Tag: CSA

Not Safe. Women’s Restrooms.

Women.
The sign on the door.
All my life, that’s been the safe room.  It’s safe to be there. Safe to pee there. Safe to change there. Safe to nurse a baby there. Safe to send a teen daughter.  Safe to wait there.  Our local department store.
No more.
Secure no more. Safe no more. The sacred is no more.  Women does not mean women any more.  Security has been breached, safety has been compromised, the sacred has been polluted.  The sacred is now profane. The door has been swung wide open to pedophiles and other perversions—-this is wrong.

Too radical?
Too critical?
Too dramatic?
Too archaic?
Too Narrow?
Too exclusive?
Phobic?
Not chic enough?

I was standing at the sink, washing my hands, waiting for my daughter… a man entered the restroom.  His reflection was in the mirror before me. He entered the stall beside that which my daughter was occupying.  I froze.   I was eleven all over again. I was twelve all over again. I was thirteen all over again.  And the mother of a young girl who should have been safe,  able to use the *women’s* restroom in safety.   Safe from the inappropriate gender in the women’s restroom.  The mother in me became empowered to move any obstacle for her protection.  Continuing to wash my hands,  I watched in the mirror — gripped with emotion, gripped with injustice, gripped with protection, gripped with indignation at the magnitude of arrogance and self-centeredness of cross-dressing/transgendered/transsexual/female identifying man, etc.,etc., etc. _______ (fill in the lie) men… demanding provision and place for their perversion of truth.  Consequently: the reality that there is no safe place.  Anywhere.

As my daughter washed her hands, I felt like I could hardly breathe. I felt nearly powerless over the injustice of it all.  I wanted to scoop her up as if she were a toddler – but she’s not, she’s a young woman — a  potentially vulnerable young women.  I felt angry that bullies have bombarded our society and have rejected  God’s design and creation and have hijacked His created order in this way. I felt angry that there’s no safe place.  No clean, pure place — that because of the feelings and lifestyle of  a small percentage of people, I (and other women) am not free to use the women’s room for women’s needs, I’m not free to take my daughter to the women’s room, a room free for women and women’s needs.  A surge of anger welled up in me that I must now be vigilant to watch for her, to protect her from men who may have ulterior motives.  Men have no right and no honest/honourable business being in the women’s restrooms.  Men who have bought into the lie and are deceived and deceiving others by the enemy of our souls.  And because of this lie, women are no longer safe in public places once reserved for their care and protection for their needs.

Think I’m phobic over all this? No, no, not phobic at all. Incensed, yes.  Phobic, no.   And that’s just the monstrous deceit of the devil  to mock or accuse people of fear or hate for things that are sinful or unbiblical/unscriptural. It’s not phobic or a phobia to stand against evil, sin or contradictions to God’s design.

[cp_quote style=”quote_left_dark”]Will we stand for Truth?
Or will we lie down
and let lies prevail?  [/cp_quote]Don’t be snared or fall into the trap.  The devil hates God — hates truth — hates God’s design and hates you and me when we stand for the Truth.  He will do everything he can to destroy or distort truth—and he’s appearing to do a very good job — just look at all the Christians who are falling for the lies for the sake of not. offending. the. world.

CSA… It Steals and Steels

freedomchildhoodpamelaspurlingFor days my mind’s been flooded with grief and all sorts of other CSA  emotions I’ve been trying to stifle. (I wrote this a week ago; gripped with the reality that sexualabuse steals and steels.  Today I wondered if I wrote it as another of many, many entries I would write and never publish.  But I’ll publish this today with the prayer that grown up little girls might be helped, encouraged and comforted — not alone, not wrecked, not forever bad or without hope.)

[trigger warning] Hot tears flooded my eyes as I read a letter describing the discovery of sexualabuse that would lead to the destruction of a family, a home, and many individual lives.  The truth is that already bits of little lives have been forever altered, forever raw, forever lost, forever attempting to get and/or understand a correct picture of what God designed and intended for each little life.

Child sexualabuse steals and steels.  Decades later, I see this grim reality. Decades later, I’m still occasionally gripped with the sneak attacks of fear, horror, anger, deception, and disgust that stem from my childhood experiences.   Instantly, brought to mind, is a childhood memory of being at the circus and watching the clowns spinning plates on slender poles, spinning and spinning until one or two of them teetered on the pole and then crashed to the ground.  That’s what the memories of sexualabuse is like.  Sudden gripping memories… like a bunch of plates crashing on the ground, glass flying everywhere.  Or like steel reinforced concrete twisting and crumbling in an earthquake.

Getting sex right — getting the whole concept, the whole plan, purpose, and benefit straight is probably one of the hardest realities for little girls in women’s bodies.  The strange and complex reality is that for little girls, the pattern of the beautiful design, being forever mangled or stolen, becomes an elusive quest to recapture, rebuild, and relearn to relate with clean and pure physical and emotional reactions in a manner God intended.  How merciful God has been to give me the husband He has and to work in my heart and mind to trust and love as He has — this causes me to ever more fervently pray for women and little girls to be cared for, listened to, protected and encouraged.

Because…………………..

Every now and then, the steel reinforced concrete emotional protective constructs crumble. They crumble with real, raw love, they crumble with seemingly out of nowhere sights, smells, sounds… and they crumble with current stories of little girls experiencing these or similar destructioCSAns — causing old fears to resurface and feel raw and crumble all over again.  And because of the stealing of true, natural, physical love… the coping mechanism of re-steeling emotions is triggered.

Two of the most powerful natural emotions, true love and raw fear have such an incredible impact. I think the reality of this is what prevents grown up little girls to allow or give place to either one.

For a little girl who’s been abused, the natural reactions are so twisted with fear and shame, that it’s hard to differentiate between what’s beautiful and what’s totally scary.  Breathtakingly beautiful. Creepy scary.  Love gets redefined in the mind of an abused little girl.  Instead of sex being a physical demonstration of loving acceptance, joyful pleasure, and romantic connection, in the mind of a sexually abused girl, it’s often a necessary act of obedience in a box of secrecy and heart pounding fear.  That totally twisted view becomes as much a part of that little girl as all her other abilities and expressions.  Everything’s tainted to one degree or another by that destructive abuse — ever reinforcing a wrong physical and emotional response to expressions of true love and true adoration from men.  Problem is, coping mechanisms mask the real hearts and minds of broken little girls — little girls with  skewed emotional understanding, inaccurate pictures of love and what pure love and behaviour really is learn to steel their emotions and to develop coping skills to deal with what’s now reality to them.  Real love almost hurts too much because it is so beautiful, so sweet, so wonderful.

That’s what I’ve come to understand as I survey my emotional responses through the years and that’s why I can, by experience, say that  CSA steals and steels.

[cp_quote style=”quote_left_dark”]The good little girl obediently fulfills her daddy’s requests, and she keeps it all quiet so that no one gets hurt, and to make sure everyone is happy.” [/cp_quote]Limited by age related emotional language, a little girl wants everyone to be happy. In her egocentric understanding of herself and the family, her behaviour has an adverse (or positive) effect on everyone.  And if that activity (sexualabuse) might make someone unhappy or hurt, then the little girl is groomed to behave as though it didn’t happen.  Especially when the perpetrator says, remember, this didn’t happen.

But it did.

And because of this, I lean into the Lord, I trust Him for His perfect will and thank Him for loving me so much that He would allow me to go through trials that I would be able to empathize with and point others to Him; that I would love others who go through trials of many sorts and I would be enabled to say, He does all things well.  I have experienced His mercy and know with certainty that His lovingkindness is real and that He alone is worthy of praise.  He will lift up the brokenhearted and He will be their peace and in Him is the victory.  Jesus said, come unto Me all you who are heavy laden and I will give you rest.  And isn’t that just what we long for? Rest?  Jesus  paid the price for sin and death–separation from God; He died and rose again that we might be set free — that we might rest in Him.  He died that we could live—because He lives—we can live.

The rest of the story

I’m going to write a part of the rest of the story today.  You know how Paul Harvey used to close his commentary — just before that seemingly eternal pause before he’d say (or seem to say it in the form of a question):  good. day.; he’d say: And now you know… the rest of the story.

Nearly 6 years ago I wrote a letter to the father who raised me… the man who married my mother, adopted me (and my brother) and two years after that, he took me down a road that would, on many levels, totally change my life.  I would eventually receive salvation in Jesus and I would marry and move far from that home and decades would pass.   The letter I sent him was returned to me.  It was not the first letter I wrote to him, nor the first to be returned.  It was, though, the first letter I wrote to him in which I detailed the many painful events of sexualabuse and sincerely sought to offer him my forgiveness (even though, generally forgiveness is given to a repentant person) and prayer for his salvation & faith in Jesus.  I posted the contents of that letter online [3/19 edit, the website: imtellingonyou . org is no longer active] when it became apparent to me that he would not read mail I sent him.  Later I would send him a postcard with the address for the letter.  Though others acquainted with him responded, he never responded.    With the passage of time I found myself wondering how I would react if/when he did respond.  I recall gasping one day, a year ago, when a business acquaintance of his emailed me — and through some exchanges, I would learn that there were other people seriously and negatively affected by the man I once called, Daddy.  I wondered how I would react if he called.  I wondered how I’d react were I to hear news of his death.

Now, I want to say that I recognize that whenever a person tells their story, they’re telling someone else’s story, too — and some stories are painful.  Some are intended to inflict pain.  This blog entry is the former and most certainly is not intended to be the latter.  Through the years I’ve come to realize that God has used my life, my experiences and my candidness to relate to other women, to encourage other women and to offer hope — encouragement that there is hope and healing in Jesus, hope that others have passed this way, too, and hope that there are brighter tomorrows after tragedy, loss, rejection or failure.  I have experienced all of these to some degree or another and I know there is hope and joy and life on the other side of mountains and valleys.  There is  hope in Jesus.

Over the years I’ve wondered how I would react to the news of the death of the father who raised me.  You know… I always thought I’d be relieved.  I always thought I’d have “closure” (whatever that is).  But whatever I thought, I didn’t think I’d have the reaction I did.  And, I’d never have believed I’d respond as I did  — I responded by calling his wife ( this is not my own mother, to be clear, he and my mother were divorced 33 years ago) — to simply ask if he had been redeemed by the blood of the Lamb.

I had the wonderful privilege to join my husband on a business trip last week — a trip I now know was part of the masterful handiwork of the Lord.  I needed that time.  I marvel that my husband would have a week of work in the winter in a distant location and I would have the opportunity to spend the week walking and talking with one of my oldest, dearest and most loyal friends.  I believe it was marvelous preparation for me as I would receive a couple of letters first thing the next morning after returning from that business trip.  Many, many times in my life I’ve experienced an unusual or strange working of the Lord — God’s remarkable work or provision — just after or just before a trial.  Never the same work… but always unmistakably the work of the Lord.

Such was the case this past week.  The subject line of both email letters was the same… the  name of the father who adopted me as a little girl — the man who, for twelve years, I called: Daddy.   I was not prepared for what I would read.  The first I read, was in the form of a sort of arresting statement.  The second, a question.  Both would convey he had died — kicked the bucket was the phrase one writer employed to tell me the news.  Not surprising, really, for that man had experienced great loss, as a business professional, years ago.  The passage of time hadn’t softened his opinion nor dimmed his view of the man.   The other letter would contain the obituary — the incomplete obituary.  In death, as in life, truth was covered over.  I should not have been surprised, but I was.

In my letter to him six years ago, I wrote:  You’re where you are today because I never told on you.  The letter didn’t garner the reaction I hoped it would — and news of his death didn’t bring the consolation I thought it would.  I’m still glad I wrote the letter.  I’m sorry he never answered it.  I’m glad my story has given so many women the courage to face their abuser.  I’m sorry I’ll never know if the abuser repented or if he spends eternity in heaven or in hell.  Child sexualabusers die. Memories of child sexualabuse does not die.

I never thought I’d react the way I have.. to the news of The Rest of The Story.  You might think I’m wishing ill on him — But I assure you, I am not.  God’s worked such a work in my heart that I sincerely hope that, in the end, he chose eternal life — that in the end he chose Jesus — though I doubt that was the end of what seemed to be such a pitiful man, I sincerely hope that  salvation was the rest of the story for him.

 

CSA: Risk Telling the Story

Telling stories of your yesterdays bores some people, encourages some people and inspires some people — embarrasses some people, too.  I know, many times through the years, I’ve witnessed the reactions women have when some woman opens her mouth to share her story.  I’ve seen it when I’ve shared my story.  They’ve heard it all before and they’re weary at the thought of having to hear it ah-gain.  People totally write other people off when they’re weary of hearing their stories.

Sadly, as some poor woman begins to utter the first sentence of her story (again), her audience, as if cued to do so,  glazes over.  They seem to go into auto-pilot as they remain in their chairs, appearing to be listening, but really they’re mentally rehearsing their to-do lists, mentally reorganizing their craft drawers, mapping out their gardens or surreptitiously inserting an earbud to listen to their latest iTune download.  And sadly, though it might not seem like it, she  probably sees all this, I’ve seen all this.

But she tells her story. Again.  I’ve told my story. Again.

This past week in our Sunday Meeting, a brother was sharing the culmination of seven year’s of prayer regarding a matter he’d been dealing with and how the Lord worked so mightily and so mercifully in his life and on his behalf.  And then he shared a most encouraging and instructive admonition.  And it was this:  when someone’s going through something, when someone’s dealing with something, listen to them — listen to their story — even if you’ve heard it all before — even if you’re tired of hearing it.  Listen to them… because even if it is tiring to hear the story again and again, the person telling the story is still going through the trial — still dealing with a struggle, a heartache, a sorrow — whatever.  You might want to just move on… but, truly, if they’re still in the midst of a trial… they’re not moving on yet.  And if you hang in there with them, then when the trial or the storm passes, you will be able to sincerely rejoice with them.

To ignore them or to apathetically check out as they’re talking is just as bad as saying: “Been there, Done that” when a person describes something they’re facing.  The been there, done that phrase is really so selfish and disrespectful — though meanness or disrespect is not intended, it feels that way to the one sharing the story.

And so it is with the woman who is telling her story – in this case, about CSA.  Especially if it’s just recently that she’s begun to risk revealing her story – her past – and her experiences because of it.  It’s a terribly risky thing to do – the telling of the story. Because, by now, she’s faced the truth, she’s risked not being believed, she’s risked being harmed (further), she’s probably told on the perpetrator, she’s come out of the shadow of silence and shame and now she’s daring to be vulnerable with her hearers.  Maybe even again.  And again.

In the telling of her story, she’s risking judgment – real or imagined.  She’s risking ridicule – real or imagined and, further, she’s risking her own feelings, her own suppressed memories, suppressed anger and fear coming to the surface all over again.  Those things feel real — not imagined and the risk is real — not imagined.

What she doesn’t know going into it is how the Lord is using the experiences in her life in the lives of others.  What she doesn’t know is that God is so big — so great — so merciful — that because He never wastes a thread, He can and will use what she’s gone through — what she’s going through and He will continue healing, working and reworking in her so that her life reflects His glory.

We rarely see that our sphere of influence is much greater than our sphere of acquaintance and the story we’ve told today, in a roomful of seemingly apathetic hearers, just might have fallen into the tender ears and heart of a sister who has a story she’s afraid to tell.  The telling of the story may be just the encouragement she needs to muster the courage to tell her story.

If just one sister is helped, then the risk was so totally worth it.
If just one woman is helped by these CSA blog entries, then it’s all been worth it to me.

CSA; I’ve never told anyone this before, but…

That’s how the stories usually begin… that’s how they usually come tumbling out of mouth of a woman sitting beside me.  The story is actually prefaced with: Can I talk to you?  And after I say, Of course, hot tears seem to well up in the eyes of  the one who desperately needs to tell someone — someone who will listen, someone who will understand, someone who will care.

[ Because of something I might have shared there in a talk or because of the “safe-feeling” of the setting – maybe it’s after a Bible study, a Ladies’ Tea or at a Women’s Retreat –  I think women know they can talk to me; they know I will listen, they know I will understand and they know I will care.  What they might not know (or believe) is that not only will all those things be true, but I will also pray with and for them.   I’m so glad for these opportunities.  I marvel how the Lord’s continually brought to mind many women I’ve talked with over the years. And   though I might’ve forgotten their name – I still remember their stories, I still remember their faces and still care that they shared their stories with me.  And I pray for them.  These opportunities are some of the ways the Lord has shown me that what the devil intended for evil, God intended for good — for my good and His glory. ]

And so, their story usually begins something like this:  I’ve never told anyone this before, but when I was eleven (or what ever age) my step-father (or uncle or brother or neighbour or family friend, etc.) sexuallyabused me.  I didn’t know it was sexualabuse at the time, but he told me not to tell anyone… and I knew it was wrong,  but I was so scared and I knew there would be trouble if I told anyone… but I can’t live with this secret anymore.  This secret is killing me.  I just can’t keep this in anymore.

Even if she told one person initially,  she’ll usually remain pretty silent after that.  Maybe only ever just hinting at a problem. Because the fear remains.  And then shame moves in and brings along shame’s traveling companion: guilt.  She wonders how could that have happened?  And then she resolves, that will never happen again!  But she remains silent.  That silence lasts for years — creative coping mechanisms sort of carry her through; she learns to adapt to fear and insulates herself from further abuse… she becomes adept at stuffing her emotions, masking them or pretending they don’t exist.  Lots of denial, lots of shame, destructive habits and character issues.  Doubt and fear become second nature and, generally speaking, it will be a long time before a girl or woman will ever divulge what happened.

And for most of us, sooner or later, a breaking point washes over us and we  find trust in someone and can finally say: I’ve never told anyone this before but…

And there’s some strange comfort in the telling.  It’s not the same smug wielding of power that comes when a child says: I’m telling! to a sister or friend who took the last cookie or whatever.  It’s a different  — a freeing revelation — one that looks fear in the face and says: you cannot hurt me anymore. It’s one that takes that secret and blows it to pieces, saying:  It’s out… the secret’s out.  The secret isn’t secret anymore.

And after the telling… after the woman’s straightened herself in the chair, wiped her tears and has taken a deep breath, she looks up and, maybe for the first time, experiences a small bit of relief  — knowing that :  now someone else knows and now someone else cares — finally, someone understands.   I totally understand.  And, truth is, lots of “someone’s” understand.

At this point, I usually ask the woman (if she’s married) if she’s candidly talked with her husband about this.  And, actually, such is usually the case — women have usually at least told their husband.  But if not, I always suggest that’s the next person to talk with and I pray with her that by the grace of God, she will do that right away.   I always feel like I wish I could somehow convey to a husband, in advance, hey, your wife’s got a very, very heavy burden to reveal to you… you already know deep down that she has some deep seated hurts – some wounds and scars that need attention and healing.  And you’re going to need to be ready to bear this burden with her…but I don’t and so, with trust in the merciful Lord, I mentally give the matter to Him.

If the woman is not married, then the matter is wholly different — and prayer for wisdom and understanding is the first measure to take.  And then, very special attention to working out with her, talking her through the revealing, through the facing of the truth — to parents or whomever is ‘responsible’ for her care.

In the end, I sure pray she will carry through and will be believed when she says, I’ve never told anyone this before, but…

 

 

 

CSA Fallout

Still drinking from my saucer ’cause my cup’s overflowed.  And, in light of the horrific tragedy that’s befallen Japan, I want to say what I’ve written today is in no way meant to make light of that whole situation.  Just wanted to make those comments before I continue writing today’s blog entry.

I want to write some more chapters in my CSA mini-series.  I’ve dealt with the results, the  unintended consequences or the results of sexualabuse through the years and here and there a thought or reaction will come up.  It’s always unexpected, always surprising — but always there.  CSA is always so right-around-the-corner.  It’s always so right there.  This is one reality only CSA survivors really understand.  The reason I say this is the number of times I’ve heard (myself or from others) that was a long time ago, get over it.  Can’t you get over it?

The CSA survivor wants to say, yes; the CSA survivor  wants to think, yes; the CSA survivor wants to believe, yes.  She may even think she has gotten over it.  Then the fallout.  The fallout comes in many forms – thoughts, dreams, rage, fear, panic — default reactions to situations that come up.  Fallout.

World English Dictionary
fallout (ˈfɔːlˌaʊt)

— n
1. the descent of solid material in the atmosphere onto the earth, esp of radioactive material following a nuclear explosion
2. any solid particles that so descend
3. informal side-effects; secondary consequences

— vb
4. informal to quarrel or disagree
5. ( intr ) to happen or occur
6. military to leave a parade or disciplinary formation

Fallout.  The unintended consequences the perpetrator leaves in the life of the sexuallyabused child.  After the explosion of CSA, the particles have been blown so far and wide that the magnitude of the “fallout” may not be seen for a long, long time.   O, there’s enough initial fallout to change that life, but the deeper consequences might not be seen (or understood) for a long time – those secondary consequences.

If you’re a CSA survivor, you’ll get this — maybe you haven’t until now. But after you read some of these examples, maybe you’ll have  some ah-ha moments – maybe some pieces will finally “come together” and you’ll connect the dots between things that don’t ever seem to make sense. Maybe you struggle with reality.  Maybe you struggle with relationships.  Maybe truth.  Maybe trust.  Dot. dot. dot.

Maybe you’re saying: Wow, that’s me, I’m so all those things.  Maybe those are some of the dots in your life.  For me, I call these dots with no connections: Bridges to Nowhere.  I’ll be going along and suddenly there’s a bridge to nowhere in my thinking, reaction or emotion — a situation comes up, a relationship issue presents itself, a thought comes to mind and suddenly there’s nowhere to go.  No solutions, no trust, no natural or appropriate emotion.   Emotional disconnects.  Bridges to nowhere.  Fallout.  An emotional bridge to nowhere.  Fallout.

I know I began asking questions when different things didn’t ever seem to connect.  Why do I do this or why do I always think that?   Compulsive about some things, indifferent about others.  Disconnects.

There are lots of “disorders” or labels for these behaviours or reactions.   Such disorders as: Depersonalization disorder,  Attachment disorder,  post-traumatic stress syndrome — just to name a few.  I think when we finally muster the courage to tell our story, to tell the truth, to risk being vulnerable enough to tell what happened, we begin to travel on the road of healing.  Telling on our abuser might happen first and then down the road we  finally admit the need for help, and  then get determined  to ask for it, we can finally begin experiencing healing and understanding.

We come to a turning point when we can admit or acknowledge we have a problem or problems with our responses to things/people/situations.  It’s then that we can resolve to make changes — to let the LORD work His work in us — to heal us as we yield to His work and redemption.

Connecting bridges to nowhere.

Over the years I’ve been so blessed to have the husband I have.  I believe God sweetly and mercifully gave me the husband He did.  He’s the one who will help me when the bridges to nowhere seem so  true and the nowhere seems so real — the one who helps me connect the dots, so to speak.

Truth.  I think that’s the most important matter for adult survivors of CSA — to face truth.  Determine to think truth.  Determine to perceive truth.  Determine to believe truth.  Determine to live truth.  Determine to trust truth.  These are big.  These are big dots.  I’ve come to understand and believe these are sort of the  imperatives for “survival.”  Over and over again deceit will creep in — and deceit is a big creep!  Deceit will convince you to believe things you would, ordinarily, absolutely reject as false — but in that weak moment you give in and believe the lies.

Thus, rejecting lies becomes, or must become, one of the highest priorities for  me (or for  other women) to survive the fallout of CSA.  Is this true?  Is this what the Bible tells me?  Is this from the LORD?  Is this what the Lord says/thinks about me?  Is this God’s clear plan for me?   If the answer to any of those questions is ever, No, then I have to act on my resolve to answer/react with Truth.

Emotional bridges to nowhere need to become connected by, and to, truth.

I’ve made it my personal “mission” or pursuit to pick a Truth to stand on and, when faced with deceit, look for another Truth to connect to.  Eliminating the concepts “never” and “can’t” are imperative.   I must not say: I never do this right. I must not say: I can’t ever get past this. In faith, I can — through Christ alone who strengthens me: I can.  I can love, I can trust, I can hope, I can rest, I can commit to this or that thing or person.

CSA causes an explosion and that explosion that’s hugely impacting and produces great fallout.  Sometimes, years down the road, that fallout triggers seemingly unexplainable reactions — can an adult survivor of CSA overcome the fallout?   In faith, I trust so.  In Jesus, I believe so.

 

So, why does stuff happen?

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 problems.  Truth is, we cannot prevent things from happening any more than we can make things happen.

When we’re going through hard times, it’s especially common for us to question why the thing is happening — not because we can’t believe it, but because we can’t believe it’s happening to us!

The Word tell us in 1Peter 4.12-13

Beloved, think it not strange concerning the fiery trial which is to try you, as though some strange thing happened unto you:   But rejoice, inasmuch as ye are partakers of Christ’s sufferings; that, when his glory shall be revealed, ye may be glad also with exceeding joy.”

In recent years when hard things have happened, I’ve been quicker to consider that the trial or the hard thing has been allowed of the Lord for my good.   This is just one of the great blessings of a long walk with the Lord and it’s one of the great blessings of age and experience.  The longer we live and the longer we walk with the LORD,  the more we tap into the reservoir of His ways in our lives — it doesn’t mean that God is going to answer us the same way twice — for we know that God is not obligated to repeat Himself — but that we have a bounty of ways He did answer and it bolsters our faith that He *will* answer.

God allows “stuff to happen” in our lives so that we will depend on Him, so that we will yield to Him and so that we will have something to give to others who find themselves in situations similar to what we’ve experienced.

You know how that goes… someone’s going through a trial and they confide in you because they know you know what they’re going through.  They wouldn’t be able to lean on you, confide in you or glean from you if you hadn’t first gone through the trial or experience or “all that stuff.”

Many times in recent years, when facing difficulties — or hard stuff, I’ve consciously thought:  Omy, this is so hard, God must be in it… I’m going to need this!

I’ve been keenly aware that He only allows things for my good and His glory — and so He’s taught me that when I’m going through hard stuff, He’s at work.  Sometimes for my strengthening.  Sometimes for my chastening.  Sometimes for my lack.  Sometimes for wisdom.  Sometimes for identifying with Christ.  Sometimes for pride.  Sometimes for my worship… but always for my good and His glory.

Last year, the most sorrowful year of my whole life, I was keenly aware, time after time, that God was allowing all these things for my good and His great glory.  They were hard things.  Very hard things.  Why did they happen?  They happened so that I would *know* that I can trust God in *all* things.  He is only good.  All the time.

A Co-Incident

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 the sensitive topic.  ‘Guess there’s really no sweet way to warn about topic matters or the gravity of a topic or even the graphic nature of a matter.  So, if’ these postings have been offensive, please accept my heartfelt apology for offending some sensibilities.   CSA’s an offensive topic to read about.  It’s offensive to experience.

And what about a “Co-incident”?    I use this term to describe those incidents where the Vertical meets the horizontal — or, where the horizontal meets the Vertical. It’s when the Lord meets us where we’re at: A Co-incident.

A few months ago I received a letter “out of the blue” from a man who had stumbled upon my letter to my adoptive father.  In that letter,you understand if you’ve read it,  I candidly recounted some of the details of my experiences and the CSA with my ‘father.’  I had originally sent that letter (after many years and other letters/attempts to contact) in 2006 — and when it was returned refused, I decided to post the letter in its entirety online and send him a post-card with the imtellingonyou.org link and a note printed on the back… to let him know that I was telling…

Well it turns out that the man who contacted me had had some very unfavourable business dealings and experiences with LM,  my “father,” and minced no words, derogatorily describing his past dealings.  I was not at all surprised to read the descriptions of ruthless treatment — though, I was surprised to receive his letter – initially.  As we exchanged a few letters, it soon became apparent to me that this man had his own battles to face against LM and his vendetta against him was quite different than mine and that my experience was simply an opportunity to perhaps see him leveled.  Seeing my father get leveled was not/is not my intent.  I’m grateful this man wrote to me – if nothing else, if confirmed to me that “people know” what kind of man he is/was.  I’ve always wondered how an influential man or a man of his level of life couldn’t/didn’t have a slew of enemies and seems to carry on in relative ease.  Well, as with most things in life, things aren’t always as they appear.

So, then a few weeks laters I received that newspaper clipping with the article from the Orange County Register regarding the mother/daughter effort to encourage people to Tell! — to commit to reporting abuse or CSA.


And then, this week, I received the latest No Greater Joy magazine with information regarding the release of Debi Pearl’s book,
Sara Sue Learns to Yell and Tell.


I’m honestly so thankful for all the Co-incidents — it’s no coincidence!!  I know there are times when the Lord opens doors for us to “share our story” with others.  We never know whose lives the Lord might touch and encourage with the sharing of our experiences.

Through the years,  the Lord’s given me many opportunities to listen to hearts of women as they tearfully share their CSA (or any other) experience.  I’m eternally grateful the Lord has chosen to use this very feeble vessel to carry His great good news and to encourage others in the way.  I’ve got so much to learn, but He’s shown me so much mercy and given me so much grace as He works in and through this, and many other, life experience.

These are no coincidence… they are Co-incidents.

Let’s Pretend…

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 I didn’t know at the time was that if I really felt as though I could *not* go through with it, he would *not* have taken me there that day.  But he did and I did go into that Christian counseling office in Seattle.

She was very gracious to me — grandmotherly, warm and kind.  I felt at ease with her as I answered her guiding questions — willingly, as I so longed to be free from the feelings that plagued me.  Though my actions and demeanor might have betrayed this, I’m sure she knew that’s why I was there.  I’d very rarely ever even mentioned that there was trouble in my life to anyone.

I knew the game, Let’s Pretend, very well.   I’d played Let’s Pretend for many years by this time.

After she listened to my recollections — asking me to picture past scenes.  She then asked me to picture the same scenes again — only this time she asked me to picture them how they should have been.  I found it nearly impossible to do this — but, being a good girl, I agreed that I could picture the situations the way they should have been.  She told me this was the way Jesus would have had those situations occur.  I agreed with her — probably like glazed eyed people giving perfunctory nods of agreement to enthusiastic salesmen when the salesmen promise the moon with the use of their product.

I tried very hard to keep the “better picture” in my mind.  But I couldn’t.  I knew, though she was trying to help me, that sort of help wouldn’t change what happened.  It was the “positive mental attitude” sort of counsel.  And while it is great to keep a positive attitude — looking on the bright side of things, pretending something happened differently than it did doesn’t change what happened.  What happened happened.  Imagining it differently wouldn’t change that.

I left the office that day with a follow-up appointment card in hand.  And I did return for that appointment, as well.  This time our conversation centered around my family relationships and current activities.   At the time, I’d just given birth to our second child, we were in transition after a business venture failure and the loss of all our financial assets.  And as I look back on those appointments now, I see that they were some of the most instructive and divine appointments of my life.

Through my sharing of our financial situation, she directed me to a place ( at that time: Natural Foods Warehouse in Mountlake Terrace)  where I could buy grains for my family, giving me the address for the store and suggestions for what to purchase once I got there.  I didn’t know it at the time, but that one suggestion for making nutritious breads would be used of the Lord significantly and would pave the way for me to learn to make breads of all kinds, use different grains and cereals for our meals and to buy foods in bulk.  Actually, I learned MANY invaluable things from those two sessions:

  1. Picturing the past the way it should have been is just another chapter in the “our little secret” book of tricks.  Memory Replacement therapy was not only not helpful, it furthered my anguish that I’d never move past the fear, guilt and shame of CSA.  It was a game of Let’s Pretend… Let’s pretend this did not happen.  Which, by the way, was exactly what was said to me by my ‘father’ when I would tell him I was afraid… he would say, this did not happen.  Memory replacement therapy is a game of Let’s Pretend: Let’s pretend it happened another way. It’s another lie.  I pray no girl — no woman ever succumbs to that form of “counseling.”  It’s a lie and it steals from the great goodness and purposes of the Lord when He has allowed hard things to have occurred.

  2. Natural Foods Warehouse became one of my favourite stores and would open doors of food purchasing and preparation that I would find invaluable from that time to this.  I  don’t often shop there anymore after discovering Azure Standard many years ago.  But, from there, a whole new world opened up to this once city-girl from SanFrancisco and Southern California.

  3. It’s proven to me over and over and over that all God’s ways are good.  That what the devil intended for evil, God meant for good — for my good and His great glory.  And, I do give God glory in all this.  For I know that I know that I know: He was there… He saw it all… He allowed it all.  Praise His Name.

  4. God used those events of my life, in part,  to shape me into who I am today — and IS using them to work His perfect work in me to conform me to the image of Him who saved me.   And though I and others do not/cannot see His finished work yet — or even a lot of progress sometimes, God is still using the tool of those experiences to work His beautiful work in me.

  5. I press on toward the mark…


No more secrets

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 wanted to be loved… my mother wanted to be loved and in a really creepy way, my legal father wanted to be loved.  Creepy, but I can see that now.

Looking back, when my mother married this man,  I remember being  so happy that we were now going to be a real family — that we would get to call this man, daddy.   And for a time that did happen.  On the surface, things seemed okay — to me and probably to most everyone else — I didn’t know about some problems going on — the reality that his life was fraught with deception.

An underlying issue was that I was slowly losing contact with my own father.   Why didn’t we see him very much anymore?  Things didn’t make sense sometimes.  When we moved to a new city, my name was changed and I felt sort of worried that someone would tell my ‘real’ father about it.   I was told to keep it a secret, not to tell anyone.  I can understand now that it was really for my protection or comfort as he was planning on filing for adoption and a move to a new city made that transition easy.   I see that now.  In the next year or so, there would be many legal dealings, letters, court dates.  In time, I would be adopted and my name legally changed – and voilà, I was now his daughter.   Even my birth-certificate was changed.  Just like that: no more secrets.  Everybody’s happy. Right?

Well, a couple of years passed and my little world — our little family — would be forever changed by what would become known as “our little secret.”

I still longed to be loved — even in the midst of, or in spite of, all that was going on.  But now, love was all weird.  It was all mixed up.  I just had to be happy! I so desperately wanted to be a family like all our friends.  They all had great families.  I didn’t know then that they really didn’t all have great families.  But, Junior High’s a pretty tough age and everything seems better somewhere else to most Junior Higher’s.   The desire/need/compulsion to fit in is terrific.  But I couldn’t have both — a genuinely close, warm, loving, true relationship and one that was frightening, overpowering and deceptive.

I now know that part of what I longed for could only be fulfilled by my Lord and Saviour, Jesus Christ.  For I was separated by sin from the only One who could set me free from the law of sin and death and the grip of fear.    That’s the part I longed for:  to be free from fear and free from shame.

It would be several years before I would come to faith in the Lord – before I would come to a place of rest in faith in Him.  I am still coming to grips with what it means to be NOT entangled again with the yoke of bondage (I know I am exercising great liberty here with the context of the verse).  I am still working to grasp the vastness of the Love of God and the great mercy wherewith He loves us!!  His marvelous ways are past finding out — but He has made a way that we can know Him and His great gift of salvation in Jesus.  This is love.

Stand fast therefore in the liberty wherewith Christ hath made us free, and be not entangled again with the yoke of bondage.” Galatians 5.1

Probably the greatest blessing for me the day I finally mustered the courage to tell my mother,  was that she believed me.  The lie: “no one will believe you” had haunted me.  But she did believe me and there was great peace in that.  I’m sure things would have been very different had she not believed me.  As I type this I’m flooded with emotion at the goodness of the Lord in my life.

No more secrets.  She told me, among other things: No more secrets.  All  I remember thinking at that time was: no more.  No more.