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!