Dream Again...

The first time my dream died was shortly after my assault. I had been brutally raped at a frat party when really I should have been studying for my Organic Chemistry mid-term exam instead. When the attack stopped what seemed like days later I collected my backpack and walked back to my dorm room. My hands were crushed and bruised from where they stomped on them when I was crawling to get away. My head bloodied from the baseball bat he ambushed me with. My insides were sick with pain and worry. My mid-term was to start the next morning at 8:30 all the way across campus. I didn’t sleep at all. I spent most of my night in the shower trying to soak the blood out of my thick hair. I dragged myself across campus in the morning, grabbed my mid-term test as I entered the room and got to work. My eyes were blurry from crying. My head was throbbing under my cap where I was praying the blood wouldn’t seep through and no one would notice. The girl I always sat next to told me I looked terrible. I lied and said I was just tired. I wrote things down but, with what I’m sure was a wicked concussion, nothing was making sense. 

One week later I walked into Kane Hall and checked my score that was posted. I failed. The worst grade of my life. The first thing I thought about was my mom. What would I tell her? My grade in Organic Chemistry has plummeted to a 1.3. I was an honor student. Above a 3.5 always. I was so ashamed. Ashamed I had been raped. Ashamed I failed my test. So ashamed. I called my mom and told her I had been accused of cheating on my mid-term and failed. I’d rather her think me a cheater than someone stupid enough to get herself raped. 

Medical school was my dream. Pediatric oncology was what I was going to do. But not with a 1.3 in Organic Chemistry. My dream was over. Medical school vaporized right in front of me in a hazy mist. 

So, I pushed everything behind me, reconfigured some things and switched majors into something where Organic Chemistry didn’t matter. Speech-Language Pathology became my new studies and I was on the path to my new dream. I got a job and a truck. Met Brian, got married, had two kids. I was so grateful to my Heavenly Father for blessing me. My first dream didn’t pan out but I was well on the way in my new dream. I understood that I couldn’t fulfill my dream of becoming a doctor because He had a plan for me to meet my husband and have children and love my job with the schools. 

And then Brian killed himself. I was grief-stricken. Shocked. So so angry. God had already denied me one dream. Why was He taking this one away too? I am a faithful person, but if my faith was ever tested it was in that moment right then and there. Why? What had I done to make Him angry? Why couldn’t I have at least one path lead to something I cherished? Why was I being punished? My faith faltered. Wavered. Cracked into a million pieces. I walked on, zombie-like. Existing day to day. Reeling in grief and pain and heartache. I was confused. Now what? I had two little children to take care of alone. I did the best I could to muddle through with the help of my amazing people. I had friends and family drag me from day to day. I had a prayer partner that pushed and pulled and prayed and helped me find my way in the darkness. 

James 1:2-4 says, “Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish its work so that you can be mature and complete, not lacking anything.” 

Yeah. 

Right. 

Pure joy? Being attacked was supposed be be joyful? Hearing a cop tell my mother-in-law that they found my husband’s body was joy? This was not joy. Joy was flirting with the cute frat boy on the couch and hearing someone say nice things to me. Joy was my wedding day. Joy was our last date before he died. Those things are joy!

My assault was not joy. That was fear. Terror. Searing pain. Stitches in my head. Not joy. Brian’s death was confusion. Grief. A hole in my heart. Silence as I worried what I was going to tell my girls. Not joy. 

I am 20 years past my assault. Next week, in fact. I can see through the pain to twenty years later from where I’m standing. And I consider it all joy! If I hadn’t been assaulted my entire life would be different. Maybe not in Bremerton. For sure not in the schools. Maybe no kids. My beautiful girls would be but another dream. 

I’m almost eight years past Brian’s suicide. I can see through the pain to eight years later from where I’m standing. And I consider it all joy! If Brian hadn’t died we would not be strong, resilient ladies. We wouldn’t have found how amazing our friends and family are. We wouldn’t know the joy of being a family of three. 

As hard as it is, consider it all joy! More hard times are to come. I can guarantee that. I’m hoping they’re not rape and suicide caliber, but hard times will happen. And my prayer is that I can sooner see that it is all joy! Why? Because my mighty Savior has a plan for my life. My steps are mapped out. My tears are numbered. He knows the number of hairs on my head. And there is a plan. My plan included an assault. My plan include my husband killing himself. My plan included being stripped down to my core so that my God could raise me up!

We went to a concert a couple days ago. Matthew West performed his song “Dream Again” and about halfway through. I found myself bawling. Ugly crying. Because as I sat there watching the lyric video and listening to the words, I got this vision of me with my grown children standing by my side and I’m in a white dress. Me? Get married again? My protective answer is “NO WAY!” Why would I want to do that? I love being single! I love doing what I want. I love not answering to anyone. I’m safe. I’m protected. I’ll just hunker down and ride out my life in isolated safety. 

But in the words of that song, my heart gave me permission to dream again. Maybe someday I will find a man who loves me. A man who doesn’t want to hurt me physically or emotionally or psychologically. A man who will love my girls and be a dad for them. My heart gave me permission to dream again. 

I consider it all joy! Whichever path God has for me, I consider it all joy.