Once upon a time there was a little girl who called herself Mimi.  She had a papa who loved her, but because of problems he had experienced, Mimi hadn't gotten all of the love she needed from him, and she spent a lot of time looking for another papa.  She really was pretty small; she was much too young for a boy friend.  She needed a papa's love to help her grow up.

    One day she met Gabby.  He looked like a papa.  At first he acted like a papa.  When she was scared or sad, she'd go to him and he'd reassure her she was a good little girl.  Mimi grew to love him and his wonderful hugs.  One day when Mimi had gone to Gabby for reassurance, he said some bad words to her.  She got scared and angry.  She didn't feel safe with Gabby any more.  She was afraid that maybe it was her fault that he'd said the bad words to her.  She didn't dare tell anyone, but her pain was too terrible to hide.  Mimi couldn't sleep.  She couldn't play.  She worried a lot.  She cried and cried.

    Mimi's moma had been dead a long time, but God sent her a new moma, Cori.  Cori loved Mimi.  Mimi told Cori what had happened.  With Cori's help, Mimi realized that it wasn't her fault that Gabby had said bad words to her.  Mimi admitted to herself and to Cori that Gabby had hurt  her.  She let herself feel angry and sad.  She shared her feelings.  She figured out she  had to change so Gabby couldn't hurt her any more.  She was able to forgive him!   Eventually Gabby was able to tell Mimi he was sorry he had hurt her!   They became friends again!

    On Father's Day Mimi went to see Gabby.  She said, "Gabby, would you please let me sit on your lap? I am just a tiny little girl, and I need a papa to hold me."

    "I was just going for a walk," Gabby explained.  "Will you come with me?  There is something I want to explain to you."    Mimi took Gabby's big hand and they walked down the street until they came to their parish church.  Gabby explained on the way, "Mimi, I know you feel your papa wasn't able to love you enough.  Do you know that as much as my papa loved me, I feel the same way?  In fact most people, big people as well as little people, feel that way."  They went into the church, greeted God, and sat next to each other in the front pew.

    Mimi whispered to Gabby, "I feel as if there is a hole in my heart!   I want you to make it not hurt so much."

    "There is a hole in your heart, Mimi," Gabby replied.  It is a very large hole.  In fact, it is so large that I could never fill it for you, Mimi.  If all the good papas God has sent into your life took turns holding you and playing with you every minute of the rest of your life, it wouldn't be enough to fill up the hole in your heart.  That hole isn't there by accident, nor is it a curse.  God put that hole in your heart.  Only He can fill it!!   Do you know how?"

    "No, teach me!"   Mimi implored.

    "O.K.," Gabby responded.  "Jesus said that whoever sees Him sees the Father.  Jesus called God, 'Abba,' Our Good Papa.  He is the One who can fill up our hearts.  Whenever this hole in your heart hurts, you can sit still and close your eyes.  Imagine Jesus holding you on His lap.  Say the words 'Abba, I belong to You.'   Let's practice right now!"  So both Gabby and Mimi closed their eyes, imagined Jesus holding them very lovingly on His lap, and quietly repeated the words, "Abba, I belong to You," for several minutes.  "How do you feel now?" Gabby asked when at last they opened their eyes.

    "The hole in my heart doesn't hurt!" Mimi smiled.  "Thank you for teaching me how to sit in the lap of my Goodest Papa!"  And with that she hugged him, waved to God, skipped out of the church, ran back to Gabby's house, jumped on her bicycle, and rode away singing.

   Judy had not seen Dr.  George for over ten years.   It had been ten years since he had moved his practice out of state.  She had lost touch with him until last month when a mutual acquaintance of theirs mentioned to her that he was coming to town and would be visiting his old partners.   Judy had left word at the office that she would like to see him.  He had called her this morning.  All day long Judy had been able to think about little else besides their meeting.

 As Judy walked through the doors of the office building she knew so well, a flood of old memories swept over her.   Fourteen years ago this month she had met Dr.  George as if by accident.  She had been in quite a bit of emotional pain one day and simply gone down the listing of psychiatrists in the phone book calling every number until she had gotten him to agree to see her that very afternoon.  Over the next few months, Judy had seen him several times and transference had taken place.  He was someone she could trust, she thought.  Then it happened.  One day she was quite upset.  She called for an unscheduled appointment.  He had agreed to see her.   As she sat in his office sharing with him painful memories of growing up in her alcoholic family, he spoke those  words to her, "I would really like to go to bed with you, but I think it would destroy us both."  The words had nearly destroyed her.  When she went to see him the following week, he was not there.   She found out he had checked himself into an alcoholism treatment program.

 "Hello, Judy!" It was Dr.  George coming into the waiting room to greet her.   He didn't look too much different than he had ten years before.  His hair was beginning to gray, and his face had a few more wrinkles.

 "Hello!" she said, and hugged him.  They proceeded down the hall to the office she knew so well.

 "I asked for this meeting because I still have some unfinished business with you," Judy told Dr.  George when they had taken a seat.

 "What is that?" he asked.

 "Before you left town, we were reconciled," Judy replied.  "But there were two things I never told you that I still need to say."

 "Tell me," Dr.  George encouraged.

 Judy looked Dr.  George in the eye and said, "I forgive you for lying to me.  You lied to me more than once.  The lie that hurt the most was the one about coming to my house for dinner on my birthday.  You told me not to tell anyone you were coming.  Something about that didn't seem right to me.  I drove over here one night as you were locking up the office.  We stood between the double glass doors and talked.  I asked you again why I wasn't supposed to tell anyone you were coming to my house for dinner on my birthday.  You repeated the same reason you had given before that you couldn't have dinner at the home of all your patients; so you didn't want me to mention it to anyone.  Dr.  George, it was several months before I figured out the real reason you wanted me to keep your coming over to my house a secret.   You finally admitted to me that you had intended to get me in bed that night.   That lie hurt so much because of the betrayal.    When my intuition told me there was something not right about your words, I listened to your authority  instead of my inner wisdom.  Part of you was trying to help me grow up, but part of you was not helping me at all.  I do forgive you."

 "Thank you," said Dr.  George.  "What is the other thing you need to say?"

 "I need for you to know how deeply I was hurt that night you came to dinner.   You never laid a hand on me.   You never said an inappropriate word.   You even thanked me for the meal, quite a memorable event at that time when you never said "Thank you" to me for anything.  However you did manipulate the conversation insuring that we talked only of superficial things.  Your leave-taking felt rejecting even though I had known that you had to leave right after dinner.   Doctor, before that evening, I was in the habit of having someone over to dinner about once a week.  For the next year and a half, it was all I could do to feed myself.   When my niece came to town for a week, I was able to fix her breakfast one morning.  It was several months after that, nearly two years after you came for my birthday, before I again  invited a friend over to share a dinner I had cooked."

 Dr.  George looked at Judy and saw the pain in her eyes after all these years.  "I am deeply sorry for all the ways I hurt you," he said.   A cross still hung on the wall between the two chairs where they sat.   Dr.  George knelt down in front of it and continued, "Please forgive me."

 Judy got out of her chair and knelt beside him.   "I do forgive you," she said.  "I was the one who hammered the nails into Jesus' hands.  His words were 'Father, forgive her, she does not know what she is doing.'"  Both of them wept openly for several seconds.   Judy reached over and traced a cross on Dr. George's forehead with her thumb.  She kissed her fingertips and lightly touched them to his cheek.   Then she got up and went down the hall to wash her tear-stained face.

 When she returned, Dr.  George was still on his knees.  She helped him to his feet and said, "Since I didn't have to work today, I baked a loaf of bread.    Would you stop by my house later and let me share some of it with you?"

 "I would like that very much," the doctor replied as he showed her to the door.
 Later as they ate a piece of fragrant homemade bread at Judy's kitchen table, she remarked, "Someday I will learn how to forgive as Jesus did."

 "What do you mean?" inquired Dr.  George.

"After His resurrection He didn't ask any of His disciples if they realized how deeply they had hurt Him,' replied Judy.  "He only asked Peter, 'Do you love me?'  I asked you that question ten years ago."

 "So you did," said the doctor.  "Perhaps my answer didn't sound entirely convincing at the time.  I do love you very much, Judy, much better than the first time I spoke the words 'I love you' to you.    As I have grown older and wiser, I have come to realize how deeply you love me.   Your prayers and your forgiveness have made a big difference in my life.   You are often in my thoughts and prayers even though we have not seen each other all these years.   Thank you for your friendship, your love, and your prayers, which I know you say for me.   Do you still do wood carving?"

 "Yes, I do," said Judy.

 "Before I go, would you let me see some of your recent work?" Doctor George asked.
 With a big smile, Judy replied, "You really have learned to love yourself and me!    I was hoping you would ask.   I just finished a carving which I would like to give to you.   It is of a little girl holding her father's hand with Jesus standing behind them embracing them both."

   Today was Father Pat's forty-fourth birthday.   He was looking forward to celebrating with Marie, whom he had invited to the 12:00 o'clock Eucharist at which he would preside.  He was surprised when there was a knock at the door at about 10:30 and Marie was standing outside his door.  She held a children's book under her arm.

 "Happy Birthday!" she greeted him.  "May I come in? I brought you a gift."

 He led her to the parlor where she took a seat on the couch.

 "Please sit beside me so you can see the pictures," she invited as she opened the book she had brought.  He sat beside her as she began reading aloud the story about a small boy who lived on a farm with his pets.  This boy was too young to help yet with chores; he spent his morning feeding the ants he kept in a jar and counting cars as they came down his road.  When he saw a hummingbird building a nest in the mailbox, he was fascinated by its ability to hover and change direction unlike any other bird he had ever seen.  He thought about its being small enough to keep in his pocket.  He tried to capture he bird in the mailbox, but it got squeezed as he closed the door and fell to the ground.  The boy was frightened.  He would have done anything to make the hummingbird OK  again.  He took it to his big sister and asked her to nurse it back to health.  The sister protested that it was too late; the hummingbird was dead.  The little boy insisted he loved the bird; he had not meant to harm it.  His sister asked him how he'd like it if a giant bird swooped down and carried him off, even if it loved him!   She pointed out that not all creatures want love.  Some want respect.  The boy buried the bird and vowed to never try to catch another.  He let his ants go free.  That afternoon his sister brought him a puppy.  He played with it very carefully asking the puppy what it wanted to do.  That night when his parents asked him his dog's name, he told them he would call it Bird as a reminder of the important lesson he had learned that day.  His sister was very proud of him!

 As Marie finished reading the story, she turned to Father Pat and said, "The reason child abuse by a spiritual leader is so evil is that when the child breaks through denial that s/he has been abused, her/his life hangs in the balance.  Society condones very little expression of anger.  To be angry at a spiritual leader is tantamount to being angry at God, a real taboo.  Unable to express the anger which is the natural part of any grieving process, the child turns the anger inward.  The child struggles with the decision whether to live or suicide.  In many cases, the child dies, if not from a violent, final act, then from a slow torturous death by overeating, poisoning by alcohol, nicotine, or some other drug, or by careless driving or some other 'accident.'  Although you never touched me, you propositioned me twice.  You had been my counselor (and my confessor!).  I had transference for you.  I was emotionally three years old when I sat in this office four years ago and shared my soul with you.  I wanted you to be a good father to me.  Some times when we met after you had propositioned me, you smiled and said, 'Hello.'  Other times you passed me without even looking at me!   I probably could have endured either one or the other, but I felt very crazy due to your intermittent reinforcement.  Nearly two years after you propositioned me the first time, I went to you trying to get free from my emeshment with you.  I must have said something like, 'I just want to be friends.'  You replied, 'Sometimes I think we could be friends if only we went to bed together.  You know, you could just say that you'd be home at 2:00 p.m., and I could come on over.'    Father Pat, I was so hurt by those words I repressed them for nine months!   When I did admit to myself that you had propositioned me a second time, I felt very angry.  I became very depressed.  I could not sleep more than a few hours a night.  I experienced a lot of physical pain from my lack of sleep.  Getting out of bed was the hardest thing I did each day.  I kept blaming myself: what had I done that a Priest would say such words to me? Day after day I just wanted to be dead.  For weeks, my life hung in the balance!   I  knew that I had access to a loaded gun at my brother's house.  I thought often about blowing my brains out on altar of your church!   When I got down to planning when  I'd do it, I would get frightened and call someone.  I remember two of the times I called the Suicide Prevention and Crisis Center in the middle of the night.  On both of those occasions I found people able to listen to my anger.  I pounded on my bed, screamed obscenities, and was finally able to sob, getting to the intense grief underneath the anger.  Those nurses who took the crisis calls saved my life!   You agreed to celebrate Eucharist today to thank God for all the healing and forgiving S/He has done in us. We also have many people to pray for: those who have helped you to attain sobriety, those who have listened to my feelings, and all of those who have prayed for us.  Please also remember to thank God that I am alive today!    Father Pat, please don't ever hurt anyone else the way you have hurt me.  The next person might not know as much as I do about sharing feelings or be as successful as I was in finding people able to listen; you might have to say that person's funeral Mass.

"We have much to give thanks for!" Father Pat agreed.  He and Marie hugged each other with tears streaming down both of their faces.  Then Marie left to find a seat in the church while Father Pat got vested for the thanksgiving celebration.

August 16, 1988 

Dear E______, 

 This summer I have been faithful to three hours of mediation nearly every day.  After I said,
"Good-by!" to you, I took two weeks of Scripture classes. One was a storytelling class.  I had no
intention of writing a story, but at 11:00 P.M. the night before the class ended, I sat down at the
computer.  "Mimi Grows Up" wrote itself.  I took a copy to Fr. Mike, and thought I would then be
able to get to work on changing me.  The next day when I sat down to meditate, "The Meeting"
insisted that I write it down!  I did. I shared it. I "broke bread" with Fr. Mike. I tried again to focus
on me.   While looking for a copy of THE VELVETEEN RABBIT to read on tape as a birthday gift for
Fr. Mike, I came across the story of the boy and his pets.   I wrote part three of The Trilogy (I'd
also been listening to a marvelous set of tapes on codependency.).   I took the book to him and
asked him to read it.   He acted contrite but declined to verbalize responsibility for the ways he
had hurt me.   In an attempt to help him confess, I confessed to him that I was guilty of hurting
my students.  He made no response, but as the days passed, I became more and more
uncomfortable; I could not own that I really had.   My counselor said that the only evil I am
capable of is believing myself capable of evil.  More and more, I am coming to believe she is
right.  Lying is evil, whether it is refusing responsibility for one's actions or accusing oneself of
wrong one did not do.  Try as I might this summer, I cannot believe I am guilty of abusing my
students emotionally. 

 After working through my feelings, I eventually shared "Thanksgiving" with Fr. Mike as my last
loving effort to help him accept responsibility for what he had done to me.  He had said he'd
celebrate Eucharist for those who had supported us, but he had put me off for a month.  He tried
again to side-step the issue.  I would not be conned or put off; I was very loving but also very
persistent and very courageous about insisting he be honest.  He set the day.  We did celebrate
thanksgiving to God for all who have prayed for us and brought healing in our lives, including
you.  This chapter of my life is at last closed.  I have said "Good-by!" to him.  I know an immense
peace, the greatest of my life.   Today is the best day of my life so far!!  I am ready to begin my
twenty-second year of teaching with great energy, enthusiasm, inner peace, and also great care
that I not say anything inappropriate to my students. 

 You asked me a question just before we left my counselor's office last June about how much
might I be able to accomplish if I didn't need to meditate.   I'm not displeased with the answer I
gave you.  However, I wish to add to it.  I want to ask you whether someone might not have
asked Helen Keller what all she might have accomplished if she had not been blind, deaf, and
dumb.   I want to tell you that  my brother finished his dissertation and his Ph.D.  This summer. 
Although I have no initials to put after my name, I know I am at least as pleased with what I have
written (not that it is great literature, I understand!) and the project that I have completed as my
brother is with his.  It is about closure , forgiveness, and reconciliation in my life and in the life of
the Priest, but it is more.  It is about peacemaking in the world by beginning with my own heart. 
It is about Mimi growing up to be the intelligent, attractive, capable, courageous, self-assured, 
precious, generous, wonderful, loving, loved, articulate, strong, gentle, joyful, compassionate,
honest, holy, patient woman with intact boundaries she is meant to be (a lot like you!). 

 I invite you to rejoice with me!! 

 I hope you had a terrific vacation.  I'll see you next week. 

Love, 

Mary