When Timothy was born, there was a brief hush over the delivery room — enough time for me to realize there must be a problem. Fearing the worst, I asked my husband if the baby had died. No, he said, he’s going to be fine. As Timothy was born, the doctor could see that the cord was wrapped around his next and as he loosened it, it was obvious that there was also a complete knot in his umbilical cord the hush was their surprise that he was just quiet and still — completely fine. The team of attendants appeared…
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So many times — so many times over the years I’ve asked the Lord to help me learn… Lord, help me learn from this expensive lesson. Lord, I know the situation I’m in is from You… help me learn. Lord, if You have handed me this experience… then help me learn. Lord, even if I say to You, I cannot do this, please do not leave me to myself… please help me learn. These have been the pleas of my heart many, many times through the years. There have been many “monuments of trust” or markers of faith in my…
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Do you find yourself asking the “why did that happen?” question? Why in the world did that happen? Or, why did this happen to me? Or, how could this have happened? We all ask some such question from time to time. Even when we don’t mean to bring up our doubtful questioning in conversation, our comments betray us when we say something like, I don’t know how that could have happened, or some similar statement. I think we all seem as though we’re surprised when things happen — as if we’d missed something in our vigilant attempts to prevent all…
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It just dawned on me that there are a bunch of co-incidents going on right now. But it’s not surprising to me when I’m dealing with something and then I notice several other similar something’s come up around the same time. You probably notice this is true in your life… when you’re going through something you hear about or see similar things all around. I’ve been writing about CSA (childsexualabuse) for the last week or so. I feel like I might owe readers an apology — not for writing what I’ve written, but for not giving a clear ‘warning’ regarding…
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Let’s Pretend is a children’s game. And children are good at playing it. Adults like to play this game, too — only it’s not always for entertainment or proper development. Nearly thirty years ago my husband encouraged me to talk to someone about CSA — or, my story. It was invaluable to me — but for reasons much different than the counselor’s intent. I was so nervous. ‘More nervous than I am to go to the dentist to have a root canal. ‘More nervous than anticipating labour and childbirth. I can’t, I said. I just can’t do that. Well… what…
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It is for freedom that Christ has set us free. I so longed for freedom – freedom from shame, freedom from fear, freedom from having to do things for him in that way. I so wanted to be free from all that — I wanted it to all go away. No more secrets. But I didn’t want to make any problems for anyone. And I think that’s probably the case with most women who endured child sexualabuse and remained afraid to tell – the fear of retribution is just gripping. It’s interesting how twisted things become for love. I so…
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When I was eleven years old I was a young eleven. Certainly by today’s standards, I was a very young eleven. I was a compliant eleven — just the kind of girl who wanted to please everyone. I was just the kind of girl who wanted everything to work out well — to be happy — to be a family. Just the kind of girl one could trust to keep a secret. Initially (and I believe this is most often the case with sexuallyabused girls) I didn’t grasp or understand what was really happening, nor that it was…
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That’s a question I asked myself for a long time. After I told my mother about my father sexuallyabusing me, it would be a long time before I would talk about it again. I didn’t say, it would be a long time before I thought about it again — just a long time before I would talk about it again. And there would be good reason for that — or so I thought. I was sort of under the delusion that if I talked about it one of two things would happen: I would be labeled _____ (fill in the…
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It’s a tough topic – a tough thing to deal with, a tough thing to talk about. And that’s why it isn’t. talked. about. It’s also not talked about because of fear — a deep seated fear of reprisal. It is deep and it is real. I don’t talk about a lot of things specifically here on the blog… you know — it’s risky to share stuff. Once you publicly share stuff, you run the risk of being pegged as something. You know how you say to someone: I love teddybears and suddenly, every gift you receive from then on…
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Maybe you do this from time to time: see a photo of yourself and wonder how could that have been you? Or read something you’ve written and say: I recognize the writing… but how could I have forgotten that!?! Recently, while putting away fresh laundry, I stopped and looked up at photographs I see — but don’t really see — every day. And so there I stood a long time — gazing at the framed photographs that hang on the wall above my husband’s dresser. I was sort of transported back in time and was so longing for those days. …