In a way, I hesitate to write this, but then, I think "it's okay. No one here knows me IRL". So, here is my story:
I was raised in a family where my father was a Methodist minister. For as long as I can remember, I was abused. It was sexually, but I also consider it mental abuse as well. At times, I would actually get paid for being raped. I spent nights crying myself to sleep, praying to God that He would deliver me from all of this. I just could not take it any longer. Various stories were told to me of why this was okay. 2 of which was Noah and his son (which presumably his son molested Noah) and of Lot (he got his daughters pregnant). I was told that all fathers did this to their daughters, but no one else could know, for they would not understand.
At the age of 12, my sister told her teacher (she caught our father raping me one night), and her teacher told the counselor who talked to my teacher who called CPS. CPS came to my school. I denied everything initially. I was terrified of anyone knowing. I finally questioned them on who my sister was, her teacher's name, the school she went to, the grade she was in, etc. I finally "admitted" that it all was happening. I was taken to foster care. I thought, "God has answered my prayers." Well, 3 days later, after they televised the arrest of my father, released him on probation (yes, this happened very quickly), and had put my name in the paper, I was thrown back into the home. At school, I was called horrible names. In choir, a girl went around to the song of "Old McDonald had a farm" and said, "a rape here and a rape there." I was in class crying. My teacher said, 'Well, if you can't handle it, leave.' I did. I denied God. I just couldn't understand how God could be so cruel to send me out of the home (an answer to my prayer) just to throw me back into the hell-hole. I became very suicidal. There were many times I was very tempted to throw myself in front of those school buses while walking home from school. I got into drugs, drinking and even ran away from home.
The abuse kept going on. It never stopped. He couldn't preach anymore in any Methodist church, though. When I was 14, I had the guts to report my father again. This time, I was out for about 6 months. And, you guessed it. I was put back in the home again and my father only receiving probation. I had lost my faith in the judicial system. I just didn't get it. I became promiscous. Why not? My father was the one who told me that if you love someone, it's okay to sleep with them (one of his other excuses). At 17, my senior year in high school, my father told me he wanted to get me pregnant. Thank God (yes, literally God), I never got pregnant. I quit the drugs and smoking and drinking when I was 16, almost 17 years old.
I left for college, but felt extremely guilty for leaving my sister behind. I married at 18, after completing my first year of college. In college is where I started to say, "what the heck, let's see what Christianity has to offer." I really didn't believe that I would find anything appealing. I started going to the Episcopal Church across the street from my dorm. I had no car and this was the only church in walking distance. I met my husband during fresman orientation. I fought my way back into Christianity (fought as in trying to stay out). I didn't want anything to do with Christianity. Finally, I became a believer again. After 6, almost 7 years of not believing.
My husband and I were confirmed together in the Episcopal Church and the next month had our baby baptized. (1991) I still could not reconcile the things from my past. In fact, I still firmly believed that I was not loved, forgiven, had any kind of grace or mercy from God and that God thought of me as a complete joke to the human race. In 1999, we joined the parish where we are now. When my 4th child was only about 6 months old. Just before my youngest son's 1st birthday, his godfather (my son's godfather) raped me. Everything came back full force from my past. I quickly was put into a depression. I was hallucinating (visual and auditory). In 2001, I planned on taking my life on Ash Wednesday. Nothing special of why it was that day, but it has meaning for me now. My psychiatrist didn't seem to get that I planned on going home and ending my life. I decided that I wanted one person to hear me and I wanted someone I could trust. So, I went to my priest. He called 911. I was hospitalized for 1 1/2 weeks.
In the hospital, I had to go to what was called "Occupational Therapy". Some months after I was released, I went to one place that they recommended for computer training. I went, was certified and got a job September of that year. I now work in Accounts Paybles and oversee 5 companies accounts.
In 2001, I went to confession. Scared out of my wits (it was my first confession). I went in feeling extremely sick from nerves, shaking and crying. I almost turned back, but didn't. As soon as my priest layed his hands on my head and pronounced the absolution, it was as if the Holy Spirit went through my body. The shaking and crying stopped and I no longer felt sick. It was finally through my priest (how ironic is that!) that I finally believed that I am loved by God, that God forgives me (I felt this at the confession) and that God will even give me grace and mercy.
Ash Wednesday became an important day for me, because Lent is about new life. On Ash Wednesday in 2001, I planned on taking my life, but instead, God gave me a new life.
I now plan on becoming the thing I most despised. A person of the cloth. A priest. You see, I hated men, but more so, I hated anyone who was in the ministry. Now, through my priest, God working through my priest, I have become a new person in Christ.
Yours in Christ,
Jen
I was raised in a family where my father was a Methodist minister. For as long as I can remember, I was abused. It was sexually, but I also consider it mental abuse as well. At times, I would actually get paid for being raped. I spent nights crying myself to sleep, praying to God that He would deliver me from all of this. I just could not take it any longer. Various stories were told to me of why this was okay. 2 of which was Noah and his son (which presumably his son molested Noah) and of Lot (he got his daughters pregnant). I was told that all fathers did this to their daughters, but no one else could know, for they would not understand.
At the age of 12, my sister told her teacher (she caught our father raping me one night), and her teacher told the counselor who talked to my teacher who called CPS. CPS came to my school. I denied everything initially. I was terrified of anyone knowing. I finally questioned them on who my sister was, her teacher's name, the school she went to, the grade she was in, etc. I finally "admitted" that it all was happening. I was taken to foster care. I thought, "God has answered my prayers." Well, 3 days later, after they televised the arrest of my father, released him on probation (yes, this happened very quickly), and had put my name in the paper, I was thrown back into the home. At school, I was called horrible names. In choir, a girl went around to the song of "Old McDonald had a farm" and said, "a rape here and a rape there." I was in class crying. My teacher said, 'Well, if you can't handle it, leave.' I did. I denied God. I just couldn't understand how God could be so cruel to send me out of the home (an answer to my prayer) just to throw me back into the hell-hole. I became very suicidal. There were many times I was very tempted to throw myself in front of those school buses while walking home from school. I got into drugs, drinking and even ran away from home.
The abuse kept going on. It never stopped. He couldn't preach anymore in any Methodist church, though. When I was 14, I had the guts to report my father again. This time, I was out for about 6 months. And, you guessed it. I was put back in the home again and my father only receiving probation. I had lost my faith in the judicial system. I just didn't get it. I became promiscous. Why not? My father was the one who told me that if you love someone, it's okay to sleep with them (one of his other excuses). At 17, my senior year in high school, my father told me he wanted to get me pregnant. Thank God (yes, literally God), I never got pregnant. I quit the drugs and smoking and drinking when I was 16, almost 17 years old.
I left for college, but felt extremely guilty for leaving my sister behind. I married at 18, after completing my first year of college. In college is where I started to say, "what the heck, let's see what Christianity has to offer." I really didn't believe that I would find anything appealing. I started going to the Episcopal Church across the street from my dorm. I had no car and this was the only church in walking distance. I met my husband during fresman orientation. I fought my way back into Christianity (fought as in trying to stay out). I didn't want anything to do with Christianity. Finally, I became a believer again. After 6, almost 7 years of not believing.
My husband and I were confirmed together in the Episcopal Church and the next month had our baby baptized. (1991) I still could not reconcile the things from my past. In fact, I still firmly believed that I was not loved, forgiven, had any kind of grace or mercy from God and that God thought of me as a complete joke to the human race. In 1999, we joined the parish where we are now. When my 4th child was only about 6 months old. Just before my youngest son's 1st birthday, his godfather (my son's godfather) raped me. Everything came back full force from my past. I quickly was put into a depression. I was hallucinating (visual and auditory). In 2001, I planned on taking my life on Ash Wednesday. Nothing special of why it was that day, but it has meaning for me now. My psychiatrist didn't seem to get that I planned on going home and ending my life. I decided that I wanted one person to hear me and I wanted someone I could trust. So, I went to my priest. He called 911. I was hospitalized for 1 1/2 weeks.
In the hospital, I had to go to what was called "Occupational Therapy". Some months after I was released, I went to one place that they recommended for computer training. I went, was certified and got a job September of that year. I now work in Accounts Paybles and oversee 5 companies accounts.
In 2001, I went to confession. Scared out of my wits (it was my first confession). I went in feeling extremely sick from nerves, shaking and crying. I almost turned back, but didn't. As soon as my priest layed his hands on my head and pronounced the absolution, it was as if the Holy Spirit went through my body. The shaking and crying stopped and I no longer felt sick. It was finally through my priest (how ironic is that!) that I finally believed that I am loved by God, that God forgives me (I felt this at the confession) and that God will even give me grace and mercy.
Ash Wednesday became an important day for me, because Lent is about new life. On Ash Wednesday in 2001, I planned on taking my life, but instead, God gave me a new life.
I now plan on becoming the thing I most despised. A person of the cloth. A priest. You see, I hated men, but more so, I hated anyone who was in the ministry. Now, through my priest, God working through my priest, I have become a new person in Christ.
Yours in Christ,
Jen
My testimony is similiar so I now how you must feel. I'll tell you alittle about my life. I was also raped but by my grandfather. When, we use to go swimming my grandpa would tell me, "come give me a hug." So, I went to him (don't want to get into details) and he raped me. I was scared that I didn't scream. He kept doing it to me for years. After awhile I wouldn't go to him but he told me if you sit on my laps I'll give a dollar. so I did. I use to cry at night and hope that I wouldn't wake up. I started not trusting men. My dad would tell me to give him a hug and I would push him away. I felt used so i started wearing baggy clothes. people at school started calling me a lisbian. I would say, "god this is all your fault, WHY ME!!!!". I started drinking and smoking. One day, I had the guts to tell my parents we went to my grandfather's house he denied it and I just started crying. My mom made me forgive him and they didn't want anyone to know so I had to keep all the anger and pain locked up inside because my mom didn't let me talk about it. 
