Together

The Beginning

*****

I was scared; very scared.

We were in our cramped, filthy house and I was hiding.

"No! Daddy, no!" I cried, tears escaping my eyes when my father found me.

But he didn't listen. He snatched my arm, making me stand up. I shook my head, unable to speak as my father shook my shoulders violently. He thrust me against the wall. I hit my head and fell to the ground.

My mother was screaming at him. "Kurt! Stop it!"

I had heard fear in her voice too many times. Unfortunately, so did my father. He was taking out his belt when his attention turned towards my mother. His grin was so very wicked.

"Go, Delilah!" My mother yelled. "Run!"

I immediately ran out of the small house hidden in the woods. I could hear my mother's crying, desperate voice screaming throughout the trees.

I tried to block out her voice and concentrate on running. I thought about how my father had always abused my family, all except my little brother, Samuel, because he wanted Samuel to grow up like him. I was tires of facing him everyday, tired of the scars on my arms and legs the children at school made fun of, tired of being afraid and hiding.

Every time my mother told me to run, I knew where she wanted me to go: there was a secret room behind our house. There were guns, knives, food, and clothes there if we ever needed to leave or defend ourselves.

Today I felt like I'd had enough. I opened up the hidden doors in the ground. Dust flew out into the brisk fall air.

I grabbed one gun and three knives.

Once I got what I needed, I ran the short run back to our house. I snuck in the back door, not hearing my mother's petrified voice anymore. I was very scared; most of my fellow nine-year-old friends had never experienced this kind of event.

I peeked around every doorway, pointing the gun with shaking hands only to find emptiness.

Oh, gosh, I thought. I hope he didn't kill her.

And then I saw her. My mother was lying in the middle of the floor, unconscious. Patches of her hair were torn out. She had red marks on her arms that were starting to bruise. I stared at her in horror.

I was breathing quickly and glancing around, trying to locate my evil father.

That was the last straw, I was scared, but I was furious.

I felt a hand covering my mouth. My father dragged me into his room and locked the door.

He laughed maniacally as he pulled out a knife and grabbed the gun from my sweaty hands. I was so scared, I didn't know what to do. I watched as my father slowly walked towards me with the knife.

I let out a painfully loud scream and closed my eyes as I felt sharp pains everywhere on my body.

I was getting dizzy. I opened my eyes and before I passed out, I saw my father clean off his knife, coated with blood. My blood.

*****

That feeling I got inside of me that day just sparked something.

That feeling of anger and just not wanting to put up with it anymore. I wanted him to stop so bad. I always thought that I was the most miserable child in the world, but my mother told me to stop pitying myself and trust in God. I learned at a young age about God and all of his mighty love. My mother and I prayed every night, continually asking God to make my dad stop treating us this way.

He didn't. But I knew that God made my father that way because He was making me stronger as a person and strengthening my trust in Him.

Enough of me. I want to talk about what happened to my father that next day. I can remember it as if it was yesterday, but it wasn't; it had been nine years since then.

After my beating that night, I ran to my room, crying and crying. As I shut the door, I noticed my mother was on my bed. She looked so beaten and broken. But I knew she had a strong heart.

"Hey, sweetie," her voice was barely a whisper.

My face retracted in sorrow. "I'm sorry, mother! I didn't mean for him to go at you like that, I just-"

"Honey, don't blame yourself. Remember, it's God's way of strengthening your trust and belief in Him," My mother smiled weakly.

"Mom?" I asked.

"Yes, dear?"

I hesitated. "Can we pray?"

"Of course,"

I slowly walked to my mother and knelt next to her. She clutched my hand. We squeezed our eyes shut.

"Dear Heavenly Father, we pray to you that you'll continue to strengthen us and that you will keep blessing us with food, a house, clothing, and our strong love we share with each other and with You. Lord, I pray that you will help my husband become a better person and please help open his eyes to see Your truth and love,"

My eyes were watering, and I was squeezing my mother's hands tightly.

I swallowed before I said, "Lord, I thank you for my loving family and thank you for, well....You. I don't know what I'd do without you, I-" I paused before continuing. "I, love you."

"Amen." We said in unison.

My mother opened her eyes and I could see that she was crying tears of joy and pride. We hugged and fell asleep in each other's arms.

IN THE MORNING......

I woke up feeling well-rested. My mother was still sleeping, her bruises now visible. That made me wonder about my father and where he was. Not like I wanted to see him, I was just wondering why it was so silent in our house.

I got up, trying hard not to disturb my mother's deep sleep. I cracked the door open and peeked out. Nothing. Luckily, I had kept the three knives in my pocket. I went over to my jacket lying on the bed and found one in my large jacket pocket.

I entered the hallway. I checked in every bedroom, bathroom, the kitchen and living room, but my father was nowhere to be found. I was terrified.

I relaxed a little when my mother woke up. We toured the house, not finding him.

Suspicion was floating in the air. My mother and I just carried on with our lives, thinking my father left for work early. He usually came home at around dusk.

But when dusk arrived, my father did not appear. In fact, we never saw him again. He left us.

We prayed and danced for joy and thanked the Lord that He had removed my father from our lives. We thanked Him for helping us pass His trusting test.

We ventured to Samuel's room that same day and fed him and loved him and hugged him. We hadn't seen him in months because my father had kept him to himself. He looked sickly and pale, even for a one-year-old.

His face brightened as we fed him more and threw him in the air and cuddled with him. I was so happy-- my praying and trusting God had finally paid off!

But little did I know that my happiness, everyone's happiness, would soon be taken away by soldiers. German soldiers. I had no idea what tragedies would occur in the future.

*****