As my mother begin to recover from her grief, she also began dating. Because my trust in men, or people in general, was still intact at this point, I was happy my mother had new friends. She was finally smiling and laughing again. My innocense was not to last much longer.

At an early age I became the victim of sexual abuse by my mother's boyfriend, later a step-father, and even later an abusive husband. I blamed myself for the abuse. If I was prettier, smarter, funnier, a better person, a better wife, a better mother. It had to be something I was doing. I couldn't believe people could do such things just because they wanted to.

I struggled through my teens, my twenties, the break up of my marriage, and my early thirties. I was involved in our church youth group, women's ministries, girl's club, Sunday School, and anything else I could be involved in. I was always being told how appreciated I was, how people looked up to me, how I was respected, and loved. It always made me cry. I so wanted to "feel" loved, but just never could.

Sometimes, I would pray while listening to music that touched my inner spirit, my soul, my being. One night I was listening to a Dallas Holmes tape called His Last Days. On it was a song called Father, and it was supposed to be Jesus praying in the garden just before his crucifiction.

The words started..... "Father.....Father.....is there no other way. Father.....Father..... I know not what to pray. I've always sought to do Your will....and that is my desire still....but why do I feel so alone....such sorrow I have never known." The song went on, but my heart was crying out those exact words, and tears flowed steadily from my eyes. Even though I was always around people, I felt alone.

I lay down on my bed and wept as I hadn't wept in a long time. I let the tears soak my pillow and I allowed my heart to feel the ache I had tried so hard to hide. My spirit called out to my Father, my Heavenly Father. I said, "I don't understand the love of a father. I have memories, but I'm not even sure they aren't the made up memories of a lonely child. I want to really understand Your love, but no matter how hard I try, I can't."

The problem wasn't in my love for Him. I loved Him with all my heart! I just couldn't grasp His love for me. Before long I heard a gentle voice speak to my spirit, saying, "Susan, what would you have a father be? What kind of tenderness would you have him show? What kind of strength would he have? What kind of love would he give you? What kind of understanding? What kind of wisdom?" As I heard those words, my mind put together the type of father I thought would be perfect.

As soon as that image formed, but before I could speak, He continued with, "I'm all that.....and MORE!" I cried all the more as I closed my eyes and "saw" myself climb into my Father's lap, then felt His loving arms enfold me. I leaned against Him the way a child leans against a parent that has picked them up after they've been injured or frightened. I leaned against Him and softly whispered, "It hurts, please make it better." And He did!

Even today, when I find myself faced with an overwhelming situation, I find a quiet place, shut my eyes, and crawl back into my Father's arms. In childlike innocense, I lean against Him, I feel His love, and I know He will somehow make it better.

Susan Stevens
Copyright July 2000

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