For most women, crying is a release, but that wasn’t the case for me. Having suffered horrific abuse, I felt that if I shed tears, I was giving my abuser pleasure in knowing they caused me pain. Tears for me created anger, and made me want to inflict pain back upon my abuser. I perceived tears to be a form of weakness. My abuse began at a very early age. I was brought into the world by an alcoholic, drug addict. At the age of three, my mother began her relationship with my abuser. He was very unkind, and extremely aggressive. He too was an alcoholic, and a drug addict. He would physically abuse my mother and me frequently. He would force me to watch them preform sexual acts upon each other, then he began to sexually abuse me, and became my tormentor for many years. I was often forced to drink alcohol, and if I wasted any of it, he’d beat me. They would leave me in the vehicle as they went shopping. I was not permitted to go in the grocery store with them. I can remember sitting there with my doll, and feeling so afraid and alone. They often left me unattended at home, and I rarely attended school. I can recall being left alone for long periods of time. There is one night, that I’ll never be able to erase from my memory. My abuser was sexually abusing me, and my mother stood in the doorway of the bedroom watching. I screamed for her help, and she just stood there. When I would cry out, he would slap my face, and tell me to shut up. He always held me by my hair, so I couldn’t really move. As I think back, I can recall the look my mother had on her face. She was so messed up on drugs and alcohol, that I’m not even sure she was really coherent enough to understand what was happening right before her eyes. When my abuser would finish and leave the room, I’d get up and lay in a fetal position in the floor of my closet. I can remember the deep hurt I felt, and how angry I’d be as the tears fell down my cheeks. What I’m about to tell you, may appear as a child using their imagination, but I can honestly say I believe it was the presence of God visiting me. I would feel so broken as I laid in the floor of that closet, and a eagle, great in size would come down before me. It would take me away from my pain. It brought such peace with it, a peace that can only be given by God. I didn’t understand as a child, but I knew this eagle visiting me was special. I would beg it not to leave me, and it never spoke outwardly, but I heard it speak within me. It told me that it was always here for me, and that I didn’t have to be afraid. I suffered great abuse for many years from my mother and her boyfriend. He locked me in a basement cellar once, it was so dark, and it was filled with spiders. I sat in the darkness, rocking myself as the spiders crawled on me. The fear I felt was so strong, that it stayed with me into my adulthood. I was taken away from my mother at the age of six. I became a foster child, and a ward of the state of Alabama. I was never adopted. The state of Alabama took me to court, at the age of nineteen, to release me from their custody. I carried un-forgiveness and anger toward my mother, and my abuser, all the way into my early thirties. I’m going to share with you a poem I wrote, expressing my thoughts about the abuse I suffered. “On the wings of an eagle I fly, Soaring high above the clouds in the sky. Over beautiful castles and grass so green, It’s more than I could ever dream. I’m five years old, and the pains so deep I scream. Tear filled eyes-in a closet of darkness I lie. On the wings of an eagle I fly. In a valley so deep, Over mountains high and steep. Into the darkness he creeps, He slips beneath my sheets. Hand over my mouth so I can’t speak, He violates the weak. On the wings of an eagle I fly. Over the storm clouds high, Screaming why me- WHY!!! In a fetal position I lie, On the floor of my closet I cry. My spirit is broken inside. Fear controls me, It’s a dirty fragrance I wear, Pungent and full of despair. On the wings of an eagle I fly…” One night during church, I began to ask God to uproot the anger and un-forgiveness I carried toward them. I came before God broken, and I sincerely wanted freedom. I began to weep, as God’s presence fell upon me. My anger and un-forgiveness began to melt away as the presence of God surrounded me. I stood there weeping, and I began to thank God for His redeeming love. I began to feel true freedom from my past. The amazing part of my story is that I can truly say today, that my mother and former abuser, truly deserve God’s redemption. I even pray that they find redemption before its to late, and that God would send someone to reach them, even if it’s me. In the presence of God, I am now able to cry tears without feeling anger. I’m no longer that little girl in a fetal position, that was thrown away. Through Christ, I’ve been redeemed.