Survivor....why I am who I am... Part 2

Part 2

By the time I was 11 years old, I was pretty self-sufficient. Evidence suggests, in my Hello Kitty diary, that I was writing in even then. Sharing my thoughts with my older self, knowing that one day I would look back and read what was written. My 5^th grade handwriting indented the pages when I was angry and danced playfully on the pages when I had some peace. I revisit that place on occasion. The nights when I would wake up and look into the night sky and pray. When I would get out my diary and write. I guess nothing much has changed since then.

This was the year, when my life would change. We moved into a new house and I started public school after years of Christian School. This was the year that I was defiled, almost raped and innocence stolen. This was the year I learned to not just survive, but fight, push back and live. It is amazing how it happens. How we, the victim are convinced that we brought this on ourselves, that we are the ones who invited it.

I started public school 2 months later. I had always gone to Christian School and had been sheltered from the wickedness public school thrives in. I was sexually assaulted by the boys in my class. I matured early on in life, so my breasts protruded more than most girls my age. Young boys grabbed and prodded at my protrusions and I learned how to fight. With words and fists I began to fight back. I sang a Christian song on stage for the talent, and punched with a Mike Tyson blow on the playground.

I made friends, who lived near my house and we took the same bus to school. One day, when we started walking home from school, a white van with blocked out windows drove up next to my friend and I as we walked on the sidewalk. The man, brown hair, hazel eyes, cleanly shaven started talking to us about what, I don’t remember. It felt wrong and forced and so I began to puff up my being to look bigger than I was. I started to be rude and disrespectful to let the man know we were not game. It enraged him. I could see his eyes turn from hazel to black and his sweet alluring tone turned violent.

He pulled out a gun, pointed it at me. “Run!” I told my friend. We started running the opposite direction of the way his van was faced. Thankfully it was the direction of home. We didn’t want him to know where we lived so we ran down a court and hid in the bushes. We could see the van as he slowly drove past the block trying to locate us. He kept driving and then turned the corner onto another street. We jumped out of the bushes and started running again. My friend ran to her house and I ran to mine. I hopped over bushes, ran through the roses and tore up my clothes and flesh and into my backyard. I grabbed the hidden key and then hid behind some bushes in the corner. I wasn’t sure if he saw me go into my backyard or not. I caught the van out of the corner of my eye as I pushed open the gate to my backyard. I sat there quietly for what seemed forever.

I waited. I heard my doorbell ring. I waited. I heard people talking. I waited. Finally, when I heard no more sounds, I peeked through the crack in the fence to see if the coast was clear. I noticed my window was not locked, so I pried it open and climbed into my house that way, instead of going to the front to unlock the door. I called my mom and told her what happened. She called the police.

The next day, at school, the police came and asked us to give a description to a sketch artist. We did. We never really talked about it again. To this day, I don’t even know if my friend has ever really talked about it. It all just got brushed under the rug. I didn’t remember the incident until a few years ago and it infuriated me.

By the time I got to 7^th grade, I had almost lost my innocence and had an encounter with a kidnapper. I went to middle school, but only found more sexual assaults. Young boys would grab my breast and laugh, others would grab me between my legs. It was degrading and devaluing. I felt powerless and the anger rose inside of me. At the same time, I was still raising my siblings, still making breakfast in the morning for them, still helping with homework in the evening, doing chores and making dinner. I still had to do my own homework, I played sports and ran for student office.

I began to realize that people in authority were not there to help me. Rather, they took the path of least resistance. This is about the time I started taking things into my own hands. At first I was pretty violent. I had zero tolerance for bullies. A boy grabbed my chest, I punched him in the face. The next one taunted me, grabbed my chest, and I punched him so hard, I broke his nose. The Vice Principal called me in, the parents of the boy told him they were going to press charges for assault. I told my mom what happened and she told the principal, “My daughter acted in self-defense.” When the parents realized what had really happened, they dropped their case.

At this point I realized I had a power. I did not have to stand back and allow bullies to abuse me. I could fight back. I could advocate for others. And I did. I began a life long journey of standing up to bullies, young and old. Fighting on behalf of those who have no voice. I learned how to beat the bullies at their own game. I used their own tactics against them, freeing many people from their oppression.

Starting line....

Intensity

Intense

in•ten•si•ty (ɪnˈtɛn sɪ ti)

n., pl. -ties.

1. the quality or condition of being intense.

2. great energy, strength, concentration, or vehemence, as of activity.

3. a high or extreme degree, as of cold or heat.

4. the degree or extent to which something is intense.

5. a high degree of emotional excitement; depth of feeling.

6. the strength or sharpness of a color due esp. to its degree of freedom from admixture with its complementary color.

7. Physics. magnitude, as of energy or a force per unit of area, volume, time, etc.

A word used to describe me. A word I use to describe myself.

I see it at a compliment, but have discovered that in most cases, it is not.

I had to seriously pray about this continual attack of my character… I became angry and frustrated at the notion that, number 1, people think that they have a right to condemn the way God created me and number 2, people consider intensity as “intimidating, aggressive and what was the other word used… non-submissive.” So you can imagine, as an intense, raw, bold person I had a very long conversation with the Lord and some of my closest sisters in Christ.

This morning, after a long night of no sleep, I began to pray again and the most amazing thing happened… clarity and peace shed light on the subject.

When you are a survivor of divorce, an attempted kidnapping, sexual abuse, attempted rape, verbal abuse, physical abuse, demonic attack, church abuse and minister to people who have experienced ritualistic abuse, sex slavery, satanic abuse, spousal abuse, adultery, extreme bullying, and the aftermath of abortion… you kinda become intense…

The people, who abused me, did so by hiding, sneaking, intimidating and threatening… so when people hide behind religion and churchianity and control...intensity naturally rises up inside me. This kind of behavior gives me all kinds of red flags. I do not want to be associated with the kind of people who hide behind religion to abuse people. People who hide their true identities are cowards and I want no part of that kind of life! My intensity comes from persistently pursuing a life of blamelessness, so that I will not be likened to the condemning “Churchianity Christians.”

I am intense…but it is only an attribute of who I am. It is not WHO I am. When I feel like the church, who is supposed to give life and freedom through Christ, brings condemnation and control to the masses, I get a little intense.

Jesus was intense. I know a lot of people don’t see that Jesus. I know that Jesus is not taught in the church; it was His intensity that angered the Pharisees. It was His intensity that raised Lazarus from the dead. It was His intensity that caused blood to seep through his pores in the garden of Gethsemane. It was His intensity that made a whip, flipped tables and pushed people out of the temple. Jesus was intense. His intensity was viewed as dangerous and aggressive to those who could not control him. His intensity was considered blasphemous to the religious leaders and they were threatened by His passion to change the world.

Bill and I have been charged with similar “crimes.” We have been accused of being intimidating and “taking over” and not doing what “pastors” say. When in reality, we are passionately obeying God in areas that are unconventional or outside the comfort zone of the complacency of the church. We have been accused of “hurting people’s feelings” because we spoke the truth about the church. When in fact, we did not hurt feelings, the TRUTH hurt feelings. People do not want to be challenged in their faith. Even with monumental evidence that the Christian church is slowly dying in this country, Christians do not want to be held accountable for their complacent faith.

I “intensely” advocate for those who cannot advocate for themselves or are afraid to advocate for themselves… Martin Luther was intense. Rosa Parks was intense. Martin Luther King Jr. was intense. Caesar Chavez was intense. Mother Teresa was intense. Their intensity changed the face of this planet. They all suffered as a result of their intense conviction of truth in the face of religious and political persecution. They advocated for people, stood in the face of slander, and ultimately suffered for their boldness.

My sister in Christ shared, “Jesus said, ‘we are to share in his sufferings.’ So you have to know, Teresa that you are going to suffer. But in the end, if you do the will of your father, you will be blessed.”

 Jesus was not only intense, he was also kind, compassionate, loving, convicting, forgiving, life giving, truthful, inclusive, world changing.

I am not just intense. I am so much more…

But if you only see me as intense, aggressive, intimidating, and loud…

Chances are you are threatened by the TRUTH that I express through living a transparent life.

Chances are you are fearful of my raw and authentic approach to life, that lets people into the deepest places of my heart, because you hide the deepest places of yours for fear that people might see who you really are and not like it.

Chances are you afraid of the world changer DNA that is inside of me, because it means that what you are comfortable in will be challenged or changed.

Here’s the deal… There really is no middle ground. You either love me or hate me. I am okay with that. That is how God made me. That is who I am. There is a reason why prophets of old were killed. Once they delivered the message of God that was not pleasant, they wanted someone to suffer for making them feel uncomfortable, or for hurting their feelings; usually it was the messenger. You know… “Don’t kill the messenger” or “I am just the messenger” comes from the prophets who delivered unpleasant messages to people and then suffered as a result of the message.

You may not like what I have to say; you may not like my unconventional ways; you may not like the delivery; you may not like my intensity; you may not like my honest, brutal, authentic approach to life. But here’s the deal… before you slander me, gossip about me, make assumptions about me and reprimand me about who I am in Christ… YOU HAD BETTER HAVE SOME HARD CORE BIBLICAL TRUTHS TO BACK YOUR ACCUSATIONS! I really don’t care about your religious opinions… I only care about pleasing and serving my Jesus… NO MATTER THE COST! And believe me... the cost is great! Just read my blog.

This in no way means that I am perfect or without fault. It just means that my imperfections and faults will be publicly expressed in verbal or written form, to share with the world that we have an opportunity to live blameless lives through the forgiveness of Jesus Christ. I try to share my faults, shortcomings, fears, failures, joys, accomplishments and love with the masses through writing in a very raw way to encourage others to do the same. My hope is that the more people who have nothing to hide, the more healing can take place. The more healing that takes place, the more whole people become. The more whole people become, the more effective they are. The more effective people are, the more a community benefits. The more a community benefits, the more people will feel loved. And the more people feel loved, the better the world becomes…and the safer people feel about being real.

If I offend you… perhaps the Lord is trying to challenge your identity. Perhaps the Lord wants you to determine why you are being offended by someone who delights in being raw, authentic, intense and passionate…

I am not ashamed of the gospel of Jesus Christ. I am not ashamed of who God created me to be. I am comfortable in my own skin and thankful that God has delivered me from the bondage of trying to be something I am not to please others… I exist to please God! Not YOU! This statement only makes religious people feel uncomfortable… not broken, hurting, real, authentic people.

I had a conversation with myself about people’s opinion of me… turns out I am okay with who I am in Christ.