Posts Tagged ‘Broken’


under Secret Stories, Written on January 24, 2011

Your book was very well written, very interesting, and very insightful.  It opened my eyes up to not only your story, but the story of Jacob and the stories (or possible stories) of those all around me. 

As I take more time to listen to people now, and let them talk, waiting through the long pauses, I find that all people are struggling in some way.  There are very few people who are content, fulfilled, satisfied in their walk with God, and excited about what is next. 

I think that the older I get, the more God continues to mold me to be more gracious and understanding towards others. 

I think I have been on somewhat of the same journey these past few years; the journey of truly finding out my role in this story God is unfolding in front of all of us.  Just before I read your book (and this is kind of the cool part), God had been chiseling on me in many areas of my life and showing me my ‘secret name’. 

I believe that mine is close what my given name means, “Healed”.  Jason means “Healer”and I beleive that God has been at work in me to heal me from my life full of sin and mistakes and also healing me from the cuts and bruises from others. 

He has also shown me that just like physical healing, I can do NOTHING to speed up the process; instead, I must REST in the power and care of God, trust that He knows best in every area, and patiently wait for him to strengthen me again.  He has, and continues to do so.  Now I find that my desire is to be used of God to help bring healing to the lives of others, to broken relationships, and to hopeless situations. 

I find myself now, more than ever (and even after the most difficult year of all with leaving behind all that I was), excited about life, satisfied in Christ, fulfilled in Him, content with what he has given me, and free to follow God.  I feel like the training wheels and the cast was finally taken off and I can now ride like the wind.
I love what God has revealed to you.  Keep on encouraging others with it.  I am excited with where God has brought you and the influence which you have in the lives of so many.  I trust that God will be glorified in and through you.

Molested and Suicidal

under Secret Stories, Written on October 7, 2010

There were many times I found myself standing on the side of the road, closing my eyes as the downdraft of passing trucks rippled through my hair, thinking that just a few steps into that busy street would make everything better.

It wasn’t some singular event that brought me to the darkest point of my life, but an accumulation of sadness that left me feeling buried alive. I was already in a coffin, why not make it official; this wasn’t living. My mother and stepfather couldn’t see the sadness that haunted me, but my grandmother, a strong Christian woman whom I saw maybe once a month somehow knew.

I never spoke about it while it was happening, but in hindsight I know the signs were there if anyone had bothered to look: the lack of friends, the fear of men, the fact that I cried myself to sleep every night. It wasn’t until 8th grade that I called my mom from my father’s house in North Carolina and begged her to come get me. I don’t remember why she didn’t, but I do remember having to suffer through the rest of the week before my father drove my brother and I home.

For every other holiday and 5 weeks every summer my father came to collect my brother and I from our humble Ohio home and take us away to his three story mansion in another state. He was wealthy. He only wanted my brother, but I came with the package. I was lucky he remembered my name; he couldn’t remember my birthday or how old I was, and he had no qualms about reminding how I was a burden. He had demanded that my mother abort me, but I thank God to this day that she said no to him, if only just that once.

When I was two, he left my mom for another woman. My father had a lot of women, and a lot of girls. For years I stayed silent while he molested my cousin and I, while he groped other women who were not his wife, and while he tried to brainwash us all into believing some theology taught by him. We weren’t allowed to leave the house without him, we weren’t allowed to watch tv or listen to music, we weren’t allowed to go to church or celebrate Holidays, we weren’t allowed to wear certain clothes to bed.

He held gatherings in his house and would invite certain people over to listen to him teach. His theology was based on the bible, but only the parts about sex, rape, and punishment. His choice of punishment was a beating from a wire hanger twisted into a rod…and some reference to sparing the rod and spoiling the child.

He made me feel dead inside for so long, so that all I could do was cry and never feel relieved. When I was seventeen, I couldn’t take it anymore. Knowing that he still had my little sister and I couldn’t save her, that he hadn’t been punished for what he’d done to me or my cousin, and that I would always be afraid and never be able to love a man made me feel hopeless. I was tired of crying and feeling empty.

I was raised a “Christian”, but after my father’s insane cult-like teachings, I was afraid to trust in God. There’s an amount of subservience, fear and humility required in Christianity, and I didn’t want to love someone else who was going to make me feel small and worthless without him. I didn’t want to feel insignificant or afraid. I just wanted to feel whole, and I didn’t want to hurt anymore.

I decided not to step in front of that truck. It was in my living room, far from the road or coffins that I found peace. I gave up and I broke down, and I cried like I had never cried before. I asked God to save me and fill me with his love, and I was shocked at how immediately I felt fulfilled and at peace. Whenever I find myself questioning or doubting God, I remember that day when I decided I would rather live than die and He was there to help me do it.

Every day I pray for my father. I pray that God will save him, because in doing so, so many other innocent lives will be saved. I know there is nothing God can’t do, and even though my father seems like a monster, he’s not beyond help. I don’t know if I can ever truly forgive him, but God can, and I try to every day.

With God I know, I am not Abandoned, I am Remembered. I am not Broken, I am Whole. I am not Suicidal and Depressed, there is Hope. And I am not Fearful, because God is always with me.