Letter to My Children (March 19, 2016)

Dear Jonathan, Sarah, Joshua and Christina:

     Gretel took a picture of Noah yesterday. He was guarding the baby ducks. Sitting on a 5 gallon bucket with his hot chocolate near and eating a donut, he was perfectly content. And looked like Josh from our vantage point. In fact I called him Josh twice yesterday just out of memory I guess. 
     The same day I received a call from a friend on his way to work down the Beltway, he asked how we were doing, and if we have heard from you children at all. No I said. We talked about telling my story to the media. Knowing the help others derive from our transparency is the only plus. Mostly reliving the memories of abuse is incredibly painful for us. Gretel and I both. Thank God that Noah was too little to remember what he went through. Dad does not like talking about it at all. But we know that others need us to tell it. And it gives them courage to say to Christians who like to pretend that abuse by churches is ok, that it is wrong and evil.
     But it is hard to tell it. It is hard to remember how I begged Dad not to put me away. The days and days of being alone in a motel waiting for a call from dad or Pastor Ron Zarou to say I would be picked up and brought home. When food was brought and I hadn't eaten the last bit of food, being told I was manipulating by not eating. But I cried so much I was ill, unable to eat. Cried day and night. Went to sleep crying and woke up crying. Begging God to tell me what I had done that they would do this to me. Begging God to let me go home to my children. Being told nothing about them. Wondering if they were ok, why didn't they come and find me? Why were they not saying this was wrong. Later (after 3 months and brought home) finding out they had been told I had left them. But warned by Pastor Ron Zarou I was not to discuss any of my punishment with the children. Being handed my cell phone by dad and told to leave voice messages on certain family and friends house phones during work. Messages that I was fine and busy. Because they kept calling and were worried about me and wanted to talk to me and said they were coming down if I did not call them. Memories of waking up knowing my Christina, Josh and Gretel and Noah were crying for their mom. And sick with knowing they were in terrible pain wanting me home. And asking Pastor Ron Zarou how were my babies. Fine, doing really well without you. You were a stumbling block in their pursuit of God Molly. You made yourself an idol to them. They honored you above God. The pain those statements gave me. Pain of watching my husband do whatever he was told. Because he said, if he did not do this to me, they would do this to him. The pain of being destroyed by my own husband because a pastor was jealous that my children loved their mother more. 93 days of pain. And silence. No call from my children. Very few from my husband. Alone in a world of people, who did not know that I was abandoned by my family on a pastors whim to 'break me'.
     But to get back to the picture above. Gretel and I both dreamed of Joshua that night. She dreamed she was looking for him. I dreamed I found him, standing like a robot, silent. And I took him up in my arms and cradled him and cried over him. And slowly slowly he started to thaw in my arms. My sweet son. And I kept saying his name and how much I loved him. And slowly he became like our Josh again. Like the boy above sitting on a bucket. Happy. Content. And loved and safe with his dear family.

Love you all my children. Never forget you are my children. God gave you all to me.

XO Mom