STRANGER DANGER. Remember this term?
I do.
Fifth grade. Gym class. Horrid blue boomers. All the girls wore these silly no-stretch, big-bottomed gym outfits in the ’70s.
Only God know where our male classmates were. This was girl time.
The woman gym teacher told us about Stranger Danger. We needed to look out for him. He could hurt us. He could touch us in bad places once he lured us in his car with the promise of candy or the opportunity to pet his puppy.
We all knew what touching in bad places meant. At least I think so. A few of us, I suppose, knew enough to imagine rape. Back then, they called it rape, not criminal sexual assault like today. I don’t like the latter term. It sanitizes this atrocity. The word “rape” fits better. It sounds ugly to my ear.
That day my heart beat double-time as I fast-walked eight blocks home the day of the stranger danger talk. My eyes darted left and right as I looked for the stanger and his candy and his puppy. I lost my taste for sweets. Puppies now spelled trouble. Even the cute ones. Especially the cute ones.
But I didn’t meet stranger danger the day of the talk.
Or the day after.
Or the day after that.
Rather, I met him at age 14 and he was no stranger. He was family.
Confusion garbled my thoughts. Should I tell? Should I stay quiet? Would anyone believe me? Did it even happen? Was it a dream?
The last time my not-a-stranger danger touched me, I snarled “No.” And he never bothered me again. Not ever.
Yet I kept watch. For days, weeks, months.
AND HE DIDN’T COME BACK.
My pain wrapped my heart in electrical tape. I shut down, thinking “I can’t share this now. One day I will.”
Twenty years later.
On a Saturday morning, seemingly out of the blue, I woke up sobbing down to my toes. Memories jabbed me inside out.
And I finally told someone what had happened. The healing began.
The weirdest thing, God gave me new insight into the Bible verse, “Speak the truth in love.” To follow this teaching, I had to speak. Speak. Not shut down or shut up. Or say nothing. But speak.
The Word freed my words and, praise God, the electrical tape tore in two, from top to bottom.
Heavenly Father,
Thank you for the freedom you gave me from my prison of memories of sexual molestation. I praise you that you are El Roi, the God who sees. Thank you for teaching me to speak. My “no” spared me from further abuse. Thank you that you empowered me to say “No” to the bad and “Yes” to the good. Please heal others with a story of sexual abuse. Help them to speak.
If you or someone you know needs someone to listen deep and counsel well, consider Real Hope Biblical Counseling, which I founded.
Lucy,
Thank you for your courage to share your story. You were very brave then, and you’re very brave now. Your beautiful words will help many women (and men) who’ve encountered the pain you have–and who’ll encounter the healing you have.
Diana Scimone
Born to Fly International
Stopping child trafficking…setting kids free to soar
Lucy,
Sharing a personal life testimony is powerful. Thank you for sharing yours. Behind every heart that empathizes with the hurting is the experience of a deep hurt.
God is know giving you a way to continue to speak the truth in love. The hurting need it but so do the innocent who have yet to be deeply hurt. Youth groups need to hear, and so do middle-to-high schoolers that the stranger danger is about 75% not a stranger at all but a family member.
This is the hidden lie tearing families apart. Yes, we need to learn to speak, “no.” But we need to also help young people speak up to stop this horrifically common sin.
Lindy
powerful, freeing story!
Have been recently reconnecting with some of my old friends from back in middle-school, can’t seem to get one one of our classmates off my mind. We were in 7th grade sewing class together. I didn’t even know that she didn’t show up to class one day until two official-looking men dressed in suits walked into our classroom. They calmly asked if any of us had seen this particular student on the way to school. As it turns out she had been raped. It was during a time when talking through our feelings, even if it didn’t happen to us, wasn’t as open and considered healthy as it is more today. I remember thinking that it must have had something to do with the girl reaching puberty sooner than the rest of us and always worrying if she was going to be okay.
You never know how one’s story can touch another person’s life. I hope God has healed her hurts. Thanks for being brave and sharing Lucy!