It was a Sunday, at about 2pm, I was at my parents house and I got the call I’d been praying the last three weeks for. After hanging up, I called my cousin Amy. I am forever grateful that Amy came with me and that by 2:30 we were on our way to Long Beach. I think God must have given us some sort of tail wind because at 6pm we were at the church where she’d called me from.
When she walked out of the building I gasped inside. She was so thin and her eyes were hallow. She didn’t think the abuse showed on the outside but it did. I could see it from her pale face to her dejected shoulders to the hesitation in her steps. She touched her purse and tried to smile and greet us with her chin up but even eye contact seemed painful. She was walking out of a war zone and it was okay to show it.
I vaguely remember thanking the people at the church who had given her shelter that day and then we got in the car to start our journey home. It felt like a movie scene where the prisoner gets broken out of prison and the getaway car is a Saturn SC with four cylinders that goes from zero to sixty in two days. As we approached the freeway exit to his house, she felt the gravitational pull to go back “just to spy on him”. I wanted to give her anything she asked for but she was well practiced in forgetting the bad and the ugly. That’s how she survived. But now began the time to slowly learn how remember again. So after a two second hesitation, I said no to her half hearted request and sped up to keep widening the gap between hope and fear. The healing had just begun.
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