4 years since.

May 15th, 2019 will forever be a day engrained in my memories. It was the day that our whole world changed on a dime. What began as an ordinary day proved to change the course of our lives. Though I couldn’t have understood everything at the time, it was evident that God had already begun to prepare my heart for what was to come. He was right there, protecting and provisioning for our every need.

The morning began with the usual hustle of getting four kids out the door by 7:00am. We made it to school and I began my work day. I had my usual morning visitor in the office, who always entered the office with a look of mischief and a grin, along with a funny story, request, or need of a hug. He returned in the afternoon with exciting news. His sweet teacher had taught him how to tie his shoes and he simply had to show me! His smile was precious as he beamed ear-to-ear. It was a core memory for me, documented with a photo no doubt.

The afternoon and evening were altogether uneventful - we drove home from work, unloaded all our school stuff, I made lunches for the next day, and dinner prep was under way. I received a call from my then husband, saying he was on his way home from work. I knew that meant he’d be home in an hour or so.

Awhile later there was an abrupt knock on our door. In the middle of getting dinner ready, I glanced out the peep hole. I didn’t recognize the person and for some reason felt like I shouldn’t open the door. This would later prove to be the best decision I could have made.

Still a bit later, I began to wonder why my then husband had not arrived home yet, as he should’ve made it by then. I checked our Ring camera and noticed his car in the driveway. It wouldn’t have been unusual for him to sit in the driveway on his phone so I didn’t think twice about why he hadn’t come inside. You see, he wasn’t home or around much in general. He did his own thing, in his own time. Our relationship and family dynamics were anything but normal - but it was our normal. It’s what we knew. I didn’t like it, but it’s just how things were.

By now dinner was cleaned up and his plate was left in the microwave for whenever he was ready for it.

The boys had headed upstairs to play their xbox and my parents and I were downstairs with Eva, watching tv. It was then that I received the phone call that changed everything. I learned that my then husband had been arrested.

I cannot begin to explain my confusion in that moment. My thoughts were all over the place - What? How? When? I had spoken to him just a bit earlier. His car was in the driveway. I wasn’t given any information other than the news that he was arrested. I didn’t know why. I didn’t know where he was. And I had zero clue what to do. My mind was processing at a million miles per hour, in panic mode.

I immediately checked the Ring camera. There was no video footage of him pulling into the driveway. This did not make sense, because the sensors should have gone off. However, there was video of a woman crossing the street and coming to our door. In the footage, his car was in the driveway. It was at this point that I realized the woman was our neighbor from across the street.

I later found out that as soon as he pulled in the driveway, 7 sheriff cars immediately pulled in behind and arrested him. Our neighbor witnessed his arrest and came knocking on our door to tell me.

The lack of footage and me not answering the front door are the first two ways in which God protected us. My kids constantly watched the Ring videos. I cannot imagine the horror of them witnessing their father’s arrest. I also cannot imagine opening the door to a frantic neighbor and my children learning of it in that way. God miraculously protected both.

He also gave me time and space to not react, but to deal with this in as delicate a manner as possible. There’s no easy way to give your kids this kind of news, but God graciously gave me a couple more days before their world’s imploded.

It was only through His infinite grace upon grace and that I would have the courage to face the days ahead.

May 16th, 2019

Though my mind was spinning, and I had very little sleep, this was the day of my son’s sixth grade field trip to Disneyland. His dad was supposed to go with him. Not wanting to ruin this special day for him, I made arrangements with his dear teacher (near the middle of the night) to drive up separately. Somehow I managed to speak through my tears and coordinate him not riding the bus, as was required.

I asked my dad if he would be willing to drive us, knowing I didn’t have the capacity to drive. The day was dark and rainy, the perfect picture of what my insides felt like. Breathing felt nearly impossible. My chest ached, my eyes stung, and I did everything in my power to hold back my tears for my son, who still didn’t know what had happened. Of course, he knew something was off. “Where’s dad?” he asked.

“He couldn’t make it, bud. But we’re gonna have the best day.”

“Just one more day”, I thought to myself. “If I can give him one more day of innocence… one more day before crushing his entire world.”

So we went to Disneyland - “the happiest place on earth.”

It didn’t feel so happy on this day. Though we had been there hundreds of times before, and it was indeed our “happy place,” this day was unlike any other. It felt like an out of body experience. Though I was physically there, somehow it felt like a dream. My mind couldn’t seem to catch up with reality; everything felt impossible to process. We rode rides, we ate yummy food, and walked the park until our feet hurt. At one point my son looked at me and said, “I think I’m done. Can we just go home?”

His class was staying til the close of park, but I knew he needed to go.

Before leaving, I asked if he wanted a souvenir. He requested to visit the magic shop on Main Street as he was fascinated with magic tricks at this time. We browsed the entire store for what felt like an hour and he fell in love with a puppet who affectionally became known as “Franklin.” Ironically, Franklin was a cop. I could only laugh to myself.

The ride home was mostly quiet. Franklin occasionally tapped me on my shoulder from the backseat. Through tear-filled eyes, I kept glancing in the mirror at my son’s face, knowing a conversation was looming.

Upon arriving home, we went upstairs to my bedroom. “Mom, I know something’s wrong. Please just tell me what’s wrong. Where is dad?”

“He’s in jail.”

In horror and as tears instantly filled his eyes he asked, “What did he do?”

“That’s all I know. We will know more tomorrow.” We hugged for what felt like an eternity. “But, we are gonna be okay.”

Knowing nothing about this was fair to him (or his siblings) and recognizing that the whole situation felt impossible, we kept going. We simply had to.

May 17, 2015

It was a Friday. I awoke exhausted, in every way - physically, mentally, emotionally. Nothing felt real. This was the kind of thing you see in the movies or a nightmare, not real life.

Nevertheless, I had to keep putting one foot in front of the other even if it went against everything inside me. It felt like everything should stop and yet, the world kept spinning round and round. I couldn’t hide in my room - I had kids to take care of, responsibilities, and as I would discover, a million decisions to make.

The kids and I went to school and work, as I sought to maintain as much normalcy as possible. Knowing news would break that day, I wanted them to have what would be their last day to attend school that year. I had already planned two of the boy’s summer birthday parties for that day, so I stuck with it. The birthday parties would be in the afternoon, falling at the same time as my then husband’s arraignment. I pressed through the day as best I could, surviving until the parties.

We sang and ate brownies and ice cream with their classmates. As I smiled for a photos, my heart felt crushed into a million pieces, knowing their realities were about to be devastated. It felt so wrong, so cruel.

In the car on the way home, I received another life altering phone call. As I listened to the voice on the other end of the phone explain, “It’s really bad,” while explaining the charges, I couldn’t help but stare at the four faces in the rearview mirror. My stomach sank. Nothing could have prepared me for the charges he was facing. 17 felony charges. Rape. Force. Minors. Over the span of 12+ years. Shock. Bewildered. Sick. These were some of the countless emotions I felt.

How was I supposed to do this? This was real life. And it wasn’t going away, no matter how hard I wished it would.

I received another call. “Melissa, you cannot come home. There are reporters at our house, interviewing the neighbors.”

Before I could begin to process the news I had just learned, word began to spread like wildfire. My phone began to ring and vibrate with incoming text messages. It felt suffocating.

I drove to my in-laws house where the kids could go inside and play. I sat outside for the longest time, weeping uncontrollably. If ever I understood Romans 8:26, it was then - as I did “not know what to pray for as {I} ought.”

I decided I couldn’t do this. I didn’t want to do this. I wanted to run away and escape - anything but face this living nightmare.

But, God.

God spoke to me so clearly in that moment. “Stand up. I will work this for good.”

I chose to believe Him. I gathered my children, sat them down on the front lawn, and told them what was happening - as best I could in that moment. I told them the same thing God told me. “God will work this for good, because that’s what He does. He works all things for the good of those who love Him.. and we love Him.”

From that moment on, I held tightly to that promise. I have chosen faith every single day, as I have no other choice. You see, it’s my hope. And I can promise you, He has been with me through every storm, through ever fire, and through every impossible situation. And believe me, they’ve been numerous. The repercussions are ongoing to this day, but His faithfulness shines brighter. I couldn’t tell you all the stories if I tried.

Friends, if you feel hopeless or helpless, I want you to know that there is a love greater than you could ever comprehend. There is a God who wants to rescue you, redeem you, and bind up all your wounds. Call out to Him and He will save you. If you have questions, feel free to reach out. I only share what He has done, so that others might come to know of His overwhelming, never-ending love. He is waiting for you today, just as He was waiting for me.

It was far from over. No, it was just beginning. But God gave me peace and the faith to believe He would see me through.

May 18, 2019

Waking up Saturday, I remember wishing and praying that everything had been a bad dream. It hadn’t. Even though the actions of my then husband were one hundred percent on him - and not me - I still felt naked, exposed, and humiliated. This would have been impossibly hard to deal with privately, but the news coverage and publicity felt overbearing. Every single person I knew and those I didn’t know, suddenly had opinions and judgments on my life. Worst of all, these were “adult issues” that had to be delicately explained to children. You see, there was no hiding from this. I couldn’t somehow paint this into a pretty picture or wrap it up in a neat package. No, my kids would have to learn the cold, hard truth. There was no way around it. Not only would their teachers and other adults know, but their peers would know. They did know.

Honestly, even though this happened in the past, I still question “how did I do this?”

Just, how?

How do you tell your children these things? Keep in mind that they were all differing ages and maturities, ranging from 6 years old to 13. At that point I’m not even sure what their knowledge of sex was. In hindsight, I wish it had been something I had been more open and communicative about. Coming from two situations of abuse, there was nothing positive about sex for me. It was something that was traumatic and bad and I had yet to have these conversations with my kids. So how do I begin conversations about rape?

Worse still, my older children didn’t want to know and my 6 year old was asking all the questions. My 6 year old was and is the ultimate question asker, needing to know the “why’s”, the “how’s”, and the “what if’s?” He was the one wanting every single detail.

How?

These conversations were had over time and with God’s help and wisdom. Thankfully, there were only four days remaining in the school year and they did not return for the last week of school. The timing of everything was nothing short of miraculous. Because of when it happened, I didn’t have to explain these things all over night, but had the whole summer to do so. It would have been too much at once. And it would have been traumatizing for them to return to school. Thankfully, God gave us three months before they had to face the entirety of the situation and their peers.

We decided it would be best to get the kids out of town for a few days, for a number of reasons. Number one - safety. We weren’t sure if reporters would return or what the response would be from our neighbors. Number two - I needed time and space to process. As much as my motherly instinct wanted to keep them close and protect, I also knew that I needed to be able to filter my array of emotions and have room to sort things out. I had a million questions. I had zero clue how I would move forward. All I knew was God was with me and He would help me.

Do I divorce him? Do I support him? What about the kids? Do they talk to him? Do they not? Do I move? Do I stay?

The flood of opinions were already being directed towards me, without my asking. I heard it all. Divorce him. Forgive him. The kids should talk to him. The kids shouldn’t talk to him. You should pack up and go to Texas. You should stay where the family is. There were lots of “you shoulds” coming at me.

Talk about confusing. I had always been taught/believed that divorce was wrong. He would often preach that I was supposed to forgive and show mercy - I mean, that’s what Jesus said, right? I had lived under his manipulation, control, and abuse for so long that I didn’t know what was what anymore. I hadn’t been able to truly see things for what they were and I needed a correct theology. What did “I” believe? What did God say?

That night I received another phone call. When I picked up, I heard a pre-recorded message asking if I would accept a call from the jail. With a pit in my stomach and trembling hands, I accepted the call. It was the first I had spoken to him in three days. I didn’t want to talk and yet I did. In a weird way, his voice felt comforting at that moment. He sounded scared, but assured me, “It was all a mistake.” Not, “I’m sorry” or “How are you?” Instead, “I didn’t do this. I’m getting out of here.”

Parts of me wanted to believe it. But deep down, I knew he had - because I knew the life I had lived. I knew who was was behind the scenes. This wasn’t a mistake.

It would take some time still to answer all my questions and begin making the decisions I needed to make. I had to filter everything else out and listen to the voice that mattered. God’s.

{Side Note: This experience has taught me so much about giving and listening to opinions. Before giving your opinion on a situation, first ask yourself: Do I know the full story? Was my opinion asked? Have I prayed about this? Before taking advice given, ask yourself: What does God say? Have I asked God? Pray and listen to His voice. Search His Word. And seek Godly counsel.}

May 19, 2019

Though the thought of facing people - anyone - felt horrifying, I wanted to go to church Sunday morning. Rather, I *needed* to go to church.

It was pouring rain. Upon entering the doors to the lobby, my eyes were already watering. The moment I walked in, I locked eyes with a friend of my then husband. Neither of us knew what to say, but he gave me a giant hug.

As I entered the sanctuary, my dad suggested we find a new place to sit. We made our way to the front on the opposite side from where we normally sat. I felt like all eyes were on me. Though I wanted to be invisible, I could only imagine what everyone was thinking. No one said much. There wasn’t much to say. But many people embraced me - even some strangers.

I cannot remember a worship experience quite like that one. Nothing else mattered. The songs chosen that day became anthems. “With arms held high” and a heart abandoned, I poured out my soul to my God. The tears didn’t cease and I didn’t care what I looked or sounded like. As “Ever Be” played, I remember being so caught by the lyrics. I sang, “Your praise will ever be on my lips…” as tears streamed down my face. I still cannot hear that song without placing myself in that sanctuary on that day.

After the service someone hugged me and said, “I’m surprised you are here.”

Barely able to speak, I whispered with all my strength, “There’s no where else I want to be.”

You see, worshipping God was the only thing that felt right. If I could have stayed there all day, I would have.

After church, my dad and I made the almost hour long drive to the jail. It sat in the middle of no where, surrounded by hills, dirt, security fences, and other detention centers. It was as lifeless on the outside as it was on the inside.

There was no part of me that wanted to go to the jail that day, but I also knew I needed to. I needed to face him.

Walking in the jail was one of the most horrifying moments of my life. Again, I imagined everyone was staring and judging. I wanted to crawl into a hole, but there was no escape. The whole process of checking in, waiting in the waiting room, walking through the metal detectors, reading the “rules” on the walls, and watching the guards pace the room was surreal. It felt like I was in a movie. After waiting for what felt like hours, it was time for the scheduled visitation. I walked down the longest, coldest hallway I have ever seen. It was desolate and barren, with the exception of the colored lines on the floor. I followed the yellow stripe for what felt like miles.

I finally entered a freezing cold room with a circular glass pod in the center. Surrounding the pod were cold, metal stools screwed into the ground. Each seat was accompanied by a phone, exactly as you see in the movies. Except somehow, the scene was even worse.

I sat and waited. Eventually I saw a door open and two inmates wearing navy blue jumpsuits entered the room. He walked towards me and sat down, a number inscribed on his jumpsuit. He looked a mess - tired, wide-eyed, tousled hair - with a face I had never seen before. He looked as though he had been in a fight, but I cannot say for sure. He picked up a phone behind the class and motioned for me to pick up mine. He dialed some numbers and eventually the phone connected.

I didn’t know what to say. I could barely look at him. But he talked. He talked and talked as I sat and listened in what again felt like an out of body experience. This couldn’t be real life. This had to be a scene from a movie. I kept glancing down at my black blazer and my ringless finger. I couldn’t bring myself to put it on.

After thirty minutes the phone cut out. He motioned to me from behind the glass and dialed more numbers. The phone reconnected. I can’t tell you much of what he said. He had one of those short, golf pencils and a piece of paper and kept saying how he was going to write. He was going to tell about his experience. But it was still all a mistake and he was gonna get out.

After thirty more minutes, the phone clicked off. A guard showed up at the door and escorted the two inmates out. In a zombie-like state, I made my way back down the hall, through the waiting room, and back to my car.

On the drive home I couldn’t stop thinking of how ashamed, mortified, humiliated - pick any word for embarrassed - I was. God spoke to me again. “I do not speak that over you.”

“Okay, God. I hear You. I want to believe You.”

God would begin to unravel the countless lies I had believe for so long and unpack the weights I had carried. The shame I felt from my childhood abuse and from my 16 year marriage of abuse, lies, and infidelities would slowly begin to dissipate as I began to believe what God said about me. As I began to listen to His voice above all the others. As I began the process of counseling, healing, and digging in to the Word of God. As I began to have faith, without wavering, trusting what He had told me two days prior, “I will work this for good.”

Moment by moment, step by step, day by day. That is what I knew I was called to.

And so I breathed a deep sigh as I stared into the nothingness that surrounded me. “If not shame, then what? God, what do you say?”

“I love you. I speak life over you.”

May 20, 2019

I woke up Monday to find my reality to still be the same. In some ways I didn’t know what to do with myself. The kids were gone, I couldn’t go to work, and the pressure of the decisions that would need to be made felt insurmountable.

With my then husband’s bail set at a million dollars and being told that a trial could take upwards of a couple years, I knew I would need to get a better understanding of our financial situation. I would need to figure out contacting his clients and closing down his business, the mortgage, the bills, the list goes on.

What to do?

No sooner than I had time to think about it, I got another phone call. My oldest son had fallen on a bike ride and the thought was that he had broken his arm. “You’ve got to be kidding. Is he okay? How bad is it? Please bring him home.”

Life just doesn’t stop.

So, the kids came home early and I found myself at urgent care with my son. I had a newfound fear of public places. I feared the news, that people would recognize me, that somehow we weren’t safe. Nevertheless, I had to keep going. Responsibilities were looming whether I knew what to do or not. I would soon have to figure out a whole lot of things that I never imagined I could do. And let me tell you a secret - I couldn’t have on my own strength. It was only through God that I survived any of this. It was His strength that got me up each morning, that kept me putting one foot in front of the other, that kept me breathing one breathe at a time.

I’m sure I could document the whole year for you, as it was that vivid. But, I won’t. What I will say is that God graciously poured out His mercies new every morning. He gave me hope - even if it were just tiny sprinkles. I saw it that week through a rainbow in the sky above our home. I remember thinking to myself, “Thank you God. I know this was for me.” I began to see it in the smiles and giggles that emerged from my children’s faces at times. Though there was deep sorrow, not every moment was dark. I learned how to depend on the Lord for my everything. I saw Him in the big things and the small things. I was blown away at His provision and kindness that followed me.

Please know, I still had to put in the work. I had to do many a challenging task. But God walked with me. He was with me the countless hours I spent at the bank, at the court house, and on the phone figuring out the business and finances. He miraculously provided money for a mortgage that would have been impossible for me to pay - through strangers, through random checks in the mail, through God-ordained ways - until I could figure out selling the house. He sent me the help I needed in a lawyer that was understanding and gracious of my situation, through understanding business clients, through a kind instructor at a divorce clinic (who pulled me aside through my sobs and unintelligible words when I didn’t know how to fill out the form), through strangers who befriended me and helped me through my darkest moments, through a car salesman who couldn’t figure out what was wrong but discerned I really needed help trying to buy a new car (I’m still not sure how he made it work, but he did). Miracle upon miracle upon miracle. I promise you, I could not count the ways or tell you all the things that God did. It still blows my mind thinking about it, because none of it made sense on a human level. Only on a miracle-working, God level. We should have lost the house. We should have lost everything. We didn’t. God moved and interceded on our behalf.

God restored and God redeemed. He gave greater than I could have asked, thought, or imagined. AND, there were still great obstacles, intense grief, and seemingly impossible challenges to come.

The road my children have walked has been brutal. It’s not my story to tell. I’ve been in it with them in the middle of the night, in the ER, on the floor - at school, church, the car, in stores - in counseling offices, on playgrounds, and across the country. We’ve faced trust issues, abandonment issues, rejection issues, identity crises, faith crises and more. It has felt never-ending. There are scars that will follow them their whole lives. There are triggers and the grief cycle is just that - a cycle.

But, God.

Friends, we are not promised a life without suffering. In fact, we are told we will suffer (1 Peter 5:10, 1 Peter 2:21). But we are promised that He will never leave nor forsake us (Hebrews 13:5-6, Deuteronomy 31:6-8). Not if, but when we walk through the valley of the shadow of death, He is with us (Psalm 23:4). When we trust in the Lord, we are blessed and have no reason for fear (Jeremiah 17:7-8). If we follow Him, we will have the light of life (John 8:12) and our futures are eternally secure (Philippians 1:6). And one day, He will wipe away every tear (Revelation 21:4). Until that day, we must press on and persevere so that we may be perfect and complete (James 1:4, Romans 5:3-5). We have a glorious hope, friends. It’s in Jesus. After all I have seen, I cannot but share.

Psalm 34