(This post contains triggers)
This blog wasn't intended specifically to focus on miracles or things in the past that I've held onto, but yesterday when I wrote about Daniel and my tattoo, I began remembering other things that have happened as well.
The best things like these are the ones I can pass along. Because of my tattoo I not only feel that part of my life was restored, I also know I can share my faith and hopefully inspire others with the story behind it. If this were the only gift of its kind I know I would feel grateful and blessed beyond measure. But it's not.
The next few days will be dedicated to these moments.
After leaving someone that I thought I would spend the rest of my life with, I joined a support group at my church. I started going because I wanted to know how to help him, but I learned eventually that it was myself I needed to help. One Thursday night it was my turn to share. I had been through several court hearings at this point, and was learning the true ugliness of our situation. I learned that it's the court's job to be objective based on what they see in front of them, and what's obvious to me isn't always obvious to them. I learned that friends I knew and trusted were not loyal and were deceived as I had once been. This process really compounded an idea that had been formed inside my relationship- that my perception of the world was wrong, I couldn't trust anyone and nobody believed me. While describing this I began to cry.
A woman who had only come one or two times before, came over and put her hand on my shoulder. She had shared the week prior that her husband had raped her so violently she suffered permanent genital mutilation and sometimes even uncontrollable bleeding. She had three children with him (all girls) who had grown into adults. One of them was the mother of her two grandbabies and had lived with them when the last act of violence occurred. The doctor who examined this woman said she could have died and encouraged her to press charges, even offering to testify in court against her husband. But her daughters didn't believe her, and the daughter who lived with her moved out with her children and even invited this woman's rapist husband to live with them. She had pledged her loyalty to her father and it appeared on the outside, and I'm sure felt on the inside, that this woman was being punished for finally saying she could take no more abuse. No amount of reasoning would work, no medical record or court order would change the mind of any of her daughters. But the woman believed herself. And I'm thankful she believed me.
She took off a bracelet that was on her wrist. "Angela," she said, "Today is the one year anniversary that I left my husband. When my friend gave me this bracelet I had just gotten out of the hospital. I want you to have it, and I want you to know that God sees you and knows your heart. He knows the truth. He is faithful and He is trustworthy and He is for you, not against you." The woman slid the bracelet onto my wrist, smiled and said, "... and yes, it will turn your skin green."
Inscribed on the bracelet was from Psalm 107: "Give thanks to the Lord, for His love is everlasting."
I wore the bracelet for two and a half years. When I left that night I was thinking a lot less of God and a lot more about how grateful I was that someone believed me. I felt at first like I didn't deserve the bracelet or the sentiment behind it. I went back to my partner a few times, as I've learned that people sometimes do. Sometimes when I would leave to go to his house I would take off the bracelet and put it on my nightstand. I would come home and feel guilty putting it back on. Maybe she gave this bracelet to the wrong person. I would beat myself up that it was a huge slap in the face to her and everyone in that room that night that I went to be with him. Maybe I was stupid, maybe I deserved it, maybe I asked for it, maybe this was all I was good for, maybe it wasn't as bad as I was making it all out to be, just like he said. How dare I put this bracelet back on. And then I would think of what she said: "God sees you and knows your heart. He knows the truth." Even in these moments where I was falling, going back to what was familiar or who I thought was the best I could ever hope for, even when I was doing the wrong things and thinking the wrong things, even when I was weakening my own credibility and strengthening that of someone who hurt me, this woman's words echoed in my mind.
If God saw me and knew my heart even when my actions were wrong, if He knew the truth even when I could not or would not see it myself, if His love was everlasting, unconditional and was not contingent on how much I would degrade myself for Him, then I had SOMETHING to keep me from accepting that this was all there was for me.
Someone who had been through so much worse, took the time to tell me that it wasn't a contest of who went through the most trauma. She saw a hurting person and reached out to help despite knowing that nobody in the room experienced the same horror she did. I don't know where she is now, but I'm thankful for her, thankful for her gift and thankful for each time I looked down at that bracelet to read the inscription.
I gave the bracelet to another woman, 6 months or so ago, in a different group and with a similar story to ours. Her first reaction was that she didn't think she deserved it, and that I had been through so much more. I'm thankful I could pass it along and I hope that one day it can be passed to another person who is hurting and questioning what they are worthy of or deserving of.
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