Foreword:
“Daughter’s First Dance with Daddy”

Somewhere over the rainbow when my promised destination finally arrives, I will pass through the Portal into the misty clouds. My first obvious inclination will be to seek out my Daddy’s eyes.
I will no longer need to run.

My father will approach and say, “Princess, would you like to dance?” I will bow to him in deep respect as he directs my hand to his shoulder and slips his hand onto my waist; smiling in “God’s Presence” with a quiet confidence. I will feel safe in his arms as we waltz among soft billowy clouds together.
I will no longer need to be afraid.

Should my weak ankle give out he will remove my high heels, the ones I so vainly wore and slip on satin Japanese slippers…so that his daughter may thoroughly enjoy the dance in complete comfort.
I will no longer need to cry.

As the music stops and the nearing evening brings the cool wind’s chill, my Daddy will sacrifice his coat for my warmth and gently drape it across my shoulders, sheltering me from the elements. Again firmly placing his strong hand upon my waist, he sweeps me off my feet as the next dance begins.
I no longer need to dream of love, I am experiencing it.

And so I pray for that day, when I find closure to my desperate childhood needs. I anticipate the special moments we will share as my life finally knows total emotional satisfaction, free of sin and filled with true comprehension of a love between a father and a child, and a daughter and her father…

Isak Dinesen says, “All sorrows can be borne, if you put them in a story.”My husband says, “All stories can be told, if you are able to bear the sorrow.”

I awoke to the sharp tearing of what sounded like clothing, followed immediately by a grunt and muffled scream. ‘What the hell?’ My racing mind was prone to swearing what my mouth was not allowed to speak. Then I realized that Kathy was not in her bed and my racing mind turned to panic.

My eyes were riveted open and my ears strained to hear every sound. I could see nothing, but I heard everything. It sounded like the springs when I sneak into Mommy and Daddy’s bedroom and jump up and down on the bed. Like the heightening of a wave on the ocean, the noise would come and disappear and then begin all over again.

Like a snake, my diminutive Japanese body slithered out of bed and crept down the hallway following the painful noise. I was careful not to give my presence away by stepping over the squeaky fourth floor board. I followed the sounds like a homing beacon to my parent’s bedroom. The muffled scream had turned to a forced whimper rising above the awful screeching of those bedsprings. Both pain and the squeaking were increasing in intensity and rhythm.

It was Kathy!

Someone was hurting Kathy! My panic turned into fear for her life! What could possibly be causing such anguish? Who was hurting her? I was faced with a moment of truth. I could run and hide, or I could try and save my sister. In a heartbeat I knew what I had to do As a child I couldn’t do much, but it was Kathy in there being hurt! My Kathy! My fear boiled over into desire to defend my sister. Like a volcano erupting, the quake in my hand and the fire in my mouth came spewing out.

“You leave my sister alone!” I shouted, pounding my fists on the bedroom door. Sweat was pouring profusely down my face and tears stung my eyes. It was as if my fear exploded and I had become a wild woman. I could feel my nostrils rising and falling with each sharp breath; my hands numbing with each pounding blow.

Whatever, whoever it was… it ignored me. The sounds of pain and hurt and disgust filled the air with no regard for me and my deaf pleas. I began to cry.

Then suddenly it stopped.

I held my breath, fearing someone had killed Kathy. I froze at the door not knowing what to do. Then to my relief, I heard Kathy’s shaky voice.

“I’m all right Amy,” she whimpered. “Please go to bed.” Moving like a zombie the last thing I heard as I turned the corner into my bedroom was the soft crying of my sister.

And it was deafening….. 

Excerpted from Spirit Unbroken © Copyright 2012 by Rick and Alice Garlock. Reprinted with permission by Inkwater Press. All rights reserved.