Previous Challenge Entry (Level 2 – Intermediate)
Topic: The Family Home (05/29/08)
TITLE: Home at Last
By Corinne Boback
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It was a well-known fact that Mother was a “neat freak,” even washing the windows, inside and out, in the dead of winter. Other mothers on the street jokingly called her “Mrs. Clean.” Our home was immaculate, even with four growing children living in it.
We as children were observed as precious and very blessed indeed. Mother made sure we had the finest clothing money could buy, always clean and crisply ironed. Our hair was kept beautifully styled and combed. If by chance we would get dirty while playing, we would have an immediate bath and fresh, clean clothes put on again. People commented on how nice we always looked.
Father was an over-the-road truck driver, only home on weekends. He was as meticulous about the yard and home exterior as Mother was about the inside of the house. The other neighborhood fathers laughingly called him the crazy “workaholic.”
As these parents raised us, our manners were always above reproach. We were obedient, quiet, and unobtrusive; peculiar children indeed. We excelled in school, and teachers said we were a pleasure in class. They always thanked our parents for raising such fine children.
To everyone who knew us, we were the “perfect” family. Cleanliness and order ruled our home. We were the envy of the neighborhood. Other families used our family as a role model, and would say as much to my parents.
If only people were truly looking at our family, at our home, they may have seen it. They may have discovered that the outward appearance did not compare to how we really lived. Cleanliness? On the contrary, we lived in the worst kind of filth and degradation that a human mind can fathom. Order? Our lives were in shambles, from the inside out, with no order or normalcy in them.
It was a scam, so that life could be carried out behind closed doors without any doubt or suspicion. We were the perfect family by day, church-going, clean and orderly. By night, in the darkness, we were being raised in a satanic cult. We were subjected to every ritual, every torture, every lie that satan and his followers live by. It was horrific daily abuse from parents, extended family, and other cult members.
The outward appearance was a well-rehearsed, plotted and planned coverup. That spotless house covered the disgusting abomination that was the truth of our lives. That beautiful yard was no match for the open hay fields we were taken to on “full moon” satanic holidays, where every kind of perverseness prevailed. Those expensive clothes merely covered the bruises, the scars, the burns, and the evidence of sexual molestation on our young bodies.
Quiet, well-behaved children? Terrified, tortured children would better describe us. Abused children do not talk. They know better. They learn early and well what “talking” means. It means more pain.
This perfect family merely acted out a play before the world. And people, in unknowing ignorance, simply could not see the truth. They looked at the outward appearance, and they were satisfied that all was well.
Who would save the children in this family? What would happen to them if the truth were known? I only wish I could say that we were spared, and saved from the years of satanic ritual abuse. I cannot say that, and it left wounds that were deep in me.
And then I met a Man who knew all about me, One who had been with me through it all. The bright Light I saw
inside of myself as a little girl, the Light who would call me to rest in its illumination, introduced Himself as Jesus Christ, the true and living God.
He showed me that a house built upon the sand cannot stand. My childhood home was based on the sand of satan, uncertain, unsteady, and one that would someday come crashing down. My home is now built upon the Rock, and nothing can ever again shake its foundation. I am safe, truly clean, and living in the divine order of His Kingdom. I have been transformed from the inside out. My home is pure and holy, and satan is not welcome in it. I have been born again, as an adult, and am truly a grownup child of His amazing grace.
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