"Tears are how our heart speaks
when our lips cannot describe how much we've been hurt."
when our lips cannot describe how much we've been hurt."
-Anon
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The morning after I had gone to my abuser's home, I tried to figure out just what all had happened in that confrontation and what it meant. My husband was upset that I had placed myself in what could have turned out to be a dangerous situation. I knew he was right, but I felt something good had come out of it. My abuser had asked for my forgiveness and I had given it. And when I left, he was still on his knees in tears before God.
My thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of the telephone. It was my abuser. He was calm and friendly as we spoke. Then he said he thought we needed to talk some more. I felt this was good until he added that he thought we should meet alone as this didn't involve anyone else.
My mind suddenly went back to other times when he wanted us to be alone, and I was emotionally that helpless girl again. In a childlike voice, I said, "I don't want to be alone with you." His voice sounded surprised as he asked, "You don't?" "No!"
I waited for his anger to explode, but it didn't. He just couldn't understand my refusal to be alone with him. I began to tell him of all of the years of pain, shame, fear, guilt, and confusion his sin against my body and soul had caused. I wanted to help him understand that he hadn't just made a little mistake, but that his act of perversion had cost me my innocence, my childhood, my peace of mind, interference with the beautiful act of lovemaking between my husband, my relationships with my children, etc. I talked for a long time, and only when I had finished did he speak. "I didn't know," he said quietly, and once again asked for me to forgive him.
I didn't realize anyone had overheard my side of the conversation, but my husband had. He put his arms around me and said, "You've come a long way to be able to speak to him the truth and not become angry." He w as right, I had come a long way. And the anger and rage that had driven me for years had run out of fuel as I spoke with my abuser. I would never want to be alone in a prearranged meeting with him, but our relationship had become an honest one.
In the year 2002, my abuser was placed in the nursing facilllity with Alzheimer's. Gradually he forgot who people were. One day I felt I needed to go and see him. As I entered his room, I found him sitting on the side of his bed with his face in his hands and sobbing as if his heart would break.
I called his name and asked what was wrong. Looking up, he recognized me and quickly dropped his head again. Speaking through his sobs, said, "I'm so sorry for what I did to you when you were just a girl. Can you ever forgive me?" He had forgotten the day I had come to his home.
I looked at him and compassion filled my heart. "Yes, I forgive you", I told him honestly.
He nodded, keeping his head down. Finally, in almost a whisper, he asked, "I think Jesus will make it all right, don't you?"
With tears in my own eyes, I answered, "Oh, He already has." He nodded and with a smile of peace slipped back into the dark world of Alzheimer's.
I left the nursing home with a light heart as I thought of how God had taken something so degrading and painful that I had despaired of living, forgiven me, restored the relationship that sexual abuse had destroyed, and best of all, had loved my abuser into reconciliation with Himself. What an all-loving and all-powerful God we serve.
I had thought the circle was completed. But, now a passion began to burn in my heart. I read 2 Corinthians 1:3-5 over and over:
"Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God."
I want to make it clear that I don't believe any child should be subjected to the degradation of sexual abuse. I believe it is a tool of Satan to fulfill his mission on earth--to steal, kill and destroy the soul each of us. But, because one in every three girls and at least one in every six boys are sexually abused, those of us who have suffered as they have and tasted of the comfort and healing touch of our God have a responsibility to share what He has done in our lives as a witness of what He desires to do for each of us. Exactly the same way? No, but equally as freeing and complete.
In a piece of prose I wrote in 2002, entitled "Poverty of Pain", God's Holy Spirit, I believe, revealed to me these truths: "....None of us would ever ask for pain in our lives. In fact, we do all in our power to avoid it. But, until we've suffered deeply, we cannot, nor do we want to share in the pain of others....Until our hearts are vulnerable enough to share our own pain, others will not speak of theirs."
I am convinced that that is the reason God directed me to tell my story. I've literally heard hundreds of others as they were able to voice for the first time the pain and shame with which they had lived for way too long. I know that being able to tell our story for the first time is a relief. But, I also knew that it was just opening the door to much more pain that needed to be released and healed. That was the reason for the passion that now burned within my heart. I wanted to do something but I had no idea where to begin.
My husband and I had been attending Covenant Community Church in Madisonville, Kentucky for a couple of years. We became convinced this was the church we wanted to be a part of, so we took the membership class and joined it. I wanted to be active in my church, so I volunteered to work in Covenant Care. Every Tuesday Covenant Care was open to offer food and clothing to those in need. I volunteered to organize the clothing and put out the new bags and boxes that arrived weekly. It was a difficult and tiresome job at times, but I had promised to do it and don' t like being a quitter.
I had worked there for about a year when a young man came into the room where I was sorting clothing and introduced himself as Andrew Harris. He had been hired to manage the different programs in the church. Andy asked what plans I had for the clothing program. We talked for about ten minutes and I asked abruptly, "Andy. do you know where my passion is?"
"Were?", he asked.
"I have a passion to help women who have been sexually abused."
It had to have been God's timing, for Andy was immediately interested and willing to help in any way he could. I was overjoyed that I was going to get to fulfill a passion I knew that came from God. That joy lasted for about five minutes when I suddenly realized I had no idea how to go about doing it. I had the passion but had failed to plan any farther. I needed help.
Martha Stevenson had led two sexual support groups that I had attended twenty years earlier when I first began my personal healing journey with God. Through the years we had stood with each other through times of heartache and grown together as we shared our lives. A rich friendship developed between us as we learned to trust one another's hearts. Now, we look back and realize God had a purpose in binding our hearts together. He was building a team.
When I got home that night, I called Martha and told her what had happened--that my church was supportive of my working with women who were still suffering from a past of sexual abuse.
Then I said, "You know why I'm calling you, don''t you, Martha?" She told me she did know and that God had laid the same burden on her heart.
I asked her if she would help me lead a sexual abuse recovery group. Martha didn't hesitate to let me know that she would love to. The two of us met with Andy who encouraged us even more when he told us that if the women had the courage to come to the group then their church wanted to sow into their lives by providing the needed materials. That has encouraged the women in each of the five groups we have co-facilitated.
Martha and I chose the specific roles we would take as co-leaders, ordered material produced by the American Association of Christian Counselors, prayed, and prepared ourselves as we awaited the women God would send.
We are leading our fifth group of precious women ranging in age from nineteen to sixty-five. I am never happier than when we are walking with them through their healing. It's such a joy to watch them bond and learn to love one another. I love each of the women God has entrusted to our guidance. Several of them say I am their mother figure as their own mothers are no loner living. But, my favorite title is Mamaw Betty. Who would have thought that a beautiful young lady would adopt me at my age?
I mentioned earlier that God had restored and reconciled what I lost in childhood. Now, by allowing me to be a part of His healing of others, I feel it has also been redeemed for His glory. Praise the Lord!
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Because the Parkinson's Disease is progressing so rapidly, this will probably be the last group I will get to help Martha facilitate. So, we are training another young woman to take my place. Does that sadden me? Very much so. But, I am proud of what I see as she is showing great promise in that role.
I don't think God is finished using me, though. He opened this avenue and this story has already reached women in seven different countries. I believe He will continue to open doors for me to "tell it".
If this story has touched you, please spread it.
And if you would like to share your story, I would love to read it. My email address is betty_barber@aol.com
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