Do not think badly of me, because I did not tell you what was happening. I thought it was all my fault... and my responsibility to "get myself out of the mess I was in!"
I was waiting for the "right" time. I didn't want to hurt his wife. I didn't want to hurt his children. I didn't want to hurt our church, or my husband or my children. So I just kept quiet, and continued to let myself be hurt.
Then he died, and I thought to myself, "Now I can tell." But I couldn't. Too many people remembered him, and loved him still. There are framed portraits of him in the church office... A beautiful chapel bears his name... He is part of our church history...
But he used his power and authority to undermine all that I believed and trusted. And I still am struggling to climb out of the spiritual hole into which I tumbled.Now... what am I learning in this climb out of the hole?
...that telling what happened is the ladder that brings me closer to the top.
So, dear family... that's the dirty little secret. I wonder if there are others who would like to 'tell.'
