"Behind Closed Doors"

Trigger Warning: Molestation, Self Harm, Suicide

I guess it's time to go back to the beginning before the trajectory of my path was devastatingly slanted. Our family's parsonage was two trailers joined together. It was spring of 1981 when I heard the sound of a small kitten underneath my bedroom floor. Several days went by and I continued to hear it cry. I begged my older siblings aged 12, 16, and 18 to climb under the dark space of the trailer to rescue the kitten, but no one was willing to venture under the dark spider infested trailer. I just couldn’t bear the sound of the kitten that to me seemed all alone and frightened. I was only six years old, but the need to rescue it was too strong to ignore it another day. Monsters or ghosts, spiders big and small, I was going to find that kitten. I went between the trailers and found a gap in the skirt. It was dark and damp and full of cobwebs and bugs just as I feared. I had a small flashlight with me and on my hands and knees, I started to crawl. I was at the back of the trailer and the cry was coming from the front, where there were no convenient tears in the plastic skirt of the trailer. There was just enough sunlight beaming through the holes and gaps to give me the light I needed to find it. It smelled funny, just as damp dirt and critter infested areas would smell. I ran into a couple cobwebs on the way, but its life was more important to me than that. I carried it out with me, now covered in mud and who knows what else. I went straight to my mother in the kitchen. At first she said absolutely not and to change my clothes. I begged a little more and finally she told me to ask my father. He was over at the church studying so I quickly ran to his office. He looked the little guy over and said he was sorry, but we couldn’t keep it. I don’t know why, but my heart just ached for this abandoned kitten. I could not just let it be in this world all alone, so I pleaded with my father one more time. He was quiet for a while as he continued to hold it. Without a word, he stood up and headed to the house. I followed silently in fear to say a word. He took the kitten into the bathroom and ran a warm bath. He washed it and wrapped it in a towel and handed it to me. My father liked photography, so he grabbed his camera and started to take entirely too many pictures. Still, not a word. I could barely stand waiting a second more when my father finally said, “Ok, you can keep him but you have to take care of him. You have to give him food and water every single day.” I agreed happily. I named him Booptekin (Boop-tea-kin), and no, I have no idea where that came from. But I know I dragged him around with me everywhere I went. When he wouldn’t eat, I pretended to eat out of his cat bowl to encourage him. He was the first thing I looked for when I got home from school. He was my best friend. A year later in the summer of 1982 we went to my grandparents in Virginia for a visit. They were raising two of my cousins, Shelby and Ken. Ken had always ignored me previously, I guess because there was a huge age gap between myself and my siblings and cousins. Most of the time I didn’t care though, as long as I had my matchbox cars and some dirt. Ah, more dirt. This particular year he was different though. Ken kept popping in to see what I was up to. He even gave me some of his old matchbox cars to play with. After a couple nights sleeping in the Winnebago with my parents, Ken asked if I wanted to sleep in his room. All day he kept asking if I had made up my mind yet. But each time he came to me I would get a knot in my stomach. I just had a strange feeling about it, but I didn’t understand it. I didn’t know the Holy Spirit, who had helped me before to escape a motorcycle ( Motorcycle Man vs Holy Ghost) was speaking again. I didn’t understand the dangers of the world or that it was okay to not trust everyone, even family. But Ken was not giving up until I said yes. My father was reluctant to agree, but he finally did. After my bath I followed him into his bedroom not knowing what was to come. Because I was so young I did not understand most of what was happening, but I knew I didn’t like it and it scared me. All I knew to do was to ask God to help me. That’s what they always said at church anyway. God was always with us and would never leave us. After asking God to help me get out of there or make him stop, I started to beg God to please send someone to come and get me, but no one came. By morning, I thought I knew the truth now, God couldn’t see me or He didn’t want me or care about me. One thing for sure, He did not love me.

Back home, I struggled to keep the secret. A week passed by before I could no longer take it. Booptekin was now more important to me than ever. I think he sensed something was wrong. I remember him being around me more than usual. He stayed in my room at night with me. I finally told my parents that something had happened, but nothing specific. I didn’t even know how to say the words. Unfortunately, back then, things like molestation were not spoken of. It was swept under the mat and not to be discussed. In the months that followed, I lived a life of fear and depression. A week after I told my parents was the first time I felt like dying. That will be another post. I was so confused and felt like I had done something wrong. I believed God had abandoned me and did not want me. I believed that because I had ignored the warnings all day, I got what I deserved. It was a punishment for not listening. God became a very distant and irrelevant thing in my life. But I still had Jesus. He would come to me and comfort me all the time. I’m not sure how I would have made it through without Jesus and Booptekin.

Back in 2017, I had sat down with my pastor to talk about the death of my husband, Wally, but the Holy Spirit kept blocking the conversation and all I could think about was Ken and what had happened. I had never talked about it and finally gave in to the Holy Spirit and told my pastor I had been molested and didn’t think God cared about me at all. That I thought all the things that happened to me afterwards proved that God did not love or want me. He was surprised to hear me say that, but then he said, “Angela, God is so pissed that this has happened to you.” Now I know what you are thinking, that’s a strange use of words by a pastor. But for me, it was the perfect wording and confirmation to me that it was God speaking through my pastor. My whole life, although I was taught saying “pissed off” was bad, I said it all the time. Most people I knew did not use that word, but here I sat with someone who had no idea I said that and that it would resonate with me. And that is the God we serve. He is not afraid to step out of the box to get our attention. Had my pastor said, “God is so sad that that happened.” I would have never believed God was upset about it too. The words felt like they went right through me as the Holy Spirit wrapped his arms around me. I think God is pretty amazing and way cooler than we think He is. And don’t forget, even when you don’t feel His presence, He is still there. The enemy works really hard to convince us otherwise, but you can trust God at His word. He loves you. He wants you. And He will not leave you.

Hebrews 13:5 “I will never leave you nor forsake you.” - God