Grubb - Cruel Harvest

Praise for Cruel Harvest

A story that seizes the readers attention... the reader cant look away.

Publishers Weekly

Fran Grubbs childhood odyssey is a shatteringly dark tale of despair. But thats not the end of her captivating life story. Each page of CruelHarvest reveals a remarkable journey of rescue and redemption. Your heart will be moved as you witness Jesus power to deliver, forgive, reconcile, rebuild, and love.

Denalyn and Max Lucado

A deeply harrowing story, told with compassion and simplicity, by an extraordinarily brave writer.

Anjelica Huston

Cruel Harvest is an incredible story of survival and forgiveness. Frans ability to survive brokenness as a child and even into adulthood and then to overcome those experiences through faith and forgiveness is a true testament to the power of Gods love for each of us. Everyone can be inspired by her story.

Sheila Walsh, author of God Loves BrokenPeople and Women of Faith speaker

Against all odds, Fran survived her trip through the valley of the shadow of death. I loved reading this story of deliverance. Thank you for the reminder that God can turn our mourning into dancing!

Gracia Burnham, former hostage and author of In the Presence of My Enemies

It is hard endorsing Cruel Harvest with just a few words. I want everyone to know how powerful her story is and how many lives it can help change, and is currently changing. Ever since reading Fran Grubbs story I have used it to help numerous clients that are victims of childhood violence. Every woman has commented on her faith and how her book has given them hope! We are putting the book in our library for all the ladies to read.

Vicki Mason, Primary Crisis Interventionist, Womens Crisis Services of LeFlore County, Poteau, Oklahoma

This was a wonderful book. We could feel the faith of the child throughout every page. We highly recommend Cruel Harvest.

DeWayne and Rebecca Hicks, founders of Courage to Change Ministries, Greenville, Arkansas

Cruel Harvest will touch your heart clear through to your soul! I guarantee that you wont be disappointed and you wont be able to put it down.

Pastor Ray Witherington, Midnight Cry Ministries / Restoration Revival Center Church, Townville, South Carolina

Cruel
Harvest
A MEMOIR

FRAN ELIZABETH GRUBB

2012 by Frances Elizabeth Grubb, aka Fran Grubb

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any meanselectronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, scanning, or otherexcept for brief quotations in critical reviews or articles, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

Published in Nashville, Tennessee, by Thomas Nelson. Thomas Nelson is a registered trademark of Thomas Nelson, Inc.

Thomas Nelson, Inc., titles may be purchased in bulk for educational, business, fundraising, or sales promotional use. For information, please e-mail SpecialMarkets@ThomasNelson.com.

Unless otherwise noted, Scripture quotations are taken from THE HOLY BIBLE: NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION. Copyright 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc. Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com

Scriptures marked KJV are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Grubb, Fran E.

Cruel harvest : a memoir / Fran Grubb.

p. cm.

ISBN 978-1-59555-505-2

1. Grubb, Fran E. 2. Grubb, Fran E.Family. 3. Sexually abused childrenUnited StatesBiography. 4. Kidnapping victimsUnited StatesBiography. 5. Migrant laborUnited StatesBiography. 6. Abusive menUnited StatesBiography. 7. FathersUnited StatesBiography. 8. Escaped prisonersUnited StatesBiography. 9. Dysfunctional familiesUnited StatesCase studies. I. Title.

CT275.G787A3 2012

973.92092dc23

[B]

2012004553

Printed in the United States of America

12 13 14 15 16 QG 6 5 4 3 2 1

To the Creator and giver of all good gifts: I love you and I know that I owe this book to you. I give you all the glory, honor, and praise for every sentence printed in this story.
This book is yours, not mine.

To Wayne, whose love, support, and encouragement has kept me going year after year, through the churches, tent revivals, nursing homes, and prisons, and who keeps me laughing.

For all the times I may have forgotten to say thank you for carrying equipment, singing harmony, reading the Bible, navigating before the GPS, your wonderful sense of humor even after three meetings a day, and for never losing hope. Thank you!

Thank you for throwing out all the rules about love, listening to your heart and proving there are no rules or limits to unconditional love.

To Wayne, who has the heart of a child and the courage of a lion. Can I ever show you how much you mean to me? I hope this dedication is a start.

Cruel Harvest was written for all the adults and children who find themselves asking, Why? I pray you find the answer in these pages. God knows your name and has written your name on his hand!

(Isaiah 49:16; John 10:3)

Contents

His fist shattered the glass panel of the back door the instant I turned the lock to keep him out.

His fiery, red face, twisted with unbridled rage, glared at me from outside the glass top half of the kitchen door. The only thing separating us was the jagged windowpane.

I stood still for just a second, frozen in shock as I looked into his evil, angry eyes. Shards of glass exploded inward toward me, some cutting into my forearm and head, the rest falling to the kitchen floor. He reached his calloused hand through the broken window to unlock the door. My shock was quickly replaced by fear, and I ran through the house to get to the front door as though the devil himself were chasing me. He was!

It was 1963 in Benton Harbor, Michigan. I was fourteen, and this little house was one of the best Id lived in during my childhood. It had three rooms set in a line like train cars: the kitchen in the back, a bedroom in the middle, and a small living room at the front. I tore through that dark house as fast as I could, slamming into the front door. I had locked it only minutes earlier to keep him out. Now he was in the house with me and I could hear his footsteps and feel the rasp of his enraged breathing. I had only seconds to slide the bolt back, throw the door open, and leap from the house as if it were burning down behind me.

The front door opened to an old wooden porch with a sagging tin roof. Snow blanketed the front yard, rising up to cover the bottom two steps leading off the rotted decking. I jumped, my legs sinking a foot and a half into the drift. The cold air cut through the ragged clothes I wore. I remembered my coat was inside, but so was he. There was no going back in.

Millie and her young daughter, Mary Anne, were standing by our old car in the snow-covered front yard. A tattered cardboard box of blackened pots and pans lay beside it. I had dropped them before running back into the empty house, hoping the sound of clattering pans, lids, and pots would be an alarm in the still night and somebody would come to save me.