"Sometimes I wish I could have healed sooner. I think of all the years I lost. Yet, I know the years have made me who I am today, and I love who I am."
Time stopped as I savored her words. She had lived beyond a half century, many of those years filled with pain--pain that began with childhood sexual abuse and continued on for several decades until she exposed the secret, cried the tears, and welcomed the healing. I felt privileged to hear her words. To see her smiling face. To feel her peace. To celebrate her victory.
It's never too late to begin the healing process from childhood sexual abuse. It's never too early to fall in love with the person God created you to be. Long ago someone made a choice to take away your innocence, but today that someone can't touch your freedom to heal.
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
A Little Botox, Please! (Part 2)
I couldn't believe my ears. I couldn't have written a more compelling ending to this story if I were a fiction writer, and honestly, if I were a fiction writer and had created this story, I would have rejected this ending. Too sappy. Too scripted. But the following is the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth:
Like I stated in "A Little Botox, Please! (Part 1)", we got very few complaints as the days turned to weeks which turned to months. Then one day...
Child P sat next to me at the dining room table working on a craft project. I was yapping with my son's girl friend seated across the table. Child P took advantage of a pause in our conversation interjecting with this random statement, "It sure is good to have my life back again [That got my attention. It's not often one hears an eleven year old child speaking about getting her life back.] now that I'm not watching so much TV."
If you could have seen my face, you would have whispered to your nearest friend, "Yep, she made that appointment for Botox. Poor thing! How long are her eyes going to be stuck in that upright position?" I was shocked--out of the mouth of babes once again.
I sent my son, Luke, a victory text. I needed to share the moment with the one who had sounded the battle cry. He won. We won. And an eleven year old child got her life back.
And Botox? I've got a face that moves with life. It tells a story only my face can tell. So Doc, you can keep your Botox. This momma's got all she needs.
Like I stated in "A Little Botox, Please! (Part 1)", we got very few complaints as the days turned to weeks which turned to months. Then one day...
Child P sat next to me at the dining room table working on a craft project. I was yapping with my son's girl friend seated across the table. Child P took advantage of a pause in our conversation interjecting with this random statement, "It sure is good to have my life back again [That got my attention. It's not often one hears an eleven year old child speaking about getting her life back.] now that I'm not watching so much TV."
If you could have seen my face, you would have whispered to your nearest friend, "Yep, she made that appointment for Botox. Poor thing! How long are her eyes going to be stuck in that upright position?" I was shocked--out of the mouth of babes once again.
I sent my son, Luke, a victory text. I needed to share the moment with the one who had sounded the battle cry. He won. We won. And an eleven year old child got her life back.
And Botox? I've got a face that moves with life. It tells a story only my face can tell. So Doc, you can keep your Botox. This momma's got all she needs.
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