care of them," the kindly lady tried to assure me.

Virginia piped in, "No. He meant it."

Several hours later, after phone calls and muted conversations, the teacher drove us home, without the mittens. "You'll be okay," she patted my arm. "I made them promise."

Slowly, I dragged myself inside. Dora was there alone. Wonder of wonders, Bud was gone. It was a night of sleeping without the alligators, but also a night of listening to Dora cry in her bed.

Marlin prodded me, drawing me for a moment away from my memories. "Was that when you were the angel?"

"No, that was later, when we were with the Dunkens."

That same Christmas Virginia and I awoke to each of us having a teddy bear.  Her's was pink, but missing an eye and a nose. Mine was brown and ugly. But at least it had both eyes, although there was a hole were the nose should have been. Gifts. But somehow, I knew in my heart they were pacifiers, though I wouldn't have understood that word at that young age. Yet I knew they weren't "honest", they were some kind of bribe. They were not gifts of love, and I felt cheated. I never played with that teddy bear; it broke my heart to look at it.

A few days later, which must have been New Year's Eve we went to a house for a party. In the kitchen and dining area was a large table full of food resting on a white, red and green oilcloth table covering over it, which hung nearly to the floor. I spotted that and quickly chose it as my area. The living room was just off the kitchen, and had a beautiful Christmas tree. There were gifts and toys all over the floor, as the people had two children. We played together in their bedroom for awhile, but they were older than me, and I couldn't keep up with their games or their chatter. So I asked if I could play with a couple of the toys - a little guitar and a musical top. 

"Go ahead," the boy said.

I scampered to the kitchen to my secret place under the oilcloth, and spent the hours there playing the guitar and spinning the top. It was a lovely top, big, red, yellow, green and blue. It made me smile all inside. And oh the hummm of the music!  I could peek out and see the adults in the living room, and hear them as they came into the kitchen for food and drinks. Their music was played loudly and they were dancing. In my little hideaway nobody noticed as I wound the guitar and spun the top.

Suddenly, the tone of the voices changed, and I recognized Bud's snarling anger. He was cursing another man who had danced with Dora. A push. A shove. Then they were at it, swinging their fists into each other's face. Crashing and thudding. The women screaming, the other men trying to stop the fight. Faster and faster I pushed the handle on the top, faster, faster, faster...

Quiet. Strange how quiet can sometimes be louder than noise. I spun the top. Dora and Bud getting their coats and leaving. I spun the top. Angry whispered words between the woman; the men were quiet. The door slammed. I spun the top. Spinning, spinning hummmm, hummmm. My heart was beating out of my chest, as I waited to be dragged from under the table into the wrath of Bud. Hummm, hummmm, hummmmmmmmm.

"Did they take you then?" Marlin, intently, quietly, asking, asking.

I pulled myself back to the present. "No. We stayed overnight. The party went on without them. In the morning, when everyone was asleep I went out to the kitchen and living room. It wasn't nearly so magical then. There was blood on the floor, smeared. There were ashtrays full of cigarette butts. There were broken plates and glasses, and a broken lamp. The pale sun streaming in through the living room window lit up a broken, dirty home."

"What did you do then?"

"I went and got my clothes on very quietly, so I wouldn't waken the others. Then I went to the middle of the kitchen floor, not under the table and spun the top. Over and over and over. Until the lady got up, and took us home." Those are the two Christmas memories, until the night I was an angel."

I smiled at the memory. I was in kindergarten or first grade. It was the school Christmas program at Angel Elementary School in Muskegon, Michigan. We kept practicing for the program, and all the girls were to be dressed like angels, complete with golden halos. What a night! My hands were shaking as I finally put on the white gauze dress, and they fastened my wings. Next, they fastened the halo. How lovely the dress felt, just to touch it was pure heaven. My hair was all done in Shirley Temple curls, and I felt SO special. Just for that night. For that moment, I knew I was beautiful. It was the only time in my life I ever felt beautiful. 

Silent night, holy night. All is calm, all is bright...

Psalm 22:9-14: "Yet you brought me safely from my mother's womb and led me to trust you when I was a nursing infant.  I was thrust upon you at my birth. You have been my God from the moment I was born. Do not stay so far from me, for trouble is near, and no one else can help me. My enemies surround me like a herd of bulls...like roaring lions attacking their prey, they come at me with open mouths."

Psalm 22:23-25: "Praise the LORD...for he has not ignored the suffering of the needy. He has not turned and walked away. He has listened to their cries for help. I will praise you among all the people.."