I was living and ministering in the inner city when a stranger broke into my home and attacked me at knife point, threatening the lives of my two children—who were asleep in the next room—to keep me silent.
Rape is as awful as it sounds, and not a story anyone should tell.
I did tell—the moment I broke free from my bonds, in fact—calling my husband out of a meeting at church. “Come home,” I said, crying and shaking. “I’ve been raped.” He lovingly cared for me, and then together we turned to our family and church for support. They rallied around us, and our slow healing process began.
The time came, though, when I began to wonder if people thought of me only as “the girl who was raped,” and the shame of it was almost as unbearable as the rape itself. I wished I hadn’t told anyone. I wanted to go back.
That was sixteen years ago, and thank goodness God has brought me forward.
Back then I wouldn’t have believed I would one day speak internationally about my journey from rape to restoration and write a book on the subject that would be translated into many languages—and that I would be thrilled to do it!
My story, as it turns out, is not ugly at all. God makes all things beautiful! I became pregnant as a result of the rape, and my husband and I chose to welcome little Rachael into our family. I can see now that God gave me this beautiful girl as is a constant reminder of his faithfulness. I have gained so much more than I have lost.
I’m not just the girl who was raped; there is so much more to me than that. But I’m no longer ashamed to admit it is a part of my life. And if my restoration will give hope to even one other person, I’ll tell it one more time.Leave a Comment