A Child’s Prayer for His Molester

The young boy walked into the coffee shop, a shy smile on his face when he saw me. I rose from my place, walked over to greet him and invite him to my table. Tall for his age, at ten, he would have passed, easily, for twelve.

We met first when I popped in on a friend, and he and his mother were there. My friend steered the conversation, almost abruptly, toward my work with sex abuse victims; her reasons soon revealed; it had recently come to light that the woman’s son, Perry, was molested. In the ensuing moments, I heard a story of betrayal and grief, as raw pain spilled from a mother’s heart.

Listening to her story, I thought how, moments earlier, Perry had come to tell his mother he was heading to the park. Upon seeing me, he stretched out his hand and introduced himself, confidently, holding eye contact–something that stood out from one so young. As Perry’s mom shared how they had walked with him, reassuring him, and removing guilt for the crime committed against him, assuring him it was not his fault, his confidence made sense. Nonetheless, she wondered if I would consider meeting with him. They had involved a social worker, a counselor and done all they could, but felt he needed someone, and feared he was withholding something.

When he walked into the coffee shop, the confidence replaced with a shy smile, I wasn’t surprised. What young boy looks forward with great enthusiasm to talking with a virtual stranger about being abused? Still, he had said he wanted to talk to me, when his mother explained what I do.

We chatted at length about school and what he loves to do, his hobbies, and other casual conversation. When we were both comfortable, the conversation turned…

In the ensuing moments, I heard the heart-breaking struggle of a child, stripped of innocence and hurled into a world of knowledge that he should not have discovered for many years. He told me how the neighbour boys made fun of him, because he had tried to do to another little boy what was done to him, and got caught.

“How does it make you feel, now, talking about it?” I asked.

“I feel bad,” he said, head bowed.

“Do you know why it makes you feel bad?” I asked.

“Because it was wrong. I shouldn’t have done it,” he said.

“Right. You told the social worker, and apologized, right?” I asked. He nodded. “So what do you do with those feelings?” I asked.

Perry shrugged, then looked up at me with tears in his eyes, “I talk to God.”

“What do you say?” I asked.

“I tell Him I’m sorry. And I ask Him to forgive me,” he said.

“Do you understand that He has forgiven you?” I asked.  Again, he nodded. “What else do you say to God?”

“I ask God to forgive the person who hurt me, to help him never hurt anyone again…” he said.

In that moment, in the middle of a conversation with a little boy, I wanted to kneel down and weep for the children who are so carelessly overlooked, many times. Instead, we continued the conversation and I reassured him, saying I believed he would never hurt anyone again, and how kind it was that he would pray for the person who hurt him.

canstockphoto7696245

Later,  alone, I wept. Is there anything more heart-breaking than a child, whose innocence is so disrupted, carrying the burden & consequence of their abuser’s sin? And is there anything more touching than to hear his voice, praying for his abuser? If I could have captured that sweet voice, sharing his prayer, I would like to think it might have changed thousands of lives…

Oh, church, I plead with you to hear this little boy’s heart cry. He is not the first child to carry this burden and pray this prayer. Tragically, he won’t be the last. His innocence was stolen, creating in him a temptation to hurt other children. Fortunately, he got help before he ever reached his teen years, and the likelihood that he will offend, with appropriate support, is low, but he will always carry the scars of what was done against him.

We must rise up–pastors, parents and men and women of God–and stand in the gap for these little ones! God does not take lightly the violation of a child’s spirit. It is the only sin for which Jesus said, it would be better that a millstone were hung about that person’s neck, and they be drowned in the sea.  He goes on to say that a child’s angel always beholds the face of God, indicating there is an intimate connection between God and children, and angels and children. Should we, God’s sons and daughters, not reflect that same care? Should we not look upon such injustice and act?

Matthew 18:10
“Take heed that you do not despise one of these little ones, for I say to you that in heaven their angels always see the face of My Father who is in heaven.”

God is raising up warriors to stand in the gap for these little ones. He is calling pastors, teachers, parents and godly men and women…. Will you turn a blind eye, or will you do the right thing, and honour God?

Love

~ T ~

© Trudy Metzger

Get updates on Between 2 Gods (Memoir scheduled for release on March 3, 2015)

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Between 2 Gods: a Quest for Hope & Truth, in the midst of Abuse & Violence

Announcement: For those interested, the cover of my book, Between 2 Gods, just came out this week. Last night I set up a Facebook page where you can join, and be part of prizes and giveaways that will be announced after the book is released, March 3, 2015. I am going to try to be creative about prizes, and go beyond giving out free books… so don’t miss out! On the BETWEEN 2 GODS page you can also get updates and share your thoughts and comments, or ask questions. (Click on the photo or the red link to visit the page.)

B2G

It’s happening! It is really, truly happening! The dream I dragged around, from place to place, at age twelve– in the form of lined-paper-leftover-school-books, hoping one day to publish my very own book–has become a reality, at long last.

I mentioned it casually, a time or two, in past blogs, I believe, but now we are doing the countdown. I’ve spent much of this past year writing my book, and now, here we are, only 45 days from the release date. That’s six weeks and three days. I’m sure I could find the minutes and hours if I wanted to do a Google search. But, hey, who’s counting? There are so many things I need to do, between now and then, that sitting here ‘counting the time’ isn’t really an option. Every now and then, however, it hits me in the gut, that feeling of anticipation, fear and everything else in the mix: It’s almost here!

And I am most definitely excited. One doesn’t have dreams at twelve, that come to life at forty-five without feeling that excitement. The part of the dream that I would never have imagined at twelve, is the content in my book: my life story… the stuff I was living, right then. I tell it as it was: raw. Though i have tried to  buff up the edges a bit, and withhold a bit of the harshness without altering the accuracy. Of the people who have read it, the response has been positive and encouraging, but feedback has consistently come back with the truth that it’s a lot to take in. Captivating, they tell me, yes, but jolting.

I’ve been honest in my telling of it.  Most readers will go through a whole gamut of emotions. One person, who does not come from a background of abuse, wrote about the anger she felt. She raged at abuse, done in God’s name. It was the fist such response and it shocked me, and scared me a bit.  Some wrote how they couldn’t stop laughing at certain places, in spite of harshness in other places. Yet others expressed grief and sadness. But all found the thread of hope intertwined with what could be a very dark story.  And then my heart was happy!

I would also caution that my memoir is not ideal for a young audience. While I have written discreetly enough to  disguise particularly heavy scenes, relating to sexual abuse, it is still too much for the young reader. If I had my way about it, no one under eighteen would get their hands on it without supervision, if at all, But, then, the Bible is full of some pretty difficult reading too, so I will leave this in God’s hands. I know I read things in the Bible, knowing good and well it was x-rated information and, in hindsight, I only wish I would have had someone safe to talk to about it. So, more than withholding my book from those under eighteen, my prayer is that they will find someone safe to talk to, particularly readers  who identify with my story, and work through their own pain.  And, given statistics, that identification will be the higher percent of the population, either from personal experience or a loved one close to them.

The previous paragraph, that’s a ‘warning’ that some of my readers will almost certainly be offended by some of the content in my book. To be honest, it was a battle for me too, to tell it as it really was. So much so that one day I said to Tim, “That’s it! I can’t do it! The book is off!” Tim calmly supported me, and gave me some time to reconsider. When I ‘recovered’, I spent some time asking God to help me say it in a way that is not destructive… to tell the truth, but not harm or destroy anyone in its wake.  And then I found peace. The verse, in Titus 1:15, plays in my mind: ‘to the pure all things are pure, but to those who are defiled and unbelieving nothing is pure; but even their mind and conscience are defiled”, and I realize it is not all on me.

If you find yourself offended by the content, I’m glad. You should be. I am too. And when it makes you feel sick to your stomach, imagine the little toddler who lives it, whose very spirit is offended by the darkness, and who has no voice to fight back, and no one to tell about it. Never mind words to express it. (If I had told someone safe at three, the things I saw and experienced, I might well have had a different story! But God had a redemption plan!)  Unlike you and I, who get to make adult choices, these toddlers and children simply absorb that offense, deep into their spirits, and carry it with them through life. I plead with you to be offended for their sake, and educate yourself for their sake. And please don’t tell me, or others like me, to not tell the truth.  Don’t silence us, because it silences the voices of others like us–babies, toddlers, children and teens–who today suffer what we suffered back then. And then fight for them. You can yell at me, if you need to , to express your frustration with my bold telling of my story. I’ll work through that pain. But they have no words, no voice and none who will hear them. Many, if not most, lack the gifts I have–people who care and listen, and a way to form words, in black and white–to get the darkness out of their spirits.

Instead, it tangles itself, like untamed tentacles, around and into the very fiber of their spirits and identity, forcing them to believe that ‘this is who I am’.. that ‘this thing done to me, defines me’… ‘this is all I have to offer’… and so they remain in bondage to that pain. Not long ago, again, a young woman looked at me and said, “I start to feel as though I was made to be used”. That’s the darkness speaking! You were made for so much more! We were made for so much more! I was made for so much more! That truth has to become personal, for freedom to come!

And that’s the darkness against which I cry in my memoir. That’s the voice I try to share–the unheard toddler, the lost teen, the wandering adult–because they cannot speak. And with their cry, told through the eyes of my own experience, I tell my journey vulnerably, offering Hope. I share with the world the wonder of the One who never lost sight of who He created me to be, even when I had lost all sense of connection to Him, or the child He created.

It has not been easy, telling the truth and reliving it, but I’d do it again, no matter what lies ahead, knowing it will bring hope and freedom to even one person. Just one. If a million strip me for it, and one writes a ‘thank you for helping me’ note–and someone will–then I am committed to thanking God for this incredible opportunity.

You, my friends, have been a source of encouragement through 2014, as I plodded through the ‘muck’ of that writing process. You carried me through your notes, your prayers, your love. And, speaking of prayers, a few of you wrote to say you pray for me every single day!! Can I tell you how much that shocked me and blessed me?! To pray, now and then, is truly a blessing! To pray every day… every day!… That’s breathtaking.  Thank you!

My prayer for each of you is that God will bless you in ways beyond your wildest imaginations and expectations in 2015. For many  of us 2014 was a difficult and painful year, for various reasons. Some of us it was the emotional strain of life–in my case ministry and writing–for some it was the loss of jobs, and finances, and for quite a few it was loss of family and loved ones. I could list a lot of friends who suffered such loss in 2014, and whose grief spills generously into 2015. Yes, it was a hard year…

My prayer is for blessing, peace, healing and restoration in the midst of the ‘stuff of life’, for each one of you! Thank you for blessing my life! My prayer is that in 2015, more than ever, I will be a blessing to you!

Love,

~ T ~

 

© Trudy Metzger

Get updates on Between 2 Gods (Memoir scheduled for release on March 3, 2015)

To Donate: Generations Unleashed, and Help Victims of Sexual Abuse in the Church

(Tax Receipts will automatically be issued for all donations over $20)

Trudy’s YouTube Channel

Return to First Blog: September 2010, “Running on Empty”

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Is the Answer to Become a Conservative Mennonite Again?

It started in pleasant conversation, with a friend from my former denomination–CMCO Mennonite–and turned into an ‘as-pleasant-as-an-abuse-conversation-can-be’ interaction. We’re on the same side of this battle, her and I–both standing firmly against the wickedness of abuse–and in agreement that the silence must be broken, and help offered to victims, and perpetrators helped and held accountable.

Photo Credit: Toronto Grand Prix Tourist (A Toronto Blog)

I don’t know how it came about, exactly… I carry in my ‘knowledge compartment’ many ‘secrets’ for countless people, and about countless people. Now, they’re not really ‘secrets’ any more, if they are the stories and experiences of my clients, because as we work together, I walk them through the process of repentance, confession and bringing to light the hidden darkness. (Ephesians 5:13 But all things that are exposed are made manifest by the light, for whatever is made manifest is light.) Having exposed these things, the darkness is dis-empowered, the secret is broken, and the power is gone.

Still, they are ‘secrets’ in the sense that I am one of very few people whom they choose to tell, besides the people they have wronged or been wronged by, and whatever trusted friends they choose. These stories I carry, without a word to anyone, in my ‘knowing’. I don’t carry the burden of them, because Jesus has taken that burden.

The other kind of secrets, however, are a very different thing. The kind where I know horrible things and the person, or persons, involved have covered up and maybe even lied about it. These still are not mine to carry, but they do offer a different burden. It is troubling to know that ‘good Christians’, including leaders, would not take ownership for sins that have brought great spiritual destruction to others. It bewilders me. (And I don’t care if it happened before church membership, or before accepting Christ. That excuse is nonsense. Take ownership! )

And that is what popped out of my mouth…. The thing I said out loud is a ‘secret’ that I have known for several years, involving several church leaders. It was not told to me in confidence but still I cannot talk about it carelessly, and I don’t. Mostly I don’t tell details at all, unless I am conversing with someone who I think might be able to help, or influence change. I have watched as the aftermath unfolds and chains pass on, but there is nothing can be done on the legal front. (There has been some effort, by some people within the church, but things are managed quite carefully. And they are such ‘nice’ people, some of those with hidden things, that the wool is quickly pulled over the eyes of other leaders.)

Lest anyone think I ought to first go speak to my ‘erring brother’, I agree. And I have. I sat right in his house and asked him if he made the past right, and he said yes.  And with one victim he did–at least he said his piece in church about having become involved in immorality. But when another case was revealed, and another man told me what this leader had done to him, I asked that man, “Didn’t he come back to you and ask for forgiveness?” (Because he had already told me he made things right.)

The man shook his head, weeping and said he never heard from him. “For three years he used me…” he said, tears flowing down his face.

And that is the troubling truth I spilled out a few days ago. “What do I do with this?” I asked. I laid out the picture, how the leader used the man, when they were teens, and how the leader had been used by his older brother–who is also a leader–who had a sexual relationship with his cousin, and all three of their children having continued to abuse others.  And nothing can be done because everyone is past sixteen and those who know don’t want a kerfuffle in church, and those not in church have no proof. Just their tears, scars and struggles…

There was a pause.

“What am I supposed to do with all that? What is the right thing to do?” I asked again, earnestly. Her response completely blind-sided me. She is very thoughtful. Calculated.

“Now…” she paused, as if collecting her thoughts and arranging her words, just right. That, or she was’t sure how I would take what she had to say. “I think you are very balanced in what you have to say. You really know about how to work with this stuff…”

She paused again and came in with a most stunning question. “Have you ever thought about coming back to the church, and pulling with us?” She said some more things about that, but it all blurred together as I processed. No one had ever invited me to come back before.

“It would never work,” I said. I didn’t need time to think about it much. Because I already have. Probably a thousand times or more. “I would never be received back into any Mennonite church.” How to explain what I have seen play out in the lives of others…

“Why wouldn’t it work?” she asked ask sincerely, and innocently, as if not able to imagine the rejection that would be inevitable..

To write all that flashed through my mind at that moment would make a fine little book. To condense it, difficult.

“It just wouldn’t,” I said. “I wouldn’t be received.”

“What do you mean by that?”

I explained something she might have known, having watched me all those years ago, struggling to fit in. But it seemed to have evaded her. I think she just accepts me as I am, and doesn’t quite understand the fires I dance through, still, and did since childhood, for the things I say and do. For simply being who I am.

“I never fit in, even back then, before I had experienced another world, another culture. I don’t fit the mould; I’m not quiet, reserved… and could never go back to trying. I’m more of a Deborah… a Jael… I’ll put a nail through the head (figuratively speaking) if that is what it takes to do God’s work. I’m different… And I spent my whole childhood, a misfit, not able to line up. I couldn’t do that again. And, even if I did, I would be silenced so fast…”

Again she needed me to explain it. Her sweet innocence really believed that I could come back, follow the rules, and be a real asset to the healing and redemption in the church. To the ending of sexual abuse.

Oh how I wish! Would I be willing to go back if I knew I could change the lives of hundreds of children? Absolutely! Hated or not, and rejected or not, I could and I would! But, alas, as others have tried and I have watched them be put out of their churches for everything from ‘sewing discord’ to ‘bad attitudes’ to ‘lack of submission’. And, looking at the lies and rumours I have had to bear for my work, even being ‘outside’ the church–and I mean blatant lies, that someone conjured out of thin air, coming from leadership (I just heard of another deacon’s wife spreading lies this week)–I cannot imagine I would make it more than a day, or two.

Oh, sure, I said, there are some who I think would receive me well. Even leaders. And I mentioned one couple, not far from here, who I think really would try. Genuinely. They wouldn’t understand me, but they would love and accept me if I came back. I know it. But I would be a thorn in the flesh of the church, and the emotional, psychological and spiritual angst it would stir up, to experience on the inside what I have experienced from a distance, would throw the strongest of souls into deep depression.

Even at a distance that is a demon I have fought, almost daily, in working with ‘my people’, and dealing with sexual abuse in my cultural background. Almost daily, before my feet ever hit the floor, I lecture myself about God’s love and goodness, reminding myself that He has my back, that He knows the truth, that He is on my side. Because I know when I start moving my feet, and the rumours trickle in, I will need that ‘helmet of truth’ firmly in place.  I know that if I am not grounded with Him, I will be a bleeding soldier at the end of the day, with no hope left. With Him, I am a bleeding soldier, but His blood gives me life, even as I seem to bleed out on the ground.

Would I go back to the church of my childhood? No. Because I know better than to believe that dealing with the sexual abuse within, would work any better as ‘one of them’ than it has from a distance.

Really, what she said was very sweet. It seemed sincere in every way. Not some manipulation to get me back inside the walls. Not at all. But a genuine belief that we could work together.  And that was quite an honour, to be sure.

My prayer is that God will raise up godly men and women within, who have influence at a leadership level, to tackle this darkness head-on. My prayer is that walls crumble. That there is help for victims and perpetrators alike. It is the only way to bring an end to this violence, crime and evil.

So, while I may don the attire for a purpose, and though I will always have love and compassion for ‘my people’ in my heart,  I think that question is settled, deep in my heart…

But to imagine it, for just a moment in my head,  was fun. If I were to return, the bigger question would be ‘which kind of Mennonites?’ and I have already narrowed that down to two options…

It would be Amish or Old Order Mennonite, without question…

July 7 2012--2 Wagler family 158b

 

 

© Trudy Metzger

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