A Survivor's Dream

Potential triggers for sexual abuse survivors:

In darkness the door opened quietly.  His weight made the bed shift. This middle of the night visitor was not thinking of the little blond sleeping peacefully. He was a thief in the night.

Photo taken by curlsdiva

A five year old brain tucked it away. Waiting for when it could process. I returned from that Christmas trip afraid of the dark. Falling asleep was terrifying only to have nightmares awaken me. I tucked myself securely into the center of my bed so no one could touch me. I would fall asleep facing the door only to wake up in terror because I had rolled over.

Thirteen years later and on a course of healing from a different encounter with the same family member the memory surfaced. Triggered by my first home plate experience- to the horror and disappointment of the guy I was engaged to. The relationship ended months later in flames.

My childhood fear of night made sense. As I progressed in healing, often that memory overwhelmed me. I would cry out for healing and relief: none came.

One night before falling asleep I demanded God explain where he was and why he did not protect me.

That was the first night the vivid memory became a dream.

Photo taken by TammySue

I was in that room, asleep in bed. The man came in, sat on the edge of the bed and began. I turned my head to the left and saw, standing in the corner, an angel. The heavenly sentinel simply watched. The man finished and left.

Next morning woke with tears of rage. I demanded God to explain his point. I heard silence.

Months later I had the dream again. Everything was the same but this time when I looked to the corner, the angel was no longer stoic. Tears streamed down that divine face.

My rage melted into confused anger.

Months later; as I looked to the corner, the angel, tears streaming, walked to me and laid over me like a force field.

Realizing I was not abandoned I prayed, “Great, my guardian angel was there, but where were you?”

The dream recurred months later. This time when I looked there was no angel. Jesus stood in the angel’s place. His face expressionless and watched.

Photo taken by edouardo

I woke up feeling helpless and angry.  “All you could do was stand there?” I demanded. “What kind of powerful God are you? What kind of defender of the innocent stands and watches. I did nothing to deserve this. I sowed nothing to reap this horror.”

The dream recurred months later. This time when I looked there was no angel. Jesus stood with tears streaming and watched. My roar of my heart softened to confusion.

My dreams were quiet for a long time. When the dream came, Jesus, as tears streamed down his face, walked and laid over me. My small frame tucked safely within his body. The man’s hands did not touch me. They touched Him.

He was acquainted with my torment. I felt some peace.

Time passed and the dream came again. As the man began, I looked to the corner. Jesus walked to me with tears streaming. He picked me up and placed me in the corner. He turned, walked to the bed and lay in my place. The man did it all to Him. I watched as the man stood up and quietly closed the door behind him.

Photo take by sebastiano

Jesus then got up and walked over to me. He lifted me with strong, safe arms. The floor below us began to recede as I wrapped my arms around his neck. Clouds obscured the room as we began to fly away.

I never had that dream again. The memory only a faint scar of recollection.