No, don't look. If you look you won't see me because if you get up close and personal with me, I'll just try to make you laugh. Humour is a great shield and I learned to use it well and hide behind it; and lose myself in books and in my imagination. I can remember keeping my coat on during hot Summer days; sweltering and hiding in my coat. Many areas of hurt and rejection had made it abundantly clear to me that I was nothing but a bother and a nuisance. I knew that no one would ever like me. So I built a shell around me and went my independent way; never having any needs, of course!
Alone -- always alone; even in a crowd, even with one or two others, because there is so much inside they must not see, so much about me they must never know. There is only loneliness and pain but nobody needs to know. I've become a master at cover-up.
I think I was too young to have heard the word "betrayal," or if I had, it had not registered with me. But that morning in the schoolyard, not knowing the word, I felt the piercing penetration of its jagged blade. And I hated myself for my stupidity. (Even though we lived in grinding poverty, we were not always completely without food because, except for lay-off times, my Mother worked at a hard job for a pitiful wage.)
Yesterday had been a day when we had the rich luxury of bread and butter in our house. As always, hungering for friends, I invited two girls in for bread and butter sprinkled with sugar. They ate the bread, laughed and talked with me but then went out to broadcast the horrors of the "dump" in which I lived. This morning even kids I didn't know came up to me in the schoolyard to ridicule me because of where I lived. I saw that cold, forlorn house for the first time as it really was.
An almost empty house save for a few shabby bits of furniture, sparse and worn; one cold water tap in the kitchen; no furnace; no bathroom - just a toilet in the scary, dark, dingy cellar; a coal/wood stove in the kitchen; laths visible where large chunks of plaster had fallen away from the walls. That day in the schoolyard I felt stripped bare, agonizingly exposed and the burning shame was terrible. Then I knew I had to hide from people; I was different, unworthy, somehow less.
I stood in the alleyway beside our house; that dreadful house which brought me so much scorn and taunting. (Why does being poor make it okay for kids for beat you up?) On that particular day, in the early evening, I was watching Marj run to meet her Dad as he returned home from work. He caught her up in his arms and hugged her and I couldn't understand the sharp, nameless feelings churning inside me.
I'm the only one I know who doesn't have a Dad living with them. There were no spare chairs; just one, plain, wooden chair for each of us. My Grandfather had just died in hospital and being so often without heat, we chopped up his chair and burned it. Stretching my hands over the stove, my gladness for the warmth was disturbed by guilt for wanting the warmth in the midst of grief for my Grandfather. Torn up inside.
On the day of my Grandfather's funeral, something came in the mail for my Mother. My father had sent her a picture of himself; no accompanying note, just the picture. (My parents had separated shortly before my birth). Wanting nothing to do with this consummate liar who had brought us nothing but trouble, heartache and debt in already hard, wretched times, my Mother was going to burn the picture. But I wanted that picture; here was proof of a father.
My Mother said I could have it on condition that I wrote to him, telling him that I was the one who wanted his picture. So I wrote, telling him about school and various things in my life. I carried that picture with me everywhere and showed it to anyone who would take the time to look at it. Every day I rushed home from school to check for any mail, waiting, hoping for a reply letter. But the days and weeks went by and no letter ever came. Disappointment grew and brought a sense of desertion and personal failure, more lonely emptiness to push down inside. Eventually I destroyed his picture as my hopes had been destroyed. After all, what did I expect? Why would anyone answer a letter from a nobody like me?
Were my ears deceiving me? No, it was true. My name was being called from the backyard. Four girls were calling me to come out to play. Exhilarated, scarcely able to believe this happy turn of events, I rushed joyously out the back door, only to be greeted with a barrage of large clumps of mud. Then they ran off, shrieking with delight, "I got her! I got her!" I wish my Mother could come home. Why are we so poor that she has to work? Why can't she stay home like other mothers? Many hurts since then have reminded me of being battered with the hardened mud clumps and made me feel, again, not only the pummelling but also that it was all I could expect, all I deserved in a world where I never seemed to measure up, fit in or be accepted.
I sat on the edge of the bed in the hospital room, waiting, hoping, dreading the doctor's visit. Having had so many miscarriages and several surgeries, I was waiting for his report after my eighth miscarriage and most recent surgery. I heard him come in, I looked up at him but there was no smile on his face. His words fell on my ears but they broke my heart.
He told me that I didn't have one chance in a million of ever having a child. The pain in my heart was so bad that I could actually feel the ache in my empty, empty arms. Because I was alone I could weep and tell myself, with loathing, that while women all over the world were having children, I was too useless to even have a baby.
There is so much more. If I told it all you might think that loneliness was the sum of my life --- but look at me. Yes, look at me; and if you can take the time, I'll let you see into my heart.
It's different now. I don't have to hide anymore. I don't have to keep on apologizing for everything, even for being. I met Someone. Actually I was pursued by Someone. This One suffered anguish beyond all comprehension. This One entered a terrifying abyss where He encountered an agony of loneliness never experienced by a human before or since. This One is Jesus. He willingly endured the total weight of all human suffering in order to bring me, and to bring you, into a loving, personal relationship with the Heavenly Father. Watch out!
Can I ever trust a father, any father? I discovered that this Father will never fail me, never let me down, never stop loving me. He holds me close to His heart and whispers that He planned me in love, created me in beauty and destined me for glory. I think it's because of the darkest periods of my life that I'm getting to know God in ways I never dreamed were possible. I have no siblings but I find that Jesus sticks closer than a brother. He promised that He will never leave me and that I'll never be alone again. He can redeem every tragedy, heal every heartache and turn every tear into a rainbow.
Yes, look at me, see me; I've got something to tell you.