I’ve been doing
some substitute teaching. So far, I’ve helped cover planned absences – when teachers
have scheduled something and provide the substitute with a lesson plan or
detailed instructions. And I’ve pleased to find out that the teachers (at this
school, anyway) don’t just leave busy work for the students. Some of it is
quite involved and demanding.
I don’t actually
“teach,” or haven’t yet. I take roll, give instructions, occasionally calm some
kids down or break up a group that’s become a bit too chatty. But this school
is an easy place to be a substitute. Parents are actively involved, the
teachers are good, and discipline issues (so far) are relatively minor to
non-existent.
In one of the
classes, I saw a girl who physically reminded me of someone I knew in high
school. The girl I knew was named Elizabeth, and was a year younger than I was.
We met in the youth group of a church I was attending.
Elizabeth had
one great ambition: to become a hippie. This was the mid-to-late 1960s, and San
Francisco’s hippie culture was already legend. She dressed as closely as she
could to hippie style without risking the ire of her father or people at
church.
Perhaps because
I showed an interest or listened to her, she started calling me on the phone,
simply to talk. I couldn’t call her; she had to time calls when her father wasn’t
at home.
She was funny,
sweet, outgoing, and, as it turned out, severely broken. I knew her mother had
abandoned the family, but it took months of telephone calls for her to tell me
what was really wrong. Her father physically and sexually abused her.
San Francisco
was not a lure. It was an escape.
When I suggested
she go to the pastor, she said that she had tried that, but he didn’t or wouldn’t
believe her. He thought she was making the stories up, she said. She was only 15,
and didn’t 15-year-old girls have rather extravagant imaginations?
Her father was a
church officer.
I was all of 16
years old, trying to help a 15-year-old who had no options. I had never known
of this happening to anyone.
The church didn’t
do what it should have done, and that made her brokenness worse. In Heart
Made Whole: Turning Your Unhealed Pain into Your Greatest Strength, Christa Black Gifford says that the
church too often has figuratively crucified people in pain. “The emotional
heart is so untrustworthy and evil and it must be ignored, crucified, or
silenced,” she writes.
To be fair as
possible to the church and pastor, they likely had no experience in dealing with
something like this. And teenagers can be imaginative. But because I had gotten
to know her over time, I knew what she was telling me was not made up. And I
heard her father screaming once when he came home unexpectedly and found her on
the phone.
One day she
called to say goodbye. She was leaving – running away from home. We talked for
a long time. I pleaded with her to go to a relative, neighbor, anyone. She
refused; her mind was made up.
And then she was
gone.
It wasn’t
discussed at church, even in the youth group. We all knew she had run away, The
pastor and her father knew. But no one talked about it. And they knew that I
likely knew more than most, because she had told people I was the only one who
listened to her. But no one ever asked, and I was shut down on when I brought
it up.
I never saw her
again.
Led by Jason
Stasyszen and Sarah Salter, we’re reading Heart
Made Whole. Consider reading along and join in the discussion. To see what
others are saying about this chapter, “The Undivided Heart,” please visit Sarah
at LivingBetween the Lines.
3 comments:
Such a heartbreaking story, Glynn. It is sadly true that sometimes the church fails the very people most in need of Jesus' love and healing. I find myself praying for this girl/woman that her brokenness is finally healed.
Wow, Glynn. How sad this is, and also makes me angry. I would love to believe we've come a long way in communicating and helping people in situations like this, but there are way too many who are silenced or not believed because either someone doesn't know what to do with it or doesn't want the responsibility. Lord, help us! In it all, thankful there is a path to wholeness and healing if we follow His lead. Thanks Glynn.
This is so heartbreaking. It's so difficult knowing how to help now, as an adult in ministry, individuals facing this crisis. I can only imagine how difficult it must have been at 16 years old. Thank you for sharing your story.
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