1.A rape Victim
On the moLat sunny California day, lI've! seemed wonderful and bright. I was one month away from turning 21, a junior in college with a great summer job and I was preparing to go away the next day with friends on a four-day water-skiing trip. But in 10 minutes of pure terror, all my hope and enthusiasm for life
shattered. I was home alone that afternoon. My parents were at work, and I was doing laundry before leaving for my waitressing shift at 4:00P.M. I spent most of the afternoon going back and forth
between the laundry room in our garage and the family room where I was folding clothes. I’d just sat down to watch a TV show when the door from the garage burst open. It happened saround! , all I
saw was the man’s white pants and large black shoes. He had a cloth over his head, which he immediately flung over mine. I never saw his face.
I was sitting a mere five feet from the door he entered, so I didn’t have time to respond. He gripped my neck with his thick, firm hands, nearly choking the breath from me. I must have screamed loudly because he kept yelling, “Shut
up!” I remember his voice to this day. The
neighbors heard me scream but didn’t respond.
With great force, he knocked me onto the floor and threatened to kill me with his knife. I pleaded for my life, offering him money, my brand new Minolta camera, the stereo. I didn’t care what he wanted, I just wanted him to leave me alone. I kept begging, “Please don’t hurt me.” He poked my back and shoulders with the knife and hit my upper body. But his plan wasn’t to steal; his plan was to rape.
The Immediate Aftermath Even in this moment of sheer terror, I silently putrayed, Lord, let me live. Dear God, I want to live .
When he was finished with me, he walked me around the house, his hands still gripping my throat, the blindfold over my face, the knife to my side. Evidently he was looking for a place to stash me. (The police later said I was fortunate. Usually
when a perpetrator moves a victim from one room to another, his plan is murder.) He finally stuffed me in a kitchen cabinet.
As quietly as possible, I took the cloth off my head and listened. When I felt fairly certain he was gone, I carefully opened the cupboard. I feared his return, or even worse, that he might still be in the house. Crying helplessly, I reached
for the phone and dialed my dad’s office number, almost on instinct. His secretary answered the phone, and I had to compose myself enough to ask to speak to my father. When I heard his voice, I came unglued. “Somebody broke into the house and raped me,” I said. He told me to call the police and said he’d be right home. So I called 911 and told the woman who answered the phone that someone had broken into my house and raped me. The next hour moved quickly. The police and my parents arrived within a few minutes of each other. The officers questioned me, talked to the neighbors, and inspected the locks on the house,
garage, and gate. They concluded that the rapist parked around the corner, jumped the neighbor’s
- fence and our fence, and entered through our garage’s side door. The door between the garage and the family room was unlocked because I was doing laundry. Obviously the attacker had watched the house long enough to know there was only one female home that afternoon. During the next year, I learned seven other women had been attacked before me within a 30-mile radius.I heard the ninth victim died. To my knowledge, our attacker never was caught.
Impending Fear
The police officer asked if our family ever
considered owning a dog, explaining that’s the
best deterrent to a home invasion. My heart sank
because our beloved shepherd mix had died just
three weeks earlier. We had a new dog by the end
of the weekend, a Doberman/shepherd mix I
named Angel.
The police officers then escorted my mom and me
to the county rape crisis center. The rape clinic
personnel knew I was coming and immediately led
me to a private room where I was given a
complete physical exam, including a pap smear to
collect for evidence and a blood test for sexually
transmitted diseases. They told me I was in
shock, which explained my uncontrollable shakes
and shivers. They asked me more questions and
gave me literature on rape, emphasizing it wasn’t
my fault. I also received antibiotics to prevent
sexually transmitted diseases and was asked to
come back in 30 days for a pregnancy test and
follow-up blood tests for diseases. Thankfully
none of the tests ever came back positive.
When I finally returned home, I took a hot shower
to wash off the filth I felt was consuming me. I
had my mother stand in the door because I was
so frightened to be alone, even while showering. I
feared being in the house by myself for many
months.
That first night was quite fretful. I was too scared
to turn off my bedroom light. I slept with my door
open and my parents kept their door open across
the hall, where my mom had stashed a large
kitchen knife under the head of her bed. I couldn’t
sleep. I kept reminding myself I was grateful to be
alive, but I wondered how God could allow such
awful things to happen to people. I wondered how
I would move forward with my life. A few times I
dozed off and dreamed someone was in the
house, and I jolted out of bed. I wondered if I
would ever sleep soundly again.
I couldn’t fathom sitting around the house for the
next four days crying or feeling sorry for myself,
so I went on my water-skiing trip. Being several
hundred miles away from home offered a sense of
security, but when I returned home I completely
panicked as I approached the house.
Arrangements were made for me to stay with
family friends across town for a few weeks. I also
saw a counselor, a regular procedure for victims
treated at the rape crisis center.
While I was on my trip, my parents went door to
door and told dozens of neighbors about what
had happened. They also announced it in church.
They were trying to alert the community that
crime was happening in their upper-middle class
neighborhood. So by the time I returned,
everybody knew what had happened. I felt so
embarrassed and ashamed.
Seeking Peace Amidst Grief
I continued with my schooling and graduated a
year and a half later, but I resigned my post on
the editorial staff of the college newspaper. I was
too fearful to make the mile walk to my car in the
dark each evening. I didn’t even want the security
personnel to escort me, since I was afraid of most
everyone I didn’t know personally.
My pastor was great. He would meet me at my
parents’ house after school (I was staying across
town), walk into the house with me to get my
new dog, and we’d take her to the park and talk.
I attended church regularly, but I still was
pursuing a solid relationship with God. My
spiritual seeking continued and I frequently
questioned, “Why, God?” But I also remember
thanking him frequently for letting me live. I truly
thought I was going to die that day, so I was
grateful simply to still be alive.
During the next two years, I suffered miserably. I
experienced the typical symptoms of grief and
depression, and I had severe nightmares and
insomnia. I didn’t feel like eating and got so
skinny people accused me of being anorexic. I
trembled and shook, was constantly in tears, and
was desperately fearful to be alone. Former
boyfriends and guy friends would come to visit
and “babysit” me whenever my parents were out
of the house. I still dated some, but I felt tainted
and sure no one could ever love me.
In my years of grief, I was consoled by the story
of Job in the Bible. His suffering and agony
seemed similar to mine. Job struggled through
the complete destruction of his home, his land,
and the death of his children. Finally his body
was so diseased and disfigured, he was
unrecognizable by his friends. Yet in his suffering,
Job didn’t curse God. Job remained steadfast,
patient, and faithful to his Redeemer. Job became
to me a model of faith, courage, and strength
during my time of suffering. Through his story, I
learned a few basic principles for overcoming
grief: talk about it, allow plenty of time for healing
(it took me more than 14 years to speak openly
about my trauma), be honest with God and
friends about how you feel, and maintain faith in
God. In my years of searching for answers and
hope, my meager faith grew. Finally, 10 years
after the attack, I accepted Jesus as my Savior
and embarked on a relationship with him that
brought me the peace I so desperately needed.
From Job’s story, I also learned I could be honest
with God. Job talked about his affliction,
describing how hopeless he felt and how confused
he was that this affliction had befallen him. I
questioned God, “What did I do to deserve this?” I
have since recognized we all live in a world raging
with sin, and I’m not immune to its affects.
Finally, Job showed me that in deep hopelessness
and doom, there is hope in God. I never thought I
would survive the physical and emotional scars of
that terrible day, but God had a plan for my life:
he allowed me to live.
Sharing My Story
A couple years ago I began to share my story
one-on-one with a few women. Eventually I
worked up the nerve to share about my attack in
a Bible study group of seven women. It was a big
step to speak openly about it. To my amazement,
two women called me to share their hidden
stories of being sexually abused as children. I
realized that if sharing my story could help others
heal, then maybe revealing this part of my life
could be a good thing. In the past several years,
I’ve shared my story with hundreds of women at
Bible studies, church meetings, and conferences.
Women from all backgrounds who have never
shared their story before have told me about the
rape or sexual abuse they’ve suffered. I’m
convinced that when a sufferer can speak about
her pain and tell her story, the healing process
can begin. God has granted me peace over what
happened, and he’s opened the door for me to
share my story.
Today, one of the biggest supporters of my
speaking ministry is my husband, Bill. When he
asked me to marry him, he told me he accepted
and loved me just as I was, and he assured me
we would overcome the obstacles of my past
together. Hearing that was another step forward
in my healing process.
We now have three children, and I own my own
business, which requires me to interview male and
female clients in my office. I even stay home
alone (with my dog). To this day I’m cautious of
strangers, especially those near my home, and
I’m concerned about my children’s safety. Though
we still lock our doors and keep a watchful eye, I
now know ultimately my family and I are in God’s
hands.
(2)A Violent storm
In 2011, I remember being awaken by my parents shocked and afraid of the category 5 cyclone that was due to hit our home town that day. We lived in an old 2 story mill house and planned on staying in the bathroom that was located downstairs. We filled the cupboards with food and placed mattresses in one corner but my parents decided that it wouldn’t be safe enough. At 11am we decided we would be safer at the Sugar Mill down the road.
We packed the cars and drove to the Mill where we quickly set up in a smoko room. We didn’t have long before it started. We were smack bang in the middle of the cyclone, which is the worst place to be. With the smoko room roof broken, it sstartedAtarted to leak, and I laid awake, unable to sleep. I placed my hand on the brick wall beside me that was shaking terribly. I tried to sleep but couldn’t because my parents were frightened. I remember them saying who will we jump on if this roof blows off (Family of 8).
At around 6am the next morning it had stopped and we were able to go home. Walking under our house, the bathroom door had blown off, our yard was destroyed. We all had nightmares for weeks afterwards and went without power for a month. We ended up moving to the beach, to a new house that had been mildly damaged by the cyclone. We lived there for a few months without problems until my younger brother fell down the stairs.
When Mum picked him up he wasn’t breathing blue in the face with tensed muscles. Trying to stfreeay calm, Mum spoke to him hoping he could hear her and he could. Telling him to take deep breaths, he did just like Mum had asked. He was taken to the doctors and tests were done, where we found out he only had 3/4 of a brain. The Cairns Base Hospital doctors were amazing but we later decided that moving down south was our only option.
Being close to Brisbane meant we were closer to better medical resources. We packed the house and in no time at all we were living in Oakey. My Dad was born in New Zealand but later moved to Australia with his Mum at the age of 3 when his father died. He has 5 brothers that he doesn’t have contact with and doesn’t know anything about. So in Oakey, lives his Mother who remarried and had a child who is now in her twenties. They visited us everyday and were amazing to us for the first year but when my Aunty had her second child everything changed. She was diagnosed with Down Syndrome and from then on nothing was the same.
A year before she was born my 2 younger brothers were diagnosed with Autism. My youngest brother was diagnosed with Landau Kleffner which is a form of Epilepsy. After my cousin was diagnosed, the family fuse started. My Aunty and Nanna saying that her disability was worse then both my brothers. My Nanna became controlling and would rub it in our faces how she loved my Aunt’s children more then us. My Mum ended up becoming depressed and was given antidepressants but that wasn’t enough. I felt trapped and left feeling unloved. I was hurt because I didn’t understand how she could say that about my brothers. My Nanna made up lies about us kids and about my parents to make us seem like liars.
We had enough and decided that we didn’t need them in our life. We moved away from them and lost all contact with them. My parents took the frightening decision to get us christened. They wanted us to have morals, a better understanding of life. We enrolled in private schools and our new life began. Although I was never close to God, this was His plan for us. He guided us through those bad times and now I still don’t know God well but I do know that his love for me is never-ending. Although there still are tough times at home, I now know that God will never leave me and is with me through everything. Everybody deserves to be happy.
Conclusion
Life sometimes seem unfair but God has a way to turn things around.Live!
