This was never enough. Prayer. Devotion. Abstinence. It was never enough to rid me of my sin, but I still found myself here every week, drained and feeling like death inside. Every time I shut my eyes, I could see my stepfather’s face sneering my way. “Run, little rabbit, run,” he would say. And then I would feel the light caress of his hand running from the nape of my neck down to my lower back, stinging like kerosene. I had been trying for years, but the memory still remained. So did the feelings that came with his constant touch. On this particular day in confession, I spoke terrible words of devastation.
“Father, I know I need to have faith. But I can’t seem to believe in anything good anymore.” I stared down at my Sunday shoes, awaiting his response.
“And you have come for guidance? Not to repent?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, you better run, my little rabbit. Run.”