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Sitting in the back seat of the car, with my shoulders barely reaching the edge of the roll down window and my chin resting on the edge of the car door panel, I peered out the window. Repeatedly, I recited to myself quietly, “If I can just get home, then I’ll be alright. Once I get to my room, I can find something to do and I’ll feel better.”
I tried to hide the tears rolling down my cheeks, as I watched the world go by outside the window. I did not want to get in trouble for crying. I did not want to have to answer the angry question, “Why the _ _ _ _ are you crying now?” I didn’t know why I was crying. I was sad. I was lonely. I just wanted to be a little girl – loved, cherished and free to be me. It wasn't any one thing that happened, but rather, a childhood spent feeling left out, not important and afraid that I would mess up.
My father was an unhappy man; I don’t think he could help it. I suspect he was a hurting man, too, perhaps from years of rejection and oppression when he was a little boy. Now, with his left hand gripping the bottom edge of the steering wheel and his right hand resting on the top of it, it seemed as if he was quick to yell at us or reach back and slap at us if we were not behaving as he desired. Cigarette smoke filled the inside of the car. Heavier than the smoke was the anxiety that permeated the space.
“If I can just get home, I’ll be alright. I’ll be okay. I’ll be fine.”
I find myself still thinking like this from time to time when I am in a circumstance in which I think I can’t escape. Without even knowing, like the little girl, peering out the window, waiting to get to my destination, I hold on for dear life, focused on the end point, fearing what may happen on the journey. I begin to feel hopeless and stuck. I can only wait to the end where I am sure I can orchestrate quiet and order. Or at least, I can try.
But the Lord is working with me. He is showing me that I do not need to white knuckle it through life. I am not stuck. I am not hopeless. I do have choices. I am not the little girl sitting behind the glass, alone. He was and is always with me.
I can open the window, take a deep breath of clean air – His truth – and be assured of His love and care for me. I can cry if I need, too. He knows why. I’m okay, because He is more than okay. I’ll be fine, because He is mine.
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If you have a Little Girl Within story that you would like to share in order to encourage others, I would love to hear from you. Guidelines for submission are at the bottom of the post for the start of the series here.
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If you have a Little Girl Within story that you would like to share in order to encourage others, I would love to hear from you. Guidelines for submission are at the bottom of the post for the start of the series here.
4 comments:
Very powerful. Thank you.
Is it not disheartening how a parent can scar a child's sense of safety with such little effort - yet with such huge consequences to the child? They are so big, the child so small. What you have shared is very powerful yet sad. I thank God how He has brought you to Himself out of His deep and dying love for you. Never let go of your real Father. Thank you so much for sharing!
Thank you. I love what you wrote about opening the window and breathing in the truth of God.
I do not need to "white knuckle" it through life. I love how you worded that, and I can relate, as I used many similar coping mechanisms to "get through". Isn't it reassuring to know God is always with us, and He will see us through! Thank you for sharing your story.
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