Showing posts with label abuse. Show all posts
Showing posts with label abuse. Show all posts

Monday, 24 April 2017

Behind a Boarded Up Window

Some people you never forget, no matter how much muddy or swift flowing water runs under the bridge. YOU are one of those people. It's been months now since our contact was broken but I still think about you and pray for you from time to time. My heart is heavy. You or someone like you from that sex slave commune reached out to me, I tried to help, in weakness, I tried to do my little part but the contact was broken. I grieve for you knowing how desperately evil your 'masters' are. But what can we do when even the local police are in cahoots with the perpetrators? Thank you for being brave enough to open your hearts and share with me. I know several of you did after I gained your trust, but now I am left in the dark yet I can still pray. Have any of you been able to escape? What wouldn't I give to reconnect and have you call me Mommy, again?
Here's the article that got me thinking about you once more. XOXOX!!

Behind a Boarded Up Window


Good morning, dear one. Did you think I had forgotten you completely? At first, I was picturing you standing lonesomely by a small window and looking up at the stars, but then I remembered, you don’t even have that option.
Behind a boarded up window: never to see the cheery sunshine dappling the leaves and making the flowers to glow, never to feel the soft breeze against your skin or enjoy the scent of fresh new growth…
Did you think I have forgotten you? No, never. I am sorrowful that our connection was lost, and pray earnestly that it can be restored once again. I pray that you can feel Jesus’ Presence surrounding you and comforting you. I hope and pray that somehow you will be able to see this message. That would be so delightful!
And by posting this I am praying that others will become aware of the slavery that is going on behind closed doors. It is my longing and heartfelt desire that through united, fervent prayers girls like you will be set free both spiritually and physically.
Have I forgotten you and your companions that I think of as my beloved children? No never, not for a moment. You are in my heart and prayers. Someday, somehow Jesus will set you free.

Keep praying, and I will too. Oh, I do hope this message will get to you. Remember; always remember that I love you and that Jesus’ love is strong and eternal. Keep trusting in Him. ‘They’ can’t take that away.
XOXOX

www.marilynshistoricalnovels.com

Monday, 18 July 2016

Hope for the Hopeless



Tired, always tired, and gaunt, you wouldn’t look in the mirror if it was thrust in your face because you knew what you’d see and it isn’t a pretty sight.
Faded, unwashed hair straggling around your face is the least of your concerns, but the eyes…Oh those eyes, the dark look of hopelessness looming there is what makes others look away, it is so, so…what it is? Only you can say for sure: lonely? Despairing? Filled with a lifetime of pain, heartache, and grief?
You are plodding down a crowded street, shoved or avoided by the hurrying throng that you hardly notice, but you need a fix: that is your consuming desire, a fix, a fix, but that is exactly what you wanted to avoid at all costs.
 For ten, fifteen, maybe even twenty years or more your life has been a mess of addiction, prostitution and other details known only know to you but where oh where can you get your next very fleeting thrill from a pill, a bottle or a needle?
Natalie, yes, that’s a real person, was facing the same desperate situation once.  After serving time in jail, you can imagine what for, she had nowhere to turn, no place to live but, maybe with her sister.
She had been wandering, drifting for so many years that she absolutely loathed it. After reaching the empty apartment Natalie wandered out to the balcony and thought of ending her life by jumping down, but it wasn’t far enough. Across the normally teeming street was a new building going up with scaffolding high in the air. That’s where she was headed: that would be a good place to leap from.
 For some reason there was no one around which was very unusual, as she crossed the street, however, a small black man came out of the shadows and handed her a handwritten letter while saying: ‘Jesus loves you’. She paused to read it and one thing lead to another until she found out about Heart Seasons.
If you live in New York City maybe you have heard about them.
Natalie found a group of people with as bad a history as hers. She found other ‘sisters’ who had tried to recover countless times from addictions, but here at Heart Seasons there was hope. Yes, there really was.
This center was different than many; it focused on Jesus as the only answer. The program was strict, really strict for they were expected to take part in several hours of Bible study every single day, and were not allowed to ever leave without an escort.
After a year and a half or way longer if they wanted, if a person stuck with the program they could graduate, if they were ready. Being ready meant being able to rent an apartment and have a job for at least three months. Most were terrified of leaving, but of course,
they weren’t abandoned, they had their support group, and best of all they had Jesus.
Are you like Natalie, desperate, despairing and certain you have tried every ‘solution’ out there?
There is hope. There truly is. Jesus can be your anchor from drifting back into sin. There are friends of Jesus who would love to reach out to you, also.
 Contact me, if you want and I’ll see what I can do to help. Look up HeartEase in the telephone book, or elsewhere. I’m trying to find an address for you.
P.S. I tried to find the website for you but the link appeared to be broken: try this:

The Bowery Mission Women’s Center at Heartsease Home


Whatever you do, never, never, never give up; there is hope. 

Friday, 15 April 2016

Gimme My Money!


Acts 16: 16-19. The Bible says very little about the damsel in this story, but we can hope it turned out something like this, can’t we?
It doesn’t take a studious historian to know that women have been used and misused almost since the beginning of time. What is it about the fairer sex that causes men to take advantage of her?  Here’s an example, of course my imagination had to kick in to fill in the details.

“Okay, damsel, get out there, hurry now, those Christian men are heading to the place of prayer, and you know what you are supposed to say.”
The young girl lowered her eyelashes for the briefest instant and stifled a sigh. Yea, of course she knew what to say and she knew the terrible beatings, or worse, she would have to endure if she didn’t appease her masters. At least they didn’t demand that she try to sell her body to these preachers: that would seem impossible, she knew they were good men, and loved the One True God.
“These men are the servants of the most high God,” she called, then glanced worriedly at her owner. ‘I’m not being forceful enough.’
“These men are the servants of the most high God,” she called out once again, trying to make her voice sound stronger and more mocking.
Several people scurrying by paused to look at her then at the men. They knew that she was considered a wicked woman so cast the humble, earnest preachers’ scornful looks.
“If Delilah says good things about them, they must be worthless frauds,” they told each other.
Tears sprung to Delilah’s eyes, she knew they were good men and hated what she was doing.
“These men show us the way of salvation,” she screeched, and several others scurried over to Master Kasich to pay to have their fortunes told next. She felt creepy for always ‘knowing’ what to say about their future, and didn’t enjoy doing it.
This continued day after day, Delilah was impressed that the men never yelled at her or knocked her around because of her scornful shouting. ‘Do they know I don’t really want to do this? If they know surely my masters will catch on also.’
She tried desperately to try to be louder, more raucous, and saw the men who had bought her rub their hands together maliciously, gleeful that she was bringing them so much business.
But then something happened.
The preachers turned to look at her, and her heart pounded loudly. The tall, thin one, she already knew his name was Paul, seemed so grieved. ‘Is He mad at me?’ But no, he started speaking, and it seemed like he was talking to someone else, that ‘someone’ inside her that made her say such mean things even when she didn’t want to.
Delilah’s eyes widened, Paul was commanding the evil spirit to come out of her in the name of Jesus Christ!
Suddenly Delilah felt so released, so free, so filled with a quiet joy. She would have collapsed with the wonder of it all if Silas hadn’t taken her by the arm to steady her.
Of course Kasich grabbed her roughly and told her to get back to work, but she didn’t, she simply couldn’t say anything against these godly men, she couldn’t even foretell the future for any of the customers crowding around, either.
After roughing her up for a while they turned on the men, and Delilah knew they would be in deep trouble.
We’ll get to that in the next story, but I like to think someone, a kindly Christian matron, perhaps, had been watching Delilah pityingly all these days. Now that the mob was focused on the two would-be prisoners she took Delilah by the arm, and whispered,
“Would you like to come home with me?”
What do you think Delilah said?
This is one of my favorite verses: ‘For God sent not His Son into the world to condemn the world, but that the world through Him might be saved.’ Can you grasp that? 


Monday, 7 December 2015

The Flood From a Child's Viewpoint (continued)


                Noah was begging them to find safety in the Ark because a flood was coming to drown all the bad people. Shaba didn’t need anyone to tell him what a flood was. He would never forget how some older boys had thrown him over a small waterfall and he had thrashed and screamed his way to shore. How he had survived he would never, ever know.
                “Shaba!” The barked command made Shaba’s knees buckle. Was it Mobid? No, but it was just as bad.  The crowd quickly parted as his dad shoved his way through and flung Shaba on the ground. A woman tittered nervously as Jakal thrashed him.
                A sharp cry came from the Ark’s doorway. Jakal rose and shook his black hair out of his eyes, glared at Noah then continued beating the lad.

                Another stern command came from above, and Raibo said later he thought for sure Noah and his sons were going to plunge into the crowd and break up the fight, but just then Jakal yanked Shabo to his feet and dragged him away. Raibo didn’t dare follow, he was sure Shaba would be killed anyway.

Sunday, 6 December 2015

The Flood From a Child's Viewpont





Shaba’s eyes rounded in horror and he clasped his hand over his mouth to keep from vomiting, or worse yet screaming. He couldn’t keep from staring at the charred bones in the pit of ashes. At first he was totally frozen to the spot then completely involuntarily his foot nudged at the bones. Yes, it was a skull, a tiny human skull. He knew it was, had known it would be. A shadow felt across the pit, a huge black shape holding a machete. Before he had a chance to flee or even scream he was yanked by his hair and dangling a foot above the ground.

                “Ha! I knew your curiosity would get the better of you sooner or later! Yup, that’s your kid sister alright. Made a mighty good sacrifice, she did, but not as good a one as you would have.”
                Shaba wanted to wriggle free but was too terrified. The monster-like man whipped the machete within a hairbreadth of his neck then slowly pressed it closer, drawing blood.
                A small crowd was gathering around, some cheering him on.
                “What do you think guys? Should we take this one?”
                “Nah,” one of his companions drawled. “He’s too skinny. One brute a night is plenty or it will get too common.”

                Faintly over the breeze they hear someone with a strong voice speaking.  Shaba saw the crowds’ attention shift from him to the distance preacher. Mobid’s grip slackened and Shaba fought desperately to get away.
                “Hey, I didn’t say you could go!” But Shaba had vanished, a ripped piece of his tunic dangling from Mobid’s hand. Mobid lunged after him but he didn’t have a chance.  Shaba was fleeing for his life.
               
                “You okay, Shaba?” The small boy shrank back in terror into the dark recesses of his thatched roof hut. He was pretty sure who was looking in on him but wasn’t about to let his presence be known. Not yet.
                “C’mon Shaba, you’ve been hiding here most of yesterday and all night. Mobid and his gang are picking on other prey. Let’s go find out what Preacher Noah is talking about. It’s pretty safe if we get up close to the ramp.”
                Shaba knew that was true. People hurled insults or even rocks from a distance at the old man but they seemed afraid to do it within twenty feet of him. Did they think he would strike them dead or something? It took a long time for Raibo to convince him to come out, and when he did it was only because Raibo had slashed open a pineapple and coaxed him to come out and help him eat it.
                The boys slipped stealthily through the lush, over-grown jungle, ever keeping a wary eye open for vicious animals and even worse humans.
                Raibo pushed his way through the restless, scoffing multitude hanging around the ark that was being built, with Shaba at his heels.
                Shaba felt his tension slowly ease away when he gazed into Noah’s kind, gentle eyes.
                Most of his sermon was hard to understand but he knew that Noah was pleading with the people to repent of their wicked ways. Shaba knew what wicked meant. He saw it every day. Every day someone was being abused. He didn’t know the words to describe what was happening mainly to little kids like himself and Raibo, but he knew it was evil, very evil, and terror haunted him wherever he went. He looked longingly at Noah and his wife, his three sons and their spouses and knew with a certainty that they never ever had treated each other in the way that every kid and women in his village were molested.
                Noah was begging them to find safety in the Ark because a flood was coming to drown all the bad people. Shaba didn’t need anyone to tell him what a flood was. He would never forget how some older boys had thrown him over a small waterfall and he had thrashed and screamed his way to shore. How he had survived he would never, ever know.
                “Shaba!” The barked command made Shaba’s knees buckle. Was it Mobid? No, but it was just as bad.  

to be continued...https://www.createspace.com/4837922

Saturday, 18 April 2015

Based On a True Story


“What do I care if they are hungry?” Comrade Snezhana scoffed.  “We've put up with them all day long, and are taking a well-deserved break.”

Lyosha could hear whimpering down the long halls in the orphanage and it made her feel uncomfortable. She knew how little the children had to eat today, and it wasn't any better yesterday, or last week either.
A half hour later Comrade Roksana handed her a glass of wine to go with the expensive white chocolates that were topping off the meal but she felt too full, or was it sick, to take another bite.
A toddler’s fretful whimpers were turning into lusty wails. Lyosha knew she should go comfort Klava before Comrade Snezhana strode over there and started slapping her around. But Lyosha didn’t dare. She knew she had the reputation of being too soft on the ‘brats’ and didn't have the nerve to make a scene in front of all the other comrades including hardened officers who were partying with them.
I suppose you are horrified that something like this really did happen in Russia during the war. Why is it that we can sympathize with physical needs and want to do something, yet hardly hear the hidden cry of the heart?

How many children, young people, and churches are starving spiritually while those of us that should be helping them are feasting on what the world has to offer and barely take enough spiritual manna to keep our own souls alive?


When’s the last time you or I have had a truly satisfying hour of studying the Bible? When is the last time we fasted, not to be seen of men, but because we had such a deep longing to pray, that food or earthly pleasures just didn't seem important? I fall so far short but oh I pray that I can do better!

www.prairieviewpress.com ** I poured out my heart concerning the needs and pathos of orphan children in the book A Home At Last. It is a true story that is supposed to incite people to want to adopt, foster or just care and pray for the needy children around the world. 

Monday, 28 July 2014

Nightmare World



We live in a nightmare world. I’m sure there are people right at this moment who are surfing the net while trying to block out terrible memories. Maybe they are hiding behind the shame of having been brutally beaten. Maybe they have been verbally abused so many times they half believe the lies that are told them. I know a little girl who is constantly being bullied. I try to help but what will be the long range results of such cruelty? I also know a woman who was physically abused as a child and it carried over into her first marriage. She managed to escape when he threatened to shoot her and the children, but the second marriage was just as bad in different ways. Are you caught in the same sort of trap and no one seems to care and understand?
What are you being called? Do you believe the lies? How have you been treated today, this last week or month? Are you the victim of an alcoholic or someone who is mentally ill? Are you too fearful or ashamed to admit it? Do you have anyone to go to that you feel safe with?
I’m not sitting in an ivory tower somewhere and tossing down bits of advice to you. I’ve been in the gutter also. I have felt the anger, the hatred and depression that comes from being molested. But I have also learned how to forgive and the healing that eventually comes with it. It wasn’t easy. I suffered emotionally for many years because of what happened, but now I am free. Now I want to reach out a helping hand to you and let you know there is a way of escape. There is hope and a light at the end of the tunnel.
To start with I’d like you to repeat these words at least ten times a day.
I am precious in the eyes of the Lord. I do not deserve to be abused. God does not want me to be abused. I am a worthwhile person.
We can’t see the future so from one day to the next it might not seem like anything is changing, but if you trust God to lead you, someday you will be able to look back and see that things have gotten better. And remember I am praying for you.
marilynfriesen.blogspot.com