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“Get your children, quickly, and move to the back of the building. Your husband is here.” The direction came with a soft touch on my arm and a whisper of urgency. I enfolded my arms around the little ones and urged them forward through the swinging door. “Come on,” I instructed firmly. “Come.” “But I don’t want to go this way. I want to stay here.” Two of the smaller children complained loudly. The others were simply confused. I was afraid my husband would hear them and see us. Why did they even let him in? How could that have happened? Apparently, my husband had the sense to make up a story to gain entrance into this locked facility… but failed to use wisdom in the area of disclosing his identity. “I’m sorry, I think the phone might be ringing.” The shelter counselor left him sitting and went to the phone in the office to dial the police. Peering out my bedroom doorway, I could see our family van in all its ugly glory outside the playroom window. My breath caught in my throat and my heart pounded, as my eyes shot up and down the corridor leading to our bedrooms.. The little ones pressed in around me and I closed the door, again, to their dismay. “What are you looking at?” they wanted to know. “I am just seeing who is out here in the hall.” I told them, truthfully. “No, no. Come, now. It is time to play. Won’t it be fun?” I had to be strong. I didn’t want the children to see me break down or fear. Tonight there is extra security planted. The worker who allowed my abuser entrance into the facility was spoken to, and the procedure for gaining entrance was revised. They found this experience to be a learning opportunity. The alarms were turned on early, tonight, and police will be going by more often. Extra workers will be on staff through the night hours. I was shaken up and frightened, but God protected us and kept us safe. He is working all things for His good. |
Thoughts
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