Writing 101, Day Thirteen: Serial Killer II

Earlier in the course, you wrote about losing something. Today, write about finding something. For your twist, view day four’s post and today’s post as installments in a series.

PART TWO – Finding Freedom

The evidence of a disaster was all around us.  Shattered dreams and broken lives.  The reality of our circumstances was to hard to accept, but it was true.  The father of my children was removed within a day of the Lord revealing his sin.  The person we thought we knew was someone completely different.  What now?

Our innocence lost, it would seem there was no hope of recovery.  But sometimes you have to get lost to be found.  Sometimes what you thought was good was not what it seemed.  Perspectives change in a flash, when the reality of the damage becomes clearer.  No, we were not suffering in vain –  we were delivered.

In place of a facade of  a perfect family that we thought we had, there was raw pain but there was healing and in that place of suffering our eyes were opened.  Opened to the enslavement we had been living under and to the subtle underlying deception that encompassed us.  We had lost much; all we knew and trusted was blown away – but we had found something far greater – our freedom, wisdom and insight.

PART ONE (From Day 4 – previously posted)

Family pic serial killer 1

When I was a girl, I dreamed about happily ever after.  Guess it depends on what the definition of happiness is.  If happiness was defined as being happily married, having healthy children, wealth and minimal problems in your life, then I do not know whether anyone will every achieve perfect tranquility and bliss, known as happiness.  But for a short while I thought I had it.  Despite a bumpy childhood, I thought I could have the perfect family and lasting joy.  Then the enemy of our souls came and snatched it away . . . seemingly.

My family would never be the same, and the father of my children was to blame.  The death of our family as we knew it was agonizing and there was no escape from the mark it had left.  The signs of death were all around . . . functioning on a normal level was hampered, and life just seemed numb.  The children and I clung to one another, knowing God was going to take our pain and use it for good.

But then, what did normal look like?  How do we move on from this place of death?  Perhaps the death of what we idolized was more painful than we could imagine, but would also open our eyes to what in fact was wrong with what we were considering happiness…

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