As Far Away as the Stars

As we sat in the hot tub tonight, I counted the stars. We never saw stars in KC, it was too light.

While I counted, I remembered another time long ago.

I rarely acted out as a child. Rarely talked back. Never got defensive. I knew the penalties and it wasn't worth it. It didn't take much to set my dad off. There was often punishment without explanation and the punishment never fit the crime.

Christmas night of my 4th grade year, I remember asking if I could please have the orange from the stocking at my grandmas. I'd walked from home to each of my grandparents houses and wasn't allowed to eat much that day. I was hungry.

My dad lost it. After he beat me, he pushed me onto the front porch in my skimpy tshirt and locked the door. It was a mild winter night, thankfully.

He often locked me outside after beatings and sometimes without clothing. Winter, summer, didn't matter. It's why I don't have feeling in some of my toes.

I always his behind the holly bushes. They stuck me, but were the only thing tall enough to hide behind. I hid whether I was clothed or not. I was afraid of the dark and they gave me some sense of safety.

This particular night, I laid out on the sidewalk and looked at the stars. As I counted the stars, I remember thinking that if I died, I'd probably go as far away as those stars. That was absolutely what I wanted at the time.

At 9 years old, I wanted to die. I wanted to escape the hell I was living. If I were dead, nobody could hurt me again.

Until daylight, I laid there thinking of all the ways I could try to die.

When my brother let me in that morning, I went straight to the kitchen cabinet and took 6 Tylenol. I didn't say they were good plans, I was only 9.

As I was falling asleep, I didn't care that I thought I was dying. I was happy. Obviously, I woke up several hours later with an upset stomach.

That was the first of many suicide attempts as a child. I tried a lot of things. I always got sick or slept a long time, but obviously never died. I did have one time as a teen that a cousin did have to do CPR to get me to breathe again.

Thinking back on that time makes me so incredibly sad. It's sad that a child would be so hurt that they would try to commit suicide at 9 years old. Most kids haven't even dealt with the death of a relative at that age. It makes me sad that a 9 year old would want to escape life that badly. It's sad that a 9 year old didn't have love to hang onto.

I'm thankful now. In all those times, I never cared about the future. If I'd succeeded, I'd never seen the life I have now and experienced any healing. I'd never learned what true love was. I'd never have seen the glory of God.

I know all the things I did. There's no scientific reason why I survived every single time. The same is true for every time I was shot at or stabbed or tortured or hung or strangled. There's no earthly explanation for how I survived it all.

I've been told I survived because I was strong and resilient. I disagree. I survived because that wasn't the plan for my life. It wasn't God's plan for my life.

So tonight, as I thought through all of those times, I tearfully praised God for a plan that wasn't mine.