Through The Eyes Of A Child
by
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One of my favorite subjects in school was music. Music and singing gave me an opportunity to escape and pretend I was someone and somewhere else. There was a song that our music teacher was teaching that was very popular. I thought it was the most beautiful song I had ever heard. I liked it so much I copied the words. This way, I could always look at the words and use them as a means of comfort. I woke one night to find Tim going through my book bag as he normally did. My bag had to stay neat and clean at all times. I could not write on my notebooks or tear paper from them. He would actually sit and count the pages to see if any were missing. If there was a page missing and unaccounted for he’d whip me for it. When he came across the song I copied, he swore that a boy gave the song to me. No matter how hard I tried to tell him the truth, he insisted someone had written that song for me. He was determined to use this reason for beating me. When he went downstairs to get his belt, that ugly black belt, I started shaking so much I couldn’t stop. My hands, legs, my whole body went into uncontrollable shakes.
When he returned I begged him to ask Theresa if those words weren’t from an actual song. She liked music as much as I did. He told Megan to go downstairs. We shared the bedroom together. He told me to get undressed. I did it as slowly as I could. He then told me to lay across the bed. I couldn’t lie still on the bed as he had told me. I squirmed all the way to the floor. I would catch and hang onto the belt every time he’d bring it down. Finally, he put his foot on the side of my face to hold me still in an attempt to keep me from reaching up.
I wonder, what he thought as he lashed at me. I wished he would kill me, just put me out of my misery. I remember trying to lie still to see if that would appease him. It made no difference. I hoped he would stop and have pity on me. Yet, he continued beating me at a vigorous pace.
I now hated Tim. I hated him for embarrassing me at school. I hated him for beating me without cause. I hated him for keeping me isolated from my family. I hated his shoes, his belts, his suits. I hated his laugh and the way he breathed. I hated the fear he put in me, the shame, the stillness and the quiet. I hated this life he brought me into. I hated him most of all for breaking my spirit. I knew I had done nothing wrong but I was being beaten for a song. He had won, he made me lie in submission, saying he was right only to end the beating. "Yes" I told him, "Yes." Within his fat sickening black heart, within his empty soul, this made him gloat in victory. Again, he had beaten the truth out of me and he felt justified in his cause.
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About the Book
This book was written by Connie White at the age of 15. Upon being reunited with her mother after nearly 10 years of separation, Connie, began to journal the life she experienced while living with her father. She takes you from the origins of child abuse and incest, which manifested suicidal ideation and ultimately, attempting to take the life of her oppressor, her father. For nearly 25 years, her journal sat. Not until after Connie had become a mental health practitioner and minister of the gospel was her mission revealed. Her life experiences would be used to understand and empower others in similar situations. Finding that people must process what is surpressed before healing can take place, this book is geared toward the abused, abuser, professionals who work with them and the bystander. This book is so unique because it was written, through the eyes of a child.
About the Author
Connie wrote this book at the age of 15. She began to journal the life she spent with her father after being reunited with her mother. Her journal would cover she and her mother's 10 years of separation. So much had happened to Connie since she was last with her mother. Connie felt an overwhelming need to fill in the gaps of lost time for her. Let her know what had happened to her eldest daughter, her second born. Connie needed to let her mother know the things she could not force herself to say, things buried, the covered secrets.
It had become easier to write then down instead of saying them. However, unknown to Connie at that time, was the power of written words. The power of the words, to see them in black and white had become too hurtful to look at. The words had become a tangible reminder of all the years of utter sadness and silence. So her journal sat, stored in a box, gathering dust, taking up space.
Not until 2005, after having prophetic words ministered unto her by one of God's messengers, Apostle Wiggings, did Connie know what God had been preparing her for. It was time. Almost 25 years later, Connie picked up her journal, opened it up and looked at the words. The words that had held her captive for so long. The mission was now clear. The people, saved and unsaved, the wounded spirit and the broken hearted, were waiting for her story, her testimony.
At he age of 38, more knowledgeable, newly ordained, refreshed and rejuvenated, Connie is armed and dangerous with the Word of God. Connie walks boldly into the enemy's camp taking back all that was stolen. Her story, this story must be told to set God's captives free.