Listen to me . . . you whom I have upheld since your birth, and have carried since you were born. Even to your old age and gray hairs I am He, I am He who will sustain you. I have made you and I will carry you. Isaiah 46: 3, 4 NIV

April is sexual assault awareness month. When I considered what to share two days ago, the Lord immediately reminded me of a private piece I had written a while ago. It was my first thoughts on an experience that triggered my childhood memories of sexual abuse, loss, and rejection. So, I spent the day engrossed in the memory of what I had suffered, and the way I was re-victimized by friends and family. I recall the first time I was told, “You need to forgive and forget and move on!” I also remember the last conversation. And I’m sure it will be said again.

People mean well—they want to know that we will heal and be okay. Although, survivors of violence can forgive, and it is a process, we won’t forget the violent injustice that stole our voice and walk. It marred our view and how we relate to others. So, with faith we remember and then we re-member.

Whether we’re triggered by an old-fashioned toy, the slinky tunnel, or a wagged finger, hurtful word, badge, or spicy cologne, it matters not. We cannot control those moments when we’re struck numb with fear, vulnerability, and shame. Then again, we can learn how to handle our disassociation.

I thrust the slinky at my husband and then fled the store, my hometown, and the nervous peacocks, to brave the oppressive heat and humidity on a bench. But I wouldn’t sit alone long. An elderly man was soon gently positioned beside me, and as I focused on his need and limitations, I was strengthened. Before long, my breath returned and the bell on the door signaled that my husband had joined me. His hand on my elbow also steadied my wobbly legs. He has become accustomed to my balcony view. But he is not the only one.

We strolled up the sidewalk a short distance until a door was opened, and a man warmly invited us in. I won’t forget his eyes—they were pools of mercy and compassion. He must have seen my desperate escape, tears and rattled nerves and hands. He tried to make small talk with us, and he learned where we were from. He shared his wife’s impressive paintings and asked our opinion of her perspective. All the while, his eyes noticed my hurt and begged me to not look away. He was like Jesus.

We have a Shepherd who cares about the ONE lost, injured, and stubborn sheep. He chases us down.

I’d thought a few nights ago, “Do I dare post this blog?” My friends will think I’m crazy—loco. A freak! But the Holy Spirit whispered back, “Yes! Let go. You are peculiar and different. Chosen and set apart. Stand your ground. Hold down your fort. Help others understand.” Sexual violence IS uncomfortable. However, survivors don’t get an option, the privilege of one bystander view, “It’s not my problem!”

It should be everyone’s concern since 1 in 3 women and 1 in 6 men are sexually abused in their lifetime. Also, 1 in 4 girls and 1 in 6 boys will be abused before they turn the age of 18. (NSVRC)

Yesterday, I held down my fort and walked with my curious grandsons around our pond’s bank. The geese are back and we must dodge their mess. However, this year two male and one female mallard have made their home by our pines and cattails. We anticipate the birth of ducklings soon. I would prefer to think of myself as the ugly duckling rather than the proud and pretty peacock. Nevertheless, I am just as guilty of being the proud and agitated dandy.

I’m thankful that God isn’t finished with me. He has made me, and He will carry me and sustain me. He has a purpose for my vulnerability and transparency—He draws the outsider into the circle. Wait and see where He leads. I know I will return to the store, hometown, and friends.

It is the way of Eastertide.

Lily Mae