A gift. That is what she was called. Little Lindsay was a wrapped up package to a grandfather who would grow to be disgusted with her. They shared a birthday and the shared some blood. And that was it. October 10th and some chromosomes.
Lindsay was always a little different. A little unique. A little, well, off. You see, when all those little girls were off playing barbies, Lindsay had her warm blooded prehistoric friends made of plastic. The dinosaurs with the graphic gashes slicing "Jurassic Park" in the sides. They would battle while those barbies would shop. Occasionally the raptor pack would wreck havoc in the barbie town, ripping off the heads of the children, sending the gods of that fantasy world crying to their mother's. Ah, and she would laugh. The dinosaurs represented good. Anything nonhuman displayed a lively glow of righteousness. The righteous would overcome the evil. And humans were evil.
As time found Lindsay being seven years old, she stowed away the violence and silenced the hate. But just because a leopard makes no sound as it stalks its prey does not mean it has no ill-intentions. Lindsay was still there, but she was smarter. She calculated her words. She would twist them to sounds of persuasion, rather than bludger the opposers skull in. It seemed like a good plan. She was still allowed to have fun. In innocent games of house she would take the role of the family dog. The family dog that all too often ended the pleasures by snapping and harming a human. But she didn't pretend to kill. Her parents quit worrying.
At twelve years of age, Lindsay found herself taken from all she had grown up knowing. Her parents decided it was time to move, and her role model (her german shepherd, Toots) perished while trying to rescue her cat from a car. The fury towards humanity swelled. Her heart hurt and she showed it through physical trauma on others. It was a dark time; a time that no god was able to grasp her heart during. She had lost any strand of faith she had had. She was lost, and she didn't care. Things only got worse as her son, a rabbit named Buggsy, died at five years of age. The smile ceased, replaced by a scowl of hate; eyes shriveled in pain-stricken grief. It took years for the laughs to be true. Her three best friends could not eve unbury the joy that, at one point in time, she would have displayed openly to only them or her animals. The clouds sat thick in her skies, challenging her to try and fight past them to the sun. She cowered from the dare. She accepted the sense of hopelessness. She embraced it.
At age 13, Lindsay accepted her parents offer to move far away. To a whole new world. From city to country. Yankee to redneck. It had been an easy decision. Lindsay hated humanity so why shouldn't she strive to fall into a world where less humans slapped their grimey fingers all over everything? Born with the heart of a cowgirl, Lindsay didn't take long to slither into a comfortable niche at the top of the school. Her accent attracted those who longed for something new, while her confident, down-to-earth personality drew in those more comfortable with the familiar. She made few friends, but everyone knew her name and where she came from. She was it; she was the thing. For a year.
After the excitement of an anthiest girl from upnorth finally wore off, Lindsay fell back to where she had ended in her former home; the silent girl that was downright intimidating. Her only friends were the many animals she had rescued since moving; and she was fine with that. She didn't realize she was missing anything.
The next phase in her life was bumpy way too quick. Her heart was stolen by a Christian church that was part of the Seventh-Day Adventist denomination. The pastor was quick to become her one and only friend; and he made sure to keep it that way. Every boy that dared enter into her life, he was sure to chase them away with the rifle of his words. An exact replica of her father's personality, minus the alcohol, is the very reason Lindsay was drawn in, despite her inability to trust before that point. He knew everything about her. She knew everything about him.
Except for the little fact that he was a coward hidden beneath that tough-guy exterior.
His wife became threatened by their friendship; scared that their overwhelming similarity to each other would force her husband's heart to wander. The woman determined that Lindsay was nomore than a whore looking for a man to steal. Set out to destroy their relationship, Lindsay found herself lying to place all the blame on herself. Months passed and her pastor, her best friend, her idol, her mentor, her daddy, never spoke a sound of truth. He let her lie and even regurgitated them himself when he was confronted. And still, behind the curtains, the two acted as if they were the best of friends. Lindsay just knew that he would tell his wife someday that all this was a load of crap.
Months more passed and still Lindsay cried herself to sleep every night.
By now, Lindsay knew God and she felt Him pushing her towards a drastic decision. She justified ignoring Him by saying she was forgiving her pastor. That is what Christians do; they forgive those who hurt them.
But they don't typically keep putting themselves in harms way.
When it finally clicked that things would not change unless she made them change, Lindsay moved to a different church. She spoke only to one member from her former church for a long while. A year passed before she dare set foot in her old church again. Her pastor saw her and the room lightened by his smile. Lindsay, prepared to give him the cold shoulder, was disgusted with herself as she took his hand and greeted him like a long lost friend.
She hasn't gone back since.
And so the time has passed and her life has guided her only closer to God. The most difficult experiences are so often the ones we must learn the most from. Lindsay I learned that and I aspire to paste the bricks of my life together with that mindset.
