An Easter Miracle

I watched my two little girls enjoying their baskets full of candy and bunnies.  We sat in the living room, me in pajamas, the girls in mismatched play clothes.  We tried to be quiet so we would not awaken the sleeping giant that was my husband and their father.  He had given strict instructions the night before that he was to be allowed to sleep.  When asked about the girls Easter baskets, he said, “Video tape it for me.  I want to sleep.”  I knew better than to ask about church.  Crossing him would bring yelling, cursing, and probably a beating.  It was best to let the giant sleep.   

I knew in my heart this was not how Easter should be.  I knew in my heart this was not how life should be.  I had prayed for months that God would show me what to do.  If I was to stay things had to change.  If I was to get out it would take divine intervention. 

Although I couldn’t see it, God was answering my prayers.  He was standing ready to rescue me and my two toddler daughters.  He had heard my plea and the prayers of friends and family.  Like the first Easter, this day was to be a miraculous day for our family. 

Late that morning I faced a dilemma.  One of my husband’s friends had come to the house wanting to borrow an item that belonged to my husband.  Loaning it out without his permission would certainly bring his wrath.  Waking him up to ask permission would just as certainly bring his wrath.  I decided that asking for permission was the lesser of the two evils.  After the friend left I was summoned to the bedroom.  There I took the beating I could have predicted.  It was not as severe as some I had endured, but it was every bit as humiliating. 

My husband’s sister and her friend were coming for Easter lunch.  After my “punishment”, my next duty was to help prepare lunch, which meant being at my husband’s beck and call.  I searched his eyes in vain for clues that he had calmed down.  Our guests arrived.  He was charming and welcoming to them, but his looks held nothing but contempt and hatred for me.  At one point the guests and my daughters were in the living room.  My husband and I were alone in the kitchen.   

“Wash off that platter,” he barked.  I held the platter, looking at the sink that was blocked by his six foot, three-hundred and fifty pound frame.  I waited at a safe distance behind him.  He turned, and seeing the platter not yet washed, he raised the spatula over his head stopping short of throwing it at me.  I was terrified of what would happen to me when the guests left.   

There was no audible voice, but in my heart I heard, “Go now.  It’s time to leave.”  I had prayed for God to show me a way out.  God was speaking, and I listened. 

I had attempted escape several times before.  I had always come back, either by my own will or by force.  This time felt different.  I pondered opening the garage door to get my van, but feared the noise would bring the giant.  I started walking down the highway in front of our house. 

I wasn’t sure what to pray, but I did feel God’s presence.  I resisted the urge to look over my shoulder, but strained my ears listening for footsteps or the roar of his truck engine.   

We lived just outside of town.  I made it into town and to the convenience store.  I went inside and bought a soft drink.  Still there were no footsteps.  There was no familiar sound of the engine of his truck.  What would I do next? 

I had heard story after story of abused women who would file charges against their abusers, then drop them.  I did not want to be one of those women.  I had heard stories of women who died at the hands of their abusers.  I did not want to be one of those women.   

I walked downtown to the courthouse, where the sheriff’s office was located.  I prayed for strength, for guidance, for a clear and confident decision in my own mind.  I doubted my ability to stick to any decision.  I had, after all, married this man twice.   

I began to feel peace and strength that was definitely not my own.  I walked into the sheriff’s office and made the complaint.  He was arrested.  My daughters and I were free.   

Weeks later, the giant was in jail.  I watched this man who had controlled my life.  He had belittled every decision I made, he had doubted every word I had spoken, he had betrayed every trust I placed, and he had met every perceived shortcoming with anger and violence. Now the tables had been turned, so to speak. Charges had been filed, his parole had been revoked, and divorce proceedings were underway.  I gathered my strength and asked him, “Why didn’t you come after me?” 

His reply, “I never knew you were gone.” 

God moved another stone that Easter Sunday.  He blinded my husband from knowing I was escaping.  He spoke to me and provided strength to make the move to get out.  He protected my children. 

In the sixteen years since that Sunday, God has never failed to take care of us.  He has been our provider, our healer, and our protector. 

When I called, you answered me; you made me bold and stouthearted.  Psalm 138:3

Though I walk in the midst of trouble, you preserve my life; you stretch out your hand against the anger of my foes, with your right hand you save me.  The Lord will fulfill his purpose for me; your live, O Lord, endures forever—do not abandon the works of your hands. Psalm 138:7-8