sexual abuse

Awaken the Dawn

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Wash yourselves, make yourselves clean; remove the evil of your deeds from My sight. Cease to do evil, learn to do good; seek justice, reprove the ruthless, defend the orphan, plead for the widow.

Isaiah 1: 16, 17 NASB

 

Awaken the dawn.
Perfect love casts out fear.
Our glory flag waves with purpose.
Freedom comes with a cost and responsibility.
We cannot remain silent.
God is love. He sacrificed His only begotten  Son.

Jesus was crucified so that the captives may be set free, the hearts and voices of the oppressed restored, and the gospel proclaimed to all nations. Jesus spoke against injustice; He defended the weak and vulnerable, the widow, orphan, outcast, and stranger. Our beliefs and response matter. We cannot say we abide in Christ, and yet hate our brothers and sisters. Revival begins with us.

Long before there was a “Me too!” movement, I was a desperate cry in a parched land. I was deemed “emotional” and shamed for my passion. As if only sexually abused women shed tears. Still, I rose against the tide of violence in our homes, churches, and communities and spoke out.

Like many, my soul is bruised again this week. I am outraged. Heartbroken. Traumatized. Breathless. Numb. Speechless. Words seem inadequate. But this I know . . . God is love.

And perfect love casts out fear.

When injustice also rears its ugly head with a snarly comment, silent dismissal, or clamped boot, I am determined to interrupt, rebuke, and re-frame the lies of hate and discrimination with Truth. I will focus on what is pure, lovely, right, just, and honorable and choose excellence. Love does not require me to embrace every world view and movement. But it does require that I see others through the lens of Christ. He values life and grants forgiveness and dignity to sinners. And I am the least of these.

Awaken the dawn. Change starts when we admit our own hurtful and destructive thoughts. The broken ones bow in humility. We repent and turn from our wicked ways. Wash and cleanse. Likewise, we choose forgiveness and holiness.

We must learn to do good. Put it into practice.
Seek justice and correct oppression.
Defend the powerless.

God is love. He gives breath to His people. He alone is able to heal our land and disease. Justice will be established in the earth.

Lord, we wait on you. We pray for your mercy and courage to be different. Unify your people. May our love for you and others be a flicker of hope to all who are suffering.

Lily Mae

A bruised reed He will not break and a dimly burning wick He will not extinguish; He will faithfully bring forth justice. He will not be disheartened or crushed until He has established justice in the earth; and the coastlands will wait expectantly for His law.
Isaiah 42: 3, 4 NASB

 

Eastertide

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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

 

God Knows my Name

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The Lord said to Moses, “I will also do this thing of which you have spoken;
For you have found favor in My sight and I have known you by name.”
Exodus 33: 17 (NASB)

 

I never liked my name. It could be because Martha means “lady” and “mistress of her house.” Both seem too stiff and proper to describe me. Although, I had no natural, athletic ability, I was a tomboy who grew up in a household with three brothers. We often played a boisterous game of basketball, we pushed, pulled, and taunted each other. And we had foul shot competitions. Then I rode my beat-up bike for hours on the dirt roads that were connected to our country lane.

Likewise, my brothers and I frequently explored the fields near our home and climbed a mulberry tree that fed many hungry birds. Our lips, hands, and bare feet wore their ripe evidence.  We also waded in the creek, searched for tadpoles, and built forts in the nearby woods. Times were different and my parents weren’t concerned for our safety.

My siblings and I weren’t allowed to watch much television, and computers, Facebook, and electronics didn’t exist. I spent most days barefoot outdoors, so my name was a contradiction. I was anything but poised. I was a restless runner of the fields.

Perhaps, I disliked my name because it reminded me of the trauma that my mother’s family experienced when her older sister, Martha, and her unborn baby were killed in a head-on collision. I was born several months later, and I carried the heavy loss with my name. I’ve often wondered if Martha was the true lady and mistress of her home; or, was she quiet and shy and a tomboy like me? Did I live up to her memory?  I blamed myself for the sorrow that lingered.

My name was also a cruel reminder that I’d been taken and I was no longer pure. I had no word for what happened. The window of my childhood shuddered with its dark secrets and tainted perspective. I recall the years lived in terror. I still feel the panic that overcame me as I checked my room each night. I looked in the closet, under the bed, locked the door . . . and then checked again. It was my bedtime routine. My privacy had been violated and my innocence stolen. I was on guard. I held my breath as if I passed through the Chesapeake Tunnel. But it wasn’t a fun competition.

Everything had changed. Sexual abuse left an ugly mark. I lost my safe place, position, and voice. I told no one in my family until I was an adult and I had children of my own. There was no easy manual that explained how to respond, not for the extended family, and not for the victims that began to come forward. But I began to heal as I wrote about my experiences. I released the hurt and anger as I identified and examined each ruin. Then I re-framed the lies of my abuse with God’s Truth. And God led me to freedom as my broken pieces fit together in a mysterious mosaic. Beauty was possible.

Like Moses, God knows our name and He favors us. He has a purpose for the pain we endure. He sees our need and affliction, and He breaks His silence. He rescues us from those who intend harm. We may not like our name and/or our history, or our once marred perspective, but we can praise Jesus for the freedom He now gives. When our identity rests in Him, we become part of His royal family. We no longer have to run in fear and doubt and restlessness. God’s presence is a promise that He goes with us, and He will give us rest. Therefore, we must tell the next generation of our hope. Jesus saves!

God knows you by name. Let Him lead you with His courage and confidence.

Be blessed!

Lily Mae

Upon you I was cast from birth; You have been my God from my mother’s womb. Be not far from me, for trouble is near; for there is none to help. Many bulls have surrounded me; strong bulls of Bashan have encircled me.  Psalm 22:10-12 (NASB)

 

 

 

 

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God Gives Strength and Peace

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Zaccheus was trying to see who Jesus was, and was unable because of the crowd, for he was small in stature. So he ran on ahead and climbed up into a sycamore tree in order to see Him, for He was about to pass through that way. When Jesus came to the place, He looked up and said to him, “Zaccheus, hurry and come down, for today I must stay at your house.” Luke 19: 3- 5 (NASB)

 

Restless from the weight of my worries and obligations, I strapped my snow shoes on and grabbed my poles. Fresh air is more often the balm for my tired nerves than work. Eager to be with the Creator of Calm, and all things beautiful, I chased my breath and the whip of the wind as the gray storm clouds pressed in on all sides. Nothing else mattered.

Is this how Zaccheus felt as he climbed the sycamore tree to catch a glimpse of Jesus?

I was awake. Alive. Excited. Ready. Hopeful. And I was open to see what God had in store. Yes! I’m sure neighbors who passed by raised a brow as I cut through the icy snow- especially if they knew the extent of my knee injuries and pain. They might have even doubted my sanity. I also questioned my unwise and lonesome trek. But freedom was found in the fields and forest. The bitter flakes kissed my lids and cheeks as I fought the edges and carved new paths through the birch and pines and oak. Curious. Bold. Brave.

I am like the unclean woman who raced through the crowds for one touch of Jesus’ hem.

The rhythm of my crunch and unafraid heartbeat matched the determination of my spirit. Emmanuel-God with us- did not leave my side. Though I hurried and fell, He helped me to stand and shake off the nonsense, the cold cuts and my bruised ego and hurt bones. Jesus saw me in my arid desert and the winter of my resolve to heal, and He came close.

My truth ache had mirrored the pain of many- Dinah, Hagar, Leah, Tamar, and Sarah. Like lions and cackling hyenas on the Serengeti plain, I was circled and taken by those I trusted. Fear and doubt and shame silenced me. But God sees the injustice I endured.

The Voice of the Lord is in the storm. He thunders and limbs bow and break and topple. Mighty and majestic and magnificent- trees are stripped bare, rivers flood, and dreams give birth. Cities will skip and dance again with joy. I am not alone. My God is with me. It’s not a time to shrink back. God makes His people strong and blesses them with peace.

I don’t know whether you’re a “wee little man” like Zaccheus, a robber and outcast, or a beggar or a fighter. Maybe you’ve been rejected and betrayed and are hungry for love. Then again, maybe you’re the proud and self-righteous leader who hangs his hope on his following. We all sin and fall short of God’s glory.

Jesus sees us as we are and must come to our house. Nothing else will satisfy the hunger in our soul. So, open the door and let Him in. The posture of our heart is what matters. He longs for us to lean into Him with trust.

May Jesus be the one whom you chase,

Lily Mae

Read Psalm 29
The Lord will give strength to His people;
 The Lord will bless His people with peace. Psalm 29: 11 (NASB)