When I was 27 years old, I began getting angry. This anger turned into rage. I couldn't understand where it was coming from. All issues of my past had been dealt with,or so I thought. I decided that I was angry at my father because he was such a mean, bitter person, and that therapy was necessary.
So, in January 1994, my journey began. One of the healing efforts offered me was to do a collage, something to show the hurt and anger and pain and rage that I felt as a result
of years of childhood sexual abuse at the hands of my brothers. Somehow, deep down, I knew this was for me and I started saving magazines and newspapers. I bought special crayons and glue and even special tape for my endeavor.
This took months of preparation. I cut out pictures and letters and words from newsletters to newspapers. Every childhood drawing I'd ever done I tried to think of. Every part of my being, my heart, my mind, my soul, went into this.
My husband gave me such patience and acceptance during all of this time, especially when it came to the day that I was going to make my collage. I had to do this myself, but I couldn't be alone so I asked my husband to just sit in the room with me while I cut and cried, glued and cried, colored and cried, pasted and cried. He sat so quietly, so calmly, with such love. After hours of work, gallons of glue,and oceans of tears, I sat tall and went to my husband to show him
and share with him this healing that was so much mine and earned and deserved.
This sweet man stared for what seemed an eternity. He asked if he could put something on it.
At first I couldn't believe that he would be so intrusive as to want to "mess up" my work. Then I stopped and said to myself, he needs this also; he's listened to me and caught so many of my tears. I thought he would draw a hokey flower, or write something funny for me to smile at, but what he did forever changed my life.
He walked down the hall, to the bathroom medicine cabinet and came back carrying something really small. I asked what it was and he just said to wait. Taking my big piece of posterboard to the table, he bent over for about a minute and came back to me. I looked and stared in total disbelief. The profundity of what he'd done wasn't missed by my heart and the healing tears flowed more than ever as I began another part of a wonderful journey in my life.
What did he do?
He took a small Band-Aid and placed it in a very small corner and with a red crayon wrote LOV, the O being a heart. God speaks to us in so many different ways. I heard Him loud and clear that day.
By Donna P.