Forgiven in Christ


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Forgiven in Christ

“I am forgiven in Christ Jesus, God’s Son. My tormentors are forgiven in Him, and I pray that they know this by faith …”

“In this is love, not that we have loved God but that he loved us and sent his Son to be the propitiation for our sins.” (1 John 4:10)

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hese particular experiences are not about pleasant subjects, but it seems important to tell them only in light of God’s mercy and grace in Christ and with the hope that reading of them will benefit those with similar experiences and inward turmoil. Growing up, I remember being confused and ashamed over what was happening, but I didn’t know how to confront or deal with any of it. Unfortunately, it happened repeatedly and in different settings and with increasing evil and ill effects over the years. I was a very young child and hadn’t learned to be wary of others in order to protect myself when a man asked me to sit on his lap. He attended the same church as I did, was part of a well-respected family, and had always been as friendly as someone might be to a small girl like me. I didn’t understand what he was doing, nor can I recall exact words or instructions, except that his play was “our secret.” To a little girl who trusted him before this, he was convincing. This “secret” recurred over time. Then it ended. He always told me never to tell. Coupled with my own sense of shame, I didn’t. A number of years passed before suddenly my own halfbrother forced himself on me. My brother had already been very critical toward me. I felt as ugly about myself because of his harsh words as I did because of his physical abuse. Somehow he managed to scare and taunt and shame me so that I never told anyone what was happening. I tried to 1

tell my dad once. “Please don’t leave me home with him,” I pleaded quietly, but I couldn’t bring myself to give the reason. Puzzled, my dad dismissed it as sibling rivalry. While I never tried to tell my parents again, years later my brother confessed to them out of love and obligation. Today we are at peace with it as a family. At the time, though, I was at the age when I could walk to my best friend’s house, even at dusk. In fact, it was becoming more common that I could stay out until 9 or 10 p.m. as long as I never walked the two blocks alone. But I could not stay alone with my brother and began leaving the house until someone else was home besides him, even if it meant walking home alone. My brother managed to blame me whenever he was scolded for letting me leave. In spite of the trouble it caused, I grew more defiant and continued to sneak out of the house and often lied about my whereabouts—anything to avoid what typically happened if I were alone with my brother. From one day to the next, I’d find a girlfriend’s house to stay at until I had to leave, but it was on my way home that I ran into trouble. In my neighborhood was a typical group of boys who had been my friends in previous years. We had played kickball, war, tag, and everything else common to children. Suddenly I found myself—and I suppose I put myself in the position of—being raped by them. Though I fought and kicked and screamed every time it happened, I was no match for them. Over the years since, it became the worst part of remembering: How could I put myself in that position more than once? Yet, in my mind it was more acceptable than what I faced in my own house with my own half-brother. Life continued in an uphill struggle throughout my school 2

years. I began drinking alcohol at sixteen, finding in drink a new reason to exist—at first. But life got worse. The rough kids I hung around with were certainly not true friends, any more than I was to them. I simply wanted to be accepted somewhere. Eventually, I quit school and ran away more than once until, at age 18, I married and had my first child by the following year. Unfortunately, I was unprepared for the enormous responsibilities of marriage and parenting. While I was as guilty of alcohol abuse as my husband, I made attempts for my son’s sake to quit altogether. I finally only succeeded in turning away from the spiraling effects of alcohol and drug abuse by leaving the marriage. I was determined to obtain my GED and soon work for reasonable pay, rather than depend on government aid. I wanted so much to raise my child without the day-in and day-out hardships that my husband’s drinking had imposed on us (frequent automobile accidents, arrests, whole paychecks spent at bars, etc.). How I grieved that my precious son had lived with so little stability. I was desperate to make things right. Several months into the separation—divorce papers already filed—and more than halfway through GED classes, my estranged husband came over one evening and forced himself on me. I pleaded and fought against him. Unbelievably, I became pregnant. I spent a number of years after that feeling ashamed over what I did next: I went to see about having an abortion. Looking back, I can see how Scripture is true when it says, “My times are in your hands” (Psalm 31:15a). I walked into the wrong kind of clinic for an abortion. This one was set up to inform women about abortion while offering alternatives and assistance in their pregnancies. I can still see the face of one of the nurses—she was very poised, graceful, 3

and serene as she kindly listened to my dilemma and asked if I’d watch a film on abortion before I made a definite decision. I agreed. The nurse turned on the monitor and left the room. Quietly, I watched how an embryo developed from conception, how its little heart beat, how it made sucking motions even on its tiny hands, and how it turned and kicked and developed miraculously! Then I watched how solutions were injected into perfectly safe embryonic sacs and how living, healthy, unborn babies writhed in pain as they burned in their mothers’ wombs. I watched how their charred remains were scraped out in bits and pieces with razor-sharp instruments. I watched how babies were torn limb-from-limb with air suction. I watched how those tiny lives were destroyed and dumped like refuse. I couldn’t even look at the nurses when I stood to leave. I dashed out of the clinic in tears, ashamed that I could entertain the idea of killing my own precious unborn baby, even though his conception was void of love and would change the course of my life. From that moment I’ve never regretted the life of my beautiful, healthy, loving son whom I cherish. I would suffer everything 100 times over again for his precious life. Perhaps it’s not strange to imagine that I’ve had difficulty most of my life liking myself or having a healthy respect for life. Repeatedly, I chose abusive and destructive relationships. I was always ashamed and afraid, not caring well for myself or loved ones and feeling enormous regret for things I had done wrong and things I wish I had done right from the beginning. I lived in much upheaval and in desperation most of my life—desperate for purity, protection, love, acceptance, guidance, and hope. 4

Our dear heavenly Father is so merciful and longsuffering, however. Even in my infancy, He placed me in the care of an older couple who, over the years, took me in as their own during summer vacations, on Sundays, and extended weekends. All my life as a child—and even to this day—they told me, “We love you so much, honey. You’re our precious little girl. You belong to Jesus too. You were baptized on such-and-such a date. He loves you and will never forsake you. You’ll remember that, won’t you?” When suddenly in my adult life harsh memories tormented me more than the actual experiences ever had, I clung to this couple’s sweet affection I had known as a child. I knew they loved me even as ugly as I was inside. Still, I could not believe that God Himself could possibly love and forgive me. How on earth could He?! Then, one day in the midst of a torrent of tears and tormented thoughts, a Lutheran pastor spoke a Bible verse over the radio. I’ll never forget the moment or the verse: “Thou tellest my wanderings: put Thou my tears into Thy bottle. Are they not in Thy book?” (Psalm 56:8 KJV). Suddenly my tears stopped flowing as I thought, Oh, wow! If God is careful to tend to tears shed over sin, then it must be true that He has forgiven the sinner after all—even me! Indeed, through the Gospel message of Christ, I learned that God did love me on earth as much as He does from heaven. This news is for me and for you, too. At just the right time in history, God sent His only begotten Son into this world, born of a virgin, who, in my place and yours, lived a pure and righteous life before God. In His death and resurrection, Jesus reconciled me and you to the Father! God’s love is greater than all the sins of the world! You and I are not forsaken by God. Instead, we are made His children in Christ. 5

Today I can live with myself without horrific feelings over memories. Today my kind and gentle husband tells me, “My worst experiences are my greatest assets. Yours are too. They’ve made you dependent on God and helped form you into the gentle person you are,” adding in jest, “all for me!” There have been are many other people over the years—loved ones, friends, pastors, Christian authors and speakers—especially in the Lutheran Church–Missouri Synod—who have carefully and faithfully instructed me in God’s Word. Most of them don’t know the degree to which they’ve helped me. I can especially see how our Lord, “the founder and perfecter of our faith” (Hebrews 12:2a), was never finished with me to begin with—and still isn’t. Whatever I have suffered from others and however I may have hurt others by my own terrible sins, they are nothing compared to Christ’s suffering that brings God’s peace toward me. For someone who floundered all through life, He even gives me purpose: to believe on the One whom He has sent, to serve others in love, and to proclaim forgiveness in Christ as I go. I am forgiven in Christ Jesus, God’s Son. My tormentors are forgiven in Him, and I pray that they know this by faith. You too are forgiven in Jesus—no matter your particular sins or regrets—you are forgiven. Look to the cross of Christ. Therein is God’s peace toward you. There is mine.   Due to the nature of the author’s experiences, she remains anonymous in love and respect for her children and family members. It has been brought to the author’s attention that the first man mentioned in her story professed Christ as his Savior during his recent hospice care, even sharing the Gospel with everyone around him. We can all praise God that “by grace you have been saved through faith. And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God, not a result of works, so that no one may boast” (Ephesians 2:8-9). Unless otherwise indicated, all Scripture quotations are from The Holy Bible, English Standard Version®, copyright © 2001 by Crossway Bibles, a publishing ministry of Good News Publishers. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

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Lutherans For Life www.lutheransforlife.org • [email protected] 888.364.LIFE Item LFL908B