My Abba Father
Hi, my name is Penny and here is my testimony:
I was sexually abused by my father from the age of four and my mother was diagnosed with skin cancer when I was eleven. (It took a lot to get past that first sentence).
I had never realized what my father was doing was bad until I was about ten. In attempt to stop the abuse I barricaded my door shut at night. I feared my father ... never wanting to go to bed at night. When my mom was diagnosed with cancer, my world seemed to start crumbling. I was no longer a little girl, I had the responsibilities of a grown woman. My mom was never really able to do much, just sit there and look helpless.
There were many nights when I would cry out to God and ask "why me?" I would complain about my life and how horrible it was. I can't even begin to count the times I had just wanted to die. I didn't know how I would survive living in a world of fear. On the outside it seemed as if everything was okay, but deep inside, I was falling apart. I hated going home to a house full of dishes, laundry, cooking, and cleaning. And then for my "reward" - abuse. I kept wondering "where's God." Isn't He suppose to be helping me - not practically killing me?
When Christmas of 2001 came around, I thought I would die. My mom was rushed to the hospital Christmas Eve and had to stay there for five days. It's hard walking into a hospital on Christmas Day and feel all the nurses' eyes on you. You can just sense how they feel sorry for you but they have no clue what you're going through. They couldn't even begin to imagine the extent of my pain. And I remember my big Christmas Feast I had that year ... McDonald's.
While my mom was sick, I kind of got a break from my dad's abuse. Or maybe it was just because he couldn't get in my room since it was barricaded shut. I often thought about telling someone about what was happening to me. But it's much harder than it sounds. My mom had cancer for almost two years before she passed away April 24th, 2002. I had never really been much of a "daughter" to her during the past couple of years ... I had been too worried about myself. But a few hours before she died, my dad had made me go in and talk with her (even though she was in a coma). I had just told her about my day and stuff like that. But before I left, I just had this feeling like this could be it ... the last time I have with her. So I kissed her lightly on the forehead and told her I loved her. I knew she couldn't hear me, she didn't even know I was there. I then went to church and when I came home, the horrible news of my mother's death hit me. "Mom's gone ... Mom's gone." The words replay in my head over and over again. I had gotten so angry with God. How could He take my mom away from me? There were hundreds of people around the world praying for my mom's healing ... so why is she dead?
I was only twelve years old! How did God expect me to go on with life? What about my prom, wedding, first child ... or even my thirteenth birthday? Had God forgotten about me?
That summer my remaining family (Dad, brother, and I) drove to my hometown in Texas. We were going to visit with my mom's parents. My dad and my brother were to stay for a week but I was going to stay for another month. That was my free time. No need to worry about my dad or doing chores ... until I had to go back. It was then that I realized I had to tell someone about the abuse. I couldn't go back to the life I was living. God wouldn't let me go back to the life I'd been living. So the night before my plane back to my dad's left, I told my grandma. I didn't actually tell her, I wrote it on a piece of paper because I didn't have enough courage to say it to her face. I had laid the note on her desk where she had fallen asleep.
The next morning (only a few hours before my plane left) she woke me up to see if what I told her was true. I told her it was and when she said she wouldn't allow me to get on the plane back to my father's ... a cloud of relief spread over me. God had definitely not forgotten about me. The Lord had told me that everything happened for a reason and I now know that it is true. For when I was younger, I had always dreamt of living with my grandparents. Well, through all the suffering, I find myself doing just that. My pain happened for a reason and I've accepted that. I've been told that God never gives you anything that He doesn't think you can handle. I guess it's kind of a compliment ... how He thought I could endure so much. Sure, my life's been permanently bruised from the abuse and my mom's death ... but it's for a reason. It's all part of God's Great Plan ... and I can't wait to see what He'll do with me in the future. Maybe become a social worker or a counselor?
I've rededicated my life to God - my Abba Father. I often look back on what my life used to be and what it is now. I thank God for what He's blessed me with ... loving grandparents and an Angel watching over me - my mom.
God Bless and Take Care!
Penny (I'm thirteen years old for those of you whom might be wondering)
Thirteen hard years ... But not anymore ... Abba Father, has taken over ... 2jesus