Those were the tragically sad words spoken by a troubled young man who grew up abused by his father. He has not experienced love. Love is foreign to him. Out of reach. Beyond his grasp. A fairy tale to read about but to never enjoy.
This troubled man confessed to attempting to take his own life 33 times. One time the gun jammed. God brought him across the path of some followers of Jesus who loved him this past week. They listened. they cared. They prayed. They invited into their circle. They spoke gospel truth with him. They were the hands, feet, heart, and mouth of Jesus to one who desperately needed love. He walked in darkness but God is drawing him to marvelous light.
I am brokenhearted. So many people have experienced abuse by those who were supposed to love them. I can identify because I also suffered physical and sexual abuse as a child. Even as I write this migrants are crossing the borders having bought young children to be sold as sex slaves once they get to the land of freedom. Others live in backwood houses secluded from society where the most deplorable acts are committed against them. They are slapped, hit, beaten, molested, violated, mistreated, and neglected. There are others who live in beautiful houses that look like a fairy take but live in a nightmare behind the closed doors. What is worse, is some experience all this with people in spiritual leadership positions. I cannot fathom how anyone could abuse a child or teenager. I feel a mixture of emotions. Anger. Righteous indignation. I also feel intense sadness and grief for the little ones who endure this horror day after day. It is the only normal life they have ever known.
I picture them crying themselves to sleep at night. Living in fear without any healthy self esteem. I picture them mentally checking out during moments of abuse so they can maintain some sense of sanity. I think of them wondering why God does not help them. Why He does not stop of the cycle of abuse. Why God does not come to their rescue.
Their little bodies are broken and battered. Their minds are twisted with psychological pain. Their hearts are hardened by years of inflicted incest. They hate the nights and to hear the squeaking of footsteps outside their door. They hate to hear the creaking of the door opening for they know what will come next.
It rips my heart out to think about them going through that. Statistics say they will grow to be abusers themselves. Wounded people wound other people.
Christians sit under our shiny steeples safe and secure. We are insulated from the most vulnerable and forgotten suffering. I am an advocate of being the church outside the walls. Like at skateboard parks. To be Jesus with skin on to those who think love is abuse. O, that they could feel the loving tender embrace of Jesus and experience His healing grace. May God give us the courage to care. The faith to believe God to rescue these abused ones. To offer a way out and hope. How I plead that God would not let us grow callused worshipping with petrified hearts to those who need Jesus the most. When we have done it to the least of these we have done it unto Him. Like Steve Camp sang, "Don't tell them Jesus loves them until you are willing to love them too."
May we love people. Hurting people. Helpless people. Homeless people. Abused people. Angry people. Suffering people. Sinful people. After all, Jesus came to see and to save those who were lost. He came to befriend and love those that never experienced love. May we be His tangible love to those who need Him most.
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