Category: women

February 17, 2016 beauty, beauty from ashes, belief, Biblical womanhood, Christ, Christian, darkness, God, grace, lies, light, redeemed, redemption, relationships, self-image, trust, women, worth

Finding Freedom From the Lies We Believe (A Contributor Post at The Glorious Table)

You are not enough…
If they only knew…
If only my life looked like…
This is how it starts. These statements are the beginning of many of my internal battles. It is exhausting. I long more than anything to be a woman who’s steadfast, unswerving in her identity, and serving Christ with all that she is. And yet I struggle. These thoughts pop up, and Satan fuels the fire with his lies. Soon I am sulking in self-pity, jealousy, and anger.
If I am honest, I have a lifelong pattern of listening to these lies.  They have become familiar friends.
I am not enough. If only I did more, I would be worth more. If I were thinner and prettier, if I were in a relationship, if I got that promotion, then I could cease striving.
Her goodness and success minimizes mine. This is the comparison trap so many of us fall prey to. What can I do to be more like her? Her success will make me look like a failure. Diminishing her value will build my own.
All love for me is conditional.  If they only knew, if they saw everything about me, it would all come crashing down. No one loves me for the true me. Keep pretending; be the person they like.
God will not fulfill His promises; He wants something other than my good. My situation looks nothing like my plans. God is leading me astray. I can control my life. The outcome is better in my hands. God is not safe.

These are the thoughts that keep me up at night. The thoughts that drive a wedge into my relationship with the Lord. It is these little seeds of doubt that flourish into anger and a belief that God is not entirely good.
These are the lies Satan speaks over my life, and maybe over yours as well. The dangerous part is that I begin to agree with them. I slowly write a narrative of these lies over my own life. It is not until they are faced with light and truth that they disappear.
When darkness and light meet, the light always wins.
July 8, 2015 abuse, abuse on college campuses, beauty from ashes, brokenness, date rape, fear, finding healing from sexual abuse, healing, heart, loved, messy grace, rape, redeemed, redemption, rescued, sexual abuse, women

She Matters: Kate’s Story

**This post is a part of She Matters: The Mended Heart Project, a project to bring awareness to stories of overcoming sexual abuse through grace and redemption and an attempt to give survivors a voice. To check out more on this project, see the original post here.


Let me introduce you to Kate. I don’t know Kate all that well personally, however, a quick glance at her online platforms and you will see that she is literally changing the world through her service for the kingdom. She is clearly kind, compassionate, and insightful. I know that after reading her story you will also find that she is resilient and brave. I say it with every post, but I truly am so grateful for each of these women. Regardless of how well or how little I know them when the process begins, we nearly always end up with a sweet connection. Many conversations with them end like the one Kate and I had tonight that resolved with a simple “I wish I could hug you.”  Some days, this entire project feels much like a hug. Check out how she uses her voice at her personal blog here. Women boldly using their voices is always something I can get behind…

My childhood was lovely. I have so many fond memories. I grew up in a loving and vibrant Christian home. I have three funny, sweet sisters and a wonderful set of parents. My mom supports me with abandon, and my dad is the picture of humility and grace. I can count on one hand the number of times I have seen or heard him raise his voice. I never imagined that men would be the common denominator for my childhood and adolescent trauma.

It was sometime in my pre-teen years. I believe I was in fourth or fifth grade. I was shopping with a friend and her mom in a popular department store. Her mom agreed to let us split up; she would shop on her own while my friend and I browsed the juniors department. A strange man, in his early 60’s I estimated, came up to me and began talking to me. Something felt bizarre right off that bat. I glanced down because something completely alien to me was catching my eye. This man was fully exposing himself to my young eyes. He proceeded to tell me that I was “just his granddaughter’s size,” and “it would be so helpful for him to find her size if I would go into the dressing room with him and try some things on.” Blaring alarms were going off in my young head. Get out NOW, they said. Nothing good will come of this, they screamed. I walked off to look for my friend, with this man right on my heels with an armful of pre-teen clothing. I finally found her and said loud enough for him to hear “let’s go find your Mom.” He abruptly turned around and left. It was later discovered on the security cameras that he quickly threw the clothes on a hanger and took off.

I met up with my Mom a few hours later and told her the details of what happened, not fully grasping the severity of it all. I’ll never forget the way the color left her face, the way she tried to remain calm in front of her daughter right in the middle of Old Navy. That evening I found myself sitting at a table across from a detective, going over the events of the afternoon and explaining what happened in the best way my innocent and naive words could. There was even discussion of an artist drawing up a caricature based off of my description, since there was yet another report of this happening to a young girl in the mall soon after me. That never occurred, but the image of that man’s face is forever ingrained in my memory.

No child should experience something so immoral. I shudder at the thought of it happening to my future daughter. I wish I could say that was my one and only experience with sexual abuse.

It was soon after my 21st birthday that I experienced another taste of evil. I was out with friends on a Saturday night, having a few drinks as any normal college student would. It wasn’t an hour or so into the evening that I felt way beyond disoriented. And down to my very core, I knew it wasn’t because I had overdone it with alcohol. I started the walk home with a few friends. I use the term “friends” loosely – they were more like acquaintances. At that point, I had no idea what happened to my actual friends. I think us women all have an intuition that sets off a warning flare in certain danger. Mine was going off like fireworks on the fourth of July. Sometime along the walk home, I was separated and left completely alone. I vaguely remember wandering through the dark, crying for a familiar face. I fell to the ground, and it was lights out after that. I woke up to a male paramedic kneeling next to me with a concerned look on his face, asking why on Earth I was all alone in the middle of the night. I was rushed to the Emergency Room where I was treated for some deep wounds scattered across my body. I was sent home in a taxi soon after. My dorm resident helped me up to my room, as walking was proving to be difficult. She told me to call her if I needed anything. I decided to take a look in my bathroom mirror. I lost all feeling in my body, and fell to my knees at the sight of my reflection.

I rushed to my dorm resident’s room and asked to use her phone. I called my parents, screaming to them through the phone from three hours away that I think I was raped. While things were still fuzzy at that point in time, the horror of that phone call and the desperation and grief in my parents’ voices will stay with me. They urged me to call the police. It was dawn by then, so I watched the sun come up on a new day in February while I waited for an officer in the dorm office. I’ll never forget the look on the officer’s face as I explained the hazy events of the night before. He must have been a father. There is no other explanation for the sorrow painted across his face, the deep lines forming around his eyes as I sobbed through it all. He escorted me to the hospital in his police car. Upon arrival, I was whisked into a private room where he explained to me that the police need photographs of all my injuries for the investigation. He was kind and gentle, taking great care to preserve what dignity was left behind from the night before. He was a gracious man, surely sent to me by my Heavenly Father specifically for those first, early hours. I don’t even remember his name.

I was admitted to the hospital, and quickly poked and prodded and medicated by a variety of nurses. My parents arrived soon after, with my older sister in tow. I can still see the look on their faces as they tried not to fall apart in front of me when they first laid eyes on that hospital bed. I had to endure an invasive examination specifically intended for sexual assault patients. It was humiliating, mortifying even. She was kind, but I still felt like I was in the middle of someone else’s life. Not mine. She described that based off of the exam it appeared I was not raped, but a rape kit still needed to be completed because of the location of some of my injuries. She suspected sexual assault. It was recommended that I ingest the “morning-after pill”, just in case. I was checked for symptoms of an STD or HIV. They would scan test results for any indication of drugs or substances slipped into my beverages from the night before. These were all things I never imagined I would have to be tested for at 21 years old. 

It’s true what they say about victims often being overcome with feelings of shame and guilt, as if it was somehow their fault. And while those lies couldn’t be further from the truth, they still linger. Those acquaintances that were present that night? They went out of their way to verify and confirm that the events were, in fact, my fault after they had to endure what they described as “humiliating” questions from a detective. They didn’t know the first thing about humiliation, I wanted to scream in their faces. Thankfully, they have long since been cut out of my life.

A female detective called me a few days later and explained that her findings confirmed I was a victim of a sexual assault. My injuries suggested I was violently struck, and perhaps dragged across the gravel as the unknown perpetrator tried to have his way with my unconscious body in the dark shadows that night. I was abandoned only because of a phone call to the police with an angel on the other line reporting that they heard a young woman crying “leave me alone” in a lot behind their home for troubled children. Thank God for that phone call. I shudder at how different this story might be if that person never picked up the phone.

I don’t think I will ever know who committed such vile crimes against me. That is part of a handful of startling statistics among rape and sexual assault cases: there is only about a 25% arrest rate. Thankfully I have made peace with that, because Ecclesiastes 12:14 tells us that, “God will bring every deed into judgment, including every hidden thing, whether it is good or evil.”

That was five short, yet long, years ago. My life has revolutionized since then. God has grown tremendous strength, resilience, and redemption out of a truly evil situation. He birthed new passions in my heart for helping others that have endured a taste of evil on this side of heaven. In the aftermath of the attack, I didn’t allow myself to cry for months. I didn’t want to ever feel weak and vulnerable again. Now, I weep with those who weep, and mourn with those who mourn. When I meet someone that has faced adversity or endured a painful or traumatic experience, my heart aches with theirs even if our scars don’t look the same. Christ has impressed within me a deeper level of understanding than I ever had before. Earlier in my adolescent years, I quivered at the opportunity to stand before others and speak. Now my voice longs to speak of the beauty of His grace and mercy, and the potential for true healing that only He can bring.

God did not “allow” those two people to commit such crimes against me. He mourned from Heaven as they made deplorable choices. He intervened on my behalf by placing a stirring in someone to make a simple phone call. He sent angels in human flesh to walk alongside me in the earliest hours, and in the painful days that followed. He set in my path a wise, warmhearted woman to counsel me through doubt, fear, shame, guilt, and insecurity. He restored me. He has made me new. He has redeemed what Satan intended for evil into a beautiful story of transformation. If I could turn back time and take it all away, I don’t think I would be the person I am today. My prayer is that you will allow Him to do the same for you, no matter what your own experience may be. He forms strength out of weakness, and courage out of despair. He can and will use the pain in our lives to change us, shape us, and teach us. We are the clay in our beloved Father’s hands. In my life, my God has molded beauty from ashes.
June 17, 2015 abuse, Christ, Christian, church, dating, faith, fear, forgiveness, God, grace, loved, rape, redeemed, redemption, relationships, rescued, sex, sexual abuse, trust, women

She Matters: J’Layne’s Story

This post is a part of She Matters: The Mended Heart Project, a project to bring awareness to stories of overcoming sexual abuse through grace and redemption and an attempt to give survivors a voice. To check out more on this project, see the original post here. 

I am so privileged to introduce J’Layne to you. Her story speaks volumes to the widespread impact of rape and abuse and to the redemptive power of the church. As I have briefly gotten to know J’Layne via the internet over the last few months, I can assure you that she is funny, wise, and passionate. She has overcome in incredible ways. I am so grateful for her willingness to share her story and I pray you’ll be encouraged by it. If you’d like to read more of J’Layne’s work, check out her blog, J’Layne Changed. Feel free to send her some encouragement in the comments. Let’s cheer on her bravery! 

Meet J’Layne:

This is the story of the sexual abuse I suffered ten years ago. I still can’t believe that this kind of thing happened to me- the girl who grew up so sheltered, waited so long to date, to have her first kiss, whose worst fear was disappointing her parents.

He was a friend of my friends. He was in their Christian worship band. He liked me from the very start of joining our friend group. He was tall, muscular, broad, and handsome. Very funny and witty. In fact, he knew all the right words to say. He took me around his family; his kind and loving mom and his spunky and extroverted fifteen year old sister. His dad was in and out, because he worked overseas. Being with him and around his family was so easy, so comfortable. It felt so right. After six months of dating, I knew he was going to be my husband, someday soon- just as soon as my student teaching was over, and I was a college graduate.

One evening, after a family celebration dinner- his dad was home for a while from his assignment- his parents went to bed. We were in their living room watching a movie. He began kissing me, which I naturally didn’t mind him doing at all. Things progressed pretty quickly, and I began to feel uncomfortable. I told him to stop, but he just held me down, and continued to do as he pleased with my body. It was so confusing because I knew where boundaries were being crossed, and they were not what I believed were healthy before marriage. Yet, these physiological impulses being forced on me felt very pleasurable. The disconnect between my mind, spirit, and body was so loud, clamoring from every shadow of my being. I began to cry. I asked him repeatedly to stop, but he continued to use brute strength to keep me pinned where he wanted me. In the next breath, he was kissing me on the mouth again- it nauseated me. He just laid on top of me while I cried and cried, gasping for breath and struggling to break free.

Through my tears, I asked him, “Why did you stop when I told you no? I wasn’t ready for that.” He simply replied, “You know, you’re cleaner down there than any other girl I know.” It was as if my reality had torn wide open into a sinkhole the size of the Grand Canyon. Who was this man, sitting on this couch with me? The one who professed to be a believer, a worshipper of Christ, a virgin? He then casually said, “Don’t bother telling anyone, my parents still think I’m waiting for marriage.”

The fallout from that single evening had a monumental effect on me. Not only did I most certainly tell my mom, I broke up with him as soon as I could muster up the courage to do so. His mother called me and accused me of cheating on him- that I must have found someone better if I was breaking up with him. It was horrifying. I could not bring myself to tell his mother about his sins against me- it wasn’t my place- but it really hurt to know that she believed I was capable of the thing she was accusing me of.

I became instantly distrustful of everyone outside my immediate family, withdrew from friend groups and just wanted to be alone all the time. The guilt and shame I felt were overwhelming and heartbreaking. I just knew I could never be loved or called lovely ever again- especially because of the way my body betrayed my emotions that night. How could I have physically felt pleasure when emotionally I was terrified and disgusted?

I lost all of my friends.

I spent the next year with just my mom and dad, and sometimes my brother. I didn’t want to be around anyone, didn’t want to talk to anyone. I just wanted to be isolated and safe. After a year, I began going to a biblical counselor.

A few months later, a girl from church invited me to “Sunday Lunch” at her friend’s apartment. I was terrified to go, but at the strong urging of my counselor, I pushed through and went anyway. And guess what? People were kind, friendly, relaxed, shared their stories with me, and let me sit and eat quietly and talk to hardly anyone. Every week, I went to that Sunday Lunch group. For over 2 years, I went, until it got so big that we had to start hanging out in smaller groups, because no one’s house was big enough to fit all of us! The Lord used his body to heal mine. Community with the commonality of Christ is what rescued me from fear of man and the desire to isolate and defend. Being with like minded individuals, and sharing our lives with one another, and ways the Lord revealed his character to us, the attributes of who he is- that made all the difference.

Ten years later, as I reflect back on this community, I have to say that we’ve had some times. I’ve gone on mission trips with these people, stood up for them in their weddings, been there for the births of their babies- all because of the commonality we have of being redeemed by the shed blood of Jesus.

And here’s the thing: nothing we experience as a result of sin or this broken world is God’s fault. He can’t be anything but loving. He doesn’t lie, and His word says that he is love. He is incapable of doing anything unloving to His children. He used the heartache of the sin which was perpetrated upon me to restore me. To take me beyond my original understanding of who he is, and what the Gospel actually is. The good news of Jesus is that we have been redeemed, not by any actions we have done to earn such a redemption, but given freely by the blood of Jesus as a gift to stand in Christ’s righteousness before God. I don’t have to clean myself up or get rid of hurts before I stand before Him. Christ has got all of that mess covered. That is the good news that sets all of mankind free.

January 3, 2014 beauty, Biblical womanhood, brokenness, chivalry, church, dating, femininity, forgiveness, gender roles, God, grace, heart, I am sorry, loved, marriage, masculinity, porn, relationships, sex, women

I’m Sorry…

 We’ve never met. As a matter of fact, most of you I may never meet. But I owe you an apology….

To the guy who picks up his Bible instead of the Playboy magazine, to the guy who closes his laptop even though no one is watching, to all of you who hold doors, give up seats and through action and word choose to respect the women in your life every day. To the man who never lets a woman’s careless behavior absolve his responsibility to respect and value her. I’m sorry.

You see I grew up in a “boys will be boys” culture. From an early age I learned that men were pigs. I learned to hold my own doors and never ever to need you. God forbid that I should need a man’s help or be vulnerable. I learned that every compliment had hidden intentions, that I should cover up, cross my legs, and leave you in the dust like the independent woman I was expected to be. That’s what society taught me…. and they were wrong.

I’m sorry that we bought into the lie that you were an animal incapable of controlling yourself
I’m sorry that I believed you were all the same
I’m sorry that we lowered the bar and settled for guys who didn’t respect us
I’m sorry that I never took a deeper look into all my misconceptions
I’m sorry that we turned your chivalrous acts into demeaning displays of our weakness
I’m sorry that we cheapened masculinity by making it nothing more than sex, women, and physical strength 

We got it wrong -society, myself, the church- we all did. 

There are plenty of men in the world who fit every stereotype I just mentioned, but then there’s you- the ones I’m actually apologizing to. 

Whether you’re 14 or 40, single or married, you fight a daily battle to keep your mind and heart pure for the woman who will one day deserve it. You choose our worth and value over your temporary satisfaction or pleasure. Thank you.

We need you. As our brothers, our fathers, our friends, our spouses, we need you.  

We need you to validate our worth as more than the number we see on a scale; we need you to tell us that we are treasured and valued because of Whose we are not because of what we do.

At some point and time society decided that wasn’t okay. It wasn’t acceptable for a woman to need a man, in fact it was weakness. The Bible speaks very differently about gender roles though.

 God created us to need each other. Gender roles are more about our souls/spiritual lives and strengths/weaknesses complementing each other when we use them correctly than they are about who makes dinner. A man’s strength guards a woman’s heart and provides a chance for her to be vulnerable. We need that leading as women whether we like to admit it or not. A man’s strength (spiritually speaking, as a leader) should enhance a woman’s beauty by allowing her to be vulnerable. Mutually, a woman’s need for a leader requires a man’s strength and validates him. 

This gets all screwed up in our society because guys grow up learning to disrespect women and girls grow up learning to demonize men and be completely independent. We are told to be strong, independent women and never rely on anyone because that simply leads to heartbreak. Most of the women I know have no idea how to be vulnerable because society doesn’t allow it, but the church should be working to redefine what it means to be a godly man or woman today! 

So I’m sorry for not saying it sooner, but I see you; we see you. We notice when you choose respect us because it’s a choice you make daily. We notice and we’re grateful. Keep it up. And no matter how many times we act like we don’t, we need you. We need godly men who are respectful not just as our future spouses but as our friends, as our brothers in Christ.

So to you who make that choice every day, I’m sorry for not giving you the thanks you deserve. Thank you. From every girl out there trying her best to represent Biblical womanhood- thank you for making the journey a bit easier!
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