He Loves Even Me: Journey from Fear to Faith

By Malena J Grey

The majority of people desire good over evil. Most of Elizabeths life is a contradiction of this. Blessed with beauty, brains, and talent, her early life is filled with every type of abuse. She embarks on a dramatic and tortuous journey, full of fear, failure, guilt and hope. She is determined to experience real love, but doesnt consult God about how to do this His way. This brings hard lessons, spilling onto others along the way and causing much heartache. Despair finally drives her back to her Heavenly Father. During childhood she escaped the hopelessness through her nightly flying dreamspraying Jesus would scoop her into His loving arms and take her to heaven so she would never have to return. Finally, as God fills her with His love and joyful peace, she loses her need for the dreams. Gods loving approval is her hearts deepest desire.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Jun 8, 2017
• ISBN: 9781512788587

Malena J Grey

Malena J Grey currently resides in the lovely bluegrass region of Kentucky. She is both divorced and widowed. Her genuine interest in almost everything has been the catalyst to learn everything possible. This has enabled her to live an interesting and adventurous life—personally and vicariously, through her life-long love affair with books. Now in her twelfth year of single-life, she’s considering moving the books down a bit to make room for a “flesh and blood-almost perfect man of her dreams.”

Book preview

Chapter 1

God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind. 2 Timothy 1:7— NKJ

A s I sit here in my comfortable chair, I am filled with a sense of awe at God’s mercy and healing. I am also overwhelmed with amazement and thankfulness for where He has brought me. My heavenly Father is faithful and true. He is holy and He is love. It took so long for me to really believe—to understand that He could actually love me. However, miracle of miracles, He still does. I don’t know why or how it’s possible. I only know for sure that it is true. And I am at peace and filled with joy.

No more darkness, doubts, or fears. He has brought me into His light, grace, and peace. What a miracle He has given to even me. I am a nobody, except for the fact that Jesus Christ died for my sins, and I repented and professed Him as my Savior and Lord. Then, after this life, I will live with Him and with God the Father— for all eternity. Those thoughts fill me with praise and humility. Even I have been adopted into the family of God, through the lifeblood of Jesus, the perfect and sinless sacrificial Lamb of God. He died for you too— if you believe in Him, repent of your sins and profess Him as your Lord and Savior. (John 3:16)

For several years some of my closest friends, along with Becky, encouraged me to write a book. I thought they were just being nice, not really meaning it. It did however, make me think about it. Many times during the last ten years or so, I would sit down and attempt to do just that. Nothing however, came to my mind as I would sit and tap the keys, eagerly waiting for the magical words to appear in my mind and go straight to my fingers, producing a wonderfully interesting book, whatever it turned out to be. At that time though, my mind was a total blank. Sadly, I forgot about it.

About six weeks ago though, I was awakened from a sound sleep, with this thought— or perhaps a better description would be a directive: Write it down! Write it all down!— It seemed to be going through my mind and even my hearing. (Write what down?)

I sat half-way up in the bed, propped on one elbow, puzzled, thinking.—and said half-aloud, What? Who? Is that You, Father? The same words were repeated, and that was that.

At the same time I was bombarded by all the words contained in the preface and introduction, faster than I could scribble them down. But they stayed in my mind long enough, and that settled it. I thought, what is going on here? But, more than anything else was this overwhelming sense of urgency that I’d never felt before.

Hence, this book was born and I’ve been writing since, with the words coming from somewhere deep inside me. I’m not trying to sound mystical. It’s just the truth. My purpose in writing this book is not to portray myself as a victim, femme-fatale wannabe, or represent anything other than the absolute truth of my life. It’s happy-sad-violent-scary-cruel-absurd-wonderful-hilarious-romantic-horrific—the true story of it all. How I hope someone is encouraged or helped by it!

In spite of my too-many-to-count failures, God has given me His grace, mercy, forgiveness, love, joy and finally peace. They come wrapped in bittersweet memories of situations that have been my life. I finally realized a very short time ago, that it’s such a relief to finally forgive myself for my past sins. That was the most difficult thing I’ve ever done. I’m fairly sure some of the people I’ve unintentionally hurt may never forgive me, which I understand.

However, my ability to finally be able to laugh at myself and my huge number of imperfections came even later. Humor is essential to our mental, physical and emotional health, as well. These facts seemed to be out of reach for me, and evaded me until about ten years ago. I felt I was too bad—too sinful to ever be accepted and forgiven again— even though I confessed everything I could think of.

Then I began in-depth, daily Bible study, which resulted in the Holy Spirit opening up truth to me. God’s grace is given freely to us, when we become believers in Jesus as our Savior and Lord. Our faith is even a gift from God. I pray it never ceases to bring me to tears of sorrow and hatred for sin and my sin nature and the joy of Jesus’s victory over death, hell and the grave. The knowledge that I am covered by His precious and holy lifeblood is most always heartbreaking, along with thankfulness for His ultimate sacrifice for us. So many of our great hymns express it beautifully.

Even though the different types of love we experience seem to be almost perfect, we are all imperfect and reluctant to accept that fact of life. We still need all the love we can soak up and need to freely give it to everyone we meet, beginning at home. Many of us are suffering from a lack of genuine, unselfish love with no strings attached. Our journey here is brief, and we touch countless lives for good, or bad, or— worst of all—indifference.

I’m also convinced that we need to bring as much joy to others as humanly possible and, real laughter and genuine smiles to those who are also traveling this colorful, yet sometimes painful, and treacherous road. We need each other’s encouragement; a helping hand or pat on the back— a genuine warm hug or two. The human touch is so needed in our times of distress.

Once I finally had the sense and faith to allow, turn loose of and plead for God to control every part of my life, some of it, to my amazement, has been a hoot! Laughing at myself—what a klutz I am brings others a little laughter too. And most of us need all we can get. My story, however, has been a journey of learning what love really is and what it’s not. Prayer and obedience are necessities. Glorifying and honoring God are our priorities. Seeking His face and His will, not ours is the most rewarding and important part of life. He loves us— His children—and wants to bless us, if we will just obey Him.

Trying to make myself trust people who profess to love me, and to love them in return, has been extremely difficult. Removing all the protective barriers I had erected throughout the years, and exposing the absolute truth about myself, no matter how hateful it may be, has been an ongoing battle. That’s one reason I’m still single, I suppose. I very much miss marriage, though—my best friend and partner. My life has been made much better lately, by the return or reappearance of my dearest friend in the world, Susan Welch. Welcome back, Susie. You have been sorely missed and needed by yours truly. Our friendship has always been like that of a sister-type, both natural and spiritual. God sent you back to me… I just know that’s what happened. To make this book complete. "I love you, my sissy. Don’t disappear on me again, you hear me, young lady?" Smiling at you!!!

Although a large part of this story is full of some really bad situations, I promise that the ending is better than the beginning, and all the in-between. It is my hope that you will be interested in ‘the rest of my story,’ and read to the end. Most of it is not pretty. Some of it is hilarious. Some is terribly sad. Some of it may be boring.—But, all of it is completely true.

God’s love never fails.—(Exodus 15:13 – NLT)

God constantly loves those who obey him.

— (Deuteronomy 7:9 – NLT)

Jesus showed genuine love for people.

— (Mark 10:21 – NLT)

God’s love is beyond our understanding.

– (Ephesians 3:18 – NLT)

Chapter 2

D addy was new to me, having just returned from World War II. He was so tall, with a deep, strong voice. For some reason he was feeding me my lunch and had put me in the old high chair I’d almost outgrown. He was feeding me fast and had given me a bite of something cold and mushy. It tasted terrible, so I spit it out. He hit me in the mouth with the spoon, which hurt so bad that I started to cry.

My mouth hurt and something red dripped on my fingers and tray. It was blood! That scared me worse and my mouth was hurting more. I could taste the blood and it tasted worse than the food—warm, salty and terrible. I tried to spit that out too, even though my mouth was really hurting. I was also screaming and mother came running in, breathing hard and said, "Jack, why did you hit Elizabeth like that, cutting her mouth? He ignored the question, staring at me with his scary brown eyes, Elizabeth, shut up now or I’ll hit you again." So I sat there, quietly snuffling. I couldn’t seem to stop and was shaking with fear and pain, as mother picked me up.

The second story is a happy one. It’s about Uncle Richard, who loved me so much, and thought I could sing, even at almost four. Uncle Richard was always smiling and happy. The memory of daddy is just a little before this one. He always told me and anyone who would listen just how pretty I could sing and he would always pay me. I remember his big hugs and laughter—and the coins he would place in my hand after I sang his favorite songs, which would cause him and the others to laugh. That puzzled me, but it made me feel happy. They all gave me money too if I would sing for them. So I did. A little professional singer, is what Uncle Richard said I was—destined to become a singing star! I believed him and kept on singing in churches and schools and finally sang with a great band, getting paid for doing what I loved.

It wasn’t until many years later that I realized it was because I couldn’t say my words correctly that caused all the laughter. He and his wife, daddy’s sister, Aunt Ellen, were wonderful to me all the time

Uncle Richard was determined he was going to get me on a television show there and I’d become famous, singing those songs, The Tennessee Wig–Walk, and others. It didn’t happen, but it still brings a smile to me to remember him and his kindness, especially his faith in me and my talent. They always included Preston, as well. He also had a beautiful singing voice. They didn’t have any kids of their own and both of them told Lee and me they wished that we were their children. I wished we were too.

My next story, at almost five, is of us in the car, going to visit relatives who lived a long distance from us. We were told it was a trip over a high and dangerous mountain road and that I had to be very quiet, because daddy had to concentrate on the road. Mother had bought me a beautiful outfit that was yellow, blue and red checked, black patent shoes and a little black patent leather purse that she placed around my neck. I felt so pretty and wanted to be pretty in my actions too, so they would be proud of me. I so wanted them to love me and not look so mean at me, frightening me terribly sometimes. The scary nightmares had begun and how I hated them!

Mother, Lee and daddy were in the front seat and I was sitting behind daddy. Lee had to sit in mother’s lap because he was just a year and a half old. Mother had just said, I think I’ll lock my door, Jack. Our door locks were the ones you pushed one way to lock and the other way to open the door. About the time she said those words, I piped up with I’ll lock mine too, mommy, as she was turning around to say, No! Elizabeth, don’t touch. Don’t touch it! It was too late.

I was out the door, rolling down the hill—a long steep hill. It was right before Christmas and very cold. I remember the pavement being cold and hard, a sharp pain in my head and that was all. I woke up in the hospital, with my head all wrapped in bandages. I’m sure I looked just like a Christmas present, missing a bow and some bright colors, instead of all white. My head was cut and I had to stay until they were sure I didn’t have a concussion or complications. I recall those words and the doctor being older, who looked just like some little girl’s granddad. He was so kind and talked very softly to me. He made me feel safe, and much better.

My new outfit I loved was so dirty and had to be washed before I could wear it again. That made me sad— then daddy gave me that terribly scary and mean look. Then he fussed at me, causing me to be uneasy and afraid. I was very afraid of daddy and tried my best not to anger him. He came home from the war, having been in the Battle of the Bulge, with General Patton. I remember that well. He said he hated that war with all his heart!

It was the only time I ever heard daddy use the ‘’hate word. His toes and fingers had gotten frostbitten, which must have been terrible, along with something worse—shell-shocked. Mother told us—which at the time I didn’t understand, but learned later what it all meant. Now it’s known as PTSD," which I too have been diagnosed as having. Strange, isn’t it? I wasn’t even in the war and had the same thing as my daddy.

He couldn’t stand any sudden, loud noises. They caused him to almost jump out of his skin. I’m that way too and have been all my life; having been diagnosed with it about thirty years ago. It seems I was in a worse war that went on my entire childhood—and my startle reflex is very extreme. It causes me to jump, scream, and end up frightening the person who caused it. Just someone approaching me without my knowing they’re there, can cause it if they speak first. They better look out! Dad’s nervous system was almost destroyed during the war and it made me feel sad for him when I was a small girl. Lee and I always tried very hard not to make him feel any worse, but we failed sometimes, just by being kids. We didn’t do it on purpose— that I can remember for sure.

Even though daddy was violent with us and whipped us horribly— using a leather strap like they use in barber shops or his leather belt. Just the back of his hand across our mouths or faces, with that big old ring of his always cutting us, and hurting so badly. He was always so sorry afterwards, telling us how much he loved us. Don’t make me mad anymore, Elizabeth. Daddy loves you and doesn’t want to hurt you, but you make me get so mad. You cause it, but I still love you—forgive daddy, okay?

That’s what he’d say over and over, through the years of our childhood. It was especially scary when he and mommy would fight and throw chairs, dishes, jars, bowls— anything that was on the dinner table was fair game. Look out for flying objects! That’s when I’d get Lee, and we’d run to what we thought would be the safest room and huddle together. He would cry sometimes, because he was three years younger. I had to try to protect him, even though I was also terrified. My heart would beat so fast and hard that it was difficult to even breathe sometimes. I developed asthma really bad, along with horrible nightmares.

Lee stuttered and wet the bed. His left eye was crossed and he also had an eye disease called Toxoplasmosis. It was caused by mother playing with cats as a child and getting their feces into her system someway, passing it on to one child. He had several surgeries because of it, which left him almost totally blind in that eye. He has never let it stop him from doing what he wanted or needed to though. How I love and admire my little brother’s determination, and his lack of self-pity!

By the time the table was emptied, they would have moved on to each other. Daddy was careful not to hit mother where it would show in public, but she hit him wherever she could. She was very strong for a woman and fought him like a man. I’m sure though, that she was scared of him and his strength and temper, just like his kids were. She just didn’t want to be called a coward.

The next day after the fight, sometimes mommy would move like she was in pain and moan a little, but mostly she acted like it was nothing. For her it was just a normal part of life. I felt so bad for her too, and would have helped her if I had known what to do. I didn’t—so, I just sat with Lee and tried to comfort him. We were just two skinny and scared little kids, back then.

God hates violence and calls all His followers to the difficult path of overcoming violence and hate with humility and love. – (NLT)

God promises to judge all violence

– (Isaiah 59:1—9 – NLT)

Violence should be overcome by love.

– (Matthew 5:38—48— NLT)

A life of violence brings its own destruction.

– (Matthew 26:49—54 – NLT)

Chapter 3

P rinceton Swimming Pool is the next memory. I was six and Lee was three. I had begun to think of him as Lee, because it seemed everyone called him Lee, instead of his first name, Preston. I somehow got separated from mother, and before I realized it, I couldn’t see or touch the bottom of the pool. I came up out of the water twice and yelled, mommy! She called my name and told me to hang on, she was coming.

It was like she was in slow motion and so far away— then I couldn’t see anything else because the water was over my head, in my mouth and nose and I couldn’t breathe, which caused me to panic for a second. Then I felt all dreamy and relaxed, with people smiling down at me, telling me not to be afraid, while holding out their hands to me— I wasn’t scared anymore. That’s all I remember in the water.

The next thing I recall was lying on my back on the rough concrete, with the life guard sitting beside me—leaning down over me, and pushing on my chest—and saying my name over and over. I could hear mommy calling my name too, but I just wanted them to leave me alone. I was having a wonderful dream and wanted to go back to it. They didn’t listen to me though. Adults are always the bosses, except for God. He’s the real boss!

I finally woke up and spit up lots of water. After that I felt that I would never want to go back to the pool, but after a few years passed, I did. Mommy was scared too evidently, because when I woke up she squeezed me really tight and said she loved me, which made me feel happy and safe. Lee was fine in the baby pool, with all the other babies, splashing and laughing— which made me feel much better, knowing he was safe. I was so tired though, and just wanted to go home and sleep.

Daddy hated Princeton, where mother was was from. He and his family had always lived on big farms, and he loved working outside with his dad, brothers and sisters. Papa was also police chief of a small town, Vansant, a pretty place about 150 miles from Princeton. Daddy had four brothers and seven sisters, one of whom died from having had rheumatic fever as a child, damaging her heart. She only lived to be twenty-six. Mama told me that Aunt Lilly could play the piano so pretty and was also a talented teacher. It made me sad that she died so young. I loved my mama and papa Evans so much and they loved me back. Papa loved to just hold me in his big strong arms and talk to me like I was a big girl. I loved being with them.

We lived there when I was in the last half of the second grade, in the back of daddy’s tailor shop, in one huge room, with curtains hung up to divide into rooms. It didn’t have a window in it and was pitch black. I hated it there, except for my grandparents. Dad usually moved us every six months or so. Lee and I attended many schools, which I didn’t mind—just more opportunities to make new friends. Lee however, hated it. He was more shy than I was, but I sympathized with him. It was hard being in so many schools.

For the first grade and the first part of second we lived in Princeton, in town across from the hospital in a small dirty looking house. It could have been gray in color, causing me to remember it as dirty looking.

In the first grade I was chosen to sing the song, "I Love You Truly in the annual Tom Thumb Wedding"—Hurray! Daddy was happy. I know, because he smiled at me. I wore a beautiful long pink taffeta dress and mama rolled my long, thick blonde hair in curls on her fingers and put some makeup on me. She put Vaseline on my eye lashes, which she said made my bright-green eyes with a darker ring around the iris, appear bigger. Mother’s the one who told all this to me. She would smile when she told me I had beautiful, but sad eyes, and she was sorry that my eyes were always sad in pictures. I didn’t know they were sad—I was just looking the way I felt. But, I told mother that I would try not to look sad anymore.

I felt like a big girl and like I was pretty. Well, people told me I was, so that was the reason. There were so many people there for "The Wedding," and I was feeling a wee bit nervous about singing, but not really scared. It turned out fine with everything going well, including my song, according to the audience. I was happy that it was over. Thank You, dear God for always hearing my prayers. You answered them for sure this time. You always answer them, just not soon enough sometimes… I sadly thought.

Pray too, that we will be rescued from wicked and evil people, for not everyone is a believer. But the Lord is faithful; He will strengthen you and guard you from the evil one. (2 Thessalonians 3:2 – 3 – NLT)

God is faithful to keep His promises to those who love Him; he also expects His people to demonstrate faithfulness in all they do. – NLT

Chapter 4

I n that same first grade, there was a very cute little boy, Jimmy, who sat in front of me in class. One day I leaned up and kissed him on the cheek. Then, he told the teacher about it, which caused me to get a spanking. After that I never ever again, thought he was cute. This happened while we lived in the small gray house.

I remember listening to "Sky King, The Lone Ranger, The Shadow Knows,— also Amos and Andy, Twenty Questions, The Creaking Door," and lots of others. Daddy loved Amos and Andy best of all, laughing at them. I loved it when daddy laughed. It was fun when we’d have popcorn and hot chocolate, just sitting around and listening to the great radio programs like other families. He didn’t laugh or seem to enjoy much, and it was so good to all sit together as a family and laugh. It caused Lee and me to smile.

We didn’t have a yard, so we had to play in the street or the graveyard. There was a neighbor boy who was bigger than both Lee and I, and he was such a mean bully. He loved to pick on Lee, who, along with a crossed eye, sported ears that were a little bigger than most and they stuck out, which brought lots of cruel comments. One day I’d had enough of his bullying, and just punched him in the nose, causing him a pretty good nose bleed, wishing I was big enough to beat him up. He was a head taller than I was. If I’d taken the time to think it through, I may not have been so brave.

After that though, he left us alone. We weren’t bothered with the bully anymore. While we lived there, we had a dog and cat who thought they were family and they played and slept together, sharing all the food too. They had so much fun playing. I missed them very much when we moved. Prior to that we played Hide and Seek behind the headstones in the cemetery and it was fun and scary, too. That’s about all the good I can recall about living there. I was always nervous about everything and felt shaky inside all the time. I hated that feeling so much!

When we moved though, it was to a smaller place; a dreary and dark small apartment over the tailor shop that my grandparents, Andrew and Ruth Cameron, owned and operated. Granddad was also the pastor of a large church in town. They wanted to retire, so they offered to sale the shop to daddy, who reluctantly agreed and it was done.

We didn’t live there very long though. Daddy got mad at mother one day for going to a doctor she had once commented on as being handsome, as well being a good doctor. Since she was a hair stylist, she had the shot in her hip and that night daddy almost choked her to death. Her neck was black and blue when I saw her the next day.

The police woke Lee and me up when they came to our apartment, after the neighbors had overheard mother screaming and daddy yelling. They saved her life. Daddy was sorry later on—after he’d had time to realize the truth of what mother told him: sore arm interfering with her work vs the hip. Bingo! He finally got it. Adults aren’t always so smart. I was six and it made sense to me.

Until she married daddy, she had never witnessed any angry words or heaven forbid, hitting anyone or actually yelling at someone you were supposed to love. Granddad and grandmother were wonderfully kind people, loving each other so much, along with their children. Their home was filled with quiet and kind conversations, with a lot of singing—laughter, and great food too. Grandmother was a great cook, manager, and seamstress.

What a horrible way for Lee, now three years old, to be introduced to family life! I felt sorry for mother experiencing all that scary stuff. It’s terrible to be treated with cruelty and violence by someone who loves you, and is supposed to protect you from all the bad and scary things. At least that’s what I thought about it all. Even though I was just a little skinny girl, I still had sense. Daddy got mad many times and said I didn’t have the sense God gave a goose. I knew I was smarter than a goose, after getting a look at their tiny heads. Nobody’s right all the time, not even daddies.

Chapter 5

M other was very pretty, but mean too, and our daddy was handsome, I suppose. That’s what everyone said. Almost everyone said daddy looked just like Gregory Peck, the movie star. Mama had to be mean because of the way daddy treated her and us. She fought him the best she could, with her fists, and throwing everything in the house she could, at him, taking up for herself at the same time

Their fights always seemed to begin at the dinner table, which caused Lee and me not to eat much. We were both very thin and suffered from: asthma (me), bedwetting (Lee), stuttering (Lee), nightmares (me); just lots of bad things. It caused us both to be so nervous when they yelled and fought, that we would quietly, like little mice, quickly leave the table, and go into the living room or one of our rooms, and just hug each other as tightly as possible during the worst parts.

Most of the time, after they finished their fights, dad would start on us. We tried to hide from him once or twice, suffering the extra anger that provoked. It was terrible consequences we got for trying to hide because of our complete terror. Lee and I never had to be concerned about being overweight. In fact, the doctor was very concerned about me because I had asthma now and was anemic and underweight—just a skinny little girl, for sure. I have a picture that shows how sickly-looking and thin I was. I don’t like that picture at all! The others weren’t quite that bad.

Then, we got to move to a wonderful place about twelve miles out of town— Rose Lane. Daddy bought us a pretty white house with green shutters, a large covered front porch, and a white picket fence all around the yard. There was a place for a big garden and a hen house. We had lovely shade trees and kids galore to play with. It was great! It was so different than anywhere we’d lived before. Lee and I loved it there. That was home to us because we lived there for about three years.

Daddy bought it from an older man and his wife. The man was a lot older than daddy and mother. He had the meanest black eyes and he stared at me, making me leave the room to get away from him. Something was wrong with that man. I could tell by the way he kept staring at me, a little skinny girl. Mommy made me go home with them to another state, to try and get better from the asthma. I was just in the second grade and I didn’t want to go! I cried and cried so hard, but they made me go anyway. I was so scared of that man. They should have listened to me about him, but they didn’t and I had to go with them. Oh, I was so scared and sad. "Why did I have to leave home?"

Most adults don’t pay any attention to what a small child feels or sees. They just say do it; and the child has to obey—whatever the consequences. I knew something was wrong with him. He had looked at me in a very bad way that no one else ever had. Even though I was child, I still had a sense of darkness around him, which made me very uneasy and terribly frightened. How I hated to leave my home and family, and go with them! His wife tried to comfort me, but it didn’t work.

He always drove me to and from school—by himself, saying that his wife had to stay there and take care of the store and service station. Then when we got a little distance from each, he would touch me in my private place, that mommy had always said was not to be touched by anyone other than the doctor, if he had to examine me there. And, if that happened there would be a nurse in the room with me. So I knew something was horribly wrong, and all I could do was just sit there, huddled up to the door on the passenger side of his truck, and whimper like I was some little injured animal, instead of being able to do something that could stop it. That made me mad too, but mostly just terrified of him.

I didn’t know what to do. He made me feel so scared; much more than daddy did. He told me, looking me in the eyes and holding me by both my arms, that I’d better never tell anyone, nobody at all, or the devil would come and hurt my little brother and probably me too. When he said that, my throat closed up and it was almost impossible to breathe. My chest hurt too and I wanted to to go home!

I wanted to go Home! "PLEASE SOMEBODY! His wife seemed to be nice, but they didn’t talk about anything that I ever heard and he grabbed me again, telling me I’d better not tell her either or I would be very sorry. I nodded my head up and down, up and down over and over, all the time, saying to myself inside my head—I won’t tell, I won’t tell. I promise. I promise. I promise. Over and over, about a hundred times it seemed.

Please God, let me go home, I prayed inside me over and over. I