RAPED!!!!!

SCRIPTURE: A bruised reed God will not break, or a smouldering wick snuff out. In faithfulness God will bring forth justice. Isaiah 42:3

My father was studying at Bible College, so we had no income, and no house in which to live. A relative offered us accommodation in a hospital she part owned. Mother helped in the hospital, whilst Dad gardened and painted the outside of the large building, combining this with his studies.

I was four years old. Whilst my sisters attended school, Dad looked after me in the garden of the grand old building. I hated rainy days, because then Dad would work in the shed, mending bits and pieces of broken equipment from the hospital. He often would saw wood, hammer, and drill while I amused myself with one thing and another, often sorting nails into sizes, etc.

Sometimes Dad would play tickling games with me, which I hated, because he always took off my clothes, piece by piece, till I had nothing on at all. This was “for more fun”, he used to say. Then he would tickle me in private parts of my body, which repulsed me.

One fateful day, he suddenly completely shut the doors of the shed. I did not understand why he was leaving us in almost total darkness, and felt quite frightened. He decided to take his clothes off too, “for even more fun”, he said. He explained that he was going to teach me a new game. I was very fearful, because I did not like his other special game, and this seemed ominously similar. He had already taken my clothes off, and with the door firmly shut, I was trapped. I began to panic. What happened next I cannot describe. It is too painful for me even now. I remember he laid me on the work bench; told me he loved me so much and Jesus had told him to play this new game because I was so very special to him. He also explained that this game was something which all fathers enjoy with their little girls.

I can only recall the pain – sharp, shooting jabbing up inside my tummy somehow. I remember how heavy he was, lying top of me! I felt I was being squashed to death! I was gasping for breath, while he was puffing and panting, and then groaning in a way I had never neard before. I remember screaming and starting to cry, but he put a hanky in my mouth and told me Jesus had chosen me especially for this, so I must be very quiet. Jesus liked quiet little girls.

My confused, swirling mind could not handle this – how could my Daddy, who loved me, be the same as this person who was hurting me so much? The sharp, agonising pains, which seemed to repeat endlessly, were far more painful than I had ever known pain to be. After many similar experiences in that workshed, I decided this could not possibly be my kind Daddy – it must be some kind of monster!

It had started out looking exactly like my Daddy, but once the shed door was shut, Daddy disappeared and this dreaded, hated, feared monster appeared from nowhere. Where was my Daddy? He seemed to have vanished! The monster smelled like my Daddy, had rough hands like my Daddy, but couldn’t…..just couldn’t BE my kind Daddy.

From then on, the ‘monster’ began to come into my bedroom during my afternoon rest times, when my big sisters were at school, as well as the shed. I HATED the ‘monster’. There must be some huge mistake which I did not understand, which caused my Daddy to disappear and this horrifying monster to arrive so regularly after that.

When he finished his studies, my father became a church minister. He would smile at all the congregation from the special pulpit where he stood, and he would read the Bible and talk about Jesus. Yes, I decided, that was my real Daddy. The cruel, hurtful, rough hands, and that horrific ‘dagger’ he stuffed in my tummy; they belonged to a monster that just looked and sounded like my Daddy.

Now I realise that this mechanism of my brain was really highly creative, and helped me cope with an impossible situation for a tiny child. It enabled me to avoid facing an unbearable truth, the pain which was just too overwhelming for my preschooler mind to address. As I grew older, however, it developed into an enormous mental problem which required three decades of my adult life to resolve…..

PRAYER: Thank you Lord, for protecting me, preserving my life and giving me the strength to endure the unendurable whilst I was so young, innocent, and without any understanding or coping mechanisms. God of all comfort, be with your little ones who are currently suffering in this way all over the world, suffering so excruciatingly at the hands of selfish, cruel, uncaring adults like I did. The choices grown-ups make, even Christian church leaders, must grieve your heart and bring tears to your eyes. Thank you that at the end of time, if not before, your justice will be done, as you have promised. Amen.

TODAY: If this experience in my life brings back painful, almost unbearable memories for you, take special care of yourself today. Be gentle on yourself. Perhaps plan for a long, warm bubble bath. Turn the lights right down or off, light some fragrant candles, and play gentle, relaxing music. Then pour the bath, and consciously make an effort to FEEL the warmth of the water soothing your body, the music calming your soul, the low light and the fragrance of the foam soaking you into a relaxation experience you have not given yourself for a long time, if at all. I find this really helps. When the memories come flooding back, I do this and it does make such a difference, especially before bedtime.

Copyright. Julie-Anne Wingate 2002. All Rights reserved.

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