of my face. Before I had realized
where it came from, there were
four girls surrounding me. They
roughly grabbed hold of both
my arms and held me, while
the “biggest and heaviest one”
punched me, over and over. It
seemed as if it were happening
for an eternity...but in reality, it
was probably all over in a matter
of three minutes, at which time
they released me, and shoved
me down onto the cold marble
tiles.
As I lay on the ground, I recall
with clarity, seeing the stark
contrast of my blood flowing
onto the white tiles. I felt cold. I
was scared, and I was in shock.
My classroom was within two
feet from where I lay. Somehow
I managed to get up, staggered
toward my history class, and
then passed out as I entered the
room. I awoke in the nurse’s
office. “Are you okay? Do you
know where you are?” The R.N.
had asked with valid concern.
“I’m dizzy. I’m in pain all over… is
this the nurse’s office?”
The rest of that day remains
somewhat hazy. My parents
were both called to the school.
I was taken to the hospital. The
doctor said I was concussed and
had severe lacerations on my
face and multiple fractured ribs.
My parents were livid, to say
the least...I do remember that in
detail. Yet, of course, they were
primarily concerned with my
well-being more than anything
else, and rightfully so.
I was frightened to go back to
school after that. And I became
withdrawn. It was determined,
after numerous consultations
with the school board, and a
Christian youth counselor; that
I could “stay at home” to finish
out my year. I had difficulty
concentrating. I had post-
traumatic stress syndrome;
however, at that time; they
were labeling it as “generalized
anxiety disorder, with a high
fear component along with
social apathy.” My parents were
patient, understanding, and
loving during that entire ordeal.
And, they had worked dutifully
with me, and my “teacher’s
suggestions.”
At the end of the term, I came
face to face with a predicament.
I could return to my classes
or, remain at home for the
final year of middle school. I
struggled with feelings that
were convoluted and conflicted
at once. I had wanted to attend
school again; I missed it dearly,
along with the interaction of
my fellow students. Yet, I was
completely reticent about a
return, and the possibility of
additional bullies repeating
what I had already endured.
Prayers and God is what helped
me. The Lord gave me the
courage, and fortitude to get
back to school the following
term. It was entirely because of
my awful experience that helped
shape my life and prepared me
for my adult years. I sincerely
longed to help others —
especially those being bullied, or
abused.
The Lord took my ashes and
turned it into beauty. He
formed and ordained my steps,
and carved out a career in
social services and Christian
counseling…ultimately
becoming a voice for the elderly,
where I worked my entire career
in Nursing Homes, and Group
Homes.
After all of which I had gone
through had subsided, and
I was healed of my outward
wounds. I found out that the
crowd of bullies was random
girls who broke into the school
looking for someone to “beat
up.” Being late for class that
day (special note that was the
first time of my ever being late
to class!) was the basis of my
11
being attacked. They were all
sent to juvenile detention. And
it turns out that they all had
a prior record, but none as
violent as the attack against my
person that day.
I am glad they were stopped
before doing irreparable harm
to others. I thank the Lord for
His loving hand in all of this. I
had forgiven all of my attackers
not too long after that incident,
and have never looked back. I
realized that things happen for
a reason, and that good things
can come from bad. So many
references in the Bible point
to that. Joseph pops to mind,
being sold into slavery, and
beaten, and yet…he was exalted
in the end and saved his people.
Job, being recompensed dearly
after going through so much,
rewarded eventually for his
faith and devotion to the Lord.
I’m not comparing myself to
these people, but what I am
saying is. Even though horrific
things happen in our lives,
either directly to us, or with
someone we know, or love…
there is always good eventually
to come from it. We might not
see it right away, or ever for
that matter. But, suffice to say,
there will be many of us who
recognize the transformation
for such happenings.
To this day, I often wonder what
became of “my bullies.” I pray
their lives were turned around,
and that the Lord touched their
hearts.
After all, with God all things are
possible.
Amen.
Note: This is a true account of
what happened to me when I was
11. My career as a geriatric social
worker and director in nursing
homes proved to be my calling
that was birthed during that
terrible encounter.
DOZ Magazine | March 2019