Inspired by God: My Life Filled with His Spirit in His Hands

By Geneva Arnette

Her love was found upon her knees. In her distress, she was searching and seeking out ways to find love and comfort that was missing in her life. From an early age as far back as she could remember she was searching, day after day, trying to fill that need of hurt and emptiness in her life, trying to find the answer to her needs. She never felt love and compassion from the most important people in her life, (her parents). She longed to be held, and told she was loved. As she watches her friend being held in the arms of her parents many times she felt left out, wishing that it was her. Then came a time when she had no choice. After seeking and searching many ways to try to find what she needed in her life, to find the love and happiness that she longed for and desiredthat fulfillment that was missing in her lifeshe then was drawn back to church. She started to put the Lord back in her life. Slowly there began a change in her life. She found what she was looking for. A love that was fulfilling that didnt hurt what she needed in her life; it was the love of the Lord. She found it upon her bended knees. It was in front of her all the time.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Sep 29, 2011
• ISBN: 9781449724306

Geneva Arnette

Geneva Arnette was raised in the country, a coal miner’s daughter. She was poor and lived a sheltered life. The oldest of five siblings of which she was physically and mentally abused. She felt she was in a prison. This leaving her with much insecurity that stayed with her most of her adult life.

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Copyright © 2011 Geneva Arnette

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ISBN: 978-1-4497-2431-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4497-2432-0 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4497-2430-6 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2011914354

Printed in the United States of America

WestBow Press rev. date: 09/26/2011

Contents

Acknowledgments

Upon Bended Knee

LIVING NIGHTMARE

MY EARLY YEARS

ABUSE THAT SHOULD NEVER HAVE TAKEN PLACE

A MAN WHO I WONDERED—DID HE LOVE ME? AND A WOMAN WHO WORSHIPPED THE GROUND I WALKED ON: DAD AND MOM

GRANDMA AND ELEMENTARY SCHOOL

A BLESSING CAME MY WAY, PUTTING A SMILE ON A LITTLE GIRL’S FACE

MY FIRST REAL LOVE, THE LOVE OF MY LIFE

THE FIRST HUMAN BEINGS THAT BROUGHT LOVE INTO MY LIFE THAT I WAS COMFORTABLE WITH

MARRIED FOR THE WRONG REASON

LOSING MY SON’S LOVE TO DRUGS AND ALCOHOL

I TURNED COLD AGAIN, AWAY FROM MY TRUE LOVE, MY LORD

LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT

GOD TURNED A BROODING ROOM INTO A ROOM FILLED WITH PRAISE AND PRAYER

AMAZING HOW GOD’S WORD BROUGHT SO MUCH COMFORT TO MY NEED

BACK AGAIN OVER AND OVER

A MIRACLE FROM THE UNKNOWN

WAKING UP IN THE ARMS OF GOD

FROM A NEWBORN CHILD, YOU CALLED ME

BUSY HANDS

ANOTHER RELATION SHIP FELL DRAIN THE DRAIN

ONCE AGAIN MY MILLIONAIRE FRIEND

I SIN DAILY, BUT NOT FROM LIQUOR

UNEXPECTED PHONE CALL FROM MARVIN

BE READY

LEFT OUT ON HOLIDAYS

FEELING LIKE A PRISONER IN MY LIFE AND IN MY OWN HOME

MY GOD EASED MY MIND ONCE AGAIN ON THE WEEKEND OF JULY 4

PSALM 48:11, BE STILL AND KNOW THAT I AM GOD

LONG JOURNEY HOME

BEEP! BEEP! I’M MOVING ON!

ATTACK WARNING

MARCHING INTO BATTLE WITH PRAISE ON OUR LIPS

IT’S NOT GOOD-BYE

BREAK THE CHAINS

COMING TO THE END OF A LONG JOURNEY

MY MESSAGE

Poems

UPON BENDED KNEES

BEHIND THE SMILE

I FEEL LIKE A BUTTERFLY

DON’T GIVE UP

WHEN WE LIE DOWN

FORGIVE AND FORGET

BACK AGAIN

WHAT WOULD I DO WITHOUT YOU

AS A CHILD YOU CALLED ME

COME AND DINE WITH ME

GIFT

BUSINESS FOR JESUS

THE LORD FEEDS AND CLOTHES

LONG JOURNEY HOME

HOME RUN

TURN NOT AWAY

GOING

I DON’T FEEL NORMAL

WEIGHT

JESUS WILL SEE US THROUGH

IT’S NOT GOOD BYE

PRAYER CHAIN

MY TREAT

MY GOAL

WOUNDED AND BROKEN HEART LORD

MY PRAYER

Songs

WORKING UP IN GOD’S ARMS

DEAR JESUS

BUSY HANDS

SMILE

I’M DOING

I DO

I FEEL FREE

A PEN IN MY HAND

I SIN DAILY

BE READY

FILL THIS HOUSE WITH MUSIC

JUDGE NOT

TRUST IN THE LORD

SAFE WAY TO HEAVEN

BEEP BEEP

MARCHING INTO BATTLE

THUMBS UP

Acknowledgments

First of all, I would like to give special thanks to God for inspiring me to write this book.

My gratitude to my agent, _______________________________ and my editor,

_______________________________.

To my supportive friends:

Pat Housman

Ellen Burdleston

Shanae Mackall

My pastor, Brian W. Shepard

Pat Smith

New King James Version used for Bible verses.

Upon Bended Knee

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Upon Bended Knees

I thought that I had found the love of my life. But then my marriage went sour, and I was in the middle of a divorce from my second husband—a divorce I didn’t want, but that I felt had to take place. I began to think that I wasn’t going to pull through this period of my life. There were so many days and nights that I was hurting deep down in my heart.

I was mixed up and confused. What was I going to do? Where was I going? How was I going to make it? I was very depressed and wanted to end my life. I felt that I was all alone in this big world that God created. I really felt that no one had the time for me; no one wanted to listen or seemed to care. They were caught up in their own lives and worlds. They seemed to be too busy to listen to me. They had their own problems.

So I realized this was my problem and I had to deal with it. I was seeking a way to find love and comfort, searching day after day trying to fill that emptiness in my life, trying to find the answer to my needs. Everything I did, everywhere I went, the hurt and the pain were still there; they just wouldn’t go away. Everything in my life—my home, my job, my marriage, my finances—seemed to be falling apart. No one seemed to care or love me.

I fell flat on my face. I lost most everything I had. I couldn’t go on any further. I hit rock bottom and had to file for bankruptcy. But why? Why was this happening to me? I gave up almost everything for this man I loved. This man I had loved and married was my idol. He was my god. I loved this man so much that he was my everything. I was so proud of him, and I was proud to walk beside him.

Finally there came a time I had to make a choice. With no one else to turn to after seeking and searching many, many ways to try to find what I needed in my life, to find the love and happiness I longed for and desired, I was seeking out the Lord again and starting to put the Lord back into my life.

I started praying again and reading God’s precious word. This started filling up some of the emptiness in my life. I began my evening every day when I got home by getting down on my knees and reading the Bible. Then I found a church near my home and started back to church in 1991.

Through this terrible divorce that started in 1991, this trying time in my life brought me back to where I needed to be—with the Lord, who loved me unconditionally.

This man called Jesus took me back like I was—full of sin, hurt, mixed up, with a broken home, and financially destitute. I couldn’t find help from human beings. I couldn’t find the love I was seeking. I could have searched the world over. I could have searched everywhere but never been able to find what I needed to fill my life. That night when I went back to church, I found what I was looking for. It had been in front of me all the time. After seeking and searching, I fell upon my knees after many nights of praying and reading God’s word—the Bible—with tears running down my face. I finally found what I was looking for. Even though it took losing my husband—the one whom I loved—I really believe this had to take place in my life. It was the only way that God could get me back in to church—and also show me that man should not take the place of God. This is exactly what had happened in my life.

This hard time of my life, my friends, helped me to find what I had been looking for, searching for, all my life—this love I have found through Christ Jesus.

God has given me so much in my life to hold onto and memories to reflect on. No human being could place these things in my life. God has replaced the love in my life. He has filled it with His songs. He has mended my broken heart and has given me a new outlook on life.

I know where I am headed. The road may not be easy and I may still have many trials coming my way, but I will not walk alone. Jesus will be holding my hand, and I’ll be spending those times of trouble on my knees.

UPON BENDED KNEES

I searched and sought to find the answers to my needs;

I searched and I searched and found no relief.

I fell upon my bended knees. Lord, I cried out to thee.

Lord, you heard my cry, and you answered my plea.

No more searching, no more seeking;

Found the relief I was seeking, found it upon bended knee.

I searched and sought and found the answer in thee.

I searched and I searched and found my relief.

You took away the emptiness and healed my broken heart.

You filled me with a joy and with your precious love.

I searched and I searched to find the answers to my needs.

I searched and I searched, found it upon bended knees.

Jesus, you’re everything I need. I found it upon bended knees.

LIVING NIGHTMARE

The life that I had once lived had become a living nightmare. From my childhood through most of my adult life, I had to live through the many different kinds of trials that came my way. They seemed to love me. They landed right upon my shoulders and life. It was very hard for me to deal with all these trials that were coming toward me. There were too many of them at one time. They were coming too fast, one right after another.

I didn’t have time to get over one before another came. I didn’t have time to heal from the pain and grief of these trying times. I always knew that God would not put more on me than I could bear. But there were truly times I thought I wasn’t going to make it. There were times I wanted to just give up. There were too many trials and hurts, too much grief that I was going through. It is just too much for one person, I thought.

Some of these things weren’t just trials to me; they felt like a living nightmare sometimes to me. Many of these trying things left me with many scars in my life, and they made me feel very insecure.

I have learned through all these experiences in my life that material things and love aren’t handed out on a silver platter. I had to earn my way through this life by working hard to accomplish in my life what I needed to survive in this busy life and world. I had to earn people’s love and respect; I had to learn to give love in return.

So many times I felt I brought a lot of my pain and grief on myself, making it much harder on my own self. I was always putting myself down and making myself feel like I was a nothing person. I really didn’t like the person that I had become. Then, after many years had gone by, I had gotten over all the major nightmares and trials; I had healed through Christ Jesus. I started seeing light at the end of the tunnel.

Six years ago, I started feeling there was a higher power. The Almighty God was drawing me through many different people and even through His Spirit to tell my life story. I kept pushing this away from me, saying No, No. Then I started doing what I felt I must do to tell my life story. I felt very strongly there were many people in this world that would benefit and be touched through my story.

I felt there were many people that went through some of the hurts and grief that I went through. Many people in this world would find comfort and be touched. Perhaps they went through trials and nightmares just like I did. My life would be able to reach out to others and comfort them, to let them know and feel they aren’t alone. There are other people hurting, too, and there’s comfort through other people.

There are strength and comfort and help from a higher power, the Almighty God. I realize that there are many people that have that higher power living inside their hearts and yet they don’t know how to find it or release it. What they are looking for and seeking for is Jesus. That power is Jesus, and His Spirit lives inside our hearts.

There is someone who cares for you and me, and His name is Jesus. He has proven himself to me more times than I have fingers and toes.

I know He walked with me daily ever since I was a child. I give Him all the credit. My Lord deserves all the credit, for He healed my broken and wounded heart. Won’t you let Him heal yours?

Psalm 18:1–2

1. I will Love you, O Lord, my strength.

2. The Lord is my rock and my fortress and my deliverer: My God, my strength, in whom I will trust.

MY EARLY YEARS

When I was a child growing up, my family didn’t have very much. In fact, hardly any of the people living on the lower end of the mountain where I was raised had much. The area where I grew up is called Smith Ridge, Virginia. It’s a coal-mining country, although almost everyone called it God’s Country.

The mountain was named after a fellow named Smith, and a good percentage of the residents were named Smith. Even I was a Smith.

We didn’t have television in the early 1950’s in our home. In fact, we didn’t have a lot of things. We didn’t have a lawn mower; and when the grass grew as high as our knees, the children would get out in the yard and pull grass with our hands. We had one short-handled sickle and one person would use that, but the rest of us would just pull the grass by hand. But we had fun—we would pile the grass up in a big pile, which was sometimes six to eight feet high, and we would take turns jumping in the middle of the pile. We children thought that was a great game since we didn’t have any toys to play with.

We also made a grapevine swing and took turns swinging on that. This was the most fun time I had as a child. The rest of the time, it was all work in order to survive.

We grew our own vegetables in the summertime. My father would borrow a horse from a neighbor and plow the fields, or he would hire someone to plow for him. Then when the fields were ready, we would plant our seeds and plants. Then we would wait for God’s hand to help these little plants and seeds to grow and supply us with food for our table. All the weeding and hoeing was done by hand and was hard work.

As nature took its course, the fields and crops of corn and other vegetables would be ready for harvesting. We would all get together, pitch in and pick bushels of vegetables, and prepare them to be processed in jars and put away for the winter. This was a lot of hard work, especially in the cornfields. The rows seemed so long that we thought we would never get to the end. When the crops were picked, we would all sit on the porch, leaning against the post, with bushels of string beans, talking about how many beans we got and guessing how many jars of beans we would have. This was one of our fun times together. Many folks may not think this was fun, but we children sure did; there wasn’t a lot to do on that mountain.

There was a big field near our house, about a five-minute walk away. It was a huge field, acres and acres, but not planted with crops. The grass would be up to our knees and we would pick strawberries, blackberries, and huckleberries; Mom would make jams and jellies from the berries.

I was deathly afraid of snakes; and if I came upon a snake, I would scream at the top of my lungs. I would be high-stepping three feet up in the air—or at least it seemed that much to me, for I was getting up high and out of the field as fast as I could. No time to be wasted. If I dropped that bucket of berries, oh, well. Geneva was getting out of there! I was getting away from that snake.

As Mom would process her jars of food and they would cool off, we would take them down to the cellar, where we kept all our canned food. We had to walk outside and go around the house to get to the cellar door. One day I went to the cellar, and as I opened the door, something fell across my face. It happened so fast I couldn’t see what it was. I looked down. It was a snake, squirming across the ground floor. I started shaking and shivering all over. Just the thought of that slimy old snake hitting me in the face made me sick to my stomach; I could hardly stand to think about it. That snake must have been sitting in the crack of the door to fall in my face that way when I opened the door.

We canned everything we could. Then we would dig a big hole, line it with straw, and put potatoes, apples, cabbage, turnips, rutabagas, and everything else in there for winter storage, to have it as we needed it.

We would walk the gravel road and visit our family on the other side of the mountain, on the other ridge. The men would be working down in the woods, making their own liquor—moonshine is what they called it. From what I was told, that was some strong stuff. I never touched that—never had a desire to drink that or even smoke. I think I tried four cigarettes when I was a teenager; and if my father had caught me, he would have made me eat them.

We had food to eat, but not much in the way of choices. We could pick from fresh vegetables or canned or frozen meals. We were lucky to have chicken once a month, and oh, did that chicken taste good. Greasy chicken fried with pork fat, or maybe plain old lard from the grocery store. We felt lucky to have lard, and sometimes we could get cooking oil. Most of the time, we just couldn’t afford to buy the oil.

If we were lucky, we might be able to buy a small pig to raise. We would feed the pig our leftover food and table scraps. As the pig got big enough to butcher, we would be blessed to have pork once in a while. Bacon or sausage for breakfast was a great treat for us, and it was sure some good eating when we had fried pork chops for supper. We normally just had pinto beans, fried potatoes, and good old corn bread for supper or dinner, and for breakfast we would have white gravy made with water and flour—sometimes with a little milk, if we had any. My mom would have biscuits to go along with the gravy.

There was nothing for the children to drink except water. The grown-ups would have coffee. But the coffee was used many times over. They would keep putting new grounds in with the old grounds to make the coffee last longer.

This was an everyday routine of what our meals were like, but at least I can say we had food. We didn’t have much to drink. We drank water the majority of the time. On rare occasions, we might have a soda, but water was what we drank with all our meals. Our grandmother had a cow, so sometimes we would walk over to her house to have a glass of milk. That cold glass of milk was a great treat for us.

Mom and Dad would buy big bags of pinto beans, flour, and cornmeal. They would buy the biggest bags they could get in hopes of making the food last for a month.

We children wore clothes given to us by others. Hand-me-downs were the only things we had, and we were lucky and grateful to have them. As a child, I don’t remember ever getting a new outfit, and I longed to have a pretty new outfit. One day I was visiting my aunt, and I saw a pretty dress. I looked at this dress and just longed to have it. My heart was breaking to have this dress; and when my aunt’s head was turned, I stole the dress. But when I found Christ and invited Him into my life, the taking of this dress really bothered me. One day I wrote her a letter apologizing for taking her dress. My conscience was eating me up, and it was clear in my mind that I had done wrong. I learned that it doesn’t pay to take something that isn’t yours; in the long run, you will pay for it.

Our house didn’t have running water, so we had to carry two pails of water from the stream that came out from underneath a steep hill. We had to step sideways to make it back to the top of the hill, and boy, was that job a hard one! It took us about twenty minutes to go get our water for drinking and cooking. We had a large, square laundry tub to hold the water, with a piece of gutter from the house running back into the mountain to funnel the water into the tub. That stream was always a constant source of running water. It was just so hard to get to, having to take sideways steps with our feet. We needed to get water several times a day, and all the family took turns with this chore.

When we needed to take a bath, we would heat a washbasin full of water on top of a round, cast-iron stove. Then we would take the hot water into one of the back rooms and put a sheet over the doorway—there were no doors on the rooms. It was cold in the winter, for there was no heat in the other rooms. You could see the steam from our breathing, it was so cold. It was a wonder we didn’t look like snakes from not getting all the soap off our skin as we washed up, since the amount of water was so small. Since we only had the soap, wash cloth, towel, and that precious small amount of hot water, when we dried off with the towel, we still had lots of soap film left on our skin. It made us feel dry and tight. Everyone had to use the same towel, since we didn’t ever have enough towels to go around. I would sneak out and hide my wash cloth and towel so nobody would use it. I was a very picky and clean child when I was small, and I surely didn’t want anyone using my wash cloth and towel.

Our house was heated by a round, cast-iron stove called a Buckeye. The room where the stove was would feel as though you were burning up, and the other rooms were still like icicles. We were constantly feeding the stove with coal and wood to keep the fire from going out, so we wouldn’t be so cold when we went to bed. When we would sit in the evening in the room where the stove was, we would be pretty warm. The room was very small, and everyone sat very close together. All seven of us were crowded up trying to keep warm. But at least we had a roof over our heads, and we weren’t out in the cold. I was grateful for that.

Our old house was in poor shape. The porch was rotten, and we kept falling through. The boards would break, and what a shocking surprise it was if you were standing on it at the time it broke. It would happen so fast you didn’t have a chance to catch yourself, and down you went. It was a good thing the porch was close to the ground; at least we didn’t have far to fall. Our house didn’t have any paint on it and looked pretty rough and depressing. Many of our windows were broken, and Mom and Dad stuffed old rags in the holes, but you could still feel the cold breeze coming through around the rags. Our house had an old, rusty tin roof, and the worst thing was that it leaked. Truly it was an experience living in this house. Often the leaks came right through the ceiling, right into our bedroom and onto our bed. We didn’t have enough room to move the bed, so Mom would put a five-gallon bucket on the mattress to catch the dripping from the ceiling. The drips would drop into the bucket, splashing all over and getting us wet. And it was always noisy—drip, drip, drip, splat, splat, splat. Of course, we didn’t get much sleep on those nights either. But I can say this much: I don’t remember us turning the container of rainwater over. I surely would have remembered that!

We would sit together in the evening for the longest time, as that was our family time. There was no TV to watch, but we spent a lot of time wiping the sweat off our foreheads. We were either cold or hot. We learned to deal with whatever the season was. We just had to do whatever we had to do. At night, when the evening was about to come to an end and it was time to go to bed, the routine was to turn out the lights, close the door, and lock it up for the night. On the door was a nail that had been driven into the frame of the door and bent over. Daddy would turn it around toward the door to lock the door. If anyone had wanted to come in, all they had to do was give one big push to get inside the house. Of course, if anyone did break in, there wouldn’t be much benefit for them. We just didn’t have much worth taking.

Each night we had to put our drinking water in the pail behind the stove in the living room so our water would not freeze. This was the only way we knew of to keep the water from freezing up so we would have water to make coffee in the morning.

There were seven in our family—three girls and two boys, and Mom and Dad. All the children had to sleep together until we got so big we couldn’t fit in the same bed. We slept together for the longest time. What a trip that was! We were always fighting and kicking one another, for it was so crowded in that bed—and there was no room at the end. Most of the time, we were telling one another to scoot over, or begging Please don’t touch me, or Mom, make Susie scoot over, or Mom, Dave is hitting me, or Mom, make Sally stop kicking me, or Dave has got his feet in my face. There was constant feuding and fighting every night among the children. Three of us would sleep at the bottom of the bed, and two of us would sleep at the top. This was not a fun or enjoyable time of our lives, for it was very crowded and we were not able to get enough sleep. That was the worst thing, having to all sleep together. If the smaller children wet the bed, everyone got wet from the urine. If it wasn’t my little brother, it would be my little sister. It was a constant thing, with everyone lying in a wet bed by the time morning came. It seemed that our little Smith family had those common things constantly—wet beds, fighting, and kicking among the children.

If we needed wood for the stove for cooking or heat, everyone would jump in together and get an ax or handsaw and go out into the woods to cut the wood and drag it back to the house. Then we would saw it up, split it with the ax, and get it into the right-size pieces to feed into the stove. Since we needed wood all the time, this chore was a frequent one. We tried to make a pile big enough to get us through the winter. If we didn’t have enough in the winter, we would have to go out into the woods in the cold and snow trying to find downed wood to bring home and cut it up. We surely had a hard time finding the wood underneath the cold and frozen snow. We didn’t have a power saw to make our lives easier. All we had was the ax and handsaw, so we did the cutting the hard way, working up a sweat using our muscles.

We also cooked and processed our own food. In the summertime, it got pretty warm in that kitchen cooking and canning our food in preparation for winter. We were always wiping the sweat from our faces. And swatting flies was a constant battle. We had to keep the doors open to get any breeze we could since it was so hot in the kitchen, but there were no screen doors on our house. So we had to choose to either roast in the heat or battle the flies.

At night, one of the most annoying things would be when we were so tired and exhausted and ready to fall asleep—when buzz, buzz, a fly would be buzzing around your head or face. That was another battle: swatting the flies at night, trying to get them to move on. They would go away for a while, and then back they would be buzzing around you again.

To make our lives easier, we had four barrels at the corners of our house to catch rainwater that would come off the roof. This would help us so we would not have to carry all the water up from under the hillside. We could do our laundry with rainwater.

We had a hard way of life, but all things said and done, we were used to that way of life. We didn’t know any other way at that time, until we found a way out. But as our life continued on, abuse from loved ones started. It should never have happened, but it did.

ABUSE THAT SHOULD NEVER HAVE TAKEN PLACE

One nice, sunny, beautiful day in the summertime—a day I most likely will never forget—it was my turn to have the chore of milking my dear grandma’s cow. I was nine years old. When I went to my grandma’s house next door, the cow was nowhere to be found—or at least, I didn’t see the cow close to the house. My uncle, who also lived at my grandma’s house, asked me to go with him to find the cow. It was okay with me. I didn’t think anything of it at the time. I just agreed, and off we went. The field was very large and on a mountainside, with a big ravine that became a small ravine at the bottom.

As we got to the bottom of the mountain, it seemed to me that my uncle knew exactly where he was going. He didn’t seem to be looking for the cow, nor was he calling the cow’s name, trying to find her. My uncle paused, and then I looked over at him. He was acting a little strange. I noticed he was rubbing or scratching his private parts. Then, with no warning, he grabbed me, pushed me down on the ground, jerked my clothes down, and raped me.

I twisted and turned, for the pain was not pleasant at all. I kept reaching with both hands trying to feel something behind or beside me to grab. I twisted and turned until I finally felt a grapevine beside me. I kept inching over until I got a good hold on it, and finally, thank God, I got a good hold and I pulled myself loose. I rolled over and crawled and got away from him. Then I made it to my feet and started running as fast as my little legs could take me.

My uncle kept screaming at me, Jeanie! Jeanie! Don’t you tell anybody, as I was climbing the hill trying to get home and away from my uncle. (Jeanie is what I was called as a little girl.) The blood was running down my legs, and I was crying, tears streaming down my face, not knowing what to do. All I could think of was getting away and getting home. I was so scared!

All the way up the hill, I could hear him, Don’t you tell. Don’t you tell! I ran straight home. I didn’t see anyone and went straight to the bedroom. As I crawled under the bed, I was shivering from what had happened to me. I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t say anything to Mom and Dad, for I just knew Dad would beat me or he wouldn’t believe me. I couldn’t even tell Mom, for she always drilled it in my head, You always save yourself for your husband.

I don’t know how long I stayed underneath that bed. I was afraid, and I felt like I did something that was dirty. I felt dirty, and I felt that I did something that was very wrong. I just didn’t want my mom to be disappointed in me. She never caught on that something was wrong, so I didn’t tell her. I kept everything that happened to me that day to myself.

As I said, my uncle lived next door to us, with my grandma. But they didn’t have a television in their house, and my uncle would come to our house to watch TV once we got our TV. This didn’t make things good for me, and I would run and hide from him. I would crawl under the bed every time he would come over. I would stay under the bed until he left. My mom and dad never caught on to what was happening. They never asked why I was underneath that bed. It got very tiring and cramped under that bed.

After many, many months had gone by, I started feeling a little more comfortable around my uncle, but I never trusted him again. I lost my love for him, and I tried very hard not to be alone with him, for I didn’t know what he would do.

The family started gathering together each night around the table at our house to play cards (five-hundred rummy). Of course, my uncle was there also. As we would get into the card game, if I was sitting next to my uncle, on many occasions he would reach over and grab my leg. I didn’t know what to do. I sat there for a few minutes, then I had no choice but to stop what was going on. I reached over and took my fingernail and dug it into his leg. I was afraid, but I didn’t let anyone know what was going on or what I was doing underneath the table. I had a death grip on his leg with my fingernail. I know it hurt him, but I had no choice. It was either spill the beans on him about what he was doing, or hurt him so he would take his hand off my leg.

His face was changing. He had no choice but to let go of my leg. He was getting mad; he couldn’t take it anymore without saying something. So my uncle got up and left the kitchen like there was an emergency or a fire he had to go to. He never tried that again with me.

As I grew older, many times he tried to kiss me. I would walk away from him. But he never tried to feel my legs again, nor did he try to rape me either. I will say, though, that I always lived in fear; I always thought he would try again. When I would see him, butterflies would flutter inside me; it felt like my stomach was rolling around and my heart was racing a mile a minute.

As I grew up, this left many scars in my life. I never had a normal dating period in my young life. If I did go out with someone and they didn’t treat me right, I would never go out with them again. I never told anyone about this period in my life. I kept it a hush-hush thing, for I didn’t want to disrespect anyone. Nor did I want my parents to know, for fear of what they would think of me.

I felt dirty and used. I was so young and so afraid of this man. What had happened to me made me become very afraid of men for a very long time, even through my adult life. There was always that memory. I never told anyone what had happened until I met my husband-to-be. I told him because I was so shy, and really I didn’t know any better. I thought he would be able to tell that someone had been with me. I truly thought it would matter to him and it would break us up, but he understood and it didn’t matter at all, for he was a very understanding man who loved me dearly.

I finally had to tell my younger brother. I felt that I must tell him, for his marriage was about to break up and I thought I could help keep them together. My uncle was trying to rape my brother’s wife and cause problems. I told my brother that my uncle had raped me when I was nine years old and I truly believed that the problems weren’t my sister-in-law’s fault, but my uncle’s fault, for I knew what he did to me. Thank God that by at least telling him the whole story, it did keep his marriage together.

This was not an easy thing for me to do, but I did it and I’m really glad I did. After many years went by, my uncle and his wife started having problems in their marriage, which affected their family and children. My uncle even was having problems with other women. I truly believe my uncle had a lot of emotional and mental problems. Only God knew deep down in His heart what was going on with my uncle. One day, my uncle was found in the church parking lot. He had taken a shotgun and blown his head off. It was strange that he chose the church parking lot to do this. Perhaps he wanted to be as close to God as he could be at this crucial point in his life. I do hope he found peace with the Lord before he did this. Only God knows. I may not ever know if he had a chance to find God in his life. But at least in our lives, he won’t be sexually abusing children or trying to break up marriages.

Even though I went through a lot of abuse from my uncle, the abuse didn’t stop there. It continued on in so many ways, even through my father.

A MAN WHO I WONDERED—DID HE LOVE ME? AND A WOMAN WHO WORSHIPPED THE GROUND I WALKED ON: DAD AND MOM

My father worked in the coal mines, shoveling coal for a living. This was a backbreaking job, and it was all he did. All of his life, working with coal, Monday through Friday, and sometimes on Saturday. I will say that my dad worked very hard at his job. He got up early every day and went to work. I don’t ever recall him staying out of work for any reason. Because my father had to walk to and from work, this caused him to come home very late in the afternoon every day. There was no car in the family, so he had no choice but to walk, or he would have no paycheck coming in. My father’s feet were his transportation.

Dad would come home from work tired and really dirty and black from all the coal dust that had settled on him. He would sit down in a straight-back wooden chair. I dreaded and hated this time of the evening. Dad would sit close to the table that had the pail of drinking water and the dipper. Although it was within reaching distance of my dad, he would yell out to me, Jeanie! Get me a drink of water! I would have to hand him a dipper of water to drink. I hated every time I had to do this, for I felt like I was a slave.

Dad would sit there in that straight-back chair for a little while, and then he would yell out, Jeanie! Pull my boots off! Oh, how I hated this job even more, pulling his old, dirty, black boots off. This was an everyday job that I hated. I gritted my teeth nearly every time I had to do it. I got my hands black and dirty from the old, dirty, black miner’s boots. When I pulled them off, coal dust would fall out on the floor. I just hated this job.

My dad’s feet smelled, and he would laugh at me. I would be down on my knees trying to pull his boots off, holding my breath and trying not to smell his feet. Sometimes I think I would rather have gotten a beating than have to pull his stinky old boots off. I do know my father worked hard, but at this time of my life, I couldn’t understand why he couldn’t’ get his own drinking water and pull his own boots