Broken Mirrors, Still Reflections

My tears lined themselves up behind my eyes, anticipating the opening of the gates, waiting to shed themselves on my fragile cheeks. My lips stiffened trying to constrain the leaks. Silly tactic, acid only leaves from your vision. Every time I know I will hear the pain of someone, especially this specific kind, I work hard to control my joints and muscles to keep my limbs together, and to keep breathing to replenish them with physical nourishment, to make up for the ensuing sadness.

We sat in a semi-circle. Surrounding one of the bravest women I have ever met. She was to speak, her words rippling through our formation, scarring our hearts, and moving us to something higher.

And then she told us how he touched her, how she woke up and he was on top of her, and how she grabbed a knife and told him she would kill him if he ever abused her again. This was real. This was not based on a true story, it was a live autobiography. I wanted to build a time machine in that instant, I wanted to go back in time and save her, save her from that wickedness. It couldn't get any worse for her. And just when my eye lids began to heat up, slowly opening the gates...

She told us how she went to his mother, one of the most lovable people, who she grew up with, who she looked up to, and told on her son, told her what he did to her the night before.

"It was your fault," she said to the child.

"You were always so playful with him."

She choked in front of us, held back her tears. And my flood gates opened. Her trust in all of humanity: gone. Her love of her body: gone. She said she couldn't look in the mirror at herself in the morning before her shower. She was disgusted with her body. Disgusted, a victim, disgusted, because of the words of that woman.

And I thought she was done, that the rejection of one person would stop her, that her rehashing the story now would end in explaining how she learned to cope in recent years.

And that's when she said a while later, she told her sister. And she said she would tell her parents. She wanted to talk to her parents. She wanted to talk. The next morning her mother said, "We need to talk."

And that was the end of that conversation.

Devastation revisited. It was clear in her eyes as she lowered her head to regain strength to continue, to collect her bravery and share her history with us. We didn't want it to get worse. We wanted that part of her history to be short-lived. But alas

In college, she fell into chronic depression, and tried all she could to stay afloat. She wore hijab to get closer to God. She exhaled, with glossy eyes, and said she vowed never to submit.

She would not be broken. She would not be broken.

She eventually tried to reconnect with her parents, despite their negligence. We listened as she spoke, and her tone didn't portray any recognition of her own perseverance: to her, persistence and courage were natural, granted.

She contacted an Imam from the local mosque, and asked him to help her reconnect with mama and baba. And I was happy to hear this, a final turn in events. But he, too, was an aggressor. He, too, sexually harassed her, knowing full well what she had gone through. She explained that she allowed him to help with her parents because he was at least doing a good job with that, they called her by her nickname again, they existed again. She sacrificed her own peace for a chance to regain a relationship with her parents. He kept harassing her. He even asked her to meet him. An Imam.

I was in shock. I didn't know if it was that someone would take advantage of someone so vulnerable, that a leader who was good at his job had horrid character, or that this wonderful lady, this beautiful woman, had to endure even more.

But nothing would bring her down. She didn't stop. She kept helping, and she helped expose leaders, molesters, rapists, humans with deeply convoluted hearts. She helped save many. And she still hasn't stopped.

She eventually found her peace. After counseling, and love, and God's blessing. She found an actual Prince Charming. A compassionate, respectful man. A more-than decent human being. She deserves all the love in the world. This final part of her sharing, her dishing of something so hurtful, with us, just to help us, moved me into a permanent residence. And my mind exploded.

Whether they were thoughts racing or words coming out of my mouth, I couldn't tell. It was all a jumble; my mind was trying to reconcile my conflicting emotions, to untie the knot now fidgeting in my stomach. I knew a time machine was not the answer, that her pain made her who she was. The only reason I would use the time machine was to go back and tell her that she would be ok. That she would be better. That she would be great. That there is a purpose for all this suffering, that I promise she will one day learn why this happened to her. I wanted to give her the good news that she would one day be an inspiration for women all across the country. That she would free them from the shackles of their oppression. From their communities denying their claims to molestation and rape. But I need not need that.

She opened up a door for me. She made me see what I had not before. Something I always knew I didn't understand.

No matter the pain.
No matter the suffering.
No matter how blind oppression can make you.
You can absolutely never lose your hope in the Almighty.

He is your Protector. He knows you more than the pain you know.
You are never broken if you have Him
And He, through all the ache and hopelessness, is your One and only hope.

Earthly Heaven

Underneath sleek moonlight
Engulfed by deep blue sky
Brushed with light clouds
The howling beast sings

Paws sunk into blanket of snow
Breathing in brisk fresh air
Invisible magic and floating spirits
The howling beast loves

Amidst the creation of God Himself
Living in a portrait an artist conjured
A fantastic wonderland of utter elation
The howling beast come to lay

A paradise on earthly clay
A hint, a peak, of what lies ahead
He stands in a trance
Hardly believing there's more beauty

He does not care what he left behind
Out of site is out of mind
He lives in the moment frozen in time
But heaven, they say, is far more sublime