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Print Dear Gabby, I love my dear daddy, but he is abusive. My home is like a roller coaster—everyone walks on eggshells to not upset him. I try not to be around my parents much, but that is rather difficult since I live at home and work in the family business. Over the years, many family members, friends, pastors, business associates and clients have been privy to his raging tantrums, but no one does anything. There are good times when we are a loving family, but then there are the bad times that make happiness seem like a dream. I have long prayed for peace in my family, and the Lord is my salvation, but what do I do? Everyone acts like there is no problem, but this cannot be the portrait of a loving relationship, as this is not how Christ loves me. What can I do? Wondering and Wandering through Wisconsin Dear Ms. Wisconsin, Ellie Brownley got a job selling lingerie at Woolworth’s in Chicago when she was just 18 years-old. In those days, most young women lived at home with their families until the day they were married, so when the very unattached Ellie moved hundreds of miles away, we were all surprised. Ellie and I only had a nodding acquaintance, since she was a couple of years older, but I well remember how her brother Charles (who was my age) refused to talk about his sister’s departure and he seemed embarrassed about the whole situation. All of us young folks discussed Ellie’s unusual actions for a few days, but it was close to the holidays and when we got caught up in practices for the Christmas play at our school, we promptly forgot about her. It was six years before I saw her again. My dear Harry and I had been married for 18 months when his boss asked him to take a special trip to Chicago to oversee the purchase and the shipment of some supplies. This was a big honor for Harry since he’d only been working with the company for two years, and when Harry’s boss suggested that he take his “pretty young wife” along for the trip, I was thrilled. Not only did a trip to Chicago sound romantic, but I thought it was nice that Harry’s boss had called me “pretty.” We had a lovely time that week, the two of us, staying in an elegant old hotel and eating in the restaurant downstairs. And knowing that Harry’s company was paying for everything made it especially nice! So I didn’t begrudge the time in the middle of the days that he was off working. I took tea at the small table by the window in my room each afternoon and finished the latest Zane Grey novel I’d been trying to find time to read. On the third morning after Harry headed out, I determined to take a walk in the bright sunshine to get some fresh air and see what I could see. I left Harry a note, collected my sweater and scarf, and went out into the city. What a busy, exciting place Chicago was in the late 1920s! The traffic and the noise, and all the people bustling from here to there; my goodness, it was something to see! But I’d been raised in a very small town, and after a while, I felt the need to escape the excitement, which is how I ended up going into the Woolworth’s. (It might have also been because the store window was displaying a gorgeous red dress that I just had to get a closer look at.) And, there, lo and behold, was Ellie Brownley, behind the lingerie counter, looking so elegant and refined and nothing like the small town girl she’d been the last time I saw her. I was sure she wouldn’t remember me, but when our eyes met, hers were filled with recognition. “Gabby Walker, is that you, all grown up?” she asked me with a smile. “Hello, Ellie,” I answered, pulling off my scarf and stuffing it into my pocketbook. “Actually, I’m Gabby VanBurden now.” “Ah, so that delicious Harry finally did catch you, I see,” she said, wagging her eyebrows at me and making me laugh. “All the girls in our class wanted Harry, but he only had eyes for you.” “You’re jesting, of course,” I said, surprised. “He never let on…” “He was waiting for you to grow up,” she told me. “Oh, my.” For once, I didn’t know what to say so I changed the subject. I looked at her smile and then down at the very smart dress she was wearing and her modern hairdo and said, admiringly, “You look great, Ellie! How have you been?” After a quick glance at the clock, Ellie said, “It’s my lunch hour in a couple of minutes. Would you like to join me at the restaurant out front? I’ll tell you about what it’s like to be a single woman in the big city, and you can update me on how everything’s going in the old hometown.” And that’s what we did. I told her about Harry and me, and the rest of the family. She asked about Old Dawg, and about the church’s new pastor, about Irena Stratton and “Ol’ Eagle Eyes,” Gertrude Gibbons. She told me about how she lived in a boarding house with four other unattached women and an ancient proprietress. I learned about her job and how she was now the manager of the lingerie department, even though none of the other departments had female managers. She seemed quite pleased about that. I’d never spoken to Ellie Brownley for more than a moment or two in the past, so this conversation was remarkable. We found that we liked each other immensely and both felt extraordinarily comfortable chatting. That’s why I dared ask her about her reasons for moving so far away from our town. And, when I did, she gave me a sad smile and then shocked me by telling me about her parents and their abuse. Her dad sounded a lot like yours, with his violent anger and destruction. We all knew that Mr. Brownley was mean and angry, but we didn’t know how bad it was inside their house. Her mother was afraid of him, so she didn’t bother to protect the children. Ellie told me how she tried to say something about the abuse to her teacher at school, but it made the teacher uncomfortable so she never brought it up again. And once, when her mom was sick and she had to go to the General Store to pick up some medicine, little Dolly Carter asked her loudly why she had such a big bruise on her cheek. “What did you answer?” I asked her, finishing up the last of my delicious banana cream pie. “I just murmured something about being clumsy but, deep down inside, I really wanted Mrs. Carter to do something,” she answered sadly. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t know.” “Oh, don’t be sorry,” she said. “You weren’t grown up yet. You weren’t responsible for my father’s actions.” “So how did you decide to move?” I said. “That must have been very hard to do.” “Actually, Gabby, it was your own wonderful parents who helped me.” “My parents? But they never said anything…” “No, they’ve never been the type to broadcast their good deeds to the world. Your father saw the bruises that same day in the General Store and said to me, very quietly, ‘If you ever need anything at all, young lady, Mrs. Walker and I would be proud to help you.’” “That does sound like my Papa,” I said, thoughtfully. “A few months later, your Papa and Mama gave me the money for the train to Chicago and enough money to live on until I got my first paycheck. They gave me the name of Abigail Hatcher, the lady who runs my boarding house, and your Mama wrote a letter of introduction. Your Papa is friends with the manager of the Chicago Woolworth’s and gave me a good reference.” “Goodness gracious!” I exclaimed. “I never knew any of this.” “All those things were such a blessing to me; however, the most valuable thing your parents did for me was to give me good advice.” “What did they tell you?” “On the way to the train station, your Papa handed me something I’ve kept on my dresser ever since. It was a short piece of a chain. It had just five links on it and the last one was twisted out of shape. I had no idea what it was about. ‘What’s this for?’ I asked him. ‘It’s something we’d like you to keep forever to remind you that your family is bound by a stronghold, and it’s your responsibility to break the chain.’ ‘How do I do that?’ I asked him, understanding immediately what he was saying. ‘You need to get healing for yourself so that someday, when you’re a parent of your own children, you will only treat them with love. Does that make good sense?’ he asked me. And it did.” “So are you healed?” I asked, rather boldly. “I’m working at it,” she said, serenely. “I speak to the Pastor and his wife at my church every Tuesday evening for an hour and they encourage me. That’s been very helpful. I also work with children at an orphanage on Saturdays. Pastor suggested that I find an opportunity to do something for someone else, so I didn’t focus so much on me and my own thoughts.” We were silent for a moment, each taking a sip of our cooling tea. “You’re wondering about my family, aren’t you?” she asked me, looking directly into my eyes. “Do you ever see them or talk to them?” “My mother and my sisters and I exchange letters occasionally.” “Will you ever…?” “I’ve scheduled a trip there in August,” she answered, before I got the question all the way out. “I plan to have a nice visit with my mother and my brothers and sisters and, as long as my father keeps his temper in check, I’ll be happy to visit with him as well. But I’m staying at the Pleez Kum Inn so I won’t be trapped there at his house if he starts getting angry.” “What will you do if he does?” “I’ll collect my pocketbook and walk out the door. I’m no longer frightened of him. I’m a grown woman who supports herself and God doesn’t require me to subject myself to someone’s immature and sinful tantrums, even if he is my father.” “I’m sorry to keep asking you questions, but I have one more,” I said, apologetically. “That’s okay,” she smiled at me. “It really helps me when I can talk about the whole situation. So what’s your question?” “What about the fifth commandment, ‘Honor your father and your mother?’” “Ah, the commandments,” she said. “I asked my Chicago Pastor about that, too. He told me that I was actually dishonoring my father when I subjected myself to his improper anger. I’m only honoring him when I treat him respectfully and require him to treat me the same way.” So, Miss Wisconsin, I’d like to suggest that you follow in the footsteps of Ellie Brownley. It wasn’t her duty to change her father, but it was her responsibility to make something valuable of her own life. The only way she could do that was to move out of his house and away from his town. That way, she was able to focus on receiving her own healing from his sinful and destructive behavior to her. Why don’t you do some research to see if there’s somewhere you can go, at least long enough to find your way in life? I wouldn’t speak much about it until all the details are settled, and even then, maybe a letter is the best way to explain your plans, either that or speaking to your parents with someone like my Papa standing beside you. I wish you the very best in your life. Never forget how much Jesus loves you. Sincerely Sincere, Gabby
ninetyandnine.com © 2005, ninetyandnine.com ---------- Gabrigail VanBurden has been offering advice for longer than most of you have been alive. Email your practical Apostolic life questions to Gabby@ninetyandnine.com and be prepared for some straight answers! |
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