The costume dilemma...

This past weekend I got into a conversation with my mother about how much she hates Halloween.  This was obviously no surprise to me as we seem to have this conversation every year around this time, not to mention she never allowed us to dress up or go trick-or-treating as kids.  She believes that Halloween is evil and that by dressing-up or carving pumpkins we are worshiping the devil.  As I pondered on my mother's hatred toward this day, I started wondering what it would have been like to get to pick out a costume, get all dressed up and go trick-or-treating as a little girl.  It was then that I realized that actually I did get to wear a costume as a little girl...the problem was that I was never allowed to take it off.

You see, in a family like mine costumes were a part of every day life.  We were taught to never leave home without our costume complete for everyone to look at in amazement.  To the world we pretended that we had it all together, that we were a "happy" family and everything was perfect.  All dressed up during the day I appeared upbeat and light-hearted, but on the nights when the lights grew dim and my father came to visit his little girl, fear and confusion became my allies.  On the inside I was broken and hurting, but I knew that as long as I put on my costume nobody would be able to tell...nobody except me. 

   

By God's grace alone was I able to take off my costume.  It came off one small piece at a time.  It had become such a part of me that it was difficult to actually let it go.  Underneath was the immense pain, the shame, the guilt, the anger, the confusion...all the things I did not want exposed.  As hard as it was, it was through uncovering my brokenness that I was healed.  With the secret of sexual abuse revealed, the body suit I had long been wearing suddenly fell off.  Through the countless hours of counseling, off came the gloves one by one.  After weeks of opening up to a support group, I was able to shed the boots that bound my feet.  Through the support and prayers of those God divinely put in my life, the wig was detached from my head.  As I made a conscious decision to surrender my pain and brokenness to the only one who can heal, the mask I had worn for so long came crashing to the ground.  For the first time in my life I was able to see the person God created me to be, and what I saw was beautiful.

It is ironic to me that as much as my mom hates Halloween and objects to dressing up and wearing costumes, that is exactly what she has done and has taught me to do all my life.  My mother believes we are dishonoring God when we put on a costume for Halloween, but I believe we are far more dishonoring to God when we refuse to take off our costumes and continue to live a make-believe and counterfeit life.  God is honored when our brokenness is healed, not when it is concealed.

While millions of kids are running home from school today racing to put on their costumes, I challenge you to finally take yours off...for what is hidden beneath is beautiful.

Forever changed...

Tuesday, September 11, 2001 is a day that forever changed the lives of the American people.  It was a day of tragedy.  A day of shock.  A day of heartache.  A day of courage.  Like many of you, I sat with tears in my eyes watching recaps of the catastrophic events that took place only 10 short years ago.  I listened to countless stories of both grief and heroism...fear and courage.  There was one particular man who captured my attention as he told of his story of survival.  He spoke of his initial realization of the magnitude of what had just happened and his determination to get out of the tower alive.  He told of the obstacles he faced and the endless heroic acts of others he witnessed as he made his way out of the north tower that day.  As he finally reached the ground level and safety was in his sight, the south tower suddenly began to crumble.  He recalls laying on the ground unable to see anything through the smoke and debris.  Crippled by fear, he made a decision to let go...to just lay there and die.  He realized that in the slim chance that he did actually make it to safety, his life would never be the same.  In that moment, surrounded by complete darkness, he lost his will to live.

 

I was captivated as I listened to this gentlemen relive his nightmare on the television screen in front of me.  Though my mind cannot conceive the unimaginable pain and fear this man experienced on the morning of 9/11, I could relate to so many of the feelings and emotions he described.  Like the man above, I started out determined...determined to unlock the vault within me where the deep, dirty secrets lived...determined to move on with my life and leave the past behind...determined to survive.  That determination was short lived as I realized the magnitude of the challenge I faced.  Soon after I found the courage to disclose the truth to my family, I started to understand that my life would never be the same.  In that moment, surrounded by complete darkness, I lost my will to live. 

A couple of months ago I was watching a repeat episode of Oprah.  This particular episode involved an interview with 4 pedophiles.  Oprah asked the men what effect they thought they had on their victims.  One of the men made this statement, "I killed the person she could have been."  I could not hold back the tears as the truth of these words sunk in.  So often in my recovery process I wondered what I would be like if this had not have happened to me.  I didn't know how to get beyond the sexual abuse or who I was apart from it.  I had lost my childhood...my family...my security...my identity.  I remember laying in my bed just weeping and praying God would take me home to Him.  I was so badly broken and I truly thought my life was ruined.  Like the man retelling his story from 9/11, I was ready to let go...to just lay down and die. 

Toward the end of the interview, I listened intently as the man talked about what kept him from giving in to imminent death.  In the pitch black that surrounded him, the faces of his wife and children were crystal clear.  Battered, bruised, and barely able to breath, this courageous man put one foot in front of the other until he made his way to safety.  By the grace of God he survived the most horrific attack on this nation we have ever seen.  There is no doubt that the events of that day had a tremendous impact on his life from that day forward, and indeed my life is not the same as it was before the day my father designated me as the object of his sexual pleasures.  As I was surrounded by the evil and darkness that accompanies sexual abuse, the nail scared hands of a healing God were crystal clear.  Battered, bruised, and overwhelmed with sadness, God gave me the courage to put one foot in front of the other until I was able to make my way into the safety of His loving embrace.

You see, the things my father did to me may have killed the person I could have been...but they didn't kill the person God created me to be.  In fact, what satan thought would for sure destroy me, God is using to instead restore me.   As I have walked through this journey of healing, I have experienced God's unconditional love...His immeasurable grace...His unfathomable forgiveness...and His infinite mercy.  I'm not sure what my life would look like or who I would be today had I not been sexually abused as a child, but what I do know is that through this pain and suffering I have come to know my God in a much deeper and personal way.  No life I could have had compares to truly knowing the Almighty God.  His plans for us far surpass what we could ever think or imagine.  He has a purpose for your life...one that even sexual abuse cannot ruin.  

Father's Day...

A little over 100 years ago in a town nicknamed "The Friendly City," a lady by the name of Mrs. Grace Golden Clayton organized a celebration that several decades later was written into law as a permanent national holiday.  In this country, every third Sunday in June is set aside to recognize our fathers, showing appreciation for all that they have done and all they mean to us.  Though created to be a joyous and sentimental occasion, many of us are filled with sadness and heartbreak instead.  For some, today marks the first Father's Day they will spend without their Father.  Unable to see him or pick up the phone and hear his voice on the other end only intensifies the grief of their tremendous loss.  For others, today is yet another painful reminder of the abandonment they suffered, leaving them wondering what it would have been like to even have a father at all.  There are others of us who have a father we can physically pick up the phone and call, but have nothing to say to the voice that answers on the other end.  For those of us who have been deeply wounded by our dads, the very sound of his voice represents pain. 

I remember standing in a Hallmark store with my mom one year when I was young and still living in a world full of secrets.  I stood staring at Father's Day cards trying to pick one out for my dad, an experience that proved quite difficult for me.  I read dozens of cards filled with beautiful sentiments, proclaiming a father as a hero, mentor and protector.  I searched for a card that simply said, "Happy Father's Day," but all I could find were cards describing a dad as someone who would always be there with love and support, thanking him for shaping the person I had become today.  Ironically, there were no cards thanking fathers for giving into their perverted desires and ripping out the childlike innocence night after night.  I couldn't find even one single card expressing appreciation for the fear that accompanies a drunken rage or the sting felt with vulgar and hateful words.  My dad had definitely helped shape the person I had become, but I couldn't find the right card that said thank you dad for abusing me...thank you dad for the immense guilt and shame...thank you dad for the abandonment...thank you dad for the overwhelming pain.

When God designed families, He entrusted fathers with a very critical responsibility.  There is no doubt about the fact that children need their fathers.   Every little boy should dream of being like his daddy one day, and every little girl should know the delight that comes with being daddy's little princess.  Children should feel safe and secure wrapped in the arms of their father.  Fathers are meant to instill wisdom and courage in their children, helping them develop into confident young adults with integrity and character.  The basic message....the influence of a father is extraordinary.  When I see a wonderful dad in action or hear of stories from others about how loving their fathers are, my heart is filled with joy.  Oh to know that your father loves you unconditionally and would take a bullet for you without hesitation. 

Thankfully, there are so many remarkable fathers out there who deserve every word written in the Hallmark cards I have read over the years.  However, the sad reality is we live in a country that has become known for being a world leader in fatherless families, a statistic many of us can identify with all to well.  I was overwhelmed as I read through all of the various statistics associated with children who grow up without a loving father, it is quite discouraging.  I, too, feel the void of not having a loving earthly father.  I have a dad, but his unwillingness to live beyond his world of sin and evil desires prevents us from having a relationship.  I once got into a conversation with a friend who never knew her parents.  She questioned if it was worse to grow up without ever knowing a parent, or to grow up with a parent who mistreats you.  The answer...they both stink...and both are outside the realm of God's intended plan. 

Whether you have grown up with an abusive father or an absent father, please know you are not doomed to a life of sadness and sorrow, nor are you destined to be part of the hundreds of statistics.  The void from not having a loving earthly father might be extensive and painful, but it can be filled and ultimately healed.  You and I may not have an earthly father who would take a bullet for us, but we have a father in Heaven who has already taken the nails for us.  He is a Father to the fatherless and takes us in when we are forsaken by our earthly fathers.   When we place our trust in Jesus Christ, He adopts us as His own and considers us as prized treasures.  His love for us is absolutely perfect and in His loving arms we are safe and secure.   On this Father's Day, we too can celebrate.  Happy Father's Day to the Almighty God and Creator of all things...my Heavenly Father who I am blessed to call daddy.

Forgiving when it hurts...

On the same day that I found the courage to tell my mother about the perverse evil I endured by my father, she almost immediately began delivering sermons to me about forgiveness.   If I cried or exhibited any outward signs of sadness, she warned me against dwelling and self-pity and urged me to forgive.  She contributed any expression of hurt or anger on my part to a bitter and unforgiving heart, advising me instead to simply forgive and forget.   She repeatedly informed me that as a Christian it was my spiritual duty to forgive.  Call me crazy, but I don't believe that God expected me to close my eyes, snap my fingers, and determine to never again think about or acknowledge the wicked acts my father carried out against me as a child.  I only wish it were that easy. 

 

Forgiveness is a process, not a one time instantaneous act.  Take it from me, you are not doing yourself any favors if you try to forgive before you are ready.  There is not a schedule or timeline you have to follow, nor is God putting an x mark on his calender for every day that goes by that you don't forgive.  As much as I wish it could be avoided, before you truly are capable of forgiving, you have to go through the pain and heartache of processing the sin that was committed against you.  As my wonderful counselor once told me, the measure to which you forgive is directly related to the measure in which you acknowledge the abuse for the evil that it was.  In other words, until you experience and admit to the full weight of the sadness, grief, betrayal, anger, resentment, or anything else you are feeling, only then can you fully forgive.  Don't let anyone condemn you for not forgiving fast enough or try to spiritually manipulate you into rushing into forgiveness as a "duty" rather than a heartfelt decision.    

 

Just the other day I was talking to my mother and we got into a conversation about my father and I's relationship...or rather the lack there of.  My mother to this day blames our not having a relationship on me being angry and unforgiving.  What my mother doesn't understand is that my forgiveness actually has nothing to do with my father.  Of course I wish with all my heart that my father would take responsibility for his actions and say to me he is sorry, but my forgiveness is not based on him being sorry.  Of course there are times when I still grieve the loss of an earthly father, but much to my mother's dismay, forgiveness is not synonymous with reconciliation.  I can forgive my father with or without having a relationship with him. He refuses to acknowledge the truth and I refuse to ignore sin, defeating any chance of reconciliation...but that doesn't mean I'm exempt from having to forgive.

Forgiving my father for the sexual crimes, harsh words, and disgusting acts I was forced to endure at his hands is for me.  Forgiving my mother for not protecting me from known danger as a child and the present condemnation and judgement is for me.  The act of forgiveness is for me, not them.  Unforgiveness does not hurt the ones who are responsible for my pain, it only further damages me.  Forgiveness does not mean that the sexual abuse was any less of a crime or caused me any less pain, and it definitley does not mean that what my father did to me was excusable.  It is through forgiveness that we are able to let go of the heavy weight of the offense we have been carrying along with us for so long.  When we forgive, the abuse loses its power over us.  For my own healing and recovery, I choose to forgive.  In fact, with each new day I have to choose again and again to make a conscious decision to forgive those who have wronged me.  With every memory, every nightmare, every condemning word...I have to make a choice. 

For those of you who feel your abusers do not deserve to be forgiven, you are right, they don't....but neither do I.  I'm so thankful that when God sacrificed His beloved son, I was completely absolved from the judgement I truly deserve.  Christ's blood covers my sins...and it covers my father's sins too.  As heinous as sexual abuse is in the eyes of the Lord, it is not beyond God's ability to forgive.  God's grace and forgiveness is unfathomable, and His love for His children is unmatched.  He will help you to also forgive your abusers.  You may not be ready to forgive at this moment and that is okay.  My prayer is that as you experience God's forgiveness in your own life and understand it's true meaning, you will desire to forgive your abusers just as you have been forgiven.  It will change your life.

I want to end with the words from a sexual abuse survivor named Nicole Bromley.  She is about my age and has a story that is not much unlike my own.  When I read these words she wrote about the ultimate comfort she received from God, and the forgiveness bestowed to her stepfather who molested her, I cannot hold back the tears.  Speaking of a vision God gave her she writes, "I saw the Lord and my stepdad standing next to each other.  The Lord was on the right; my stepdad was on the left.  Vince (stepdad) wouldn't look at the Lord, but the Lord was looking directly at him.  I could sense that He was very angry about what my stepfather had done to me.  Then I saw the Lord turn around.  Now His back was to my stepdad, and He was facing me.  Vince was behind the Lord and couldn't see me, and I felt safe because the Lord was directly between us.  As the Lord and I looked at each other, I saw Him begin to cry.  Soon He was sobbing because of how His precious, innocent child had been abused.  He was hurting because I was hurting.  He fell to His knees.  I ran into His arms, and He held me as we cried together.  And then I saw that behind us my stepdad was also kneeling.  He was repenting, tugging on the hem of the Lord's robe, crying out for mercy and forgiveness for everything he had done.  Then I saw the Lord forgive my stepfather.  And just as quickly as He forgave, He turned back to comfort me." What a beautiful description of a loving and forgiving God.

Judgment for pain...

This past week has provided me the opportunity to look back and celebrate how far I have come on this healing journey, but it also opened up my eyes just a little bit wider to the reality that my biological family is severely broken.  I spent a lot of time with my mother and sister this weekend and by the time I made it back home where I was emotionally safe, I was completely drained.  Spending eight hours zipped up in my self protective suit constantly guarding my heart from any sneaky attacks left me exhausted and quite honestly, a bit sad...sad that I have to protect myself from those who I should be able to consider safe...sad that I have to be on such high alert with them that I dread our time together rather than find it enjoyable...sad that our relationship can go no further than surface level without the risk of additional pain...sad that the heart wrenching truth is my family does not even know me.  Perhaps what breaks my heart most is that my family not only resents me for disclosing the truth and exposing my pain, they also judge me for it.

Recently my dear friend who has become like a mother to me (my "Mamsy" as I call her) and I started working through Beth Moore's Bible study on Esther.  As we were going through one of the daily lessons we came to a paragraph filled with words that struck a tender cord in the depths of my soul.  I was quite certain that Beth had followed me on my day long journey with my mother and sister and perhaps caught a small glimpse of why my heart was hurting during our time together.   I want to quote for you the words that were written on the page that so resonated in my heart.  Beth writes,  "We've each been hurt by someone, but no one on earth has hurt us more than those who seem callous to it.  We're acquainted with trying to deal with the wrongdoing of others while they go on with life, oblivious to our pain....The situation becomes even more complicated when you sense that the very person who helped your life to fall apart wonders why you can't get it together.  There's nothing quite like someone who hurt you judging you for being hurt."

These words describe my family, particularly my parents, almost perfectly.  Days after I confronted my father about the sexual abuse, I overheard him say to my mother, "is she still causing a problem," as if in a mere 72 hours I should have been able to get over the past 26 years of the pain I endured.  I can so easily torment myself by replaying some of the words my mother has spoken to me through this journey, things like, "you need to forgive and forget," "don't dwell on the past," "it could have been worse," "you just need to be an overcomer," or the one statement that brings on a bout of nausea every time, "at least the oral sex wasn't as bad as the intercourse."  I can so vividly remember the day I poured out my heart to my mother and let the pain and suffering spew out of me like an exploding soda can.  After I processed through the shock that my mother was very much aware of my father's sickness, I watched as she locked eyes with the magnitude of my pain and then quietly turned and crawled into bed with the man she allowed to molest her little girl.

In the midst of the darkest part of my journey when the nightmares and flashbacks took control, I couldn't help but think the next day...I wonder if my father slept peacefully last night as I relived the horrific pain of him raping me.  When I was soaking my hair and pillow in a pool of endless tears contemplating ending the constant torture, I wonder if my mother was having dinner with friends laughing and flaunting her material wealth.  The only thing worse than them ignoring my pain was the constant condemnation for even feeling it.  I don't want to sugar coat or minimize the sting that is felt when you are criticized by others for your pain, it leaves a deep and throbbing wound that takes a long time to heal....but it is not beyond repair.  This weekend with my mother and sister was proof that although my biological family is unwilling to join me in the recovery process and the presence of their judgment looms in the air around me like a thick haze,  I do not need their approval to get better. 

My dear friends, don't let anyone make you feel guilty for hurting.  The reason I was hurting is because I was deeply hurt... and the very people who judge me for it are the ones who caused it.  You might not can stop them from judging your pain, but I hope you can come to the place where you recognize their judgment as a sign of their sickness, not yours.  Most people who judge you for hurting do so because they cannot handle the truth and the pain that will come by acknowledging the ramifications of their actions is too great.  Instead, they make you feel guilty for hurting.  It's a viscous cycle and one that you don't deserve.  What you do deserve is someone to love you through your pain...someone to walk alongside you and offer you a healing touch...someone you can trust to share with you in your suffering one memory at a time.  Jesus sees your hurt and acknowledges your pain.  He will NEVER judge you for hurting.  Let Jesus be your family.  Share with Him your hurt and feel the love and healing that comes from His nail scarred hands.

Learning the hard way...

If you look in the dictionary for the word trust, you will find several wonderful descriptions of the meaning behind this word.  One of the most beautiful definitions of trust that was used in my support group is "to place hope in someone or something; to expect confidently."  I had achieved expecting confidently alright...but what I was expecting was to be abandoned or turned on at any moment.  I didn't know how to place hope in someone, that core ability was shattered when my father decided to trade me in for an incestuous toy rather than the daughter God had entrusted him with.  In order to endure the perversity and betrayal that taught me that trust was an open door to violation...I simply learned to hide inside my own skin.

My chosen method of self protection grew me into a miserable and broken adult.  Constant fear had become my closest companion.  I had never truly taken off my mask in front of others because I was too afraid they would bolt as soon as they caught a glimpse of what was hiding beneath.  It is no doubt that God had a plan when he placed two of the most amazing women I know in my path.  They are the same two individuals I first shared my heart with and the two of them became my first test of learning to trust again...a test I unfortunately failed. 

The more I opened up and the more I shared of my past with my two friends, the more suspicious I became that they too would soon abandon me.  They said that they loved me and cared about me, but my mother said the same thing as she knowingly delivered me straight into the hands of a pedophile.   They showered me with praise and said they were there to help me, but my father also said nice things to me during our 'special' time together.  I was scared and confused...I didn't know how to trust even the most trustworthy of people.

Unlike my abusers, my treasured friends had proven themselves to be safe people.  More than simple words, their actions daily implied their unconditional love for me.  They constantly poured out love, support, and encouragement to me...but still I feared their rejection.  Overwhelmed by the pain being inflicted upon me by my family at the time, I lied to my cherished friends.  I didn't know how to put into words the suffering I was experiencing and the things I was being told by my family, specifically my father.  As the fear intensified and took control, I found myself lying to the very two people I most feared losing.  Why?  Because truthfully I didn't trust them not to jump ship and abandon me.  I didn't trust that they would understand how much pain I felt.  I didn't trust them enough to sit down and just share with them what was happening.  Instead, I tried to control my circumstances...another task I ultimately failed.

Let me be the first to tell you that there are always consequences that follow our actions.  As I confessed my deception to my friends I was left devastated, humiliated, and completely ashamed by my sin.  What is worse is that my unwise choices hurt the very people who loved me the most.  In the fear of losing them, I made a choice that gave them a reason to run....yet they didn't.  Instead, they offered me grace and forgiveness.  They loved me through my sin and through my repentance.  There is no doubt that I made a mistake and that my lack of trust led to a very painful fall.  The amazing part of the story is that as I lifted up my head from the depths of my shame and stood to my feet covered in bruises from my near fatal tumble, there stood my two loving friends....arms open wide awaiting to bandage my wounds.  They had not abandoned me or betrayed me as I expected.  Instead, they embraced me. 

Though I'm not proud of what I have shared with you today and I desperately wish I could take back my sin, it was through this momentary lapse of judgment that I learned a very valuable lesson.  It is possible to trust others.  My imperfection also taught me that I could trust the one who is absolutely perfect.  He will never turn His back on me or abandon me.  Regaining the God-given ability to trust is possible, but only when we cling to the one who is completely trustworthy.  He is safe, loving, kind, and comforting.  He offers grace and forgiveness that is unmatched.  You can place your hope in Him and confidently expect Him to love and care for you.  His arms are open wide...patiently awaiting our embrace.  Run to Him dear friends.  Run as fast as you can.

Shark-free Sunday...

During a Bible study I was in last year my group got into a discussion about the importance of solid friendships and basically just sharing life with one another.  We were talking about making sure you choose wisely who you confide in when one of the girls in the class made the statement, "never bleed in front of sharks."  I can remember nothing else about what was said during group that day because I was completely fixated on that statement.  Never bleed in front of sharks....what a profound message in regards to sexual abuse.  Having a support system in place as you process through and heal from the deep wounds created by sexual abuse is vital to recovery.  Talking about the horrible things that happened to you and sharing the painful memories with safe people produces hope, strength, encouragement and the list goes on.  But let me warn you as you enlist the support of others...you must beware of sharks.

Sharks come in all shapes, colors, and sizes.  Sometimes you can spot a shark from a mile away and other times they sneak up on you when you least expect it.  Some sharks are satisfied with just a little nibble while others have an insatiable desire to destroy their prey.  Sharks tell you things like, "why can't you just forget it, it was a long time ago," "you should have told somebody when it happened," "what did you do to make this happen," "if you tell it will destroy our family."  Sharks encourage you to keep the secret and reprimand you when you seek out help.  Sharks are masters of manipulation and use every tool available to keep you from bringing the truth to light.  An encounter with a shark when you are not prepared is a guarantee for emotional exhaustion and often leaves you deeply wounded.  No matter what the shark looks like or what method they use for attack, they all have one thing in common...they are out for blood.

Let me tell you from my own personal experience, nothing hurts worse than the sharp teeth of a ferocious shark...the piercing pain of their bite is almost unbearable. What's worse is that my sharks were disguised as the people I should have been able to trust the most, my family. Every time I tried to go to my biological family for support, I walked away with more guilt, more shame, and ultimately an even more wounded heart.  I so desperately wanted them to love me and help me that I continually set myself up to get hurt over and over again.  Each time I held on to what little hope I had left that this time would be different....this time they would encourage me....this time they wouldn't hurt me.  Each time they proved me wrong.  In the words of Maya Angelou, "when someone shows you who they are, believe them."  My family had shown me who they were time and time again, but it wasn't until I finally believed them that I was able to come to the harsh reality that they were, indeed, my sharks.  

Over time I learned that if I wanted to avoid the pain of a brutal attack, I could not allow myself to emotionally "bleed" in front of my sharks.  On Sundays after church I attended a sexual abuse support group with an amazing group of women who I grew to love dearly.  Though this group played a major role in my healing and I would encourage any survivor to go through it, I left that group emotionally drained week after week.  I made a decision that on Sunday I would have no contact with my biological family in order to protect myself from being hurt...hence the term Shark Free Sunday.    On days when I went to counseling or just felt emotionally down, I made sure I stayed clear of any sharks.  Oh how I wish I would have learned this valuable lesson long before I did.  It would have saved me a lot of heartache.

Though I have many scars to represent the painful attacks I have experienced on this journey, they also represent survival.  A scar at one time was an open and painful wound, but when it scars over it is officially healed.  Every scar I have earned reminds me that though I have sharks waiting to attack at any moment, I also have a Healer and His name is Jesus.  He has proven His faithfulness to me day after day and He has never withheld His unconditional love for me.  He is there on my best days to share my joy and He is there on my worst days to give me comfort.  He has shown me who He is...and I believe Him. 

Angry Birds...

There is an iPhone application that was produced a little over a year ago that within months became an instant hit.  If you've not heard of it let me be the first to introduce you to the popular and addicting game..."Angry Birds."  The game is based on a story of some angry birds who are out to get revenge on the green pigs who stole their eggs from them.  The object of the game is to launch the various angry birds, each with their own unique destructive qualities, at the pilfering pigs in an effort to retaliate against them and ultimately take back what was stolen from them.  As silly as it sounds, over 12 million copies of the game have been purchased and versions have been created for all types of gaming systems.  I have to admit, I am one of the 12 million people who paid $0.99 to download this game on my phone.  The truth is, I think in many ways I can identify with these angry birds.  I wasn't angry at pigs who embezzle eggs, but rather those in my life responsible for the sexual abuse.  I wanted to get back my childhood that I was cheated of and regain the innocence that was stolen from me.

If you would have asked me several months ago if I were angry about the abuse I suffered, I would have looked you square in the eyes and said no.  I looked at anger in a negative connotation, associating it with the look in my father's eyes and the rage that came out of him after a night of binging on alcohol.  Anger was something I was terrified of.  When I thought about the things that were done to me as a child I felt many things...overwhelming sadness, hurt, abandoned, betrayed...but not anger.  Besides, growing up I was the quiet, obedient, peace keeper who was the family pleaser.  That was my role.  I was not allowed to be angry.  Instead, I stuffed any feelings of anger so deep inside of me that I often did not even recognize it's presence within me.  Unfortunately, turning my anger inward only led me deeper into the pits of depression and added to my feelings of self-hatred, shame, and guilt.

When I first opened up to my two closest supporters and counselor about the things I endured as a little girl, they first showed me love and comfort...and then they got angry.  I have to admit that though at first I was a little uncomfortable with their emotions of outrage, I also appreciated the anger they felt on my behalf.  You see, their anger was motivated out of the love they had for me.  Their anger was not directed at me, but at the evil that was done to me.  They expressed anger over a little child being taken advantage of and deeply hurt, which is a healthy response to such a repulsive act.

I'll never forget the first time I admitted to myself I was angry.  Sitting with my wonderful and patient counselor, the subconscious emotion finally made it's way to the surface and from my lips came the words, "I'm just so angry."  I'm not exactly sure what I thought would happen when I uttered those words, but what I did not expect was for my calm and composed counselor to throw her arms up in victory as those words flowed out of my mouth.  Her response says it all...I had finally spoken the truth that I was deeply hurt and that I was indeed angry about it.  I finally recognized my inner "angry bird."  This seemingly small realization was actually yet another victory in my healing journey.

Over time I have come to realize that being angry in and of itself is not a sin, but rather a God given emotion.  Our anger only turns into sin when we do not express it appropriately.  For me, my inappropriate method of expressing anger was to ignore it's existence and let it lead me down a destructive path of depression and self-hate.  For others, they are so controlled by anger that like the angry birds in the game, they simply blow up at and destroy anyone who gets in their way.  No matter how hard you try, if you do not deal with the anger that you feel inside, it will come seeping out in one way or another.

If you have not given yourself permission to be angry, let me be the first to encourage you that you have the right to be angry about the sins carried out against you.  It's okay for me to feel angry that my father took advantage of me to fulfill his own sick, sexual pleasures.  It's okay for me to feel angry that my own mother did not protect me and in fact enabled the sexual abuse to go on.  It's okay for me to express anger that the sexual abuse destroyed the person I could have been.  It is only by acknowledging and processing through the anger that we are able to lay it down at the feet of the one who alone can heal our broken hearts.  God hears us when we cry and He sees through the anger to our wounded hearts.  Though it is not up to us to seek revenge on those who have harmed us, be assured that God is also angry about the injustice over what happened to you.  He will one day bring justice as He sees fit and He promises to restore to us all that was stolen.  Until then, may you find the strength to release the deep hurts that are masked by anger, and allow the God of comfort to wrap you up in His loving arms as you do.

Getting rid of the dirt...

In the process of healing, one trap that I repeatedly found myself drowning in was the sea of guilt and shame.  It's like I would finally get my head above the water for air when I would forcefully be pulled back under the raging waters again.  In time I had come to the place where I could acknowledge that the things my father had done to me were his fault and not mine.  I knew it was his sin and I was not responsible, but I still felt guilty.  You see, there was more to the story.  I was holding on to a disturbing secret that I knew in my heart made me guilty, and I was too ashamed to talk about it.  If anybody found out I just knew they would want nothing to do with me anymore.  They would look at me like I looked at myself...with absolute disgust.

I want to share with you something that for the longest time I swore to myself I would never tell....something I thought separated me from the rest of victims....something I thought handed me a guilty verdict.  One day when my father had me alone he brought with him a visitor, one of our basset-hounds named Scooter.  He told me he wanted to teach me a game that I could play with Scooter any time I wanted to when we were alone, just our little secret.  My dad assured me I would like this game, and all I had to do was lay real still.  My father put something sticky between my legs and the game with Scooter officially began.  In the next few minutes something strange happened to me.  At the time I had no idea what that something was, but it didn't hurt like it did with my father's games.  My dad told me I should keep "practicing" this game with Scooter...and that's exactly what I did.  Each time we played I got that same strange feeling, and I knew my dad would be so proud. 

I have a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach typing these words.  I wish I could erase this part of my story and pretend it never happened...but it did.  It is a sick reality that I have had to learn to live with.  For the longest time I thought God was so disappointed in me and I lost count of the number of times I have repented for such a vulgar act.  Freedom from the constant attacks of guilt and shame did not come until finally I mustered up the courage to tell my counselor, and eventually my support group.  The truth is, like all the rest of the sexual abuse, this was not my sin to repent for.  I was a child doing exactly what I was taught to do.  I didn't know it was wrong, I was simply following parental orders.  My father is the sick one in this situation, not me.

For a long time I struggled with feeling dirty over this experience and the memories of it haunt me even still.  As disgusting as I might feel sometimes, the truth is that I have been made clean.  There is an analogy I have heard related to God's forgiveness that I think applies here as well.  Picture your life like a bucket of white paint, fresh and without a speck of dirt.  With each sin committed, drops of black begin to fall in our bucket, turning our once white paint a little darker.  Before we know it our paint color turns to a dark shade of gray or even black.  We are dirty.  When we invite Jesus into our lives He comes to our paint bucket, puts on the lid and labels it white.  Though inside our bucket is this ugly dark color, Jesus says we are pure white, without a speck of dirt.  The sexual abuse and the game I learned to play with Scooter as a kid tainted my once white paint.  Even though I still battle the shame and the pain of these memories at times, the truth is that Jesus looks at me and calls me pure white.  Oh the freedom that comes when the dirt loses it's power.  Whatever your dirt is and no matter how much of it has fallen in your bucket, it's never too late to let Jesus seal the lid and label you white.

No more excuses...

If there is one thing my family has without fail always been successful at, it is at making excuses for my father.  I'll never forget the ending to some of my worst days growing up, they were always the same.  It did not matter what my father had said or done, my mother would come into my room to make sure that I knew that it was the alcohol saying and doing those things, not my dad.  What she was really trying to convey to me was that he could not be held responsible and to just let it go....and that's just what we did.  The next morning we would just pretend that nothing ever happened.  I learned to look past the bruises, the hand print markings on my arms, and any other physical sign that some trauma had occurred.  I learned to put on a fake smile...until the next time "alcohol" showed up.  It was a vicious cycle.

After I unveiled the long hidden secret of sexual abuse, the same song and dance of excuses were not far behind.  To this day my mom blames the alcohol for the abuse.  She asked me how I could hold him responsible for something the alcohol caused...that maybe he blacked out in a drunken state and didn't know what he was doing...or perhaps he thought I was her when he came to me for his sexual fulfillment.  I mean, who doesn't struggle to recognize the difference between your 44yr old wife and your 7yr old daughter?  Even worse, she justified the various levels of abuse I experienced, claiming that oral sex wasn't as bad as "true intercourse," as she calls it.  I'm glad that somehow offered my mother some comfort, but I was failing to find a sense of gratitude for the times my dad chose this route over another.  In fact, I dreaded and feared it far beyond what my mother calls "true intercourse." Amidst all of the excuses, I made myself believe that somehow I brought this on myself...that I somehow deserved it.  I thought maybe if I were a better child this wouldn't have happened.  When that did not ease the pain I tried minimizing the abuse I had sustained.  I tried to downplay it and say it wasn't that big of a deal. 

The problem with all the excuses was that they were all lies.  Until I was able to fully acknowledge the abuse for what it was...heinous, evil, disturbing, sick...I was not able to begin to truly process what had happened to me and start the healing process.  The truth is, there are no excuses.  It was not an accident and it was not 'just' oral sex or intercourse, it was rape.  It was a crime.  Alcohol did not come into my bedroom at night...my father did.  I'm not saying that perhaps alcohol did not affect my father's behavior at times, but alcohol does not make someone a pedophile.  There was nothing I did or didn't do that caused my father to abuse me and there is nothing that justifies my mother turning a blind eye to what was being done. 

Though I struggled tremendously, with the help of my closest supporters and counselor, I was able to verbalize aloud the vile crimes committed against me.  Acknowledging the abuse for the evil sin that it is does not mean you will dwell there forever, but you do need to camp out there for a time in order to process through all the garbage you are carrying with you.  Nothing makes sexual abuse okay...NOTHING.  If you have had an experience similar to mine and you are trying to justify it in your mind, let me be the first to tell you what happened to you was not okay and not your fault.   Let me also be the first to tell you how terribly sorry I am, you did not deserve such pain.  You can be assured that God is fighting on your behalf.  God does not ignore or minimize sin and promises to bring justice.  He loves us too much to let us hide behind excuses.  You can trust Him with the full weight of your pain.  I promise He will be there to help walk you through it...there is healing on the other side.

With touching comes tears...

From the moment we take our first breath here on earth we long for physical touch.  There are countless research articles about the physical and emotional aspects associated with touch and child development.  God created us with the need to be touched, and He placed the responsibility on our parents and/or caregivers to communicate love to us through physical touch.

Growing up in a family with a pedophile as a father, nobody taught me more about touch than he did.  I remember one time being in his blue and white truck with him at his deer lease when he stopped the truck and pulled me close to him.  As his hand drifted beneath my clothing and between my legs, the tears began to flow.  My tears angered him and he grabbed my face and told me I better stop being a cry baby.  As the pressure between my legs intensified, I could not hold back the tears and in a moment of rage he made me get out of the truck and drove away.  In a matter of minutes I learned that touch was scary, confusing, and painful.  I learned that tears were a sign of weakness and unacceptable.  As time went on, I dreaded the times when my father came into my room or we found ourselves alone with each other.  I feared the touch of his hands or other parts of his body.  With each new touch, another piece of me was taken away.  With each touch, the guilt and shame rooted themselves a little deeper.

Don't get me wrong, my mother hugged me plenty and I was never physically neglected, but the evil touching from my father far overshadowed any healthy touch I received as a child.  I grew up to be an adult who did not understand the beauty of physical touch in the way God intended it....until one day.  It is a day I don't believe I will ever forget.  It was a day that appeared to be like any other ordinary day from the outside, but on the inside I was barely surviving.  I had managed to get myself out of bed and to work, which at this point in my life was a pretty big accomplishment.  While I was sitting at work, one of my co-workers came up behind me and gently put her hand on my shoulder and kissed me on top of my head.  In that moment chills ran through me and my heart felt like it skipped a beat.  Though it sounds like such a simple gesture, it was much more than that to me.  With her gentle touch I felt love, affection and comfort.  It was as if God himself had reached down and touched me in the depths of my despair.

This same co-worker grew to be the dear friend I always speak of who has truly become a mother to me.  She has held me close on my worst days as the tears seemed to flow endlessly.  I have left plenty of mascara stains on her shoulders, but this time my tears were accepted.  Unlike my father's touch, her touch said I was loved and that I was going to be okay.  Her touch brought with it hope and encouragement.  Her touch also produced tears....but this time they were tears of healing.

If you have never experienced the healing that comes with a loving touch my heart is broken for you.  I want you to know that you deserve to be loved on and tenderly held in the arms of someone who loves you.  I know the touch that brings pain and deep sorrow and tells you that you are unlovable, but I also know the touch that brings healing.  Please know that the God of this Universe loves you and longs to hold you in His loving arms.  In His arms you are safe and free to cry and leave all the mascara stains you need to.  God sees your pain and knows the meaning behind each tear.  The Bible says he counts every tear and collects them in a jar.  Over the last year I have easily filled a whole shelf full of jars with my name on them, but don't hold back....He has room for your tears too.

My everyday war...

I think I can safely argue that when sin entered this world with the fall of man, insecurity was leading the pack with it's eyes on anyone made of human flesh.  Some of us may have been fortunate enough to escape it's grasp with only a few scrapes and bruises, but most of us were caught in it's trap of constant torture.  I was attacked by the ugly wrath of insecurity as a small child and by the time I reached adulthood the poison had reached toxic levels.  In not so many words, I was sick....and the symptoms were only intensifying.

Being uncomfortable in your own skin is a very sad and lonely place to be.  I learned to accept through the years that nothing I ever did was going to be good enough and no matter how much effort I put in I was ultimately going to in the words of my father, "amount to nothing."  I truly believed that I was a lousy person who could only guarantee one thing...disappointment.  Having low self-esteem would have been a serious upgrade for me.  The constant inner dialogue of self destructive thoughts only led to self loathing.  I learned to habitually reject any compliments I was given and the most frequent words that came from my lips were "I'm sorry," regardless of if it was warranted or not. 

Quite honestly, I'm not sure if there was an area in my life where I was secure.  From my job, to my looks, to my self-worth....I was crippled by insecurity.  I use to purposely go to lunch hours after I knew my co-workers had eaten so that I knew nobody would be in the break room and I didn't have to risk opening up to anyone.  I was terrified of going to any social gathering in fear I would say the wrong thing or look the wrong way.  Don't get me wrong I longed for the fellowship, but I dreaded the rejection.  Even in the presence of those I love and care about the most my insecurity made itself known.  In the comfort of the place I now call home my dear motherlike friend once asked me if I felt a little cool in the house.  Sounds like a simple question I know, but not for this profoundly insecure person.  My mind raced with what I should say.  I did not want to be cold if she was warm or warm if she was cold.  In fear of giving the wrong answer I responded, "I'm whatever you need me to be.  I can be either."  Now what kind of answer is that?  I was afraid to give answers to the most basic questions in fear I might say the wrong thing, not to mention I didn't feel my opinion mattered.....because I didn't matter. 

The problem with this philosophy is that it is a lie straight from the pit of hell.  Satan wants nothing more than for me to honestly believe I am worthless to anyone, especially God.  For years he has been the front runner in this race with me....in fact he has probably lapped me several times.  The sexual abuse at the hands of my father told me that I was powerless and did not matter.  It told me I didn't have a voice or an opinion and my needs were not important.  It told me I was worthless, dirty, and unlovable.  It told me I was a disappointment to all who knew me.  It wasn't until I started to believe that God's word is far more powerful than the evil of the sexual abuse that I started to gain some ground on my enemy.  You see, God's word tells me I am a daughter of the king...redeemed from the hand of the enemy...delivered from the powers of darkness.....healed by His stripes...forgiven...fully loved and accepted and valued.  God's word tells me that the sexual abuse lies.

To this day insecurity is still my greatest challenge in day to day life.  I wish I could tell you I had this one beat and that it was far behind me now, but that isn't really the case.  I still get nervous around people and doubt myself often.  I still struggle with compliments and saying "I'm sorry" for no reason still seems to flow off my tongue with ease.  Insecurity is a constant battle for me, but each day I'm getting stronger.  I am not where I want to be, but I have gained a lot of ground over the enemy.  A year ago I would not have been able to say these words, but today I can say with assurance that I am worth fighting for, and so are you.

Oh how satan loves to see us struggle with insecurity and run laps around us in this race.  I have some really bad news for him though...I already know who wins.  No matter how far ahead satan may seem, the moment we proclaim Christ as our Savior, we are automatically proclaimed the winner! Game over...We WIN!

Shelter from the storm...

Over the years from childhood to adulthood, I had become what you might call an expert in the field of suffering alone.  I had become a silent victim and attempted to hide my hurt at all costs.  I emotionally detached myself from others and truly believed I was strong enough to handle the devastation of being sexually abused all alone.  The isolation only intensified the torment inside me and confirmed my false belief that others would not be able to understand me if I did share my pain with them.  It seemed my only reward for my effort was extreme loneliness and brokenness.

Thankfully, God met me in the depths of my despair and provided me a way out.  His plan to end my silent suffering involved the very creatures I had worked so hard to avoid....people.  God had carefully placed specific people in my life who were the very ones who would share my burdens with me and walk with me through the pain.  It was never God's intention that I suffer alone, I had made that up all on my own.  The "all on my own" mentality was the very thing satan was using to destroy me, until God opened my eyes.

In my life walked the beautiful feet of two individuals who God has used to change my life.  When I finally found the courage to share with them my pain, my suffering alone officially ended.  I now had people who loved and cared about me carrying this burden with me, but God did not stop there.  I had just started going to a new church when during the announcements a video popped up of a woman sharing her story of sexual abuse.  She shared how God had helped heal her wounds and spoke of a sexual abuse support group starting in just a matter of weeks.  In that moment my heart was racing and I was just sure everyone was staring at me and somehow knew my story.  When I finally crawled back out from under my chair I realized that nobody in the church was looking at me....except God.  His gaze was focused on His broken child and He had a plan.  With the encouragement of my dear friends I hesitantly signed up for the class and a few weeks later, after standing outside the door of the room for 15 minutes shaking, I walked into a small group of women who knew wholeheartedly the pain I was experiencing.  Unfortunately, they felt its sting too....I was not alone.  If that wasn't enough, God had even more!  On the first day of this class one of the leaders spoke of a counselor who she highly recommended to anyone interested.  She gave out her number and within weeks, I sat in the office of this wonderful person who over the course of about a year has profoundly affected my life.  She helped me talk about and process through some of the darkest hours of my life and has loved me through it all.  She has spoken truth over my life in the areas where the lies dwelt for years.  Yes, she is my counselor...but she is also my dear friend. 

In the course of a few months I went from fighting this painful battle alone to having a whole army of warriors fighting with me.  Trust me when I tell you it is much more bearable with people supporting you.  The book we went through in my support groups just so happens to be titled, "Shelter from the Storm." One of the things it says about recovery from sexual abuse that spoke to my heart was "only you can do it, but you can't do it alone." It is still a painful and long journey, but God never intended for us to travel it alone. My God given guardian angels disguised in human flesh did everything short of take the painful journey of healing for me.  Though they couldn't run the race for me, they definitely carried me all the way up to the starting line.  They have been my biggest fans and have encouraged me with every stride.  They have picked me up when I have fallen and lovingly nudged me forward when I wanted to turn around a quit.  They speak truth over my life when the enemy tries to attack me..and oh does he ever try to attack.  The difference is now I have a safe place to turn and safe people to turn to.  I'm overwhelmed to know that the almighty God loves me enough to bless me with the gift of these incredible people in my life.  It is a beautiful day when you come to the realization that you are not alone.  Dear friends, I hope today is that day for you.

Discovering family...

Growing up in a true dysfunctional family can wreak havoc on your understanding of how a family system was designed to work.  My father's alcoholism was at the top of the list for methods of destroying my family.  All the attention and energy went into making sure that his needs were met.  I learned at a young age what I could do and say to keep him from blowing up in a fit of rage and how to escape his grasp and hide when he lost control.  Often my brother, sister and I sat huddled up in my sister's bathroom together, just hoping he did not make his way through her locked doors to our hiding place.  Other times I was able to hide underneath the dining room table in just the right place where I could see him but he couldn't see me.  When my mother would finally get some sense talked into her, she would pack up us kids and move us out.  Sometimes we moved out, and sometimes my father moved out.  I remember once when we moved into a little rent house and I had to share a room with my big sister.  While she hated every minute of it, I was the safest I had ever been.  Unfortunately, the moves were of little respite and were always short lived.  We always made our way back together, just the five of us living in our secret world of total dysfunction.  Amidst the secrecy and abuse, I had no way of knowing that my family of origin was not at all what God intended it to be.

Until I exposed the secret sin of sexual abuse that was allowed to exist within my family, I never knew how dysfunctional my family was.  It was made quite obvious very early in my healing journey that my family was not going to be a source of support for me.  When I changed the steps of the dance we were all accustomed to, they resisted.  They wanted me to keep this a secret and just get over it.  My mother's motto was and remains "just forgive and forget."  Along with the courage to finally tell my family the truth came the immense guilt that now I had destroyed them.  I once again believed a lie...that it was my fault that my family was falling apart.  What had I done?  Why were they not helping me?  I felt so betrayed, but really had I betrayed them?

It wasn't until I sought out the help and support that I so desperately needed that I learned that this a typical response from families involved in sexual abuse.  My family, like many other dysfunctional families, was not capable of handling the truth that for so long we tried to keep hidden.  They lacked the tools necessary to handle the devastation the abuse had caused.  They were unwilling to acknowledge the large elephant in the room.  Instead they chose to ignore it's ever present existence.  As one of my sweet friends always says, they chose to duck beneath the big elephant in the room and dodge it at every turn, just to avoid having to face the truth.  The truth was too painful...too uncomfortable...too scary.

Though the response from my family has only made my recovery all the more difficult, it did not make it impossible.  I am choosing to heal and to do whatever is necessary for me to get better, regardless of the choices my family makes.  I still love them and pray that they, too, will get help for themselves, but the first step is acknowledging the truth.  Speaking the truth is never dishonoring.  God is the author of truth, even when it is ugly or offensive.  The healing process begins with truth, no matter how devastating the consequences.  For me this was a heavy price to pay.  I have had to acknowledge the fantasy bond I had with my mother and realize that her love for me comes with conditions.  I have made the decision to cut off ties with my father at this time.  I know that exposing myself to his deep rooted sickness is not healthy for me, nor do I have any desire to have a relationship with a man who will take no responsibility for his actions.  I very rarely see or talk to my brother and his family anymore, as he has chosen to separate himself from the whole family in an attempt to avoid the pain.  I talk with my sister the most, though our relationship is strained at best.  I love her precious children like they are my own.  When I look into my niece's big, blue eyes I know without a shadow of a doubt that the consequences I am suffering are worth it.  I could not live with myself if she had to suffer the same fate as I did at the hands of my father...all because I was too afraid to face the truth.

The most beautiful part of this story is that God has blessed me with relationships that display His love and his purposes for what a family was designed to be.  He has given me a family that I cannot imagine living without.  We are not related by blood, but the ties go much deeper.  Just a few nights ago my dear friend who has become like a mother to me was praying and in her prayer she said these words to God about me..."help her to know that she is never unwanted here."  These simple words spoke volumes to my heart and I could not hold back the tears as I pondered the fact that I was never unwanted.  Her love for me is unconditional.  Now that is a true family...my family.  I pray that each of us would see that even beyond our earthly families we have a heavenly father whose love for us is unmatched and unfailing.  He is a father who rejoices in the truth and will never fail us.  He is our perfect family.

Hope

With all the pain and various emotions that I experienced after I exposed my secret, it did not take me long to realize that I was drowning.  There were definitely times in the beginning when I did not think that I would be able to survive and come out of this, it was just too hard.  Depression had officially made itself at home inside of me.  I have heard people describe depression as the feeling of being trapped in a black hole with no hope of getting out.  I found my way to that black hole.  I came to that deep, dark place of absolute sorrow….the place where hope is lost and sadness cannot escape….the place where you begin to picture what the world would be like if you were not in it….the place where you imagine the one permanent remedy to be rid of all the anguish.

I have tears in my eyes as I think back to the loneliness and how close I came to giving up the fight.  Had God not intervened on my behalf and put certain people in my life, it is doubtful that I would be writing this today.  I say all this because I want you to know that I have been there.  I know how bad it hurts.  If you hear me say nothing else I beg you to hear me say this….there is hope for you.  I have experienced the intense pain and overwhelming sorrow, but I have also experienced the joy that comes with healing.  I recognize that I’m nowhere close to completing this journey, but I am so much further than I once was.  I look back with a grateful heart that God spared me from making the biggest mistake of my life.  He was protecting me as I spit a mouthful of pills into the toilet when I was a teenager.  He was with me in those days when I lived at home and tried to escape from the emotional pain by cutting my legs with a razor blade.  He was with me then just as He is with me now.  He has a plan for my future.  My life is worth living…..and your life is worth living too.  You are a prized treasure.  Don't give up because in Him, hope abounds.

Not mine to own...

Reflecting on the heinous crimes that had been carried out against me as a child was a very sobering experience.  As I began to look the evil surrounding sexual abuse square in the eye, I made a very grave mistake.  Like so many others who have walked in similar shoes as mine, I was deceived into believing that somehow the abuse was my fault.  Satan was so good at whispering little lies in my ears.  These whispers began at a very young age and by the time I became an adult, I completely owned the sin of sexual abuse.  Even though I hated every minute of it and desperately wanted it to stop, I thought I must have done something wrong and somehow deserved this.  Besides, I never told anyone, so I must have wanted it to happen right?  Surely if I hated it so much I would not have just laid there and let him do those things to me right?  If I didn't like it, it wouldn't have sometimes felt good right?  If I really wanted to stop it I would have screamed out a little louder, closed my legs a little tighter, refused to open my mouth, etc....right?

WRONG!!!!!

Please hear me when I say that this was not my fault... nor is it any child's fault.  I did not have the mental or emotional capacity to even understand what was happening to me much less consent to such perverse acts.  I was the child and my father was the parent.  He was given the responsibility to love and protect me and he failed.  Nothing I did or did not do caused this to happen to me...he made the choice to sin all on his own.  I didn't tell because I was a child and quite honestly, I didn't even know it was wrong.  He was my dad, I trusted him.  I just laid there because I was terrified and paralyzed with fear.  Even if I would have fought him, he would have still won.  It felt good at times because that is a normal and healthy physiological response.  God created our bodies to enjoy sexual stimulation.  It is not your fault if your body had a healthy physiological reaction to an unhealthy act against you. 

Believing the lie that the abuse was your fault will continue to damage an already broken spirit if left untreated.  Trust me, I know.  I grew up to be a very sad and lonely person, devastated emotionally as an adult....until God's truth intervened.  With the support of those who love me and my incredible counselor, I am learning to replace the lies with truth.  No matter how much satan continues to berate me and force his lies upon me, I know without a shadow of a doubt that this was not my fault.  I refuse to hold myself accountable for my father's sin.  Please don't misunderstand me for saying I'm completely innocent...I have made mistakes along the way.  Unfortunately, I have plenty of my own faults and sins that I am responsible for...but sexual abuse is not one of them.  It is not mine to own and I have given it back to it's rightful owner.  No matter how powerful satan's lies are in your life, God's truth is stronger still.  We just have to start believing it.

The monster has a name...

In my struggle to verbalize the abuse that had happened to me as a little girl, one of the things my counselor had me do was write a third-person story about one particular experience in the eyes of a child.  The title of my story was, "Nightmare in the Woods."  I told of how this shy, blonde headed, blue eyed little girl was kidnapped by a scary monster and driven out to the woods.  In the story, the little girl's life was changed forever that night as the monster stripped away a piece of her innocence with his own bare hands.  The story ended with a foreshadowing of the little girl's future and the realization that this was only the beginning of the things she would have to endure. Anyone who would read this story would agree on one thing, the antagonist in this story was indeed a vicious monster.  The problem is the monster had a name.......daddy. 

When I think about my father I have very conflicted feelings about him.  On one hand he is an evil monster who I hate, but on the other he is my father and I really do care about him.  As a little girl I was terrified of my dad but at the same time I longed for his love and approval.  There was this inner turmoil within me filled with mixed feelings of love and hate.  I desperately wanted the abuse to stop.....but I wanted a daddy too.  I can close my eyes and remember him touching me beneath my clothes and forcing me to open my mouth and "help him feel better", but I also remember him being present while playing putt-putt with my brother and shopping with he and my siblings for Christmas presents. 

It took me a long time to accept that I would never have the earthly father I so desired.   God created us with a longing to be loved by our parents, and it is okay to grieve that loss if it was stolen from you.  It also took me a long time to understand that it is okay to remember the pleasant memories I had with my father while at the same time detesting the abusive ones.  At first I thought there was something wrong with me that after all my father had done to me I could remember certain times of happiness.  It is okay to have enjoyed the healthy parts of our relationship, and I'm actually very grateful that I have these memories because often many victims aren't so fortunate.

I have come to learn that these confusing feelings are actually quite normal.  It is possible to care about your abuser and still hold them accountable for their actions.  If your abuser was good to you at times, that does not excuse the sin committed against you.  As you experience intense feelings of anger, hurt, hatred, confusion, love, and affection toward your abuser, know that this emotional roller coaster does not mean you are doing anything wrong.  God sees your pain and confusion, and He will meet you right where you are.  He will help you sort through all the mixed emotions and restore to you all that was lost with your earthly relationships.

God gave me moosies...

One of the most distressing challenges I had to face as I began processing through my experience was the uncertainty about where God was when the abuse was happening to me.  I was plagued with confusion of how God could be present, yet allow such perversion and injustice.  I questioned if He was even there at all or if He really cared about me.  In my mind I could recall the many Bible verses that speak of God’s love for His children and how He never leaves or forsakes us, but truly believing this in my heart proved to be more difficult.

As I began to process and talk about the evil things I had experienced with my earthly father, I also began to question my heavenly father.  I wish I could say I had some unique and remarkable faith that caused me to never suffer with doubt or mistrust God, but like the rest of us, I too was born of human flesh with the innate desire to know why.  Why didn't God help me?  Why didn't he stop my father?  Why did God even allow me to be born?  Why me?  The why questions were endless and overwhelming...that is until God reminded me of the moosies.

When I was a little girl I had this blue bedspread with matching curtains above my window decorated with moose.  The theme was "moosle beach," and all the moose were doing different things at the beach.  Some were surfing, some building sand castles, some playing with a beach ball, and some just laying on the beach in sunglasses.  I recognize how odd this sounds.  Most girl rooms are decorated in pink or purple with flowers, polka-dots, or princesses....but my room was decorated in moose!  Oh, how I loved those moose.  You see, when my father would come into my room for me to "help" him I would often escape to moosle beach and play in the sand with the moose....or moosies as I called them when I was a kid.  Little did I know God was using these silly moose as a means of protection.  The more violent the abuse, the quicker I was able to dissociate from what was happening to me physically and go to the beach with my moose friends.  God had given me an escape route from the unimaginable pain, both physical and emotional.

When I think about the moose on my curtains as a little girl, I am reminded of God's faithfulness and ever present help.  God never left my side and I am convinced that nobody was more heartbroken than He was over what was happening to me.  God did not cause this to happen nor was He trying to "teach me a lesson."  My father out of his own free will choose to partake in this evil crime and unfortunately I had to pay the consequences of His actions....but I never suffered alone.  Now I can look back and see that God never abandoned me, but it took me a long time to get to this point.  I want to encourage you to be patient with yourself and give yourself time.  It is okay to ask the tough questions, but I urge you to seek God for the answers instead of running away from Him.

In one of Beth Moore's bible studies I have been reading, she says of her own life, "I don't believe Satan would have gained permission from God to defile my young life had my faithful Heavenly Father not known without a doubt how He could use it.  God is never more glorified than when He brings an oak of righteousness out of a once damaged root."  I still do not have all the answers to the why questions and quite honestly I never will.  The difference is that now in the depths of my heart I am confident that God was with me, that He loves me and cares about me, that He heard every cry and counted every tear.  I am convinced now that God will use what satan meant to destroy me to actually help others heal.  My prayer is that if like me, you find yourself questioning God, that He will begin to show you your moosies.

What goes in must come out...

There is nothing easy about sharing the details of sexual abuse with others, even if the person you are sharing with is your most trusted confidant.  In my heart I knew I needed to just let the demons out, but I was just so afraid.  I tried to to keep the memories and emotions tucked away, hidden in the deepest parts of me where nobody else could see.  The silent suffering I was torturing myself with was like a deadly poison that was slowly eating me alive.  The only remedy was to let it all out, but still I fought it.  All day I was consciously battling the lies of the enemy to keep silent, but at nighttime it was a whole different story.

When I could no longer contain all of the disturbing secrets inside of me, I began having terrible flashbacks.  The secrets came seeping out of me little by little when I closed my eyes at night and lost my conscious efforts to keep them in.  Instead of sleeping to get rest and regain my strength, I was engaging in the fight of my life.  I was re-living what had happened to me and I had no way of stopping it.  The only thing worse than enduring the sexual abuse as a child was living through it all over again night after night.

I attempted everything you can think of to avoid the nightly torture.  I  tried to force myself to stay awake all night and not fall asleep at all.  I tried to set an alarm to wake me up every hour so that I would not fall deep enough asleep for the nighttime terror to take over.  I tried medicine, listening to music, reading books....you name it I tried it, all to no avail.  The worst part was I could not be woken up once the flashback began.  My incredible friend who has become a mother to me once again came to the rescue.  Night after night she stayed with me and never left my side.  She desperately tried to wake me up and rescue me from the terrifying flashbacks, but without success.  There was no way around this, I simply had to go through it.

My heart cringes just to think of how frighteningly real the nightmares...the memories were.  I could feel him, hear him, smell him.  It was like I was 4...7...10 years old again.  The difference was this time, I had someone there to help me and protect me.  Even though I could not remember my treasured friend/second mother being with me when I finally came out of it, I am comforted to know that she was there.  She, unlike my biological mother, never turned a blind eye to my pain.  She could have easily jumped ship, but she didn't.  Instead, she held me, wiped my tears, sang to me, prayed for me, fought the monster off of me, put me back in bed when I wandered outside in the middle of the winter, put my clothes back on me when my father was done misusing me and I laid there naked and trembling, rinsed out my mouth when I couldn't get rid of the offensive taste left behind, cleaned up my mess when out of pure terror I had an accident and soiled my pajamas, and the list goes on.

Quite honestly, it is difficult to look back at how bad things were.  I hit rock bottom in the midst of these flashbacks.  Besides being completely humiliated, I was exhausted both physically and emotionally.  Every morning I felt like I had been completely violated, yet had to force myself to get up, get dressed, go to work and act like nothing had ever happened.  I had mastered this as a child, but now I was barely surviving.  I honestly thought God had abandoned me at this point.  Thankfully even when I was giving up on Him, He wasn't anywhere close to giving up on me.  He was right there with me, and the evidence was right in front of my face.  He had sent me a guardian angel to see me through this.  She chose to live the torture with me every night...her only payment being complete exhaustion after sleepless nights.  She is my hero, and I know now that God was comforting and protecting me through her.  I will never be able to thank her enough for allowing God to use her to save me.  I love her with all my heart, and I'm so thankful God gave her to me.

I say all this because I want you to know that no matter what you are going through and no matter how defeated you feel, God is with you.  When you can't see Him, He's there.  When you give up on Him, He's there.  When you are angry at Him, He is still there.  As horrific as the nightmares were...and still are at times...God used them in my healing process.  I wouldn't wish it on anybody and I urge you to somehow find the courage to share the yucky secret parts of you with someone you trust.  To find healing, the secrets have to come out one way or another.  Rest assured, no matter what journey you must take to find healing, God is going to see you through.

Ashamed to be me...

One of the hardest things for me to do was to talk about what had happened to me.  For 26 years I had been a locked up vault when it came to talking about the sexual abuse.  Quite honestly, I didn't even know how to talk about it.  Deep down inside I still felt that if I exposed the fullness of my secret that I would be looked upon in absolute disgust.  I was so ashamed of this secret sin.  My biggest fear was that others would see me the way I saw myself.  When I looked in the mirror I saw someone who was dirty...repulsive...gross; someone who was not worthy to be loved and cared for.  I settled for hiding inside my own skin, trying my best not to let anyone in to see my brokenness and heartache.  I was ashamed to be me.

I was too afraid to disclose my ugliness to anyone, including the two people in my life who had proven to be safe.  I trusted them the best I knew how, but that is not really saying much.  I thought if I exposed too much or made one minor mistake, they would stop loving me.  I could not handle the thought of them abandoning me.  I desperately needed them to love me and care about me and I would do anything not to mess that up.  I tried to do and say the things that I thought would make them like me and accept me.  I struggled to be exactly who I thought they would want me to be so that they would love me. 

The funny thing about this is that in all my attempts to be the person I thought they would love me for the most, I was missing the one person that they truly wanted me to be.... me.  They simply wanted me to be me.  But who was I?  I had no idea who I was apart from the sexual abuse.  It had become my secret identity.  With every memory and every flashback my heart was flooded with shame and guilt.  There was only one way to rid these painful emotions I was drowning in...I had to talk about it.

Talking about your abuse is one of the greatest challenges for any victim of sexual abuse.  When you start to verbalize and put words to the horrific crime committed against you, your nightmare turns into a reality.  There is no more hiding.  I want to encourage you if you are in a place like this to seek out professional help.  Thankfully, my dear friends strongly encouraged me to see a counselor...and by strongly encourage I mean everything short of dragging me kicking and screaming!  I did not want to go, but deep down I knew I needed to.  Let me tell you, it has been one of the best decisions I have made.  I have a wonderful counselor who has become a dear friend to me.  She loves and cares about me and is another safe person walking this journey along side of me.  I have shared with her some of the most humiliating parts of my abuse, and never has she looked at me in disgust or backed her chair away from me. 

I don't want you to think that this was an easy or fast process for me.  Quite the opposite.  It took me almost a full year to get my story out to the one person I love and trust the most in this world, my dear friend who I consider a mother to me.  The more I told her though, the less power the secrets had over me.  I was beginning to find the real me....the me that God fearfully and wonderfully made....the me that God knit together in my mother's womb.....the me that God looks at and calls beautiful.  Sexual abuse is not my identity any longer.  I am a loved and accepted child of a perfect Father, and my hope is that you will realize...you are too.

The beautiful feet....

When I was able to go back to work and take care of myself again, I put all of my effort into putting back on my mask that had once fit so conveniently.  After the response I got from my family, I figured putting the mask back on was my best option....the only option.  However, for some reason this once snug-fitting mask now seemed quite uncomfortable.  Now that I had exposed the truth, no matter what I tried I could no longer wear the fake, secret keeping mask with ease any longer.  Trying to hide the disturbing secret that I was sexually abused kept me isolated from forming any healthy human relationships.  I became withdrawn, lonely, and empty inside.  I was broken.   

Living a life void of any hope is a very dangerous place to be, yet this is exactly where I found myself.  I did not know where to turn or who to turn to.  I knew God was there somewhere, but could He hear me? Did He care?  Like many of you, I came to the conclusion that my dirty past had so disappointed God that perhaps there was no hope.  As I believed the lies satan continually whispered in my ears...that I was unlovable, unworthy, dirty....I began to lose faith that I would ever survive this.  I have to be completely honest with you, there were times when I even thought about giving up on life itself.  Thank God I never acted on it, but the thoughts definitely entered my mind.  Even as I lost sight of hope, God never lost sight of me.

Just as I was giving up, God's provision prevailed.  In the depths of loneliness and despair when I was desperate for help,  two women I knew from work began to love and care about me.  They invited me into their homes and into their families and loved me like their own.  As they invested into my life, I began to share with them bits and pieces of my story.  Every time I expected them to look at me with disgust and send me packing, but instead they just kept loving me.

At a ladies retreat through my church this weekend we talked about verse in Romans that says, "How beautiful are the feet of those who bring good news."  When I think of this verse and what it looks like to have beautiful feet like this, I think of my two dear friends who walked into my life and rescued me. When I had no hope, they held the hope for me.  When my faith was almost gone, they held onto the faith for me.  They encouraged me and supported me and provided me a safe place to heal.  If their beautiful feet would not have walked into my life when they did, I do not know where I would be today.

I want you to know that God never loses sight of his children.  In the darkest hour in my life, God was still there even though I couldn't see Him.  He had a plan and knew just the right moment and the right people to put into my life.  Never in a million years would I have imagined when God put these two women into my life, that one of them would become like a mother to me.  The Bible says that God restores to us what the locusts have eaten, and for me, that manifested in a person who I can't imagine having gone through life without knowing.  God has used her to change my life in so many ways and she has been such a vital part of my healing process.  I could not have have taken this journey without her, and God knew it.  He did hear my cry.....and I promise He hears yours too.  The journey has been long and often very painful, but God has walked every step with me and He will walk every step with you too.  Just don't give up.

Mourning the loss...

The next few weeks of my journey are almost a blur to me.  I had slowly lost myself to the depths of depression and despair.  I was merely surviving from day to day, but there was no life in me at all.  To make matters worse, the surgery I had on my shoulder had not worked.  The physical pain was almost unbearable, yet made no comparison to the even more tormenting emotional pain I found myself in.  I had proclaimed war on the enemy when I disclosed the truth of my past, but little did I know that the battle would be so exhausting...so grievous...so lengthy.

By the time I was finally able to live on my own again and go back to work, I was dangerously close to holding up the white flag of surrender to the enemy.  It seemed like a losing battle and quite honestly, I was too tired to fight.  I desperately needed some help, but I did not know where to turn.  I quickly learned that the "family" I grew up in was not capable of helping me.  Unfortunately, I have come to realize this is all too common. 

Growing up, I thought my mom and I were close.  She took me to church, cared for me when I was sick, cheered for me at all of my sporting events...she loved me.  In my mind, she often made up for some of the horror I experienced with my father.  I thought she was my safe person.  When I told my mom about the sexual abuse, you can imagine the shock I felt when she looked at me and said the words, "that is what I was afraid was happening."  What??  My nightmare suddenly worsened.  My safe person was really not a safe person at all.  Quite the opposite really.  Now I know that my mom knew all along what my father was capable of.  She was very much aware of his sick, sexual fixations.  From the words of her own mouth, she knew my father always "looked at me with a lustful eye."  She knew my father had molested his own sister as a child.  She had even been warned about leaving us with him.  So what did she do....absolutely nothing.  She failed her God-given responsibility of protecting her children.  She put us in harms way simply to protect her own reputation.  She chose to turn a blind eye to the evil that was right in front of her face.  I often ask myself what kind of mother would do that to her own child, and then I cringe at the answer....my mom would.

The image I had built of my mother only intensified the hurt I felt when I realized she was not at all who I thought she was.  She claims she never knew my father would go as far as he did, but that offers little comfort to me.  Though there was not an actual physical death, I had to mourn the loss of my mother nonetheless.  The grief was intense.  The sense of betrayal and abandonment was overwhelming.  Letting go of the mother I thought I had....the mother I wish I had....has been one of the hardest aspects of this journey for me.  I have had to walk through sorrow, confusion, and ultimately a lot of anger toward my mother.  I can say with assurance that I know my mom loves me.  It is a very fragile, diseased, and imperfect love...but it is the best she can offer me in her condition.

I don't want to miss this opportunity to share with you the one thing I will forever be grateful to my mother for.  She provided me the opportunity to get to know the one whose love is absolutely perfect.  She took me to church week after week, and it was within the four walls of that church that I met Jesus....who loves me so much that He gave His life for me.  He was the only one who could get me through this.  What a wonderful thing it is to know that nothing, including the evil surrounding sexual abuse, can separate us from the unfailing love of a perfect daddy.

A letter, a monster, and perhaps a mistake...

The weeks that followed my meltdown with my mother were very difficult, to say the least.  I would love to say that the moment I told my mother the truth of my childhood she did everything she could to help me gain some distance from my father, to help protect me.  The truth is, we drove right back to the house where my father was.....like being thrown back to the wolves after finally escaping.  In the physical condition I was in, I seemed to have no alternatives but to go back and let my mom help me.  In the emotional condition I was in, I simply did not have the capability of standing up for myself.  While on the inside I was screaming and begging not to go back to that place where he was, all that seemed to reach the surface was a shallow whimper for help, a shallow whimper that went unheard.

For the next week and a half I became what felt like a prisoner in my own house.  I used every resource I had to get out of the house when my mom was gone to work.  When I was out of options, I did the next best thing, I hid!  I would literally lock myself in my sister's room, which just so happened to be the farthest, corner room upstairs.  There were times when I heard my father come home for lunch that I would lock the bedroom door, go into the bathroom and lock the bathroom door, and just sit and pretend I was not there until I knew for certain he was gone.  The very second I knew my mother was off of work, I was on the phone begging her to hurry home.  I did not want to be alone with that man.  

One night, my father came home after he had been out drinking, walked in the door half slurring and half stumbling, and begin to say some really ugly things to me.  Something inside of me snapped.  Once I was safely upstairs, I got on my computer and began to type a letter to my father.  In the wee hours of the morning I wrote a letter to my father that was fairly short and simple, but filled with some devestating truth.  I stayed awake the majority of the night...consequences of a full mind and a heavy heart.

The next day is a day that will forever be etched in my mind.  It honor of my 26th birthday, I decided to come face to face with evil, knowing the only way to defeat it was with truth.  With my mother in a nearby room, I walked into the living room and within feet of my father began opening up my heart to the same man who tried to destroy it.  It was not a scene that you would secretly want to be a fly on the wall for.  It was ugly.  When my father would no longer let me speak, I handed him the letter to read for himself.   In the midst of yelling and screaming, I sat with my eyes clamped shut paralyzed with fear, just hoping I would actually walk away with my own two feet.  By the grace of God, my father in a rage stormed out of the house that day.         

There is a quote by a man named Ted Dekker that says, "Evil only survives in the dark...the simplest way to deal with evil is to force it into the light of truth.  Expose its secret.  Sin thrives in the dungeon, but slap it on the table for all to see, and it withers rather quickly."  Though I came out of the confrontation with my father practically laying on the floor in the fetal position in a pool of my own tears, the evil that had surrounded me for so many years was withering in front of my own eyes, as painful as it was.

Though I do not regret for one second confronting my father, I would not recommend to anyone else to take the approach I took.  You see, confronting your abuser prematurely is often a mistake.  Though I mustered the courage to bring the truth to light, I put myself in a dangerous situation that day.  I had not yet stepped foot inside a professional counselor's office much less step foot inside a room face to face with the abuser.  With no support after this pivitol moment in my journey, I set myself up for a painful and isolating time.  Thankfully God's hand of protection and ever present support was with me, giving me everything I needed to get through this situation.