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Will the Real Me Stand Up
By Diane Flaote
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creaming at the top of my lungs I entered this world on a hot and humid September day. Immediately after my birth, my parents christened me Diane Parker. I was the little girl they had always dreamed of and desired. With two older brothers, I was the baby of the family. Some would say that I was the dearly loved and spoiled rotten “little princess” of our family. My identity was firmly established very early on or so it seemed.
stolen identity It took only a few years for that identity to be robbed. Little by little, the person I once was – an innocent little girl believing those surrounding her accepted and loved her - disappeared. In her place emerged another little girl who looked exactly like the “other” Diane except this Diane no longer believed that those around her, including her mother and father, would love her if they ever found out her secret.
“we” were doing was bad. How could I discern at such a young and vulnerable age that “we” were not doing anything wrong? He was the one doing wrong. I was a victim in his sick and twisted game.
a prison of shame I remember how he told me not to tell anyone. If I did, they would think I was a bad little girl. He said they would not love me anymore if they knew all the bad things I did. He said no one, not even my Momma and Daddy, would love me if they knew I let him and the others do all “those” things to me. As a little girl, all I wanted was to know that my parents loved me. As I grew, my abuser placed more and more blame and shame on me. I became riddled with guilt over something that I felt I really had no control over. I remember asking myself the same question time and again - if I was so bad then why was I the one hiding in fear that he might find me and do those things to me. As the years went by, he used every form of manipulation and intimidation he could to keep me from telling anyone what was happening behind closed doors and in wooded areas. Ten years passed before I found the courage to stand up to the manipulation and abuse.
I became riddled with guilt over something that I felt I really had no control over. I remember asking myself the same question time and again - if I was so bad then why was I the one to hide in fear that he might find me and do those things to me.
By the time I was five, I was being molested on a regular basis by someone very close to me. I never fully understood until much later what was happening to me was not normal. Only when he began to tell me that no one could know did I begin to think what
calling the bluff When I finally reached a place of desperation within myself, I called his bluff. No matter what, I had to end the abuse. It was either end the abuse by walking out of it or end the abuse by ending my life. That was exactly how desperate I had become. I remember the day so clearly as if it was only yesterday. He came into my room. Sitting in the middle of the floor, he said he had something new he wanted us to try. When he described what he wanted to do, I was disgusted. At that point, I stood up and stated, “No.” He threatened me. He taunted me with the telling me my parents would hate me. I started for the door. He told me that he was going to tell my parents. Continuing to scare me, he said they would give me the worst beating of my life. I did not stop walking. I rushed ahead of him and called out to my mom and dad. I told them that he had something to tell them. This time I was the one taunting saying, “Go ahead! Tell them!” He turned and walked away. That was the last day he ever tried to lay his hands on me.
a hidden burden I have never fully recovered from all those years of abuse, manipulations, and threats. Somehow, in survival mode, my mind locked away all those memories for a time. In an article published by The American Academy of Experts in Traumatic Stress, Inc. in 1998, the writer states of one who has been abused that “the trauma may be so severe that part or all of the abuse is blocked from conscious memory. This may continue for many years until something triggers a ‘flashback’…” That is exactly what happened to me. I had blocked enough of the abuse from my everyday consciousness in order to survive. Ten years passed after the abuse stopped before an event happened to awaken those distant and dormant incestuous memories – like an old movie reel, the memories rolled across my mind’s eyes allowing me to view all the atrocities perpetrated against me. For most of my life, I carried a heavy burden – hatred. I absolutely hated the one who molested me. I could not stomach to look at him much less have him touch me in passing. His touch made me feel nauseous. My hatred for this person was like hot molten lava burning my inside out and erupting on the outside. It was pretty obvious by everyone around that I despised this person. My mother berated me about how I mistreated this person when I treated other people so much nicer. My mother spoke out of ignorance. See, I never told my parents about the abuse. I never wanted them to know how sick and twisted this person was. They never knew why I hated him to the point of violence. The hatred was like a cancer deep inside of me; the disease was killing me from the inside out, body and soul.
finding freedom in faith and forgiveness How does one find freedom from a childhood of abuse? How does a person find freedom from years of lies and manipulations told to her or him by another? For me, it was my faith in God, who was ever present in my life, walking alongside of me and giving
me strength to persevere. It was my Savior, Jesus Christ, who demonstrated authentic and unconditional love on the cross. It took years before I forgave my abuser. In the same manner, from the overabundance of grace and forgiveness that was shown and given to me by my Savior for my own sins, I knew that I must forgive the one who harmed and damaged me. During the time I was struggling so desperately for healing, a pastor told me that not only should we forgive, but also we must reconcile ourselves with what was done to us by another – the searing pain and scars another forged. My pastor told me that the Lord never allows pain and suffering without a plan to redeem all the hurt and heartache associated with the suffering. It was only by forgiving my abuser and reconciling myself with the past that started me on the road to recognizing who I really was.
that he might have had over me. I wholeheartedly agree with what Dr. Phil McGraw once said about forgiveness: “forgiveness is what you do for yourself, not for other people. When you forgive, it does not mean that you approve of what has happened. Rather, it means that you are giving yourself permission to move on with your life.” With God, we are told to forgive because He first forgave us. When I decided to put my pride and hurt aside and forgive the one who hurt me so cruelly, I reclaimed who I am. I am Diane Parker. I am a survivor by the grace and strength of my Lord. Will the Real Me stand up?
the real me Who was I? Who am I? I never was a participant in the monstrous acts committed against me. The lies my abuser told me to keep
Today, I am a liberated woman – freed from all the lies and manipulations of my abuser. With freedom comes great responsibility. I choose to encourage those who have been hurt that there is healing in forgiveness. By choosing to forgive my abuser, I chose freedom from any power that he might have had over me. my mouth shut were exactly that – lies. I was loved by my parents. Nothing I could have done in my past would have kept them from loving me. I was not a bad girl; I was a good little girl whose childhood was stolen. I was not guilty of any crude or disgusting acts; I was a little girl whose innocence was ripped away by a selfish and perverted person. I was that little abused girl. I grew up to realize that those monstrous acts did not and still do not define me. I may have scars, but the scars tell me how far my Lord has taken me -- from a place of desperation and selfloathing to a place of peace and acceptance in who I am in Him – a beautiful creation formed by His very own hands. His Beloved. Freedom is a glorious thing. Freedom is a birthright granted to us from God. No one has the right to take our freedom away from us, whether it be physically, emotionally, spiritually, or psychologically. Today, I am a liberated woman in the Christ Jesus – freed from all the lies and manipulations of my abuser. With freedom comes great responsibility. I choose to encourage those who have been hurt. There is healing in forgiveness. By choosing to forgive my abuser, I chose freedom from any power
But now, this is what the Lord says— he who created you, Jacob,he who formed you, Israel:
‘Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have summoned you by name; you are mine.’ Isaiah 43:1
Then a Soldier, Now a Mama By Rachael Jackson
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am wife to my amazing Superman, Shane. He is a jack of all trades and a master of many. I am also mother of two young, unique, inquisitive, and headstrong children, one three year old little boy and a 20 month old daughter. They are the treasures of my life, the challenges in my day, and the gifts with which God has blessed me. But I wasn’t always these things. In another life, I was a soldier. I was also a wounded child and rebellious teenager. My parents divorced when I was four and my mom married an abusive man when I was eight. My childhood memories are filled with good times shadowed by her struggles with addiction, depression, and health issues to name a few. Her personal issues kept her from being an effective parent, even though she loved us incredibly. My teenage years were a rebellious time. I was strong-willed and independent with no one strong enough to lead me. I made my mother’s life a living hell. I disobeyed, tested, and disrespected her. Sadly, those are my biggest regrets in life.
Desperate for some intervention in my life, my mom called the Army recruiter when I was 17 years old. People called her crazy to want her daughter in the military, and truthfully, she never considered that I would be anything except a secretary like she saw in old WWII movies. But God was the driving force in my life and He had a bigger plan. He knew what I needed and handdelivered it to me in the form of drill sergeants. I thrived in the Army world. It was filled with challenges, confidence building, training, rewards, discipline, reinforcement, and structure. I became accountable for myself. I believe that had it not been for the Army, my life’s story would have turned out drastically different. Serving as a Captain and Apache pilot in Iraq, fibromyalgia attacked and altered the course of my life. A medical discharge and a new civilian life later, the Lord brought me a family. Looking back, I can appreciate how faithful God has been in preparing me for my life. The Army training I received has directly impacted my current day to day mom operations. And you know what? I feel well-equipped for this journey in my life – not perfect, mind you, but well-equipped. I know how to meet obstacles head on and find tactics to overcome them. I know that I am more determined than my headstrong children. I know that I am their first line of defense against this world and their biggest ally. Let me confess up front, I am NOT a perfect mother. There are days I feel like a complete failure when it comes to raising my children. There are days where dinner is boiling over the stove, the kids decide to erupt into uncontrollable anger at each other, and my frustration reaches its max level resulting in “ineffective and undesirable” parenting. That’s normal. I’m normal. You’re normal if you go through that as well. It is on those days that I am especially grateful for grace, not only from God, but from my family. I stand amazed that they love me no matter what, and God, in His mercy, grants me more days to try again. No other experience has taught me forgiveness for myself and my parents, and compassion and grace for other parents like parenthood. I know that there are moms (and dads) out there who struggle with leadership. I also know women who struggle with the day to day activities and drudgery that can be motherhood. Despite deploying to Iraq, leading men and women in war, and flying attack helicopters, motherhood has been the most difficult leadership challenge I have ever experienced. However, it has been the most rewarding. The parent is the beginning point for all children. What we do and who we are impacts our children far more than we might like to accept. And the scary part is that there is no owner’s manual that comes with our kids – no class to take, no break, no GPS
roadmap, and for sure, no Google search tailored specifically to your kid. There are constant lessons that need to be taught, discipline that needs to be imparted, unconditional love that needs to be demonstrated, and fun and creativity that need to be allowed. Since parenting can be hard, effective leadership skills are essential. Children need to know that they are being led by someone who is competent, can handle their circumstances and is in control of themselves. Even when life gets crazy and matters seem out of control, it is vital to maintain your sense of peace and calm. A sense of humor doesn’t hurt either. There is this truth in life: you cannot change a person’s heart, only God can. But we’ve been given the responsibility to look down the road and determine how to best take care what God has entrusted in our care. The leadership that we display in our homes has a huge impact on the road our children will choose to take when he is older.
“Train up a child in the way he should go; even when he is old he will not depart from it.” Proverbs 22:6 As daunting and overwhelming as this task may seem at times, it should be good to know that He has not left us alone on this journey. He is here to help us and to provide us with the information, wisdom, and support that we need in order to do the job well. My goal is to take you through the basics of leadership from my experience with leading soldiers and help you apply those basics to leading children. I am not implying that children are soldiers, and I encourage you to take everything you read and shower it with lots of prayer, grace, fun, lightheartedness, compassion, love, and forgiveness for yourself and others. I hope you find these articles to be helpful and inspiring. I also hope that you find the grace necessary to breathe easier. God has armed you. He has equipped you to do battle. He has called you to do a mighty task as a parent. You have a lot of resources to draw on – the biggest, most reliable, and most important being the Lord of all heaven and earth. Ultimately, your children belong to God. He will complete the work that He starts in them – all He asks is that you just do the best you can. It can’t get much more encouraging than that.
For the Home made thoughtful, purposeful, and financially responsible decisions. Being the super thrifty kind of girl she is, she was also determined to find everything from second-hand supplies or on incredible sales.
by Rachael Jackson photos provided by Erin Lindsey
Erin Lindsey:
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Where did she search? Garage sales, thrift stores, bargain bins, clearance sales, etc… but Erin insists that thrift stores have the best stuff. All she needed was a can of spray paint, and she could turn anything into something that fit her emerging style.
I learned how Erin loved to read books and what was on her “to read” list. (My favorite that she mentioned was “Anne of Green Gables” – a must read for all women!) The more I learned about her, the more she felt comfortable sharing with me, and the more I felt drawn to her and her realness. There is an incredible strength, confidence, and security in opening up to someone, and I was so glad to get to see more of Erin.
the transformation
more than meets the eye
The beginning point of their home transformation was an antique couch given to them from the estate of Will’s great aunt. They sanded and painted the wood edging on their own, but invested in reupholstering the couch. The result is a couch that has meaning. As the focal point in the living room, the rest of the décor revolves around it. Because this heirloom was restored, their family is happy and honored.
If you know Erin, or see her work with Erin Lindsey Images, or even read this article, you might feel like she’s got it all together. You might feel like you do not measure up or that your life is not worth displaying quite like hers is – in fact, she’s been approached about this. I asked her how she felt about others comparing themselves to her or looking at her home and her life, wishing they could have the same.
As we went around her living room, talking about the different pieces integrated into her design – beautiful conversational pieces – our discussion topics soon flowed easily and I began to learn more about Erin than I had ever known before. Those pieces led us to talk about her and her husband’s families. I learned about their marriages and how the young couple really looked up to the examples that had been set for them. I learned about how Erin loved to listen to vinyl records that reminded her
The hallway, a point in the house often travelled and the focal point for Erin and Will to hang photos displaying them as a happily married couple was the location for this special conversation between us. Her response was so beautiful. “We are a normal couple and I am completely human. We fight, we struggle as individuals and together, and we each need to be reminded from time to time about what is important to us. I, personally, struggle with fear of failure. But we know that ultimately, life
Home Ref lections
alking into Erin Lindsey’s home is like taking a breath of fresh air. Welcoming me at the door with two adorable dogs and decked out in her favorite sweat suit, I immediately felt at home and relaxed. There was a sense of “real” as we sat down to talk – jitters and all – because she is my first “official” interview for Shattered Magazine.
friends and family, Erin desires others to feel loved, worthy, and beautiful.
a good look around
Erin is my friend, so our conversation soon flowed. It had been a long time since we had talked. I wanted to know about Erin’s style and the choices she made for her home; not only giving our readers ideas about what to do with their homes, but also, giving them a glimpse of who Erin Lindsey really is.
One day, Erin looked around her home and realized that it was filled with random stuff that had no sentimental value or meaning to her or Will, her husband. She saw nothing that would start a meaningful conversation; something that would cause visitors to pause, think, discuss, and understand the deeper meaning behind their décor. She wanted her surroundings to be a reflection of who they are. Problem was, she was not quite sure what style best depicted that.
Erin is a bubbly, beautiful woman with a heart of gold. She truly cares about other people and wants them to see the beauty in themselves and in their lives. Whether they’re in a photo shoot with her as clients or they are people she would consider
Overwhelmed and unsure where to start, Erin and Will decided to start in one room and go piece by piece. The one rule that they established was that they had to sell what they were replacing before they could buy the new piece. This ensured that they
of how she danced to the music around her house as a child.
A collage over your couch is a great way to highlight people and things that are important to you. Try to mix it up and include interesting pieces in unexpected ways. Erin has un-matching photo frames with pictures of parents and grandparents, a lot of wedding memorabilia including framed wedding invites, a shadow box with their map of traveled locations, and a plate rack to hold frames.
is great, even when it is not. We find that focusing on the good things, being reminded of them in photographs, helps us to remember what it is we love about each other and life. I have to make the choice, every day, to focus on the blessings as opposed to wallowing in the insecurities and sadness that come at us during the day.”
a picture is worth a thousand words
that pee all over our floors just do not measure up. It can leave us feeling inadequate and wishing things were different instead of celebrating what beauty there is in our lives. Erin Lindsey and Shattered Magazine have similar desires when it comes down to it. We want to see people celebrate and find the beauty in their own lives – messes and all!
Erin’s business persona is attractive and fun, as seen in her energetic and bubbly blog posts and beautiful photographic interpretations of her subjects. What she loves the most about photography is the realness in the moment when she is shooting. She wants her clients to feel beautiful in their own skin, to celebrate who they are, and to appreciate the moment that they are in – whether it’s their wedding, an engagement shoot, or couples photo – she really wants people to like themselves.
end of the tour
She wants people to celebrate the lives they are living. It is really easy for us to look at others, (especially with the invention of social networking geared towards presenting the most desirable persona to the world) and wish we had someone else’s life. Snapshots of happy couples romping in fields, beautiful children kissing their parents in peaceful bliss, and puppy dogs cuddled up around us, can make us feel as if our marital arguments, morning breath, back-talking- fit-throwing children, and pets
Now, she simply loves drinking her coffee in her living room, sunlight streaming in, feeling surrounded by just enough to energize her and prepare her for her days. It is a place where she can truly focus and prepare herself to go out into the world. And it’s not because she felt the need to go out and “get more” it’s because she filled her home with what mattered to her and ministered to her heart.
After going through her beautiful home and enjoying our meaningful conversation, I asked her how the finished product makes her feel. “Love it! Feels like me…” Even though she didn’t know who she was when she started, the process did a lot to bring things into focus for her. She revealed more and more what was truly important and meaningful in her life by being very deliberate in her decisions about what to display.
What if you don’t have a great family history item? Start your own history. Buy a beautiful piece or buy a used piece and make it your own. Put your own touches (sanding, painting, upholstery, etc.) and write the story for you and your future family.
“We find that focusing on the good things, being reminded of them in photographs, helps us to remember what it is we love about each other and life.” Her advice to people who might not know where to start? Go piece by piece. Start with the biggest thing or the most important thing, and then begin to reflect what’s important to you on your walls. Is it your marriage, your children, your family past, your favorite activities? You can frame most anything. A favorite idea was the shadow box where Erin and Will have put a map of the United States to mark everywhere that they’ve been together as a married couple. | What was she drawn to? Old books that she either has read or would love to read one day.
Where did she search? Garage sales, thrift stores, bargain bins, clearance sales, etc… but Erin insists that thrift stores have the best stuff. All she needed was a can of spray paint, and she could turn anything in to something that fit her emerging style.
I
Medicine for the Soul By Diane Floate
n the middle of dealing with my mom’s hospitalization for a stroke, I made lasagna for the family – my small way of bringing some comfort to the ones I loved during this situation. But apparently, my lasagna sprouted legs and walked out of the refrigerator and through the front door of my parents’ home? That seemed the only explanation since it had simply disappeared. Exhausted, stressed out, and looking for something to quiet my growling tummy, I was left holding the door of the fridge open looking for a non-existent pan full of deliciousness .After several horrible days sitting, standing, and pacing in my mom’s hospital room, I had been looking forward to and even imagining how wonderful that sausage lasagna would taste – a sort of medicine for my anxious heart.. With the lasagna gone, I just knew that my day was about to get worse - or so I thought. As I stood looking with confusion as well as frustration at the empty space where I had personally placed the lasagna, my daughter Gabrielle returned home from my niece’s house after staying with her family during the day. She wanted to know what I was searching for. Instead of answering her question, I asked my own, “Do you have any idea what happened to that full pan of lasagna that I put in here last night?” She began laughing. Oh no, I knew by the look on her face that this was going to be quite a little story. Between her giggles, Gabrielle launched into the tale of my missing lasagna. “Mom, it’s like this…Chris, Addi, and I got ready to eat lunch. There wasn’t really anything we wanted from their
Ingredients: Lasagna noodles 1 pound mild or hot Italian ground sausage Your favorite spaghetti sauce 1Tablespoon dried Italian seasoning, crushed Parsley (option – garnishment)
Filling: 1 egg, beaten 1 container ricotta cheese (15 ounce of smaller curd) ¼ cup grated Parmesan cheese (the real cheese from dairy section) 3 cups grated Mozzarella cheese (pull out 1 cup for topping at end) ½ to 1 cup Cheddar Cheese
Instructions: Preheat oven to 375 degrees.
kitchen so we remembered the lasagna you made last night. We decided to walk over to Granny’s and Papa’s in order to get it. After we grabbed the lasagna, we took it back to Davanna’s…” Tears almost started rolling down her cheeks as she described how Chris had uncovered the lasagna, cut her and Addi small pieces, and then proceeded to cut him a larger portion of the tasty dish. Gabrielle said she thought nothing of it because guys always eat more. But after she and Addi finished their serving of lasagna, Chris was still eating. Not only was he forking the food into his mouth at impressive rates of speed, but she said that he kept exclaiming, “Man, this is the best lasagna ever. This is so good. We have to get the recipe.” Gabrielle told me that she couldn’t help herself. She simply sat there and stared with her mouth hanging open amazed by the amount of food that she saw Chris scarfing down. “He ate…ate…and ate until the entire pan of lasagna disappeared.” And by the end, I was laughing, too. After days of sadness, fear, and stress, the release of all that pentup emotion through laughter felt like a soothing balm settling over my wounded soul. In fact the Bible speaks of “a joyful heart” being a great medicine (Proverbs 17:22). God knew that I needed more than physical sustenance that night. What I received was a sweet aroma and tasting of God’s underserved favor upon my weary soul. With the caper of the missing lasagna and the giggles of my sweet daughter, God fed my heart with sweet manna from heaven. Laughter is the best medicine for the soul. Oh how I love my God. Below is my Lasagna recipe, I hope it brings you as much joy as it did to me.
Boil lasagna noodles, drain in sink with colander while running cold water over noodles. Place wax paper on counter top. Once noodles cool down, place on wax paper side by side. Cook sausage and drain off fat. Stir in sauce and Italian seasoning. Simmer on low. I use a larger bottle of spaghetti sauce to ensure I have enough lasagna for two – three layers. Combine and mix the beaten egg, ricotta, mozzarella, and parmesan cheeses. I buy extra Mozzarella to add a little on top with the cheddar cheese. Spread a thin layer of meat sauce over the bottom of a rectangular baking dish. Next, layer noodles. Then spread egg/cheese mixture on top of noodle layer. Repeat layers (Meat sauce/noodles/egg&cheese). I usually do only two layers ending with an extra layer of meat sauce on top. I then sprinkle quite a bit of mozzarella and cheddar cheese on top of the top last layer of meat sauce. To clarify, I begin and end with a layer of meat sauce. I sprinkle with parsley to add a little color. Place in pre-heated oven for 30 to 35 minutes. Let stand 10 minutes before serving. Enjoy!
Get to Know Jesus
The God Who Sees By Diane Floate
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tanding in front of my bathroom mirror, I looked at and hated who I saw staring back at me. Thoughts racing through my head and memories running rampant in my mind, I looked at the reflection I loathed. At that point in my life and for many years after, I wandered in a world of despair questioning whether I really mattered to God. I kept hoping that I did.
Does God care? If so, how could He watch what was happening to me or to any of us, listen to our cries for help, and do absolutely nothing. I felt invisible to God and to the people in my life. Yes, people noticed me, but did they really see me? Did God really see me? Did they see the little girl silently screaming out for help? These are the questions that I carried deep in my heart for a long
You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good to accomplish what is now being done, the saving of many lives. Genesis 50:20
time. It took years for me to grasp that in the darkest moments of my life God did see me. One of my favorite stories in the Bible is about a slave named Hagar.. Pregnant and alone, Hagar ran away from her master’s household because the master’s wife was mistreating her. Lost, heartbroken, and worn down, she found herself in the desert, wilted by the hot scorching sun. Resting near a desert oasis, the Angel of the LORD appeared to her. He asked Hagar where she had come from and where she was going. Hagar confessed that she ran away from her master’s cruelty. The slave was told by the Angel of the LORD to return to her master because the LORD had heard of her troubles and had great plans for her. Hagar, maybe for the first time, realized that God saw her circumstances. For this reason, Hagar called the LORD the “God who sees me” because He had seen her misery. Born in Egypt, Hagar was not only a slave, but she was a foreigner in a strange land. Hagar came from a culture that believed in polytheism, a belief in many gods. Hagar, most likely, was not a believer in the God of her masters, but followed her Egyptian culture’s belief system. The beauty of Hagar’s story was (and is) that God does not only watch over those that believe in Him; but He also watches over those who do not believe in the One True God. God loves all His children, even those who do not love Him. He sees all of His children even when they refuse to see Him. Many times as I have read through Hagar’s story, I felt a sense of camaraderie with the slave. No, I have not been physically enslaved; however, I experienced intense emotional and psychological oppression. No matter what the type of slavery, the lasting effects are similar. Frederick Douglass in his book Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass wrote that slavery had a “spirit-killing effect.” In the throes of my own bondage, my spirit died a slow and agonizing death. I was so young when terror entered my life, that I cannot
remember exactly what my thoughts were of God back then. I know that I went to church regularly. I know that I loved to learn about God. And, when it came to the abuse in my life, my thoughts never even questioned where God was. I believed that God could see me, because I was told that if I did wrong He would know about it and reign down his judgment against me. For some reason, it did not translate in my childish brain or spirit that God saw more than my sins, He saw my suffering as well. Even though much of my spirit was crushed, pieces remained. I always had (still have) this immense love for God, but it took years for me to realize that God saw all that happened to me and was there with me. He never took His eyes off of me. He allowed those horrible atrocities to happen, not because He enjoyed it, but because He had a plan to redeem it. When I was wounded, God felt the pain from the assault as much or more than I. When I thought no one saw the internal bleeding of my soul, my Lord saw. He engraved upon my heart a remnant of my broken spirit to persevere. In His time, He would put all those broken pieces back together again. I made it through years of suffocating loneliness and intense misery because God never stopped watching over me. He never abandoned me. Years have passed, the memories of bondage still linger, but God has been faithful to free me. We are told in Jeremiah 29:11 that God has “plans to prosper you [and me] and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” God had a plan for me. He had a reason for not jumping in and rescuing me when He saw my pain and heard my silent pleas. He had a purpose for my life and pain. He has asked me to share with all the brokenhearted that our Lord not only sees our circumstances, but the He mends our broken hearts. Intricately and with great precision, God becomes the Divine Artisan placing each piece, one by one, together - molding each piece into the other, until it becomes it own unique masterpiece to the glory and praise of His name. Our experiences, good or not, through God’s hand upon our lives, transform us into a wondrous testimony of God’s love, grace, and mercy. We find healing from our shattered moments only within the arms of the God Who Sees.
Slavery is a $32 billion per year industry with 27 million victims worldwide. When unveiling the U.S. annual report on human trafficking in 2012, Hilary Clinton commented, “Those victims of modern slavery are women and men, girls and boys, and their stories remind us of the kind of inhumane treatment we are capable of as human beings.” There are more slaves right now than in any other time in human history totaling 27 million people. That’s the population of Georgia and Florida combined! It’s a staggering, overwhelming number of people. It’s almost unfathomable to consider combating such a desperate need. “The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men should do nothing.” - Attributed to Edmund Burke Passion City Church in Atlanta, Georgia has done an incredible job of not only shining a light on an injustice that too many are unaware of, but also of calling to action the group of people who appear, on first glance, to be the least qualified group to help: poor, college students. At the Passion Conference in January 2012, college students donated over $3 million of their own money to end this injustice. They weren’t told beforehand that they would be asked to do this. They merely gave from their own wallets and hearts. In doing such a sacrificial act, these students
Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that. Martin Luther King, Jr., A Testament of Hope: The Essential Writings and Speeches
made a statement that was heard around the world. There are many organizations that partnered with Louie Giglio, lead pastor of Passion City Church and head of the passion conferences, including Love 146. Fighting in Asia, Europe, and the United States, Love146 is part of this movement to finally put an end to slavery worldwide and bring freedom to the captives.
by Morgan Knight Photo provided by Love
I
Love146 began in 2002, while on a trip to Southeast Asia to determine how soon-to-be co-founders Rob Morris, Lamont Hiebert, Desirea Rodgers, and Caroline Hahm could fight the trafficking of children. Rob Morris participated in an undercover investigation of a brothel suspected of selling children for sex. Rob recounts:
146
have a love/hate relationship with exercising. I really want to be healthy and fit... but I also really love naps, chocolate, cookies, and Scooby Doo gummies. In reality, the exercise would actually help with my love for sleep and sweets, but I digress. The point is, it’s hard for us to take that first step into our sneakers and that next step out the door or onto the treadmill. One magazine article even says running
increases your metabolism by 700% (exaggeration). I need more motivation than the concept of becoming a woman who can rock some skinny jeans. Obviously, being healthy and losing weight are motivating reasons, but what if we could run for something that mattered even more than the size of our jeans? What if, with each step we took, we were helping put an end to worldwide injustice?
We found ourselves standing shoulder to shoulder with predators in a small room, looking at little girls through a pane of glass. All of the girls wore red dresses with a number pinned to their dress for identification... They sat, blankly watching cartoons on TV. They were vacant, shells of what a child should be. There was no light in their eyes, no life left. Their light had been taken from them. These children...raped each night... seven, ten, fifteen times every night. They were so young. Thirteen, eleven… it was hard to tell. Sorrow covered their faces with
nothingness. Except one girl. One girl who wouldn’t watch the cartoons. Her number was 146. She was looking beyond the glass. She was staring out at us with a piercing gaze. There was still fight left in her eyes. There was still life left in this girl... Because we went in as part of an ongoing, undercover investigation on this particular brothel, we were unable to immediately respond. Evidence had to be collected in order to bring about a raid and eventually justice on those running the brothel. It is an immensely difficult problem when an immediate response cannot address an emergency. Some time later, there was a raid on this brothel and children were rescued. But the girl who wore #146 was no longer there. We do not know what happened to her, but we will never forget her. She changed the course of all of our lives.
I know this may be a bit overwhelming and gut wrenching. But it doesn’t end here. There are men and women who are standing up and saying enough is enough. Love146 is one of many organizations that are putting every effort into freeing the captives and bringing their captors to justice. Now that you’re all fired up and ready to join the fight against slavery, here is where you can help. You don’t have to leave town, spend tons of money, or even leave your house. All you have to do is get your heart rate up! Love146 is having a Tread on Trafficking event between May 1st and June 30th. You can register online at love146.org/tot. All you have to do is ask sponsors to support you as you exercise, be it running, swimming, biking or working out — either for miles covered or hours spent. Send emails and spread the word using your Personal Fundraising Page that you’ll receive once you’ve registered. One-hundred percent of the proceeds go to Love146 and their fight to end human slavery. We would love to hear from our readers who are participating in this event! Email Morgan Knight at morgan@shatteredmagazine. net if you’re participating and she will follow up with you. And, if you do this, you could be featured in our fall issue of Shattered!
For in Christ, neither our most conscientious religion nor disregard of religion amounts to anything. What matters is something far more interior: faith expressed in love. Galatians 5:6
Resources:
Citations:
http://enditmovement.com/ http://love146.org/love-story http://www.ijm.org/ http://www.thea21campaign.org/
http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/worldnews/ northamerica/usa/9343314/Hillary-Clintonup-to-27-million-living-in-slavery.html http://enditmovement.com/ http://love146.org/love-story
What’s Your Name? By Rebecca Jordan Photos Provided by Rebecca Jordan
Go and Tell
I
considered myself a world traveler. I’d been there, done that and got the t-shirt from Australia and New Zealand as a high school freshman. I’d flown solo around the world to Vietnam at seventeen. I’d circled the globe again as a college freshman to China, flown south to Mexico and even walked the shores of beautiful Belize. So in the spring of 2012, when I was invited to go to India on a mission trip, I was ready. (You know what’s coming next.) Say it with me: “I – was - not - ready.” I was a mess. I am a mess. Or as Mandi Mapes sings, “I’m a high class screwed up mess.” Maybe in seasons prior I felt less like a screwed up mess, like somehow I deserved to travel the world sharing the love of Jesus. Not this time. I had just relocated to Huntsville two months prior, I didn’t have a job, and I was afraid of the future. But there I sat, on a plane the size of the Titanic, squirting hand sanitizer on my hands, hoping it would rub off not only the unwelcomed microorganisms but also the fear and weariness I was feeling. It was November. I’d begun preparations for the trip in May. Six months. Six crazy months of wondering why I was even alive on planet Earth, much less traveling her hemispheres talking about a Love that alters everything.
it. Chaya, a woman in attendance, invited us to come to her house the next day. We told them we’d return. I woke up the second day filled with anxiety. Even though I had witnessed God’s wonder working power the day before, I woke up still dwelling on little ‘ole me. Fear and weariness lingered, like an old habit. I’d packed a suitcase weighing 50 pounds that sat on
I felt like a coward; weak, pathetic, and afraid. I’d look around the room at breakfast and feel the joy of my teammates and I’d hear the voices in my head, How’d you get here you fool? Look at them, they really love Jesus. You? You’re just a scared little coward. I was traveling 8,000 miles with E3 Partners, a ministry organization dedicated to equipping God’s people in evangelizing and establishing His church by sharing the gospel of Jesus Christ around the globe. We were to spend eight days in the country sharing the Gospel paired with an American teammate and a national ministry partner. It’s as simple as it sounds. We would walk the streets in our assigned area led by the spirit to spark conversations and pray for opportunities to talk about Jesus. If people accepted Christ, we started a Bible Study right then and there. Say what? When you call on the Holy Spirit to give you opportunities, He gives you opportunities. On the first day I found myself sitting in a modest home, no paint or pictures, just a rug and a plastic chair. We were sharing the story of Jesus. Eight women were my captive audience while barefoot children scurried in and out. It was hot. The door was open and sunshine was spilling in. Eight women accepted Christ that day. Eight women held a Bible in their hands for the first time. My spirit was in awe. For the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal (2 Cor. 4:18b). I’d grown up singing about the wonder working power, and now I’d witnessed
the floor of my hotel room, but the baggage in my heart weighed heavier. I grabbed a leader that morning and pleaded, “I can’t do this. I don’t know what I’m doing. Don’t make me go out today.” I was hoping my fear would invoke a cocktail of pity and empathy, just enough to let me stay behind. I felt like a coward; weak, pathetic, and afraid. I’d look around the room at breakfast and feel the joy of my teammates and I’d hear the voices in my head, How’d you get here you fool? Look at them, they really love Jesus. You? You’re just a scared little coward. Remember how I said I was invited to India? Maybe you thought it was a weird way to say “I was called to go.” Well, I was invited - by my boyfriend. Truth be told, I’m not sure I was ever called to go, but “callings” is another article for another time. I pretty much told the Lord I wanted to go and if He wanted to stop me, He could. I love you Jesus, and people in India need to know about you. I care about this man, and I like this invitation...you cool with this? My question was met with silence. Great way to enter a mission trip, right? Hold your applause. I snapped back to reality when my friend called me by name,
looked me in the eye and then hugged me. She saw me for who I was, and she loved me anyway. “Rebecca, you love them the way you’ve been loved: trust Jesus with the rest.” Her words spilled over my heavy heart like healing oil. Love them the way you’ve been loved. God didn’t see me as a coward, weak, pathetic or afraid. He looked at me and all He could see was His daughter; a daughter who didn’t believe who she belonged to. My friend just simply reminded me. Snap out of it, Jordan. Don’t you remember who you are? You’re a daughter of the King. You don’t save people, your Father does. When we returned to Chaya’s house, four teenage girls were now in attendance. To squeeze us all into the tiny room, the girls and I all sat on the makeshift bed; a table with thin blankets on top. If I reached out to touch them, they would giggle---my porcelain-like skin glowing on their beautiful brown complexions. One of the girls spoke broken English taught to her in school but certainly never put into practice with a native English speaker. She would
ask questions and then her friends would roll their eyes as if they were jealous but uninterested at the same time. We had been studying for some time, when the girl’s timid voice turned brave. “Learn our names!” Yogita exclaimed, as if she couldn’t contain it any longer. Even though I had asked their names at our initial encounter, my poor memory failed me. Timidly, I practiced the little Marathi I knew, pointing to each girl saying “Tuje nau?” (What is your name?). My palms began to sweat. I’ve never been an auditory learner. I knew that if these names were going to stick, I needed to see them written. I pulled out my journal and pen and handed it to Yogita and said, “Can you write your names for me?” They scripted their names in Marathi, a language so visually stunning it looked like ancient Hebrew. They looked up and smiled, knowing this wouldn’t cut it either. So Yogita grabbed the pen and wrote on the top of the page the phonetic spelling of their names: YOGITA, GAURI, PRENALI, PRAJAKTA.
the love of Jesus with many others, including my four teenage sisters. By the grace of God, we were able to see 709 people come to Christ (1128 heard the gospel) and 33 new fellowships start while on our trip. They have been multiplying ever since. Who am I? How could I ever claim any of the work I participated in as my own? I’m the high class screwed up mess, remember? God let me go to India because He loves me deeply. Remember that relationship that led to the invitation to go to India? I’m sad to say it is over, and I am currently in the throes of heartbreak. Remember the feelings of cowardice and unbelief I experienced while there? Still struggling with that at times; however, I wake up each morning knowing that I am loved with the deep, unfathomably wide, and rich love of my Father as I cling to the new name He’s given me : daughter. We are loved by a God who reaches down and stoops to sit on a makeshift bed with us, and if we listen closely, we can hear Him with excitement, “Learn my name!”
I looked up and began to touch each one as I repeated their names, “Yo-Gee-Ta” and the girls would erupt in laughter. I kept going.
God didn’t see me as a coward, weak, pathetic or afraid. He looked at me and all He could see was His daughter; a daughter who didn’t believe who she belonged to. “Gauw-ree.” “Pray-nall-ee.” I turned to Prajakta, and asked with a smile, “Can I call you Praj?” That was all it took. Pure elation erupted as the girls threw back their heads and laughed at this funny white girl. My laid out plans for sharing the Gospel had been interrupted by the simple request to learn names. Learn our names reverberated over and over in my mind. It touched my soul just as tangibly as my friend touched me that morning. “Rebecca, you love them the way you’ve been love; trust Jesus with the rest.” We were studying Matthew 6:9, which states… “Our Father in Heaven...” He asks us to call upon Him with confidence; Abba, Father, Jesus. We are his children! He adopts us into His family. I looked around at the women and realized that I was sitting with new family members, fellow children of our Father. When I left Chaya’s house that day, they looked at me and said, “Can we call you Dede?” and I smiled and looked curiously at my translator. He tilted his head and said, “It means big sister.” He changes our names. He changes us. I spent the rest of my week discipling new believers and sharing
“Fear
not, for
I
have redeemed you;
I
have called you by name, you are mine.
When
you pass
through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you; when you walk through fire you shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you. For I am the
Lord your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Savior...” Isaiah 1-3, ESV