A Sister Among You
Recently, I have started writing at times using a pseudonym. It is not really because I want to be an invisible writer but that I want to spare my very private family more pain. Because of family traumas, it seems they feel shame if there is any mention that we might be a somewhat dysfunctional, real family like many others on this planet. Although my husband and I grew up watching the Cleavers, Father Knows Best, and Happy Days we aren’t those kind of families. We might be more like someone on a Law and Order segment. So I will either have to resort to fiction or maybe I will just use the pseudonym of a Sister Among You. I would truly be invisible then, because we are a sisterhood of women.
You don’t know my name, you don’t have to; I am a sister among you. Sometimes I’m quiet and you may think I’m aloof, but you are wrong. I carry pain, for myself and for others; I am a sister among you. I was sexually abused as a child and went on at age 15 to marry a pedophile. He turned our daughter onto drugs and started the life-long battle she is just now overcoming at age 43.
I have been abused, used and tormented. I love, I hurt, and I dream dreams that turn into nightmares. I am a sister among you. Maybe I think if I open up to you and tell you about my life you will turn away.
Yes, my life would make you cringe; it would not fit into your tidy world. Once after I spoke at a retreat about “Making Peace with Your Past,” a woman came up to me later and apologized for walking out during the talk; she had to go throw up. My mama always said, “You have to laugh to keep from crying.” And I do, especially at times like that.
There are many among you, though, sisters, such as I. You may recognize yourself in some of these descriptions.
I may be your friend but you don’t really know me. How can you if you don’t share my pain, don’t drink from my cup? My cup is too horrible to taste and it would cause you to hurt also, which I would never want. Because I have seen and lived through perverseness in the eyes of men, and the hearts of women.
I am just a sister among you, I smile at you, but it only masks the pain. Daily I give myself and control of my life over to God who alone can heal the hurt. But sometimes He leaves the pain and the memories. Maybe so I won’t pass you by, another sister, lost in pain, needing a Savior, needing a friend; another sister among us.
In The Good Book it is said that what you have done for the least of these, you have done for Me. This sister may be dying emotionally, feeling hopeless as a wife, mother or woman in this world. She may be masking the pain with drugs, alcohol or even the goodness of church or volunteer work. She is trying to fill a void only God Himself can fill.
She may use men or women to fill this insatiable need to feel loved and whole. She may have endured losses such as the death of a family member, maybe even her own child: the grief seems unbearable and she wonders if she can live with this void in her life. She may be a prostitute, in danger each time she goes out. She may be trying to cover the pain of losing her children through the system.
She is somebody’s daughter.
She is a sister among you. Is she invisible to you? Will she stay that way?
Donna Collins Tinsley
Donna Collins Tinsley is a sister among you, a sojourner, who writes a word of hope for mothers who have been affected by the pain of addiction in their loved ones lives. She prays for them also through Somebody's Mother Online Prayer Support Group: https://www.facebook.com/groups/119408188089314/. She lives in Port Orange, FL and has been included in 20 book compilations, several magazines and online. She is a lover of the Lord Jesus Christ.
Showing posts with label sexual abuse. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sexual abuse. Show all posts
Saturday, September 4, 2010
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
What Stirs you to Write?
I'm getting ready to go to the FCWC, so I'm pretty busy to be blogging.
Today I sent something to The Writer's View-2 about inspiration and creativity to write in response to a question they asked. Some things stir me to write and child abuse is one of them.
I find things to write about in newspaper articles all the time. I started out writing letters to editors and was privileged to have several letters as "My Word" columns. Once they even sent a photographer out to our home to photograph me with my daughters, when I reminisced about growing up unsupervised in the 60's. I've written about homeless issues, Heaven's Garden, (a home for recovering prostitutes) treasuring your time with a loved one, procrastination, and treatment centers. I wrote a response about an article called "Passage to Salvation" wondering how parents felt after seeing the faces of their daughters on billboards advertising men's clubs along I-95? The empathy I felt gave me the title for my first book called, "Somebody's Daughter."
One thing that stirred me up was a phrase a Judge used, "a little pedophilia" I wondered who has the definition of what "a little pedophilia" does to a child?
This excerpt was printed several years ago in the (Orlando) Sentinel:
And as for the comment that Maxwell reportedly made to a DCF staffer that he had "never known pedophilia to be life-threatening" surely we have all read newspaper article that would dispute this statement. He should try that line on a surviving parent. Perhaps he would talk to a sexual abuse survivor who could tell him about painful flashbacks and the years it takes to rebuild trust in authority figures. "A little pedophilia"? I don't think so. Trust me, I know. There is no such thing.
Donna Collins Tinsley thornrose7@aol.com
Today I sent something to The Writer's View-2 about inspiration and creativity to write in response to a question they asked. Some things stir me to write and child abuse is one of them.
I find things to write about in newspaper articles all the time. I started out writing letters to editors and was privileged to have several letters as "My Word" columns. Once they even sent a photographer out to our home to photograph me with my daughters, when I reminisced about growing up unsupervised in the 60's. I've written about homeless issues, Heaven's Garden, (a home for recovering prostitutes) treasuring your time with a loved one, procrastination, and treatment centers. I wrote a response about an article called "Passage to Salvation" wondering how parents felt after seeing the faces of their daughters on billboards advertising men's clubs along I-95? The empathy I felt gave me the title for my first book called, "Somebody's Daughter."
One thing that stirred me up was a phrase a Judge used, "a little pedophilia" I wondered who has the definition of what "a little pedophilia" does to a child?
This excerpt was printed several years ago in the (Orlando) Sentinel:
And as for the comment that Maxwell reportedly made to a DCF staffer that he had "never known pedophilia to be life-threatening" surely we have all read newspaper article that would dispute this statement. He should try that line on a surviving parent. Perhaps he would talk to a sexual abuse survivor who could tell him about painful flashbacks and the years it takes to rebuild trust in authority figures. "A little pedophilia"? I don't think so. Trust me, I know. There is no such thing.
Donna Collins Tinsley thornrose7@aol.com
Thursday, February 4, 2010
What are the Thin Places in Your Life?
Here is one of my book reviews of “Thin Places” by Mary E DeMuth. Thin Places will both break your heart and restore in again in Jesus name.
What are the Thin Places in Your Life?
The statistics that every two minutes, someone in the U.S. is sexually assaulted and of the millions of sexual abuse and rape victims, 15 percent are under the age of 12* are incredible. I myself, was a victim at a young age, and maybe that is why I feel such a kindred spirit with Mary E DeMuth.
Mary is not a victim but an overcomer in the strongest sense of the word. She has written a memoir that only someone who grew up with abuse and dysfunction could write. She has bled on paper that others might find the same hope and healing that she found. She has exposed her life, family, love and overcoming spirit to us so that dysfunctional families could find life, hope, love and liberty in the name of Jesus. Mary may not get on Oprah although I pray that she does, but she has a standing ovation from her fan base, a core of people who adore her honesty and the light that shines through her writings. This book should be required reading in High Schools, Treatment Centers and counselor’s offices. Many times even teachers who see children all week long do not pick up on the signs of an abused child. Years ago, Guidance Counselors were there to talk to children about their problems but it seems now they only help with career choices.
The third chapter, titled, Snapshot, previewed the horrors that sometimes happen to children even when you think they are well supervised. I think the angels that watch over children daily must look on in horror at some of the things that happen to little ones, because of the depravity that is in the hearts of men. I sometimes wondered if I had been born under a dark cloud of a curse. The chapter titled, Marked, shows how sexual abuse seems to follow some girls throughout their lives and they may have to fight a victim mentality to rise above it. Other chapters are relatable, such as Snapshot, Slow Dancing, Singing, and Shame. If you had walked in similar shoes you will know exactly what I am talking about.
There are no way my words could give justice to “Thin Places.” Right now I must say that the Lord God is pleased with Mary and her transparency to show where she has bled and hurt in her life. That she would be so open to print the words of truth that will help bring healing to her sisters (and may I add brothers) that were abused in childhood is truly a gift to us. This gift came at a very high price of pain from the giver and should not be easily discarded. I admit I read through Thin Places very fast the first time so I could just know Mary’s story; now I will read it again!
You should, too!
* 2007 study by the U.S. Department of Justice
Read on for something Mary wrote about her book:
“The end result is story: mine. It’s the story of a little girl who faced sexual abuse, neglect, drug-using parents, fear, death of a parent, and a host of other malevolence. And yet it’s a hope-filled story, where the bright light of God’s climactic redemption outshines the dark places. It’s a story of God’s nearness when I thought I’d nearly lose my mind and will to live. How grateful I am for the beautiful love of Jesus, how dearly He chose frail me to shame the wise. It’s really His story after all.”
Finally, I say this about sweet Mary:
"For My hand made all these things, Thus all these things came into being," declares the LORD. "But to this one I will look, Mary who is humble and contrite of spirit, and who trembles at My word. Isaiah 66:2
What are the Thin Places in Your Life?
The statistics that every two minutes, someone in the U.S. is sexually assaulted and of the millions of sexual abuse and rape victims, 15 percent are under the age of 12* are incredible. I myself, was a victim at a young age, and maybe that is why I feel such a kindred spirit with Mary E DeMuth.
Mary is not a victim but an overcomer in the strongest sense of the word. She has written a memoir that only someone who grew up with abuse and dysfunction could write. She has bled on paper that others might find the same hope and healing that she found. She has exposed her life, family, love and overcoming spirit to us so that dysfunctional families could find life, hope, love and liberty in the name of Jesus. Mary may not get on Oprah although I pray that she does, but she has a standing ovation from her fan base, a core of people who adore her honesty and the light that shines through her writings. This book should be required reading in High Schools, Treatment Centers and counselor’s offices. Many times even teachers who see children all week long do not pick up on the signs of an abused child. Years ago, Guidance Counselors were there to talk to children about their problems but it seems now they only help with career choices.
The third chapter, titled, Snapshot, previewed the horrors that sometimes happen to children even when you think they are well supervised. I think the angels that watch over children daily must look on in horror at some of the things that happen to little ones, because of the depravity that is in the hearts of men. I sometimes wondered if I had been born under a dark cloud of a curse. The chapter titled, Marked, shows how sexual abuse seems to follow some girls throughout their lives and they may have to fight a victim mentality to rise above it. Other chapters are relatable, such as Snapshot, Slow Dancing, Singing, and Shame. If you had walked in similar shoes you will know exactly what I am talking about.
There are no way my words could give justice to “Thin Places.” Right now I must say that the Lord God is pleased with Mary and her transparency to show where she has bled and hurt in her life. That she would be so open to print the words of truth that will help bring healing to her sisters (and may I add brothers) that were abused in childhood is truly a gift to us. This gift came at a very high price of pain from the giver and should not be easily discarded. I admit I read through Thin Places very fast the first time so I could just know Mary’s story; now I will read it again!
You should, too!
* 2007 study by the U.S. Department of Justice
Read on for something Mary wrote about her book:
“The end result is story: mine. It’s the story of a little girl who faced sexual abuse, neglect, drug-using parents, fear, death of a parent, and a host of other malevolence. And yet it’s a hope-filled story, where the bright light of God’s climactic redemption outshines the dark places. It’s a story of God’s nearness when I thought I’d nearly lose my mind and will to live. How grateful I am for the beautiful love of Jesus, how dearly He chose frail me to shame the wise. It’s really His story after all.”
Finally, I say this about sweet Mary:
"For My hand made all these things, Thus all these things came into being," declares the LORD. "But to this one I will look, Mary who is humble and contrite of spirit, and who trembles at My word. Isaiah 66:2
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Staying in touch
Sometimes, life is so hectic and painful it is hard to stay in touch. I am not a professional blogger although I would like to be one. I am truly just a sister among you. One who doesn’t have it together, weeps for her friends and family, dreams, hopes and prays for them, also. I found this article that I wrote some years back and felt led to post it today. It probably is way too personal and way to much information for some of y’all, but it sums up a lot and fills in some blanks. Don’t ever let Satan take the music out of your hearts:)
I’ve Got The Music In Me
Musings about A Boomer Woman’s Music
From the strands of “Shall We gather at the River” played by my grandmother on the piano at the little country church in Chattanooga Valley, Tenn. to “I Hope You Dance” a recent hit sung by Lee Ann Womack, music has always played a role in my life and the life of many “Boomer Women.”
I remember sitting in front of the little black and white television set, mesmerized by Elvis Presley swinging his hips on the Ed Sullivan show. Was he from the devil as some people tried to say, or just the handsomest person I had ever seen in my short life? “Whatever Will Be Will Be, Que Sera,” always in the background of my mind, I was drawn to those shows with music. Variety shows were very popular in the fifties and the Lennon sisters were a household word. As a little girl I would dress up in my swirly ballerina outfit (do you remember crinoline slips?) and sing and dance as I watched the small black and white television set. I had a song in my heart and no one was going to take it from me. Or were they?
Life happens. Not always happy. Stripped from my childhood home with my grandmother, and the sounds of “Amazing Grace” I remember my stepfather hollering out the door of our Florida home, “Donna Renee, shut up that singing!” That was not the only way he tried to take the music from me. When they put him in prison, the landlord kept our piano and the roots of music I learned from my grandmother seemed to vanish also. The little girl who by age five could play the piano by ear disappeared. Bravery to perform in front of people became nervous fear, and I trembled whenever I was called to do anything publicly.
Raising 4 children alone was hard for my Mama. Just 16 when I was born she was nearly a “Boomer Woman” herself. She loved to dance and I remember thinking what a pretty mom I had as she danced to “Be Bop A Lula,” “Cathy’s Clown” and “Great Balls of Fire.” We lived through American Bandstand, Dick Clark, Chubby Checker, Joey Dee and the Starlighters, “everybody do the twist.” And everybody did. We didn’t have much money but we could still dance and have fun.
“Make Me Your Baby” played on the radio as my boyfriend and I “made out” in the back seat of a car. I was supposed to be doing laundry at the Laundromat for my mother, and yes, the clothes were washing inside. He thought he was “The Leader of the Pack.” My boyfriend was so cute and virile; I didn’t think anything about him being eight years older than me. With the life I lived I always felt older than my age anyway. Taking care of my younger brothers and one sister was what I did when I wasn’t at school. This was the closet thing to a real date that I got to go on. Before they could sing the song, “Sixteen Candles,” I said, “I’m Gonna Get Married.”
He didn’t look like a pervert when I met him. But at age fifteen did I really know what a pervert would look like? Sure, I’d had my fair share of experiences; the stepfather who tried to rape me, my Mom’s boyfriends who wanted to kiss me, the experience at the park where someone came up behind me in the dark, threw me on the ground and only left when I (not knowing what else to do) bit his tongue as hard as I could. I ended up with bruised lips but I’m sure he wished he had never stuck his tongue in my mouth, uninvited.
But this one? Well built, dark and handsome, gee, he looked like Prince Charming to me. How was I to know that perverts sometimes come in pretty packages? Five years down the road, when the beginning of the “marriage from hell” came about, I realized my “Prince” was a pedophile. And even though my daughter begged me to forgive him and get help for her beloved daddy, no amount of counseling, Doctor’s visits, (where I was told to give him more sex) or love, was going to keep us together. Yes, Captain and Tennille had already sung that song by then.
The damage was done. I didn’t find out until I was in the midst of the divorce proceedings, that he had started her on the road to drugs. She is 42 years old now and has just begun to reclaim her life instead of staying on the addictive cycle he started her on. When I was getting the divorce my counsel didn’t advise me to bring charges but some years later, my daughter and I did help to put him in prison. Even though one of his favorite songs when we were dating in 1966 was “I Fought the Law and the Law Won,” he wasn’t singing now. And I didn’t need a song by Nazareth to tell me “Love Hurts.”
Or the Eagles to tell me he had “Lyin' Eyes.” I only wish I had listened seriously to Paul Simon as he sang “50 Ways to Leave Your Lover” a few years back.
But God is good. To the strands of “Annie’s Song” I married “Bill” and “Don’t Go Breakin’ MY Heart” was my inner cry. He is truly my “Handy Man!” He gave me “Respect” and I reminded him often, “She Loves You.” He is my “Bridge Over Troubled Water” and “This Girl is a Woman Now,” for sure. Although “You Are So Beautiful to Me” is one of my favorite songs, Bill doesn’t sing, but if he would let me I would sing it to him. He has been a wonderful father to four daughters and helped to mend my broken heart.
Life has tried to take the song and dance out of my heart but I am determined that I will not let that happen. The main thing that has gotten me through 58 years of being a Boomer Woman is the enduring strength of faith I found as a young girl in that little country church, and the love of family and friends. I have found that music and dance are powerful weapons against the enemy who wants to steal our joy. When the battle is raging around you, let the music arise in you. My wish for all Boomer Women is so aptly put in Lee Ann Womack’s song, “I Hope You Dance,”
I hope you still feel small
When you stand by the ocean
Whenever one door closes, I hope one more opens
Promise me you'll give faith a fighting chance
And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance
I hope you dance
Remember the music that got you through your “Boomer Years.”
Donna Collins Tinsley copyright 2010
I’ve Got The Music In Me
Musings about A Boomer Woman’s Music
From the strands of “Shall We gather at the River” played by my grandmother on the piano at the little country church in Chattanooga Valley, Tenn. to “I Hope You Dance” a recent hit sung by Lee Ann Womack, music has always played a role in my life and the life of many “Boomer Women.”
I remember sitting in front of the little black and white television set, mesmerized by Elvis Presley swinging his hips on the Ed Sullivan show. Was he from the devil as some people tried to say, or just the handsomest person I had ever seen in my short life? “Whatever Will Be Will Be, Que Sera,” always in the background of my mind, I was drawn to those shows with music. Variety shows were very popular in the fifties and the Lennon sisters were a household word. As a little girl I would dress up in my swirly ballerina outfit (do you remember crinoline slips?) and sing and dance as I watched the small black and white television set. I had a song in my heart and no one was going to take it from me. Or were they?
Life happens. Not always happy. Stripped from my childhood home with my grandmother, and the sounds of “Amazing Grace” I remember my stepfather hollering out the door of our Florida home, “Donna Renee, shut up that singing!” That was not the only way he tried to take the music from me. When they put him in prison, the landlord kept our piano and the roots of music I learned from my grandmother seemed to vanish also. The little girl who by age five could play the piano by ear disappeared. Bravery to perform in front of people became nervous fear, and I trembled whenever I was called to do anything publicly.
Raising 4 children alone was hard for my Mama. Just 16 when I was born she was nearly a “Boomer Woman” herself. She loved to dance and I remember thinking what a pretty mom I had as she danced to “Be Bop A Lula,” “Cathy’s Clown” and “Great Balls of Fire.” We lived through American Bandstand, Dick Clark, Chubby Checker, Joey Dee and the Starlighters, “everybody do the twist.” And everybody did. We didn’t have much money but we could still dance and have fun.
“Make Me Your Baby” played on the radio as my boyfriend and I “made out” in the back seat of a car. I was supposed to be doing laundry at the Laundromat for my mother, and yes, the clothes were washing inside. He thought he was “The Leader of the Pack.” My boyfriend was so cute and virile; I didn’t think anything about him being eight years older than me. With the life I lived I always felt older than my age anyway. Taking care of my younger brothers and one sister was what I did when I wasn’t at school. This was the closet thing to a real date that I got to go on. Before they could sing the song, “Sixteen Candles,” I said, “I’m Gonna Get Married.”
He didn’t look like a pervert when I met him. But at age fifteen did I really know what a pervert would look like? Sure, I’d had my fair share of experiences; the stepfather who tried to rape me, my Mom’s boyfriends who wanted to kiss me, the experience at the park where someone came up behind me in the dark, threw me on the ground and only left when I (not knowing what else to do) bit his tongue as hard as I could. I ended up with bruised lips but I’m sure he wished he had never stuck his tongue in my mouth, uninvited.
But this one? Well built, dark and handsome, gee, he looked like Prince Charming to me. How was I to know that perverts sometimes come in pretty packages? Five years down the road, when the beginning of the “marriage from hell” came about, I realized my “Prince” was a pedophile. And even though my daughter begged me to forgive him and get help for her beloved daddy, no amount of counseling, Doctor’s visits, (where I was told to give him more sex) or love, was going to keep us together. Yes, Captain and Tennille had already sung that song by then.
The damage was done. I didn’t find out until I was in the midst of the divorce proceedings, that he had started her on the road to drugs. She is 42 years old now and has just begun to reclaim her life instead of staying on the addictive cycle he started her on. When I was getting the divorce my counsel didn’t advise me to bring charges but some years later, my daughter and I did help to put him in prison. Even though one of his favorite songs when we were dating in 1966 was “I Fought the Law and the Law Won,” he wasn’t singing now. And I didn’t need a song by Nazareth to tell me “Love Hurts.”
Or the Eagles to tell me he had “Lyin' Eyes.” I only wish I had listened seriously to Paul Simon as he sang “50 Ways to Leave Your Lover” a few years back.
But God is good. To the strands of “Annie’s Song” I married “Bill” and “Don’t Go Breakin’ MY Heart” was my inner cry. He is truly my “Handy Man!” He gave me “Respect” and I reminded him often, “She Loves You.” He is my “Bridge Over Troubled Water” and “This Girl is a Woman Now,” for sure. Although “You Are So Beautiful to Me” is one of my favorite songs, Bill doesn’t sing, but if he would let me I would sing it to him. He has been a wonderful father to four daughters and helped to mend my broken heart.
Life has tried to take the song and dance out of my heart but I am determined that I will not let that happen. The main thing that has gotten me through 58 years of being a Boomer Woman is the enduring strength of faith I found as a young girl in that little country church, and the love of family and friends. I have found that music and dance are powerful weapons against the enemy who wants to steal our joy. When the battle is raging around you, let the music arise in you. My wish for all Boomer Women is so aptly put in Lee Ann Womack’s song, “I Hope You Dance,”
I hope you still feel small
When you stand by the ocean
Whenever one door closes, I hope one more opens
Promise me you'll give faith a fighting chance
And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance
I hope you dance
Remember the music that got you through your “Boomer Years.”
Donna Collins Tinsley copyright 2010
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Daytona Streets
I have had this novel in my heart for years, and have several chapters written. Because of a lot of subject matter is painful for members of my family, I prefer to try this as a novel. Also there is a character later on I want to introduce who roams the streets of Daytona. If you live here you might recognize him and he has the he has the greenest eyes and many people have wondered if he is an angel unaware. He just walks the streets carrying most of his belongings with him. Times when I helped feed the homeless, we have had conversations that were amazing. I bumped into him recently at a gas station and told him I was basing a character on him a bit and we talked about his eyes. He said they change to 10 different colors. He sounded proud, and I thought how even the person that walks the streets wants to know that somebody is noticing him..
I posted Daytona Streets, chapter one, for some months a long time ago and didn't get any feedback, so I decided to edit this post and will send it privately by email if anyone will sign up to follow my blog. Just sign up and then email me that you did and that you want the first chapter of Daytona Streets:)
mailto:emailthornrose7@aol.com
and put Daytona Streets in the subject:)
I posted Daytona Streets, chapter one, for some months a long time ago and didn't get any feedback, so I decided to edit this post and will send it privately by email if anyone will sign up to follow my blog. Just sign up and then email me that you did and that you want the first chapter of Daytona Streets:)
mailto:emailthornrose7@aol.com
and put Daytona Streets in the subject:)
Friday, January 8, 2010
A Sister Among You
A Sister Among You
You don’t know my name
You don’t have to; I am a sister among you
Sometimes I’m quiet
You may think I’m aloof
You are wrong, I carry pain
For myself and for others
I am a sister among you
I have been abused, Used and tormented
I love, I hurt, I dream dreams
That turn into nightmares
I am a sister among you
Maybe I think
If I open up to you
And tell you about my life
You will turn away
Yes, it would make you cringe
It would not fit into your tidy world
But there are many among you
Sisters, such as I
I may be your friend
But you may not know me
Because you don’t share my pain
You don’t drink from my cup
It is too horrible to taste
It would cause you to hurt also
Because I have seen perverseness
In the eyes of men, and the hearts of women
I am just a sister among you, I smile
But it only masks the pain
God alone can heal the hurts
And He does daily
But He leaves the pain
And the memories
So I won’t pass you by
Another sister, Lost in pain
Needing a Savior
Needing a friend.
Another sister among us.
Jesus said what you have done for the least of these, you have done for Me.
This sister may be dying emotionally, feeling hopeless as a wife, mother or woman in this world. She may be masking the pain with drugs, alcohol or even the goodness of church or volunteer work.
She is trying to fill a void only God Himself can fill.
She may use men or women to fill this insatiable need to feel loved and whole. She may have endured losses such as the death of a family member, maybe even her own child: the grief seems unbearable and she wonders if she can live with this void in her life.
She may be a prostitute, in danger each time she goes out. She may be trying to cover the pain of losing her children through the system.
She is somebody’s daughter.
She is a sister among you.
Where does she go from here?
(c) Coastland Agape, Inc. The Gathering....An expression of the Body of Christ
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You don’t know my name
You don’t have to; I am a sister among you
Sometimes I’m quiet
You may think I’m aloof
You are wrong, I carry pain
For myself and for others
I am a sister among you
I have been abused, Used and tormented
I love, I hurt, I dream dreams
That turn into nightmares
I am a sister among you
Maybe I think
If I open up to you
And tell you about my life
You will turn away
Yes, it would make you cringe
It would not fit into your tidy world
But there are many among you
Sisters, such as I
I may be your friend
But you may not know me
Because you don’t share my pain
You don’t drink from my cup
It is too horrible to taste
It would cause you to hurt also
Because I have seen perverseness
In the eyes of men, and the hearts of women
I am just a sister among you, I smile
But it only masks the pain
God alone can heal the hurts
And He does daily
But He leaves the pain
And the memories
So I won’t pass you by
Another sister, Lost in pain
Needing a Savior
Needing a friend.
Another sister among us.
Jesus said what you have done for the least of these, you have done for Me.
This sister may be dying emotionally, feeling hopeless as a wife, mother or woman in this world. She may be masking the pain with drugs, alcohol or even the goodness of church or volunteer work.
She is trying to fill a void only God Himself can fill.
She may use men or women to fill this insatiable need to feel loved and whole. She may have endured losses such as the death of a family member, maybe even her own child: the grief seems unbearable and she wonders if she can live with this void in her life.
She may be a prostitute, in danger each time she goes out. She may be trying to cover the pain of losing her children through the system.
She is somebody’s daughter.
She is a sister among you.
Where does she go from here?
(c) Coastland Agape, Inc. The Gathering....An expression of the Body of Christ
Sign in Terms Report Abuse Print page
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