A Breath and a Prayer

Before the telling...

Here's the thing. This is hard. Truest voice telling is daunting. Yet, I believe truth-speaking (and hearing) reaches into the furthest depths of souls who yearn to give of and live without hesitation their authentic selves.  I'm reticent to say I've always lived with full disclosure. Yet I would say I've longed unceasingly to do so. But what would others think? And for all intents and purposes, I wonder the same now. In this place. Here. With you. 

But this is a part of my journey. And I am not afraid. 

But once upon a time, I was...

Afraid. My first memory of being afraid crashed into my life with sudden ferocity. I was four (or five). And I was sleeping sweet until he rushed in, swept me up, and bound down the attic stairway. I clung to his neck as he swept through the main floor, and dashed down another set of stairs into the basement. He tucked me underneath a table in the corner of that damp room on top of a makeshift pallet, and beckoned me to sing with him. 

Jesus loves me this I know

For the Bible tells me so

Little ones to Him belong

They are weak but He is strong

Yes, Jesus loves me...

My mom must have been there too, but I can't remember seeing her. The only memory I "feel" is fear. The only sight I carry in my mind of that night is that of my dad's face. The fear written there. Songs and prayers filled with panic and doubt. 

Fear broke through...

And held fast for years to come. If I could only comfort the little one I was then. If I could hold her and sing to her, mother her. If I could open the door to her the night I woke to my first nightmare. "Go back to bed, Sharen. You're not coming in here." Tears fell silent outside my parents' door for what I remember to be hours (but who knows how long). Exhausted, no longer able to stand, I walked, quiet and reluctant, back to my own bed.