This wound is open again, and I hate him. Is it wrong..yes it is. I know. I hate him for what he did to them, to us, to me. Where was the man to protect me? He was there standing over me, hurting me, night after night, always there. Relentless in his pursuit of control and savage ownership of my body, soul, mind. The sad truth is if he had loved me, if he would have sought help for his wounds, wounds that I could not heal with my own submission to his hand; I'd have stayed and continued to give it my all.
When I see these pictures of my children, my heart is open and raw again. Those feelings rush back, fear, intimidation, sacrifice. I sacrificed myself for them everyday. I hid the torture from those bright beautiful eyes. I hid the words of contempt from the mouth of their father from their innocent ears. I hid my fear of death by his hand. I hid, I hid it all. I only did what I thought was right.
At what point does the pain become less? At what point will my children be restored to me? Ten years? Twenty? My dear God, must I wait until you return? Must I wait until ALL is reconciled? Oh, my God, restore us. I need my children, and I think, they need me. just as we, your children need You. I am raw tonight and broken again.
I give you thanks my Jesus for these years You provided. Thank you for the beauty and joy that my children and I shared. I'll never regret those years, or the blessings that will one day come to fruition from them.
