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             It was an early spring day and the sun was shining after several cold, gloomy days in a row.  The sunshine made it appear warmer than it really was, though.  My phone rang and my babysitter said she needed help.  I could tell something was terribly wrong, but I did not know what.  She and her family lived two houses away.  Lindsey (not her real name) was the oldest of 16 children living in an older small home.  I wasn’t even sure how they did it, but the kids all looked well fed so I tried not to worry about them.  Dad was a farmer.  They weren’t neighborly people, so no one knew much about them.  Lindsey had a little sister, Eva (not her real name) who was 3 or 4, the same age as my youngest daughter Julie at the time.  Lindsey adored her little sister.  Lindsey was 17 and attending our one high school in town.  She was a good student.  My girls adored Lindsey, so they never minded if they needed a babysitter!  She was such a good kid.

            When Lindsey called, I told her to come on over.  I also called my friend Jeannie so that if Lindsey needed me to do something there would be someone to watch the kids.  I ran a Group Family Licensed day care so had between 5 and 10 kids at my house at any one time.  Once Lindsey was sitting down at my kitchen table, she turned awkward.  I kept asking her what was wrong, and she couldn’t answer.  She said her problem was a boy, but not a boy.  It was like a riddle and she didn’t seem to be able to go any further.  There were tears and trembling.  Honestly, I thought maybe a breakup with her boyfriend which I knew could be devastating to a teenager.  Looking back, I wish with all my heart and soul that that was all it was.

            It turned out that “a boy, but not a boy” was Lindsey’s father.  He was coercing her to have sex with him when she was in the bath.  He would come into the bathroom with a butcher knife and threaten her not to make a sound.  I held her and rocked her until the worst of the tears subsided.  She said she didn’t know what to do about it.  I kept trying to convince her we had to call the police, but she was terrified that if we did that something would happen to her little sister, Eva.  In the back of my mind I was remembering the few times my Julie and Eva had spent all day with her dad on his tractor and mentally praying that nothing already had.  Finally, my friend Jeanne also came out to the kitchen to try to help convince her we had to call the police.  I told her I would stay with her and she could stay at our house.  So, we called.  To this day I am not sure if we did the right thing, but I couldn’t stand the thought of that happening to this poor young girl one more time.

            The police came to our home and Lindsey and I went downstairs with them to our half-finished basement to get away from all the younger children.  The two policemen followed us.  I remember sitting on the floor with my back to the cold concrete wall next to Lindsey.  She tried valiantly to tell them what was going on.  They paced in front of us.  Finally, one of them turned and said in a hard voice, “So why didn’t you get pregnant if this was happening?”  It was obvious Lindsey had no answer to that and it was twice as obvious this police officer did not want to believe her.  The police never even brought up a rape kit or exam that could prove her story.  I was devastated by the way we were being treated when I always thought the police were there to help us.  They wrote a few things in their notebook and finally they left saying they would investigate the situation. 

            If I was devastated by how we were treated as was Lindsey, I was more shattered by the results of their investigation.   We found out later that her parents had told the police that Lindsey was their problem child and was on drugs.  They said it would be just like her to make something like this up to get them in trouble because they were trying to get her to stop using drugs.  And after all, her family had lived in this small town for 100 years, causing no problems. There was no way this father would ever have done this. It just couldn’t and didn’t happen.  And the police chose to believe them, not Lindsey. 

            Lindsey stayed with us until the state made her move to a foster home because we only had two bedrooms, one for my husband and I and one for our young daughters.  I took her to the grief support meetings at Mayo Clinic for mothers and their abused daughters since her own mother refused to believe her.  Poor Lindsey had no one championing her rights and I didn’t know what else to do for her.  She had lost her family and, most importantly, her little sister, Eva.

            I had a history of depression that had been well controlled with medication.  However, as this event took place, I began to lose weight rapidly.  I just couldn’t come to terms with this whole situation.  I was horrified by the lack of justice.  I never dreamed it would come to this.  And Lindsey, of course, was worse off than I was so I was worried about her.  Eventually, when I was down to 96 pounds, our small-town doctor convinced my husband and I that I should check into the hospital on the psych floor at Mayo Clinic where they could better monitor my medication and get me back on track.  But the last thing I wanted to do was to leave my children and go to the hospital.  I remember sitting on the couch holding them trying to explain that mommy had to go away for a little while and all of us sobbing together.  They had their arms around my neck.  And all I could picture in my mind was when I was 3 and my mom went to the hospital and I didn’t see her for over a year.  I stopped believing my dad that she would ever come home again.  She got polio during the 1953 epidemic and there was no vaccine yet.  And now I was going to leave my girls just like my mom left my younger sister and me.  Praise God I found out there was a picnic every Thursday night for the families.  My husband resolutely brought the girls every week so they could see their mom was still alive and I could hold and touch them.  Our neighbor Maria, who had girls close in age to ours, took care of my girls while their dad worked.

            I also worried constantly about Lindsey until Dr. Hanson, my life raft from heaven, assured me she was upstairs on another psych floor and they were helping her also.  He said he was breaking the patient privacy rules by even telling me, but he knew I was so broken by the whole situation and I needed to know she was okay.  I could not see her, but I trusted him because I knew how hard he was trying to help me.  I have to admit I got worse before I got better, but that’s another story.  It took time.  And patience.  And perseverance.  And grit.  And, most of all, God.  I missed Julie’s first day of kindergarten which absolutely broke my heart.  When I finally got home, she would run off the bus and tackle me on the front lawn with her hugs and kisses.

            And God was not only there for me, he was there for Lindsey also.  Over time we lost touch.  But one day a few years later, I was sitting at my desk at work when who should walk in but Lindsey and a nice-looking young man.  She had a huge smile on her face.  I had never seen her look this happy.  She hugged me and then backed up, held out her left hand and showed me a ring.  She said, “We’re getting married!”.  Truly she looked blessed and I could only thank God with true joy in my heart.  She had obviously broken away from her past and was now moving forward to live her life to the fullest.  Praise the Lord!