I am Stronger

When I was a teenager, I really thought there was no better place to be than in church. It seemed like the safest place on the planet to me. I was at church anytime the doors were open. Some days, I would walk down the street and just sit in the pews of the empty building breathing in deeply. I guess a part of me believed I would somehow inhale a part of God and remove all things bad every time I exhaled. I was blessed that most of the Christians that entered my life were significant positive examples. If you had told me then that I would look at the church through suspicious eyes now I would have said that could never happen.

You really can’t imagine how you will feel or respond to certain situations until you find yourself walking hand in hand with them. I am still amazed how I ended up in this current situation. I truly saw myself doing something else when I accepted Jesus at age 15. I envisioned entering the mission field and devoting myself to him. Instead of sitting here revisiting the last few months and asking God to help me make sense of things.

I see him walking the halls of the church joking and cutting up with leaders, pastors,and church members. I know some of them know the things he has done to me. It isn’t that I want to seek revenge or even justice. I no longer feel angry for the things that he did. Sometimes I feel afraid and have a sense of evil foreboding thinking something awful is about to happen even when all seems calm. But, I feel mainly indifferent towards him and empty towards most things.There is an barrenness in my soul at times that is incomprehensible. Something pure, kind, and hopeful once lived there, but he took it away. I grieve for what was taken from me.

He did so much to me and allowed so much to be done. The “love” he gave that left me with physical wounds that never heal completely and an emotional wound that is hard to ignore. The sprained limb, countless bruises, and fractured finger seem irrelevant now.  I know most people do not believe my story.  I am not sure why I would even care. It isn’t so much what people think or whom they believe, but how their doubt makes me feel. It makes me feel like I am not worthy to defend.I am two-years-old all over again being left alone with a schizophrenic relative.  There was evidence of what happened to me then as well. Physical evidence which was ignored so easily. I still am not completely sure why I wasn’t worthy enough to defend then….. or now.  Ah, but I digress, I don’t hate him. I don’t think he knows any better for whatever reason. I truly think he believes his own words when he says “it wasn’t that bad” or that he didn’t know he was hurting me.  I think someone can become so addicted to brutality that it becomes second-nature much the way my gluttony used to come so easily to me. We are all covered in our own variation of mud.

I suppose what causes me the most heartache is the reaction from those who would seem to know better. Someone actually told me, “Everyone deserves a second chance..”  Really? Does a man that repeatedly assaults his wife for almost five years in ways that are unimaginable to describe deserve another chance? It seems to me that our society has become so tolerant that we have thrown wisdom and good judgment out the door. Another leader told me that the church doesn’t take sides but they are praying for me.  Why doesn’t the church take sides?  This isn't even biblical. I often remember Jesus knocking over the merchant’s tables when they were selling their goods in a house of worship.What would Jesus do if I told him I had been repeatedly assaulted emotionally, physically, and intimately for almost five years? Would he take sides?   The ironic thing is that I spent over two years taking one side. His. I was certain I could become all he wanted and needed and demanded and this would fix the situation. It did not. Depravity cannot be cured through my submission. It takes a supernatural act of God.

Still, I don’t hold anything against the church. I will continue to attend week after week. I could be speaking of any church mind you. My story is heard across the country coming from men and women that have gone to their spiritual leaders in various denominations for help and met with unbelievable apathy, indifference, or even angst.

I never wanted people to know the intimate details of my wounded life. Only a very desperate person would invite the judgments of other people for the sake of a potential rescue that never came. Ironically, the rescue came in the form of a realization that most of us really are as alone as we feel and stronger than we could ever imagine. I am stronger than I could have ever imagined.  I am thankful for knowing I am strong. I am thankful for being able to tell my story and not be ashamed. I am thankful that God showed me how to stop the abuse when no one else wanted to help me.