Living in Color

colors

colors (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

I have always been amazed by rainbows and how the sun, prisms through the rain, setting all the colors in the same sequence.  However, when the light passes through the water droplets twice, it causes an inverse rainbow to also occur with its color pattern in reverse.   Like a mirror reflecting back on itself.  It sees itself as the beauty that it is.  Sometime, when I look in the mirror, I see the face of a woman who, not unlike the rainbow, has many facets that make up her life.  I see the color in my life and it reflects back at me.

 

It wasn’t always that way, and I am sure, there will be days when I don’t see the colors and will need to seek comfort in my prayers to get my focus back on track; such is the way of life.  I know that deep down in my soul, I am on the right track, despite what the naysayers may say.  I have God as my driver and I am his passenger; but what an odd and different path it becomes when you decide to give up your free will for a promise of a better life.

 

You begin to realize that those things which you held dear when you were younger are not really as valuable as you once thought they were.  You start to understand that life is not about what you can get out of it; it’s more about what you can put into it.  So that’s what they meant by “you reap what you sow”.  I now realize that even though we all want materialistic things in life, they are not our life.  Our life without these trinkets, although maybe not as pleasant as we would like, does not strip us of our ability to survive in the world.  It does not cause us to stop breathing; praying and striving to do better.  That is only within us to make the changes necessary to go on living.

 

For those that don’t realize this, their lives continue to tumble in a downward spiral, because they have let the pain of the past wreak havoc upon their very souls and have not been able to come to terms with the fact that it’s their own mind that is the downfall of their existence.  They allow those inner voices to take away from their sense of self.

 

Those voices have tried to talk to me all of my life.  They spoke to me when I was a victim of child molestation at the age of ten.  They told me that it was my fault if something happened to my grandfather or grandmother, should I let the truth be known.  They spoke to me when my uncle would take me out to the campgrounds, prior to opening season, and would molest me when no one was around; picking me up on Friday nights, when my aunt was working for a weekly tryst.  They spoke to me when I started taking a needle and putting drugs in my veins, telling me that I wasn’t worth anything better.  Those voices would follow me way into adulthood, affecting my relationships and how I would view life for many years to come.

 

It would take the rape and molestation of my own child before I was able to begin shaking off the voices in my head.  It would take a family nightmare to bring me out of my coma; a place where I believe all victims of molestation and rape go.  Some, like me, were able to weather the storm and find the light; others, like my daughter, have not been so lucky.

 

We are brought up with certain concepts about what life is and what it should be, all molded by those that we interact with.  Those who look at life idealistically, as I do, do it out of a sense that we know the worlds a better place and therefore, if we believe it to be true, maybe one day it will be.  I, for many years used it to hide from and deny that what had happened to me as having any effect upon me.

 

When I realized that this had happened to my daughter, all that I had “came to terms with” came crashing down around me.  What was I to do?  I had never reported the crimes of my grandfather or uncle, because as a pre-teen I was led to believe that they were doing it out of love (you know, teaching me the right way so that I was prepared in life) and no one would believe me anyways.  I had been influenced by master manipulators to believe that this was actually normal, even though, through the years, I did know that it was not.  I didn’t want to be the reason my grandmother had a heart attack.  I didn’t want to ruin, not one, but two marriages.  It’s no wonder I ran away at fifteen.  I had been known as the goody-two-shoes of the neighborhood until I was fourteen.

 

Although these events changed my life, they didn’t destroy what was at my core.  I have always believed in God and spoke with him daily.  I have done things in my life that I’m not proud of, but when I look at who I am today, I realize that the journey has led me to a husband who loves and adores me; it has led me to have a family that I cherish.  It’s not perfect, but it is so much more than I thought I ever deserved way back then when the colors of my life were shades of black and white.

 

I have discovered that whether, as a victim of any crime, you get justice or not, the effects last a lifetime.  I realize that the only way not to be a target in this world is to stop allowing yourself to be the victim.  I’ve learned to stand up in my life and lean hard upon my Lord.

 

I see my life as just one of many, and when I weigh it upon the stories of others; I realize that I have traveled this course in my life for a reason.  Many do not.  I realize that through all that has happened, all that has been lost or found, it’s all about how I view my life.  I choose to look at my life, sometimes, through rose colored glasses; but I am always peering over the rim so that I am aware of what is truly in front of me; and so I don’t miss any of those rainbows.

 

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