Unfailing Love

Unfailing love

(Hints at sexual abuse. Not explicitly)

I can remember how quiet the beach was that night. Even the waves whispered to me as they moved toward the shore, slowing around my feet before returning to the ocean. The light from the moon gave me a sense of awe and peace as it ran across the water onto the beach where I stood. My eyes followed the light back to the harvest moon that hung high above the Atlantic.

It was nights like that when I would find myself staring up toward the moon, admiring the hills and craters softly outlined by its bold face. Moon gazing always gave me a sense of calmness in a world filled with loneliness and isolation. Even the sand that squeezed between my toes as I walked gave me a pleasant sensation that helped take my mind off the world around me.

Just like all the nights before, I found myself alone, thinking about what my life really meant. I had been alive for so many years that I had nearly forgotten those I once loved so dearly. Any thoughts of childhood had faded into empty memories. My passion for life had disappeared, and I longed for the day I could feel free from the bonds that held me captive.

I roam the night because the day hides from me. The sun no longer caresses my skin or touches my face. The beauty of the rising and setting sun has come and gone so many times, yet my eyes have long since gazed upon it. The moonlight no longer warmed me—it only reminded me of what I had become. My olive skin had faded to a lifeless pallor, cold as the night I now called home. The night embraced me and became my refuge. The blood that once flowed through my veins and heart had become a virus that craved things so unimaginable I could no longer bring myself to satisfy its hunger. It had been 40 days since I last gave in, and my body had started to weaken.

As I stood there on the beach, I began to remember a time so long ago when I went by the name my mother gave me at birth—Elizabeth. There have been other names I’ve used throughout my life, but I always cherished that one. Mother told me it was my Christian name and that it meant “God is my oath.” I was raised in a Christian home and lived my life believing in God.

Throughout my childhood, even into my teens, I enjoyed sitting in the front pew of the big church with my grandma’s King James Bible in my hand. I’d listen to every word the pastor spoke and wrote down every Bible verse in that night’s lesson. My early years of sitting up front had me constantly turning around to my mom, asking how to spell certain books the pastor quoted. She would scold me and threaten me with the right hand of fellowship if I didn’t turn around in my seat—which I knew meant I was in for a good switching when I got home. I’d look through the table of contents, but trying to find a word like Ecclesiastes wasn’t easy for an eight-year-old who had never seen it before. Being raised in church every Sunday morning was something I cherished. That’s why I wish I had listened to my mother when I first met Stefan. But he became my life, and I didn’t want to give him up for anyone.

He was so handsome in his three-piece lounge suit the first night I met him. Anytime we went out, he wore a suit that complemented the tulip belle skirt I would wear. He was such a gentleman—ordering my food, pulling out my chair, opening doors. He always came to the door to greet my parents before asking to take me out. He was the only man who ever caused me to fall in love. The night he swept me off my feet, I thought he could one day be the father of my children—the one man I could spend the rest of my life with. But he wasn’t what he seemed.

I remember as a little girl how my mom and dad always seemed to get along. My mother told me it was because they were equally yoked and blessed. She told me to marry someone who believed and thought the same way I did. That was the one piece of advice I always wished I had followed.

Stefan despised religion and any mention of God, but I was so certain that as a Christian, I could change him. Being young and naïve, I didn’t understand that only God could change the heart of a man. My constant pleading only angered him more. Mama used to say, “Don’t yoke yourself to someone who walks in darkness, child.” I wish I had listened. She warned me so many times that the spirit around Stefan wasn’t good and that I should cut all ties. But I couldn’t. He had me mesmerized. All I could think about was him, day and night. As time went on, I turned from my family and even from God to pursue Stefan. That’s when my life began to crumble.

At 22, I had never given myself to a man. I was sure I would wait until marriage with the one I loved. But I was never given that chance. Stefan became impatient one night and forcefully took the innocence I had protected for so long. Not only did he take what didn’t belong to him, he also put within my blood a poison that ended my life as I knew it. My soul was lost, and my body frozen in time. The shame he forced upon me pushed me away from the life I once knew and loved, into a world of darkness and loneliness—a place I could never freely return from.

Since the change was forced upon me, my wants and needs, my love and desires, have all become focused on one thing: survival. That survival I’ve fought so hard for over so many years is now on the brink of collapse. I cannot find it in myself any more to continue my life with knowing that the path I am on will ultimately cause my damnation. If God still listens, let Him hear me now—before the hunger wins.

Those 40 days had put me on a journey I had not experienced in over a century. It all began on a night when I questioned my very existence and how my life had become something I never imagined. Growing up, I always dreamed of a loving husband and children to call my own, but those feelings had long since faded. The love in my heart grew cold and emotionless. I knew what the word love meant, but the ability to feel it or even experience it had vanished. All I could feel was hate and disdain for others who were not like me. The cold poison that now flowed through my veins had stripped me of all hope and faith.

But that night, when I approached the man standing alone on the steps of the big cathedral, my life was tossed into chaos. All I could think about was the thirst I had for him, and no matter what, I had to satisfy it. The pain inside me grew unbearable. Yet, no matter how I tried, I could not touch him. Something surrounded him—something holy—that kept me back. As I moved closer, it became harder to stand. My knees buckled, and I collapsed onto the sidewalk, as if electricity surged through my entire body, reaching into the depths of my soul. Before I could look up, the man spoke.

“Donna, I was placed here at this moment because I have something important to tell you. The Lord, who has compassion on you, says through His Word, ‘Though the mountains be shaken and the hills be removed, yet my unfailing love for you will not be shaken nor my covenant of peace be removed.’ He wants you to know that His love for you is unfailing. He has not left you nor forsaken you. The evil one has control over you, and now is the time for you to be set free. Your soul might be lost, but your spirit cries out to Him. Seek Him urgently.”

I moved to my hands and knees and tried to stand. After a moment of struggle, I looked up—but he was gone. Slowly, I made it to my feet and looked around for the man. Still overwhelmed by the power that had brought me to my knees, I stumbled home. There I stayed for forty days, seeking God and praying. Even though my heart was cold, I fervently called out to Him. Daily I battled the fleshly urges I had freely given into for decades. Though the pain grew more intense, I prayed and sought Him. I screamed for Him to take away the torment that ran deep into my bones. I even prayed for Stefan. Despite all he had done, I wondered if he too suffered as I did—if he longed for peace.

Now, on the fortieth day, I found myself sitting on the beach, looking up at the moon and stars as I continued to pray. My body had grown so weak from going so long without feeding. I could barely sit up, so I laid back on the sand and stared into the night sky, hoping God would hear my pleas. I knew that if I stayed there until morning, the sun would be my doom. Once more, I asked Him to show me love and compassion—to forgive me, even though my heart was so cold. I slowly faded into a deep sleep, unable to fight it.

As the sun rose the next morning, I felt its warmth on my skin. Fear gripped me. I jumped to my feet, bracing for death. But instead, I stood there, gazing across the ocean at the bright yellow glow above the waters. I could feel it on my face. I placed my hands on my cheeks and felt the warmth with my fingertips. Deep within, I felt love again—love for the wind in my hair, the sand between my toes, the sun on my face, and the cold water that moved back and forth over my feet. I dropped to my knees, and for the first time in what felt like forever, I began to cry. The warm tears rolled down my cheeks, and I could taste the saltiness as they crossed my lips. I wanted to cry out to God, to thank Him, to praise Him—but before I could speak, I heard a voice call my name.

“Elizabeth.”

I looked up and saw the same man who had stood on the cathedral steps. He gazed down at me with a gentle smile, his presence as radiant as the morning sun. The wind blew my long black hair across my face as I stood to greet him. Before I could say a word, he spoke again.

“Elizabeth, where are those who would condemn you?”

Caught off guard by the question, I looked around. The beach was empty. Just the waves, the sky, and the rising sun.

“There is no one, sir,” I replied softly.

He smiled and placed a hand on my shoulder. “Neither does our Lord condemn you. Go, and sin no more. You are free from your tormentor. Your faith has made you whole again.”

Joy unlike anything I had ever known surged through me. I embraced him, tears still streaming down my face. I laughed, I danced, and I sang a song I hadn’t sung since I was a child. The melody came back to me like a memory long buried, and I let it rise from my soul like a prayer.

As I walked home, the memories of my family and friends flooded my mind—not as shadows of a past life, but as promises of a future I could now reclaim. My days of being Donna were over. I was Elizabeth again. Whole. Redeemed. Alive.

And for the first time in over a century, I walked into the light.