He Calls Me Daughter

On July 4th, 19 something 7, I kissed my best friend on the lips and realized that I'd found what I was looking for. I never felt surer of anything in my life, this was where I belonged. I first recognized an attraction to women in high school but dated boys because I wanted the American Dream. I wanted to be a part of a loving family, Mom, Dad, and children. Two years earlier I married the only man with whom I'd ever felt safe, believing that marriage would make me feel successful. It, of course, did not. The Gay Rights Movement was in its infancy, and I jumped out of the closet and onto the bandwagon. My lover was more experienced than I and introduced me to the local community. I started going to women's bars, reading women's literature, following gay entertainers and politicians. I joined the Gay and Lesbian Activist Alliance and began to petition for gay rights. I even remember the first Gay Pride Parade and wore a lavender ribbon to commemorate the first National Coming Out Day!

How does this happen? I was a girl who only wanted what lots of other girls wanted, until it became apparent to me that I was not like other girls. Unfortunately, my history is far too familiar among the lesbian population. I came from an amazingly dysfunctional family. My Father was a blue collar worker inadequately supporting eight children. He was a sexual predator who molested his children. He was physically and emotionally abusive, his behavior compounded by alcohol and pornography. My Mother was an alcoholic who was unable or unwilling to protect her children. It was not safe to be a child and especially not safe to be a girl. The skills my siblings and I learned were tragic and we were starving for love, encouragement, and protection. Yet ours was a "Christian" household. My Father was an active member of our church and we were expected to attend. But where was God during those early years? I knew, He was looking out for those children whose parents loved them. I became angry and self protective.

Inner vows were a defense mechanism I used from a very young age. They were designed to help me keep some control over painful situations when, in fact, I had no control. Sadly these vows become invisible cement over real needs and festering wounds, serving to preserve and protect. I clearly remember the day I realized that the abuse and neglect I was suffering at the hands of my Father would hurt me less if I was not so desperate for him to love me. I vowed that I would never pursue the love of a man. I recognized that if people knew what was important to me, they could use that information to hurt me, so I resolved never to form intimate friendships. I vowed not to be anything like my Mother whom I perceived to be weak. And I vowed never to let a man have control in my life, especially not a sadistic God who would leave me helpless in this situation.

In my young adult life, I set about taking care of myself. I began worshipping myself, really: my wants, my needs, especially my feelings which had been ignored for so long. I began acting out sexually and using pornography. The gay community was a warm and comfortable place for me, the women were loving and accepting and the men were non-threatening. My needs for nurture and affirmation were finally being met! Life was good!

Fast forward 15 years. I was still married, now with 2 children and a lover of 11 years. I was put in the position of having to move 650 miles away, and I had to make a choice between keeping my family together and leaving the lifestyle that was so important to me. My family and I arrived in Kentucky in December of 1989 and I fell apart. I had no real social skills, just props. My self esteem depended on the encouragement of others, who, remember, didn't really know me at all. I hadn't grown up at all during those years; I just learned how to play the game. I suddenly realized that I no longer had the script. I medicated my pain every way I knew how but nothing worked. I believe God had me where He wanted me.

Church was very important to my children when they were young, and we continued to attend after our move. One day my daughter wanted to go into a Christian bookstore, and asked me to accompany her. I found a book by Dan Allender called" The Wounded Heart" which is a Christian approach to recovery from sexual abuse. I knew that the answer for me was in that book and that His name is Jesus Christ. I felt hope for the very first time, but knew I had a long way to go. I consulted a local pastor who referred me to a therapist here in Lexington. On my first visit, Dr. Emmert asked me what I hoped we would accomplish. I expressed the desire that I would become the woman I should have been had I never been abused. We can do that, he said, and he introduced me to the Great Physician. On March 16, 1994 I relinquished the struggle and accepted Christ as Lord and Savior. Now I knew where I really belonged.

2 Corinthians 5:17 says, "Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old has gone, the new has come!" All of the sin that touched my life was washed away. I was no longer the child of the "multi-generational pedophile"; I was the child of the King! And I was infinitely precious to Him. A mentor once told me that all Christians should read the entire Bible out loud, so I did. I learned who God was and, more importantly, who he wasn't. Scripture became my lifeline. I had previously placed such importance on my feelings, now I was learning that feelings are not truth. Where I felt insignificant, His Word says that I am made in His image; where I felt unlovable, He says that He has loved me from the beginning of time; where I felt abandoned, He has promised to never leave me or forsake me. He is strong where I am weak and when I was angry, He was too. He did not look away when I was being abused, He was weeping. Gradually I learned to exchange the lies for truth.

Christ ministered to me in a very personal way, and I was able to feel peace about being in His care. Doors in my heart were opening, shame was exposed, and wounds were healed. During particularly tough times I could feel His arms around me. I began to understand the difference between who I thought I was and who I was created to be.

When we become Christians we are further empowered by the infilling of the Holy Spirit, and He has been a faithful guide and comforter on this journey. All sin separates us from God, we know, but thankfully we are not called to deal with it all at the same time. Before I was able to repent of sexual sin, for instance, I had to recognize the problem with the way I related to others. The distrust, fear and contempt I felt for men did not honor them as Gods children; nor did the desire I felt for certain women. The Holy Spirit gently reveals and convicts, enabling me to confess, repent, and forgive in His time.

Christian brothers and sisters have played a vital role in my recovery. To the counselor who led me to the Lord and walked with me through my nightmares; the Bible teachers who fed me, encouraged me and challenged me; the companions who modeled Godly lives; and CrossOver Ministry who provided support, accountability and the skills I was lacking to meet my potential as a heterosexual woman; I need to say "Thank you for giving to the Lord, mine was a life that was changed." And to God, who loved me so much He gave His only Son so that I would not perish, I commit my life.