Let me start by saying what happened to me as a child is not something I would want any one to endure. I never realized how deeply it effected me until my life crumbled before my eyes, at the age of 29. I sought counseling for depression/ suicide. When the counselor, Nancy, suggested that maybe the sexual, emotional and physical abuse that I suffered as a child, might have something to do with my life now. I shook my head in disbelief, no that can't be it; I remember it all.

I proceeded to tell Nancy how the abuse started when I was born. My father, an alcoholic was known to fly into rages at any given moment. When I was 6 months my parents divorced, due to physical abuse, only to remarry when I turned 2. The sexual abuse started right away with what professionals call the grooming stage. Mostly fondling, teaching the child to be quiet while the abuse takes place and not to tell afterwards by using their authority and threats. By the age of 4 I was being raped, on a daily basis.

I look now at children 4 years old and I cry. They are so tiny, trusting, innocent. Then I grieve, because that part of me never knew innocence. There is always a part of you, no matter what age, that knows that what is happening is not right. But fear for your life tends to over rides any sense of right or wrong.

The physical abuse was also severe. Once my dad started to beat you, he couldn’t stop. It was not unusual for him to come in while we were sleeping and start beating us with what ever he had handy; belt, hands, shoes, ..... He would take my brothers and I hunting and while we were sleeping in the tent he would shoot at the tent to wake us up. We didn't know whether to run or hold still. Just praying for the shooting to stop. I will never forget what it sounds like to hear a pistol cocked in your ear ready to blow you away; knowing that the man holding the gun is drunk and unsteady, one slight waiver and your dead.

The emotional abuse was meant to make us seem insignificant which in turn would make him feel important. I remember him taking my silverware away and putting my plate on the floor. He would tell me to eat like the dog. “Your fat enough to be an animal, eat like one.”

I tried suicide several times. The first time when I was 8 years old, only to be rushed to the hospital by my neighbor to have my stomach pumped. I didn’t care anymore I just wanted out! It didn't matter what it took. I lived like this until I was 14 years old when I’d had enough.

One rainy December morning I walked into the Children’s Service Division and told them of my life... all of it I left nothing out. They in turn called the police. Ignorance was rampant back in the 70's the police and social workers didn't know any better, they sent two male officers. When they officers tried to shut the door for privacy I went into hysterics. They brought a female worker in but it still it took them an hour to calm me down. Once they recorded my story there was no place for them to take me. It was late so they took me to the detention center. This is an important part of the story because later it plays a big role in my healing.

You see, they went to MY Home and arrested my father who was let out that same night. He was allowed to go back to My home; back to everything that gave me some sort of comfort. As miserable as I was there I still wanted to go back. I wanted my mom to hold me and tell me I had done the right thing. I wanted him out of the house, to feel some of the pain I had been feeling. Yet I was the one in jail, locked up behind bars, alone, no one to talk to, to even look at. The guards were not used to dealing with anyone except delinquents so I was treated no different.

The next afternoon, they found me a half way house to live in again I was locked up. You couldn’t go anywhere, there were no bars but you couldn’t leave the grounds. There were no phone privileges. I was still housed with kids who had committed horrendous crimes, murder, robbery, ect. I had to go to a special school with them where we were locked in one room all day at the local high school. We were not allowed to mingle with the other high school kids. I was never allowed back to MY high school, I barely attended the 8th grade. Thus, ended my high school days.

I remember around Christmas my mom standing on the door step with some gifts, she refused to come in the house. I don't remember even opening the gifts. I felt so alone and isolated.

The next big step would be the court appearance. I sat on the right with the DA, and my caseworker. On the left sat my dad, my brother (he was charged also), their attorney, behind them sat my mom, and my little brother. The rest of the courtroom was filled with strangers waiting for their case to be called.

As the judge read the charges in detail, physical abuse, (broken jaw, punctured uterus) sexual assault, (based on the victim stating the rape was on a daily basis starting at age 4 years to 14 years,) and severe emotional trauma. He asked my father how do you plead. My dad looked at me and said “Guilty, on all accounts. Everything she said is true.”

Now that in itself should have set me free but I was so blinded by what happened next that it would take me years to realize the significance of those words. Please remember this is 1978 and alot has changed since then. The judge asked me to stand. “We have two choices; you can send him to jail with no hope for rehabilitation or you can let him stay out and attend the counseling the state has set up for this type of offense.” He spoke these words to me! In front of all those strangers and family. What a position to put a 14 year old in! What a position to put a daughter in! How dare my father continue to abuse me this way. Yes, you guessed right, I chose the counseling option. The whole nightmare started all over again. I went back to lock up at the half way house and my dad and brother went to my home with my mom.

Where is the hope? Where is the joy? I will try to help you understand that it didn't happen all at once. It was after all my therapy was (.... I can’t say finished, I don’t ever feel finished,) less frequent and I sat looking back at where I had come from and where I was headed. I remember Nancy saying “You need to find a way to honor your mother and your father. It is the only verse in the Bible with a promise. It could be a simple as getting well. Or it could be something else that works for you, but you need to find a way.” Another thing she kept repeating to me was “No one ever intentionally sets out to abuse or hurt their children. They don't sit up at night thinking how they could abuse them. There is something in your life that says to you that your parents loved you the best way they knew how. That doesn’t make what they did to right. It just means that you need to ask God to show you HOW your parents loved you.”

Of course in the beginning of therapy these words fell on deaf ears I was too wounded to hear them. Pain has a way of deafening the heart and spirit. I guess that is why I remember her saying them over and over to me when I needed to hear them again.

Well, that all got stuck on the back shelf.... you know what they say about seeds, you never know when they will sprout and bloom. I realized my dad loved me when he stood in front of that judge (and everyone else, his wife, his sons....) and said “Everything she says is true” It hit me like a brick, he didn’t have to, there was no proof, my word against his. But I realize now that he didn’t want to hurt me anymore. He did what he could do, the anger I had about the injustice of being in lock up and him going home should be directed at the ignorance of the state. I felt so free. So relieved like a weight had been lifted from my spirit.

After this realization had sunk in (a year or so) I was able to stand before my God and ask for forgiveness for my father, for my mother, for my brother, even the state. I stood boldly before His throne and asked...

“Father, forgive them, they didn’t know the depth of the pain they were inflicting on me. They didn’t know what I would have to go through to become whole. The frustration of the `WHYS` the tears, no the sobbing, the loneliness, so instense at times I felt it would never end. They didn’t understand. Please Lord I love them and forgive them I ask that you do too.”

Then God showed me that this is what Jesus prayed while he was on the cross (imagine that with out counseling). It felt good, it didn’t feel forced like when I had tried to forgive before. I now know that forgiveness is a journey. But forgiveness shouldn’t be my goal, its like a watched pot that never boils. I started at pain, with a side of ignorance, I walked through the valley of the shadow of death (sometimes sitting in the middle crying.... why....Nancy would tell me to push forward... don't get stuck) along the edge of despair, traveling on the journey of wholeness, I found the memories didn’t go away just the intensity I felt with them went away, they no longer controlled me, then some how God brought me to forgiveness. There I found peace. Then I was able to say with my spirit “It is finished".

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