I grew up without a father, feeling unwanted and rejected. Even when I found him at age 12, he was uninterested and after about 2 months of mail correspondence, I didn't hear from him again until I was an adult, married with children. I felt unimportant and worthless because of the lack of identity I faced in my father's absence. At the age of 5, the brother of my babysitter began to sexually abuse me. I had no clue what I was doing, but felt dirty, sinful, and afraid. I didn't say anything for a long time because I didn't know how to convey what was going on. I didn't understand what was happening or why I was experiencing the emotions I was feeing. Finally, almost two years later, I told my mother. I don't particularly remember her reaction. Only that I felt afraid, sorrowful, and filthy. The trauma of that experience compounded with the rejection from my father made me feel, not only worthless and unwanted, but trapped and enslaved. I had no control over what happened to me. I was simply an object. To some, a tool for their pleasure, to others a piece of the past to be discarded. I not only was enduring the inward turmoil of my abuse, but the outward opinions I saw in the eyes of those around me. I remember every action being judged in light of what had happened to me, as if I was nothing more than my abuse personified.
But I didn't fully understand what was going on inside me emotionally for a long time. And, because I didn't understand these feelings, I never conveyed them. I was a normal looking, slightly awkward and annoying little boy. In wanting to piece together understanding, I acted on thoughts and memories, doing things that I shouldn't have and that I regretted for a long time afterward. I began to do things in secret with the girls my age in my neighborhood and at my church, things that made me feel like I was able to take back some control in my life, yet it was simply a rouse. I was entrapped by the trauma of my past, deceived and only worsening the frailty and wounds of my heart.
Growing up without my father and surrounded by my single mother, my sister and a lot of girls in and out of our house, I struggled to find my masculinity. My brother was 14 years older and wasn't there much, but was a great big brother when he was - I've always loved him similarly to a father. I wrestled with what it meant to be a man. I grew up somewhat effeminate because of the influences around me. In middle school I was bullied and had little to no friends. I remember confiding in a friend, or who I thought would keep my secret, about the abuse of my past. But, he shared it with others and one day I walked into the classroom to find a letter taped to the wall with every private horrific detail of my abuse. The room full of 7th graders were all hoarded around the letter laughing at my expense, and when they noticed me in the room behind them they turned to face me, making jokes about me. I was called gay and faggot and so many other names that day. I ran from the room to the only teacher I felt comfortable with. She tried to encourage me but there wasn't anything to be said that could bring healing to my heart. This was the day I began to fantasize about suicide.
Within a year from that day, we moved to a new city as if God had taken me out of Egypt. I was excited about the change and the opportunity to make new friends. We found a good church and I was happy there. But no too long after, the bullying began again and I became, once more a captive of my past. Most of my friends were girls and I joined show choir to be with my friends. It backfired when I, yet again, was labeled for not fitting the mold of modern masculinity. Through a series of many events, circumstance, and experiences, all those thoughts from my childhood came tumbling back. I wanted to die. I did not want to live in this world, it was too hard. I didn't matter. I was nothing more than the butt of a cruel joke. I had nothing to offer, no value. I was nothing but a dirty, disgusting bastard.
I remember laying in bed, struggling with all of those emotions and I remember planing how I would end my life that night. I remember sobbing in my bed, pleading to God for relief. I wanted an 'out.' I remember my mom finding me and I remember her desperation for my condition. She called a leader in our youth group to see if he could come talk to me. I remember not wanting her to, but very reluctantly giving into something inside of me, a feeling that I needed someone to save me from myself. He came by the house and picked me up to go for a drive and a chat. I told him everything about my despair, except for the fact that I had planned to kill myself. I remember thinking that if I still wanted to do it afterward, I didn't want anyone to know I was planning it. In our drive and conversation, I felt a love I that I'd never known. A love from someone who genuinely cared for me yet didn't have to because of bonds of blood, etc. Someone who after hearing the disgusting truth of my past and my existence loved me anyway. It was the first time I was able to see and understand the love Christ has for us, for me. This man isn't perfect, he isn't God. He isn't a prophet or an angel. He was simply a servant, loving as Christ gave him ability. It was the first time that I felt value and importance, not because of obligation, but because of God's grace at work through someone who didn't have to come to my rescue, but did. My life changed that day. Even though I professed to know God long before that day, it was that moment in that truck that I knew God's love for me for the first time in the midst of my sin and worthlessness.
I began to have a new outlook on life. Things weren't magically better, it took time. But I climbed out of that valley by God's grace, holding tight to the anchor of Christ. Since then I've faced my share of valleys in different forms and in different ways, but I've learned that Christ is my anchor. I've faced valleys of shame and scorn, of hopelessness and desperation. But I am confident of this, my hope is in the Lord. Through the great fear that inhabits the valleys of this life, we hold great hope in the maker of heaven and earth. Psalm 46:1-3 says,
"God is our refuge and strength,
a very present help in trouble.
Therefore we will not fear though the earth gives way,
though the mountains be moved into the heart of the sea,
though its waters roar and foam,
though the mountains tremble at its swelling. Selah"
I hope you will bask in the presence of Christ as you meditate on his word. I pray that as I seek and am renewed, that you would also. I've been asked several times why I have such a passion for young people. This is the story of why. God has blessed me with difficult experiences and a testimony of perseverance. My prayer is that I can be that man for these young people who struggle with the things I've struggled with and more. I want to be a vessel of hope for the hopeless and share the confidence of Christ with those who feel worthless. Our value is found in the finished work of Christ on the cross of calvary. I can do no other than to submit myself at the feet of grace and labor with fervor to lead others to this place of redemption. Christ is bigger than our circumstances, God greater than our accusers, and the cross far more powerful than our sin and failings. God bless you today, may his peace reign in your heart.
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