"Shhh…Don’t Tell, It’s a Secret"

If I had a nickel for every time I heard this growing up…

Everyone has secrets. Some are best to stay a secret and others are harmless.

For every saint, there is more than one sinner. If the body could speak, ooooh, what a tale it could tell. It's a good thing we are resilient. The heart will heal and the tears will dry.

The global quarantine has given us quiet time to reflect on life. Time away from the daily distractions. Time for secrets from the past to find a way to resurface.

When a memory comes to mind, consider it an opportunity. If it’s a sweet memory, enjoy it and feel it down deep in your soul. If it’s not pleasant, reflect on it. Your soul is reaching out to your mind to let you know it’s time to let it go - and let it go forever. 

Secrets in the south outnumber the stars in the skies. Some flow as deep and dark as the backwaters of the mighty Mississippi Delta. Others drift through the mind like a warm summer breeze. I have a long history with both.

One long buried secret from my childhood has made itself known during isolation. I thought this event was buried decades ago.

Perhaps I was wrong. 

Like it was yesterday, I could see my ankles were crossed as I was twirling around on the padded drug store stool. I had a long, iced teaspoon in my hand. I was reaching to eat ice cream from a tall, frosted, drugstore parfait glass. It was a beautiful day, and my kindergarten teacher’s husband came in and sat down next to my mother and me.

We said our hello’s and he casually asked if I wanted to go home with him. He told us that his wife and daughters were on their way home from shopping. The girls and I could play together for the rest of the afternoon. I was happy to leave with him.

There was no reason for my mother or me to suspect anything out of the ordinary. I got in his truck, smiled, and waved goodbye to my mother.

But this man had a secret…

I was only five years old. 

I was completely innocent.

I was about to see the dark side of man. 

My guardian angels were with me in force that day. When I found myself alone in an empty house with a man who had a dark secret. When he called my name, I walked down the hall into the last bedroom of my teacher’s home. I saw a man I knew and respected facing open closet doors with no clothes on.

For some reason, he was alarmed by my reaction. My family was a pillar in the small community, and he became terrified. I remembered my grandmother’s phone number. My aunt came to get me.

I held this secret for years. Not physically touched, I was emotionally burdened by trauma from someone I had trusted. As quickly as I had eaten ice cream earlier in the day, my childhood innocence was gone.

The secret was a heavy load for a five-year-old who had begun her day with her mother in the small-town drugstore.

When writing this post, I said a final goodbye to "Mr. M" with no emotional charge. 

I pray there is something you can let go of too. The event is not as important as how you have carried it mentally, emotionally and physically. Let it go. Your life is waiting.

Life is to be lived.

And for eating ice cream.

Blissfully Blessed,

Jinger