Prayer groups and prayer chains. My truest friend, the one who stuck in the biblical sense, included me in hers once and my life has been blessed ever since. That was well over ten years ago; we were children, yet she had the grace and mercy and wisdom to do something so simple and simply the best.
I was in a "residential facility for at-risk teens" (politically correct term for group home, which was like a minimum security prison for the mentally or emotionally or behaviorally ill altogether in one cluster) for two and a half years. I cried myself to sleep nights. The food was expired, donated, cheap and my weight skyrocketed from 102 to 212 in a matter of months. The IMHF (Intensive Medical Health Unit) is the first two weeks of your stay. It's also where you were sequestered if you disobeyed or refused to eat the plates filled with garbage they tried to pass as nutrition. It was a small ten by ten foot room of stainless steel walls; so there was an eerie reflective quality to it. The floor was a cold, cheap, off-white tile, with brown speckle paint patterned on it. The ceiling was polished metal; so it was like looking into a funhouse mirror; not conducive to mental stability or serenity. There was a twin size block of wood in the center of the room with a 6" mattress, a thin pillow, sheets and a cotton knit blanket that did precious little to keep out the cold that seemed to permeate from every corner of the room. You wore sweats and socks and underwear only during those periods. You were watched at all times, including the bathroom. I'd rather not go into any more detail; it's a time I'd like to leave behind.
Later, you lived in a room with up to 5 other girls; a staff member sat at the door at all times. You had to ask permission to use the bathroom at all times and they stood outside the door and listened closely. You were not permitted to sit up in bed. You were not permitted to talk in bed. I cried myself to sleep quietly at night as I stared out the window I was lucky to sleep next to.
I was being punished for being sick. I was being punished for being scared. I was being punished for being abused. I was getting worse each moment that went by, not better.
One day, I got a letter. It was a card. A Hallmark card. An expensive Hallmark card. A huge expensive Hallmark card. It wasn't a holiday week, or my birthday week. I didn't recognize the handwriting or the return address.
I opened it up carefully, slowly, biting my lower lip and curling my toes to keep from tearing it open.
It was a beautiful card, with flowers, and glitter! I didn't know it yet, but I was crying. And smiling a wobbly smile.
I opened the card and saw that it was completely written on from corner to corner, top to bottom, side to side, with a letter from a stranger. My first reaction was alarm, but I read it anyway. I'm so glad that I did. The words were sacred. Are sacred. A woman who'd never met me, never heard of me before, had recently heard of my folly and predicament and wanted me to know I had a circle of prayer and friends surrounding me with love on the outside (in the outside world).
This woman, who was no better off in life than my own family, was taking time out of her life, away from her family and friends, spending her hard-earned funds. For me.
As the weeks, months, and years progressed, I got better. Not because the "program" was successful. But, I Was getting better because I had love and life to look forward to. There was some unknown wonder of "community" out there in the world just waiting for me to join in and share in and contribute to. I had purpose. I wasn't just in everyone's way, or hindering progress and success, or waisting space and resources. I could do for someone else what these women had done for me.
My empty little corner was now cozy, with cards tacked to the bulletin board, letters folded and stacked up like books, and wonder of all wonders: Precious Moments figurines that I Knew cost a fortune adorned my dresser smiling down on me sympathetically and knowingly, sharing in my pain and needs and brokenness. And, a special bear that kept me from crying myself to sleep at night: a Burden Bear. All I had to do was silently pray and list my burdens and the bear would help messenger them to God for me and keep the tears at bay. The bear would hold onto my burdens for me in the meantime.
I eventually discovered the name of the friend who stuck closer to me than any other. She's my truest friend to this day. I owe her my life. I would never have made it out of that place alive without her and her compassion in adding me to the names on her chains prayer list.
I can never repay her for my life. I only hope my life is worthy in God's eyes and makes not only Him proud, but her as well. Paying it forward is all we can do sometimes. She has been for many years already, leading the way. A road less travelled just got a little easier to follow. <3
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