in the living room. I thought, “maybe if I don’t move or breathe, he won’t see me.” I remember him coming into the living room with cookies. He offered me one. I accepted. I remember a lot of things that followed this pathetic attempt at hospitality. Things too gruesome to type. To remember. He filled me with lies when he was finished with me. Lies that said, “Your mom will think you are terrible if you tell her what you did today. She will never love you again if she finds out. She will probably pack up the family and leave you to be alone.” I was never the same after that day. Long years of silence passed. I didn’t tell anyone. It almost seemed like a dream. It felt as though being a rape victim was a foggy memory that was uncertain, and probably not true. I couldn’t cope with it. I just wanted my mom to stay, and I wanted my family to heal from all of it’s ongoing pain. I couldn’t bring this up. Especially if I didn’t know the quality of its truth. I didn’t want all of the things Randy’s dad said would happen to happen. Instead of trusting that my family loved me, I protected them from the ugly cloud lurking above my head. I was nineteen when I admitted to myself that I was a rape victim. It took everything in me to say it out loud. It was the ugliest cry I think I have ever produced. Raccoons had nothing on the massive black circles around my bloodshot eyes. In that same moment, I reached out into the unknown. I had experienced the church and all of its wonder. I had dated my way through every youth group in town; which left me dry, and even more broken than before. I read the Bible, knew Scripture, and I could give you the best advice for months and months. Acting it out was another story. So I gave up. The most authentic moment I’ve had with God was in the dining room of my St. Louis apartment three years ago. I was standing face to face with myself. Recapping everything that I had done. Playing out every lie, every heartbreak, every selfish thought, every bad decision on repeat. It was a weight weighing heavy on my soul. The pressure building, and building, and building, until I finally broke into tears. I remember saying something like, “God, I want to know you and walk with you. I want to know your favorite color and what makes you laugh. If you want me, I’m here.”
”Now let me tell you, this is a hush-hush type of issue!”
From that moment, things quickly changed. I felt a tug on my heart for Tulsa. I had ties to Victory and the In Ministry Training program through Victory Bible College. Honestly, I knew I needed to get away from St. Louis. I knew that it was going to take a culture shock to get my life where it needed to be. So, I spent a year of my life living with the best people I’ve ever met. Making the best friends I’ll ever have and having my life radically flipped upside down by God and IMT. My healing process had begun. It was like God started ripping things out of my life. My past was dug up and on display for anyone and everyone to see. I used my story as a weapon against those same lies I once believed, the lies that I started seeing in other people. I met sexually abused women who believed they were worthless, unclean, and used.
enjoy who I was. And I, him. And boy, did we fall in love. My life had come full circle. Seeking love, losing love, finding God’s love, and finally… feeling a man’s true, no strings attached, I just love you love. None of which I would have ever guessed. It’s crazy to think that a poor, victimized, small town girl could be living in the fullness of life. But here I am. I mean, isn’t the greatest thing you’ll ever learn is to love and be
Now let me tell you, this is a hush-hush type of issue. People don’t blurt it out in the streets and alleyways that they’ve been sexually abused. No, this is hidden. It’s shameful. And what do we do? We hide our shame, but not me. Not anymore. Serving at the church, attending Bible school,interning for a ministry team, and attending a young adults church service; I was bound to catch some attention from the “churchgoing” bachelors. One in particular caught my eye and kept my gaze. His name, Austin Donoho. He was unlike all the rest. He didn’t draw attention to himself even though he was the guitarist for just about every Victory service. Which, I thought was the most attractive quality, ever. I never caught him flirting with another girl after I would “randomly” bump into him after service. He always approached me, never vice versa. He was intent on getting my attention. But what he didn’t know, was that I was already sold. No one, I mean no one, that I had ever dated sought out my attention solely to have it. He was the only man that just wanted to enjoy my presence without the expectation of anything physical. He simply wanted to
loved in return? Everything I’d ever hoped for has come to pass and now I’m living my life with hope in my heart, encouragement on my lips, and a giant smile on my face. I’m here, ready to love. Come and get it!
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