Month: July 2020

Prior to my finding out what had happened and unknown to me, a friend from the past had called my bishop two weeks earlier.  Phil and I grew up in the same state, met in college and married.  During the first three years of our marriage, we had moved to out of state while he attended graduate school.  After three years in graduate school, he was finished with his class work and we moved back “home”, with his doctoral degree almost completed.  While living out of state, we became good friends with a young couple that had two children just slightly older than ours.  They were wonderful friends.  While I stayed at home for a short time without him, Phil had to return to the university to work on his final paper.  While he was there he was invited to stay with our good friends.  During his stay, Phil abused their oldest child.  After Phil had returned home, their younger child reported to our friends that Phil had touched her sibling inappropriately.  Our friend did some digging to find out who our ecclesiastical leader was in our home state, and called our religious leader to report to him what Phil had done.  Without my knowledge, our leader called Phil in and asked him what had happened.  Phil told a partial truth and then lied, telling the minister that he had had barely touched the boy but had never done anything like this before, that he was very sorry and wouldn’t ever do it again.  The minister wisely did not believe Phil’s story and encouraged him to confess and get help, and then waited a few days to see what Phil would choose to do.  That morning when Phil left the house early, he went straight to the police station and turned himself in. That’s when I got the call from the officer.

I don’t remember many more details about the day.  I remember my in-laws coming to my home to take the children with them for the afternoon.  I’m sure that was difficult for them because they had just found out that their son was a sexual perpetrator and had abused their grandchildren, but they wanted to help and took the children for a while.  I remember my mother and father coming to my home, packing up some clothes for me and the children, then taking me to their home.  I couldn’t rest, couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t do anything.  That wasn’t like me – I loved mothering and being active, and now all I could do was to sit and cry, uncontrollable tears of sadness and pain. 

I call this day “my hell day”, for that’s what it was to me.  The light I had felt in my life was now shrouded behind clouds and darkening as if at the end of a day.  My mind couldn’t imagine the actual place of hell being any worse than this.

My parents quietly passed the word along to my siblings.  It would have been their unfortunate task now to call my siblings and report the news, with the possibility that their children may have been involved, too.  After speaking with my siblings, my mother told me that all of my siblings would be coming over to see me.  I panicked – they were coming.  They were coming over to see me – how could I look them in the face?  My husband may have sexually abused their children, too.  How could I ever face them again?  How would our family ever be the same?  They may hate me for the rest of my life, and I wouldn’t blame them if they did.  But all of them came, extending love and kindness to me and I couldn’t believe it.  How could they possibly still love and care for me?  I was so embarrassed to see them, to be around them.  I wanted to crawl in a hole and die.  As they came to see me one by one, each  of them hugged me, expressed their love for me and sat with me and cried.  Those were such tender times, and I cherished the outpouring of love and empathy from those family members.  I had sisters and brothers, cousins and friends that came to be with me.  My parents were angels at my side and never left me.  

When I awoke the following morning, the stark reality of what had happened just yesterday hit me.  I had been asleep in a restful world and now I had woken up to a nightmare.  Mornings would be like this for a long time.  I would seek for sleep to escape the pain, then I would wake up and the nightmare would begin again. 

My parents took care of my children in my mental absence.  My children had always been happy to go to grandma and grandpa’s house, so for them there was stability in this home.  They loved being there, and it gave me a chance to rest.  As a grandparent now myself, I can’t imagine how hard this period of time must have been for my parents.  They held me together, and they held these two precious children together, too.

It was early, 5:30 a.m.  Sometimes I didn’t hear my husband getting ready when he had to leave early for work, but this morning he was making more noise and it woke me.  He left early several mornings a week, so this morning was no different.  Since I was now awake, I got up to tell him goodbye.  He gave me a hug, longer than his usual hug and more tender than was his norm.  There was an odd feeling in the embrace as he told me goodbye.  There was a different tone in his voice when he said the words, one of finality, and I remember thinking how odd it seemed.  I felt like he had just told me goodbye for good.  I brushed off the feeling, thinking that it was just another silly notion I’d had, as he so often pointed out to me.  He seemed to think that I overreacted to things and had “feelings” about things that weren’t valid.  I figured that there was nothing to worry about and that he was right about me, I must be imagining it.  I went back to sleep until I knew I would have to awaken to get the children ready for the day.

8:30 a.m.  I heard a knock at the door.  It was my sweet mother stopping by on her morning walk.  She came by often on her morning walks just to say hello and to see how the children were.  My parents lived in the neighborhood, not far from our home. We visited momentarily and off she went to finish her walk.  

9:00 a.m.  The phone rang.  I answered and the voice on the other end of the phone said, “Are you Sophia Lance?”  “Yes”, I replied.  “This is Officer McCleary with the local Police Department.  Your husband has been in our police station this morning confessing to several things.  Have you seen the letter he left for you on the seat of your car?”  My mind was confused, stunned.  What had the officer just said?  My husband had been to the police station and confessed – confessed of what?  And why would I have gone out to my car at 9:00 a.m.?  I had two children under the age of five, and I was cooking them breakfast.  I never went out to my car that early, why would I have seen a letter?  I must not have answered her right away as my mind was reeling, and she said again, “Have you seen the letter?”  “No”, I replied.  “I haven’t been out to my car this morning.”  “Well you need to go out to your car, read the letter and then call me back.”  I was still very confused and my heart was beating very quickly.  I told her that I would call her back and hung up the phone.

Hesitantly I went out to the car, retrieved an envelope addressed to me in Phil’s handwriting and came inside.  I opened it and began reading.  My husband had written to say how sorry he was for everything and he intended to make it right.  Then the list of confessions started.  He confessed to sexually abusing our children and other children belonging to our closest friends.  He didn’t go into details, but said that these abusive sessions had started a few months before.  He knew that his confession would probably send him to prison for a few months, maybe a few years, but in the end our little family would see this through and we would be together again.  He would pay the price for his crimes and when he got out, everything would be fine.

I’m not sure what I did next.  I think I was in shock.  All I could do was to pick up the phone and call my mother.  “Mom, could you please come, right now?”  She didn’t ask any questions but answered, “I’ll be right there”.  I’m sure she heard the panic in my voice, because she was there within minutes.  The children were playing in the other room, I had tears in my eyes now.  The things I had read in the letter were starting to sink in.  I couldn’t speak, I just looked at her and handed her the letter.  As she read it, the hand not holding the letter quickly went to her mouth as she gasped audibly.  She read further, put down the letter and then put her arms around me.  We cried together for several minutes, both of us shaking.  Neither one of us said a word, we just cried.  Then the phone rang again interrupting the silent tears.  I’m sure at least 30 minutes had passed since the female officer had called, and she was calling back.  My mother answered the phone this time.  I could tell from her side of the conversation that the officer was once again asking if I’d read the letter and asking my mother who she was.  Mom must have answered that I had read it, and the officer said that she would be right over.

I know I was in shock, unable to believe what was happening.  The officer came over and asked me several questions that I don’t remember, but her real goal was to speak with my oldest child.   Officer McCleary took her into a back bedroom to ask her some questions.  I don’t know what questions the officer asked, but it seemed like she was with my child for a long time.  

It was obvious that a police car was parked in front of the house.  There was a knock at the door.  My mother answered it – I was in no condition to see or speak with anyone.  It was a neighbor, wondering if things were ok.  My mother thanked her for her concern and said everything was fine.  What else could she have said?  None of us even knew what was happening.  Had we all awakened to a bad dream?  This couldn’t be real, couldn’t be happening.  We didn’t know what to think.  I was slowly losing my ability to cope and felt like I was going to pass out. 

Millstones are large, heavy, circular pieces of stone. Two of them working in tandem are made to crush and change pieces of grain to flour. Ultimately the process will refine the grain and turn it into a substance that can be used to create something more than its’ original self.

Miracles are extraordinary events that have great significance in people’s lives.  Some are of such magnitude that they totally change lives.  Other miracles are small enough that they may not even be recognized as such.  Whether large or small, all miracles have value.

This is story illustrates what happens when millstones and miracles collide.

Matthew 18:6  “But whoso shall offend one of these little ones which believe in me, it were better for him that a millstone were hanged about his neck, and that he were drowned in the depth of the sea.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Over 30 years ago I had a life changing experience. Never in my wildest nightmares would I have imagined the life that would become my reality. For many years I felt that I should share my experiences, but rejected the thought of writing them, afraid that reliving the memories would take me back into a dark place that caused these experiences in the first place.  Over time I had tried to put things down on paper, but the memories were so painful to me that I’d end up crying each time I tried to write.  So I avoided writing, it was too hard.  But something has changed in me, and I cannot refuse to record my experiences any longer. 

I am a Christian – you need to know that as you read on, because my beliefs were a major part of my healing. My belief in and love for Jesus Christ is not inconsequential to me, it is everything to me.  For me, my healing would not have been possible without my faith in and understanding of the Atonement of Christ, and how that applied to me.  If you are a Christian in any form you will understand why this is of such importance to me. I have also learned that abuse happens in all walks of life. It matters not if you affiliate with any religion, or are a non-religious person, abuse is unfortunately universal and is no respector of persons. It doesn’t matter if are rich or poor, live in a free country or an oppressed situation, abuse exits. If you have been involved in being abused in any way, you are not alone. Abuse, whether it is emotional, sexual, physical or any type of abuse, happens everywhere in the world. You are not less if you have been abused! And there is healing for every soul that has been hurt.

You should also be aware that the author name I am using is not my real name.  For this setting, I will use the pen name of Sophia Lance. Don’t get me wrong…I am not ashamed to share my story. But I’m not the only person this story involves, so I have also changed the names of all the children and adults in this story. I do this for their protection, not wanting to assume that I have the right to encroach upon their privacy or interfere with their healing in any way.  They should be allowed their anonymity and have the choice whether or not they ever want to speak publicly about their own experiences brought on by this trial.  I may be criticized for not making my identity public.  If I was only concerned with myself, I would put my real name to this document.   Because it has affected so many other lives, I will not put the other victims involved at any emotional risk that may be hurtful to them.  The effects of sexual abuse are very personal and can last a long time, and healing for anyone that has been abused must happen at their own pace and on their own terms.  This is my story alone, from my perspective and viewpoints.  I do not speak for the children that have been abused.  Their stories and struggles are likely very different from mine.  I do not speak from the perspective of the parent whose adult child has caused the abuse.  That perspective would have its’ own accompanying pain that I can’t fully understand.  My heart aches for all children that have experienced such atrocious things at the hand of the abuser. 

During my trial and through personal experience, my understanding of human psychology and the effects of life experiences on the individual has been expanded.  On one hand, my message is different than others because of the nature of the trials I have been through.  On the other hand, my message will be familiar because it is the message of hope and healing.  Times of tribulation change us, and it has changed me by bringing me closer to Christ.  Feeling sadness and sorrow is a part of the process, and the gift of hope can bring us out of oppression.  There are many times I share the deep feelings of my soul, things that are very private and dear to me.  This has been hard for me and I’ve wondered if I could really do this, even using a pen name.  But I feel constrained that I must share. 

In this story, I have no thought to offend or harm others or their experiences.  Some may disagree with what I am saying or may not understand.  This story is my story, and the things I share are my experiences alone.  I cannot speak about all kinds of abuse because I have not been through other types of abuse and I do not have a personal understanding of them.   The abuse I am familiar with is emotional abuse from a spouse, and sexual abuse perpetrated on children.  I hope my words about both kinds of abuse will be helpful to other abuse situations as well, or useful for anyone that is working through a trial and trying to heal.  Talking about abuse is a difficult thing to discuss, but we need to acknowledge the negative effects of abuse so that they can be dealt with and healed.  In Christian churches we talk about “the hastening of the work”, and I believe this is a part of the hastening – to talk about things that are difficult to discuss, and know that there is hope and healing regardless of the severity of our trial.  We can’t get on with the important work of this life unless we can learn from our trials, lift, help and serve others with kindness and love.

I will not explain in detail what the particular abuses entailed.  I will not focus on the darkness of the situation, but rather the light that I found while having to walk a dark path not of my choosing.  My message is not one of sadness or life’s horrors, but rather a message of hope and healing during dark times.  I share this story with the hope that it will help someone else heal through their own trials.  My purpose is to show that we can come know Christ through our sorrows and that miracles do come out of our trials, even those that result from “millstone-like” experiences.   Millstone experiences will be discussed and explained later on.      

In writing, I have felt a sweet spiritual guidance.  In the process of explaining the wonderful lessons learned, I am continually learning more about the workings of the Holy Spirit.  I have been taught and supported by this un-seen being through the often painful process of recording some of the harder experiences.  Writing my story has actually become a great blessing to me, something I would never have thought possible.     

My story is not a comfortable story to tell.  The trials we have are difficult in the telling, but they do refine us and teach us things we couldn’t have known without the trial.  The experiences we have change us, and that’s the way it is meant to be.  I am not the same person I was 30 years ago, for which I am grateful. I am changed, with the help of my Savior Jesus Christ.  I am not a perfect person, but learning to know my Savior has helped make something better of me than I could have made of myself.  Adversity does not have to diminish who we are.  Our trials and circumstances do not need to cut off our connection to Christ – they can and should increase our connection to our Savior.  My experiences have actually helped to bring me closer to Christ. 

Dedication:  I dedicate this story to my dear children and to my loving family and friends who have helped me on my healing path.  And especially to John, my final healing gift.