My Healing

I had an experience that has changed my life. It has redefined my past. It has

unclouded my present. It has brightened my future. I won’t tell you about the place I went to, but I will share my story with you. After all, that is the whole point. October 2nd through the 5th of 2014 was just for me. God set everything into motion. There were many moving parts and they were all oiled to perfection. There was not one coincidence or accident. Every moment (from the prayers that were spoken to the times I went to the bathroom) was ordained by God, for me.

It was said to me that sin is not what sends us to hell. Not lying, not stealing, not adultery, not rape, not even murder. What keeps us out of Heaven... is not accepting God’s grace. See, all those sins have been bought and paid for! It’s done! The bill was paid and the receipt we have to prove it is the scars on the hands, feet, and side of Jesus! It’s done. All we have to do is accept this grace that has been freely offered us.

I thought I had accepted God’s grace, and for most things in my life I had. I thought this didn’t really pertain to me... but I was wrong. Remember how every word and every moment was just for me? Matthew 6:15 says, “But if you do not forgive others their sins, the Father will not forgive your sins. Hmm... I had forgiven everyone, right? I had forgiven my parents, my husband, my ex husband, my friends, and anyone who had wronged me. Right? Wrong. I quickly learned that while I had forgiven those who wronged me on a very broad scale, there were still significant moments in my life that I needed to specifically let go of. Unforgiveness was keeping me from receiving God’s grace.

When I was little, my parents loved me. They told me all the time that I was their princess. And they loved each other dearly (or so I thought). See, I rarely saw my parents fight, so I assumed life was great. You can imagine my utter shock and disappointment when I learned one day that my parents were to be divorced. My dad picked up and moved across the country and left me behind. I tried to chase after him. I called and wrote letters. I begged to visit, but he was busy with his own life and had seemingly moved on from the one he shared with me.

There was one specific moment that sticks out. I had learned about pen pals in school and I thought it was a brilliant idea for my dad and I to do this. I rushed home to write him a letter and I couldn’t wait to get a stamp from my mom and send it off in the incredibly exciting mailbox. I checked the mailbox daily and I waited. I had faith in my daddy. He wouldn’t let me down because he called me his princess. You don’t let down a princess.

 

Day after day I checked the mailbox, and day after day I was disappointed. Finally, the best day ever came and I had a letter waiting on me in that magical box! I rushed inside and tore that sucker open so fast! I read the letter. It didn’t take long because it was very short. I don’t remember what else my dad had to say other than he couldn’t be my pen pal, because he couldn’t afford stamps. Devastation. Keeping an open communication with me wasn’t worth the 35 cents. I wasn’t worth 35 cents. I wasn’t enough.

Fast forward to when I was 19 years old. I had a 2 year old and an infant. I was self destructive and had no self worth. I didn’t care about myself and I surely didn’t care about my body. Men could do whatever they wanted with it. Even men I had just met. I was fresh out of a verbally and mentally abusive relationship with an alcoholic. I began seeing other men and one fateful day I discovered I was pregnant. How could this happen? I always told people it was my ex boyfriend’s baby. To those people, I am truly sorry for my deceit. The truth is, I don’t know whose baby it was. I traced the calendar and came up with a pretty good idea, but I am still not sure.

I struggled with what to do. I was a single mom living at home with my own mom. I honestly don’t even think I had a job at this point. I knew I couldn’t have another baby. The problem, I was too selfish to give it away and I didn’t believe in abortion. I waited and waited. Praying for a miscarriage.

Finally I called up my best friend and asked her to take me to a clinic downtown to discuss abortion. She took me, without question. When we got there, there were people outside with signs calling me a murderer. Telling me I was killing a baby and that I was a mommy right at that moment. I kept my head down and kept walking. my fearless friend holding my arm and supporting me the entire way. Once inside the people working there began to explain the process to me and asked me if I was sure. They did some blood work and sent me home.

There was a 24 hour waiting period. It felt like an eternity. I could feel the weight of what I was doing like a wet blanket and I just wanted to get it over with so I could ask God for forgiveness. That’s how it works right?

Well a couple days later we went back to the clinic. They were wary of performing the abortion because the labs showed I was a few days over 12 weeks pregnant. The law in Minnesota stated that I couldn’t be over 12 weeks pregnant to terminate. The nurse fudged the paperwork and brought me into the procedure room. There was a huge glass jar attached to some machine with a vacuum hose. It looked like something out of a horror movie, so I quickly changed, laid down, and closed my eyes. The nurse could see my distress and quickly gave me some medication that made me giggle. Seriously. Giggle... like a lot! I laid there as they vacuumed the baby out of my body. I was laughing because of the pictures of kittens on the ceiling. I couldn’t figure out if the kitten was supposed to make me feel better about all this, but either way the drugs made sure nothing hurt.. not even my heart or my conscience. It was soon over and they sent me home.

As we pulled into my mom’s driveway, I saw her out pulling weeds in her garden. I was woozy and was instructed to lay down for the first 24 hours because of the bleeding that was to occur. My mom asked me to help her carry some heavy bags of soil and I told her I couldn’t. She asked me why and I would’ve lied to her.. but the guilt was already too heavy to bear, I couldn’t add more to it. I told her I needed to tell her something and we went to sit in the living room. I told her I had just had an abortion. I wish I could tell you this is where she came to my side, hugged me, kissed me, prayed with me.... but that is far from the case. She looked at me stunned. The anger and disappointment began to build in her and all she could do was scream, “MURDERER!”.

See, my mom is human. She is a person like you and I and she has emotions that she can't lie about. She was bowled over by a shocking statement that I threw out at her without warning. She hadn't seen this coming. How could she? I had already had 2 babies. I valued life. I loved my children. Being a young mom of two, how could I have been so irresponsible? How could I have been so foolish and weak? How come I didn't learn from my actions? She responded out of her emotion. Her pain, her fear, her heart breaking at all the things that had just happened. I do not hate her for how she reacted. I am not upset in the least. She is a fantastic mom and took care of me and loved me when I was unlovable. But right at this moment, in her emotion- I was judged. I was condemned. I was not enough for her to show me mercy and compassion. I was not enough.

Before I go on, I want to add something. If you are a woman and you have had a baby, I know you have googled each and every week and milestone of your pregnancy. Well, I did the same. When I was pregnant with my beautiful Lila Ruth, I googled each week and learned of how much my baby was growing. I always got a little stung when week 12 would come along.

Babycenter.com says this about a 12 week old fetus: The most dramatic development this
week: reflexes. Your baby's fingers will soon begin to open and close, his toes will curl, his eye muscles will clench, and his mouth will make sucking movements. In fact, if you prod your abdomen, your baby will squirm in response, although you won't be able to feel it. His face look unquestionable human. From crown to rump, your baby to be is just over 2 inches long (about the size of a lime) and weighs half an ounce.

I was able to move on from my abortion fairly quickly, justifying that I saved that “thing” from having to struggle with a mama who already struggled with her other kids. I repented, but I didn’t mean it. Had I been able to go back in time, I would’ve done it again.

2 years ago I read Heaven Is For Real. That testimony rocked my world. It made me view my ‘fetus’ as a baby. As an actual person. I had to face the fact that my baby had a face. He had a beautiful little mouth that could suckle. He had fingers and toes that he was practising moving. He was big enough to fit in the palm of my hand. And most importantly, he could feel. Remember how babycenter said when you poke your abdomen, baby would move... that’s because he could FEEL. When I killed my baby and had him vacuumed from my body... he felt that. I did that to him. Reading that, I knew my mom was right. I really was a murderer. I finally repented for real. I asked for God’s forgiveness, because I would have never walked through those doors if I could change what I had done. My baby was a person. Formed by God in His image. He was being held and loved and cared for by the Father. I felt certain that I didn’t deserve that baby. I would never hold that baby in Heaven. I would never lay eyes on him. I didn’t deserve it. I wasn’t enough.

These events in my life I thought I had dealt with. I had only scratched the surface. I have spent the last 20 years of my life trying to be enough. I would do anything and everything to make you like me. I would change and mold my likes and dislikes. I would inconvenience my life and make myself miserable, if that is what it took to please you. I had to keep having babies because I was desperately trying to show God, my mom, whatever boyfriend I was with, and the world that I could atone for my sins. That I could be enough. I started working with the Children’s Church at RC, trying to make it up to God. My husband and I are going to begin foster care training this fall. I have been desperately trying to earn God’s grace. To show Him that I can be enough. Problem is... grace can’t be earned.

I realized that weekend that I had to forgive my dad for making me feel like I wasn’t enough. I had to forgive him deeply. Because of his actions, I had been treating God like he was my earthly father. I had been treating Him like He was the one who treated me as if I was disposable. As if I wasn’t worth 35 cents. I had to forgive my mom for her lack of mercy, grace, and compassion. I had to forgive her for not loving me in my darkest hour. I had to forgive my best friend for never trying to stop me.

Mostly, I had to forgive myself. I had been so wrong for so long. I had wrongly treated God for the actions of my father, but most importantly I had to forgive myself for having
that abortion. For killing my beautiful baby. I realized this past weekend that I never mourned for that baby. I didn’t feel like I had the right to. So, you can imagine the roaring sobs that came from this crybaby that night. I allowed myself to let go of my own throat. I allowed myself to mourn the death of my baby. I allowed myself the audacity to even pray and ask God to reveal details about that baby. And you know what? God, in all His abundant love.. lavished me with grace. He showed me my baby boy. The only baby boy my body has ever made. Not only that, but he told me his name. Josiah Andrew. You have to understand, this can only be from God. I would never name my child such a name. I am not highly attracted to Josiah, and Andrew happens to be my ex husband.... But God later revealed to me that Josiah Andrew has deep meaning in Hebrew.

Josiah means Jehovah heals, and Andrew means man or warrior. God named my baby: God

heals His warrior. Perfect, isn’t it?

God used the mouths of several people to speak to me. The theme He kept repeating, was “You are enough. You are enough.” Once I was able to let go of the past junk that I held onto to so tightly, my eyes were opened and I could finally see. God gave me these girls because he loves me. Because he trusts me with them. Because I am enough. God gave me the Children’s Ministry at RC because he loves me. Because he trusts me with the spiritual guidance of all these babies. Because I am enough. God put fostering on my heart because he even trusts me with babies that have been broken, abused, hurt, abandoned, and neglected. He trusts me with his most precious creation. Because I am enough.

I still have the same hearts desires I had before. Serving women and children and showing them their eternal worth but now it is for different reasons. For godly reasons. For pure and unselfish reasons. I was gone for 3 days in the wilderness with God where he spoke tenderly to my heart. I gained a daddy who will never fail me. I gained a baby boy who is waiting on me in Heaven. I gained a purpose. I gained a new perspective on life, love, marriage, children, everything! My husband has never been so gorgeous to me. My children have never smelled so wonderful to me. My home has never felt more peaceful. My heart is finally free to accept the grace that God has been waiting to pour on me. When people tell you that accepting Jesus will bring a transformation, and it is so true. I am transformed. I am free... and I am enough.
Isaiah 43:18-19 NIV
"Forget the former things;
do not dwell on the past.
See, I am doing a new thing!
Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?
I am making a way in the wilderness
and streams in the wasteland.

Thank God for gloves. And Nyquil.

It all started the middle of October. Sophia was complaining of a stomachache and headache. It seemed that it was especially at night, so I brushed it off as her stalling the dreaded bedtime. But the complaints were becoming more frequent and were after mealtimes as well. This had me wondering if there was something to this. Then the fever hit. Oh geez.

After calling the appointment line for Winn Army Community Hospital. (If you are now or have ever been stationed here, you know why I wait until it's absolutely necessary (by this I mean bleeding out of the eyes kind of serious) to have to call or go in there for an appointment...) After listening to the incredible jazz saxophone rendition of Alicia Keys for the third time, a human actually answered the phone. Hallelujah!

Wait. Hold that praise.

Unfortunately, Mrs McLaughlin, there are no appointments available for today. Or tomorrow. Or this week. Or this month. Or ever!!

Well this just won't do. Now what? My options are:

1. Go to the emergency room at Winn and sit in the tiny disease, virus, and bacteria infested waiting room with 30 other coughing, sneezing, vomiting, crying, sleeping sick people for at least 6 hours while you wait to be called back. Once called back, don't worry, while you will no longer be forced to watch another episode of One Life To Live, you will be subject to yet another very long wait. At least you can listen to the chatting of the doctors and nurses about their personal lives and drama. That can be interesting in itself. Once Dr Notevenclosetomcdreamy finally comes in, he will take one look at you, prescribe you ibuprofen or broad spectrum antibiotics and send you on your way.
2. Call Tricare and wait on hold for what feels like eternity before someone finally answers, only they don't speak English very well. So, good luck getting that referral to urgent care. Oh, and if you call before 3pm on a weekday, they tell you where you can shove your sickness and laugh in your face. 

Well, I chose to call Tricare. Thankfully I called on a Saturday and was able to get a referral to the Urgent Care Clinic in Jesup. Ok, send up those praises now. We went and after no waiting, discovered Sophia had strep throat. Apparently strep often appears as a stomachache and headache in small children. Who knew? After filling her prescription, I take her home, get her started on the medication and start washing bedding.

The next day, we weren't even out of the church parking lot when I was already on hold for Tricare yet again. My ear had been killing me for a week. It hurt so bad, and now I wasn't even able to hear out of it. I got my referral and drove myself, and 6 kids to Urgent Care yet again.(I had my friend's daughter staying with us for a couple weeks- she's basically one of my kids.) The doctor was thoroughly impressed with the amount of fluid and blood in my ear. In case you don't know... you don't ever want your doctor to ever be impressed with any part of your body. So he started me on antibiotics and even gave me something for the pain. 

A few days later, I had two kids complaining of sore throats... Deep breaths... Luckily I called Tricare at about 4pm and this time, I had 7 kids at the clinic with me. That's right, folks, another one of my friends was out of town for work and I had her daughter with me as well. (If you are curious where my hubby is this whole time... in the field. In a tent. So I wasn't pissy that he was able to avoid all this mess.) They ran tests on every single one of my children and discovered that most of them had strep. Also, Sophia wasn't responding to her medication and was beginning to develop a Scarlet Fever rash. So drugs all around! Now I felt like a nurse at a mental hospital. Twice a day I yelled- MEDICINE TIME... and the girls all lined up in the kitchen, waiting their turn. Luckily most of it was liquid, so I didn't have to check cheeks. 

Everyone is good now, right? The entire house is disinfected. The smell of Lysol fills every room. Ahh... sanitary. Wrong. November 3 was a Monday. It was my sweet Sophia's first ever field trip and I was so excited to join her. My back had been aching for a few days, but I brushed it off as my needing to go to the chiropractor. We went to Poppell Farms. It was fantastic. Quite a fun place for little ones. By the time we got to sit down for lunch, I was dizzy. Lightheaded and confused as to why. I told the teacher I had to leave, and we hurried to the car. On the way home, I called my husband. I didn't know what to do but I needed a hospital. I was afraid of crashing the car, but I somehow made it home and waited for Mike to come and take me to the doctor. He called and got us into the Urgent Care again. They ran a test for the flu and it came back positive. I had Flu B Virus. Kill me.

I was miserable and every bone in my body ached. Even my teeth. My eyes felt like they were being squeezed and I could feel my brain bashing against the side of my skull every time I moved my head. I had a fever that was up to 105 at times and I was ready to die. Take me home, Jesus. I am done. But, Jesus had other plans and after several days in bed, I started feeling better. Just in time for the rest of my family to get sick. Wonderful. 

Before the flu was completely healed from the house, my sweet Lila came to me complaining that her bum was itchy. It had been itchy for a few weeks and while my first reaction was hygiene- go take a freaking shower, already! I was now starting to get suspicious. I looked at her backside and it looked fine. Not red. No rash. Nothing. She began telling me that it hurt on the inside. Uh.. what?! So after asking her a series of delicate- has anyone touched you there- questions, I decided it was time to call the doctor. 

After jamming to Alicia Keys for a bit, the hospital was able to squeeze me in. I took Lila the next day to see one of the grumpiest women I have ever had the pleasure of smiling at. She was very disappointed that I didn't know the color, texture, or frequency of my 8 year old daughter's poo. No, ma'am, I stopped changing her diapers a few years back... She told me that they thought it was pinworms. Again, kill me. I needed to do a test. This included a fancy medical looking stick with tape on the end. I was supposed to sneak into my daughter's room at 4am, pull her pants down, spread open her bum, and stick these tape sticks around her rectum. Like a ninja. Yeah, nobody is going to freak out here... Then I had to take the sticks into the lab to be tested to see if there was worm eggs on it. Apparently these little worms live in your intestines and come out at night to lay eggs on your anus. Fun, eh? Don't be jealous, it's apparently incredibly common and contagious- especially among school age kids.

A dear friend of mine told me a sweet trick, so I can avoid scarring my daughter for life. She said to shine a flashlight at my kid's bum and if there was worms, they would come to the light. I did it. A tiny white threadlike worm came busting out- causing me to vomit in my mouth and want to run for my life. Turns out, however, that this is so common, that they sell the medication for it at CVS. Thank you Jesus. We were able to start my Lila on the meds immediately and we treated the entire family- just to be sure. The next day, I deep cleaned and sanitized the entire house. This includes vacuuming and bleaching everyone's mattresses. Yeah. I mean business.

So we are finally out the woods, right?! Three plagues in a month is good enough. Leave us alone, now. Wrong again. I got a call from school on Monday November 17th telling me that Sophia needed to be picked up right away because she had a fever. When I got to school, they informed me that Sophia had thrown up a couple of times since they called. Dear God, why is this happening to us?!

It has now been a week since I picked up Sophia from school and that virus has run through each and every one of us. The cough, runny nose, and sore throat lingers a bit on a few of my girls, but for the most part it is over. Will that be the last of the plagues that are hitting the McLaughlin family?! Who knows?? All I know is this.... I am exhausted. I now have turned my kitchen cupboard into a medicine cabinet to hold the mass quantities of drugs that we have had to acquire in order to survive these plagues. I feel like a drug dealer, a pharmacist, and a nurse all at the same time. I have seen things I never wanted to see and worse, I have done things I never wanted to do. All I can say is, thank God for rubber gloves. And Nyquil.               

There's An Army Rising Up

You know you're doing something right when everything decides to go wrong. At least that tends to be my experience when I don't arm myself well. There is a reason 'The Armor of God' is in the Bible, you know. Ephesians 6:10-18 explains what this is and it's importance.

Verse 13 in the Message version says: Be prepared. You’re up against far more than you can handle on your own. Take all the help you can get, every weapon God has issued, so that when it’s all over but the shouting you’ll still be on your feet.

That's the goal here. To remain standing. To not be knocked down and left beaten and defeated. The closer you grow to God and the more you obey Him, the more the enemy wants to get you. The enemy absolutely hates it when we follow Christ and are obedient to His will. The more you do for God, the bigger the target is on your back. That is why it is so crucial to arm ourselves. You wouldn't step foot onto a battlefield without a weapon and armor, so why would you face the enemy of your soul empty-handed and naked?!

I recently was helping a friend through a struggle of hers. I was using my own life as an example, because we have similar situations. We are both at a crossroads as to whether we stay in the Army or get out. I explained all the reasons why my husband and I do not think getting out of the Army would be a good idea for our family. I told her how financially, it would be a struggle. Mike would have to get an exceptional job to make up for the money we are bringing in now. Not to mention medical insurance and other benefits.

I also mentioned our spiritual wellbeing. Let's be real honest here... Mike and I have never been closer to God than we are now. We had to leave the comforts of the life we grew up in and step out on our own. That is how we found Him. Back home our families are wonderful. They are kind, loving, and always welcoming to us. It is very comfortable there. Dangerously comfortable. Because unfortunately, God isn't very high on the priority list. Our lives are focused and centered on God, but when we go home, we find our comfort in our families and the lives we left behind- not in God. While we say we are strong and steady in our faith, somehow, every time we go home to visit we begin to think of God less and less. Before we know it, we realize we haven't been to church in weeks, haven't touched our Bibles or even taken time to get alone and worship and talk to God. It's as if He doesn't exist. 

I explained these things to my friend one morning last week. By that evening I wanted to move back home. Badly. It was like a wet blanket had been thrown over me and was dragging me down. I felt heavy. My shoulders, my mind, and my heart. I was so saddened and lonesome and ready to pack up and move back. I allowed the enemy to plant a seed in me. I watered it and watered it and allowed it to grow for days. I was desperately trying to convince my husband of all the reasons we needed to move home. I even said to him a few times that I know this is lie. I know all the reasons we shouldn't, yet it felt so very real. I really yearned to go back home. I was convincing myself that all the reasons I had previously explained to my friend were easy fixes. And I came up with solutions for each and every one of them.

Yesterday in church, our pastor taught a message that was for me. Specifically. The scripture that was read was for me. God even decided to speak to me personally through the mouth of one of the dearest friends I have ever had. She walked up to me and told me the truth to everything I had been doubting. She gave me the answers to every specific question I had been wrestling with. It was like the clouds parted and sun shined through, pointing directly at me. The wet blanket was pulled off my shoulders and I could breathe. Well, I began to sob so although I could breathe, it was snorty and pitiful sounding.

I was helping. I was sharing. I was being obedient to God. But I was doing it foolishly because I wasn't armed. I had missed church due to sickness the week before and I hadn't made it up. By make it up, I mean I hadn't gotten into worship or the word for a few days. I hadn't gotten quiet with the Father and spent time re-filling my soul. Because of this, my faith was weakened, my peace was diminishing, and I was an easy target. It all comes down to armor. We MUST arm ourselves if we hope to survive this war. The good news is, that it is easy to get back on track. While I may have gotten knocked down, it wasn't for long. And my wise and sturdy husband wouldn't allow my doubts and fears to make any decisions for our family.

I made one of the biggest mistakes last week. In my pain, fear, and frustration, I told my wonderful husband that this was all his fault. I told him he wasn't a good spiritual leader for me and he wasn't a good priest for our home. No, he hadn't prayed with me. No, he hadn't taken me aside and read the word with me. But he felt the quiet nudge from God to keep his mouth shut. He hadn't entertained my theories or ideas. He wouldn't argue with me or agree with me. He knew to just keep quiet and wait for God to take care of everything. And that's exactly what He did. 

A Dark Corner

Revelation 12:11 KJV
And they overcame him by the blood of the Lamb, and by the word of their testimony...

They "overcame him". Let's take a quick look at this, shall we? Who is they? They is us. You and I. We overcame him. Who is him? Him is the enemy- Satan- the Devil. Take your pick. So, we overcame him. The New Living Translation says this:

 And they have defeated him by the blood of the Lamb and by their testimony.

We defeated him. Get that? How do we defeat the enemy? By accepting the blood of Jesus.. that Jesus died and shed every last drop of his blood for us to save us from having to ever taste death or allow Satan victory over us. But also by our testimony.

testimony:
1) a formal written or spoken statement, especially one given in a court of law.
2) evidence or proof provided by the existence or appearance of something.

We all endure hardships and go through unthinkable things. In fact, since getting more into ministering to women, I have come to realize that most of the women I know have been through some of the most horrific and tragic acts of sexual assault and abuse. The lie that the enemy would have us believe, is that we are alone. Nobody can understand our scars or our pain, because nobody else has been through this.

I am going to be bold. I am going to step out in faith and share one of the darkest and most hidden parts of my life. I kept it in a dark secret place in the corner of my heart because I didn't think anyone would understand. I didn't think anyone could relate. I was wrong. So, here is my testimony. Here is how I overcome. Here is how I win. I pray that my story gives someone hope. I pray my story shows that you are not alone. 

It was the 4th of July and I was thrilled to be in one of the most exciting places I had ever been. I was 14 years old and I was spending a few days at Wisconsin Dells with my cousins. My older cousin was several years older than I was (early 20s), but she didn't care. She was my best friend and made me feel important. While my two older sisters didn't want me in their rooms, let alone to hang out with them- she actually wanted me around. We left her mom and our campground, and we went out driving in her little red sports car.

It wasn't long before we had met some really good looking guys and were back in their hotel room. They were in their early 20s and I had lied to them, telling them I was 19. I was always 19 when my cousin and I went out. This wasn't the first time we had done something like this, however, it was the first time it went this far. I don't remember the other guys. I only remember him. He was so handsome. Dark hair, smooth tan, and dark eyes that seemed to draw me in to him. He smelled like the magazine ads in the latest issues, and I was smitten. I cannot remember his name, but I remember the look on his gorgeous face the moment I whispered for him to stop.

The music was so loud in the next room where my cousin was flirting with the other guys. I have told myself all these years that she couldn't hear me fighting him off and she probably couldn't. But, I was so young. She shouldn't have let me go into that room. She should have stopped me. When he was finished, he was so mad at the blood on the hotel sheets and all over himself. He stomped to the bathroom to grab a wash cloth, threw it in my face and demanded I get cleaned up and get out while he showered. I sat there in disbelief. Why was he mad at me?!? Had I done something wrong?! Was this my fault?! 

I left there that night accepting that this was my own fault. I led him on, I went into the room with him, I shouldn't have gotten him to a point where he couldn't stop. My innocence was gone as well as my pride, my trust, and my hope. I felt worthless. 

We went back to the campground where I drank until I couldn't feel anymore before passing out into sweet, black, oblivion. The next day, July 5th. We decided to go out again. I had already accepted that last night was my own fault, and I could control my circumstances and situations from here on out. We found ourselves at a large campground with a mansion sized house. Everyone there was Russian. Not many of them spoke English, but all of them were so wonderfully kind. Men, women, children, old, young. It was like a giant family reunion. We wound up around the biggest bonfire I had ever seen. The men and women were all telling jokes and singing songs. They passed around a bottle of vodka, but the label was in Russian, and I am pretty sure it wasn't legal in the US. I remember declining the bottle when it got to me. But I also remember his gorgeous eyes pleading with me to take a drink. He said it was his birthday and all he wanted was to have a birthday drink with me. It was just one drink, and he seemed so kind. I took the shot and passed the bottle. By the time it made it's way back to me again, I was already out of it. That stuff was strong! I took another shot and then my memory goes black.

I can't remember how I got there, but in my mind, I see flashes of scenes, like in a thriller movie. Black... I'm stumbling through the dark woods... Black... I'm being led out of the woods by someone pulling my arm... Black... I'm in the tiniest room I have ever seen with the ceiling so low and slanted that this can only be an attic... Black... I am fighting him off with everything in me, but it's nothing. My muscles feel like Jello and I can hardly get out a sentence with him throwing my body around like I was nothing but a doll. A plaything... Black... I had a brilliant plan to fake having to go to the bathroom. I told him and I said I couldn't hold it. I thought he would let me find my clothes, and go off alone. This would give me a chance to run. I don't know where- but at least I would be away from him. Instead, he stood me up and walked me to the bathroom, gripping my arm the whole way. He warned me that I had better be quiet. Our bare naked bodies walked (I stumbled) through a house filled with sleeping children. They were everywhere. On the couches, the floors, everywhere. I knew I couldn't cry out for help and allow these poor little children to witness what was happening to me. He sat me on the toilet and stood over me, not taking his eyes off of me. When I was finished he gripped my arm and led me back to the tiny room... Black... I remember stumbling out of the front door of the house with my cousin yelling at me. Where had I been? I had been gone for over four hours. The sun was rising quickly and the day was beginning. 

We went back to the campground where again, everything went black. I slept so hard. No dreams, no thoughts. Black, numb, nothingness. When I got home I tried to tell my oldest sister, but I didn't know how. I was responsible for the first night (in my head) and so could I really call anything rape? I hadn't been beaten and left in an alleyway, so what was this? The only person I told was my best friend. We had been friends since we were toddlers. I went to her birthday party and I pulled her aside and I told her. She said nothing. She looked at me like I had told her I was an alien. She turned and walked away, and I haven't spoken to her since. That set the tone for keeping my secret for the next several years. Until, only a handful of people knew, and only a couple knew the details. 

I have chosen to forgive these nameless men. I have chosen to forgive my cousin for not helping me. I have chosen to forgive my old friend for turning away from me. It's been a long time, and it's done a lot of damage in my life and relationships. But, this is where I take my life back. This is where I take my relationships back. This is where I look at that dark time straight in the eye and say, "you have no power over me!" This is where I overcome, where I defeat the enemy and take back what he has stolen from me. This is where I open up more to my husband than ever before. Where I let my guard down and allow myself to be completely vulnerable with him sexually and emotionally. This is where I learn that I can trust this man with everything in my heart- good and bad. This is where I learn that I can trust him to touch me with love and gentleness. This is where I begin living more fully.

Since choosing to forgive these men, God has shown me revelation after revelation. I have wept after making love to my husband. Wept. Tears of relief and tears of joy... because I never knew how to accept physical love before letting go of this bitterness in my heart 

I thank God for restoring this piece of my heart. I praise Him for guiding me gently through this process of sharing one of the most humiliating and vulnerable events in my life. I praise Him for not letting me go through it alone. I praise Him for allowing me to block out most of it (that HAS to be the Holy Spirit). I am so grateful that I don't have to walk in shame, fear, hopelessness, pain, or humiliation anymore. I am restored. I am changed. I am an overcomer.