Road Trip Home: Four

Angie's P.O.V.
"My birth name is Angeline Leland, and this is my story.
"My mom started taking me to church just before I turned five. For a while, I was oblivious to the fact that we were not wanted, let alone accepted. When I first started to realize though, I thought it was because of me. But it didn't take me long to realize I was wrong. It had nothing to do with me. . .it was because of my father. After all, who would want to associate with the family of a drunk? But see, people didn't realize how alone this made my mom feel. And one night, I guess she'd had enough. Enough of the life she was hiding, enough of dealing with people who didn't want to help her. I don't know.
But she tucked me into bed, told me she loved me and that everything was going to be ok, and then she left. That was the last time I ever saw her. She got into my dads pickup, drove outside town, and it didn't even look like she tried to stop before she hit the tree.
Believe it or not, I didn't blame her. I wasn't mad at her. I just wished she had taken me with her.
After the funeral. I heard a lot about how she was weak, and a coward for leaving me. But no one seemed to care that I went home and had to sit in my bedroom closet for almost two days, hiding from my drunk dad. See, something no one knew about my mom was how good she was at lying. I watched her do it every day. I watched as she learned how to cover bruises with clothes and makeup, as she tried to figure out a story to convince you that her busted lip was from a closet door carelessly left open in the hallway. I watched her work so hard to hide it, that when I was the one with the bruises. . .I did the same thing. So believe me when I say that I understand why my mother wanted out, I wanted out too. I just never thought her death would be what got me out. Two months later, thanks to her friends accidentally discovering who was going on, I was removed from my fathers custody. The Watters. . .they tried to get the courts to grant them custody, but they didn't. And so I got put into foster care.
Honestly, things weren't much better there, and soon I started down the precarious road of self inflicting. Fire, heat, the feeling of burning skin; it was a pain I knew I could survive. I started stealing cigaretts from my foster parents, and eventually I got my hands on a lighter. I never got caught because I was never in a "home" long enough for anyone to notice they were missing anything. No one wanted to deal with me.
I was diagnosed with PTSD, and I would constantly have flashbacks. Every little thing seemed to set me off. I'd scream, cry, kick, and yell. I didn't even know I was doing it until I came out of it. Then as "disciplinary action" I'd get smacked around by my foster parents or whoever was in charge of the group home.
At age 13 I was moved again. I knew the drill by now; through anything you can actually call yours in a trash bag and shut up until you get to the new house. I wasn't excited or even happy to be placed again; I expected it to be just like every other place.
Boy was I wrong.
The Tuckers changed my life. For the first time I got discipline, not for my flashbacks, but for my crap attitude. Discipline that didn't involve getting smacked around. They actually helped me get a handle on the PTSD and got me help to understand what it meant to live with it. They reminded me of what it meant to be loved, and Charlotte led me to Christ shortly after I was adopted.

"Look, I'm pretty sure I'd be dead by my own hand if not for the Tuckers. I know I wouldn't be who I am today. And I'm not saying that I don't still struggle. Believe me, I'm a long way from being struggle free. I still have flashbacks, and-sometimes-I still self inflict. But I'm proud to say that as of a week ago it's been nine months. Nine months that I've been stronger than my addiction, and I cling to every day, hoping to add to that total. Because I am no longer my scars, my past, or my failures. I'm no longer that scared little daughter of a drunk. God took that, and gave me the hope of a bright future.
Little Angeline Leland died the day she accepted Him, and now I'm new. That's part of the reason I asked them to change my name to Angie. I'm different, I'm stronger. I am not who I was."
I pause and consider leaving it at that. I know I probably should, but being here has made all the bitterness and anger bubble up inside me again, and I'm speaking again before I know what I'm saying.
"Over the past three years, all I've felt from those around me is love. I've never felt judged for my past or my parents or my scars. But before that? Not so much. When j was in foster care, I was treated like I was invisible, or just another government check. I was abused, both physically and emotionally. And yet no where was I abused worse than right here in my home town. By my dad, sure, but by the people here too. So many things I heard and didn't understand as a kid. Understanding came later. And what I understood was that people knew-or at least had some idea-about what my mom and I were going through, and did nothing but ridicule how she was dealing with it. Growing up with that knowledge. . .it was more painful than any self inflicted scar or foster home beating.
I grew up feeling betrayed and rejected, unwanted and unloved. And to this day I still do not feel worthy of love. I'm thankful for the people in my life that love me. For my family now,  and the four people-including my mother-who actually showed me love when I was a child. But I still feel unworthy. Because of how I was treated here, because love was clearly not enough to make my mother stay, because love is rare in the system. . ." I have to pause and take a breath, trying to keep the tears at bay. "Finding-Finding Christ's love; feeling His love through His people. . .I couldn't be more thankful. I'm not worthy of His love, and I think understanding that has made me so much more thankful of the sacrifice that He made for me. I am so unworthy, but yet I am wanted and I am loved. Therefore I am blessed.
"I'm not going to apologize for what I've said tonight, but I do understand the importance of the lesson I was taught here. This weekend, it's about serving you. At first I was furious, but now I am excited. Though painful, the lesson I learned because of my time here is something I value. I'm not going to yell anymore. Thank you, for having me and my family here this week. I fully believe you will enjoy the production."
I take a breath, shocked not only at my words, but at the fact that I truly mean them. I can feel my anger dissipating with every step as we go to take out seats, and my fear begins to follow as I sit with my parents on either side.
My phone vibrates as Jason walks up to the podium. A text from Clair?
"Can we talk later? But soon?"
I lean forward as he begins to speak, trying to make eye contact with Clair from the opposite end of the pew. She looks at me for only a moment before typing again.
Another buzz. "Just soon, ok?"
I nod and reply, saying we would, and then turn my attention back to Jason. He's not speaking anymore, but instead helping a man up the steps to the podium.
He looks older, sickly, but still it's clear he was once a muscular-maybe even handsome-man. He couldn't be much older than my-
As he turns to face us I can see his eyes. Even from so far away, I recognize those eyes. And they meet mine for only a moment, but it's enough to make me feel sick.
I tap dads arm-I have to get out-but he doesn't move.
I elbow him, trying to suppress the desire to gag. "Dad I need out."
He shakes his head, "No, you need to hear this."
I grab his arm so tightly my fingernails leave impressions. "Dad I'm about to be sick please" I swallow past the growing lump on my throat, "please let me out."
Finally, reluctantly, he stands to let me out. I don't even try to hide the fact that I'm running as I leave the sanctuary. Instead of going to the bathrooms I run out the west door and double over. For the second time that day I'm sick.
After taking a moment to pull myself together I start walking around the building. Around the back, between the church and the cemetery, I start to run again. If only to get away from the eerie feeling back here.
Around the east side of the building, past the tree, and in the kitchen door of the parsonage. Safe. Finally safe. I take a shallow breath. Shrinking down with my back to the door, I pull my knees to my chest and spend the next several minutes trying to regulate my breathing even as tears begin to escape.
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Charlotte's POV
When Angie left I knew instantly who had walked up to the podium. I I get up to follow her, but William takes my hand. "Hon, I think you need to hear what he has to say."
I sit beside my husband and look him in the eye. "Our daughter has just run out of the room. I recognized that look in her eyes. Fear. She is out there somewhere, completely terrified, and you want me to stay here and listen to what the man who caused that has to say?"
He stammers, searching for the right words.
"Mom" Liza whispers from the other side of me. "Mom, this is the whole reason they brought us here. They want us to hear Sean out. You stay, I'll go check on Angie. I'm sure she's fine, alright?"
I take a breath and reluctantly agree. As Liza leaves, Sean starts speaking. He seems rattled by Angie's words-and maybe her exit-but his voice still sounds sure.
"Jason was going to make this announcement at the beginning of service, but I. . .I wanted you all to hear it from me. As you all know, I've been battling cancer since the beginning of the year. It's never looked very good, but last month it was made very clear that even after all the chemo there was only a small chance is ever make it to remission. And so I decided to stop the treatments. They say I've got under six months. I stopped the treatment so I would be as involved as possible in the last months of my life. I want to make memories, both for myself and for my family." He motions to two women sitting on the front row, and they walk up to join him. They look so much alike, I instantly know they're mother and daughter. The mother is crying, and the daughter, no more than 15, is gripping her mothers arm as tightly as possible. "I won't be here much longer, and I'm ok with that." Sean continues. "My only regrets are those to do with my daughter, who you all saw just moments ago. I regret giving her up after she was taken, and I regret being the kind of man she had to be taken from. I would appreciate all of your prayers for our little family this week as I try to talk with her. And for for strength for us all as we walk through this valley. I get it easy, I'm going to paradise. But Aleisha and Jessica, they're the ones who will have it hard." He wraps them both in a hug before they help him off the stage.
For a moment it's deathly quiet as Jason approaches the podium. I recognize the look in his eyes as he begins to dismiss. Pain, and sorrow. He and Sean must have become close in the past few years.
"Tonight, our service has already turned out differently," he begins, "so I would propose a time spent in prayer during the last of our time tonight. After which, you're welcome to leave or move to the lobby and fellowship."
He nods, a hymn starts playing softly through the speakers, and he moves towards Sean and his new family. Suddenly I'm glad that Angie left. The last thing she needs to see right now is him with another wife. . .and another daughter.
William takes my hand, and I turn to face him. I place my head on his shoulder as he prays. And for the first time that day I allow tears to make it past my eyes. "Father" he whispers, "we lift our Angie to you tonight. You know the circumstance, You know the choice she will have to make before this week ends. We pray that even now You will be speaking to her heart. Giving her courage, and the strength she doesn't know she needs yet. Give us the patience and the wisdom to guide her in the direction you choose. We pray also for the Leland family. God be with them, give them strength. Comfort Sean as his battle rages on. Comfort Aleisha and Jessica as the have to watch someone they love dying. Bless our time here this weekend, we place everything into Your hand. In Your name. . ."
I take a breath as I realize it's now my turn. I'm not sure if I'll be able to speak, but I swallow past the lump in my throat and try.
"God, You know my heart. You know how much I love these two girls that I am so blessed to call my daughters. My only wish was to have a child of my own, and You alone know how devastating it was to find out I couldn't. But now I know that Your plan was for us to give a home to two beautiful and free spirited girls; who both desperately needed our help. Your help. My only desire now is to protect them. To keep them from danger, from trauma, from fear. And yet here we are. Lord I do not know Your plan. I do not know what You have planned for Angie here. But I pray that You'll be with her, with her family, with us. I don't know what's going on, and honestly God I'm too tired to process it right now. Give us all the strength and the wisdom to not only discern but to follow Your will. . .whatever that may be. In You name, amen."
I lean closer to William and he wraps me in his arms. We sit there for several minutes, until I see
Sean and Jason walk out the sanctuary doors. "Should we?" I ask quietly.
"It's why we' re here, isn't it?"
I nod. After one more moment in his arms, drawing strength from him because my own is gone, we stand and go to talk to our daughters father.