I am a sexual abuse survivor

I didn’t report it because “I was just a kid.” I didn’t report it because “it was no big deal.” I didn’t report it because I loved and looked up to him — hell, even after everything, I still love him, even if any respect I had is long gone. I didn’t report it because I didn’t have the ability at the time to put into words what was happening, or why it was wrong, or how it made me feel. I didn’t report it because I didn’t think anyone would believe me. I didn’t report it because I was ashamed.
But the biggest reasons I kept quiet is that I thought I was alone, that I was only person this was happening to, and that everything that was happening was my fault.

Advertisement

Mark 15 & 16: Empty Tombs of Hope

I’ve been trying to figure out how to wrap up Mark. Because a lot has happened over the last couple chapters, but nothing feels like a stand-alone post. Or rather, everything feels like it's been done over and over and over. Then I saw this tweet over Easter weekend, and everything came into focus. https://twitter.com/prophiphop/status/980434685041020929 …

Good, Good Father?

Every time this song came on the radio, I would cry out to God in my distress. Just like the Psalmist and every preacher and Sunday school teacher and worship song had taught me to do. And God did not answer.

In My Solitude

Some rumination on being up in the middle of the night. Spoilers: it's not all bad.