Then it got scary

Then it got scary

Why would this voice call my name, but not then talk to me?

There was someone I was very frightened of, and on occasions they hurt me. We had a complicated relationship, and sometime’s the least little thing I did would make them angry. I believe the saying was wrong place, wrong time. I had a knack of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. I knew the person didn’t mean to hurt me, and once they did they would apologise; it’s just I was so bad. I needed to learn to be good. That even when I was right and they were wrong, I would never win. That what they said to me. I very much loved that person, and I knew they loved me. I didn’t tell anyone at first because I didn’t think they’d understand. I was frightened they’d either stop me seeing this person (I really did love them) or they wouldn’t believe me and I’d be in trouble for telling lies, and maybe they’d even tell the person that I’d told (gulp), or maybe they’d just tell me I deserved it. I felt like I deserved it.

One day when I was 11, I hid in my room and called my parents, telling them what had happened, that I was frightened and I wanted them to come home. But they didn’t come.

Then it got really scary. In my anger, I slammed my bedroom door and it split. They would go ballistic, any moment now they would come upstairs and hurt me, and this time they wouldn’t stop. I was desperately afraid. I searched around my room for a hiding place, but I couldn’t find anywhere where the person would not find me and drag me out from. I threw myself under the covers and cried out to the voice. “Please God, I’m afraid. They are going to kill me, they won’t mean to, but this time they won’t be able to stop. Please God, can you protect me? And if you won’t protect me, may I please come live with you?”

I listened for the their heavy footsteps on the stairs, closed my eyes and hugged my teddy bear tight, fearing that it may be the last time I did. But the foot steps didn’t come, they never did.

Not long after that, they tried to hurt me and out of an instinct I’d never had before, I raised my arm above my head to shield myself. The person broke their finger and never harmed me again. I didn’t attribute any of that to the voice at the time. It was years before I even considered that my prayer may have been answered.


photo credit: Matt Batchelor via photopin cc

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