Right where we are

In the summertime and other school breaks, my youth pastor would often take kids to ballgames, the mall, the beach, or an amusement park, and those afternoons afforded him much more freedom to keep me late without arousing suspicion. On one such occasion, I could sense an increased urgency and intensity, as we entered his back door. My body began to tense with dread as he led me immediately into his bedroom, where I had not yet been, and had me lay down on his bed. He seemed nervous, and his fingers trembled and fumbled as he arranged the room. Daylight allowed me to see his body and his face and the intensity of his eyes, and I knew that things were escalating. The new scents of latex and body fluids flooded my senses, and mingled with the smell of my own fear and panic, as his body, for the first time, actually invaded mine. The moment of penetration was so shocking. It took my breath away. Every nerve ending screamed to life with the burning and thrusting, and the violence of the moment sent my soul running. When he had finished, as he neatened the room and removed any trace of us having been there that day, I stood there, at war with the reality of what had been taken, shaken to the core by the violence of the taking, and wondering what remained of me in its wake.

Every human being has a right to govern his/her own borders, and it is a right that is so fundamental to each of us, that, I believe, our very life depends on it. I suppose it's much like a country's right and duty to govern its borders. If a country's borders are invaded, the very life of that country is at stake, and every branch of its army and government is thrown into action, both in defense of and reaction to the reality of the penetration. In the event of an attack or invasion, a country can repel the onslaught and drive the enemy back from its borders, it can concede pockets of defeat and rally the troops to overthrow, or, if the enemy is too big or too powerful, it can retreat, pulling its borders into the center of the country, in order to make a smaller perimeter that is more easily defended, preserving only its very center.

Common to most instances of sexual abuse, the aggressor is, in some way, too powerful to fend off. Whether because of a difference in physical size or one’s position of authority over another, the victim is unable to repel the invasion of their mind, soul, and/or physical body.

When my body was penetrated, every fiber of my being responded. Because I was not equipped to defend myself from the penetration physically, in a fight for my very life, I pulled in my borders to where I could defend them and then scrambled to adapt and live within my new surroundings. Standing beside the bed that day, most everything looked and felt different, and the lingering sensations and realities made it hard to deny or forget that I had lost a lot of ground. I retreated to safety, losing contact with and eventually forgetting about the parts of me that I had conceded in defeat, my soul gradually bending over to fit into its now more confined space.

One of the noticeable things about remaining in a cramped space is diminished capacity. As I had to retreat from more and more of myself, my soul capacity lessened. Just as your muscles would atrophy and your joints would stiffen if you had to remain physically confined, my soul atrophied and stiffened to the point that I was largely unable and unwilling to interact with others or even myself in meaningful ways. In most any war, there are casualties and those that are taken prisoner. I remember, as a kid, watching news stories of prisoners of war coming out of dark, cramped prison cells after years of confinement, blinded by the light, and completely disoriented by the presence of people, and the demands of human interaction. The prisoners of war didn’t choose their imprisonment, but in time, they adapted, and it became home – what they knew. In the news stories I noticed that the prisoners were either released or rescued, that they usually had someone guiding or leading them, and that their re-entry was gradual.

Many of us are casualties of the war waged by man’s ability to choose good or evil, whether it be our choices or the choices of others. My confinement did not have physical walls, but it might as well have, because it was my known. The space to which I had retreated became walled in by my defense against further pain and penetration, and the lies I believed about myself, God, and those around me. I read a lot of self-help books about healing from sexual abuse, and they all invited me to snap out of it, or step out of my cell as it were, but I didn’t believe it to be safe or even possible. And so instead of having to find the strength to emerge on my own, Jesus bent over and crawled into my space with me. He sat there with me in the dark, allowing my eyes to get used to his light. In prayer, I invited him to sit with me, and he poured his truth into me from his eyes to mine. Through my time with Him, and people that he sent into my life, he let me know that I was lovable. And so, by the time I was ready to step out of my confinement, my eyes were used to the brightest light of all, and I had Jesus holding my hand.

One of things that I love about Jesus, is that he meets us right where we are, and he has.