I’ll be out-of-pocket this week and my best friend Elle has agreed to share with you today. We’ve been friends since we were 16. I’m delighted God placed her in my life. Elle is an artist, mother of 2, and wife. She is wise beyond her years. And always knows how to make the most of each moment. May you be affected as I have been from such a dear soul.
“It’s generally accepted that if you’re in the pattern of being abused by one or both parents that’s what you’re going to do when you grow up. I don’t agree. I believe the deciding factor all boils down to free will. People have the choice. Self-discipline prevents that streak from coming out. You need to be vigilant to guard against a slow growth in the wrong direction. You need to be cognizant of how you behave toward you wife and children. Not a day goes by when you don’t think about how you want to be and how you don’t want to be. It’s always in the back of your mind, a burden that you carry.”
Breakfast is my favorite meal of the day for sure.
What other meal is it socially acceptable to consume large amounts of sugary, cake-like pastries and call that a meal entirely?
When I can get my husband on board with me about the importance of breakfast, we’ll try to hit up one of the local pancake houses on the weekend.
On one such occasion, my breakfast spread bliss was disrupted by some folks at a neighboring booth. They weren’t attempting to control their volume so overhearing their conversation was as unavoidable as bad tippers in a place that small.
As I turned to survey the setting my jaw dropped. Two grown, we’re talking retirement age adults, that I’m assuming were married were verbally abusing what had to be an infant of about 6-9 months.
Wretched, depraved phrases of “Whatcha do that for?” came spewing out with tonality intent on demeaning as the baby dropped his teething toy . Over and over again they took turns verbally bashing this baby with anger and disgust arching their eyebrows and curling their lips.
I was f@#$ing pissed. Those pieces of s#@$.
“Don’t you have the wherewithal to understand this child’s age and capabilities? And who cares! When is that response ever appropriate?!”, I thought to myself.
No one stopped eating. Everyone continued on with their conversations and scrambled eggs. Unbelievable. My husband was across from me sitting with great unease as I was about to come unglued on these two ridiculous grandparents or whatever they were. But my mouth coupled with my temper has caused great trouble before and I was doing my best to stay seated and think as clearly as possible.
I didn’t say anything that day and I wish I had. I truly didn’t have a clear thinking process as was evidenced with my red face. I think about that little baby boy and I pray for him to be free of those abuses. He must be 3 or 4 years old by now.
I remember his face. He was laughing and giggling while they degraded him because of course he didn’t know what they were saying. Ugh, breaks my heart. What an attack on innocence.
It recently dawned on me that if those same abuses took the form of a punch to the face or a kick to the head no one in that flippin’ restaurant would have have stood for that. No one.
Those two “caretakers”, and I use that term very loosely, would have been in cuffs.
So why do we as a society consider words, in regards to abuse, as something less dangerous?
This scene with the baby struck me deeply because my father verbally, emotionally, and physically abused me too. I can tell you, without missing a beat, those words and those heart and mind flesh wounds are just now beginning to heal…and I’m 32.
Because God is so good, he refused to let me build a life on any foundation with anger, resentment and bitterness in the mix.
He is truly the Healer.
He is truly a patient God and a gentleman.
He won’t demand to fix you. Instead He gently asks if He can heal you.
May I encourage anyone who is reading this now with some wounds that need professional healing, trust Him. Let Him.
I’m coming out on the other side of this and anyone who knows my story knows I have the credentials to back this advice up.
Let Him heal you, one question at a time, one step at a time, one tear at a time.
Otherwise, it is likely your delusion of control will find you in a small town breakfast joint yelling at a baby.