A Sad Soul Can Kill You Part 24

"I didn't go to work today."

"Why not?"

"I just didn't feel like it," Tia struggled to get the words out. "I just don't feel good."

"I thought you just said you were fine." Mavis was quiet for several seconds. "Something don't feel right," she said.

"I just don't feel good, Grandma. That's all."

"Where's the pain at?"

Tia wiped her eyes. How could she tell her that the pain was not physical? What words could she use to describe the ache she felt in her soul? There were no words to describe it. Only tears.

"What's wrong, child?"

"It's just too much," Tia said grabbing a tissue from the nightstand.

"What's too much?"

"Everything!" she cried out. "The stuff that happened with Serenity, the stuff that's been happening with Lorenzo, the neigh-" she stopped. She hadn't divulged everything to her grandmother and mother. They did not know she'd been unfaithful to Lorenzo or that the neighbor who'd kidnapped Serenity was also the man she'd been unfaithful with.

"Give it to the Lord," her grandmother said. "You got to give it to the Lord. Whatever it is, let it go."

"I know, Grandma," she said wearily.

"How are Serenity and Lorenzo doing?"

Tia grabbed another tissue and wiped the remaining moisture from her eyes. "Well," she said, "Lorenzo's getting counseling now at a Christian-based treatment center."

"Because of those pills he's been taking?"

"Yes."

"Praise the Lord," Mavis said, "because He is the true deliverer!"

Tia smiled slightly.

"And what about Serenity?"

"Serenity's at Bible Study right now, and I think she's getting back to her old self," Tia tried to chuckle. "I don't know if that's good or bad. But I'm trying to spend more time with her."

"Tell my baby I said hi."

"I will."

"And tell her to call me sometimes. That girl don't never pick up the phone and call n.o.body."

"I know," Tia said. "You're right. How's Mama doing?"

"She's doing all right. She's downstairs now keeping herself happy with all those flowers."

Tia smiled.

"You know, you've got a lot to be thankful for," her grandmother said. "I know you're going through some rough times right now, and I'm not trying to diminish that. But it could be a lot worse. So if you can't be thankful for nothing else, be thankful for that."

"I'll try, Grandma."

"Yeah, and get rid of those secrets."

Tia's eyebrows arched. Before she could say anything, Mavis continued.

"Secrets are a lot like sad souls. Both of them slowly eat at you from the inside, and either you gon' kill it or it's gon' kill you. It's your choice," she said. "It's always your choice."

Serenity sat in the makes.h.i.+ft cla.s.sroom listening to the youth pastor at First Temple Church. The small room was filled to capacity with boys and girls ranging in age from twelve to seventeen. Everyone was seated at long tables or individual chairs as they began the weekly Bible Study.

It was hard for Serenity to stay focused in the chilly room, and she scooted closer to Cookie.

"I'm cold," she said. "Look." She pointed to the many raised b.u.mps on her arm. "I need a sweater."

"Don't look at mine," Cookie said. "I told you to bring one."

"Hey, you're cold?" Jonathan, the boy sitting behind Serenity, asked.

She exchanged looks with Cookie before answering him. "Uh-huh," she said.

"Here, you wanna wear my jacket?" he asked.

"Yeah," Serenity said, waiting for him to take it off and give it to her.

He began to take off his jacket, then stopped. "Psych!" he said loudly and began laughing.

"Ooh!" Serenity said as she threw her pencil at him.

He dodged the flying object and laughed again.

"Excuse me," the youth pastor said, "but can I get some quiet back there?"

"Sorry," both Serenity and Jonathan said.

The youth pastor continued. "Like I was saying, we are not perfect people. That's why we need a Savior."

Some of Serenity's peers s.h.i.+fted in their seats.

"Just like you're not perfect," he said. "Neither are your parents."

Serenity exchanged a look of doubt with Cookie.

"Sometimes parents struggle with things just like you do."

Some of the kids frowned.

"What? Y'all think y'all special?" he asked jokingly, and everyone started laughing.

"We'll you ain't." He became serious. "Satan's gonna try you just like he tries your parents. Remember that. And the next time you want your parents to cut you some slack, try cutting them some slack," he said. "Because even when they make mistakes, they still love you. They do."

It had grown quiet in the room.

"Let us pray for each other," the pastor said. And everyone lowered their heads.

Chapter Forty-seven.

Lorenzo was on his way to the treatment center for a one-on-one session with his counselor Mark. As part of the program requirements, he also had to provide a urine sample two times a week or whenever his counselor deemed it necessary. Lorenzo had no problem with that. His samples always came back clean because he had not taken any pills since he'd begun therapy after his fall.

Although Lorenzo had been attending group and individual therapy twice a week for a month, he was still in the initial phase of treatment and there were still times when he felt down. He mentioned this to Mark, during his therapy session.

"There'll be times when you're going to feel that way," Mark said. "But whatever you do, don't become discouraged," he warned him. "That's one of the enemy's biggest tools-discouragement."

Lorenzo nodded his head as he listened.

"It takes time to heal," Mark said. "Admitting your abuse and speaking out about it means that you've taken the first and most important step toward the healing process." He opened his drawer, pulled out a small notepad, and pushed it toward Lorenzo. "Today we're having a funeral," he said.

"Huh?" Lorenzo gave Mark a look of confusion.

"Write down every negative feeling or thought you've been carrying around with you since the day you were molested."

Lorenzo picked up the pencil and stared at the blank sheet of paper for several minutes. Finally, he looked up. "Nah, man, I can't," he said.

"You'll never be free until you can," Mark said.

Several more minutes pa.s.sed before Lorenzo began to write slowly.

Ugly, shame, hate, denial, sad, rage, cold, worthless. ... Those were some of the words Lorenzo wrote down. He knew he'd sheltered all of those emotions in his heart, but what he didn't know was how to release them. He'd forgotten, or maybe he'd shunned the answer-he wasn't sure which-when it had been presented to him by one of his Christian coworkers years ago.

Now for years, he had been battling with his emotions, forgetting that if he surrendered himself to the Lord, the battle would no longer be his to fight but the Lord's. Somehow, he'd made a detour, a wrong turn. He'd stepped off the path of righteousness and had become completely lost.

He looked at the self-destructive words he'd written on the piece of paper. Without warning, the d.a.m.n inside of him broke, and his shoulders began to heave violently as twenty-seven years of pent-up tears were finally released.

Mark sat silently.

After some time, Lorenzo's tears began to subside. He grabbed a wad of tissue and blew his nose. "I'm sorry, man," he said.

"For what?" Mark asked gently. "For being human?"

Lorenzo blew his nose again. The words he'd written on the piece of paper had quickly become distorted from the tears that had fallen from his eyes.

Mark instructed him to fold up the piece of paper.

Lorenzo folded the paper in half, and then folded it again.

"It's time to say your last good-byes," Mark said. He placed his hand over the folded paper. "Lord," he began, "we put to death all these words of bondage that only serve to keep Lorenzo in the pit of depression he's been in for too long."

Lorenzo bowed his head.

"We cast down all words, thoughts, and actions that go against You, Father. Right now. And we ask that Your will be done, not ours. Lift up Lorenzo, Lord. And set him free from the things that have kept him bound. Thank you, Father. In the name of Jesus, we pray. Amen."

"Amen," Lorenzo whispered in agreement with his counselor.

"You're gonna make it," Mark said. "Believe that."

Lorenzo hesitated. "I believe," he said.

He left the treatment center and headed for his car. He drove home with the front windows slightly cracked. The cold front was pa.s.sing, and Lorenzo noticed the tree branches beginning to relinquish the weight from the icy burial chamber they'd been encased in. As he drove, he saw the ice-paved sidewalks, which had sent many pedestrians to the emergency room, being transformed into a slushy mixture of icy crumbs.

Lorenzo turned into his driveway and pressed the b.u.t.ton on the remote control. He waited while the garage door slowly rose and was relieved to see Tia's SUV parked inside. He parked his car next to hers and turned the engine off. He remained seated behind the steering wheel as he thought about the events that had taken place during his counseling session.

After the "funeral," Lorenzo realized not only had he been harboring a shame that did not belong to him but he had also been in mourning over what had happened to him and how his innocence had been forever lost.

"It will do you no good to wonder, why me?" Mark had said before Lorenzo left his office. "The only thing you can do now is get past it by turning it over to the Lord."

And that's exactly what Lorenzo intended to do. Bits and pieces of G.o.d's Word came back to him now as he reflected on how the past twenty-seven years of his life had been since the molestation. He recalled a verse from the Bible that held an undeniable truth: "The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full."

His inability to get past what had happened to him had cost him a great deal. It had come between him and his wife, and worst of all . . . it had interrupted his relations.h.i.+p with Jesus. He had allowed it to hinder him emotionally and physically, even costing him his job. Everything good had been stolen from him or destroyed. He, himself, had almost died.

He closed his eyes and bowed his head. "Father, forgive me for my sins," he whispered. "Forgive me as I forgive Brent for molesting me all those years ago." He stopped to catch his breath . . . that was the first time he had mentioned the perpetrator's name in twenty-seven years. "Forgive me for abandoning my duties as a husband, Lord. Forgive me for turning my back on you."

Lorenzo shook his head from side to side. "I've fallen short again, Father, but I know with You by my side I can also rise again." He clasped his hands together tightly. "I surrender my heart and my life to You, Lord. Help me to give You all the glory, all the honor, and all the praise. In Jesus' name, amen."

Today had been the turning point for Lorenzo. He had received the strength he needed. He was not going to subdue his grief any longer. There would be no more anesthetizing it and placing it in an unburiable grave. No. He relinquished the pain. Forever. Because he had been set free. Praise G.o.d! He had been set free. He remembered how Tony had reminded him of what Jesus said about freedom: "So if the Son sets you free, you will be free indeed."

Lorenzo wiped his eyes and got out of the car. Hallelujah, he had been set free! Now, it was time to share the truth with his wife.

He let the garage door down as he got out of the car and went into the house. Tia was not in any of the rooms on the first level so he slowly walked up the stairs and headed for the bedroom.

"Hi," Lorenzo said as he peeked through the partially open door.

Tia grabbed a magazine and began flipping through the pages. "h.e.l.lo," she said cautiously. Somewhere in her heart, a fractured piece of emotion still wanted to greet him with the eagerness of a child. But as she remembered all that he had withheld from her, her emotions remained in a distant and un.o.btainable state.

He stood in the doorway as Tia continued her pretense of browsing through the magazine. Finally, he took a deep breath. "I'd like to talk to you for a minute," he said nervously.

Even though Lorenzo had been faithful in attending his counseling sessions, they were still not on speaking terms. Her heartbeat quickened. What did he want to talk to her about? "Talk on," she said without looking at him. She wanted to give him some of his own medicine, treat him like he'd treated her on so many occasions when she'd wanted to talk to him. "I'm listening."

"Can I come in?"