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Last night, I was struggling with a memory. It's "funny" how things can pop up out of no where, even after years and years of dealing with it. I'm blessed in that the memories don't bother me the way they do others who have survived a similar past to mine. God has given me strength, courage and boldness to face all that head on. I can honestly say months and months go by and I don't think about my past all that much. But, sometimes, there are nights like last night that things must be faced.
I don't know what it was. The sound of the fan, the hot night. I have a reoccurring memory. I don't know all of it, I just know I feel a terrible, overwhelming fear. I've never been able to put a finger on this memory. It's dark, I'm in a room at my Grandmother's house in New York. There is a fan running, I think in the window. The room is small and I'm laying on a single bed with navy blue sheets. I am afraid and alone. The dark seems overwhelming - which is unusual since she lived on a busy street in the middle of the city. There is a squishy, white plastic Pillsbury dough boy doll like thing sitting on the dresser directly across from the bed. I know it squeaks. I'm pretty focused on that, which tells me something else was probably going on. I have no idea how old I am. Like I said, I'm terrified.
Anyway - sometimes on hot nights when I hear the sound of a fan, this memory haunts me. For some reason, it bothers me more than most - even though considering memories in my life - this one doesn't have any particular thing happening at least that I can recall. The fear though - that I remember. It sticks to me like the hot night, clinging to my pores, soaking me, drenching me in terror. Some nights, like last night, I can still feel the fear.
Nights like last night, I have to pray. I used to pray that I would remember whatever it was about it that haunted me so. Now, I just pray for peace and if God thinks I need to remember all of it, He'll let me know. I know now that I am safe, laying next to my husband and nothing is going to hurt me - but the little girl still feels the fear.
Sometimes it's hard not to ask God why. Why me? Why anyone? Why does God allow terrible things to happen to little girls? Why does He not step in? Why does He not rescue? Where is He?
Are these questions I ask? Yes. They are questions I will ask when I get to heaven. I don't know why. I don't have an answer. I wish I did. Oh, I have the pat answer - the one that says that sin happened, and my fathers sin wrapped it's arms around me. Like a ripple effect when you throw a stone in a pond. That's true - but still - God could have stopped it.
Maybe the question is wrong. Maybe I should ask not why, but why not? Jesus suffered. No, not in this way - but He suffered greatly. He was abused and did nothing wrong. He was beaten and did nothing to deserve it. The word says we will take part in His sufferings. My past - is sometimes my cross to bear.
I know this. Despite everything that happened to me - I sure do love my Savior. He stepped in and He rescued in His time. He gave me strength to endure things that most people would have snapped under. He saved my life - over, and over, and over again. He has a greater purpose for me than my past. Of that, I am convinced.
I don't know why. I don't know why this particular memory comes back to haunt me at times. I don't know what's behind it - but I don't need to know. I know I now rest in my Savior's arms and don't fear the night any longer.
Psalm 91: 5-10: You will not fear the terror of night, nor the arrow that flies by day, nor the pestilence that stalks in the darkness, nor the plague that destroys at midday. A thousand may fall at your side, ten thousand at your right hand, but it will not come near you. You will only observe with your eyes and see the punishment of the wicked. If you make the Most High your dwelling-- even the LORD, who is my refuge-- then no harm will befall you, no disaster will come near your tent.
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