Paint me a picture with your words.

I trust you.
You give me words I can work with.

“Use your body”
You say.

I hear you, and yet my mind needs a picture.
“Open your legs, allow her to move through you”

I breathe. I settle myself. I relax.
She moves. I move.
Or I move and she moves.

We are one.
We are connecting.
On a fundamental, base, we are one.

I move, she moves.

Paint me a picture with your words.

Allow her fluid movement to move through you.
Connect with her movement.
Catch it !!! That movement.

“Do you feel it?”

Paint me a picture with your words.

She comes into my hands.
Willing and supple.
Asking…even though we do not know what is next.

Paint me a picture with your words.

A connection.
With her, my Lady.
Willing and honest.

Not unlike relationships.
We move.
We are supple
We ask.
We are willing.

Even though we do not know what is next.

Paint me a picture with your words.
I will follow.
I’ll do my best.

Paint me a picture with your words.

The waiting game.

The tests.
Blood sucking lab work.
Week after week..

And I wait.

My hair is falling out.
I am so tired.
My fingernails are peeling off.

More blood sucking lab work.
Week after week…

And I wait.

“You’re results are within normal limits, Ms. Lamb”
“My hair is falling out, I am so tired, my fingernails are peeling off”
“Yes, and your results are within normal limits, Ms. Lamb”

And I wait

More blood sucking lab work.

And I wait

“We’ll try some vitamin supplements. You’ll feel better in no time”
One month, two months, now three gone by.

My hair is falling out, I am so tired, my fingernails are peeling off.

The game.
The ever long-lasting waiting game.
When does it stop?

The day my heart not so quietly felt it was vomiting its way out my throat.
The day my upper lip beaded with sweat regardless it was ten degrees below zero.
The day my blood pressure was so high I could not hear a human voice; only a high ringing in my ears.

Will you listen to me, now?
I do not want to die.

“Yes, and your results are all within normal limits, Ms. Lamb”

FUCK YOU

My hair is falling out, I am so tired, my fingernails are peeling off.
And now?
My heart….
MY HEART…which has waited so patiently for you to help me is giving up.

This waiting game?
I will not afford you.
My hair is falling out, I am so tired, my fingernails are peeling off.

This game? Your game?
You cannot give me your time?

My blood sucking lab work will be on your hands.

My four worst words. “Yeah, but what if…”

I was asked to speak with a group of women I work with concerning how to respond to the children placed in our care.

The precious innocent children who have been sexually abused, removed from their homes, living in foster care, and facing many unknowns about their very tomorrow.

My response was not full of intellectual heady statistics. My response was from my heart.
“You be there for them. You hold their hearts in your hands, you listen, you assure, and accept these girls as if they are your own.”

The children and teens I have had the honor and privilege of working with are nothing short of amazing.
Their eyes tell such stories.
Brown eyes full of terror, blue full of tears, hazel full of wonder, green possibly of hope?

“yeah, but what if”

“What if it was my fault?”
“What if I’m bad?”
“What did I do wrong?”

“yeah, but what if”

“What if I tell?”

My brown eyes, which change to green when I cry, hold their gaze steady.

“You are safe”
“This was not your fault”
“You are not bad”
“You did nothing wrong”

“yeah, but what if”

“yeah,” I say, “What if you hadn’t told”
‘Your fear is real”
“Just as real as I am here for you”
“And your healing is coming. I promise.”

“yeah, but what if”

“yeah, and I’m so glad you did”