Between 2 Gods: A Memoir of Abuse in the Mennonite Community by Trudy Harder Metzger

Author:Trudy Harder Metzger [Metzger, Trudy Harder]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: sexual abuse, memoir, mennonite, amish
Publisher: eLectio Publishing
Published: 2015-03-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fourteen

From the moment I moved into Grandma Katie’s, I felt safe. More than that, I was safe. There were no strange noises at night. No shadows in the dark that made me hold my breath. No creaking stairs that made my heart freeze, leaving me to wonder if my father was coming for me. Would he have a knife? A gun? Some other weapon or evil intent…?

Here, with this sweet Amish grandma, my world had become more than I ever dreamed it could be. More than I knew existed. What little hope had not been destroyed and numbed through sheer terror of childhood slowly came to life. It was as if the trauma had squeezed hope from my heart, like water from a sponge, and left it dry and hard. But in Katie’s care, as I absorbed her love and care, my heart filled up again, and softened.

Each morning Grandma Katie set the table for the three of us with meticulous perfection. As if measured for precision, each place setting looked picture perfect, consisting of a small glass filled with orange juice, a glass for milk or water, a bowl or plate, and silverware. Always served with a smile and a cheerful, though characteristically subdued, “Good morning Trudy,” as though she looked forward to my arrival.

I wouldn’t have needed this, or felt less loved had she not gone to such fuss. I would have grabbed a bowl of cereal, alone, and left for work just as contentedly. As I look back, I see that her love and care were the heart and hands of God, whispering, “I love you.” The way she laughed, her eyes twinkling with delight, at my quick wit and humour, thrilled me. She delighted in me, and I knew it.

But that safe place was ripped out of my life in one instant, when the preachers came and paid that visit. After the meeting and being excommunicated, Katie spoke to me before our first meal together. With tears in her eyes, and wringing her hands, she informed me that her church would excommunicate her if she ate with me. She was required to shun me; I would need to sit at the island in the kitchen, alone, to eat my meals. She wished she didn’t have to do it, but she had no choice.

How quickly the life can be squeezed back out of a fragile heart. I steeled myself against the pain. I wanted to cry. Instead, with a cold, hard heart, I told her that it would not be necessary to set a place for me at the island. I would not be eating any sit-down meals until I found a new place to live. I told her I understood, and in some ways I did, but something in me died.

The pain in her eyes, the tears that glistened, the grief that haunted her features… I knew she loved me. She said as much, without saying the words. And I never doubted that. She explained that she could not afford to pay the price, should she be excommunicated for eating with me.

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