Thursday, February 11, 2016

A bit of history: 14

It was 1993 and my very first time. I never heard of Rehab before. Never knew there was such a thing as addiction. For 29 straight years I lived without an ounce of peace, but finally... I was about to get a taste. And moreover, another seed was about to be sown.

My husband, the "father" of my boys, brought me to the doctor. I was 93 pounds, a nervous wreck and, little did I know, I was dying from drugs he used to keep me bound. After a beating or bouts of emotional attacks, he'd say "Here. Take this." And once addicted, he'd take it away and dangle it before my eyes. It was a never ending cycle.

The beatings, the mental anguish and the emotional torment of constant fear kept me grateful for each and every dose. But, at the end of the day, I knew it wasn't the answer. Still, knowing what it was like to be without a dad, I knew it was important for the boys to have theirs. After all... he was abused as a child so I couldn't be mean by leaving him and deprive my children of the dad so important in their lives...

And the idea of leaving was terror in itself. He assured me if I ever attempted to leave he'd saw my ankles off. And if I got away he'd find me and shoot battery acid in my face with a squirt gun and kill my family. And I believed him. Why? I spoke with the woman he had four other children with before he and I met. She'd been living on the run from him for at least 15 years. I met folks who knew him before we were married, who verified all his boastings.

I saw first hand the results of beatings he gave to other men and woman. I heard the cracks of skulls. I saw the staples and stitches. I saw the bruises. The cut throats and the blood stained hotel rooms. I saw him attack folks for no reason, including myself, so why would I NOT believe?

I was there when he barricaded himself in our apartment with our baby and a gun. It took hours and many attempts from others to talk him to submission from the other side of the door. I was the one he drug by the hair through the streets all night with a shot gun in hand. I was a believer.

Therefore, the only escape and source of relief, both mental AND physical, was a pill.

So, amazing as it was, when the doctor informed my husband I needed to be admitted to detox/ Rehab. and to take me to the hospital, he did. Of course he never mentioned his part in things but I didn't care. I was too tired to explain and happy just to get away.

Thankfully I didn't have far to go. Across the parking lot was a regular community Hospital with a Detox/ Rehab on the top floor. Well, it wasn't long and the phone calls started with the threats that I'd better come home. The calls were intercepted by staff.

So then he started stalking. He'd circle the hospital in the truck. He'd hide in the bushes and sit on the lawn. I kept telling them how dangerous he was, and finally, when the Hospital staff was threatened, security was called.

The head of the hospital came up to meet with me. She questioned me of his habits as she whisked me away to protection.  Knowing what was going on, I panicked. The woman tried to calm me but there was no way. I knew how crazy my husband was, so seeing a nearby bathroom stall I got in, locked the door and crouched as close to the commode as I could on the floor in terror.

Finally, after hours of this he left. Staff stopped running here and there and things started to calm. Then, a day or so later I got another call.

My boys had been taken to an undisclosed location and were being held as ransom. If I did not leave the Rehab and come home I would not see my children again. I believed it and began to panic once more.

I tried to speak to the staff as my mind went crazy knowing my husband meant business. There was no question I had to go. My children's lives were in danger. But as I sat a moment to figure how to get there a voice from behind me calmly and slowly spoke in my ear "Give it to God."

For me, time stopped.

I knew about God. I cried out to Him often. But to give my children to Him in THIS situation? Wow. That was quite the thought.

I pondered the idea for what seemed an eternity. And there was nothing more spoken by anyone. It didn't have to be. "Give it to God" was enough. Powerful. And complete. And finally, I agreed. I didn't pray about it or talk TO God. I just agreed. That's all I knew. And I can honestly say the next 72 hours were longest of my life.

I knew I had taken a chance and I knew that it was all in another's hands but I did not know the gravity of God and his power. But when I got the call the kids were home and safe and sound...

I knew God was real.

And that THIS soon forgotten seed would yet still grow, reminding me 23 years later, of the faithfulness of a real father. A true father. My Abba Father. My heavenly Father. My Father, Lord of heaven and earth.

testimony by: Hallie agar

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