The Hands of Jesus

I was sexually molested for years as a young child. It began with my father coming into my room at night when I was just a toddler. I’m cursed with an excellent memory, and the first time I can remember being molested by my father took place in the living room of the house I moved out of when I was three. My father also had a friend who lived with us on and off, known to my brothers and I as “Uncle”. He also participated in the sexual abuse. When I was about 8, he stopped.

And though he stopped physically touching me, it seemed as though it never stopped. I would have nightmares about the abuse starting again. At twelve, I began dating older guys and experimenting sexually with them, because I had no idea what a normal interaction should be between a girl and guy. Whenever I was with a guy, I couldn’t shake the feeling that it was really my father touching me. I had sex with a guy who was 18 when I was 12 and 13, and cried everytime.

I entered highschool, I began seeking God. I went to a youth group type thing, and learned some about God and Jesus and the christian story. I had a very abstract idea of God, and was interested, but wondered how I could get past the hurt.

But even 6 years after the abuse stopped, I could still feel my father’s hands touching me every second. I was constantly being violated. Freshman year my father went to jail for selling drugs, but even though he was out of my life, he still followed me around. It haunted me to the point that I decided all convicted molesters should be given the death penalty so that maybe a victim could relax.

I spent many nights unable to go to sleep, the scenes of my father molesting me running through my head like a movie relentlessly, how one ususally gets a song stuck in his head.

But one night, I suddenly no longer had my father’s violating, poisonous hands running over me, but the gentle, healing hands of God, letting me know that He was there, and was replacing the feelings that had burdened me for so long. I fell asleep in God’s arms that night. He filled that tiny, gaping hole inside of my soul, and I’ve found a permanent safe home within his hands.

2 Comments

  1. martina 5/29/2007
  2. TELEKA BROWN 6/13/2007

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