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I’m finding it very hard to write this exact post, maybe it’s because I haven’t been completely reconciled with my past or something.
 
Okay, I know I am going to confuse some of you because earlier I leaped back into my eleventh year to bring out some Memory Files and this was after sharing what happened when I was a young teenager. Now I’m back into my teen years, got it?

Do you remember me telling you about being ‘kidnapped’ by a couple of uncles?

Well, here we are, a new life is before us. Now we are living in a proper home once again, one with running water, lights, and all that good stuff we were used to in this modern day and age. I assume Mom’s brothers and church family were instrumental in having that happen though it is a piece of the puzzle I never actually searched for.

We were given a warm welcome: I remember the girls my age, a couple of them which were my cousins, putting on a party which included presenting me with a homemade scrapbook where they had each added a page or two.  It was a very nice gesture.

But somehow, what lingers most warmly in my mind is going to school on that first day of grade ten. Just inside the glass doors of the big school were two girls waiting for me. They became my best friends.

  Okay, I guess I need to venture into what’s really hurting, can’t skirt it any longer.  Mom had gone home to her people but she wasn’t ‘one of them’ in spirit, if you catch the drift.

I’ve always shielded myself from this fact because it hurt too much. It was easier to say that Mom was depressed because of all the pain she had gone through, but the truth was I, we, were hurting and she wasn’t there for us. 

The silent disapproval I had already felt as a child remained, and I found her quite unapproachable.  Once, maybe a year or so after we got there, she shared her heart with me. It was a heady experience for a fifteen or sixteen year old, but I was too young to really help her. 

So what did I do? I turned to writing and finished my first novel while in my teens but later threw it out. I also wrote poetry that expressed my anguish and other moods. 

I still quote these lines from one of the poems from time to time: ‘Chains of darkness flung around me binding me with fear’, hmm, the rest of the words are escaping me. What were they? I wrote about the ‘echoes from the past’ meaning the sexual abuse that had such a damaging effect on my ego.

Teenage years can be tumultuous even for those from a stable home, and mine wasn’t easy. I had such extreme mood swings that on one occasion I took way too many aspirin in a desperate attempt to end it all. Did I have side effects? Not really. Did Mom know? Shrug.

But was God there? Yes, He most definitely was, and although at times I couldn’t feel Him, looking back I realized that what I thought were stumbling blocks were really stepping tones that shone like jewels on my way towards Heaven.
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Been having a lotta bad days. I am a survivor of child abuse and neglect. My family, my mother and her sister, people in the community I grew up in abused me severely, sexually and other ways. My mother sold me for sex outta her own house when I was just a child. My father also had an ongoing sexual relationship with me. I was sexually abused all throughout my childhood and not one person cared.

Here I am still struggling as an adult while they've gotten away with it all.

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I feel I must deal on my own. Like Noone else can understand 
Most, well all of my support systems have their own problems. I'm on my own. Always!!

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Have you ever gotten the feeling that there were things in the Bible that didn’t seem right but you thought you should bury your head in the sand and pretend you didn’t notice? One question you might have asked yourself is: why did God allow man to have a free will then destroy him with a flood?




Shaba’s eyes rounded in horror and he clasped his hand over his mouth to keep from vomiting, or worse yet screaming. He couldn’t keep from staring at the charred bones in the pit of ashes. At first he was totally frozen to the spot then completely involuntarily his foot nudged at the bones. Yes, it was a skull, a tiny human skull. He knew it was, had known it would be. A shadow felt across the pit, a huge black shape holding a machete. Before he had a chance to flee or even scream he was yanked by his hair and dangling a foot above the ground.


                “Ha! I knew your curiosity would get the better of you sooner or later! Yup, that’s your kid sister alright. Made a mighty good sacrifice, she did, but not as good a one as you would have.”
                Shaba wanted to wriggle and try to get free but was too terrified. The monster-like man whipped the machete within a hairbreadth of his neck then slowly pressed it closer, drawing blood.
                A small crowd was gathering around, some cheering him on.
                “What do you think guys? Should we take this one?”
                “Nah,” one of his companions drawled. “He’s too skinny. One brute a night is plenty or it will get too common.”

                Faintly over the breeze they hear someone with a strong voice speaking.  Shaba saw the crowds’ attention shift from him to the distance preacher. Mobid’s grip slackened and Shaba fought desperately to get away.
                “Hey, I didn’t say you could go!” But Shaba had vanished, a ripped piece of his tunic dangling from Mobid’s hand. Mobid lunged after him but he didn’t have a chance.  Shaba was fleeing for his life.
               
                “You okay, Shaba?” The small boy shrank back in terror into the dark recesses of his thatched roof hut. He was pretty sure who was looking in on him but wasn’t about to let his presence be known. Not yet.
                “C’mon Shaba, you’ve been hiding here most of yesterday and all night. Mobid and his gang are picking on other prey. Let’s go find out what Preacher Noah is talking about. It’s pretty safe if we get up close to the ramp.”
                Shaba knew that was true. People hurled insults or even rocks from a distance at the old man but they seemed afraid to do it within twenty feet of him. Did they think he would strike them dead or something? It took a long time for Raibo to convince him to come out, and when he did it was only because Raibo had slashed open a pineapple and coaxed him to come out and help him eat it.
                The boys slipped stealthily through the lush, over-grown jungle, ever keeping a wary eye open for vicious animals and even worse humans.
                Raibo pushed his way through the restless, scoffing multitude hanging around the ark that was being built, with Shaba at his heels.
                Shaba felt his tension slowly ease away when he gazed into Noah’s kind, gentle eyes.
                Most of his sermon was hard to understand but he knew that Noah was pleading with the people to repent of their wicked ways. Shaba knew what wicked meant. He saw it every day. Every day someone was being abused. He didn’t know the words to describe what was happening mainly to little kids like himself and Raibo, but he knew it was evil, very evil, and terror haunted him wherever he went. He looked longingly at Noah and his wife, his three sons and their spouses and knew with a certainty that they never ever had treated each other in the way that every kid and women in his village were molested.
                Noah was begging them to find safety in the Ark because a flood was coming to drown all the bad people. Shaba didn’t need anyone to tell him what a flood was. He would never forget how some older boys had thrown him over a small waterfall and he had thrashed and screamed his way to shore. How he had survived he would never, ever know.
                “Shaba!” The barked command made Shaba’s knees buckle. Was it Mobid? No, but it was just as bad.  

to be continued...https://www.createspace.com/4837922

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While I was making breakfast this morning my husband was checking out a story online. It was about a girl who was abused and eventually killed by her mother. 
After we sat down to eat, he said, "People who abuse children are insecure."
That got me a little hot around the collar.
"No, " I said, "They're adults and can change. Then can refuse to have children,  put their child up for adoption, or seek counseling. The chain can and must be broken."
Hubby went quiet so I'll toss the conversation ball to you. Was I being too dogmatic? Narrow-minded? What do you think can be done?

Thank you Google for the picture.
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Are You Intimidated?

 
Do you ever feel like kids are brats, and that’s not in the old-fashioned way when brat simply meant child? 
Helen Keller was a classic example of a brat, but the most grudging among us would have to admit she had reason to be. She wasn’t born deaf and blind, but got that way from some sort of disease at the age of two. 
At first Helen managed quite well. She had a little playmate, the cook’s daughter, who was two or three years older than her. This little girl was quite keen in catching the signals that indicated what Helen wanted to do. 
Once when the girls were weary of cutting out paper dolls from a catalogue, Helen got the idea of snipping off Martha Washington’s tight little curls which were tied with string. Well, Martha wanted to return the ‘favor’ but after one long, gold strand was severed, Mama came to the rescue and put a stop to the beauty salon business. 
As Helen grew older, her horizons widened, or rather she sensed they should be, but her handicaps were limiting her, and that made her increasingly frustrated. Her temper tantrums were getting so fierce and frequent that her parents were desperate to find help.
That’s when Anne Sullivan came on the scene. She was a young, trained teacher who took on the challenge of teaching an unloving, practically unlovable youngster.
Long before Helen would properly respond to love, Anne traced the letters I L O V E Y O U on her hand.
Is there a child in your life who is a challenge? Jesus can give you a deep, deep compassion for him or her, and more than that the inspiration and courage to make a difference that can last forever. 
Please, whether you are a teacher, preacher, parent or some other relative or friend, look at that child through new eyes.  They need you to lead them out of their own maze of ‘deafness and blindness’ so they, too,  can become the treasure God created them to be. 
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STOP CHILD ABUSE

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This is Abigale (Abi) she is 6 yrs.old and received 6 stitches and a fractured eye socket. This is her mothers way of punishment for Abi pooping her pants, as a result from a medical condition. Judge Laterneou of Washington County in Oregon has  forced  6 yr. old Abi and other children  back to live in a very abusive home, with the mother and her boyfriend, a  previously registered sex offender. Both mother and her boyfriend are textbook perpetrators, they silence their victims by terrorizing them. The mother was only sentenced with a mere misdemeanor with only 10 days in jail to be served on the weekends by Yamhill County. Abi is also showing signs of sex abuse as well as all the children in the home. DHS in Yamhill county has been notified many times about numerous accounts of physical abuse,mental abuse, sex abuse, and neglect in the home for about 3yrs. and DHS  refuses do anything about it, they just turn a blind eye. The only thing that DHS is capable of is to protect the perpetrators and neglect the welfare  of the children in the abusive home( this is not in the best interest of the children). Their are two other boys also living in the home that have also received  black eyes. Little Abi now suffers from PTSD that will only worsen if living in an abusive home. What is it going to take to get DHS to do something? Does a child have to die before anything is even looked at? The two biological parents of the children living in the abusive home  are fighting to protect all these children, however the law and DHS  is doing all they can to prevent the protection of the children and continue to protect the perpetrators. These children have no voice to be heard, they are silenced do to fear of more unthinkable abuse. These children are unable to be children they are told what to say and what to do, these children do not know freedom, its as if they are locked in a dungeon unable to do anything or say anything. One 8 yr. old child was sent  to the Juliett’s House(Juliette’s House is a non-profit, medically-based child abuse assessment center) in McMinnville Or. in Yamhill county and they concluded that there was strong evidence of sexual abuse as well as physical abuse. The child was then sent back to that very same home where the two perpetrators interrogated that poor child for hrs. to get any information possible about what was said at the Julietts House. Perpetrators told the child that they have seen and heard all the recordings the juliett’s house had(the Julietts House does not do this),this act was used solely for the purpose of manipulating them into thinking no place is safe to talk. the two perpetrators proceeded to send the child to DHS and forced him to tell DHS that he had lied about everything. DHS didn’t question this act by the perpetrators, even though this act throws up so many red flags (a textbook perpetrator, it doesn’t get any more obvious than this). My sole purpose in this is to be the voice for all these children, in hopes that this voice will get louder and louder until these children are safe, cause these children have no voice.
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