tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25200187454721721642024-03-08T07:22:41.551-08:00And I Want You To Tell itAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11216222056615054936noreply@blogger.comBlogger21125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2520018745472172164.post-57508646284413011352014-03-01T09:16:00.001-08:002014-03-01T09:16:56.581-08:00And I Want You To Tell it: Chad Watson's Unyielding Faith<a href="http://bettyjbarber.blogspot.com/2014/03/chad-watsons-unyielding-faith.html?spref=bl">And I Want You To Tell it: Chad Watson's Unyielding Faith</a>: "My message is, don't turn to pain pills, sleeping pills, or alcohol. Just turn to Christ." -Chad Watson Chad Watso...Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11216222056615054936noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2520018745472172164.post-17255085393045857462014-03-01T08:33:00.000-08:002014-03-01T08:38:06.558-08:00Chad Watson's Unyielding Faith<br />
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<em>"My message is, don't turn to pain pills, sleeping pills, or alcohol. Just turn to Christ."</em></div>
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<em>-Chad Watson</em> </div>
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Chad Watson's life was forever changed on January 2014. That night his happy family faced unbelievable tragedy as his beloved wife and eight of their cherished children perished when their home burned to the ground. Mr. Watson and his only remaining child, eleven-year-old Kylie, were flown to Vanderbilt in Nashville with life-threatening burns.<br />
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This tragic event occurred less than twenty miles from our home, and for weeks tore at the hearts of everyone who knew them as well as an entire nation. Home folks and celebrities alike covered Mr. Watson and Kylie, in the days of their loss and fight for their own lives, with prayer and gifts. Both are recovering from their physical wounds, though the emotional pain remains. <br />
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Recently, Mr. Watson granted an interview with SurfKY.com. When I read his words to the hurting people of the world, I wanted to get his testimony to those who might not otherwise hear of this man's unyielding faith. Rather than mess it up with my own inadequacy, I've chosen to let Chad Watson speak through the words he gave reporter, Paul McRee.<br />
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Mulenberg County - 2/26/2014<br />
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<em>"Sometimes it's hard to keep one thing in mind when you're going through your own grief...and I have been through a lot. But, the fact is, everyone around me has gone through a lot, too. I wasn't the only one who grieved. I'm not the only one who is hurting. It may be appropriate to say that my pain is more than theirs...or</em><em> the loss is closer to me than it is to them.</em><br />
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<em>But, the truth is (and this is true of everyone), every one's tragedy is as big as it can be to them...While my tragedy has generated a lot of human interest, and garnered the attention of a lot of media outlets, the truth is, whatever tragedy a person has to deal with is enormous to that particular person.</em><br />
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<em>God is gracious, it seems to me, in that He prepares us, I have never suffered anything like this. But, He prepared me by having me feast on Christ. He prepared me by thinking about where people should turn in times of loss. He prepared me in being able to console others in time of loss, not even knowing the pain they were going through.He prepared me for my own tragedy through small steps along the way. But, I would say to people who are suffering and who hear my story, that I know their hurt is as great to them as mine is to me.</em><br />
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<em>That's why I can say, with a heart full of assurance, that it's the same God that rules over us both. And they can look to God and He is there to comfort them as He was there to comfort me.</em><br />
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<em>God has a plan for my life...God writes the story of our life, and we have to trust the author. So, while I definitely have hopes for me and Kylie; while I certainly have thoughts about the future, I am completely open to whatever direction God leads me."</em><br />
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When Mr. Watson did get out of the hospital. He was only then told about the many people from around the county, the country and the world who offered assistance to Kylie and him.<br />
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<em>"Nikki and I and the children struggled in a way that I won't try to describe. But we had done it for so long, it became pretty run of the mill for us to have the perception that we're out here, on our own and we're trying to make ends meet. We're not relying on anyone else. That's just the way it was. We had made our life what it was and we were happy to do the best we could with it.</em><br />
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<em>But, when the county and surrounding counties, and the nation...but especially Mulenberg County, demonstrated the show of support that it did, and especially when they honored our family the way they did, I was touched.</em><br />
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<em>Like I said on Sunday, it softened our sorrow. To God be the glory!"</em><br />
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As I have read, re-read, and now typed these excerpts from that interview, I am increasingly struck by this man's gift of ability to speak humbly yet powerfully to broken hearts--regardless of the cause of that pain. And his words remind me that God truly is sufficient--sufficient for death, grief, pain (physical, emotional, and mental) loss and disease. And I an ashamed of my own lack of faith in the face of an ugly and disablimg disease. I, too, want my life to glorify our God, "Lord, help me in times of discouragement and fear to know that You are sufficient."</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11216222056615054936noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2520018745472172164.post-84555012926068809542014-02-04T19:35:00.000-08:002014-02-04T19:35:52.798-08:00ENCOURAGING DEWDROPS FROM HEAVEN<br />
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We will never know, this side of Heaven, how our life has affected, for good or bad, the people we have known on earth. God, in His loving wisdom, keeps that from us lest we get trapped in the terrible sin of false pride. But, every once in a while, to encourage us, He sends someone to speak a word of gratitude for some way they are thankful for our presence in their lives. I call these special messages "dewdrops from Heaven".Yesterday I read to my husband the following cherished words from a precious lady who has become a trusted friend:<br />
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<em>I know it makes you sad not to be in group and meet new girls. But, I want you to know something.</em> <em>When the group starts up again and I get to go, this is one thing I have to share. A very special lady who never even met me changed my life. She listened when I was broken hearted; she sent me scriptures when I was in need of the Lord; she understood my feelings of guilt and shame; she taught me to trust again, and she loved me without asking anything in return. She gave me hope and believed in me when I didn't believe in myself. So, you see, Sweet Friend, though you may not be there physically, you will be there with me and all the women who hear of our sweet friendship and your caring,</em><br />
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When I finished reading, there were tears in my eyes. My husband smiled and said, "You have a lot of girls, don't you?" It overwhelmed me and I began to weep tears of gratitude. For, he was right. I have many cherished friends, several "daughters", and a special "granddaughter" who honors me by calling me "Mamaw". She says I remind her of her beloved Mamaw whom she misses since she passed away. As I thought about these special "girls" who have so touched my life as they taught me, cried with me, trusted and shared their hearts with me, listened as I shared with them, and allowed me to experience with them the power of Jesus setting us free, I could not help but lift my heart and voice in praise and gratitude. How very blessed this side of Heaven I am! So, perhaps a more appropiate title for this post would have been "Showers Of Blessings" --one of the songs I belted out the words to before I knew I was holding the songbook upside down. But, gratitude was tinged by a shadow of sadness that I have not been able to completely shake. I shared this with my friend and she replied with the words above.<br />
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There is s song that we sang often, when I was still able to attend church, entitled "Lay Me Down". The message of this song is that we offer our lives to Jesus while trusting His will when He chooses to set us aside. I meant those words when I sang them. So why am I struggling so? Did I think that because He had blessed me with His passion for hurting women that I was in some way special, or that I was indispensable to the Kingdom of God? I suspect there was a bit of ungodly pride that I was guilty of--in fact I know there was, though I can see it much clearer in hindsight. When God chooses us for a certain mission, He can use us in our weaknesses. But He will not allow us to accept the glory that is His alone. I would like to think that I have been set aside just long enough to grasp this lesson and that I can continue the precious "work" to which He called me, but I want to be willing to be set aside if that is my Savior's will. And I pray that doesn't sound as if I want to be a martyr. I'm not that brave!<br />
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It occurs to me that I have not told you about another group of people who are the pride of their parents--the five daughters, nineteen living (I think) grandchildren (two who proceeded us to Heaven), and six living great-grandchildren (with another awaiting us in the arms of Jesus). I say we share them because Dick and I each had children when we married in 1976. We are a blended family, and our girls are a part of another blended family whom they love. One of them once wrote an essay in High School describing the benefits of being a part of a family with so much variety. Another wrote and read an essay for her 4H group describing why she so loved her stepfather. We are Nana and Papaw to each of the grandchildren and great-grandchildren. Our family has given us much joy through the years. Has the sailing all been smooth? Of course not. Strength comes from facing our shortcomings and differences, accepting one another, helping each other through times of grief, sickness, disagreements, betrayal's, sticking together through the bad times, and laughing together through the good ones. I like the quote that was on face book today and feel it can speak of families as well as couples: <em>"Falling in love is easy; staying in love is special." </em>I would add, <em>"and well worth the effort."</em><br />
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One day I was preparing our Thanksgiving meal and decided I wanted to write something that would express my heart to everyone. After Dick had given thanks, I asked them if they would give me just a few minutes to read something. Overlooking the understandable groans of the children, I shared what I had scribbled. When I finished, each of our daughters said they wanted a copy. I am going to be egoistical enough to "share" it below.<br />
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<em>Our Family</em></div>
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<em>We came together in '76,</em></div>
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<em>This wonderful family of ours.</em></div>
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<em>God gathered the two of us from lives adrift</em></div>
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<em>and tied a knot with His power.</em></div>
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<em>"But, not too tightly,''</em></div>
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<em>He gently spoke.</em></div>
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<em>"We'll save room in your hearts</em></div>
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<em>for those yet to come."</em></div>
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<em>So, it loosens more for each new one.</em></div>
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<em>Two couldn't stay, they went on Home</em></div>
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<em>where they play today around God's throne.</em></div>
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<em>But, fourteen others came to stay,</em></div>
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<em>becoming each a precious delight.</em></div>
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<em>You girls we share are now all grown</em></div>
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<em>into women. wives, and moms so bold;</em></div>
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<em>We've watched with ever-wrinkling brow</em></div>
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<em>as you've surpassed your every goal.</em></div>
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<em>Like the two of us, it's taken a while</em></div>
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<em>for you to trust God's love and smile.</em></div>
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<em>But in His Word there's a promise true</em></div>
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<em>that He will save us and our households too.</em></div>
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<em>So, we've loosened the strings you thought were so tight,</em></div>
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<em>knowing in the end, He'll make all things right.</em></div>
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<em>Always know you're each one loved</em></div>
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<em>by your earthly families and God above.</em></div>
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<em>For, though we share not all the same genes,</em></div>
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<em>all the same goals or all the same dreams,</em></div>
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<em>the same knot that tied us two together,</em></div>
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<em>has stretched to include you each</em></div>
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<em>today and forever.</em></div>
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<em>From Daddy/Dick and Betty/Mom</em></div>
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<em>Papaw and Nana, too--</em></div>
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<em>Happy Thanksgiving to our family</em></div>
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<em>in this year 2002!</em></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11216222056615054936noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2520018745472172164.post-87245144790829289112014-01-23T22:17:00.000-08:002014-01-23T22:17:32.439-08:00POVERTY OF PAIN?It's been a while since I've attempted to write anything--mainly because I am now limited to pecking what I post with my left hand.
I want to begin this post with selections from a beautiful poem my sister enclosed in her Christmas card a few days ago.
But, first I would like to repeat my position on something. I cannot believe that injustice and perverted pain inflicted on innocent people is ever part of God'S plan for anyone. As long as evil exists in the hearts of sinful man, pain and injustice will be a part of life. The theme, then, of this post is not that God sends pain but rather that He is constantly making of that pain, when allowed to do so, somethimg from which we can learn, an example of His grace which can benefit others, and a means by which He is glorified. To me, it is in this context alone that pain makes sense.
"God never hurts us needlessly; He never wastes our pain...and He never sends us pleasures when our soul's deep need is pain."
In 2003, a dear friend and her husband felt God leading them to begin a ministry of counseling to hurting people. As they wanted the blessings and spiritual support of their church, they met with the elders. One of them expresed the opinion so prevelant, even preached from the pulpit in some churches, that people should just get over things and get on with their lives. (He is now one of their strongest supporters--both in prayer and financial support.)
I can't say that he was completely wrong as many people nurse bitter feelings toward those who have hurt their feelings or treated them wrongly. But my friend's desire was to help those whose souls have been too deeply wounded to be able to put the past behind when it is daily affecting their lives years later. As one person put it, "The past isn't the past as long as it affects the present."
But when my friend shared this remark in 2003, the phrase "poverty of pain" crossed my mind. It wasn't anything I remembered having heard or read, so I wanted to spend some time meditating and writing my thoughts on it. I've reached the following conclusions which I pray God will continue to develop and correct.
At that time, I wrote the following words:"I believe we suffer from a poverty of pain. As humans, we have the propensity to fear pain and do everything in our power to avoid it. For years, I carried a great fear of pain and didn't like to hear anything about sufferimg for Christ."
Since I've been diagnosed with Parkinson's and lost so much mobility, I've been told by friends that it isn't God's will for any of us to suffer and if I had enough faith, or if I confessed some hidden sin, God would heal me. I now know how Job felt when his friends came to "comfort" him. I've digressed from my topic, somewhat. But Ive discovered that there is a lot of pain as my muscles stiffen and refuse to move. This morning was the first time my husband was unable to get me out of bed and we were both in tears. In 2003 it was much easier to come up with lofty ideals because of my own poverty of pain. And as my joints have become swollen, stiff, and deformed, there is added pain. The doctor has done blooodwork to see if it might be rhuematoid arthritis. So, I will probably edit what I was going to share. Although I know there are people who suffer greater pain daily, I now don't feel too improvershed of it. This has caused me to rethink some of the things I wrote im 2003. But, it also reafirms others.
Pain brings out a person's true character. And I admit I have not liked some of the things it has brought out in me--self pity, anger, self-absorption, etc. But, I am blessed with a husband whose sense of humor keeps us laughing at each other. We are honest enough to cry together when we need to, but the laughter ourweighs the tears.
Pain and seemingly unanswered prayers for healing test whether our faith is dependent on what God does for us or in His Soverign wisdom and will for our lives--regardless of the circumstances. Although I would love to be whole physically, I want ro reach the place where my heart longs above everything to allow Him to be glorified through me smehow.
Pain gives us greater capacity for compassion for others who are suffering in some way. Until we lose someone close to us in death, we can't really grasp their grief. It is the same with physical or deep emotional pain. The old saying, "Don't jusge someone til you've walked a mile in their shoes" is great wisdom.
I realize I've rambled a lot and for that I apologize.
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11216222056615054936noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2520018745472172164.post-7202541024662943472013-11-02T13:35:00.000-07:002013-11-02T17:03:25.436-07:00OUR MINDS, SATAN'S TARGET. PART TW0, continuedI'm going to attempt to finish this today. If you are reading this and are a praying Child of God, I ask that you pray for strength for me. Parkinson's has weakened my body until I tire easily.<br />
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No one should ever live with the shame of someone else's sin, but the victim of sexual abuse almost always carries a shame that belongs to the person who abused them. Sometimes we live with shame without recognizing it. But, it is important to understand shame (also referred to as s elf-contempt) because it is one of Satan's most powerful weapons to sabotage the life God meant for us to live. We owe it to Him, to our self, and to those we love to recognize its source and its effects on us.<br />
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It's important to separate false shame for what others have done to us and the rightful shame for our own sins. Each of us has committed sins against our God for which we need to repent. It's too easy to fall into a habit of blaming our sins on what has happened to us. The other extreme is to accept blame that isn't ours. For a victim of sexual abuse, this can be confusing and hard to separate, and we may need an objective person to help in the process.<br />
There are two ways contempt can be directed. I am not sure what makes some people direct their shame inwardly toward themselves (as I did) while others direct their angry shame (contempt) outwardly toward others. Which ever way we direct that shame, it is harmful to us and those we love.<br />
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I was so surprised when I recognized my behaviors as described in Dr. Dan Allender's four stages of self contempt below. Like I, you may recognize behaviors that you exhibit in more than one of these stages.<br />
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<strong>Least severe contempt (shame) </strong>is when we have a sense of unworthiness. Here are some issues a person struggles with in this stage:<br />
1. Being uncomfortable when someone compliments us.<br />
2. Uncomfortable when somone shows interest in us as a person.<br />
3. Feeling unworthy of attention.<br />
4. Mistrust of peoople who are kind to us.<br />
5. Surprised when someone genuinely appears to be happy to see us.<br />
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(I exibited all of the above behaviors for years.)<br />
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<strong>Midly severe contempt (shame) </strong>involves comparing ourself to others and rebuking the loser.<br />
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1. Rebuking ourself for making a mistake.<br />
2. Beating up on ourself for sinning.<br />
3. Having a pattern of finding fault with others.<br />
4. Thinking of ourself as ugly, fat, stupid, dumb, inadequate, or unfeminine.<br />
5. Being critical of other people.<br />
6. Giving excuses for our actions when they are challenged.<br />
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(In this category, the behaviors I exibited most were #'s 1, 2, 4, & 6)<br />
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<strong>Moderately severe contempt (shame</strong>) is often played out in fantasies. Issues may be:<br />
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1. Being aroused by fantasies, descriptions, or depictions of women being abused or degraded.<br />
2. Daydreaming about taking revenge.<br />
3. Enjoying violence in books, movies, etc. <br />
4. Abusing food (overeating, under eating, or vomiting, etc.) but not enough to be life-threatening.<br />
5. Witholding relatiionships as an act of revenge toward those with whom I love.<br />
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(As far as I know and understood my own actions, I don't believe I exhibited any of the above behaviors.)<br />
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<strong>Very severe contempt </strong>might drive a person to harm herself or another. Issues persons struggle with in this stage are:<br />
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1. Thinking about suicide often.<br />
2. Thinking about killing someone often, or about that person dying.<br />
3. Thinking about hurting myself physically by cutting, scratching, burning, etc.<br />
4. Thinking about hurting someone else.<br />
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(I am very ashamed to have to say that I not only thought about suicide, but attempted it at age 32. The reason I am ashamed of it is because God has revealed to me that my trying to take the life He gave me has hurt Him more than anything I've ever done or anything that has ever been done to me. It hurts to know I've hurt the heart of my God.)<br />
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I pray that, if you have identified behaviors in one or more of these stages that have puzzled or shamed you for years, you will find a Christian person who can help you. I am blessed to have as my best friend a wonderful lady who, with her husband, has a counseling ministry in Madisonville called "Transformation Ministries". Martha and I were co-leaders of the sexual abuse recovery groups in our church for the past five years. Parkinson's makes me unable to continue that ministry. However, Martha will be continuing the groups with another co-leader. The two of them will be a great team.<br />
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God is opening new doors for me to minister to hurting women from home. It has become a precious means for me to tell who our God is and what He wants to do in each of our lives. My greatest desire is to be able to "tell it", as He asked, for as long as I have breath.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11216222056615054936noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2520018745472172164.post-65741470695851941672013-10-27T10:47:00.000-07:002013-10-27T10:58:40.973-07:00OUR MIND, SATAN'S TARGET, Part One<br />
John 10:10 - "The thief (Satan) comes only to steal and kill and destroy, but I have come that they may have life and have it to the full." NIV<br />
1 John 3:8b - "The reason the Son of God appeared was to destroy the devil's work." NIV<br />
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I wish I could find the source of what I'm about to write, but since I can't, and since it fits so perfectly into what is on my heart today, I'm going to paraphrase it from memory:<br />
"If I were Satan and wanted to make sure that I had a person for life, I would send a person with a perverted mind to sexually abuse a child. Then, while that child was too young to know the difference, I would whisper into her heart that she was evil and should br ashamed all of her life. I would then have that person's mind as mine."<br />
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Now that I've paraphrased that, I wish even more that I could find the original source, for it falls far short of the full meaning of that original source. But, I think it makes the point.<br />
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Some of you may be thinking (especially if you are one who has never experienced sexual abuse) why I keep writing on this subject. You may have felt that I'm a bit absorbed with the subject. The truth is, I am --passionately. And the reason is that I know there are thousands of people, both men and women, who are suffering in silence and shame as I did for years. I want to be a voice that both validates their suffering and offers them hope, true hope based on both experience and the promises of God. I want them to know that there is healing, complete healing in the name of Jesus Christ.<br />
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Shame seems to be Satan's most powerful grip on the mind, heart, soul and body of a sexual abuse victim, years after the experience, and as I've quoted Dr. Allender before, "Time seems only to intensify this stronghold ." And, it is usually the hardest to overcome. Shame, also referred to as self-contempt, is "a cancer that seems to fester and affect everything in our lives, including our relationship with ourselves, others, and the God who loves us unconditionally....Our experience becomes something we can't talk about....We may have developed an all-consuming terror of being exposed for who we really are...We may fear that if others really see us for who we are--defective, shameful, unlovable--they will abandon us." (Julie Wooley, from her workbook, "In The Wildflowers")<br />
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I remember so vividly wondering why I was different from other people. My shame was intertwined with an equally powerful feeling of fear--nothing spicific, just a general unnamed fear. We were in revival one year with a well-known evangelist who opened the floor to questions the last night. Feeling this was a safe place to ask and maybe find an answer to the cause of that fear, I asked, "What would make a person live with a general fear?" He looked at me as if I were a child and quoted from James, "Perfect love casts out fear." My shame level raised significantly and I wished I could just grow tiny enough to not be seen. I had exposed my heart and let others know there was something lacking in me. I determined not to make that mistake again.<br />
I don't mean to put that man down in any way for he was a powerful man of God. But, my experience and the affects it had left on me was not something he knew about in order to understand where I was coming from. There is a great need for churches to realize that they have a lot of people in their congregations who need help for healing from traumatic childhoods.I am so grateful our pastor understands that and is one of the strongest supporters of our sexual abuse recovery group.<br />
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But, back to my theme of shame. When we finnd a safe place or person and begin to speak out the horror of what happened to us, we have made the first step in overcoming the grip shame has on us. When we find others who understand and accept us just as we are, we have the courage to continue our journey. That is the power of groups. We are surrounded by other hurting women who understand us on a level no one else can. And, as we listen to their lifes stories, we begin to see that we are actually acting and feeling normal--for someone who has been sexually abused. And when one person shares what God has done in the area of healing, hope rises in our own hearts. That's why it is so important to share our stories. We are fulfilling a scripture in Isaiah 43:12b: "You are my witness", declares the Lord, "that I am God."<br />
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I have not begun to write all that is on my heart, and this is full of mistakes that spell check can't take of. But, my hands are growing tired and I need to rest them. So, more later.<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11216222056615054936noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2520018745472172164.post-30851440543424749862013-10-01T07:54:00.000-07:002013-10-02T18:35:07.448-07:00MY HEROINES AND HEROES<br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It takes a lot of God-given courage to speak about sexual abuse, especially to say "I'm one of the one in every three women (or one in six boys) who has been sexually abused."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">I read something a few moments ago about breast cancer survivors. The caption read "The real heroes are those who speak about it."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">How much more heroic are those who are willing to speak about their abuse in order to break the silence that keeps them and so many other victims in bondage?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">If you are one of the persons </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">whom God has healed, or is in the process of doing so, give Him the glory. Then pray for the wisdom and guidance that you can find a safe place to tell of what He's done for you. If you've never sought help, I pray you will find a safe person--doctor, pastor, trusted Christian friend, family member (unless you were abused by a family member and know they might not be willing to believe you), Christian counselor or therapist with whom to share your experience.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">It's important to choose someone you think will believe you, for not being believed is another form of abuse in itself. I chose to confide in our doctor who had known me for many years. It was a good choice, for after I told him, he looked at me and said, "Well, now I understand you". He then admitted the help I needed had not been a part of his training. But he made an appointment with someone who was trained to help.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Sexual abuse is a worldwide problem that leaves deeply wounded children in its wake. These children grow up to live seemingly normal lives. But, in reality they are filled with deep emotions of fear, shame, silent rage, and deep soul pain.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Time is a great healer. But, it does not heal the damage that has taken place in the soul of a sexual abuse victim. The majority of women and men who have been abused live in denial--either that they are victims or that it affected them in any way. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">But, God created our hearts to be true. For, that reason, He will continue to help us clean the basement of our soul by bringing what we stuff there to our conscious mind. And, no matter how many times we cram it back down, it will eventually surface in a way we can no longer deny. And, you are never too old! Our last group was made up of women ranging in age from sixteen to seventy plus. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">I once read a true story of a precious woman in her nineties who lay in the hospital on her deathbed. The nurse noticed that the usual calm with which she had accepted her death had been replaced with agitation. As she heard the nurse's footsteps, she opened her troubled eyes and motioned to the nurse to bend down. The nurse understood that she wanted to say something, so she put her ear to the dying woman's mouth. With a quivering voice, the old lady whispered, "I was sexually abused as a little girl." Those were her last words, but as the tears poured down her cheeks, the nurse whispered a prayer of thanks that the woman had found peace in the last moment of her life by telling the hateful secret with which she had lived for better than eighty years.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">When I read this, I cried. I had never confided in anyone at the time, and I knew the pain that lady carried for so many years. I'm grateful that I sought help when I was in my late forties. And I can never praise him enough for the work he has done in my life. And I have been blessed every time I've had the opportunity to be obedient to "tell it". Praise the name, the holiness, the power and the love of Our Heavenly Father. It is so everlasting and personal.</span><br />
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<br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">It is vitally important to understand that we are not to blame for the abuse that was done to us--whether we were three or a teen when it began. The blame for the abuse lies squarely with the abuser, and it doesn't matter if he was drunk, acting from his own perverted childhood, or any other reason. He may be a damaged adult, but he made a choice and that choice was his alone. And only we can make the choice to seek His healing, restoration, and redemption. May He ever be glorified in my life and yours.</span><br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11216222056615054936noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2520018745472172164.post-32814559213059010882013-09-10T13:56:00.000-07:002013-09-10T13:56:33.350-07:00CELEBRATE THE STAGES OF YOUR JOURNEYI learned a new word in preparation for the final meeting with this group of ladies in the "Understanding & Healing Hidden Hurts" Sexual Abuse Recovery Ministry I have had the privilege of co-facilitating for the past five years. The word is denouement. I like Dr. Dan Allender's definition of the word:<br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> <em>"A denouement is not a complete or fully resolved ending but a satisfying closure to a story. In French it means 'an untying, a relaxing of a knot of complexty'....Denouement is a respite that calls us to stop the journey for a brief interlude--to eat, drink, sing, dance, and tell our story to others." </em></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">To me, this meant we should pause to meditate, share, and celebrate where we are now in our journey while realizing we have more to do before we are where God wants to take us on the path toward healing. So, we decided to make our last meeting one of celebration.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">As getting around is becoming increasingly difficult for me, the women generously agreed to meet in our home. What a joy to look out the window and see them pulling in the driveway and piling out laughing and talking. After fourteen weeks of being together through tears and shared pain, a strong bond of love and trust had developed between all of us that always makes us want to continue. But, we need times of denouement, and that was what I saw developing as they got out of the cars. They had carpooled the thirty miles to my home and had already started the celebration before arriving.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">The first thing we did was gather around our large dining-room table for a meal each of us had a part in providing and preparing.There is something about setting around a table, eating, relaxing, and talking that allows us to drop our guard and be willing to share more freely than anywhere else. We learned much more about one another in those moments than we probably had the previous thirteen weeks. Martha asked everyone to be thinking about where they thought they were on their journey.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Our meal made us so sleepy that a couple of us went to sleep before the DVD was finished. Yes, I was one of the two. Some hostess I turned out to be! But, I was so comfortable with these ladies with whom I'd walked as they were on this first part of their journey that I wasn't even embarrassed when I awoke and they laughed with me.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Each lady shared what she felt God had done for her during this first phase of their journey toward healing. As beautiful as it was to hear their words, their faces and actions told it all. Fourteen weeks ago, fourteen strangers, ages sixteen to seventy-three, had met in a room and wondered what was in store for them. As the weeks progressed we lost one member when she moved to California, another started back to college, and our youngest member lost a way to get to the meetings. </span><span style="font-family: Arial;">As is the case in every group, there were four members who just weren't up to the challenge and dropped out. We appreciate so much their effort and courage in trying and believe they will seek help again someday. And because they walked with us for a few weeks, they became a part of our hearts.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">On June 2, 2013 we met as scared and timid strangers. On September 8, 2013 we parted as sisters who knew each others pain of the past and shared a united hope for the future. I'm so glad we took the time to celebrate one another.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">The young woman who was training these past weeks to take my place is going to be a good facilitator. She and Martha will be a wonderful team together. One day I got to the meeting a little after the two of them. They weren't expecting me as I'd had to miss the two previous meetings. I could hear them laughing together as they were getting things ready and a tinge of jealousy went through me. I shared that with the two of them and saw t he understanding in their eyes. It has been hard for me to realize that I must step aside, because I've been so passionate about the ministry to hurting women.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">For that reason, I don't think God is through with me in this work. He will open other avenues as He did this blog which has reached women in ten different countries. And as long as there is breath in my body, I want to continue to be obedient to His command to "tell it".</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">I would love to hear your comments or questions. You may e mail me at <a href="mailto:betty_barber@aol.com">betty_barber@aol.com</a> or leave a comment at the end of this post.</span><br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11216222056615054936noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2520018745472172164.post-60822152290754541382013-08-26T18:05:00.000-07:002013-08-26T18:05:59.145-07:00"LIVING" WITH THE CONSEQUENCES OF CHILDHOOD/ADOLESCENT SEXUAL ABUSE<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When Martha and I began our "Understanding and Healing Hidden Hurts" Sexual Abuse Recovery Group for Women, we didn't have the money to have someone design and print pamphlets to let women know who we were, what the group was about, and some general information about the consequences women suffer as a result of having been a victim of sexual abuse. As Martha works full time in her counseling ministry and I am retired, I accepted that responsibility. </span><span style="font-family: Arial;">Through the years of my own healing, I had read profusely and had several books on the topic of sexual abuse, so I had ready resources.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">In my last post, I talked about what defines sexual abuse. That has been the most widely read post on the blog, so I feel there may be some of you who questioned whether or not what happened to you would be called sexual abuse. I hope Dr. Allender's definition helped you to know one way or another.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">In this post I am going to list the effects of living as a victim of sexual abuse. I am doing this for a couple of reasons:</span><br />
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<li><span style="font-family: Arial;">So those who are have been sexually abused can know the reason behind some of their actions that make them feel different. You aren't crazy or different. You are behaving as most victims of childhood sexual abuse behave. (Note the number of asterisks indicating which of these behaviors I exhibited for many years.)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial;">So that, if, like me, you find you are "living" with these symptoms, you can know that you don't have to live this way. You will notice that I keep putting the word "living" in quotes. I feel I didn't really live all of those years, I existed; and I did that by living a lie that everything in my life was normal. I takes an awful lot of energy to pretend, and it doesn't honor God. If I were to go back over that list again there would be no asterisk, for by the grace of God, they are no longer a part of my life.</span></li>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"> These are not things that I have come up with but what I've gotten from the books I alluded to earlier. I was so shocked when I listed these in our pamphlet</span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">. I couldn't believe how many of these issues had been a part of my life in the long years before I sought healing. I have placed an asterisk in front of each of them. My hope is that if you find you, too, are suffering through many of these symptoms, that you will seek help--Christ-centered counseling or a good support group.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">I promise you that there is healing in Jesus Christ if you are willing to allow Him to walk with you on your journey. There is no quick fix! So, don't expect that. But, as I looked into the faces of the women in our group today, I was so proud of the progress they each have made. And, I realized once again the importance of sharing our stories with other women who can understand our pain as no one else can. The ladies in our group still have more miles to walk on their healing journey and they know that. But, they have also glimpsed the hope held out by Jesus Christ and they are willing to finish what they started twelve weeks ago. They have no desire to go back to where they were before beginning their journey. How I love these courageous ladies!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Symptoms Suffered by Adults</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">As A Result of Childhood Sexual Abuse</span></div>
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<li><div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">* <strong> Damaged Goods -</strong> low self-esteem, depression, suicidal thoughts/attempts, guilt, </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"> shame, search for approval</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">* <strong> Betrayal -</strong> iinability to trust, blurred boundaries, role confusion, rage, grief</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><strong>* Helplessness - </strong>aanxiety, fear, panic attacks, re-victimization tendency</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><strong>* Isolation -</strong> sense of being different, lack of support, poor peer relations</span> </div>
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*<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> <strong>Fear - </strong>of sleeping alone, night terrors, nightmares</span></div>
</li>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">* <strong>Poor body and self image</strong></span></div>
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<strong><span style="font-family: Arial;">* Wearing excessive clothing</span></strong></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><strong> Self-abuse - </strong>skin carving, cutting</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">* <strong>Phobias - </strong>panic attacks, anxiety disorder, startle response</span></div>
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<li><div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">* <strong>Anger/rage - </strong>difficulty controlling anger and rage</span></div>
</li>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">* <strong>Shutdown under stress </strong>- unable to cope with stress</span></div>
</li>
<li><div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">* <strong>Lack of trust and intimacy</strong></span></div>
</li>
<li><div style="text-align: left;">
<strong><span style="font-family: Arial;">* Not able to say "No" </span></strong></div>
</li>
<li><div style="text-align: left;">
<strong><span style="font-family: Arial;">* Blocking of memories</span></strong></div>
</li>
<li><div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><strong>* Feeling different </strong>- crazy, marked (I remember one day thinking to myself, "I wonder </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">why I'm different from other people?"</span></div>
</li>
<li><div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">* <strong>Denial and flashbacks</strong></span></div>
</li>
<li><div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><strong>* Sexual issues - </strong>extremes</span></div>
</li>
<li><div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;"> <strong>Multiple personalities</strong></span></div>
</li>
<li><div style="text-align: left;">
<strong><span style="font-family: Arial;">* Signs of post traumatic stress disorder</span></strong></div>
</li>
</ul>
<span style="font-family: Arial;">We've all heard statements like, "Time is the great healer", or "Time heals all wounds," and "Just give it time and it will get better." But, there are wounds that go too deeply for time alone to heal. Sexual abuse is one of those wounds. In fact, as Dr. Dan Allender states, "</span><span style="font-family: Arial;"><em>Sexual abuse damages the soul. Time seems to intensify this hurt."</em></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My heart aches for those of you who are still living with that pain. And I think the reason God asked me to share what He has done in my life, is because His heart aches for you a thousand times more than mine ever could. And, He wants to let you know what He wants to do for you. May you walk with Him.</span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11216222056615054936noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2520018745472172164.post-87749476117024141152013-08-19T14:55:00.000-07:002013-08-19T14:55:25.021-07:00UNDERSTANDING WHAT SEXUAL ABUSE IS<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Too <span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">many</span> women (and men) live with the effects of sexual abuse for years but are <span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">unable</span> to understand the reason. Maybe, because they view what happened to them as nothing serious, they don't consider it to have been sexual abuse. Also, we have the tendency to compare what happened to us with other women's stories and tend to minimise ours because their stories are so much worse.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I remember sitting in the first sexual support group I attended and hearing stories of things that I had really never heard about, much less experienced. As I listened, I thought to myself, "What am I doing here? They are the ones who have been abused." But, that was not right thinking. I learned that if it affected us, then it was abuse, and I needed help just as much as anyone.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Dr. Dan Allender gives the most comprehensive definition of sexual abuse I've found in his book, </span> <u><span style="font-family: Arial;">The Wounded Heart:</span></u><br />
<br />
<em><span style="font-family: Arial;">"Sexual abuse is any contact or interaction (<strong>visual, verbal, or psychological </strong>) between a child/adolescent and an adult when the child/adolescent is being used for the sexual stimulation of the perpetrator or any other person. Sexual abuse can be committed by a person under 18 if the perpetrator is older or in a position of power over the victim. Abuse that happens within a family system is technically called incest. .. <strong>all inappropriate sexual contact is damaging and soul-distorting."</strong></span></em><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">When I came across this definition, it brought back shameful memories. One memory was when I was somewhere between six and eight. I had run as fast as I could to get away, but two boys had caught me and taken turns holding me down while they had their way with me. Because we were all kids when it happened, I had not put it in the same category as the abuse that began at age thirteen. But, I realized that memory carried an awful lot of shame. Other memories were ones that I had accepted as normal at the time, but realized they were the reason I hated parts of my God-given body. I can't remember a time when I wasn't teased about my big bottom, and was told by a family member that if I was as small all over as I was from the waist up, there wouldn't be much to me; but if I was as big all over as I was from my waist down, I'd be quite a woman. I became very self-conscious of my body after that shaming picture was formed in my mind. I would never have thought that some one's words could be defined as sexual abuse, but they were shameful to me even then. The last memory was of being in a shower and turning to see my abuser watching. Again, though it made me ashamed, I would never have considered that as sexual abuse because there was no physical contact.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">We are all created in the image of our Creator. Our bodies are holy in God's eyes as they are the temple of His Holy Spirit. Every man, woman, and child deserves to be able to set boundaries as to who has the right to share their body. But, thousands of children every day are being robbed of this basic right, whether they are victims of the sickening sex trafficking or betrayed by perverted people they've loved and trusted. What should have been a time of innonence and happiness as they are protected by those who love them , becomes an unending nightmare. Each of these precious children will grow up filled with shame, fear, guilt, and an unrelenting pain that colors every aspect of their being--physically, emotonally, mentally, and spiritually. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">But, praise God, if they can find people to walk with them, He will turn what Satan intended for their destruction into healing that shines with His glory. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">It has saddened me that I am becoming physically unable to continue walking with women as they journey toward that healing in our group setting. But, I will continue to tell the story of what God has done in my life as long as He gives me breath. Because, it is His story and is to be told to encourage others as they see what He did in my life and realize He wants to do the same or even greater in their own lives.</span><br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11216222056615054936noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2520018745472172164.post-68040246163013488532013-08-15T13:55:00.000-07:002013-08-15T14:17:40.457-07:00THE WILDFLOWERS<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">One of the most beautiful things to witness in each of our groups has been the release of their God-given creativity within the women as they heal. Martha and I have been blessed to be both observers and recipients of that creativity. With her permission, I am sharing a poem one of our ladies wrote for the other group members along with her letter of gratitude she wrote me at the conclusion of the first group in which she participated. Martha, too, received a letter from Georgia. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">God has enriched Martha's and my life through the deep love and passion we have for the hearts He has entrusted to us, and each of us has developed friendships with them that will last a lifetime. What we have been able to sow into them has been multiplied a thousandfold and we give all the glory, praise, and thanksgiving to the One to whom it belongs forever.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I shared in an earlier post that the name of the materials we use in our "Understanding & Healing Hidden Hurts" sexual abuse recovery group is "In The Wildflowers" by Julie Woodley. Thus the source of Georgia's title for her poem.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"> THE WILDFLOWERS</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Like the wildflowers, we have an inner beauty that we don't let anyone see.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Because of the lies we believed, we won't let them see the real me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">We were filled with a lot of fear, a lot of regrets, and a lot of blame,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">and our minds were crowded with our guilt and shame.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We started a group with ten steps to work through,</span></div>
<div align="center">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">but the childhood sexual abuse had hurt more than we knew.</span></div>
<div align="center">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">As we began to share our sto</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">ries, our pain became more revealing.</span></div>
<div align="center">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">But, we are now wildflowers on the road to healing.</span></div>
<div align="center">
<br /></div>
<div align="center">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">We learned that tears are salve on our wounds, while silence is salt;</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">to take the blame from ourselves and put it on those at fault;</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">We were taught that our emotions were the heart cry of our soul,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">And we are the wildflowers who will continue to heal and grow.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">We learned to let go of our anger, resentment, and fears.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">And we did it all through our laughter and tears.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">We learned that anger can become our enemy, it isn't a safe place,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">And as we released that anger, we saw the bud of a wildflower in each face.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Julie says a life without heart is not worth living at all.</span></div>
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<strong><span style="font-family: Arial;">But our hearts had been hidden and we felt so small.</span></strong></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Both our heart and soul were screaming inside so deep,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Yet, we are wildflowers who are learning to be free.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Strangers brought together by the past on that very first night,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">but friendships formed as we battled the fright.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">No more will we have to fight this battle alone.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">We're becoming the best wildflowers we've ever known.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">God will restore what the locust has eaten from each of our lives,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">as, together we're becoming better parents, grandparents and wives.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">We are seven petals that God has formed into His wildflower</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">So that He could heal us by His wonderful power.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">by Georgia Purdue</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Oct. 10, 2012</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">October 4, 2010</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Betty,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> There are not enough words to tell you just how important you are to me. It started with Pat </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Dew (our church chaplain) talking with me about the group. She picked up a pamphlet and gave it to me that Sunday. I first felt, "Oh, no! What now?" Then, I thought, "Why waste my time?" because it had been such a long time since my abuse. "I don't need it. I don't even like groups." But, I might add I love this one. I just hate the reason that I have to be here.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"> I know it had to have been three weeks that I wrestled with this decision. Why was I wrestling so hard if I didn't need it? I told my daughter about it to see what she thought. She said she felt a better connection with you. She thought that I needed it and that it would be a good thing for me t o do. So, I gave you a call, but only after hearing you speak in church.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">And I had to make decision because it was getting ready to start. I don't know if you could tell, but I was nervous. I never dreamed that you would know who I was, but when you came over to give me a hug and said, "I already love you," I knew you meant it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"> I have looked for love my whole life feeling rejected by everyone else who was supposed to love me, except for my grandchildren. But they know nothing else.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"> So, thanks for the warm hugs, the tender love, the broad shoulders to carry all my tears. I might add, you really needed a barrel. God has truly gifted you for this ministry. I hope and pray that you are encouraged and healed as well. I love you, and hopefully "Old Faithful" may make it to the next group.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">God Bless,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Georgia Purdue</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11216222056615054936noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2520018745472172164.post-60112691526390848872013-08-12T17:38:00.000-07:002013-08-12T17:38:00.780-07:00SUMMARY & INVITATIION TO JOURNEY WITH GOD<em><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"If you will allow Me to journey with you in the pain, I will allow you to walk with Me into the redemption of your wounds so they may shine with glory." -John Eldridge </span></em><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">That beautiful promise from God is almost impossible for us to grasp if we are in the 1/3 of all women who have suffered the degradation of sexual abuse. But, it is so wonderfully true. My journey with Him made a circle of completion that I could have not imagined when I was traveling it. </span><br />
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<li><span style="font-family: Arial;">Twelve years of safety and innocence</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial;">Perverted betrayal</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial;">Years of denial, guilt, pain, fear, and confusion</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial;">Breaking emotionally and physically</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial;">Journeying with God through the pain of healing and coming out of denial. That was by no means a pleasant nor short journey, and many times I wanted to quit. But, with the encouragement of other women journeying with me and the promise above held out by God, I persevered.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial;">Confrontation and eventual reconciliation with my abuser when he genuinely asked me to forgive him.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial;">Being a witness to his reconciliation with his Savior</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial;">And, joy of all joys, partnering with God as we walk with other women on their own journey toward healing--Redemption! </span></li>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">I had allowed God to journey with me through the pain, and His gift to me was His own passion for other women to experience what I have. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">This is a story that I have lived, but it doesn't belong to me. It belongs to the One Who has brought me from the black depths of hopelessness and allows me to be His heart, hands, and mouth to His precious daughters</span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">If you are one of the thousands of women who have not begun your journey with God, I want to tell you that the eventual joy of healing is a thousand times greater than facing a past of pain.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">If I can help or encourage you in any way, I would love to do so. You can reach me through my email address at <a href="mailto:betty_barber@aol.com">betty_barber@aol.com</a> </span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11216222056615054936noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2520018745472172164.post-19159321927694826472013-08-09T19:35:00.001-07:002013-08-10T18:49:27.173-07:00RECONCILATION, RESTORATION, AND REDEMPTION--FOR OUR GOOD AND HIS GLORY<div align="center">
<em><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Tears are how our heart speaks</span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> when our lips cannot describe how much we've been hurt."</span></em></div>
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-Anon</div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">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. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">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.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">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."</span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> His voice sounded surprised as he asked, "You don't?" "No!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">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.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">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.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In the year 2002, my abuser was placed in the nursing facilllity with Alzheimer's<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">. 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. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">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.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I looked at him and compassion filled my heart. "Yes, I forgive you", I told him honestly.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He nodded, keeping his head down. Finally, in almost a whisper, he asked, "I think Jesus will make it all right, don't you?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">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. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">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.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">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:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><em>"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<strong> so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God."</strong></em></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">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.</span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> 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.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">In a piece of prose I wrote in 2002, entitled "Poverty of Pain", God's Holy Spirit, I believe, revealed to me these truths: "<em>....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."</em></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">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.</span> <span style="font-family: Arial;">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.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">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.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">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?" </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">"Were?", he asked.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">"I have a passion to help women who have been sexually abused."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">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.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">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.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">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. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">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. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">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.</span> <span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">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. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">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.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">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? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">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</span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> for His glory. Praise the Lord!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">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.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">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.</span> <span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I believe He will continue to open doors for me to "tell it".</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">If this story has touched you, please spread it. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">And if you would like to share your story, I would love to read it. My email address is <a href="mailto:betty_barber@aol.com">betty_barber@aol.com</a> </span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11216222056615054936noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2520018745472172164.post-56906093717079794662013-08-08T11:55:00.001-07:002013-08-08T11:55:11.996-07:00HEALING, RELUCTANT OBEDIENCE, AND CONFRONTATION<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In the years since my sister had held me in her arms and whispered that God must have something for me to do, He had done a wonderful work of healing in my heart, mind, emotions, and actions. And often I wondered about her words, but clung to them and believed she was right. Now, He was about to reveal to me the nature of that "work", and I believed I was ready to obey Him.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As I checked back through former posts, I found that the first two have somehow been deleted. As many of you have begun to follow them since the first two were posted, I'm going to repeat some of the second one. The first post was mostly an introduction.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">In our small United Methodist Church , we had a wonderful revival that lasted for three months drawing people from other areas as they learned about it. Three incidents happened during that three month period that has given my life purpose and direction these last 15 years. I praise God that He isn't through with us on this earth until we are with Him in Heaven, and that age and physical condition are not barriers--maybe just tests to see if we will obey Him when He asks something of us. I pray that this post will allow you to understand my urgency to get this story out. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">The first incident was when a friend told me she'd had a dream about me the previous night. I asked her what she had dreamed and she related the following:</span><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Arial;">"I had come to your house for a visit. You were dressed to leave and asked me to come with you. I asked where we were going, but you just said, "You'll see." We drove until we came to a large church. I asked what we were doing there, but all you would tell me was, "You'll see." We walked in and the church was packed with women who stood and clapped as you made your way to the podium. You were there to speak to them, Betty."</span></em><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">I had been amused as I listened until my friend spoke the last sentence. My heart felt as if a knife were piercing it and I began to weep. I knew in my spirit this was no ordinary dream, but that God was revealing to me something He wanted me to do. But, I had no idea what I could speak about that would be of interest to other women.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The next night I listened as the young man behind me stood and gave his testimony of how God had delivered him from a life of alcohol and drugs. "And now He is using my testimony to deliver other people."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Again, pain tore through my heart and tears ran down my cheeks. I didn't open my mouth or even move my lips as my heart cried, "Oh, God, I wish I had a testimony that would help other people, but mine is too filled with shame!" I had not thought of that as a prayer, but God heard my heart.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A few days later, I sat down in the recliner at home to take a short rest when I heard a voice I'd never heard before but one I recognized immediately. In a voice I can only describe as one of gentle authority, He spoke the following words that are seared into my mind and heart:</span><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Arial;">"Your testimony is not a testimony of shame, it's a testimony of praise. For it's not about you, it's about Me and what I've done in your life. And I Want You to Tell It."</span></em><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">I jumped out of that recliner praising God, and as I did, that dirty robe of shame fell from me never to be worn again. I was freed of the final grip that Satan had on my soul from the sexual abuse. And now, He had made clear what He wanted me to tell other women--and I was ready!<br /><br />The next morning, however, I realized there was something I needed to do before rushing headlong to tell it. God's Spirit reminded me that telling my story was going to affect a lot of people, as it would be impossible (I thought) not to include them in it. I had not been sexually abused for four years in a vacuum. So, I sat down and wrote everyone I thought I might have to mention. I received one precious letter and one very angry telephone call in response. That person had every right to be angry as I could tell my story without involving him/her. Mine is the only story I have the right to tell. I guess I'll never know how the other letters were received, for they never acknowledged receiving them. However, I felt I had made everyone who might be affected aware that I was going to do what God had directed me to do. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">And, now He began opening doors for me to tell it--churches, prison, small women's groups,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">and one on one as hurting women heard of my story and wanted to share the pain they were carrying. I think the place that both surprised me the most and broke my heart was in Kentucky State Prison with approximately 45 inmates</span><span style="font-family: Arial;">. They listened so attentively that I knew I was striking a familiar chord. A lot of these men had been sexually abused as children. Although they aren't allowed to hug a woman, they would take my hand in both of theirs, look me directly in the eyes, and say softly, "Thank you, Ma'am" as they filed out of the chapel. The last one in line looked to be a teenager. As I looked into his hurting eyes, I wanted to put my arms around him to take away his pain. Instead, I turned quickly and burst into tears.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"> As satisfying as each of these experiences was, I knew they needed more than I could offer them in a telephone conversation or speaking to them. My heart became heavy as I tried to pray about this. But, something seemed to be blocking my prayers.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Eventually, God revealed that He wanted me to go to my abuser and tell him that I had forgiven him. I couldn't believe He would ask me to confront someone who had used me so badly and who now appeared to have convinced himself that he had never done anything wrong. I feared confronting someone whom I knew would become angry. In other words, I knew I was in for quite a scary experience. I decided that was asking more of me than I could do, so I didn't go. But, our God is a patiently persistent and loving God. He knew the plans he had for asking me to go to my abuser, and eventually I could no longer stand being disobedient to Him.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Once I had made up my mind to go, I knew I had to go soon or I would lose my nerve. So, early one morning I got in the car and drove the twenty-plus miles to the home he shared with his wife and her son. I was concerned as to whether or not she should be a part of this confrontation. I needn't have worried.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">When I arrived, I saw that the person I'd come to see was not there. Seeing his wife's car in the garage, I decided to visit with her and maybe learn when her husband would be home. I knocked several times before she came to the door. When she finally did, I knew something was wrong. She never went without makeup and her hair always looked as if she had been to a beauty parlor that day. But, today her eyes were red from crying, and she hadn't attempted to comb her hair nor apply the ever-present make-up. I asked what in the world was wrong. I waited and had decided she didn't want to answer my question, but suddenly she took a deep breath and said, "My </span><span style="font-family: Arial;">husband accused me last night of sleeping with my own son. How could he ever think I could do such a sick thing?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">That answered any doubt I had as to whether she needed to be included in this confrontation. I felt it was time she knew some answers, so I asked her to sit down. We both sat at the kitchen table and I told her that his accusations were coming from a guilty conscience. Then I told her of the years of abuse I had suffered at his hands. We talked for a good while before we heard her husband's truck in the driveway.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">He walked into the kitchen and looked first at me and then his wife. Turning to me again, he asked angrily, "What are you doing here?" Before I could answer, his wife interjected quickly, "Joe (not his real name), I didn't call her." There was fear in her eyes.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Ignoring her, he demanded again to know why I was there.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">"I came to tell you that I forgive you for the years of sexual abuse at your hands," I answered determinedly.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">His anger turned to rage as he shouted that I was lying and that I was out of place. This went on for what seemed to be forever, but in reality was probably only minutes. Finally, with my hands gripped together in my lap so that he couldn't see them shaking, I said quietly but with conviction, "I'm not afraid of your anger anymore."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Suddenly, he screamed loudly and fell to his knees beside the kitchen chair. As he knelt, he began begging God to forgive him. Then he asked if I could forgive him. I walked around the table, laid my hand on his shaking shoulder and told him that was all I'd ever wanted to hear. He continued praying, so I slipped out the door. His repentance was between him and the Jesus he had at one time so loved.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">(I had thought that going to my abuser and telling him I forgave him was for my benefit. What I still have a hard time wrapping my mind around is His love--a love that loves abuser and victim alike. All through the years, he had loved the one who abused me--his victim. And the love of God used the victim to draw the abuser to Himself. I just can't grasp that kind of love, but I gladly accept it.) </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">I hadn't realized just how much of a toll on my nerves the scene with him had taken. But, as I put my foot on the gas pedal, it shook up and down on it making the car buck jump. I realized then that my body was shaking all over. I prayed, "Oh, God, You brought me here. Please help me get home safely!"</span> <span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He did, and as soon as my husband returned home from work, I told him everything that had taken place with my abuser. He listened but didn't comment just then. It would be the next day before I knew how he felt about the confrontation.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">I pray, as you read my story, that if you, too, have a history of sexual abuse, that you will not compare your story with mine or any other person's. We each, if we allow Him, will walk our own journey to wholeness with God along the path He ordains. I began my own journey at the age of 48, so I've traveled it for 25 years. I've called it a terribly/wonderful journey. God brought me through the terrible part and walks with me still through the wonderful part. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"> Not, everyone will be asked to confront their abuser as I was. But, in case you feel God leading you to do so, here are some tips I learned from my own experience plus a few I've read of others' experiences.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">1. BE SENSITIVE TO GOD'S TIME WHEN AND <strong>IF</strong> HE LEADS YOU TO GO TO HIM.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"> Don't be pressured by others, or your own sense of what is the right thing to do.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">2. NEVER GO ALONE!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"> Some abusers are violent and could harm you. Confrontation takes a toll on us regardless of the outcome. We need the physical and emotional support of another person.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">3. GO IN PRAYER AND NOT IN YOUR OWN STRENGTH.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">4. KNOW YOUR MOTIVE FOR GOING.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"> Though I chose not to share it, I had confronted my abuser once before--in anger. I came away from that experience shaken by the fact that I had wanted to kill him.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">5. TRUST GOD FOR DISCERNMENT IN DETECTING FALSE SORROW (SELF-PITY) FROM TRUE REPENTANCE.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">True repentance will show itself as real sorrow over his sin. False sorrow will show itself as self-pity.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">6. DON'T OFFER RELATIONSHIP WITHOUT REPENTANCE</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"> Forgiveness can be offered w/out repentance, relationship cannot.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">7. KNOW WHAT IS YOUR RESPONSIBILITY AND WHAT IS NOT.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"> Make no demands on your abuser, but don't back down from stating the truth and offering forgiveness. Once we've genuinely done this, our responsibility toward him is done. We must keep our hearts open for his repentance, but not try and make things easy for him to deny his sin, commit it against someone else, or take away his need for repentance.</span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11216222056615054936noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2520018745472172164.post-56312215294369192752013-08-05T18:35:00.000-07:002013-08-05T18:35:30.812-07:00SETTING OUT ON AN UNCHARTED JOURNEY<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A quick summary for those who are reading these posts for the first time:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">I am 73 years old and was diagnosed last year with Parkinson's Disease. It is a disease in which the brain doesn't make enough of the chemical that controls the muscles. It is progressive and has very quickly limited my ability to move. The story I've been relating in former posts is one that I have an urgency to get to as many women who have been sexually abused as I possibly can. I don't tell it as an ego trip. It is a passion I have to let these women know how very much our God wants us to be healed completely of the shame, fear, and protective habits we have developed to keep ourselves safe. Healing is a journey. This is an account of my journey with the wonderful and life-changing ending that I want to share. It is an account of what God has done in my life as I've made this journey with Him. It is to tell you that He desires the same for you as He has done for me.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">I have shared the part of my journey that I made mostly on my own. I made many mistakes in doing that--choosing two incompatible husbands, keeping the secret of the abuse locked deep in my soul for many years, living a life of denial, attempting suicide, and finally reaching the end of my own strength by having what the doctor diagnosed as "a near nervous breakdown". It was at this point, broken and helpless, that I finally admitted that I had been damaged and needed help--help that God was waiting to give. And, I began to allow him to guide and walk with me on the journey toward healing. It was not an easy journey and it would test the strength of my wonderful marriage and me as an individual. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">When I returned from the 2 1/2 weeks in the program for sexually abused women, I felt I had done all I needed to do to complete my healing. But, it didn't take me long to realize that I still needed help. I joined a secular support group led by a trained counselor. They all seemed to be stuck at the anger stage and soon I followed their example. My anger didn't stay within the group setting, though. I brought it home with me and my family suffered the brunt of it. After several weeks of this, my husband told me he thought I was getting worse instead of better. He was right. I quit that group and waited to see what I should do next.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">As I waited, I realized that my husband was getting tired of hearing about my past. He wanted me to quit "feeling sorry for myself", put it behind me and become the wife he'd married twelve years earlier. But, I had tried that too long and failed. The woman he had married no longer existed, for I could never go back to living the lie of denial. Whatever it took or no matter the cost, I wanted to be real and honest in my inner being as the Bible tells us God desires. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Our relationship became very strained and we could barely speak to one another.</span><span style="font-family: Arial;">One night I told him I was leaving but that I would be back. He asked where I was going and I answered honestly that I didn't know. I just knew that I had to get away from the strain long enough to think clearly. I ended up in a motel room a few miles from home. Unable to sleep, I sat and wrote all night long about my past. When I returned home the next morning, I handed what I had written to my husband. He sat down and began reading it. When he had finished, he looked up with compassion in his eyes and asked, "How can I help?" I asked him to just let me heal. I thought I coulld go through the healing process and he wouldn't have to be involved. But, what affects one marriage partner affects the other, so we finally decided to face this together. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">A few days later, a friend and fellow teacher called. She was having a terrible reaction to some medication her doctor had prescribed. Knowing that I had had several such reactions, she thought I might be able to help. Brenda (not her real name) was not making much sense as she talked, so I advised her to call her doctor. She was about to hang up when with as much clarity of mind as ever, she told me she had seen a friend of hers in Madisonville by the name of Martha Stevenson that day. "She's about to start a group that I think you should be a part of." She gave me Martha's telephone number and, without further explanation, hung up.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">I called Martha the next day. She was very friendly and invited me to attend a Christ-centered sexual abuse recovery group that she and her pastor's wife would be co-facilitating beginning the following week. Although I was for some reason terrified, I decided to check it out. Martha greeted me with open arms and calmed my fears. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">It was a large group. As it began, we were invited to tell our stories. They began on the other side of the room and as I listened, all I could think was that, except for the specifics, each of them was telling my life's story. Many of them had <span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">attempted</span> suicide, all of them had physical ailments that the doctor couldn't diagnose, all of them had problems with relationships and several had been married more than once, and all of them struggled in their Christian walk. I knew I was in the right place and that God had brought me there through a friend who was out of her mind with medication. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">As the group progressed, the rage that I had suppressed for so long surfaced--along with the pain, guilt, and shame with which I had lived for better than 35 years. (Martha laughs as she tells me how much my anger scared her when I would explode in the group.) Fortunately for me, she didn't let me know that. I would have shut down and slowed the progress of healing. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">There were many times I wanted to just quit the group and slide back down into the hole of denial. But, that spark of hope and the encouragement of my fellow "travelers" kept me on the journey I had begun. I kept a journal during that time and want to share a few words from it.</span><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Arial;">Feb. 15, 1992</span></em><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> "<em>The Monster rears its head again today! ....I feel drained and deserted as I awaken--numb almost. I lie there until feeling comes. and what comes is a deep desire (fantasy really) for a hospital somewhere that could open up abused persons' heads and cut away all of the pain, the memories, the denial--and I could come back to my family, my friends, and everyone my " old sellf'. Only, this time it would be real and not pretense. The black wouldn't be flauntingly pointing out the falseness within and I wouldn't be silently screaming for someone to recognize how much I'm really hurting. For I feel that the only time I'm not pretending is when I'm facing the reality of the pain....I'm so heavy! 'Lord, it seems so much easier to kill my soul again--at least temporarily. But, You, in Your all-encompassing wisdom, refuse to allow that. ... I realize that my only source of healing is from you, and <span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">that</span> this struggle is mine to face. I cannot force it on my family--even when it seems that the pain is the only reality that there is. So, I ask You not to take the pain away (though my human frame longs secretly for a miraculous instantaneous "cure) until my soul is bared and I see myself in all the ugliness --not only of what someone else has done to me, but the even greater pain I've caused myself by not having the courage to really live, and thus aborting the reason for which You created me. Thank You for Your love, understanding, and strength that You alone can provide. And Father thank You for a place where I can be real for a couple of hours each week among others who understand as no one else can."</em></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My purpose in sharing a little of the pain of my journey is to let those of you who may be at various stages of your own healing journey know that I understand your pain and have been there, and I never want to forget that struggle. For if I do, I will not have the compassion to be willing to hurt with you on your own journey. And if I forget the pain, I will forget to honor the One who brought me through it by obeying Him and telling it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I shared in an earlier post that I called this a terribly/wonderful journey. When we have surgery to cut away cancer from our bodies, we suffer physical pain before we are healed. The same applies to emotional healing. As God cuts away that which is making us "sick", there is deep emotional pain. But, just as we entrust our bodies to a surgeon for physical healing, we can entrust our pain-filled emotions to the Great Physician. </span><span style="font-family: Arial;">I've begun by describing and sharing some of the terrible part of this terribly/wonderful journey. I think understanding the terrible part helps each of us to better appreciate and be grateful for God's wonderful healing grace.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As I had done following the group I had participated in during the 2 1/2 week hospital stay, I felt when this group was finished that my healing journey was complete, but it wasn't.</span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Two years later, I attended another group led by Martha. This time we used Dan Allender's <u>The Wounded Heart </u>with an accompanying workbook. It had much more depth than the book we'd used the first time and helped us to see and take responsibility for how our ways of protecting ourselves had hurt everyone we loved. I began reading every book I could find that I felt would help me to reach my goal of being whole. And I found a wealth of them that helped me to continue learning about sexual abuse, it's prevalence, and the very real and damaging after effects that haunted those who had suffered at the hands of a perpetrator. The more I learned, the more compassion I felt for these women and the need to do something to help them. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">When I would go to seminars and prayer was offered, I would always go up. Two of those times stand out as evidence that God was continuing his healing work in my life. One was in Goodletsville, Tennessee. Martha and I were becoming trusted friends and had decided to attend this conference together. As the man leading the conference was praying with me,he asked me to visualize the one who had abused me kneeling at the altar behind us. I am not a visual person, so I was surprised when I did envision him kneeling there crying. But, God did more than allow me to see my abuser repenting. Behind the altar was a black robed person with arms folded across the chest. I could not see a face, but I knew in my heart that it was me and that I was standing in self-righteous judgement of my abuser. When the man who was praying with me asked what I would like to say to my abuser, I answered, "I think I need to join him at the altar."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">The second prayer that affected me deeply was at the altar of a large Methodist Church in Pensacola, Florida. As I walked toward him, he said, "I see that you are in need of some healing." I didn't have to tell him why I was there, for God's Holy Spirit revealed it to him. I was amazed as I listened to his prayer and it was like oil to my soul. Then he asked me to open my eyes and look at him. I looked into a pair of the most compassionate and loving eyes I had ever seen. All I could think of was, "This is what it must have felt like looking into Jesus' eyes."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">"Will you forgive me?" he asked. I was completely taken back. But, as I continued to look into those compelling eyes, there was only one answer I could give. "Yes", I whispered. And I felt a tight band snap from around my heart. Another man had been praying with Dick, and suddenly I heard a heartbroken sob as he threw his arms around me saying, "I'm so sorry for what happened to you." God allowed him a glimpse into the horror of sexual abuse and it broke his heart.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">As God poured more of his compassion into my healing heart, I began to look for ways to reach out to others in similar pain. For two years, I volunteered at Rape Victim Services in Owensboro, Kentucky. While there, my heart ached with several girls and women. But, one child I will never forget. I went to the police station to stay with her while the police went to get the stepfather who raped her on a regular basis. As I sat on the couch with her head in my lap, she said, "Now my mama will believe me." I fought back the tears as her mother stood on the other side of the door where the police had locked us for our safety and screamed to her daughter, "You're a dirty little liar. He never touched you." When the police finally took her mother away, that child's hopelessness was too heartbreaking to watch. She lay her exhausted little body down with her head in my lap and slept.</span><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The midnight calls and making the nearly thirty mile drive became too much and I quit volunteering at RVS. Martha and I were becoming closer to each other as we walked with one another through some rough times in each of our lives. We became transparently true with one another as we learned to trust each other's hearts. Neither of us dreamed that God was uniting our hearts that we might serve him together one day. I was just content to have a friend who knew me so well and loved me in spite of it. All of the years I had lived with a dark secret, I had not allowed another friend into my heart.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I took the training to volunteer at Door of Hope Pregnancy Care Center in Madisonville and was there about four years. Each experience broadened my understanding and acceptance of people whose experiences in life were so different from mine. And each time I grew, God was preparing my heart for His purpose for my life. </span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11216222056615054936noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2520018745472172164.post-64386939436618030072013-08-01T19:46:00.001-07:002013-08-22T19:19:46.311-07:00GROWING UP FAST<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><a name='more'></a>
When I started High School, I was very shy. However, that is not how it came across to my new classmates. In our Home Economics Class one day, the teacher asked us to get a clean sheet of paper and write our names at the top. She told us these were going to be Personality Sheets. We passed our paper and, as it went around, each girl wrote something about the person whose name was at the top of the paper.The result was to give us insight into the kind of personality we had. When I got my paper back, I was hurt and my shyness became even greater.</span>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">There were four kind remarks about me--by the four girls I'd known for eight years. The other remarks were cruel. Some of them were:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">"Thinks she's better than other people" (there were several of these)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">"Won't talk with anyone"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">"Unfriendly:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">"Stuck-up"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">The truth was, I had nothing to say that they would have wanted to hear. They dated, I didn't; they talked about their name-brand clothes, I wore the clothes my mother made, sometimes from feed sacks; they talked about what they were going to do when they got home, I went home and worked in the fields while keeping an eye out for my abuser. And, then, there was the constant worry that I would have a seizure and my classmates would witness it and see where I had lost control of my bladder while having it. So, they were right when they wrote that I wouldn't talk. I had learned to guard my tongue carefully, lest I unintentionally let someone find out what I considered my two dirty secrets--the abuse and the seizures.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">When I started my Junior year of High School, I had come out of much of that shyness and began making friends in my new school, especially boy friends. I dated for over a year the boy whose coke I doctored. (I wrote about this incident in my last post.) When I broke up with him, I began dating a boy that my teachers and other wise adults tried to warn me was not someone I needed to date. Their advice had the opposite effect on me than what they had hoped. The more they talked with me the more I defended him. And, the more I defended him, the more I was blinded to personality traits that should have been a red flag.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">My sister was also dating a boy. I can't remember how the idea of the two of us having a double wedding arose. I just remember that I didn't feel ready for marriage and wasn't sure I even loved the boy I was dating. But, for some reason, I couldn't voice my opinion. As would happen many times in the years to come, I allowed things to be decided for me and felt as if I were just standing on the sidelines and watching everything--even myself. I did make one attempt to tell my boyfriend that I didn't want to get married. He told me he would commit suicide if I didn't marry him. I didn't want to carry the guilt of causing some one's death, so I never mentioned it again. Looking back, I realize his threat was not out of love but the need to control. I also know that he would not have taken his life.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">What I didn't understand until many years later was that the sexual abuse had robbed me of my voice. In other words, I didn't feel I had the right to say "No" or to effectively express my opinions and desires, especially if my opinion differed from the people I was around.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">So, on February 14, 1958, our dad walked my sister and me down the aisle in a double-wedding ceremony. My new husband and I were both seventeen. I finished High School that year but he dropped out of school.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Even tho I had been an unwilling bride, I found I enjoyed being married and having my own home. We were living in a house supplied by the farmer for whom my husband worked for five dollars a day. I didn't get to wear my rose-colored glasses for long. The reality of living as an adult brought with it truth and responsibilities for which I was unprepared. But life has a way of maturing us when we have no choice but to accept them.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">I had always hated the word divorce and vowed that it would never happen to me. But, In less than three years we moved at least a dozen times. I had four pregnancies, two heartbreaking miscarriages, and two beautiful daughters, and I was facing charges for writing a cold check for overdue car payments. We had put the money from our taxes in the bank to save for the hospital bill when our second daughter arrived. When I wrote the check, I was unaware that my husband had spent it. I went to my dad and got the money to cover the check. But, by now I was seeing a future for my children and myself that I didn't want. We had lived with relatives, others had put food on our table, and my husband was reluctant to work. W</span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">ith a one-month old baby and an eighteen-month old toddler, I returned to my parents home penniless. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Mom and Dad offered to pay for me to start to college part-time to pursue my dream of becoming a teacher. Mom cared for my two children while I attended night classes. After two years, Mr. Knight, my High School Principal, called and offered me a job as secretary of Calhoun School. I worked there until I had enough hours to teach on an emergency certificate. The pay was far less than what the other teachers made ($3000 a year), but it enabled me to rent a house in Beech Grove for the girls and myself.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">We were probably happier in that little house than we'd ever been before. But, after nine years of being single, I was lonely and wanted a husband to make our home complete. </span><span style="font-family: Arial;">One day I told the girls I was going to marry the man I'd been dating for a few months. They begged me not to. I knelt and gathered them in my arms and said, "Girls, Mama would never do anything to hurt you. Please trust me." With the loving trust that only a child can have, they said, "OK, Mama." </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">That scene has played itself over in my mind many times, and each time it brings tears to my eyes. For, their intuition had been right and I had been wrong. And, for the next three years we would all suffer for my mistake.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">I remarried on November 15</span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">, 1969. It was soon apparent that my husband couldn't, nor did he have the desire, to be a father figure to my two daughters. In fact, he was unhappy being married and went into a deep depression. When he learned I was pregnant, he felt even more trapped. Though he loved our daughter who was born September 17, 1970, he became increasingly unhappy. My two older daughters changed from outgoing and happy children to withdrawn and obviously unhappy girls. Our marriage went downhill and I felt as if I were a total failure in life. Gradually my own life became so miserable that I no longer wanted to live. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">I used to blame what I did next on the unhappiness of my marriage. Now, I know that the unrelenting pain from the shame that I had carried since the age of thirteen was slowly but surely becoming too much to bear. I didn't have the emotional stability to face what was obviously coming--a second divorce. I went to our bathroom, got a bottle of phenobarbital that I took to control seizures, and swallowed all them. Then I lay down on the bed beside my husband and waited for them to put me out of my pain.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">As the pills began to take effect, I felt the tug of our two-year old daughter climbing up in the bed. Crawling on top of me she said, "Mama? Mama?" The realization of what I was about to do to my children brought me to my senses long enough to tell my husband what I had done and ask him to get me to the hospital where I remained unconscious for four days.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">I don't like to tell that part of this story, for I am ashamed of it. But, I have promised to be honest both with the wonderful ending and the sometimes shameful journey to get there.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">After I had been giving my testimony for a couple of years, I sat writing it one night in preparation for the following day. When I got to the part where I had attempted suicide, God revealed to me that trying to take the life He had given me had hurt Him more than anything I had ever done or anything that had ever been done to me.</span> <span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It was a painful revelation but one that He knew I must have if I am to be a truthful witness to who He is.</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11216222056615054936noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2520018745472172164.post-61733928860274879422013-07-30T22:17:00.000-07:002013-08-01T14:53:22.212-07:00INNOCENCE TURNS TO SHAMEI walked slowly toward the house. My heart was broken and the world had become a fearful place in the blinking of an eye. Tentatively, I placed my right foot on the bottom step leading up to the porch. When it held my weight, I was surprised. I had expected to it dissolve beneath me the way life as I had known it had. My mind was whirling as I tried to grasp what had been done to me by someone I loved and trusted. Why had he so betrayed that love and trust? Approximately 30 minutes ago,I had been awakened from a deep and peaceful sleep as I lay on a quilt in the yard to escape the suffocating July heat that made the house unbearable. We didn't have air conditiioning. As I slowly awakened, I felt hands groping my body. I opened my eyes to protest and was filled with horror and unbllief as the bright moonight identified the person who was violating both my body and soul. Filled with shame and fear, I closed my eyes and pretended to stil be sleeping. I was too ashamed to even let him know that I was aware of what he was doing to me. Eventually, he quit and went on his way. I was left feeling dirty, used, and, most of all, confused. It was in this state of confusion that I made my way into the house and to bed. When I awoke the next morning, I lay there with a vague feeling of uneasines until the experience of the night before once again filled me with a pervadng shame. I didn't realize it then, but shame was to become so ingrained in my heart that it would be my constant companion for the next 45 years. I became so flled with it that it affected every aspect of my personality. And it was shame that made me keep that vile secret to myself. Sadly, the same silences many children today and has done so through the years. It was the knowledge of my silence that gave my abuser the opportunity to continue violating me. He knew his vile acts were "safe" with me. I learned to be on constant alert for his presence and tried to avoid ever being alone with him -- without success. But, living in a state of hypervigilence took its toll on my emotional stability. After a year, I began having long, uncontrollable crying spells. Mom tried for weeks to find out what was wrong and finally took me to our gruff family doctor of whom I was afrad. After Mom told him what was happening, he demanded to know what was going on. The only response he got from his questioning was my pesistant "Nothing,". He finally became angry with me and left his office. I was never able to share with my mother that I was living a life of hopeless desperation. The human mind can only stand so much until it must find an outlet for the torment, shame, fear, and guilt that filled every tense moment of my concious thoughts. At age 15, my brain found that outlet in the form of grand mal seizures. My seizures were uncontrolled for the next twenty years. In 1975, I entered the hospital for a hysterectomy. I asked the nurses if they would tell Dr. Segarbarth I would like to see him while I was in the hospital. He was the doctor who had diagnosed me as being an epeleptic twenty years earlier. It was surely God Who had led me to ask to see him, for after an EEG he told me there was no reason for me to ever have another seizure if he got my medication regulated. In tbe 40 plus years since then, I have suffered one seizure. The doctor had put me on a s strong antidepressant when I was hospitalized in 1988 for severe depressiion. It caused the seizure. I had always believed my seizures were the result of the sexual abuse, but because I took so long to confide in my doctor, my belief wasn't confirmed until last year on the day I was diagnosed with Parkinson's Disease. I told Dr. Cox, a neurologist I'd known for many years and who knew of my history of sexual abuse, that I had read in a book several years ago that when a teenage girl started having seizures and no physical cause could be found, that her family dyamics should be checkd. He repled quietly, " We're taught that in medical school." For a few days, I was saddened that I had spent so many years on medication and suffered numerous seizures, yet no doctor had ever asked about my family dynamics. Then it dawned on me that even if they had, they would have probably concluded that we were the "perfect family" that I'd often heard my mother say we were, for I realized that I could never have overcome my shame to let them know the truth. Gradually, I figured out a way to make my abuser leave me alone. I would go into a violent rage and he was afraid of my anger. This helped to solve an immediate problem, but eventually became a problem itself, for i used anger as a tool to solve most of my problems. Anger can become an addiction of its own, and that's just wnat nappened to me. And it affected every relationship in my adult life. I began dating a boy my Sophomore year in High School. He was fun to be with, and I was not above pulling an occasional trick on him. One Sunday we stopped at the restaurant in the small town about three miles from my home. We each ordered a Coke. Before they arrived, my date had turned around and was talking with the couple in the booth behind us. I started drinking my coke and waited for him to turn his attention back to me. I waited......and waited.......and waited. Finally, I thought he needed some punishment for ignoring me, so I carefully emptied quite a bit of the salt shaker in his coke,wiped it clean and waited. After a few more minutes of being so neglected, I picked up the pepper shaker and did as I has with the salt shaker.... and waited. At last my patience was rewarded when he turned around and took a big drink from his coke. I'm not sure which bulged the most--his eyes or his cheeks. But, his eyes told me I was in trouble, so I grabbed his keys, ran to the car, and locked the doors. I wouldn't open them until he promised not to hurt me. I was sick the next day and he sent a note home by my sister. At the bottom was a picture he'd drawn of my childish prank entitled, "The Peppering Princess". We dated for a couple of years and I began to realize that his family was a bit higher on the social ladder than ours. Besides, I felt dirty and beneatb him. I sabotaged our relatiionship and began dating a boy I felt was more on my level. I was too hard-headed to listen to the warnings from teachers and others that it was a mistake. I had to learn that lesson for myself. Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11216222056615054936noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2520018745472172164.post-78908241629243748772013-07-27T12:43:00.000-07:002013-07-27T12:43:03.363-07:00Going Back in Order to Move Forward<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Finally, I am able to access the blog page again. I aologize to those who miight have thought I'd started something I didn't intend to finish. Nothing could be further from the truth. I'm just not a very technically-minded person, and when a problem arises with the computer, I'm at a loss to know what to do.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I'd like to clarify something before proceeding.</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">When a person has been sexually abused, there is damage to her whole being--deep, deep damage. And it doesn't diminish with time. Dr. Dan Allender, therapist, psychhologist, and author, states in his book, entitled <u>The Wounded Heart</u>, that time seems only to intesnsify the pain. Dr. Allender speaks from experience, for he, too, was a victim of sexual abuse.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">The reason I wanted to explain that is because, in the Christian community, a person who seeks help for the wounds that time and all of the Bible reading in the world don't help is often viewed as being weak in faith. How many times I've heard the words, "Just forgive and forget." And how I strugggled to do that very thing for many years, only to fail. I knew in my heart that I'd forgiven, but that didn't heal the pain any more than a bandaid will heal a skin cancer. When I told my family that I was going to get help, I heard the words, "A Christian shouldn't have to go for help." Thankfully, that person's opinion changed with time and she became a strong support for me.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">To live with denial in our hearts is to live a lie. Living a lie does not honor God for He desires truth in our inner being--our heart and mind. Salvation secures our soul for Him, but we must also allow Him to purify our heart and mind. When we've lived with a dark secret, that is sometimes a long process. But it is a process that is necessary for us to live lives free of guilt, shame, and pain. It is a process well worth the effort, and we are not alone in it. For Jesus has promised to never leave us nor forsake us. </span><br />
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Most of us have experienced getting lost while driving by being so preoccupied we forget to make a necessary turn. When that happens, we must go back to where the mistake was made. Although it makes us feel foolish to have been so absent-minded, we know we must return there if we are to get to our destination.<br />
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1/3 of all girls are sexually abused by age eighteen. Sexual abuse is a perverted act against the very soul of the victim, and, but by the grace of God, it would kill that soul. Although she continues growing mentally and physically, she is often frozen emotionally at the age she is victimized. For her own emotional maturity, and for those she loves, it is necessary to go back to the place where the damage was done if she is to find healing that will break the grip the past holds on her present life. <br />
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For 35 years, I had lived in denial that I had been affected in any way by the sexual abuse I'd experienced. In 19988, in order to move on with my life, I had to make a choice. No woman ever wants to revisit the place in her life where she was helpless to prevent the loss of her innocent childhood. But, because I knew I couldn't continue my life as I had, I was desperate for change.<br />
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The psychiatrist to whom my medical doctor referred me when I confided in him knew this and asked if I would be willing to go to another state for 2 and1/2 wees and enter a program especially designed for women who had been sexually abused. It was hard to leave my family and it frightened me to face something I knew nothing about. But, I chose to go.<br />
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There were five of us in the group with two young facilitators. My first thought, when I saw the youngest one, was, "That little twerp won't be able to help me!" I couldn't have been more wrong. That young girl ended up sitting in the floor and holding and rocking me for some time as I sobbed uncontrollably in relating years of shame, fear, pain, and guilt. She and the rest of the group cried and walked with me each step of the painful story that poured from "the basement of my soul". I did the same for each of them as they told their heartbreaking stories. I learned a lot about the reasons for my behavior. I had lived a life of defense lest I ever be hurt so devastatingly again.<br />
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I'm going to lay a short background before getting to the painful part of this story. Also, I have chosen not to identify my abuser. It isn't for him, but for others that I've made the decision to keep all names confidential. And as unbelievable as it may seem at this stage of the story, I know he would be proud that I am sharing it.<br />
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On March 22, 1940, in Breckeridge County, Kentucky, my mother delivered an eleven and one-half pound baby girl at home--me. My dad was in the hospital in Louisville because of a hand that he had mashed working on the railroad. It was one of the WPA projects that President Rosevelt had created to provide jobs for people as the country was still suffering from the depression of the late 1920's. I was the second of four children that mom would have in a five-year period. I have a sister thirteen months older than I, a brother fifteen months younger, and our baby brother who was born 21 months after him. Not long after delivering her last child, Mom learned she had uterine cancer and had to have a hysterectomy. Before she reached her 30th birthday, her doctor discovered colon cancer and she underwent another surgery. My mother was an exceptionally strong woman, but those surgeries and four children in such a short span of time left her with lilttle strength. My major caregiver in those early years was my dad. It isn't surprising that my bond with him was stronger than it ever was with my mother.<br />
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Dad was a sharecropper, which meant we lived on a farm owned by somene else, raised their crops, and shared the profit with them. We moved to Daviess County when I was three then to McLean County the year I started scool. I have few memories of my own before starting school. We all worked in the filelds alongside Mom and Dad as we grew. I hated housework with a passion but loved being out in the fields, even though the work was hard and tiring.<br />
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Our social life consisted of church on Sunday, the grocery store on Saturday night for groceries while visiting with the other farm families in town for the same reason, and playing with the many cousins that often came with their parents for Sunday dinner. Although we could play dominoes and Monopoly, card games were prohbited along with parties, movies, and above all, dancing. It may seem as if that was a restricted way to live, but on a farm there are too many things for a girl to do to ever become bored with her life.<br />
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One of the things I loved to do when I didn't have to be in the fields was to escape to my secret place with a favorite book. I would run to the creek, wade in the cool water, then climb throgh the woods to a meadow. A home had once stood there and someone had planted an orchard of various fruit trees. I would fill the lap of my skirt with plumbs, apples, and peaches then go to the middle of the orchard, lie down on my back to watch the white puffy clouds scoot across the sky as I ate the fruit I'd gathered. Most of the time the warm sun would lull me to sleep and the book I'd brought would lay neglected.<br />
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I was telling a friend about this one day and she remarked, "Betty, you must have felt safe to lie in an open field and sleep!" I'd never considered it before, but as I did, I realzed that nothing in the first twelve years of my life had ever given me reason to doubt that the worlld was a safe place. <br />
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I'm so grateful to have had those twelve years of security, for at the age of thirteen I was about to learn that the world is not always safe, that evil existed in it. Worse, I was about to experience that evil as it existed in the hearts of people I trusted. <br />
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But, God, in His great mercy drew me to Himself one Sunday morning at the end of our white-haired pastor's sermon and sealed my soul for Himself. I went to the altar and gave my life to Jesus Christ. Mom had not come to church with us that Sunday, so as soon as Dad stopped the car, I jumped out and ran into the house shouting. "Mom, I've been saved, I've been saved!" <br />
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Some time later that year, I began to be sexually abused. Shame permeated my life and I would be nearly sixty years old before I would experience the peace and joy of that moment.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11216222056615054936noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2520018745472172164.post-60021682279828131672013-07-20T18:29:00.003-07:002013-07-20T18:29:44.405-07:00BROKEN<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">(I want to correct an error in my first post. The material we use in our sexual abuse recovery groups is entitled "In the Wildflowers" not "In the Wilderness". Thank you, Sidekick, for keeping me straight.)</span><br />
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<em>"Even when I am old and gray, do not forsake me, O God, till I declare your power to the next generation, your might to all who are to come." (Psalm 71:18)</em></div>
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<em>"...You are my witnesses", declares the Lord, "that I am God." (Isaiah 43:12b)</em></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In the fall of 1976, I sat at my desk checking my students' papers while they were at PE.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It was something I never tired of doing as it gave me insight into their progress and provided an opportunity to write encouraging notes to them. I</span><span style="font-family: Arial;"> glanced at the clock and noticed they would be returning in about ten minutes--just enough time to finish the last two papers and take a quick bathroom break.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">As I started to check the next paper, I suddenly burst out sobbing uncontrollably. It frightened me, and as soon as I felt I was under control, I hurried to the teachers' lounge to wash my face. I was relieved when I found the lounge empty. My face was red from crying, but there was nothing I could do about that. The students' faces would be red from running, so maybe they wouldn't notice. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">If they did, they didn't mention it as we began our Science lesson. The tears were gone along with an odd desperation that I had experienced while sobbing. I was able to maintain my composure for the rest of the school day. But it was a tenuous composure at best.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">That night we had a PTA meeting scheduled. I really didn't feel up to attending but knew we were expected to be there. As I entered the lunchroom and looked at the packed crowd, I was overwhelmed with fear. I took a seat beside my friend and determined to fight whatever this was. But, the longer I sat there, the stronger the panic became. Finally, I literally got to my feet and ran out of the room and called my husband to come and get me. I was in no shape to drive.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">When we got home, my husband asked what was wrong. I felt silly, for I had no answer for him. I didn't know what was wrong. I only knew that when the panic came, I had to run--get away. I didn't know that what was happening had a name. But, I was experiencing panic attacks.</span> <span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My doctor told me a few years later that when I began to have a panic attack I should just say to myself, "Now, this is all in my head." I tried that only to find that a person experiencing a panic attack doesn't listen to reason. It's just sheer terror. If you've experienced them, you know what I mean. If you haven't experienced them, be very grateful.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">For the next eleven years, I held myself together enough to continue teaching and living a "normal" life at home. I still had occasional panic attacks and various illnesses that the doctors could never pinpoint. I felt odd and often wondered why I was different from everyone else. And, finally the strain became too much.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">In the fall of 1987, I was hospitalized for severe depression. In February of 1988, I broke emotionally. The doctor said I was suffering a "near nervous breakdown". I think he was being kind. For the first time in my life I was truly helpless. I couldn't even stand in church and hold a songbook.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">I had reached the end of my own strength in trying to hold my life together. I was broken emotionally and physically--unable to continue teaching or even fulfill my duties as a wife and mother. Brokenness is a horrible feeling, but in reality it was just where I needed to be.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"> For years I had denied the truth that a childhood trauma of sexual abuse had affected me in any way. Actually, it affected every area of my life--physically, emotionally, spiritually, and above all, relationally. Every person I loved had also been affected by my decision to live in denial.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">I confided in my doctor. He looked at me and said, "Now I understand you." He said I needed help he couldn't give me and made an appointment with a psychiatrist. She was a very understanding and compassionate woman to whom I owe an awful lot of gratitude.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">The Bible tells us that God desires truth in the inward being. I knew I had not lived by His desire. But, now I wanted that above all things. The time had come for me to face that truth and allow God to teach me how to live with it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">I was about to begin what I call a terribly/wonderful journey to emotional healing. It was a long and often painful journey, and many times I just wanted to quit and go back to living in denial. But, the spark of hope that had been ignited kept me from giving up. And the thought of going back to living a life of what, to me, amounted to a lie, was not something I could any longer do.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">My best friend had looked at me one day and said, "Betty, you are the falsest person I've ever known." I was hurt, but more than that, I was clueless as to what she meant.</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It would be several years before I could see in myself what she saw that day.</span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11216222056615054936noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2520018745472172164.post-4082143761928374182013-07-19T13:39:00.001-07:002013-09-10T16:13:56.963-07:00Set Free and Given a Purpose for LifeAs I re-read my first post, I realize if you don't know me, you may have thought it rather egotistical of me to feel driven to get my story out. As I've had to accept the reality that this is the last year I will be able to co-facilitate a group for sexually abused women, I've been saddened. A precious friend recommended a blog. I had to ask what that was and she was gracious enough to set it up for me. I am so grateful for this new outlet.<br />
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In this post. I will attempt to explain why I feel driven to get the complete story out.<br />
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In the late 1990's, I had been on a healing journey for about ten years. But, although God had done a mighty work in me through those years, I carried shame like a heavy cloak. God is faithful and what He begins He will complete.<br />
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Our church, Island United Methodist, had a lay revival that lasted three months. It was a powerful move of God and drew people from surrounding towns and even another state. Three experiences during this revival set me free and gave me a passion and purpose that time has only intensified.<br />
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The first was when a friend came up to me and said laughingly, "Betty, I had a dream about you last night." I laughed, too, and asked her to tell me about it. In her dream, she had come to my home for a visit. I was dressed and just leaving, so I invited her to come along. She did, and we drove until we reached a rather large church. "What are we doing here?" my friend asked. I assured her that she would soon see. We walked into the church and it was packed with women. "Betty, you walked to the podium. You were there to speak with them." I had laughed with her until she spoke that last sentence. But, I began to cry as I realized in my spirit that this was no ordinary dream. My heart hurt with the conviction that God was letting me know that He had a message He wanted to speak through me. But, I had no idea what I had to say to anyone. I was puzzled.<br />
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The next night, I sat listening as the young man behind me stood and told of how God had delivered him from a life of alcohol and drugs and of how He was now using his testimony to deliver others. As had happened with my friend's dream, a sharp pain tore through my heart. I could only bow my head as the tears flowed. But, my heart cried out silently, "Oh, God! I wish I had a testimony that would help others, but mine is too full of shame." I didn't think of that as a prayer, but God hears the cry of our heart.<br />
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A few days later, I sat down in the recliner at home. As I rested, I heard a voice that I recognized immediately, though I'd never heard it before. I can only describe it as one of gentle authority. He spoke the following words that are seared in my heart and mind: <em>"Your testimony is not a testimony of shame. It's a testimony of praise; because it's not about you, it's about Me and what I've done in your life and I want you to tell it."</em><br />
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I jumped out of that recliner clapping my hands and praising our God. And, as I did, that ugly robe of shame dropped from me never to be worn again.<br />
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Now I was free, and I knew the message He wanted me to get out for women who hurt as I did for many years.<br />
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Some of you will question the reality of what I've just written. But, others of you will be able to relate as you, too, have heard the voice of the God who created the universe. The cross has made Him accessible to us.<br />
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Now that I have set the stage, I will begin next time, with the help of the Holy Spirit, to tell the story of what God has done in my life. Although I've lived the story it is not about me. To the extent I make it that, I will have failed. To the extent I make it His story, I will be obedient and it will be a story He can use in the lives of his precious daughters.<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11216222056615054936noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2520018745472172164.post-32354767684643555372013-07-18T17:25:00.000-07:002013-08-18T17:44:58.821-07:00Introducing Myself<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Hello!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">My name is Elizabeth (Betty) Jones Barber. I am 73 years old, a wife, and the mother of three precious daughters. I was blessed to be an elementary school-teacher most of my adult life. It was a dream come true and I passionately loved the children with whom I was entrusted.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">When my health resulted in having to give up teaching, I was lost for a couple of years. I hadn't realized how much I'd allowed my profession to define who I was.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">But, I finally realized that my identity lay in being a child of the Most High God. I am His daughter, loved by Him, kept by Him, and deeply indebted to Him. That is all the identity I need.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Last year, in early 2012, I was diagnosed with the progressive brain disease of Parkinson's. It has progressed so rapidly in this short time that I'm losing much of my mobility. I have a strange peace with this disease that has robbed my body of the ability to turn over, get out of bed, or even dress myself alone. I am fortunate to be loved deeply by my family and they have sacrificed much for me.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">But, I have a deep urgency to get my story out for those to whom I've been asked to give it. For several years, my friend, Martha Stevenson, and I have led sexual abuse recovery groups with varying degrees of success. Five years ago we began using material entitled "In The Wildflowers" produced by the American Association of Christian Counselors. We've seen such healing take place in the lives of the precious women whom God has allowed us to get to know and love. It is for them and the one of every three women who are sexually abused before the age of 18 that this story is written. It is them that I've been asked (commanded really) to tell it and let them know of the power of our Heavenly Father to take what we thought would kill us and turn it into a gift to us and others. I am going to share a poem God gave me in 2010 for His precious daughters who are hurting.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">But, first, I want to let anyone reading this to know that I will safeguard the identity of anyone who might have been a part of this story. I respect your privacy and realize that your story is not mine to tell.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"> Tell My Daughters</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;">My Child,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;">Tell My daughters</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;">I know they are hurting...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;">I see their tears and feel their fears.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;">I understand the rage beneath the smile</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;">that's ravaged them since they were a child.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;">I know those who are crying and inwardly dying,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;">Even as the past they try denying.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;">They really don't believe the effects were so bad,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;">so, can't understand why they are sad.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;">They feel they are covered with a robe of shame.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;">Tell them I know about their pain,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;">Tell them I saw...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"> When they were afraid and so confused</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"> As they were used and terribly abused;</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;">When they wanted to die for lack of hope</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;">and felt they wouldn't be able to cope;</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;">as they tried to tell and no one believed.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;">Tell them I saw, that I'm never deceived.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;">Tell them I understand...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;">why they decided I wasn't there,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;">that I didn't protect them and must not care;</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;">that they must keep themselves safe from pain--</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;">not let anyone close enough to hurt them again;</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;">why they turned to other things instead of Me;</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;">too frightened of Me and intimacy.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;">Tell them I understand---and I wait.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;">Oh. but tell my daughters</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;">what I've done for you;</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;">tell them all of the ways I've brought you through--</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;">from the depths of despair and loneliness</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;">to heights of pure joy and happiness'</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;">from the anger and fear that filled your every night</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;">to My perfect peace that took away that deep fright</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;">from shame and disgrace to restoration and redemption</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;">with a heart that's now free of all condemnation.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;">Tell them how I took your greatest pain</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;">and turned it into your greatest gain--</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;">a heart of passion for them.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;">Tell them I want nothing less for them.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;">My gift to you, Child,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;">is to tell my daughters for Me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;">-Betty Barber</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;">June 2010</span></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;">Co-facilitator of "Understanding & Healing Hidden Hurts" Ministry</span></div>
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