I knew I had to make it stop. There was an eyeball in a bag, in my backpack. My instructions were clear. Drop it off the boat when you go whale watching tomorrow. Or else.

I couldn’t.

I quietly left in the middle of the night. I headed north. On foot. The St. Bernard found me quickly. I have so many times when large dogs companioned me, so it was no surprise. We walked. I was about two miles out when I got cold. I tried to creep into someone’s basement, but they were awake and I ran quickly away. When I got to El Cajon Blvd. I met a guy standing outside his apartment. He asked if I wanted to come in. I did. I stayed with him and at the halfway house across the street with Charles for nine days. But I wasn’t far enough away. Someone from the school sighted me. I was caught. And returned. My mom and I were called to the school. My mom was told I was being kicked out. It was a catholic school. I was obviously not a virgin. I was not welcome there any more.

My mom was humiliated. We got in the car. She started driving. And she drove. Silent. Tight lipped. Angry.

120 miles later we arrived at her sister’s house. She told me to go to the spare bedroom. She said, “take off your clothes.” It did not occur to me to disobey.

I stood, naked, for a long time. I noted the impersonal room. The green bedspreads. The tricolor carpet. The Mexican art. Hollow. Waiting.

I am pretty sure her sister tried to talk her out of what she had decided to do.

She came in with a belt. Her words were venom. “you think you’re a big girl now? Can do whatever you want?’ Smack. The belt hit my face. “I’ll show you a thing or two.” Smack. “slut. You’re nothing but a whore now.” Smack. It seemed to go on a long time. I had lots of welts. Even when I crunched on the floor she kept hitting and yelling. Like she was vomiting her anger all over me. When she was done, she told me to get dressed. We’d leave tomorrow. I felt nothing, then.

It took a long time, and a lot of healing to look at that memory with anything other than an emotionless narrative. It certainly was not the worst thing that ever happened. It was just how mom was. I after all, had run away. There was always consequences. Cult consequences were far worse.

But it was wrong. It was wrong of her to do, and it was wrong to do to me. And when I gave myself permission to feel the impact that had on my fragile heart, when I acknowledged that hollow was a wall, and behind that wall I hurt really bad and was angry, then I was ready. I asked the question. Jesus why didn’t you stop her? Where were you?

Instantly I was back in that room. He was there. I was surprised. What he was doing did not make sense. He was kneeling, near the closet door. I looked at him. He looked at me. “I was praying,” he said. “I was asking my Father to preserve a part of your heart. I was crying out then for the relationship I wanted to have with you. I was groaning at the pain I knew your heart was feeling. I was longing to heal it then.”

That story sits inside me differently now. It is no longer emotionless. But the emotion now contains awe, as well, at the healing the Lord has done, and reverence for the way he has run after me to heal me.

With God, nothing is impossible. With my God I can scale any wall.