I’m Drowning in Your Sea of Forgetfulness

I’ve been praying and meditating about this post for the past few weeks. I knew what situation I’m supposed to write of yet I’m not yet sure of the purpose but I’ve learned to just trust in God

My senior year of high school was one of the most difficult years of my life.  I was stuck in an endless cycle of pain and hurt. One day in specific plays over and over again in my mind.

It was Wednesday. The day that I saw one of my regular Johns. The night before of particularly rough so I had fresh, angry wounds up and down my arms. I decided that a dress and sweater would be the best choice, he’d have easy access without me having to take off my sweater and explain anything. I went to my morning classes like any other day. When I got out of my second class I went out front to the humanities building and got into his Jeep. I waved to my few friends while they went off to lunch. Being normal teenagers .We made small talk like what we were doing was normal. He took me to the same hotel he took me to every week. He picked up the key and I waited in the car. When we were finished he dropped the key off and I waiting in the car again. I always wondered what the people in the office thought was happening. He dropped me back off at school with a crisp $100 bill. I smiled through the rest of the day because I was temporarily free of worry. I had money in my pocket. I could go get lunch and not worry about being able to pay my insurance or phone bill.

That night I went to church. I sat on the row of the pastor’s family. They welcomed me with a warm embrace. We always sang “Nothing But The Blood”. I knew the words but they barely graced my lips with a whisper. I honestly don’t remember much about anything we went over. All I remember was thinking about what kind of God could allow this. What Father leaves their child alone in a bloody bathtub? I wish I could say that this was an isolated incident. It wasn’t. I saw the same John Wednesday after Wednesday and after school I’d go to church filled with shame. Every Wednesday I’d be in the house of God singing of His forgiveness and grace neither which I had experienced. What Father leaves His daughter to be defiled by a man old enough to be her grandfather?  But I kept going. I knew that this couldn’t be it.

There was a small steady voice telling me to go on.  I continued to seek God. After a few months, a rape, and a suicide attempt later; I stopped going to church. I stopped reading. I stopped listening to encouraging music.

God was dead.

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