Prayer-Time Memories

Prayer Time Childhood memories with bleeding prayers, with scalps on my knees from praying so constantly. Believing in the truth as best as I could as a frightened little girl. I would tip toe my way to the window- look out the blinds praying that truck with that monstrous sound wouldn’t again come bring that monster around; but every night it did. My step dad was a scary fellow. I thought at the time my thoughts may be narrow, but my heart beat as fast as he approached. I knew my fear was real and evidently not easily going to go away. Biological dad never showed his face as he abandoned us three, meaning me and my two younger brothers. Step dads rage was like a Freddy cougar page, except the nightmare was real. Childhood memories not easy to digest let alone relive, but I got through it needless to say…in some ways. Mom would creep into our room to kiss us goodnight, ease the fright and she did to some extent, but she never kept her promise to escape and get us all out. I remember him beating my brothers with a belt and the welts would be mounted on their backs, as I set in my room trying to understand slavery from history books, couldn’t understand why we still endured that kind of pain? He beat my back too, the humiliation was more mortifying not denying as my eyes spilled out more anger rage-than tears. It was way worse when I saw it happening to my mother or brothers, I wanted no other than for God to rescue us all from a step-dads torture. But my real dad was just as bad because he never paid child support, or came to see us, he didn’t care he was out there like a fish in the sea pumping out more seeds, that he would eventually abandon too, and so he did. Being called worthless, stupid, on top of being mentally and physically abused-and afraid to be home or in step-dads presence, built a shell outside of me that I didn’t have the will to let go of until I left and never looked back. But I realized that I had to also forgive, because even without the shell- I still carried a lot on my back that I didn’t deserve. So looking back into my childhood memories isn’t so glamorous, but looking into the mirror today is…because I survived, I forgave and God did answer my prayers as a child. Just look at me today. I will always be a child of God, so still in my thirties I stay on my knees and pray… flashback childhood prayer-time memories. ©StephanieGutierrez2015