Moi Aussi (French for "Me, Too.")

I’ve read numerous posts recently that start with "Me, Too." It’s part of a campaign to make people aware of the widespread problem that unfortunately exists in our society. There is a lot of abuse currently taking place—and a lot that happened years ago. All of it is horrible and it makes me sick to think about it—for a lot of reasons. Currently, I fear for my grandchildren and I often worry about the kind of world they are inheriting. I pray for their safety daily, knowing there are dangerous predators out there in this wicked world. But I also know that heavenly protection is real and so daily I humbly ask that my grandchildren receive the same kind of defense that I have had my entire life.

The guilt I feel with regard to sexual harassment/abuse is this—why was I watched over so carefully, when others were not? We are all beloved children of God. I know that with everything that I am. But it has haunted me that I was repeatedly delivered out of dangerous situations, when others were not. I will probably never know why until next life when I’ll probably be told that I was a wimpy spirit who couldn’t handle something like that. ;)

Here are 3 adventures that I’ve endured. I will be forever grateful for the numerous ways I have been delivered out of traumatic attacks that I possibly wouldn’t have survived. Miracles do happen, and I suspect the veil is thinner than we realize:

My sophomore year of high school, I was invited to a special night-time holiday party at a nearby park in our small town. The guy who called to invite me, assured that all of my friends would be there. My parents still insisted that my younger brother escort me to the park across the street from our house. I was mortified. I was, after all, fifteen years old, and all of my friends were going to be there. But the only way my parents would let me go was if my brother came with me. He was about as thrilled as I was, but he dutifully came. We reached the pavilion where the “party” was to take place, and no one was there. We waited for several minutes, then I concluded that I had been set up by one of my friends. 

We returned home and I angrily stomped toward the phone to call one of my friends for an explanation. Just as I reached the phone (back then they were attached to the wall) it rang and I answered. The same guy had called back. He lied again about who he was, and assured, again, that all of my friends were coming to this party. It had been delayed for a reason I can’t remember now. I told this guy that I would call one of my friends for a ride to the party, but each time I mentioned getting hold of one of them, he assured that they were busy getting things for the party. Finally I said that I would just walk over alone, since the park was right across the street from my house. I hung up, told my parents that the party was still on, and that all of my friends would be there. When they asked if I wanted my brother to come with me again, I refused the offer. (Yes, I was young and stupid.) 

I had an uneasy feeling about things, but I still walked over alone this time. And at first, I couldn’t see anyone. Then a guy seemed to materialize out of nowhere. He was wearing one of those parkas that were popular back in the 70’s. It should have struck me as odd that he had the hood on and the fur completely blocked out his face. I couldn’t tell who it was, and assumed it was a neighborhood boy. I asked if he was there for the party, and he said that he was. We waited for several minutes as car after car drove by the park. No one stopped. Finally I said that I was going to walk home and call one of my friends to see what was going on. It was late in December and very cold. I turned and began walking away from the pavilion. Then I realized I was being rude. Surely the guy who had met me at the pavilion was cold, too. I turned to ask if he wanted to come over for some hot chocolate while I made phone calls, and he was right behind me. That should have been a clue that I was in trouble, but it wasn’t. I was young and very naïve. When I asked if he wanted to come over for some hot chocolate, he very gruffly said, “NO!” Irked by his response, I turned back around and had only taken another step when he grabbed me from behind. 

There are no words to describe the terror I experienced that night as I froze in place. But I will be forever grateful for the strong promptings that came, compliments of the Holy Ghost. “Kick behind you as hard as you can!” echoed inside of my mind. I still couldn’t move. That prompting came three times before I was able to respond. The last time was like an internal brick upside the head. I finally kicked behind me, and the guy dropped me in the snow and ran. 

Later, the police traced his footprints in the snow. They could see where the attack happened, and they followed the jerk’s footsteps to the highway where the prints disappeared. They called the guy who was supposedly putting the party together that night, and he knew nothing about any of it. He had been home all night with his parents. To this day, we have no idea who my attacker was. And yes, I was very, very lucky, and watched over, but I still carry internal scars over that night. My only physical injuries were a few bruises, but the terror I would experience repeatedly because of what happened would haunt me for a very long time. I no longer trusted anyone. I was afraid to go anywhere by myself after dark. And to this day, if anyone comes up behind me and I don’t know they are there, I still jump quite high into the air. 

The good side: what I experienced saved my life twice. Years later, I was approached in the middle of the day in a parking lot by a clean cut young man who stood right by my car door as I was getting ready to go grocery shopping. He claimed he was selling wicker products to support himself in college and each time I took a step, he took one to stay with me. I started getting uneasy promptings to stay out of his reach right off the bat. Because of what I had endured during my park adventure, I recognized that I was in danger.

I noticed that this young man was trying to herd me toward a dirty full-size van I had purposely parked away from, since it gave me the creeps when I saw it earlier. Long story short, another man jumped out of the van and came running toward me as a very familiar voice yelled inside of my head that I needed to run fast toward the store. I was able to outrun both men and they took off as I entered the store. As I ran, I noticed that a third man was at the wheel of the van as it drove by.

I was in such a state of shock, I went inside the store, grabbed a cart, and began putting strange things inside of it until a good friend stopped me and asked what was wrong. She told me later that I was white as a sheet, and she knew I wasn’t okay. I told her what had almost happened, and she dragged me to the front of the store to tell the manager. Once again, the police were summoned, but once again, nothing came of it because I was okay. Sort of.

The next day, the dead body of nude woman was found outside of a nearby town. I had a horrible impression that it could’ve been me. That image haunted me for a long time, and I grieved for the dead woman, wishing we could’ve caught the three men in the van the day before.

Last adventure: my mother had just endured a major surgery. We had taken her home that day to her apartment in Salt Lake City. That night we realized we needed some supplies from the local grocery store. So I drove my youngest sister to the nearest store that was about 4-5 blocks away from our mother’s apartment. We went inside, bought what we needed, and headed out to the parking lot. Within minutes a young man appeared in front of us with a duffel bag. He said he had some nice perfume to show us. Immediately I was hit with the same feeling of unease I had experienced during my park attack and the near abduction with the dirty van. When the young man knelt down to pull something from his duffel bag, I grabbed my sister and yelled, “RUN!”

We ran like crazy to my car, unlocked the doors, and climbed inside. I started the engine and began driving across the parking lot. We thought we were safe, but another prompting told me to look in my rearview mirror. A car was following us, driven by a huge, angry looking man, and the young man with the duffel bag was sitting next to him. Praying like crazy, I drove across the parking lot, and that car stayed right with us. We reached a very busy street with about 4-5 lanes of steady traffic. I’m not sure what happened at that point. It was like someone else took over the wheel. Somehow, we made it across all five lanes and pulled up next to a cop car in the parking lot that was on the other side of the street. The car that tried to follow us, had to go with the traffic in the second lane, or get hit by numerous cars. 

My sister later told me that she wasn’t going to ride with me ever again. But . . . we were safe. We never did tell the police about what had happened. From past experience, I knew it wouldn’t do any good. We didn’t have any proof that anything had happened, other than we were both shaking, and extremely terrified.

So, moral of the story, heed promptings!!!! They come for a reason!!! Do your best to be safe . . . and know that sometimes, even when you think you are being safe, bad things can happen. I try not to live in fear, and I am extremely grateful for the protection that has been granted throughout my life. 

My husband and I raised all boys, and they have been taught to respect others. These awesome sons know what I’ve been through, and they are very caring, thoughtful men who do a lot of good in the world. 

Unfortunately, there are bad men and women in this troubled world who cause a lot of harm. Some of my relatives and friends have endured horrible things because of people like that. It tears my heart out. How grateful I am for our Savior who understands all of the pain that any of us will ever endure. He can truly heal our shattered hearts and help us find joy in a world that does its best to drag us down. I have found peace of heart and mind by turning over things I can’t control to Him. And it does make all of the difference in the world.