healing

JAMES’ STORY OF CHILDHOOD ABUSE AND RECOVERY

Splsh4Ripls

In this blog, I share the story James sent to me. He is from an entirely different culture than my upbringing, and what I generally share here; stories from within Anabaptist community. James, who served in the military, reached out via my blog to ask if I would share what he has experienced, and the abuse he has had to overcome. Abuse is in every culture, religion and country. None excluded. I share James’s story because it deserves to be told. And because abuse is not only ‘among us’ in the Anabaptist culture. To verify his identity the best I could, I found some articles online that tell parts of his story. (Read here: Mental Camauflage I especially like what he writes at the end. It will resonate with survivors of trauma who have been called crazy, bitter, holding on to the past, etc.)

Since it seems to be happening more frequently, that individuals send me their stories to read and share, I want to address this for others interested in sharing. I welcome your story. Stories of overcoming. Stories of struggle. Stories of the impact of the abuse, or the trauma after. Your stories are welcome here, as long as my blog is up and running. I cannot write much right now, due to my spine injuries, but am happy to give you that opportunity. The amount of detail you share is yours to decide. However, before I post, I do need to be able to validate your identity, ideally in the form of some kind of ID. That is true whether your story is anonymous or you choose to identify yourself. Since it seems to be happening more frequently, that individuals send me their stories to read and share, I want to address this for others interested in sharing. I welcome your story. Stories of overcoming. Stories of struggle. Stories of the impact of the abuse, or the trauma after. Your stories are welcome here, as long as my blog is up and running. I cannot write much right now, due to my spine injuries, but am happy to give you that opportunity. The amount of detail you share is yours to decide. However, before I post, I do need to be able to validate your identity, ideally in the form of some kind of ID. That information will be deleted upon validation. That is true whether your story is anonymous or you choose to identify yourself. Everyone who suffers abuse should have a safe place to tell their story. I offer that place.

It is a terrible thing when a child has to choose between being with their best friend, and being abused, or give up their best friend. At an age where there is little to no understanding of what that abuse really is, and there is only the anxiety and fear — or other feelings — telling the child something is wrong, options aren’t even on the table. Some children will withdraw from their friends, others look back years later and see what it all really was. This is the story James shares with us.

*****

I was born in a beautiful little town in Belfast, Northern Ireland. The first nine years of my life were wonderful. However, in beginning in 1967, my childhood was abruptly changed forever.

Often, when I would go to play at my best friend’s house, his older brother would be home hiding in the shadows waiting for his opportunity to abuse me. I remember being there and hearing a door locking, knowing I was in trouble. I would get this sinking feeling in my gut, dreading what was in store for me. My friend would hold me down while his brother attacked me. 

At the time, I did not know if my friend’s brother held power over him too, forcing him to cooperate, or whether my friend willingly participated. All I knew was that it was wrong, and it made me feel sick. Afterwards, I would run home to shower, desperate to wash off this filthy feeling of utter guilt and shame. 

Experiencing this abuse from him for nearly three years — and wondering why my friend did not come to my defense and stop the abuse — made an impact on me and my mental health. Decades later, I think back, wondering how I could possibly have considered this boy to be my best friend. 

Sexual abuse is a kind of trauma that carries intense feelings of shame and fear. I remember that I just wanted to hide. 

My mental health deteriorated; the shame was eating me away inside. I felt obligated to keep this secret — to hide this terrible knowledge from everyone around me. The ever-present shame convinced me that I deserved to suffer from the hurt I felt. 

Looking back, I now know that it wasn’t even my shame to carry. What happened wasn’t my fault. But reaching this conclusion came from a long recovery process. My healing took time.

Needless to say, I never brought charges against my friend’s brother.  At one point I tried to find him in order to confront him but found it too painful to continue on that journey.  I never told my parents nor my children.  It took me over 50 years to disclose that I had been sexually abused as a child due to the mis-founded shame and guilt I carried.  By the time I did, I was just about non-functional and it was obvious that I needed proper medication and professional counseling. It was hard, and it hurt, but it’s what I needed to do — get it out in the open. It affected me so much emotionally. As time went by this trauma kept getting worse.  In order to get better I needed to seek help.  My local doctor referred me to what is now my mental health team at the UK’s National Health Service (NHS).  My problem had been building up for so many years.  Once I was diagnosed with Complex PTSD (CPTSD) and was taking the proper medication and had one-on-one appointments with my assigned psychologist I was able to open up and tell my experience of being abused as a child. 

Finally talking about it forced me to face and deal with the long-term effects of the mental trauma caused by being abused as a child. Time and help from the right people brought healing.  I am no longer at the mercy of this mental trauma and am now able to identify what happened and understand that none of this was of my own doing. I can see how I carried this trauma into adulthood, and I can identify with others who have been through similar experiences. 

Trauma needs to be dealt with, and we must prioritize our mental health for healing to begin. If you have been through childhood abuse of any kind, please, please, please seek help.  If I can go through that long, dark tunnel and reach the other side, so can you. It can make all the difference in your life.  It did mine!

My deepest desire for anyone on their healing journey — remember, you are worth it!

*****

James has done some hard healing work. Healing he was not able to do without help from professionals. Which leads me to address the common belief among Christians that “All you need is God. All you need is to trust more. All you need is to repent. Professionals will lead you astray… or they will fill your head with anti-God nonsense.” In reality, good professionals in therapy and counseling are trained NOT to do these things, the same way a heart surgeon wouldn’t go poking around the pancreas mid surgery. And I have yet to see the Christian community (broadly) tell someone fighting cancer that they should not speak to a professional. Or looking at someone having a heart attack and telling them to read their bible and pray. God is part of the healing, and He uses avenues such as professionals and medication for the mind, just as he does for heart patients and other illnesses.

Take a bit of time to research how meds work, because there’s a lot of overlap in their function, yet somehow we demonize some and embrace others. Or embrace them for one thing, but when treating the mind would demonize them. Metoprolol, for example, is a beta blocker used for heart patients. It also affects the mind and is used for stage fright and decreases anxiety, for some.. Gapapentin is used to treat seizures and nerve pain. It can also trigger severe psychological issues, or escalate pre-existing ones. The list goes on. It is either all around demonic to seek medical help and medication, or it is not demonic.

Why are we ok with professional help in every crisis except mental health? Why are so many Christians, at least in our Conservative Anabaptist community, on medications to treat depression but still advised not to get counseling. It is a mystery to me. Because I know first hand the incredible harm that medications can do to the body, having had two heart attacks due to meds. Some doctors won’t prescribe antidepressants *unless the person is also getting counseling/therapy, because both are needed. It is not that medication is evil, or that therapy is the sole solution, or that therapy is evil. It is about working with professionals to do their part, finding support within the respective community — whether Conservative Anabaptist or other community we find ourselves part of — and being treated with kindness and respect.

There are no easy answers. For the unwell individual, there is real and hard struggle. There is fear. There is anxiety. There is hopelessness. There is a sometimes a desperate cry for an end to come. (And before you judge too wildly, go read your bible; 1 Kings 19, specifically, in which Elijah asks God to kill him. Frankly, the prophets were a bunch of weeping depressed spokesmen for God).

From the community, there are a variety of responses. There is judgement. There is easy answers. There is the “God told me… and God showed me…” solutions, that sometimes include ‘enlightened’ Christians telling the depressed or struggling person what triggered the depression, such as repressed memories of abuse or Satanic Ritual Abuse and the like. The unwell mind then sometimes adopts that ‘revelation from God’ as their ‘reality’, creating a whole new set of problems. Or there is throwing more information at a fragile mind than what they can handle, escalating the unwellness.

Other times there is kindness. There is compassion. There is respect. There is support. There is giving space. There is love. These support healing. I can’t imagine anything worse than being in a fragile state and then being further pressured and beaten down, as some are. And I can’t imagine anything more healing than acknowledgement that the mind — the human brain — is part of the human body, subject to a fallen world, while supporting the journey to healing, whatever it takes. And, let me assure you, it often takes more than a few bible verses and a prayer. I have lived long enough, experienced enough, worked with enough trauma survivors to know that this mentality does more harm than good.

The best gift you can give is support. Not feeling sorry for. Not trying to fix. But honouring the individual and their journey, while supporting their path to healing, without easy answers, even if their healing looks different than yours.

As always…
Love,
~ T ~

© Trudy Metzger 2024

Sherry Showalter’s story of sexual, emotional and spiritual trauma and healing

Splsh4Ripls3 Comments

Introduction:
The following story was sent to me via Messenger, from the author, whom I had never heard of before. She asked if I might share her story, so I asked if she wanted me to share it on my blog. That’s how this post came to be.

As you read her story, parts that bring her comfort may be triggering for you. .

Over the years, victims have shared with me how hard it is to sit in church — sometimes the very building in which they were sexually abused — and listen to ‘the right words’ when they were treated so harshly. Their suffering shamed and disregarded, while their abuser was forgiven and coddled, accepted as godly, and embraced where they were rejected. Some find comfort in church again. Some never do. Both are ok. There are other ways to find fellowship without a designated building.

Many have also shared how triggering it is to hear that God will use our trauma for good. This is particularly traumatic if you are taught that the horrible things that happen to you are somehow ‘God’s will.’ What kind of god ‘wills’ for children to be raped and abused … and then ‘uses it for good’? And what kind of ‘church’ promotes this warped theology?

Children being raped is not the will of any God I would trust. These horrific acts are not his will, nor is the harm survivors suffer. They never were His will. They never will be. It is called ‘spiritual bypassing’ to avoid contending with hard reality and try to explain away harm by spiritualizing trauma and tragedy.

God’s will was that we run around naked in a garden, oblivious to all but relationship and beauty. That was God’s will. He didn’t make evil, death and trauma ‘his will’, just because that’s where we find ourselves. He redeems. He restores. But He doesn’t bring sexual abuse and violence into our lives and call it His will.

His will, to be true to His nature as shown in the bible, must always be redemption, restoration, healing and wholeness. Not the hell of life. That suffering is the tragic aftermath of human sin. And human sin never is God’s will, therefore nor is the aftermath of it. That, or He is not God at all. He cannot be both the Redeemer *and* the one whose will is that we suffer at the hands of sin..

As you read Sherry’s story, remember that ‘bringing good from evil’ doesn’t mean, ever, that the evil was designed by God or ‘God’s will.’ And if you can’t step foot in church because of the trauma and abuse you have suffered, I reckon Jesus will sit with you outside of that building. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.

It wasn’t.

~ Trudy ~

*****

⚠️ TRIGGER WARNING ⚠️ sexual and spiritual abuse.

I feel like it is time to share a little piece of my story and testimony.

First, I want to say the following:

1) I want to state, that not all plain conservative churches respond to sexual abuse in the way mine was handled. I have since been a part of a conservative group that were NOTHING like how I grew up.

2) This is NOT a poor me, pity me post. This is, however, a post of how God can take the most awful things done to us by those who call themselves Christians, and use it for good. It is about God taking the ugly, the darkness and the lies I’ve been told and replacing it with His Wholeness, His Righteousness and His Truth.

I believe it was the year of 2008.

I was living in the basement of a couple from church. Over time, I came to trust them and open up to them. They gave me a lot of sound biblical advice. They cared. One night I decided it was time I tell them that I had been sexually assaulted. They had promised that they wouldn’t tell anyone. “Well, at least not right now,” he said. I went to bed that night feeling lighter in heart and spirit than I had in a long time. I no longer carried my shame and pain alone. I thought I would finally be able to heal from the trauma. Maybe the future would be okay to face after all. Little did I know the pain, the betrayal and the heart crushing trauma that lay ahead.

The next morning, I was informed, at the breakfast table, that one of the ministers and his wife were coming over any minute to talk to me. I asked him, “you didn’t tell them what I shared did you?” Yes, he said, I did. I felt my heart leave my chest and drop to my stomach with a gut wrenching nausea. I wasn’t ready to talk to anyone else about it yet! I used up all the courage I had the night before! They arrived and I had to talk about something I wasn’t ready to share with anyone else at that point. As we talked, I was informed that I would need to make a confession in church because it had happened even after I was a member of the church! I was horrified and tried to tell them it wasn’t my fault, I didn’t want it! I plead with them while tears streamed down my face and my whole body shook from the inside out. It didn’t change their minds. They said, by confessing it to the whole church I would find healing and forgiveness.

On the night that the church gathered, I sat there and made a decision. I would wall off another piece of my heart. I would bury it where not even God could find it. Anger boiled inside me as my trauma, shame and ugliness was told to the whole church. I was re-traumatized that night. I felt assaulted all over again in front of the whole church. I felt even dirtier and more shame than before. I walked to the back of the church where I stood as each member came and shook my hand. Most of the members said, “we forgive you.” A few said nothing at all. 5 ladies whispered in my ear, as they pulled me in to embrace me, “I am so sorry this happened to you, or you didn’t deserve this.” (Those 5 ladies will forever have a place in my heart ❤️) But to each person who said “we forgive you” I wanted to punch them and scream at them, “THIS WASNT MY FAULT!” By them saying, we forgive you, they were telling me that it was my fault, that I had some dirty sin that needed to be forgiven! (Or, that is what it felt to me they were saying)

Something happened to me that night that changed me in ways they will never know. Only after much counseling have I been able to heal and forgive them for the pain, trauma, and the spiritual abuse they caused me. After many years I am finally at a place of wholeness enough to share.

A few people who have heard my story have asked, “how are you even still a Christian and go to chruch?” I answer them with a question, “How can I not?” How can I not be a Christian and worship God in a church house? It wasn’t Jesus who failed me or hurt me, it was people.”

Jesus found that piece of my heart that I buried away. He nurtured it, He held it and when I finally let Him, He healed it. He put it back in place. My heart is whole, but it has many scars on it and that is okay, because you want to know something? Jesus has scars too and He bears those scars for me and for you.

To anyone who has experienced this trauma and pain, or any other, you are not alone. I care about your pain. I understand if and why you may not have the courage to set foot in a church right now. And that is okay. Your heart needs time and space to process and heal. I know God will bring to you healing from the darkest of darkness in your heart. One day you will be able to go back to church and realize that it’s okay to be there, it doesn’t hurt anymore because of what Jesus will do in your life.

‭‭Philippians‬ ‭1:6‬ ‭TPT‬‬

I pray with great faith for you, because I’m fully convinced that the One who began this gracious work in you will faithfully continue the process of maturing you until the unveiling of our Lord Jesus Christ.

– Sherry Showarlter –
Bio: Sherry is married with a son who is a miracle. She loves singing, animals, being a mom, gardening, and making food for other people.

****

If you find yourself in a state of trauma and suffering as a result of sexual, spiritual or other abuse, there is support available. Finding a trauma informed counsellor who understands the harm abuse does, and helps you move beyond the harm to healing, is a powerful gift. I’ve heard horror stories of ‘counsellors’ — some licensed, some not — who have escalated the harm through ignorance, or who have no clue how to invite survivors to healing. If you have a counsellor and you are still stuck in the same place 6 months, 1 year, 2 years or — as in one case — almost 20 years later, I might suggest finding a different counsellor. If they urge you not to report or speak of the abuse, run for the hills. If they do not support you in what *you* need for healing, run for the hills. There are sincere and effective counsellors. Don’t give up until you find one, if that is what you need.

Above all, I wish you healing and hope. Life is hard enough with hope, to walk through this suffering with no hope is harder.

As always….

Love,
~ T ~

© Trudy Metzger 2024

They pray and prey: A story of child rape and assault, at the hands of Luke Martin (Lancaster, PA)

Splsh4Ripls6 Comments

His smile sickened me. Disgusted me.

He attempted to reassure me. “I know the Lord and my life is changed.”

****

BACKGROUND TO SHARING THIS STORY

A friend asked if we could share the following story on my blog. The woman in the story felt compelled to speak out about her horrific experiences with Luke H Martin, of Lancaster, Pennsylvania, (EDIT: born in 1955 to Jonas M and Elizabeth Martin) recently after he approached his victim at an event. He showed no concern for her wellbeing, nor awareness of her lack of safety near him. Many years earlier, when confronted, he acknowledged his abuse of her, but failed to acknowledge the harm done to his victim(s). This confrontation took place after she was an adult.

This story begins with chaos and family dysfunction. There were many adults in this home. Yet, none seemed to notice when a little girl began experiencing the horror that her next 3 years would become. At the dinner table during prayer, in the barn before chores, after chores, and even during chores. In her bed at night, the bed she shared with her sister. 

From age 8 to 11, this little girl experienced hell at the hands of a hired man who was old enough to know better. He simply did not care about anyone or anything, but himself and his vile desires.

****

A WORD OF INTRODUCTION FROM THE AUTHOR

I never thought I would have the opportunity to share my story, my experience, and the nightmare this man inflicted on me. It was after our last ‘accidental’ meeting that I resolved, after some thought, that it was time to share my story publicly. I tell my story so others will know what he is capable of. So others harmed by him will know they are not alone in being abused and deeply hurt by this man. In hopes that others will feel less alone and find the courage to tell their stories. Especially other victims of the man who abused me.

****

A HORROR FROM DAYS GONE BY

Luke Martin was 19 or 20 when he was hired to help on our farm. We shared a house with my grandparents, and two young women between 20 and 30 years old, as I recall. In total, with Luke, there were 7 adults in my home. Not one ever noticed what was happening under their roof, at their dinner table, in their barn. Being the oldest child, I was often tasked with helping Luke with his various duties. It was not unusual to be in the stripping room, stripping tobacco, just me and him. 

Daily life, after Luke entered our home, changed dramatically as he took every opportunity to molest me. Our home wasn’t perfect, but my parents loved me, and they loved each other. With them, I was safe. Luke robbed me of safety in my home. He disrupted my development. He stole my confidence. 

The worst was time spent alone in the barn with him. Luke created a fort in the haymow, as children do, which kept others from seeing what was happening behind those hay bales. He created this sick ritual where he acknowledged that what he was going to do to me was wrong in God’s eyes, because I was an innocent child. He justified his crimes by telling me I must ask him to do whatever evil thing he desired that day. He would then respond with, “Let’s pray.” This was followed by a short time of silence during which time he expected me to pray and ask God to forgive him for the sins he was about to commit. Since I was an innocent child, God would surely hear my prayer. 

After prayer, there in the haymow, he not only raped and molested me, but he also had a dog do it to me as well. He also forced me to watch him commit these acts on our female dog. In the barn, it was just him and me, while all the other adults were doing other things, which gave him opportunity to repeat these horrific assaults whenever he pleased. 

A year after the abuse started, I got my first period. Despite not having an education about periods and pregnancy, I would spend time looking in the mirror, fearing that I was potentially pregnant. Each month I was relieved when my period came. The anxiety and worry about giving birth to a half-human, half-dog being was all-consuming. How would I explain that at 9 years old? What would people think? 

Luke took pleasure in taking me to watch animals have sex. “This is how people do it!” he assured me. He would take me to watch pigs, dogs, cats, and whatever animal he came upon mating. “This is how your parents do it,” he told me time after time. I remember feeling disgusted and ashamed at seeing animals do this and being told my parents did these same acts. 

The fear and the shame built up and I acted out at school. I cheated. I lied. I was disruptive and thought of myself as being the class clown. At home, I was angry and disrespectful. I was very frustrated that no one seemed to notice or care about the pain I suffered, the humiliation I endured, and the shame I constantly felt alongside the crippling fear. 

I first attempted to die by suicide at age 9. I took a handful of Aspirin and went to bed, desperately hoping to not wake up the next morning. I awoke the next morning, stretched my arms and moved my fingers, and realized that I was still alive. I was disappointed to have to face not just that day but all the feelings that went alongside being a victim of Luke’s abuse. I tried two more times to end my life, each time taking even more aspirin. And each time I felt the same disappointment. 

Luke also had a temper. On his final day at our home, he became enraged because Dad hadn’t gotten a chance to buy him the muffler for the tractor that Luke wanted, so he packed his bags and walked off. Watching Luke walk away brought me a sense of peace. I can easily define that moment as being the best feeling that Luke had ever evoked in me. I can still see his buggy drive down the road. With each clip-clop, knowing he was farther and farther away, I was finally safe from his vile and calculated abuse. 

I was finally safe from his sexualizing everything from me to the animals. That day changed my life for the better. 

****

A RECENT ENCOUNTER

The night I bumped into Luke, some months ago – and he smiled ‘that’ smile – was another game changer. He seemed aware of my life and all that had happened in the last 37 years, as though he had been stalking me all those years, dating back to when he was approached by his bishop regarding abusing me. 

Luke smiled at me and said, “I cried many a’night when I found out how your life turned out.” His demeanor can only be described as “giddy.” His actions and words far from appropriate. Imagine spending three years of your adult life making a young child suffer for sexual gratification, and then having the audacity to approach her decades later and tell her how changed you are. 

As I share my story, I look back and realize how many other times he inserted himself in my life since I am an adult. There was one time, in particular, I thought I saw him at an event that I attended. I just couldn’t be sure that it was him. But then I smelled him. His distinct body odor confirmed for me that it was him; he smelled just as he did when he abused me. The trigger of his scent alone caused me to spend many ensuing nights reliving childhood trauma through nightmares and flashbacks. Details and events that I have never before shared publicly. 

When he stood before me, smiling and giddy, a few months ago, I asked him the following question: “Do you realize what you took from me, from other young girls, and [specific identity redacted]?” 

Luke’s smile never changed. If anything, the twinkle in his eye seemed to shine brighter. He did not deny what I said. I was confident I was not the only victim of his depravity, though I did not know if he had ever acknowledged other victims. The skill with which he manipulated our home from the start, to harm me as he did, indicated he was already an experienced and highly skilled abuser. 

Luke repeated that the Lord had changed him and he was not the same man. He leaned close to me, seeming not to recognize how significant his actions were, and his response to my question. He seemed to have no perception of what he had truly done. We were not talking about something trivial. And, yet, his body language suggested that this was a conversation about him; something that seemed to boost his ego.

Standing there close to me, a victim of his horrific sexual violence, he insisted over and over how the Lord had changed him. He was unphased. Unphased by me boldly asking him if he knew the significance of what he had done. Unphased by the people walking around. Oblivious to the witnesses his body language was drawing. He did not grasp the pain he had caused me, other victims, and his wife and family by his actions. 

I reminded him during our conversation, “This isn’t about you.” 

After he walked away, another lady asked me if I was okay. I wasn’t. I admitted that and explained who he was and what he had done. She looked around. Families with children were nearby, and all around. Young people were walking in groups, some were alone. She was especially concerned about the vulnerability of young girls walking around without adults. 

She looked at me, “How is it, that a man like that, can be here in a place where there are other young children?” Her eyes were kind toward me, and yet at that moment, she realized that in a place where there are many Mennonite and Amish families, a predator was free to roam about. Her feelings of safety and security were suddenly destroyed, knowing that Luke was there and so bold in his approach and actions toward me. 

She told me that she had observed our interaction. I asked if it was because I had seemed angry. She shook her head no. “It was him. He just was acting odd.” 

After this event I reached out to a friend and asked if they know of any avenues to sharing my story. They told me of this blog, and reached out on my behalf. 

The night I bumped into Luke, a few months ago, my boldness overshadowed my fear and my nerves. I finally confronted him. There wasn’t a shadow of a doubt or a nudge of fear on his face; it was then I decided I want to share my story publicly. I want others to know who he is and what he has done, to ensure he never does this again. The Lord is capable of big things, including changing him, if he becomes truly repentant. Even so, those who have been victimized and harmed by him, should be acknowledged and given opportunity to heal, without him approaching them and terrorizing them through nightmares and flashbacks.

Over 30 years ago, Luke acknowledged his sex crimes when the bishop confronted him for what he had done to me as a child. To our church’s credit, he was excommunicated. Immediately, he began attending a church back in his hometown, near our family. 

I have seen Luke several times in the last number of years, where he had ample opportunity to acknowledge the sexual assault and harm. But he never had the courage to own his sins with me, his victim. Yet, somehow, he had the nerve to repeatedly tell me that he was a changed man. It was, once again, all about him and what he wanted or needed. It was, again, about him trying to take power over me. 

My life and the things that I have overcome and accomplished are not because of him. They are because of God’s goodness; He has given me the strength to overcome much trauma. I know that my story isn’t typical. When my family stopped farming and my father chose another occupation, it was a wonderful time for our family. There was no more anxiety about who the next hired man might be. No more fear of what he may try to do in the night, or even at the dinner table. Never again did I worry about being in a haymow, and I never did have to go back into a barn or a stripping room. 

****

I never thought I would have the opportunity to share my story publicly for others who need to know that Luke Martin is a sexual predator who harms little children. I write this story because I want other victims to know, “You are not alone.” I want them to know they are supported if they choose to come forward and report him.  

~ One little girl… now grown up and healed enough to speak ~

****

We tell the hard stories because they speak truth. We tell the hard stories to give others courage to speak. We tell them for the sake of accountability for the offender, and for the sake of justice and mercy. There is no greater mercy than to value the life of a child enough to create awareness. Above all, we tell them because to speak is part of the healing process, and it is critical for protecting children and the vulnerable.

Therefore, we will continue to speak. Continue to invite God into the chaos, the trauma and the horror of sins and crimes committed in His name, against His little ones.

As always…
Love,
~ T ~

© Trudy Metzger 2022