A Letter to Me – Compassion

 

Join the Compassion Blogger NetworkFor the month of September I will be dedicating one post per week to Compassion.  Compassion has a goal of seeing over 3000 children sponsored through this month.  Won’t you help give hope to a child today? Click here to view the children who need you and can I whisper encouragement to take a small peak and pray for the faces that you see there? 

Today’s Assignment: Write a blog post to your childhood self. What words of encouragement do you need to hear?




A Letter to Me
I wish there were a few things I could tell you.  Wish that I could whisper 42 year old wisdom to your 10 year old self when the world as you knew it came undone.  I wish that I could wrap my arms around you when the glass shattered in the living room, when you realized that daddy and mommy wouldn’t be living in the same house anymore.
Heartache had come to visit our family and it was unannounced and unwelcome.   You would lay awake at night, listening to the arguing, your room, that safe haven of love created by mom, took on the blue hue of the curtains and bed spread she had made. Heartache had come and your mind could not fathom that path your small life would take.
Things were wrong.  They were backwards.  Daddy didn’t love mommy, mommy didn’t love daddy and there in the middle were you and your siblings. Divorce was unheard of.  Good families didn’t.  Church going families didn’t.
Good families didn’t split up.  Parents stayed together for life and it was certain that God would punish your family for the less than perfect marriage that tore your life and tore holes in souls. 
School was a nightmare – a faith-based private school that had no idea how to deal with divorce.  The gossip of your parents’s struggle caught like wildfire in the Grade Four and Five class.  It caught and sparks landed on you with a burning hiss.  It was as if divorce was a disease and you were somehow contagious.  Your classmates would catch the bug and take it home to their parents and the germs would spread and invade their own families.  You felt isolated and alone, no one wanted to play with the girl whose parents had split up.
At home things were strained.  The arguing moved from the living room to the phone and there were days when you wished you could sink into the carpet and disappear.   Nothing was the same. The kettle didn’t boil in the morning for daddy’s coffee, his bath water stopped running while he waited for the whistle.   On Saturdays he would show up in his big yellow car and drive the short drive to Grandma’s house where he was living in the basement.   Grandma not knowing what to do acted as if nothing was wrong and it was perfectly normal for daddy to be living next to the washing machine instead of your perfectly good house on Brennan Drive.
I wish that I could show you how your life would be.  How despite the years of heartache that followed, you would see what I see now.  More than 30 years have passed since that time, that’s a lot of days and hours and minutes.  Some were harder than others. Pain, both physical and emotional, wounded your heart and your body.  You would make choices that little girls shouldn’t have to make for your own protection and you would learn very quickly that words on a page could offer escape.
I wish you could sit yourself down right beside me in this coffee shop and see what I see.  A woman who has walked through fire and that while it hurts and burns it is the same fire in which gold is refined.  The same fire that burns out the impurities so that all that is left is pure.  And I would tell you this, that the purer the gold, the softer the gold.  That gold with some bend, some give and take is more valuable than the stiff and rigid kind.  You need to know, that we are okay, that we have endured and through Him we have conquered.   You also need to know that those tears that soaked your pillow, the ones that rolled down your little girl cheeks, they were not wasted, not a single one. On those dark nights, Jesus laid His head right down beside yours and held your tears in His nail torn palms.  
You were never alone, He was always there and today I can tell you with clear and certain eyes, that you are loved and loved well. 

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