The Sadistic Babysitter

When I was four and my sister Leslie was two, Mom went back to work and left us with a sadistic babysitter—not that she realized that at the time. Les and I cried and complained, but Mom thought we just missed her and wanted her to stay home with us—which of course we did.

I don’t remember the babysitter being as cruel to me as she was to Les. I didn’t understand then and still don’t understand now why she got her jollies out of torturing a helpless two-year-old. Mom gave us baths every night and then cuddled us and read stories to us before putting us to bed.

Horrible babysitter put Leslie in the bathtub every morning and washed her hair—digging her fingernails into Leslie’s scalp until she screamed and cried and then sticking her head under the running faucet until Leslie quit screaming because she was inhaling water and choking and couldn’t breathe. I remember beating on the babysitter’s arm and yelling at her to quit hurting my sister. She laughed at me. The abuse continued.

Additional abuse served up at lunch. She fixed three sandwiches and gulped two down herself. She divided the remaining sandwich between Les and me. Then she peeled an orange. She ate the good slices from the orange. She divided the peels with Les and me and demanded that we eat them even though we gagged on them and cried and begged her not to make us eat them. She wouldn’t allow us to get up from the table until we ate those bitter orange peels.

We told Mom. We told Dad. They didn’t listen to us. But…perhaps they did—because Dad fired horrible babysitter. Leslie and I were sitting at our little table crying over the orange peels at lunch one day when the door opened suddenly and Dad walked in—just in time to see horrible babysitter kick our Siamese cat across the room. He didn’t fire the sadistic babysitter for torturing his children—he fired her for kicking the cat.

Dad didn’t save us—the cat did.

Thus the problem with seeking help from people—even people in our family. Their help is sometimes flawed, because humans—no matter how loving or well-intentioned—are flawed.

“God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.” Psalm 46:1

“Give us help from trouble, for the help of man is useless.” Psalm 60:11

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Black Hole

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For more than a year I’ve been living with a black hole in my memory. I only just discovered it.

We brought home our rough collie pup Savannah about a year ago. One of her first friends was named—or so I thought—Cleveland. Easy name to remember. Grover Cleveland—the 22^nd and 24^th President of the United States, and the only President to serve two non-consecutive terms. Easy to remember because I love the Walt Disney movie “The One and Only Genuine Original Family Band,” and one of the catchy songs is about Grover Cleveland.

But that’s not his name.

Five times I have been told this young man’s name, and five times I’ve forgotten. Calvin Coolidge was the 30^th President of the United States. Savannah’s friend’s name is Calvin. If I knew a catchy song about Calvin, perhaps I would remember.

I met Calvin last week and Savannah and I walked him home since we were going the same way. Mere minutes later when I got home—I had forgotten his name…again. All I could think of was Cleveland. I looked up a list of U.S. Presidents and reminded myself his name was Calvin. By the next day—I had forgotten again.

That’s when I realized my memory had a black hole. I looked up the Presidents again and found Calvin. This time I pinned it to the cartoon “Calvin and Hobbs,” and have thus remembered it more than a few minutes at a time.

No matter our ages, we are all prone to black holes in our memory. So be gentle with other people when they forget things—even repeatedly.

I am so thankful that God never forgets us. The black holes He created are in space, not in His memory of us.

Psalm 136 says that the Lord remembers us and that His mercy endures forever.

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