It was 1980, when kids played outside more often than not and the streetlights coming on was the indicator that they should go home. It was a time when I would lie in the grass of my grandmother’s huge backyard of fescue grass, gleaming up at the stars in the sky as darkness began to set in. I could always count on one of my parents calling me in once the street lights were on. Well, except on one occasion.
I could feel the pounding of my heart in my throat; absolute fear raced through me. He wouldn’t let me go. I didn’t understand what was happening, but I knew it was wrong. I knew I was in danger. The streetlights came on, but no one called or came looking for me. I told him “no,” but it was as if I had not uttered a word. He told me how pretty I was and how good I smelled. I had only come out to play with my friend as usual, but instead I was pursued by someone whose desire was to take my innocence.
I decided then, at a young age, to trust no one, to be guarded and carry shame. Inside I was a mess; so hurt I couldn’t verbalize the pain. I couldn’t even pray. I couldn’t find the words to tell the one who loved me more than anyone else how much I hurt. I found strength in bodybuilding, ironically. It allowed me to escape and to be tough in some way. When the weight came upon me, I believed I could move it without a doubt and I did. Finally through stress (weight bearing) there was joy. I could be transformed, shaped, sculpted and seemingly made new. But was I really?
And do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind, that you may prove what is that good and acceptable and perfect will of God (Romans 12:2 NKJV).
Bodybuilding had been a great escape for me in a way. But God rescued me. A friend taught me how to worship the Lord. When I couldn’t articulate prayers, I would spend time in my closet for hours in worship. She had given me CD’s and the words to every song. Somehow the songs communicated everything I couldn’t say and God heard. With time the breakthrough came and I could finally talk to the Lord. I could finally laugh and cry with Him. I could rest under His wings.
At 35 years old, I am amazed by God’s love, grace, and mercy for me. I still enjoy weight training, but my mindset about it is different. Resistant training does not define my strength. It does not rescue me from hurt and shame of the past. Jesus, who had paid the price for that, allowed me to experience the real transformational living within Him .
As you prepare to celebrate Christmas this year, I pray my story speaks to your heart, giving hope to those who are in need and belief in Christ’s ability to destroy every yoke and heal.
“Give thanks to the LORD, for he is good! His faithful love endures forever.” Psalm 136:1 NLT
