Whispersfrommyheart's Blog

Archive for October 2010

You knew him once upon a time, so many years ago; He offered you his friendship but, Dear Daddy, did you know?

One night he led me into hell, with terror to bestow; And stole your daughter’s innocence, Dear Daddy, did you know?

That night I pleaded, terrified, ‘Oh please, don’t make me go’; You said ‘Enough! It’s settled now.’ Dear Daddy, did you know?

I didn’t want to go there but, I went there any way; Endured the pain and agony, Afraid of what you’d say.

I didn’t call when he was done, nor think that you would come; Or want to save your little girl, now broken and undone.

I’ve often wondered through the years, why Daddy didn’t see; The fear that was so obvious, and cries that came from me.

And, how could Daddy never see, His daughter’s soul had died; Behavior, attitudes that changed, was evidence denied?

I’ve held this anger in my heart, since I was only eight; I’ve blamed you dad for everything, and given in to hate.

Realities of what you said that echoed through my mind; Became the ache of memories transcending years of time.

But Daddy there is something else, I want for you to know; Despite the pain and suffering, compassion’s seed has grown.

My Daddy’s Who’s in heaven has redeemed my ruined past; He taught me how to love; forgive, and walk through life at last.

There’s one more thing that you must know, straight from your daughter’s heart; if I’m to bridge this gap at all, today’s the day to start.

I’ve chosen to release you from, responsibilities; That once demanded justice for the shame inside of me.

And with release I now forgive your words from long ago; The secret of my troubled past, Dear Daddy, now you know.

Copyright Oct 2009 ‘Whispers From My Heart‘ By: Cheryl A. Thompson


When God created the human race, He included the fact that men would one day become the shepherds of little girls.  That relationship, between father and daughter, is an important one.  A father is supposed to be both the provider and protector to his daughter(s).  By his example, he teaches his little girl what the manly value and worth is that is placed on her life.  His actions, as well as, his re-actions to her become the perceptions of the life lessons she will carry into adulthood.    His life is a reflection, an earthly representation, of how her Father in Heaven loves and accepts her.  What she learns from her father here on earth becomes what she will believe about her Heavenly Father.

A little girl trusts her daddy implicitly from the moment she wraps her little fingers around his and understands the concept that he is with her.  To a little girl, her daddy is strong.  She isn’t afraid when he is near.  And, when she does become afraid, he is able to calm her.  When she is sad, he comforts her.  A daughter looks to her father with trusting eyes because she has faith that her daddy loves her, and would do anything within his power to help her.  A father not only represents God as his daughter’s Heavenly Father, but this earthly man also becomes the representation of what kind of a man his little girl will eventually marry.  Interestingly enough, daughters learn a lot from the relationship they have with their father…

In the summer of 1970, my father invited a friend, his wife and their daughters over to our house for dinner.  Somewhere during the course of the evening the oldest daughter asked me to spend the night with her.  I immediately replied that I didn’t want to, and thinking the matter settled, never gave it another thought.  Little did I know, but arrangements had already been made for me to spend the night, and when they were ready to leave my father told me to get my stuff.  I can still recall the look I gave him and the absolute terror that filled my heart.

I don’t want to, I want to stay home.”

I’m not sure what transpired between that statement and what I remember next, but the next scene that plays through my mind is one of me running through the house screaming and crying, begging my father not to make me go.  I assume my behavior embarrassed and angered my father, but the words he said to me that evening became the sentence of a prison term that would last for 35 years.

Stop acting like a baby; you’re going”.

There it was.

I didn’t matter…

That night, while his daughters slept in the bunk above me and his wife asleep across the hall, this so-called friend of my father’s raped me…

The message my little girl heart received that night was, “Cheryl, you don’t count”…

Satan accomplished what he set out to do; he convinced that little girl she wasn’t good enough for her father to care about, much less God.  He succeeded in his attempt to twist her perception of her earthly father, and ultimately, skew the perception of her Heavenly Father.  Satan had successfully separated her from God…

Every one of us needs to have an understanding of who our enemy is and what he is trying to do.  The scriptures tell us that Satan’s main purpose is to steal, kill, and destroy (see John 10:10), and that is exactly what he did in my heart…

From ‘Whispers From My Heart’ Chapter 5

I have never been one to remember dates. Oh, I remember birthdays and anniversaries, but other dates–like the day I got my first car or the day I learned how to drive–I do not recall.  I can tell you the approximate age I was during these milestones, but the date itself has been lost to File 13.

I do remember my first boyfriend ‘Jimmy’, tall (this is important since I’ve always been the tallest girl in the county).  We lived in Madison, Virginia on a one hundred acre farm and I was around 12 years old.  Jimmy was too old for me, but I didn’t look like an adolescent, I looked like I was 16.  But, do I remember the date we broke up? No, but I remember the hurt and anger I felt, and I was only 13 at the time.  I could do the math and give you the year, but who really cares that Jimmy broke my heart way back in 1976?  I’m sure you don’t.

There weren’t any major news stories or traumatic events, that I was aware of, with which to mark the passing of age in my life, so, as with most of my memories, I have to gauge the year with how old I think I was at the time.

There are a few things in my life that I can recall the exact date they happened, but only because some kind of event or special day occurred to help cement that date in my mind, like when I quit smoking on June 17, 2007 at approximately 11:30 a.m.

Woo-hoo, smoke free! I had tried quitting so many times before–always promising, ‘When cigarettes get up to $3.00 a pack–believe it or not, I remember buying cigarettes when they cost $1.85–I’ll quit….when cigarettes get up to $3.50 a pack…$4.00…you get the idea.  My will power forgot to show up each time I tried to quit.

You should have seen me.  If I wanted a cigarette and couldn’t get one, I was a mess. My boys used to say I would chew their heads off. On one attempt to quit smoking I went about 3 days without a cigarette and chewed on anything and everyone in my path…at the end of the third day my mother bought a pack of cigarettes, slammed them down on the table and yelled, “NOW SMOKE!”  (I got the message and smoked).  I was a bear-cat to say the least, but one tiny hit of nicotine into my bloodstream and all was right with the world again.  I hate to admit that but it’s true, and you smokers know what I’m talking about. That, ‘ Want one, need one, gotta have one or I’m gona rip somebody’s head off” craving that stays with you all day long and even in your sleep!  But on that day, June 17, 2007 something different happened. I wasn’t even thinking about quitting. Actually, I was sitting in church on that Sunday morning listening to the Pastor speak on something completely not related to bad habits, but, during that altar call I just knew–that’s the only way to explain it, I had sudden knowledge–that my cigarettes were more important to me than my relationship with God…cigarettes had become an idol in my life; an idol God was asking me to lay down.  Father’s Day, 2007.

I also remember the day my marriage ended; October 17, 1989.  Now, you might think I’d remember that date because that was a traumatic event in my life.  Well, you could say that, but you’d be wrong.  While it was traumatic, the trauma of my divorce is not what has caused me to remember the day I left an abusive marriage.

In my minds eye I can see myself in the car, looking at my soon to be ex-husband, standing tall against a clear blue, cloudless sky telling me if I changed my mind I could always come back. I pulled out of Alameda California driving a loaded down station wagon, pulling a loaded down U-Haul trailer…because of the load on that little V-6 engine, the Mountains of California made it difficult for me to travel any faster than 45-mph, so it took an excruciating 8-Hours just to make it to So. Cal where I was going to pick up the southern route across the states!  By the time I pulled into a hotel, got my room and unloaded my 1 year old son and the cat–which I snuck into the room–(Oh, and I was also 5 months pregnant with our third son; son #1 was with grandparents while I made the move) I finally turn on the TV to find out how the World series between the San Fransisco Giants and the Oakland A’s was going only to find out that a massive earthquake had struck in the Oakland/SF area!

Those two events, the unusual World Series and the Earthquake have definitely embedded that date into my mind. What helps me always remember, if I do happen to forget, is the availability of information on the internet.  One click and I am back on memory lane.

Long story short–I remember faces more than I remember names, and events more than dates…but then, I’ve been told I’m weird too.

Tonight I will confess to you

My sisters, I will share;

About a mystery so deep

Most men are un-aware.

Of deep desires, passions in

Each lady’s hidden heart;

To delve deep in this liberty

And savor every part.

A secret so delicious I

Can hardly stand the thought;

I know I really shouldn’t cuz

Someday I could get caught.

And even though I’ve never told

A living soul before;

I don’t think I’m the only one

With trouble to ignore.

The sound of sweetness in your ear

A pull that is so strong;

Temptation uncontrollable

I give in all year long.

Never can I get enough

I’m drawn to more and more;

I’ll start with just a kiss or two

Or maybe three of four.

And as the hours slip away

I loose all track of time;

With just another kiss or two

The clock strikes half past nine.

Before your eyebrows start to raise

And urgent prayers arise;

Just listen more, you’ll understand

You just might be surprised!

Now really it’s quite innocent

This secret love of mine;

I simply cannot help myself

My will-power’s resigned.

And even though I’ve given in

There’s nothing to compare;

I happily continue in

My chocolate affair!

I’m not sure how it all began really. I didn’t start on this journey having a love affair with the written word.  As a matter of fact, I hated English.  As a high school student, I spent all four years in one semester of Freshman English.  FOUR YEARS!!!  On the last day of Freshman English in my Senior year, the teacher signed my yearbook, “You finally memorized the semester!”  His remarks didn’t boost my self esteem one bit!

All throughout my high school career I came to dread whatever English class I was forced to take in order to earn my diploma.  But, in my Senior year, Greek Mythology came along and I loved it!  I soared through that class with such speed–and top of the class grades I might add–that I even scared myself!  Thinking back, I connected more with the stories–given my vivid imagination–than I did with the structure of each sentence that made up the story.  I am still like that today. I would rather read something that has meaning than I would discover how the sentences are structured and why. Oh so BORING!!!

I may never get the sentence structured exactly right (that’s why Editors get the big bucks!), but I have a need to write.  Writing saved me.  It has given me an outlet to express the words that flow through my heart.  It gives me the ability to tell my story.  It gives me purpose.

Words tend to get jumbled up and misspoken when they pass through my lips.  I can clearly hear them in my head, but for some reason, once they roll off the tongue the words don’t seem to be as convincing as when I first thought them.  Emotions seem to be the driving force behind the length of the words I speak.  Shyness tends to decrease the amount of words, while anger and frustration tend to increase the amount of [uncontrolled] words that fly out of my mouth. Joy and sorrow also have a way of increasing and decreasing my words, but in each instance, the heart of what I want to say is missing.  That is what writing is to me–the heart of my words.

You get a glimpse of my heart, whether it is one of my poems or my first book ‘Whispers From My Heart’ which was published in October of 2009.  Writing tells the story that needs to be told; connecting with the heart of the one who reads.

As you read, don’t be too judgmental of my writing skills. Read the words with your heart open and hear what I have to say…you just might see that you are not alone.

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