I M Perfect lady

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  • It is ill fitting in their worlds.

    What I discovered in telling my story is that people get lost in their own lives while listening…lost in trying to defend and discern if my story matches theirs.

    It isn’t being told to match yours, it is merely being told…yet while you are busy trying it on for size, you miss what I am saying…you can’t hear me as you are fitting my words into your world and tossing out the ones that don’t fit.

    As the author of this story and the one who experienced my life, I felt the desire to share what I had lived through or more importantly what I had falsely believed in and was putting it down on paper to find my truth. 

    What I had not counted on was that people would try on my truth of for size, to see if it fits their own experiences and then say it isn’t so.

    I wonder if that is how I listen, to see if it fits in my truth, do I hear others, or do I immediately feel threatened by their story if it clashes with mine?

    It leaves me to wonder, what words another could say that would threaten my world…how another’s experience would unravel my world…what could they possibly say that would start a second avalanche?

    I guess I expected questions or folks who were interested in knowing more, but I hadn’t expected others would try on my experiences and call them fake. 

    It is the resistance against what I am saying that feels so out of place. 

    The defense of the Church, the defense of the people, the defense of the family, defense of the siblings…and the defense against their practices of handing their sins over to Jesus, all the while unknowingly discounting my story as they are so busy in their defense.

    This rooting around in their defense drowns out my words and leaves me unheard. 

    It is like talking to someone who is paying attention to something else, and they are.

    They are worried about their worlds.

    I wonder if we all do that?  If we all have our very own sets of truths and protect them while not paying attention to others.

    I just hadn’t considered that in speaking out that the facts and truths of what I discovered would be tried on and then tossed out, if it didn’t match their files.

    Somehow, I naively believed that I would have the ears of listeners, and not truth fittings.

    What I feel most, is that a child who is asked to tell the truth about an abuser would face the same kind of treatment, where their words would not be brought in as sacred truths, but rather items to be tried on for size. 

    A child can discern, as I have, the ears who listen with compassion or the ones who are merely trying on their truth and kicking it to the curb in order to maintain their own lifestyle.

    Perhaps my ears have become more open the more open I am with my own truths.

    I can only gauge others by how they grab my truths and try them on, and then how quickly I am discarded…or received.

    I have been taking this personal, trying to say things more eloquently, softly, with class, trying to make the presentation prettier, kinder, nicer, more convincing and it is all for naught.  For it isn’t my truth with the issue, but their lifestyle…my truth just doesn’t fit in. It is ill fitting in their worlds.

  • Walks with me in the Dark

    While I was away on a long weekend getaway with my husband, a few comments appeared and a few emails, to the last few posts.

    Here is the deal.  I am only writing about my experience with the people of the FALC, certainly it is not all, but all I knew and each who knew acted the same.  It was like a perfect orchestrated synchronized walk.

    They scored a near perfect ten for keeping in line.

    What I write is my experience and the folks I am writing about are all of the same religion.  They are the ones acting weirdly.

    Here is the other thing, I did have friends (outside of the church) who after reading it in the paper did come up and respond completely the opposite. They did not turn away, but came towards me.

    I can’t help if the poorly acting folks, all happen to be of the same faith, but they are.

    And here is another thing, IF what I write fits you, wear it…if not please let it lie. 

    I am only here reporting things as I encountered them along my journey.  I have yet to meet a full fledge First Apostolic Member who reacted like the folks outside of the church.

    The drastic contrast stands alone…and it isn’t that I am just picking on my friends and acquaintances of that church, but they happen to be outstanding in their consistent response.

    Folks who were not from the inside of the church responded in various ways, listening, hugging, crying, talking in depth, sharing their experiences, and a few cards. 

    What I am mostly shocked about and have separated and explored are the reasons why those who knew me from inside the church turned away.

    They knew me since I was little, we had long history, and they too knew my father and his long history, and yet I immediately became a stranger.

    I didn’t expect folks who didn’t know me on the inside of the church to do anything…

    We expect more from the folks who know us, than we expect from strangers no matter what their religion.

    We have a belief somewhere inside of us about the folks we know, that when the shit hits the fan…they will stand with us.  And I am reporting this odd behavior, like birds all swerving in the same direction, without verbal warning, just an instinctive reaction…adversely to a tragedy.

    Okay, yes…the one phone call reminding me to forgive my father, that it was my job, and that the size of the sin should have no bearings on my task at hand…

    So, I am writing about MY experience with Folks I knew who happened to be members of the same religion and how they happened to respond the same way…This is my experience of the FALC. 

    And, if it fits wear it and explain to me why, and if it doesn’t use my experience as a reminder the next time you hear of the same kind of tragedy.

    And know, the more severe the tragedy, the more the need to step up, step in, bring it up, pat their back, give a hug, send a card, make that difficult phone call.  Be a friend in the dark times…

    As you stand back, they walk alone in their darkest days. 

    And you are sending a message as you turn and walk away…

    Silent is a message.

    I heard your silent message loud and clear. 

    You were a fair weather friend, a surface polite kind, a wave in the good times, a social niceties, a loose bond of similarities of faith, but when the chips were down and the lights went out in my world, the familiar hands were gone.

    What this made me do was to reach out into new areas and reach towards to new friends…and it also gave me great insights into friendships, relationships and how you measure friends more fully in the dark than you do in the light days.

    It is easy to be friends with folks in the good times, but I now know my friends by who walks with me in the dark.

     

  • The opposite of what it looks like.

    What I am continually shocked with is what lies beneath the ‘good’ Christian folks from the FALC.  How on the surface there remains a veneer of smooth carefully constructed Norman Rockwell painting and underneath lies the drawings of an insane mind.

    The juxtaposition between the two always catches me in the gut when they attack what is written by those of us who have left, their viper tongues never cease to amaze me. 

    The words and energies strike such a contrast to the ‘clean’ lifestyle that is presented to the world.

    Reminding me of the “Gates of Heaven” cult whose compound is in Texas. The women in the ‘old time’ dress, the lack of anything ‘worldly’ and yet the men are marrying girls of 12.

    It isn’t that I set out to uncover or discover that beneath the cover of nice clean living lies the devils playground, but I did.

    And each time a member comes in and makes comments to one of the blogs, it sadly affirms who they truly are. 

    Just as you can’t judge a book by its cover…so is it with the FALC.

    It isn’t how they dress or what they refrain from, but rather what lies within each person.  Their content is how they treat other folks who are not from church, or those of us who have left.

    The first public outing I had to make after my father’s Criminal Sexual Assault became public, (only to the church members) I had wondered what I would say to them, how I would be able to talk about it when they stepped forth. 

    Well it was all for naught.  For when I arrived at the school, the first person I saw who was from church turned away.  And so did the half a dozen or so more. 

    NOT one came up to me.  Where as in the past, we had a few social small chitchats, a smile and passing comments…but when my tragedy struck I became as a stranger.

    Their response to me added shame to my already fragile state…my abuse was to ugly to approach.

    They were unwilling to help me carry this burden of being abuse. 

    I had one phone call from a Christian Sister and said was, “Remember, there is no sin to great to forgive…”  Meaning my father. Her main concern was him.

    And that is the way they have continued forth…defending Him and ignoring me…or the bold ones will attack me.

    I have been left alone to carry my burden of abuse…and what I know to be true, this is exactly how they treat the children, the children are ignored and their main concern will be about the adult who did them harm.

    I am not telling lies out of school, but I am saying how I was treated…it is what it is.  I have experienced what lies beneath the clean Norman Rockwell painting…is the opposite of what it looks like.

  • Eyes of a Child

    While mowing the grass last night it came to me that the attacking and jousting for position isn’t about whether there is abuse or not abuse, what was right or wrong, or even the way it is treated or not treated, but rather a more subtle yet ferocious component, it is the fear of no love.

    I have mistaken this for the strength of love, but it is actually velocity of fear.

    Many of the old Masters and wise teachers have all alluded to this; you get to live your life based on fear or on love.

    What we are experiencing is as old as time, the two energies showing their true natures, two sides meeting and clashing, the polar opposites opposing each other.

    Fear is False Events Appearing Real, so what we really have is the battle between the truth and what is not the truth.

    Don Miguel Ruiz writes, “You know, most people around the world believe that there is a great conflict in the Universe, a conflict of good and evil.  Well, that is not true.  It’s true that there is a conflict, but the conflict only exists in the human mind, not in the Universe.  It’s not true for the plants or the animals.  It’s not true for the stars and the trees, or for the rest of nature. It’s only true for humans. And the conflict in the human mind is not between good and evil.  The real conflict in our mind is between the truth and what is not the truth, between the truth and lies.  Good and evil are just the result of that conflict. The result of believing in the truth is goodness, love, happiness. When you live your life in truth, you feel good, and your life is wonderful.  The result in believing lies creates what you call evil; it creates fanaticism. Believing in lies creates all of the injustices, all of the violence and abuse, all of the suffering, not only in society but also in the individual.  The Universe is as simple as it is or it is not, but humans complicate everything.”  Don Miguel Ruiz 

    Life is really this simple, it is or it is not.

    What we are arguing about is what is or what is not.

    Who is or who is not.

    It isn’t complicated or deep and children do this well.

    Don Miguel writes, “"As little children, we are completely authentic.  We never pretend to be what we are not.  Our tendency is to play and explore, to live in the moment, to enjoy life.  Nobody teaches us to be that way; we are born that way.  This is our true nature before we learn to speak."

    This is what I believe Jesus meant by believing like little children; to be in the truth, to walk with the truth, to see the truth, to be authentic.

    Read more from Don Miguel on this subject in Carl’s blog,

    www.messyguru.typepad.com  Titled, "Being Effortless."

    What Don Miguel stated, “The result in believing lies creates what you call evil; it creates fanaticism.”  Fanaticism is the key component that makes up cults or extreme religions; they are not based on extreme love.

    Fanatics are extremists, and from my experience of the FALC they all believe in lies… Lies, which create evil.

    The lies I am speaking most generally about is, that they believe they can wash away reality and that it will no longer exist, and that is one major lie.

    The mother of all lies that follow.

    They have complete faith in something that isn’t real, their faith and trust is placed fear.

    And this act alone creates the fanatical responses, the evil energies we feel attacking us.  We do not feel the energies of love, but the biting words of fear.

    And sometimes after they bite us, they come back with ‘love’ words; they try hiding their fear with kind words, for even their own evil scares them.

    What I hadn’t considered or understood was the level or degree of evil and lies they had faith in, and how frightened or terrified they are to have it disclosed and revealed…

    However, I recall vividly the moment all my true lies collapsed, when all I had faith in evaporated and the terror it left me standing in…and yet in the exact same moment when my world collapsed a grand new one was born, the world of truth.

    And I truly became like a child again.  I didn’t hear what people were saying, but I watched their actions.  Words became meaningless, actions was the true path I followed.

    This world of truth became a spectacular landscape which was very easy to walk in, it was steady and never changing, and there was nothing I had to learn, do or believe in, it was all there in front of me.

    I gave up all past beliefs and thoughts, and simply walked in life with eyes of a child.

     Smug mug pics 104

     

  • A Pattern without Abuse.

    “Two wrongs don’t make it right…” came to mind yesterday and I can see clearly how a child gets so lost after being abused, how the negative energies keep piling up.

     ‘Good’ folks who are unaware of what their actions are saying to the child make matters worse and don’t even know it, know it.  They just are doing what their parents did unquestioning.

    The cycle repeats itself, by each generations same behavior.

     Yesterday while listening to a novel on CD, a sentence was spoken with awe, “She sure is her mother’s daughter…” and I thought sadly I am not, and felt sad pride.

     It was bittersweet to know that I didn’t have a mother who acted like me, that I have forged this new behavior alone without a pattern to follow.

    Not only no pattern, but I created this with no support from my family of origin…

    The patterns of abuse were not followed by m me, nor did I act according to family’s wishes, instead I did the complete opposite and it has brought me much disdain.

    Here is how I built a new pattern, I responded negatively to the abusers and I did what was positive for me. 

    This wasn’t a preconceived agenda, but rather an instinctual deep inside calling.

    I was not a child at the time of being aware of my abuse, but I still mothered myself.

     I was the mother and I was the wounded child.

    In each situation I would ask myself what would be best for the abused little girl inside of me, and each time I would then respond that way, paying no heed to the ramifications that decision would cause to the folks around me.

    My little girl inside was my number one focus and I never, not once did something that I felt would cause her more harm.

    While it seems counterintuitive, stepping away from my father and mother was the best thing for my little girl.

    Neither had taken good care of her.

    Once I learned to step aside from those who hurt me; that was my pattern.

    I step away from folks who hurt me. 

    It is plain, it is simple and it has had a positive change for me. 

    It matters not to me what their title is, all that mattered was how I felt in their presence and if it didn’t feel safe, warm, loving, joyful, then I would make my move.

    My inner wellness had to matter more than anything in the world.  It became my compass.  Like a very very stubborn child, even a bullhead, I continued with this new pattern. 

    If it hurts or feels bad, I move away.

    If it requires me to overlook or look around their negative behaviors, I move away. 

    If they are not accountable for their own actions, I move away.

    If it gives them more power and leaves me powerless, I move away.

    If they belittle and make snide remarks about my needs, I move away.

    If they holler and scream I am insane, crazy, not well, I move away.

    I have been given the luxury and freedom that most abused children do not have.  I am an adult with a voice and a choice.  I can support myself…I don’t’ have to put my survival in the hands of those who hurt me.

    Children of abuse are not given this new pattern to follow, in fact they are ‘forced’ to do the opposite of what I have done.

    They are made to succumb and return to ‘normal’ to get back in line of the family pattern, most often in order to survive. They are not self supporting.

    How their abuse affects the family shows the pattern from generations before. 

    If a child’s abuse doesn’t shatter the family…it is the normal pattern and the way things are in this particular family tree.

    If the child’s welfare isn’t put at the top of the list, the family’s pattern most likely is that the children’s needs are last, EVEN if the child has been abused.  They will do what feels best or fits best in the family pattern.

    It seems preposterous, but this I have witness first hand.  I seen my father’s case through the eyes of the wounded child, and what I saw was all positive for my father and very negative for me.

    Little by little I watched how my mother and siblings acted and how they responded, and who they took care of, spoke for and who they argued for, while I watched my father do nothing.

    He didn’t take one teeny tiny move that showed he felt remorse or that he wanted to get out from under his disease…he didn’t have to lift a finger; all were doing the heavy lifting for him.

    I watched and I witnessed this all with the eyes of the wounded child.

    I kept my view as a wounded child, not as a daughter or sister…

    I saw the family pattern being played out perfectly.  I witnessed how this abuse continues on. 

    The only way childhood sexual abuse can continue on is with the consent and knowledge of the adults or heads of households.

    Children depend on the adults for survival, cannot sway the family tree to act differently, their very food and shelter depend upon it.

     I acted against the pattern and look at where I am sitting.

     Alone in my own home… I am free of those who abused me.

     A child doesn’t have this luxury, they are held captive until they can support themselves. 

    They are subjected to years and years of abuse and live a few feet away from themselves, trying to survive they have to be disconnected…

    The sad part is, most are not able to reconnect.

    They have learned to be this untreated abused person.

    Learned to survive by blocking out their feelings, separating themselves from themselves.  Living as a person that isn’t who they are.

    I am not certain why I had the privilege to reconnect to my self, to walk with my wounded girl until we walked free.  But I have and I have carved out a new pattern…a pattern without abuse.

     

     

     

     

  • I took my life back, by walking away.

    On my last blog, I received a comment and a line struck me that I want to share. 

    “It was an error to not stand in front of your house and scream or picket or whatever else until your dad admitted it.”

    What I feel most families believe is that it is their job to be the law, that they had to have an admittance of guilt in order to go to the police.

    It does seem absurd, but I am sure that most people don’t want to get the police involved unless they are sure.  And that means him admitting it.  Since they have the one side, the little girls side, they are expecting to have a complete picture and they need his co-operation.

    This sentiment needs to be changed. It is not our job to get the admittance of guilt from the perpetrator, that is the job of the police.  It is your job to press charges, to stand with your daughter/son and walk through the court process.

    What I can only surmise, is that the realness of it all would come front and center and your lives would change if you pressed charges.

    And from what I am hearing your lives did change, were forced to change and deal with a girl who now needed therapy, couldn’t stay in reality, etc.

    I get it, I understand completely.

    It seems you are either going to deal with the abuse one way or another.

    I believe to the bottom of my soul, that IF adults in the lives of the abused children would believe them and support them and press charges and face this full on, there would be little residual negative results.

    The NEGATIVE results come from NEGATIVE actions.

    I wish I could imprint this upon the eyelids of parents.

    It isn’t the abuse that is so damaging, it is the negative results of the non abusing adults around us.

    While the commenter speaks of how broken hearted the minister was upon learning of his own daughters abuse, his failure to respond positively greatly affected MANY girls.

    Just in my time frame alone, three girls were affected.  And what I know is that he was summons time and time again.

    His negative reaction resulted in mental breakdowns. 

    It isn’t the abuse alone.  I am sorry to say.  My father’s abuse was the first punch.  The second and more fatal blows are the negative responses. 

    Being treated negatively after is so damaging and you have confirmed this by your comment. 

    The positive response is extremely hard to do.  But the results are completely the opposite of the negative ones.  

    The positive response is to step away from your father, cut all ties.

    The positive response is to step away from anyone who supports him by not moving away.

    The positive response is to put up boundaries against family members to isolate your self from any contact with this abuse.

    I have done the positive thing and I am standing outside of my family with one brother.

    Doing the positive thing is the path of most resistance. 

    It is a very hard road, but it carries the most gifts along the way.  While I am hearing that living with the negative results is horrible, I am here to tell you while it seems extremely mean, THAT is the easier way.

    That it is easier to deal with the negative results than it is to stop the world and go in a completely different direction.

    We can dialogue this out.

    But I feel…negative response will give you a negative result.

    The same goes for positive….

    I took the road less traveled and I have not regretted a moment of it.  I took my life back, by walking away.

  • Resolve to Stay the Same.

    While we all know that my father transformed into a monster many times, over many years with a variety of girls, what we fail to recognize or even consider is the lack of changes in the lives of others who knew and did nothing.

    Who knew and did nothing, means they did not respond or change or transform as a new truth or information landed in their lives.

    It is this unchanging landscape that doesn’t match the little girls changing landscape that really really bothers me.

     I know that I somehow expected more from my mother after the event than I did my father.

    I expected her to save me, to move me away from harm, to change our world somehow.

    It is hard to articulate the transformations of my father, but it is equally hard to fathom the no changes in the ones who knew and did nothing.

    When I say, “knew and did nothing” I mean have a lifestyle change, have a reaction that mirrors criminal sexual assault.

    The ones who lived with my father or near my father had one opinion of who he was. When a new identity comes in it seems that you would then have to reconfigure your world. 

    It seems that something so huge would not fit into your old lifestyle, that IT would literally change you. 

    Yet the opposite is what happened in my family.  I have heard from a few in my family who said, emphatically that they would not let what my father did change their lives. One is a sheriff…(he isn’t going to let Ray upset his world, and let him win, giving him the satisfaction.)

    They were not going to change their worlds because of his sick behavior, it wasn’t going to ‘ruin’ their family, or change their relationships, and they simply were not going to allow it to affect the lives they had. 

    I have actually been accused of ruining their childhoods and their fond memories…ripping our family apart. 

    I am the one to blame…more so than Ray.

    One sister said she confronted him for a half hour and went to work.  Imagine, a half-hour and her world was set back right side up. 

    What does this say about folks who can let this come in and then allow it to reside there and not have their lives change?

    Due to the fact that this time Ray went to jail, to court, hired lawyers, it was way real, and still at the end of the day…it is life as usual.

    I am more transfixed on what didn’t change than anything else. 

    It is the space between my family and I.

    I stopped my whole world…when I heard what my niece said. 

    I sat in a place outside of my life…and looked in.

    I saw things I didn’t want to see.

    I had to act in ways I couldn’t imagine acting.

    I let go of people I couldn’t imagine letting go of.

    Knowing what Ray did has changed my life forever.

    Nothing remained the same…and I can’t begin to imagine how they are able to walk unchanged.

    This behavior seems equally as odd as my fathers transformation, the unchanging resolve to stay the same.

     

  • Back to the Lake of Innocence.

    The previous post’s pictures articulate the changes, and how in fact the little girl continues to look the same, but now feels like that dirty lake resides inside of her, by the actions done to her and the lack of response.

    Prior to abuse entering into her world, her world is like Lake Superior on a beautiful summer day, calm, peaceful, relaxing, clean, fresh, beautiful, loving, kind, innocent…

    And then….

    (Recounting from the file)

    “He was always very nice, showing interest in me… he casually pulled me on his lap, real friendly like, a real laid back guy…but very strong…he would pull me onto his lap, he forcefully pulled me on his lap and then take my hand, held my hand, and place it over his erect penis that would be out of his long johns…if she tried to pull it away, he would very firmly put it back, rubbing his penis, while Ray would be doing this, other people would be in the room, including his wife. The same scenario happened, over and over again…”  Little girl voices…

    After abuse the world changes color, it is now darker, scarier and monsters lurk in kitchens and living rooms…friendly laid back guys can transform into monsters and then back again. No one seems to see the monster you are experiencing… It becomes this fluid ever changing landscape.

    And from the file, each girl spoke of my father’s transformation, of going from nice laid back neighbor man to a forcible pedophile.  The juxtaposition.

    What is missing is the transformation of the other adults.

    The wife, neighbors and minister continued on as normal.

    What is horrific is that they don’t become unglued…and transform into raging indignant people reeling about the injustice of such treatment of the innocent.

    We are left with double transformations.

    We wait to see our loving caring parent transform into rage at our abuse…and it doesn’t happen.

    So we then, watch or feel inside the disappearing love, trust and faith.

    It transforms from loving and caring, to caring less.

    Our world now holds people who are not who they say they are, there are flipping images and we can’t trust what we see anymore.

    The truth is, there is no truth.

    This is the awful state to be in, where you can’t trust the kind face of my father for lurking in the background is forcible contact with his penis.

    Double images.

    You can’t trust your mother’s high morals and values for when it comes to the real tough things in life, she is unable to stand tall, to come out swinging for you.

    She proclaims strong and comes out weak.

    She turns a blind eye towards your abuser, which translates to us, a blind eye on our abuse our wounds…

    If you don’t value your children, you don’t value anything.

    And when you don’t value the children, the children can’t value themselves. They literally see themselves in your eyes.

    What I saw in my parent’s eyes is the Lake of Sins…their sins.  I seen me through their eyes of sins…believing those eyes were talking about me, instead they were showing me who they were, and it had nothing to do with me.

    Their value became my value…they can’t make me precious and valuable…without it being within them first.

    “you can’t give what you don’t have…” seems like a lofty bit of wisdom the therapy world imparts, but I know form experience this is true.

    When I discovered my own innocence, I could then see my children with eyes of innocence…but first I had to see the abuse my parents gave to me.  I couldn’t hold them innocent, for when I did I was the problem.

    And what I know for sure is the girls; the little children who are forced to perform sexual acts are never the problem.  Not now, not ever.

    Until I held my father accountable, my innocence was not mine.

    This is very very tough for a child to do, for we want at all cost to keep a loving parent, a strong caring forceful in love parent, but instead we get parents who become strong in abuse and weak in love.

    Even at my old age, I still wanted to have a strong generation before me, I didn’t want to be stronger than the top, I wanted a soft place to fall, someone to rely upon, a warm embrace, a shelter from life storms…

    My healing and dealing and bearing the brunt of all ridicule and disdain is giving my children the parent I sought.

    I have to withstand all the storms that have been leveled at me to show my children and I how strong I am, that no matter who abuses…I can stand tough.

    I have stood against my father, my mother and all siblings who have openly and willingly supported and cared for them.  I have let family go for the sake of my own little girl inside and in doing so have secured an environment for my own children.

    I have transformed multiple times…innocent to abuse, to innocent again, from strong to weak and weak to strong, from loving to fear and fear to loving, from me to not me to back to me again.

    Back to the Lake of Innocence…

    IMG_6803 

  • We either hide your sins or own our lives.

    The main belief or what keeps the faith going is this one paragraph that Jim Torola wrote about in his Post, “Why no Movement.”

    “Or the FALC trump card, "it was forgiven in Jesus' Name and Precious Blood, thrown into the bottom of the sea of grace, forgiven and forgotten, and if anyone brings up this again, they will take on that sin."  Jim Torola    http://jimtorola.typepad.com/blog/

    Anyone who has not been raised on this concept may find this strange, but if you have been taught since you were a young girl, that this is true; you will not go diving into the sin lake to retrieve anything.

    Diving into the sin lake, sins will attach to you like suckers in a stagnant pond…and you are ‘bad’ for just wading into the waters, for ‘thinking’ about past sins…let alone going back in and dragging them to surface.

    I am not sure I can impress upon those who are walking the narrow road what it is you all are actually doing.

    You are teaching children that when you tell, nothing will be done for them, but great magical acts will be done for the bad man.  And all matter of shame will be brought upon you for ever speaking of this matter again.

    As Pete Torola so succinctly put it, “What is your motive for telling?”

    Why little girl are you going back to the sea of Grace and dragging out Ray’s sins? 

    “Oh yea of little faith, don’t you believe it has been blessed away?”  To what end do you want to drag this dirty filthy deed to surface???  Don’t you know its bad to do this?

    What is so utterly mind blowing is that the adults never doubted the girls recounting, but instead did insane things with this information.

    If you only knew what that does for a child who has been abused, to be heard, but then no action to arrest, stop or curtail these activities.

    We tell the adults and the adults do nothing.

    Oh wait, they do do something, they take our pain, suffering, fear and anguish and toss it away, paying no attention to how we feel.  It is more important to bless the bad man and put his ‘acts’ away, and then threaten us if we bring it up…again.

    For they want to get to Heaven…and the way to heaven is to bless, bless, bless, repeatedly, forever, and NEVER speak of it again. 

    The way to Heaven is to make the bad men whiter than snow…and the way is littered with the souls of little children.

    I can’t know what you all feel as you sit your bottoms down on the benches, but I am here to tell you what your techniques of dealing with sins do for an abused child.

    It gives the abuse child nowhere to go, no one to hear, and no one to see them.  They become invisible and discarded, useless, worthless…trash, the litter along your path to heaven.

    I recall writing and actually giving a narrative of what it felt like…even without memories, I had a distinct recollection of not being able to get out of the hellhole.

    What is a hellhole many may ask? 

    You know what the hellhole looks like; it is the bottom of the Sea of Grace.

    Pedophiles swim down there and drag little girls there repeatedly…while you all ‘believe’ that they disappeared.

    A hellhole is a place where you have no power, no choice, no way out. You are left alone in your mind without adult supervision while your father does the unspeakable, you can speak, but you can’t be heard.  They can see, but turn away…you are too little and they are sooo big. You are living in an alternate universe from the adults around you. They speak of loving kindness, you feel utter helplessness and fear.

    I was lost in the sea of Grace and no one cared…

    In order to survive the sea of Grace you have to kill your spirit, drug your feelings, check out and live in the pretend place the adults live.  Where a pedophile is a dad…

    I know why kids do drugs, kill themselves; they can’t take the sea of Grace no more.

    While you all are blessing him, you are making us Live in the Sea of Grace…or what it really is The Lake of Sins.

    I lived and swam and finally got used to living in the Lake of Sins.  Its twisted mess became my normal.  Silently you swim around, not speaking of what you see, how you feel…you are disconnected like debris…unattached drifting amidst the other despicable things.  You fit in there, you feel as one with all the disgusting things, you are unworthy and useless, for the caring adults didn’t care.

    It is incredible to me, that when you don’t see our wounds we become them…you don’t have to bless us, we naturally are attracted to the sins you tossed away…

    When you don’t see us as innocent, we no longer feel it.

    Funny, in a tragic way…you always seen and made sure that Ray stayed innocent…

    He stays clean and I get dirtier…I have to keep this a secret so the adults stay clean. 

    I have broken the silence, the gig is up, it is over.  I came to shore, I left the Lake of Sin, and I am talking about it, writing about it, and hoping against hope, there is one little girl out there in her own hell hole who will hear me calling her name.

    I see you.

    I hear you.

    I know you are there.

    I am here to tell you, you are not alone.

    The only way out is to stop holding the secret.

    The threat of sins is simply that a threat.

    There is no sea of Grace, but a lake of sin.

    You live there and you can walk free.

    Get out.  Speak out. Stop holding on to sins of others.  We all carry our own…the sea or lake lives within us.  We either hide your sins or own our lives.

     133
    What we feel like before we were abused…

    Smug mug pics 1428 
    and how we feel after… This is the Sea of Grace in the FALC where

    the abused children are made to live, for the 'dad' is clean and we are not.

  • The enemy of Lies.

    Who I was the first 46 years is totally different than who I am now.  I went from being totally submissive, compliant and eager to please, while a bit of an outspoken person, I spoke for what I then believed…as long as I stayed within the party lines.

    I never strove to make ripples in life, but rather was the one who smoothed over the waters; I took out the waves…a calming force, I was the one who would settle the ruffled feathers.

    It shocks me at times to see me being the one making waves and saying things I know will not sit well, but I say them anyway.

    At times it was hard recognizing me or even allowing the new me to be me, to let her speak and write with such forthrightness. 

    Sometimes it seems that I myself no longer have a boundary or a line that I can’t cross, whereas before there were many imaginary but firm lines.

    Now there is nothing I can’t say, as far as speaking the truth goes, there doesn’t seem to be a topic that is off limits, it is like I have discovered my own personal freedom of speech.

    I guess it helped to have my personal wounds splashed across the paper; it really left little to protect or hide…my darkest secret was broadcasted on the Radio, TV, and in the Newspaper as well as word of mouth. 

    Of course the only ones who knew, knew me, the rest it was just another sad story, a pathetic man doing obscene things…I was the story behind the story.

    My life’s details were freely handed out, talked about, discussed with bits of truths and tons of speculation sprinkled with hearsay and conjecture.

    I had thought in the beginning that many people would be asking me details and wanting to know this or that, but ironically no one speaks of this. 

    “It is a hard subject to bring up,” my husband once said.

    “It is a hard subject to live through,” I told him.

    I blog about my thoughts and feelings, about what I feel and how different aspects have felt to me, how people connected acted or didn’t act and how too that felt to me.

    It is like the blog became the friend or tireless family member who would always sit and listen and bounce back ideas that rolled around in my head…we straightened things on the blog.  It is like a very intimate trusting friend.

    Now, lately my blog has been getting tons of strangers watching me talk and engage with this friend, they get to be voyeurs into my consciousness.  Witnesses to my thoughts, beliefs and how I see the world and others…

    Lately I feel that there is momentum brewing, sacred connections are joining and creating an even bigger circle encompassing and reaching further and creating a stir…

    It is like it was meant to be that my story get written, my truths be told, my life be this open book in order for it to dovetail with a family just beginning this process.

    Its purpose was always beyond me.

    For often times, the most difficult things to write seemed always to be the most important to put down…and ones I couldn't not write. 

    Those were the things that others needed to read; those are the crucial signposts along this journey, the game changers, the deal breakers, the key. 

    There always seemed to be a bigger purpose than just me that I was tugging and pulling on pieces of others stories, that by me figuring out apiece here and there, others would see and shift with me. 

    And at times even those who passed prior were cheering for me as I righted another wrong belief…we seemed to shift in knowingness. 

    It seemed some were leading and others were following me. 

    Follow me to their own truths, not my truth.

    To see that this journey I took is possible and that you will never walk alone, you will have angels of all kinds showing you the way forward.

    Angels of lies kept me from going backwards.

    Angels of truth wrote books that led me forward.

    It isn’t my intention to hurt anyone with my truths, but the old adage is there, “truth hurts”.

    It hurts the illusion.  It hurts the life built upon lies. If it hurts enough, it will propel you to change, to grow, to expand, to raise your consciousness.

    Truth arrives to change you, to be your spiritual friend. Truth is only the enemy of lies.

     

April 2026
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