I speak in Silence

She's In Trouble

February 12, 2019

She is so young. She has no idea what she is doing. She does not know her way around the world, she does not know much at all. I remember being her age, in fact, it was probably my earliest memory.

It was a new, scary world. It was like being born, except your parents weren't there to hold you when you wept, and I can still remember that "birth" to this day. In the same sense, growing up was not fun either. I had to learn a lot of things—just about everything—all on my own. No guiding mentor, just sheer determination and will. While I still remembered how to read and write, I had to learn American Sign Language while my voice "recovered". I was on the streets, going from job to job, always getting fired when they realized I could not properly communicate.

Eventually, I earned enough money to finally get my own flat here in Bratville. It was not the loveliest, that is for sure. The floorboards were ripped and the ceiling fan in the living room was hanging by a literal wire, but it was at least a roof over my head—a roof that seemed it may have fallen over my head—but nonetheless, a roof over my head.

There were some parts of this house I was able to tame, I trimmed the wild grass to be beneath my ankles and I added my own plants and such. In a way, it was quite nice, making this place my own. The house, it was like my version of a dollhouse. I dedicated every single scrap and Penny I received to this house. It was not easy though, there have been many times I have gone days without food because I struggled to pay my rent.

The people in this town have not been so welcoming, either. They are often cruel with the best intentions. I have tried to adopt the Lord into my life, I would go to church, searching for answers, but often coming up with more questions. The priest pulled me aside to talk to me one day, asking me my name. At this time, I had not learned how to communicate, so I shrugged my shoulders, and gestured my fingers to zip my lips, signifying that I could not speak. The priest did not seem to understand, he thought he simply did not hear me, and I begged my pardon. Still, I had nothing I could say. He told me to come back to the church every Sunday, so I did.

Every Sunday, he would pray for my condition, he would pray that I would be healed, that my voice would recover and I would be blessed. Weeks, months, and even years passed, and still, not a single trace of my voice returned to me. I started to wonder what kind of God would let this happen to me, why would this happen to me. The priest told me that God was angry with me for something I had done in the past. He assured me that God had reason, and there was a reason this was all happening. God had a plan for me, and I would be healed... someday.

I thought I must have done something really bad to Him for all of this to happen to me. For him to take away all my memories and take my voice, seeming to never plan on giving it back, I must have done something horribly, horribly wrong. A man who was able to let the blind see again, and resurrect someone from the dead refused to let me speak again.

Some other Sabbath morning I came to the church, continuing on with my faith. My only hope of ever retrieving my voice was by salvation. I would listen to everyone sing the hymns, hoping that one day, I would sing and praise God with them. After the sermon was over, the priest spoke to me separately. We prayed, but it was kind of a funny prayer, from a book of words I could not quite understand. Then, he started preaching "come out demon!" I shook my head and raised my hands I tried to plead that I was not demon possessed but he went on, telling the demon to leave and preaching weird words I could not interpret.

After some of his shouting and my pleading, he started to hit me. He said he would wrestle the demon out of me, he would do all that he could to rid me of it, but to no avail. After hours, I went home, bruised and defeated. I haven't gone to church since, now I just read my devotionals to myself at home.

Now I remember. Now it all adds up, God punished the wrong person. This was all because someone lusted, someone manipulated me and now I am the one being punished. This could not have been intentional, such a loving deity would never inflict such anguish on one of his beloved one children. I loved someone who lusted, over me, and now I'm the one who has to pay the price of their transgressions against me. Then, when I tried to get healed by one of his "chosen" prophets, I got beaten and claimed demon possessed. If God is perfect, and if God is loving, He sure has a funny way of being that way.