Breadcrumbs to Lead You Home … Follow the Trail

Sara Jackly

Description

This autobiography of sexually mentally and physically broken woman. This is how she survived sexual torture rape and life after and how she came to find God in all of it.
At a young age, Sara Jackly was already enduring an unthinkable existence. Neglected by her mother and with no consistent caregiver to take over, Sara was often hungry, infested with lice, and forced to wear soiled, boy’s clothing that was too big. Even worse yet, she was groped, fondled, and raped nearly every day of her childhood by multiple sexual abusers that included her mother’s boyfriend, her grandmother’s ex-husband, and her cousin.
In a raw and honest retelling of her personal experiences as a voiceless little girl, Jackly leads others through her horrifying childhood where she was bounced around from home-to-home, shamed by her mother, and repeatedly violated by family members and strangers. As she chronicles her journey into adulhood, she then reveals how she became addicted to drugs, transformed into a prostitute, and ultimately found hope, redemption, and forgiveness through her faith after she cried out to Jesus to remove her flashbacks, restore her innocence, and heal her broken soul and heart.
Breadcrumbs to Lead You Home … Follow the Trail is the autobiography of a sexually, mentally, and physically broken little girl and woman as she endured unthinkable circumstances to find hope in God’s unconditional love.

Sujets

• Personal Memoirs
• Biography
• God
• Autobiography

Informations

• Publié par: Archway Publishing
• Date de parution: 28 novembre 2022
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781665731805
• Langue: English

Extrait

BREADCRUMBS TO LEAD YOU HOME … FOLLOW THE TRAIL
A TRUE STORY OF A WOMAN REDEEMED, REVIVED, AND HEALED
 
 
 
SARA JACKLY
 
 
 

 
Copyright © 2022 Sara Jackly.
 
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
 
 
 
 
Archway Publishing
1663 Liberty Drive
Bloomington, IN 47403
www.archwaypublishing.com
844-669-3957
 
Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.
 
Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.
Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.
 
ISBN: 978-1-6657-3179-9 (sc)
ISBN: 978-1-6657-3178-2 (hc)
ISBN: 978-1-6657-3180-5 (e)
 
Library of Congress Control Number: 2022919271
 
 
Archway Publishing rev. date: 11/23/2022
 
Dedicated to God, my mother and all the lost people just needing to come home. To God because he made this possible through giving me peace, freedom, and everlasting love. My mother for doing everything she could to love me unconditionally and rectifying the past in a way helping me heal. She paid with her money and perception of her, I will forever be thankful for my mother, I could not ask for a better one today. For the lost I know how it feels to be scared forsaken and alone. But all of those are not fact, I was always protected, I was never forsaken by God, and I was never alone every step we all take is accompanied.
A special thanks to the person who helped me believe I could be loved; you are and always will be the most beautiful woman in the world. I loved you yesterday, I love you still, always have, always will.
 
A Faith lift I woke up alive, for I had been dead. I looked in the mirror and saw my face for the first time. He had removed the worry from my forehead. He smoothed the curve in my cheek, which is why I thought I had been sexually attacked in my sleep. I blamed the face that was not mine. It was truly not mine, for God knew my true face, my true beauty all the times I said with conviction, “This is not my face.” I was denying the face I had seen in the mirror for so long. I knew that was truly not my face. Now I have the knowledge that like clay he had molded every cell in my body. He created every detail of my face. He knew who I was before I was born. He knew my struggle, my suffering and saved my soul and made me anew. Cellular rejuvenation.
Mamas, as I was called, endured overwhelming neglect, abandonment, and abuse of all kinds. Her mother being twenty-four at her birth. Mamas being her fourth child. She was born into poverty and a sick family. Her mother and father ending their relationship during the pregnancy. Her mother was forced to work multiple jobs simultaneously. She admits to showing no affection. Her other caregivers were equally as emotionally distant. Her mother had to rely on family to help care for her children.
Some were severely neglectful; they were also verbally and mentally abusive to all the children. Mamas and her siblings bounced around regularly. Mamas remembers one morning when she was approximately five years old of waking up to no one at home but one other cousin, who was less than a year older. She recalls staring at the cereal on top of the fridge with the other child, trying to figure out a way to get it. She recalls the hunger from lack of food in the home when she would stay with her Tia. Her Tia would be left to care for other children and her own. She would leave them to fend for themselves. Their ages ranged from newborn to twelve years old.
Her son, Leo, was known to perpetrate sexual assaults against the neighborhood children, who were as young as four, Mamas was a victim of his. The neglect was so severe, Mamas would be infested with lice. She would often go hungry with some family who would keep her most weekends without any meals. She remembers wearing clothes that were too big and would fall off. She wore boy’s clothing. She would return to school in the same soiled clothes.
I will tell you of my suffering as a small child, not to bring my mother shame for her actions, for I know just as my sins were cast from the east to the west, so are hers. But to emphasize my true emotions about my suffering before my salvation by God.
There are few days of my childhood where I do not remember being groped, fondled, and raped. There were multiple sexual abusers, my mother’s boyfriend groped me every morning to awake me. My grandmother’s ex-husband would attack me at will, it was ignored due to his brain damage and dementia. My cousin raped me regularly, we will call him Chino.
I can recall, this young girl, I would say I was four or five as children we would play house, I was told by Chino to be the mommy. He then draped a blanket to block view from the other children. I do remember him beginning to speak to me about my roll as mommy and him daddy then rolling towards me, I then blacked out after the next memory is standing staring at a wall pleading my case to a judge because I was told to be a lawyer. While Chino had another child playing mommy.
I was assaulted by two other family members. I was the age of six, my older cousin, Leo, the age of twelve, weeded out all the children for whom he was babysitting. There were seven of us. He weeded out the weakest, which unfortunately was me. He forced me to perform oral sex, he raped me vaginally, and from behind, and then had his younger brother do the same. When my mother was told of this—and I remind you this is forgiven by the Lord God almighty—she reacted with pure hatred for me, pure anger. She ran across the room and grabbed this little soul who had already been broken, and she beat me with her fists on my back. I can hear the thuds, but purely to bring God glory, not that these memories haunt me any longer.
She wanted to shame me. She did not let me walk to the car, she dragged me, to the assailant’s mother’s bed. She threw me on the bed and stated, “Guess what this little bitch did?” She continued to beat me with fists on the back of my head and my back. Wherever her fists landed, she did not care. She ripped off my clothes, this small child I remind you, threw me into a tub, turned on the water, grabbed a leather belt and beat me.
She then dragged me back to the vehicle and started to search for Leo trying to shame me. Occasionally throwing a punch at me in the passenger seat. We did not find this boy that night. We did not find this boy that night. I carried the shame my mother put onto me, as a small child, and remember I had already been broken. Raped, Leo forced me to choose the way he would rape me he said, “Tell me how you want it.” I said I did not want it, I begged him to stop. He then said, “Choose, because if I choose, I’m going to make it hurt.” Can you imagine, the shame?
The enemy will not take my voice anymore. As a small child I was voiceless. My life brought physical, sexual, mental abuse, and severe neglect. He took my voice early. He whispered lies about my existence, about where I stood in line, he lied to me. He is the voice of the few people I trusted. He used the voices of anybody who allowed him to. He was my tormentor. I do not blame my abusers. I do not blame my parents. It was all an attack, an attack from the enemy. You are given gifts in life such as I. The enemy’s goal is to render your gifts useless, cripple you with fear so you cannot move in the name of God . But I tell you, he has no authority! All glory is to God ! Even now, as I write this filled with the Holy Spirit, he has no hold on me. He may knock me down, but trust and believe I am held. For I walk in faith, not in fear. All glory to God!
A breadcrumb from my past that God laid down for me. I was told lies from my birth to the first day of school. I was told my name was Mamas, which was my identity. When I walked through those doors, my teacher, a woman stood there, and she said, “Are you, Sara?” I declared, “No, I am not.” I had never been told that name or heard it in the fashion, she told me. I battled her with words as a small child. I told her that was not my name. She ran her hand across my name tag, spelling out letter-by-letter for the first time. When she showed me the S, he made that S for me to see. He brought pleasure to my soul. To my young soul, to cast out the lies. The enemy is a liar.
She prepared my desk before I came, like God prepared the kingdom of heaven for his children. I know now that my name was not picked out by my mother, who shares the same, not by my father, but by the almighty God. She showed me my name but with kindness and understanding, as he does, truth be told, I do not remember a kindness like hers before this.
This woman though everybody that lays eyes on her sees the changes, sees the blessing, sees the glory of the Lord, shining through her yet they deny her. Her own mother who I know did pray for her peace repeatedly, wiping her tears away, leaving Mamas’ house weeping every time she visited, for the things her daughter had been through, the sexual torture.
He has granted to her, her exact prayer request. Yet she is not joyous, she does not give thanks the way a mother would give thanks, if her daughter was wondering the desert for 30 years, for I tell you, thi