The cave of darkness surrounds me,

There is no light.

I’m wrapped in its strangling cords,

So I cannot breathe.

Its mirrors reflecting only bitter despair.

The ugly reality,

The harsh truth finally settling in.

As my heart and mouth finally proclaim:

I can no longer remain silent,

I was raped.

The realization taking root,

Finally understanding this was not OK.

I wake up with a beaded head of sweat,

Cocooned in the soft blankets of my bed,

And know:

I AM SAFE.

Rape.  The “R” word.  A word I can barely mutter has become a reality in

my life over the past two years.  According to the statistics, 1 in 4 women

and 1 in 6 men will be sexually assaulted in their lifetime.  I am part of the

25%.  Sexual violence is on the rise perhaps due to our western

commodification of bodies to be exploited.  It seems that people no longer

respect the God-given pleasure of intimacy shared between a couple who

have covenanted to share their lives together.  This sad reality pains,

frustrates, and infuriates me.

There are many ways one can approach this delicate subject, but I am only

familiar with one – the power of one’s own story.  Therefore, I’d like to

propose that sexual assault is a grave injustice – under reported and thus

overlooked and one of the biggest effects of this injustice comes in the

form of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD).

PTSD overtook my life 3 months after the incident.  The constant

flashbacks and nightmares, anxiety, and depression became a reality to

me.  I had no prior knowledge of PTSD, so I coped in the only way I knew

how: emotionally checking out.  My puzzle pieces lay dashed on the floor

so I could not see the beautiful mosaic God was creating from the ash

heap.  It seemed that life would always be this dark.

Due to the fact that both the perpetrator and I work with adults with

developmental disabilities, I felt the need to press charges.  This was not

an easy decision to make and it further compounded my already prevalent

PTSD symptoms.   It was easy to lose heart and I often found myself angry

with God – locked in a cage of bitterness.  Yet, overtime, God transformed

my bus rides to court into lovely and meaningful encounters with Him.

If you or someone you love has been sexually assaulted, let me say this: it

is NOT your fault and you are NOT alone.  The searing pain of this forceful

encounter is unmatched and it will take time to heal, but healing is

possible.

2 years later I still struggle with my sexual orientation, fear of intimacy, and

distrust of men because of this violent crime, BUT I am not the same

person as before.  My prayer life has deepened, my compassion towards

others has increased, and God’s faithfulness has been more fully realized.

Looking back, I can attribute this incremental healing to 4 major reasons.

Firstly, my belief in a God who can handle tears.  Secondly, caring and

supportive friends.  Thirdly, having a job whereby I could minister to others

even amid my brokenness.  And lastly, poetry – the greatest outlet for

unleashing thoughts and emotions.

One of my most meaningful poems is attributed to my son, Emmaus

Jasper (conceived out of rape but sadly miscarried).  I would like to leave

you with it as a final thought and prayer to all grieving mothers and all

unborn children who are now safely in the everlasting arms of Jesus.

The Thousand Teared Son

Did the Heavens dance

The day God ripped you from my arms

And placed you into His warm, steady embrace?

Did the angels laugh

The day I poured a thousand tears?

Of all my children,

You will always be my firstborn son.

The one who meets me at the intersection of fear and grace,

Showing me that natural beauty doesn’t taint the dread of night.

The one who even though he is gone,

Continues to show me how Christ walks beside me,

In an unassuming way,

Which dispels sadness and brings purely contented joy.

Although on this earth you would never take your first steps,

God has enabled you to run a thousand miles and never grow tired.

As I place you into His hands,

I know you are whole and complete.

Hush baby, there is nothing to fear.

Your Mommy’s Arms may be weak, but your Daddy’s are strong.

My child, sleep peacefully and do not awake.

The night is over and there is only light.

Oh Emmaus, go swiftly now.  Go and play,

Only to awaken at the last trumpet call.