I pressed my face against the window. Frost zigzagged along the outside of the windowpane, framing it with the icy white fingers that threatened to overtake it. I could feel the coolness of it on my forehead and and it made me shiver deep inside. My palms rested lightly on the window, on either side of my face, stuck, like wet skin against frosted metal, and it held me tight against my will. I was unaware that this moment would be burned in my heart for the rest of my life, branded red hot. These few moments forever deeply scarred and bloody would live so close to the edge of my memory, just skin deep and it feels like just moments ago.

He lay on the front porch, wrapped up in a old roll of carpet like a burrito, shivering as he slept. His head was the only part of him that was exposed, laid back against the slatted boards of the porch. It was winter in the North and the icy cold must have been unbearable.

He was not aware of the eyes that watched him, unable to tear away.

I was well within myself, struggling under the weight that hung heavy on my shoulders as I retraced the steps of the last couple of days. Emotions flooded my mind and I could not move. Even then I could not understand why I took pity on him. Him, coming home drunk to a locked door, no longer welcomed here. And having no where else to go found the only place to lay his head, the only warmth offered to him was that old carpet roll.

Confusion troubled my mind as I watched him sleep. How could someone I trust so much hurt me in this way?

Would I ever not be afraid again?

And then there is the guilt weighing you down like an anchor intertwined to your heart, forever pulling you down, deeper . . and yet deeper still. Guilt sticks to you like old sticky gum stuck to the bottom of your shoe, no amount of scraping could tear away the sticky mess.

I now had a secret, and there is always shame in a secret like this.

A secret that was carried alone for many years and secrets like that are much too heavy for a five year old to carry.

The old carpet roll remained on the front porch, a reminder, but this would be the last time I ever laid eyes on him. After that day he became just a memory, a nightmare stuck in a little girls head and the rewind button played over and over, year after year.

I turned inward.

And upward.

I turned to the only One that I knew I could trust, the only One I knew that would keep my secret.

The weight of a secret like that can stunt your growth, and it crushed me in at times and I questioned Him through the years and I would not give it up. I wanted to understand it, I wanted to see the good that would come of it, and I would not let it go. So I wrestled and over time I prevailed. And He carried me all these years, a child in her Father’s arms, wrapped tightly and tenderly and He never let me go.

I now see clearly the protective arms of Him through it all, the hindsight of looking back and seeing it through different eyes. Eyes that now see everything through her Father’s eyes of love; the locked door, the timing of him leaving, and the moving me on was all apart of my Father’s plan of hedging me in.

Throughout the years I have met others just like me and the wounds run deep and wide throughout. I understand the struggle. Sharing is therapeutic but trusting and leaning on God is the only way to breath. The only healing that can run deep enough.

As I turn to my only source of hope and healing He begins to unravel these ropes that strangle. Ropes that are woven so tightly to the fibers of your life, to your very heart.

And through the unraveling, with each strand I see Him; His truth, His great and precious promises and now that I can see through different eyes and I finally understand the pity.

And then . . . He says it. Just spoke it loud and clear and finally my asking is over. I finally understand the goodness of it all, I finally understand that what men mean for evil, my Father will use for good. (Gen. 5:20)

And I have noticed this common thread among these beautiful daughters of His:

Each has a deep, special relationship with their Lord.

The pain afflicted from one onto another pierces Him deep. He was deeply grieved and hurt by what happened to His daughters, and because of this great affliction, He drew us close, pulling us in just a little tighter. We have become His girls and His tender, loving kindness has blanketed us and He has become our great and strong tower.

And I finally realized that it was all a part of the portion of my inheritance. That affliction has become a part of what shaped me and formed me into the being that I am today. And it drove me straight into His loving arms. And it’s not about what He can give me, it’s about Him giving me Himself and He said it to Abram and I have heard the same whispers myself, gently and tenderly He tells me. “Do not be afraid. I am your shield, your exceedingly great reward.” (Genesis 51:1)

HE is my great reward! HE is the portion that I seek! HE is my inheritance!

And if the wounds of my heart are what caused me to to fall back into the Father’s arms then I am glad of it. If it is why He drew me closer in, then I thank my God for this thing that has lead me to my true love. For “we know that all things work together for good to those who love God” (Romans 8:28)

I am eternally thankful for anything that would cause me to turn to the One my heart loves.

And the wounds do heal. The amazing balm of Gilead soothes and the process is sweet, for I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us. Romans 8:18(NKJ) And it is no longer a crutch or source of pain and confusion. There is victory here, a lifting up of my hands and yelling at the top of my lungs! The victory cry echos throughout my life and the lives of those around me. Yes, the victory is now mine, and that which the enemy meant for my harm, for my destruction, has indeed turned into my good and God’s glory.