MILLSTONES & MIRACLES

The days that followed my “hell day” were difficult.  Though the sun came up in the sky each morning, the sun was not shining in my heart.  Each day felt like an endless night, dark and heavy with the light of the day far beyond my reach.   

There were so many questions that went around and around in my head.  What would happen to my children?  How would this change them?  What abusive things had they seen and experienced?  Would they ever have happiness and joy in life?  What was I going to do now?  How was I going to manage life?  How was I going to juggle the normal expenses?  I hadn’t been working outside of the home for a while.  I had done some odd jobs from home and we had saved for a down payment on a house, purchasing a small home in a great neighborhood.  Would I be able to stay in our home?  Where would I get money to pay the bills?  If I worked, how could I care for my children?  I had always wanted to be a stay at home mom, but I knew that wasn’t going to be possible.  I had gone to college, but never finished my degree.  How would I make a living?  More importantly, what were my sweet children left with?  I knew that counseling would be necessary to help them work through the things that had been acted upon them.  Their small souls were not meant to experience such awful things at the hands of their own father.  What would that do to them?  

During the first days, Phil was not in custody because he had “turned himself in” after being caught, so he was allowed to be out “on his own recognizance”.  By the second day he had not contacted anyone.  There were no cell phones then, I had no way to make contact with someone that just seemed to have disappeared.  His parents didn’t know where he was, no one had seen him and I’m sure his parents were starting to worry.  I wanted to find him, to talk to him and ask him many questions.   Obviously his life had just changed forever as well, and the reality of the devastation he caused had not fully sunk in.  So I was curious where he had gone and was concerned that he was all right. 

I was eager to put my world right again.  Deciding that I needed to do something about all this mess we were in, I went against my parents’ recommendation and went to my home for a while.  I pulled the bills together, personal records and made a temporary plan to take care of things.  Phil had an office away from our home where he worked.  In my concern for him, I decided to drive to his office and see if he was there.  His car was parked in front of the office when I arrived.  I thought that was a good sign and I was sure he was there.  I parked and went to the door, my stomach churning.  I knocked, but there was no answer.  I waited and knocked again, still no answer.  I bent over to look in the mail drop to see if I could see him inside, hoping to find him asleep.  My view was limited through the small space, but I couldn’t see any indication that he was there.  I called out to him through the door and still no answer.  I started to panic.  What if he was in there, dead?  What if he had become so depressed and despondent that he had taken his own life?  The panic in my heart escalated.  Not knowing what to do, I got back into my car and decided to drive to a family member’s home that was close by.  I’m not sure how I stayed focused enough to drive.  When I got to the home, I walked to the front door and knocked.  My brother-in-law answered the door and I blurted out that I had gone to Phil’s office, he wasn’t there and I thought he had killed himself.  Then I collapsed in his arms, tears streaming. 

My sister brought me into the house while my brother-in-law exited.  I didn’t realize he was going to Phil’s office to see if he could find him.  He found Phil walking back to his office from a convenience store.  When Phil saw him, Phil tried to run away.  But my brother-in-law chased Phil until he caught up with him and put Phil in his car to bring him to their home.  While this drama was taking place, my sister was calling my parents and a family counselor she was acquainted with.  I was shaking, feeling like I was going into shock again.  After a short time, the man who would become my future counselor showed up at her home.  Mark was kind and would be a wonderful counselor in the year to come, but I wasn’t in any condition to talk to him at this point.  My father also arrived.  My brother-in-law returned and Phil was with him.  I was so relieved to see that Phil was alive, but I also was not blind to the fact that Phil was a different man in my eyes than he was the last time I had seen him.   My father, sister, brother-in-law and Mark spoke quietly together in the kitchen while Phil and I went into another room to talk alone.

We sat there, not knowing what to say.  I felt two conflicting emotions – on the one hand, I was so happy that the man I called my husband was alive.  On the other hand, I didn’t even know who this man was – his actions made him a stranger to me.  I needed to talk to Phil, to understand what had happened.  This was the first time I had seen him since he left me the note two days before.  So much had happened in those two days and there was an emotional distance now between the two of us, wider than before.  We sat in silence for a few moments, Phil was crying and I remember just looking at him in unbelief.  I don’t really remember the conversation that followed, but I do remember that he said he was sorry for what he’d done.  He knew he had made a mess of our lives, and was into his own emotions about the problems he had created.  He was so wrapped up in his self-inflicted pain that he did not even attempt to reach out to me.  I know he was embarrassed, ashamed, all the things he should have been, but he did not include me in this very emotional moment.  No hug, no consoling me – characteristics that I would later learn to be part of his narcissistic personality.  This became a pattern in his behavior in the months to come.  I now realized this had been a pattern between us that he had created a long time ago.   

Phil had the look of a soul racked in eternal torment.  His behavior was depraved and he knew it, but he said he couldn’t stop it.  Phil had given in to the demons and they had taken over.  In my youth I had been taught that if you give in to temptation, then the next time you were tempted with the same thing or something worse, it would be much harder to resist, maybe impossible to resist.  I saw the truth of this in Phil.  This wasn’t the Phil that I thought I knew.  I felt as if I’d never known this man. 

Phil and I had been married for several years.  We were not in the newlywed stage where we didn’t know each other very well.  But from the moment we married, I felt a distance between us. We had been friends at first, and then things had switched quickly and become a courtship.  Phil had never been very warm or intimately emotional with me, and I thought it was just his way.  I could tell at times that he tried to be a good husband to me, but there always seemed to be something standing between us that I couldn’t explain.  I believed that over time in our marriage that we would become closer, but during the months prior to his confession, the distance between us was becoming wider.  He was less engaged when we would communicate and I had believed it was because he was under a lot of stress trying to finish his advanced degree.  He was very intelligent and had easily earned straight A’s all through school.  He was likeable, had friends that considered him a great guy and in college when we met, he had a female following of women who wanted to date him.  He was talented and known in the community.  The man I saw that night was not the man that I thought I knew.  

Over the next few days, life was a blur.  I was falling apart.  The truth was more than I could bear.  

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.