Two Truths and a Lie -- A Thanksgiving Thankfulness

Warning: In typical Vong fashion, this is a very long blog post.

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If you’re still reading this, you’re in for a treat.  A very personal Vong treat. A very ugly personal Vong treat.

 

This is some pretty raw stuff, so you might turn back now.

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Still hanging? Well alrighty then.

 

A friend and I were talking yesterday about finding strength to forgive wrongs in our lives and truly free ourselves of the past. So here’s my story of freedom and liberation.

 

Two truths:

1.      My mom never told me I was pretty.

2.      I was molested as a kid by an uncle I trusted.

 

And a lie:

As a result of the two truths above, I lived most of my life thinking I was ugly; I felt very much in shame of my body; and I thought I was unworthy of a lot of things. Up until I met my husband at 25, I never felt I deserved to find a man because no one would want an ugly “damaged” girl.

 

The first truth above is part of the culture. Hmong people don’t show much physical affection or don’t use words to encourage. Not my mom’s fault, really, but not ever hearing I was pretty put a huge dent in my self-esteem. Once she told me since I wasn’t pretty, I should find a handsome husband. I guess that was the closest thing she’d ever said about me being pretty – that I wasn’t. LOL.

 

Truth 2. Molestation occurred maybe in the summer of my 3^rd or 4^th grade year. I can’t place the time anymore because I was so young … and then had blocked it from my subconscious mind. I remember in 5^th grade learning about molestation in school and how to find help for it if it happened to you and thinking how I felt sorry for kids who were molested – when, in fact, I was a victim too.

 

But eventually the shadows of repressing those memories lifted and the flood gates opened. The shamefulness grew. The feeling of unworthiness and ugliness got stronger. I hated my body. It took me a long time to look at my naked self. And to this day, at 37, I’ve never examined my body because I’m too ashamed by it – disgusted by it.

 

By high school, I’d reached the peak of my shame. As an active participant in the youth group, I was in closer proximity to my uncle due to all the church activities and found myself agitated and falling deeper into the dark expanse of my personal hell. My heart would pound through my ears whenever I saw him, and I’d get clumsy with speech when he spoke to me.

 

Then I attended an Amy Grant concert and before she sang “Ask Me,” she shared a story about a friend who’d been molested, and while crying out to God in those moments of abandonment, she felt that God was there with her. In her pain. In her experience. And she wasn’t alone.

 

Facing myself, one day I shared my experience with a friend, and lo, the same thing happened to her. You mean I wasn’t alone? I wasn’t the only one who lived with these demons raging war inside my heart that made me believe I was damaged goods?

Then in college I got braver and started sharing more with girls … and again, every person I spoke with had the same experience. They, too, were stripped of their innocence, experienced the fear of physical touch and had a distrust of humanity.

 

College was the turnaround point for me. It was a very trying time for me. It had its wonderful ups and gave me some of the best memories … but along with it came a lot of heart ache and realizing things about myself, my world and my God. And it also taught me a lot about the grace of God. There’s something about being in the forests of northern Georgia that makes one think too much … feel too much. There was just too much time to be alone and ponder. But amidst all my reflections, I came to face the two menacing truths and the lie that plagued me and reduced my self-worth to zilch.

 

Back in those days whenever I was heartbroken over some stupid boy, I escaped to be alone. I remember one of those times I was alone … on a rock ... somewhere by some body of water – whether it was the waterfall or creek … reading from My Utmost for His Highest by Oswald Chambers. I was at my most vulnerable and looking up for comfort. Calling out to God … appealing for some kind of coverage of His cloak over me to guide me out from the hurt I thought couldn’t handle anymore. And in those moments, buried in my sackcloth and ashes, the devotion empowered me to take a giant leap toward freedom to accept who I was … and the realization that I could never give my heart to anyone or feel worthy to love and be loved if I didn’t let go of my past and allow myself to be renewed.

 

I remember saying to myself:

 

“I was molested. It happened to me and I can choose to forgive him and not be a victim anymore. Christ died on the cross and took with Him the sin my uncle committed against me on His shoulders just as He took all my sins. No sin is greater than the other. And this is who I am today – it’s my life story and what happened defines me. This is my testimony and I know it happened so that I can use my experience and strength and be a witness to help other girls who went through the same thing. I forgive him. I FORGIVE HIM.”

 

Would you believe, in that moment, all the darkness immediately faded away. Gone. Poof! Instantly in my heart, I forgave my uncle. My acceptance freed me of the shackles that heavily weighed down every part of my being from the last 15 years. It didn’t immediately take away the shame I still felt – that took more time – but I am happy to say I’m completely emptied of any shame, self-pity or self-loathing caused by my uncle. And there’s really no way to explain it except the typical analogy of feeling like a bird in flight: high, weightless and free. For the first time, my spirit was no longer in bondage.

 

And I knew, if I could overcome that hurdle in my life – having forgiven the biggest sin against me – everything else was just a small grain of sand.

 

So on this day, November 7, 2013, I’m thankful for the God-given strength to forgive and fully comprehend what the Bible says is the peace that passes all understanding. I’m thankful, in an odd way, that I had to suffer through what I did because my strength can be someone else’s strength. I know a lot of women who have never dealt with what happened to them and continue to be a captive of their past. I pray, too, that someday they will find their release.

 

Unfortunately, it doesn’t mean now I suddenly feel beautiful on the outside – because I will always have that struggle within – but I feel beautiful on the inside because I am a child of God, made in His beautiful and perfect image. And I will not continue the cycle of never letting my daughter know that she is beautiful and worthy.

 

So when I have come across this photo through the years, it reminds me of the time when my body and mind and trust were violated and I feel sad for the little girl who had to endure all that in silence. It took me a long time to be able to look at the pictures from that day – and see the little girl who had to grow up too soon. The memory of this day is embedded in my memory forever … running around the rose garden with my brothers and having fun, but also being forced to pretend for the camera that I was genuinely smiling – but with such sad and embarrassed eyes – as I looked at the face of my uncle behind the camera and feeling the burn of shame on my cheeks and disgrace imprinted in my heart.

 

But this picture is also a reminder of True Love, forgiveness and healing and their spiritual, physical, emotional and mental cleansing power. Above all, it’s a testimony of God’s grace that has renewed me and he who I believed didn’t deserve it but earned it nevertheless.

 

P.S. If you’re a victim of molestation or abuse, please talk about it with someone. Sweeping it under the rug and trying to forget about it doesn’t mean it never happened.