Wild Thing

Chapter 3: Into the Arms of Rachael

Since the day of my birth, the compound had been my everything. Every breath I took and every word I spoke was to be dedicated to their forced religion. Never to have a thought or an idea of my own unless planned beforehand by someone else. My mother raised me to follow their rigid schedule and rules and to never question why. Every day she would brush my hair, look me in the eyes, and repeat her mantra to me. "We are not to live for ourselves but for the greater good of our father. Above all, we are to always obey his will..."

"No matter the personal cost to ourselves." I would finish for her.

My mother's thin lips would peel back in a poor attempt to smile lovingly as she patted my head in acceptance.  Afterwards, she would lead me down a dark and foreboding path on our way to my preschool.

Children weren't allowed to start their educational journey until they were 6 years old so until then we were required to attend the Discipleship Childcare Center. It was there that we learned the basics. This would range from learning how to keep a respectful posture in front of the elder disciples, when and how to pray, how we are meant to share the family's light, and most importantly, how to behave in front of our father. Children were to obey without hesitation, to be seen and not heard, and be respectful at all times or else it would be the rod upon our backs. Every child was raised to understand that punishment and discipline were the core foundations to any family and without them our nation would crumble.

Being a curious child, my backside was no stranger to a good whipping because of my natural inclination to explore the surroundings. Unfortunately, my roaming wasn't accepted among the "family" and several times I managed to end up in places they felt I shouldn't have. My adventures cost me my freedom and earned me a warden. With her long, flowing skirts, silk scarves,  golden pixie-cut and large brown eyes, my new overseer was not the monster I first imagined her to be.

At first, I was scared of having someone with me 24/7 but it truly was heavensent that I was given a nanny. More so that the man who brought her to me was unaware of her Christianity. 

I was 5 years old the first time I heard the name, God.

Rachael, the woman chosen to be my nanny, became the stepping stone for me in my budding relationship with Christ.

At the compound, Bibles were forbidden, so every day she would take me to the park to get away from the "family's" scrutiny. I am still unsure at how much Rachel knew about what went on behind our gates, but she knew there was enough danger to keep us hidden from prying eyes.Together, we would sit inside of the hollowed out trunk of our favorite willow tree, basking in the freedom found in a few short hours. She would read to me from her Bible with such a melodious voice so full of passion and reverence. I loved watching the lines on her face move and she smiled from deep within. The way she would light up with each passing verse. She even let me hold her bible and read with her.

To this day I could still tell you what the worn leather felt like against my tiny fingers, cool and smooth to the touch. The first time I held that forbidden book in my hands, electricity crackled on my fingertips and coursed through my being. It made me feel alive with a sense of purpose and direction.

Even at a young age I could feel the power and possibilities of what this seemingly ordinary book held inside it's crisp pages. I would sit and smile in wonderment at the sound each individual page made as it was turned.

I felt like a child floating on the clouds when we were together under our willow tree. There were no judgments or harsh boundaries, only love and dedication. There was a thirst inside of me I didn't know had existed and hearing Rachael read from her Bible was the cool drink of water I so desperately desired.