In my early teenage years I was sexually abused.

There, I’ve said it.

At least, my GP has told me I need to call it what it is. In his opinion, it’s sexual abuse.

You see, we’re not talking rape here. Just inappropriate touching. Inappropriate conversation and inappropriate invasion of space.

In my own home.

I had nowhere to go.

This man would follow me into my bedroom. There was no escape.

This man was my dad’s best friend. He was (and as far as I know may still be) an elder in his church. In fact, he was studying part-time at bible college. Perhaps that’s no shock to anybody given what we see in the media these days.

He came and stayed in our home on a regular basis. There were times when I’d be left alone in the house with him while my dad drove my mum to work.

My parents trusted this man. So much so that when I finally got up the guts to tell my mum how uncomfortable I was feeling she told me it was my fault.

My fault.

Why?

Apparently what I was feeling was less important than her view that he didn’t mean anything by it.

Did he mean anything by it?

I have no idea.

I was 14 years old and didn’t feel safe in my own house. If I was left alone with him I had to go for a walk. Get out of there. I felt ill.

4 years later I wrote the following in my journal “I know I’m over-reacting but why can’t S just keep his hands OFF of me?”

My mother taught me that my feelings weren’t valid. I think that did more damage than the sexual abuse itself. I’m not sure.

At one point my parents did decide to take some action. They found out that one of my friends (a family whom this man also visited and stayed overnight with) was having similar trouble.

So they decided to avoid him staying at our place if I was home.

That REALLY hurt. I felt like they were validating what this other girl had said and not what I had told them.

You’d think I’d be happy that they finally believed me wouldn’t you?

I only avoided him for a time though. After that perhaps my parents thought I’d be big enough to stick up for myself. Maybe I would have been. Or could have been. If I wasn’t still under the impression that all of this was in my own head.

That what I FELT was wrong.

After so many years, healing is slow in coming. I’ve been married for 12 years and yet the ramifications of this man’s actions still affect my married life. Less and less. But it’s still there.

So who do I blame? I’ve blamed myself for so long. It seems like a natural instinct to do so. Perhaps I should blame this man. Or my mum for not REALLY listening to me. My parents for not protecting me. Or what about God? Is it His fault? Couldn’t He have stopped what was happening to me? He knew what my life would be like before he ever created me.

I don’t know. One thing I do know is this. God died for the sins of ALL men. He died for the sins of this man who hurt me over and over again. He died for the sins of my parents when they failed to protect me, choosing themselves and their own comfort over mine.

Forgiveness isn’t about letting the guilty go free. It isn’t about saying that a crime didn’t occur. It isn’t about saying everything is okay.

It’s about acknowledging that when Christ died on the cross, he took the punishment for all of mankind’s sin. Yours. Mine. Rapists. Murderers. The whole lot. Whether we want to classify sin and wrongdoing into “big” and “little” sin. It doesn’t matter. It’s forgiven.

It. Is. Finished.

Who’s to Blame isn’t nearly so important as Who’s Forgiven. Turns out that everyone is forgiven.

Now to find peace and healing in my own heart and life. To find the kind of forgiveness that lets go of the hurt.

Dear Lord, A part of me wants to hold onto my anger and pain. To say that I have a RIGHT to do so. Please help me to let go of it. To allow you to work in my life in a new and fantastic way. Fill my heart with love and forgiveness. Thank you Lord that you are slow to anger and quick to forgive. Please help me to do that same. Amen.