Trial Day

When morning came, my body felt both heavy and weak. When I stood up I kept wanting to hunch over, and curl into myself. Food, although advisable, could not even be considered because of the nausea. Feeling shaky, I sat down to perform all of my morning tasks, which I performed slowly and robotically. I wanted each task to stretch out forever, because I felt like I was on a conveyor belt that would arrive all too soon at the witness stand. My friends were kind and attentive, but gave me the space they knew I needed, and prayed for me for physical strength and for the nausea to dissipate. We left the safe house and headed for the church.

I had been visualizing getting out of the car and walking into the church for weeks, because I knew that it would be a hard step, and it was. We entered the church, and my stomached dropped and I felt a little bit dizzy when I saw the security men searching bodies and bags with their hands and beeping wands. My emotions ran the gamut from fear, which seemed validated by the precautions being taken, to intense relief that the Presbytery understood the danger this man represented, to a deep sadness and sense of gravity as I considered the very real reminders, all around me, of of the abuse I had experienced as a child, and all of the difficult moments of the last three years that had led up to this day.

The nervousness of the security detail and of the Presbytery officials fed my own as they whisked me off, under guard, to a secure, safe-room where I would spend anytime when I was not giving testimony. My parents and siblings were there, along with my prayer team, and there was coffee and plenty of stuff not to eat. The head of the prosecution team, Michael, came in to see me briefly before the proceedings began, and we prayed together before walking down the hall to the trial room. Precautions were taken to make sure that my abuser and I didn't meet in transit, and so he was already seated in the room, along with his attorney, when I arrived.