Journey to the Eternal: Second Edition

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Journey to the Eternal, First Edition, 2009

It has been almost ten years since I published the first edition of my poetry book, Journey to the Eternal.

A lot has happened in my life since then. I moved overseas and back again. I changed jobs multiple times. I came to terms with having depression and was healed, only to have it come back again. I dealt with an abusive relationship from my teenaged years. I finished and started new academic degrees. I made friends and said goodbyes.

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Journey to the Eternal, Second Edition, 2018

I could go on, but you get the idea. Life is full of change.  One thing that has remained the same is God, and the eternal hope I have through faith. That has carried me through the past ten years and will do so into the future.

In this edition, I have included more than 30 new poems. Like before, they contain a mixture of all sorts of things – hope, pain, confusion, sadness, joy, death, life and opportunity. My hope is that you are able to find some of the release and meaning I had in writing them.

Your fellow pilgrim,



Journey to the Eternal (second edition) is now available on Amazon Kindle and Paperback. Click here for a free preview!


How to Deal with The Cat that Came Back: A Life with Depression

I remember listening to a children’s song when I was young about a cat that always came back, no matter how much you tried to get rid of it. In the Fred Penner classic version, the chorus goes like this:

But the cat came back the very next day
The cat came back, they thought he was a goner
But the cat came back; he just couldn’t stay away

Though the song is about a literal cat, I find it serves as an apt metaphor for other things in life. A cat that I thought I had left behind recently came back. Its name is depression.

After a six-year battle with depression, with three and a half of those years on different kinds of medication and a variety of counselors, I was finally free. My doctor had titrated me off the medication and declared I no longer had depression. For the next number of months, I was afraid it would come back every time I had a hard day or something bad happened. But it didn’t. The cat was a goner! At least I thought it was.

Four years depression-free came to a crashing halt at the end of 2017. I had been feeling off for a while but thought it would pass like all the other times. The feeling persisted, despite my best efforts to address it through engaging projects, extracurricular activities, time with friends, and prayer. I still didn’t think it was a big deal until the suicidal thoughts crept into my mind. It was then that I knew I needed help.

I felt like I had failed and was going backwards in life, especially as this turbulent time coincided with my 30th birthday. Why couldn’t I have things together like everyone else? Of course, now it is easy to see the lies in that question, but at the time it was a real struggle. I talked with my family and they encouraged me to see my doctor. He prescribed the same medication I had been on before and met with me until I stabilized. I’m grateful that medication works for me, but that doesn’t mean it is an easy road. I’ve had to continuously deal with a lack of motivation, tiredness, and self-defeating thought patterns. Sometimes I ask God why he couldn’t have given me a dog instead of a cat. Despite these struggles and the unknown ahead, I have been discovering ways to deal with my cat that came back. Here’s what I’ve learned that I can pass on to you.

  1. Though the cat may eventually leave, accept that it is here at the moment.

Fighting against reality makes dealing with it impossible. Trying to say the cat isn’t there, or that it isn’t affecting you, actually gives it more power. Accept the presence of the cat for the moment. This doesn’t mean you want it to stay, but it allows you to do what you need to do to address its presence.

  1. Take care of the cat. Feed it. Give it water. Empty the litter box. Buy a scratching post.

Once you’ve accepted the cat is with you for the moment, take care of it. Be kind to it and find out what your specific cat needs, which may be different than what other cats require. Healthy eating, regular exercise and time with other pets are all important, but easily neglected when you have a cat. You may need to see a veterinarian, or other cat specialist, too, but that does not mean you are weak in dealing with your cat. It means you are wise and strong.

  1. Talk about the cat with others. It could just be that they have cats, too.

Trying to hide the fact that you have a cat is fairly difficult. People who visit your place will probably see the cat hairs and furniture scratching. Lying about having a cat is exhausting. Although it is hard to be honest about your cat, when you are it is incredibly freeing. Not only will others be able to help you take care of your cat, you may find out that they have cats, too. Actually, having a cat is quite common, even though it seems everybody else has dogs or other cool pets that are way nicer than a cat.

I’m still hoping that my cat goes away. Until then, I’m going to practice acceptance of its presence, good cat care, and talking about the cat with people like you.

‘The Young One’? When Turning 30 Triggers an Identity Crisis

For almost my entire life, I have been the young one in the room. Since completing grades one and two in one year, I was the youngest in all my classes. This continued throughout my school years, with me being the youngest high school graduate.

Though I wasn’t the youngest at university, I was invited to participate in opportunities usually given to older, more experienced individuals. For example, my professor asked me to be his teaching assistant, when he had only ever asked Masters students in the past.

After studies, in my professional life, I often found myself invited into conversations with people decades older than me. I joined the organizational leadership team as the only one under 30, and the team I led had children my age. The opportunities seemed to keep coming.

Throughout these experiences, I felt valued and unique to be included with people who I viewed as wiser and more experienced than myself, especially when it involved leadership. I didn’t realize how much my identity had been rooted in being ‘the young one’ until I turned 30.

Turning 30 wasn’t just another birthday to me. It was a significant shift. I was no longer the only person in the room in their twenties. I was in a different decade, and I felt significantly older. My lifelong trend of being ‘the young one’ seemed to come to an abrupt end before my eyes. My identity crisis was officially triggered.

Now, those of you who have surpassed 30 may be rolling your eyes at this point and thinking that 30 is still young, wondering why I’m even talking about it. You’re right. Most people live into their 80s, at least in developed countries, so 30 is comparatively young. But I had made youth such a part of my identity that the little 2 changing to a 3 caused me to ask some deep questions. Am I still valued? What makes me unique now?

The easiest response to calm my fears and boost my self-esteem would have been to assure myself I am still at least one of the youngest people in the room. Objectively, one year doesn’t change much, and I can continue almost the same as before. However nice this may seem, I realized it was a short-term solution.

Eventually, I wouldn’t be 30. I would be 40, 50, 60, 70, or even 80. I would no longer be ‘the young one’ in the room with a crowd of people much older than myself, feeling special and valued because I’m young. I would be the older one. What would help me feel valued then?

Achievements? Promotions? Degrees? Relationships? Travels? I could fill the gap with all of these things, but they will also shift with time. The only thing that doesn’t change is God. I remember a line from an old church song: “on Christ the solid rock I stand, all other ground is sinking sand.” It’s true. If I place my value and my identity in my age, and how that compares with those around me, it will change, and it will shake me. If I place my identity in Christ, it will not change no matter what happens. But what does this really mean?

To be honest, it is something I am still learning. But I think the core of it is connected to these verses from Colossians 3:1-4 (NRSV):

“So if you have been raised with Christ, seek the things that are above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God. Set your minds on things that are above, not on things that are on earth, for you have died, and your life is hidden with Christ in God. When Christ who is your life is revealed, then you also will be revealed with him in glory.”

My life is hidden with Christ in God. The more I pursue God, the more I will find myself. My value, my uniqueness, who I really am, it’s not something to do with my age, my job, my education, or even my family. It’s to do with who God is, because I am made in his image (Gen. 1:27). The journey now is for ‘the young one’ to keep becoming ‘Christ’s one’. That’s something I will continue to be beyond 30, 40, 50, 60, 70, and even 80.

There, But Not Here: Bible and Culture in Conflict

“They offered me the role of pastor at my church,” my friend told me with a smile. Originally from South America, she had been serving as a missionary for many years in the Balkans. Continuing with a touch of resignation, she added, “but back home, when I started a vibrant church plant with my friend, the denomination took it over because it needed a male pastor.”

These stories are not uncommon. Women are sent into mission by churches who support them prayerfully and financially. They are commissioned to evangelize, disciple, care, preach, teach and pastor. They are received back into silence and submission. As long as they preach and teach away from home, it is not a problem. As soon as they come back, it is. Women are equal ‘there’, but not ‘here’.

I am not sure why this is the case. Maybe there is some sort of cultural superiority at play. Things apply differently to ‘them’ than to ‘us’. Maybe there are not enough men to go, so we compromise and let women do the job. Maybe it does not matter, as long as we are not seeing it. Maybe we have never thought about it.

Complementarians often point to passages such as 1 Timothy 2:12 to bolster their position that women should not be allowed to teach. In it Paul writes, “I do not permit a woman to teach or to assume authority over a man; she must be quiet.” They assert that Paul’s instruction to Timothy was trans-cultural, and so should be applied in a similar way today, even though our context is different.

But the apparent double standard between a woman’s permissions at home versus in mission sends a confusing message. Are women really equal with men? Or are they not? Are women really permitted to engage in the same ministry with the same authority as men? Or are they not? It seems to me that if Paul’s exhortation was truly trans-cultural, then it would apply as equally in mission as it does at home.

A pastor once told me, “we’ll just call it a missional encouragement, not a sermon. That way no one will get upset.” I had taught and preached in a variety of settings around the world as a missionary, but at home, it was different. The inconsistency in application leads me to believe the real issue is our culture and comfort levels, not Biblical adherence. For whatever reason, people are not comfortable with women in positions of influence and authority, so we limit when and where it can happen. If it were anything else, would mere semantics put us at ease?

Either Paul’s words in 1 Timothy 2:12 are trans-cultural, or they are not. Either women can engage in the same ministry with the same authority as men, or they cannot. Either women are equal to men, or they are not. We cannot pick and choose in which geographic location Scripture applies.

God is using women in mission around the world. Many are hearing about Christ for the first time because of women. Churches are being planted because of women. Relief and development projects are thriving because of women. Justice is happening because of women. If it is okay ‘there’, but not ‘here’, ‘here’ is what is missing out. Women will always take advantage of opportunities and serve God however they can. Let us clarify our message: women, you are commissioned to evangelize, disciple, care, preach, teach and pastor. Everywhere.

Putting My Wounds Into God’s Service

This is the seventh of seven posts in the Becoming a Wounded Healer: My Story Through Abuse series. All posts available here.

I am finally coming to the point where I am more comfortable talking about what happened. I want to use it as a source of healing for others. 2 Corinthians 1:3-5 (MSG) sticks out to me.

“All praise to the God and Father of our Master, Jesus the Messiah! Father of all mercy! God of all healing counsel! He comes alongside us when we go through hard times, and before you know it, he brings us alongside someone else who is going through hard times so that we can be there for that person just as God was there for us. We have plenty of hard times that come from following the Messiah, but no more so than the good times of his healing comfort – we get a full measure of that, too.”

As I wrote this series, I really wondered whether there is anyone else out there who has experienced something similar. I doubted, but statistically, it was likely. I have already had a number of people reach out to me with similar experiences in the past few weeks. I’m saddened by how common this is, but I also have hope that each of us can experience healing.

When I was five years old, I had my appendix taken out. I remember how painful it was at first. My activities were restricted. I couldn’t go swimming, which I loved. After some time, the butterfly closures were removed, and I could slowly go back to normal. I still had to be careful, and I often noticed the angry red mark staring at me. Months and years went by, and the scar faded. Now, I hardly remember it’s there. This experience gives me continued hope of what can happen on an emotional level with my past experiences, and those who have experienced similar things.

Going forward, I know I will face new situations that bring up old wounds in new ways. I also know that as I pursue healing and wholeness in Christ, the scars will fade. Maybe one day I will hardly notice it at all, and it will simply be a mark of the past. Whatever happens, I know that just as God has been faithful in the journey so far, God will continue to be faithful into the future. May you have the same hope in your journey.

Trusting God Again

This is the sixth of seven posts in the Becoming a Wounded Healer: My Story Through Abuse series. All posts available here.

As I began meeting with my counsellor, it seemed the painful layers of what happened were being peeled back. More and more came to the surface that I didn’t know was there.  It was as if I was at the checkout in a store, about to pay for my item. Just before the payment was finalized, the price was increased. Over and over again. I didn’t think I had anything left to forgive, but suddenly I was angry. There was no clear-cut process to follow with a start and an end. It all felt so unfair. Dealing with everything was taking so much energy, and John was probably living his life as if nothing ever happened.

November 2016

I really struggled through counselling, and even kickboxing couldn’t get me out of my funk. I was crying out to God on the drive home – actual tears, swearing, etc. Why do I have to suffer because of someone else’s actions? It’s not fair! He’s fine and I’m still suffering. If it was my own bad choice I wouldn’t complain…Then I sensed God speak to me clearly that he understood, because that’s what the cross is all about. Jesus punished for sins he didn’t commit (ours). I was personally experiencing something of the cross. Somehow that calmed me down and gave me peace.

My counsellor’s specialty was biblical counselling, so she often connected what we talked about to Bible verses, and encouraged me in ways I could pray about the situation. I remember one meeting in particular where she told me I should pray boldly for justice. I didn’t want to because I didn’t believe there was any hope for it, and I thought if I focused too much on that, I would get angry again. I knew eventually he would experience the consequences of his actions, even if not in this life.

God doesn’t usually speak to me in dreams, but shortly afterward I dreamed as I hadn’t before. I was in my apartment and John was there too. Initially I was afraid, but he began to apologize. For the first time, he acknowledged what happened and was truly sorry for it. I began to weep uncontrollably. It felt like a massive release in my heart of all that had happened. When I woke up, I felt like I had been given a gift from God. Although none of the events in my dream have happened, I experienced some healing in a way that is hard to put into words.

In another meeting, my counsellor asked me if I had problems trusting God. Initially, I thought my trust problems were more with other people, but I realized I struggled to trust God, too. I didn’t blame God for what happened, but I still didn’t understand why it happened. I had gone into self-protection mode. Subconsciously I thought that if God wouldn’t or couldn’t protect me, I would do it myself. By putting up walls, avoiding vulnerability, and appropriating a high level of skepticism in my interactions, I was removing any possibility of being hurt again, as much as was in my power. In short, I was a control freak.

I was angry when my counsellor suggested my reactions were sinful and I needed to repent. I preferred to see them as opportunities for growth, because that didn’t engender feelings of contempt and dread, but rather opportunity and possibility. However, as I worked through the chapter on repentance in the Wounded Heart book, I realized she was right. I had confused repentance and penance. “Contempt (self- or other-centered) is the energy behind penance. It produces a sense of being downtrodden and worthless and leads eventually to rage and murderous hatred. The result is an unredemptive sorrow that is full of self-pity and despair” (p.206). But “genuine conviction of sin, on the other hand, leads to a softening of the heart that dispels other-centered contempt in the wake of the recognition that we are no better, at core, than those who have abused us. Self-contempt is Satan’s counterfeit for true conviction. Contempt attacks the perceived source of the problem to gain control and then attempts to regain relationship with others and God through penitent deeds. Conviction humbly recognizes the need for grace and embraces a sorrow that leads to life and sacrificial love” (p.206).

I knew I needed to call sin, sin, and not try to make it nicer. My attempt to control, to be in control, was trying to protect myself, rather than trusting God. It was an avoidance of vulnerability, which decreases my own life, and my ability to love God and others the way I was intended to. It was seeking comfort apart from God. It was sin. Sure, it came mostly out of being sinned against, but my reaction to that was still sin. I asked God for forgiveness again.

I wondered for some time what it meant to trust God if there was no guarantee I wouldn’t be hurt again. I realized that trusting God didn’t mean nothing bad would ever happen to me again. It meant that God was still good and still enough even if it did.

Dr. Dan B. Allender. 1990. The Wounded Heart: Hope for Adult Victims of Childhood Sexual Abuse. Colorado Springs, CO: NavPress.

Admitting Weakness

This is the fifth of seven posts in the Becoming a Wounded Healer: My Story Through Abuse series. All posts available here.

I continued to struggle with an intense fear of vulnerability. Constantly questioning peoples’ motives was exhausting. As a youth worker, I was afraid that somehow even I might also be manipulating others, especially the teens I worked with. Two journal entries spaced nearly a year apart show continued struggles in my relationships.

May 2014

Sometimes I want so much to believe but I can’t.  What if it is not what it seems?  What if I’m being played again?  In reality that seems unrealistic.  I’m much older now and I should be able to spot it.  But all that caused me to doubt myself too.  In some ways I still feel like a child.  This is all so confusing.  When I think I’ve put it behind me, new situations bring it up again and cause me to experience it in a different way.  I can never escape it.  It’ll always be a part of me I guess.  Like you can’t erase your scars.  Sometimes that makes me really sad.  It’s hard to constantly experience new aspects of a painful past.

I think it’s also become a ‘role’ that is harder to trust.  People in Christian leadership, pastors, etc…they are hard to trust. 

March 2015

I realize again how scary it is to be vulnerable, even a little bit, and how hard it still is for me to trust people. I’m still experiencing the effects of what happened before. I don’t think I’ll ever be completely free of it. Even with physical wounds the scar remains. I just wish it was easier. I don’t want others to pay for his mistakes, but the reality is that it still hurts sometimes and I’m still discovering the effects. I don’t really like thinking about it because it brings me down. It already took so much from me, and I don’t want it to take more, but maybe I have to face it again to move on. I’m sick of feeling down though. It feels like a rock and hard place…maybe I have to sacrifice short-term to benefit long-term.

Finally, in the summer of 2016, I had two breakthroughs. For the first time, when I shared my testimony with friends, I included the story of abuse. I was finally ready for it to lose its power over me. I had no need to be ashamed for someone else’s actions. I also went back to counselling. It took three years after I came off medication for depression. I was self-aware enough to see the continued effects of the abuse in my life, particularly an inability to trust, a skeptical nature, and self-doubt in my interactions, never knowing if there was cause for concern, or if I was just transferring past reactions to current situations. I knew I couldn’t fix it on my own. Even though I had been to counselling before, I still struggled with feeling like it was giving in to a weakness. I should have fixed things by now, or gotten strong enough to fix it myself. I had to convince myself that the only weakness would be believing I didn’t need help.

Finding a Name

This is the fourth of seven posts in the Becoming a Wounded Healer: My Story Through Abuse series. All posts available here.

November 5, 2012

The other day I had a dream with John in it again.  He kept coming closer to me, hovering over me.  I kept pushing him back and he asked me why I was doing that.  I said it made me uncomfortable and I didn’t want him to do that.

I thought this was pretty momentous.  Most of the dreams I’ve had with him in it I’ve felt overpowered and helpless, frozen.  Some of them I may have got aggressive, but I never set a boundary like I did in this dream.  I know it is just a dream, but it felt so good.

In some ways, I was seeing healing in my life, but in other ways I saw that those years affected me much more deeply than I initially thought. I was intensely afraid of vulnerability with others and with God. I thought I would be taken advantage of again. I would see people who reminded me of John and all the memories would come back again. I couldn’t feel safe.

A friend mentioned how he noticed I was suspicious of people and couldn’t trust that people were actually being nice to me and wanting to help me. I wrote in my journal on February 25, 2013:

I guess to some degree I thought that was over…gone.  By not thinking about it, it was like an unfortunate event of the past that is IN THE PAST.  But I see that it still affects me… I don’t know how to process that.  I don’t know what to think about that.  It’s like I can’t escape.  I remember when I was really starting to face my depression, all of this came up and it just seemed like too much.  Now it seems like when I am doing a bit better it comes back again.  Will I ever be free and able to be really happy? I’m sick of being down, angry, irritated…I want to be happy and enjoy life.

I’m a theory and research type person, so I thought it would help to read up on what happened to me. If I could understand it, I could overcome it, or so I thought. I went through various books and websites, but couldn’t find anything that described my situation. There was sexual abuse, but John never actually touched me. There was emotional abuse, but it didn’t quite seem to fit. There was verbal and spiritual abuse, but that didn’t click either. It made me wonder if what happened was really a big deal at all, or even if I was going crazy.

Finally, I came across a book called The Wounded Heart: Hope for Adult Victims of Childhood Sexual Abuse by Dr. Dan B. Allender. The different types of abuse were described, and I found a name that fit. Psychological sexual abuse. It was hard to wrap my mind around, but naming it afforded much needed credibility and legitimacy in my mind.

Psychological sexual abuse “will occur through verbal or visual means (usually both) but will involve more subtle (nonspecific, more mood-generating) communication that erodes the appropriate role boundaries between a child and an adult” (p.33). It is a “sexual/relational boundary violation” and can involve the “use of a child as a spouse surrogate (confidant…counsellor)” (p.34). As I kept reading, I could make some sense of what happened to me, but I also saw the long road ahead to healing. I felt hopeless.

June 9, 2013

I really don’t trust my own judgment. I was reading the Wounded Heart book again and I think it’s connected to what happened. I judged a person safe, that they had my best interests in mind, but I was so wrong. I feel so lonely on the journey through this, as most people who know about it just tell me I need to move past it. I can’t. I’m still understanding what happened and trying to process it. I can’t go faster because it hurts and takes time. It’s hard to remember and be in that place. It brings up anger again, even though I’ve forgiven. I already struggle with depression and this just brings me down again. I don’t want to be down; I want to be happy for once…but if I don’t confront this it will just be worse.

A few months later, in September 2013, I finally came off medication for depression. I had been taking various combinations for three years. I was elated that I had made it through some of the toughest years of my life. I was so sick of feeling sad and down, that I had no energy to deal with anything that might make me sad again. I knew the abuse was still affecting me, but I had no capacity to deal with it.

Dr. Dan B. Allender. 1990. The Wounded Heart: Hope for Adult Victims of Childhood Sexual Abuse. Colorado Springs, CO: NavPress.

Finding Forgiveness

This is the third of seven posts in the Becoming a Wounded Healer: My Story Through Abuse series. All posts available here.

My anger was quickly turning into hatred and bitterness. It was eating me alive and I knew I needed to forgive. Even so, I felt like if I were to forgive, I was saying that everything John did was okay, and I was giving up any hope for justice. I was not trusting God with the situation.

Two of my friends confronted me about my struggle. They reminded me of the book of 1 John in the Bible, where it says you cannot love God and hate your brother or sister. I had not thought of that before, and it scared me. I knew that with the intensity of what I felt, I didn’t have the strength to forgive on my own. I remembered a story from Corrie ten Boom’s book The Hiding Place. Corrie was imprisoned in the WWII concentration camps after being discovered for hiding Jews in her home. Miraculously, she survived, and went on to tour the globe, sharing about God’s love and forgiveness in the darkest of places. After one speaking engagement, a man came up to her and identified himself as one of the guards in her camp. He reached out his hand and asked for her forgiveness. She had just preached about forgiveness, but felt powerless to forgive this man. She told God she would stretch out her hand, and he would have to provide the strength. God did, and she forgave him. I figured if it worked for Corrie, it would work for me, too.

I remember kneeling on the floor in my parent’s living room and sobbing loudly. I asked for God’s strength, and finally forgave John, the church, and myself. I asked for God’s forgiveness for how I let hatred and bitterness grow inside me and come between me and God. I even called the pastor of the church to ask for forgiveness for how I acted in the situation. He was speechless. Even though they hadn’t treated me well, my reaction was still my problem. To say I found it hard to forgive is an understatement, but I knew I had to be obedient and trust God with the outcome. One of the things that held me back from forgiving was that I didn’t know what would happen. I realized that wasn’t up to me and I wasn’t in control. Once I forgave, I felt such peace and joy. I didn’t fully realize at the time that I would need to continue to choose to forgive.

Forgiveness was good, necessary, and Biblical, but it didn’t sort out all the problems. It took the poison out, but didn’t heal the wound. That process would continue.

Feeling Powerless, Seeking the Powerful

This is the second of seven posts in the Becoming a Wounded Healer: My Story Through Abuse series. All posts available here.

Although anger weighed heavily, I had little energy to deal with it given my depression and preparing for final exams before graduation. In one of my theology classes, I came across the image of God as warrior, and Exodus 15 became one of my favourite passages. I could relate to the Israelites being between a pursuing Egyptian army and the Red Sea. It looked hopeless with no way out, but God did a miracle and let them pass through the very thing that represented chaos and death. I was inspired one evening to write another poem based on Exodus 15, which became a sort of prophecy for me of what I wanted God to do in my life, too.

Song of the Sea
It came out of nowhere,
though I know it happened over time.
A slow, halting journey into entrapment.
Now caught, ambushed, shut in on all sides.
There’s no way back into slavery;
to the right, to the left, I am surrounded by death.
Looking ahead to see the surging waters of chaos,
hearing the roar of hopelessness crash into my ears. 

Oh God, my divine warrior, show yourself!
Gain glory for yourself among my enemies!
Look on me and have mercy, for I am undone.
Fight for me and go before me.
Part this churning flood of turmoil and let me pass through without further harm. 

Faltering forward, the only way yet one full of uncertainty.
Closer, closer to the edge, the noise is deafening.
My feet feel the tug of swirling sea, as it sprays distaste at my skeletal form.
“The end! THE END!” screams my scattered mind,
falling forward in surrender to the roiling pandemonium. 

As surely as the next step would seal my fate in the heartless watery grave,
I feel the sure, steadfast piece of land beneath my feet.
Looking up I see straining arms a cross, holding the quaking walls of chaos at bay.
Surrounded still, but safely stumbling toward the other side.
Step by step, slowly, the snarling masses tower from the right and left, but
are powerless to consume me with their wrath.
Closer to the end, but looking back to see enemies in relentless pursuit,
Out to enslave their victim once again. 

Not knowing how, but that it’s true, I reach the banks.
Crumpling down into a heap of exhaustion, but not safe yet.
Through dim slits I watch the bloodthirsty mass move closer,
thinking the recent deliverance was only to wrench the sweet tendrils of hope from my frail hands.
But as unbelievable and fantastic was the dry land, deliverance was not too far away.
The unfaltering arms disappeared,
and the trembling embankments thundered down with a crash!
The sea covered my adversaries in its terrible embrace,
and they sank to the heart of the deep. 

Oh God, my divine warrior, who is like you?
You stretched out your arms and parted the raging waters for your servant.
You took them away and it swallowed my foes!
You guided me through the depths of chaos and set me on you, my Rock.
There is no one like you, whose love is everlasting.
God will reign forever and ever.

Of course, the poem did not fix my situation, but writing was one of my outlets for years, and I needed it. Despite the church’s promise to keep me informed of the investigation, I heard nothing, and felt even more powerless than before.

I graduated at the top of my class in April 2010, though I could not truly celebrate. The church offered to pay for counselling, and though it felt to me like they were only trying to shut me up, I agreed. Periodically, I suffered from nightmares where John, my old youth pastor, was still coming after me.

Shortly after graduation I began working as Youth Director at a different church. Some of the teenagers that came to my youth group also attended a youth drop-in, where I found out John was volunteering. I was afraid for their safety, so I went to talk to the drop-in leader, Pete. I tried to share my concerns without telling Pete it related to what happened to me, but part way through the conversation he figured it out. He ended up using Matthew 18, a passage about church conflict, to tell me he couldn’t do anything about the situation, because I refused to meet with John and explain how he hurt me. I later found out that he recorded the entire conversation without telling me. I felt re-victimized, powerless, and afraid for my teenagers. Thinking about it now, I don’t believe Pete was trying to hurt me or anyone else, but nevertheless he misused a Scripture passage about church conflict in a case of abuse, and put teenagers within his responsibility at risk.