Little Texas Sweetheart

I looked into the beautiful, expectant faces of twenty-one women.  They all wore heavy orange fire-fighter suits.  They varied in age from the twenties to the fifties.  I had no script, no notes, just the memory of my life and God to guide my words.  I had never been to an Honor Camp before and had no idea what to expect.  When I saw how eager they were to hear what I had to share, I was ready to open my heart to them.

I told them that I had recently learned that without a test, you have no testimony.  I explained to them that I had learned to be grateful for the hard and bitter experiences of my life because these lessons had given me strength endurance, character and a testimony to share with them.  I promised them I came to give them hope.  Their eyes were riveted on my face.  I felt the power of that moment to the core of my being.

I began by going back to 1951 when I was only ten years old.  I told of a teacher molesting me, a little scared girl who had nowhere to turn.  I related the terror of being shown the pedophile’s hand gun which he would use to kill my daddy if I told anyone what was happening to me.  When in desperation I told his wife what he was doing and asked for her help and protection, she said, “How could you do this to me?”  The faces of the women before me were pained.

I told them that when his wife confronted him about what I had told her, he beat her savagely.  He took her to a hospital one hundred miles away to avoid the scandal a visit to a nearby hospital would have evoked.  That night, he returned home in a drunken stupor and fell asleep with a cigarette in his hand.  He died in the ensuing conflagration of his smoldering mattress.  My audience actually bust into applause!

From that moment on, not one woman took her eyes off me.

I continued with the story of how I felt that it was all my fault.  My (by then) twelve-year-old mind took on all of the shame and guilt of a murderess.  It was all my fault.  I had tempted him, and I had caused his death.

As I related the story of a girl starved for love who became prey for the brutal wife-beater that I married when I was twenty, they were with me.  I could see that many of their histories were similar.  I told of homelessness, hunger, eight babies and the eighteen year misery of that terrible marriage.   They were with me all the way.

As I began to describe my march to freedom, led by the mighty and loving hand of God, they cheered me on. The electricity and excitement in that room were tangible.  These women were hungry for hope.

I related how faith in God, a network of friends, a good counselor, education, and the helping agencies of an enlightened society all came together finally to change my life.  I encouraged them to fight for a better life, to believe in themselves and their future, to work and believe and dare to dream.

After my story, their questions were intelligent and to the point.  They were animated and full of enthusiasm.  That evening I received twenty-one hugs and what I heard most from these ladies was,  ”You have given me hope!”