I Learned My Worth Praying For Rats To Leave

I was 6 years old and I had been praying for months for God to make the rats go away that were keeping me awake most every night.  Rats had settled into the walls of my rundown home to keep warm during the winter.  They were running around in the walls, and gnawing and scratching the wood in the built-in drawers that were above my head where I slept.  The rats terrified me to the point of having sleep deprivation.  Their clawing and chewing was so loud.  I often imagined they would chew through the walls and then bite and chew on me.  

There are many people that have different ideas of religion, God, faith or a higher power.  It’s not my place to judge who or what you believe in, but for me, I know there is a God.  A God that showed himself to me at the age of 6, and has continually shown himself to me throughout my life.  As a child, I knew of him, would even pray to him, but I didn’t really know him.  I soon learned who he was when I began praying for rats to leave.

My grandmothers on my dad and mom’s side talked of God often.  Quite a few times in my childhood I would stay with my Grandma Ernie (my mom’s mom) because my mom had demons of her own, for one reason or another, wasn’t capable of taking care of me because she was hospitalized multiple times in my childhood with alcohol poisoning and a bunch of other things - drinking herself to death was her plan.  My grandmother made it a point to pray with me every night before bed.  While praying with her, I would pray for the usual stuff that little kids do and would pray for God to bless everyone in the whole world until she had to finally cut me off at the 50^th person I had asked God to bless.  She was very patient though, and I think she appreciated that I wanted to help heal the world at such a young age, but she said God was very busy and I really needed to focus more on the people that were closer to home like family and things that really mattered to me.  

One particular winter evening, the rats were especially active.  I was so exhausted – I felt sick – I needed sleep.  I decided that I would pray to my Grandmother's God about the rat problem.  This was the very first time I prayed by myself.  I thought, what did I have to lose?  The first night I prayed - no rats came!  As with the second, third and fourth nights – months had gone by without the sound of the rats, and I could generally sleep through the night!  All I had to do was pray and the rats were somehow held at bay.  I would pray diligently each and every night for 6 months straight.  However, one particular night I decided to test the "God" theory.  I started to think that maybe the rats just left on their own and that God had nothing to do with it.  Why would God care about me - a little abused girl and her rat problem?  After all, bad things were happening to me all the time.  My stepfather had been sexually abusing me for over two years at this point in my life most every day and night.  I was used to the bad.  Maybe the rats leaving was a coincidence?  So I went to sleep without praying - determined to believe that no one cared about me or my rat problem, not even God.  That night, I woke up to the rats crawling through the walls, and the familiar sound of gnawing and chewing of wood.  It was on that particular night I knew God was there and must be listening – even to a 6 year old little girl who had no reason to believe in goodness. 

As I recount this part of my life as an adult,  I see things so differently.  I am more aware how bad and unworthy I must have felt about myself to never have asked God to intervene on my behalf about the abuse I was suffering, just as I had asked him to make the rats to go away, I didn’t feel that I deserved to ask God to keep my stepfather from sexually abusing me.  I was too ashamed to ask for his help.  Shame from sexual abuse does so much damage.  I felt guilt and shame because it must have been my fault that my stepfather was abusing me because I was bad – I was bad for causing him to do that to me.  I struggled with the thought that I was unworthy of protection from God or anyone.  I was on my own.  That guilt and shame stayed with me for many years, as did feeling broken, unworthy, unloveable, and damaged goods.  I became bitter and angry at God and that hurt a lot.  I didn't like myself too much.  

Despite my anger, I always felt him pulling at me.  He loved me even in my anger and right were I was at.  I learned that I am worthy, that God cared enough about me when I was 6 years old to make the rats go away when I had requested in a hopeful prayer, and that the abuse I suffered as a child was not my fault.  I have learned that God is a pain taker.  I am beautifully and wonderfully made for a purpose.  Sometimes bad things happen to good people.  God does answer prayers, but free will is an interesting thing - you can either choose to do ugly things with your life or be loving.  Unfortunately for me, I was living with a man who chose to do ugly things to me.  My abuser did horrific things to me as a child and teenager - he stole my innocence.  I  may have even felt I deserved it at the time, but God is helping me take that pain away and turn the ugliness I experienced into goodness. - his grace is overflowing.  He can take the ugly and bad and turn it into something beautiful if I allow him to - and I did.  Helping kids find their voice, their courage and their healing has meant everything to me.  That is where  my redemption comes from.  He is a chain breaker.  I have always deserved to be free of shame and guilt.  I am worthy of happiness and love. 

I know firsthand a beautiful song can rise from the ashes of a broken life.  Some of you out there reading this blog may need this song today.  If you are worn, he will lift you up.  With hope, faith and love.  ~ Lee Ann
http://www.godtube.com/watch/?v=0FJC2JNU

 

Who Will Save Her?

I attended a Darkness to Light: “Stewards of Children" Child Sex Abuse Prevention Training session last night sponsored by my friends at OAASIS.  My friend, Randy Ellison was the trainer.  The training was great and full of information that impacted the entire audience.  I took away so much, but there were a few things that I connected with that hit me personally hard as a survivor: 1) that most child survivors of sex abuse give hints/clues that they are being abused at least 7 times; and 2) more likely than not, the first time a child is confronted with the question if they have been or are being abused the child will say “no.”  This made me reflect on my own personal story, and what “tells” I may have been giving that no one was paying attention to.   

Randy also shared with us a survivor story of former Miss America, Marilyn Van Derbur.  He shared a small excerpt of her story where when she was 9 years old, she thought that the abuse she was suffering would finally end as her mom was so very close to finding out that her dad was sexually abusing her in her bedroom.  During the night, her mother’s footsteps came closer and closer, down the stairs to Marilyn’s bedroom, paused and then went back up the stairs.  She thought finally it was her chance for the secret to be revealed - and then it was gone.  She felt no one would save her now...
 

I relate so much to this story, but my hope to be saved was more blatantly ignored.  My mother had been an alcoholic my entire childhood and finally sobered up when I was 12.  I remember this one particular fall day I’d come home from school and she asked me to come into the living room.  She sat me down and had this look on her face that I still cannot describe.  I felt my stomach turn into a knot and my face flush and on fire.  I knew what she was going to ask next.  She told me she found a drawer full of polaroid pictures of a naked little girl that looked like me.  She then asked me if my stepfather was abusing me.  I knew this was my chance to finally tell the secret and I struggled for the right answer.  Shame took hold, as did fear - I denied it.  I was screaming inside.  I was desperately hoping that she wouldn’t believe me and see through my lie.  That perhaps now she would start paying attention or do something so drastic as to kick him out.  That never happened.  My abuse continued for 4 more years even after their was clear proof …

Denial is ugly.  When you suspect a child is being abused, tell someone.  If the child denies it, keep asking.  If they disclose, keep calm and stay strong.  Tell them you believe them, it’s not their fault and that they are not alone.

Behind These Eyes is a Secret...

My name is Lee Ann Mead. I am a survivor of childhood sexual abuse, which started when I was 4 years old. Over a span of 12 plus years, I was controlled by my stepfather. When I was 16 years old, my childhood best friend told my dark secret. Her parents believed her and helped facilitate my breaking free of the hell I’d been living. My life was forever changed because someone (other than me) had the courage to tell. I am so grateful to her and her parents.

If you suspect child abuse, please don’t wait - tell. You may be the only person that child has that can save their life.

Because of what I went through, I’ve become a fierce advocate for kids who have been traumatized by abuse as I’ve walked in those very same shoes. I know what it feels like to feel damaged, broken, and ashamed. My past motivated me to create Sparks of Hope to help these hurting kids (just like I once was) turn the ugliness of what happened to them into goodness; to see a brighter future filled with joy; and to know that healing is possible.   

Please join me and Sparks of Hope by helping support these kids in need – refer a child – spread the word – raise a voice and stand up for kids.

Handprint of a Little Girl

I was in kindergarten and was so happy with the mother’s day gift I made my mom in class.  It was simply my handprint made from white paint on black paper.  In white writing below the handprint it said:

“Here is my hand
So tiny, so small
For you to place
Upon the wall
For you to watch
As years go by
How we do grow
My hand and I”

I had never been more proud of any piece of artwork before.  It was artwork that meant something more to me than anyone’s eye could see.  It was made from the heart of a sexually abused little girl.  It meant two things for me.  One, that I loved my mother and wanted to make her happy on Mother’s Day; and two, I was hoping by her hanging this artwork on the wall, she would actually start paying attention and “watch” me grow and figure out that something awful was happening to me almost every night since I was 4 years old – that I was being sexually abused by my step-monster. 

My hope dwindled, as she never caught on – never paid attention to the signs.  As I got older, and with every passing year, I hated that handprint and what it represented – a hope that was lost.  As I got older, shame set in and I didn’t want anyone knowing.  I was alone, alone with an ugly secret that I carried for many, many more years. 

As an adult, I have since learned that survivors of childhood sexual abuse suffer from triggers.  Triggers are something that cause flashbacks, anxiety, and other symptoms for the survivor of child abuse.  I am still learning mine, but one I never thought would be a trigger is a picture of handprints.  I am immediately propelled back to that day in kindergarten where I had such hope that this artwork would make my mom pay attention to me, and the deep sorrow I felt when she did not.   

I wrote about this because I saw handprints today and had a “trigger” moment.  I will never forget that day, those emotions, those feelings I had.  So I wanted to write down what I thought as a little girl when the handprints entered my life.  I also thought it useful for others to weigh in on this topic to comfort me and perhaps others – that we are not alone in dealing with this issue.