Chosen?

“I have absolutely no pleasure in the stimulants in which I sometimes so madly indulge. It has not been in the pursuit of pleasure that I have periled life and reputation and reason. It has been the desperate attempt to escape from torturing memories, from a sense of insupportable loneliness and a dread of some strange impending doom.”
― Edgar Allan Poe


     As I have committed to do, I went to church last night.  First because I need to and second to support Dave.  He spoke about being adopted, being chosen by God and what that means and should mean to us.  It wasn't long into the sermon when this anger rose up in me, okay rage and being the rebel child I am I wondered if I could flip Dave the bird without the elderly ladies sitting on either side of me seeing it.  Yes, I have a lot of growing to do.  I then spent some time as he kept using words to dig at my nerves, thinking about how accurately I could land my shoe in the center of his forehead.  How would I get my shoe back?  I could leave, but pushing past all of the people in my row would allow Dave too much time to notice me leaving and he seemed to be in the right mood on a Saturday night when the service is extremely casual, to draw attention to me.  My rage combined with my lack of mature self control skills would be a bad combination, surely causing obscenities to shoot from my mouth like arrows.  I chose to cross my arms and shoot daggers from my eyes like a normal Christian in the stages between toddler and preteen.
     Dave is the messenger I'm not supposed to shoot.  He plays that role and is forced to duck, often.  God sent me to my room as he does when I get out of hand.  The difference between being sent to my room by God as an adult and being sent to my room as a child by my dad is that God stays with me.  Think about what you did?  What a silly thing to tell a child.  When I think about what I did, I get angrier and find more reasons to be angry.  When God stays with me, He instructs my thinking.  First He lets me pitch a little fit to get past the anger so we can talk.  Last night was too difficult to calm down so He worked it out that my granddaughter was with me and we watched a couple really good family movies.  She made us popcorn because she's so awesome at it and I slept through most of the first movie. 
     I woke up this morning, still angry.  Dave is my pastor, my friend, but most importantly he plays the role of my big brother.  When God first placed him in my life I wondered why not an older more fatherly figure, but I see now why a big brother is more beneficial to my growth.  Siblings grow up together and expect to do so.  Fathers always think of you as their little girl.  Dave pushes me to grow and I shove back. 
     One of the most humorously odd things about this friendship is role reversal.  I think he will agree with me on some of this, but not all, because he does that just to argue.  That's what brothers do.  Dave is the more emotional.  I have it in my head and it's a fact, while he has it in his heart and feels it.  I carry the handkerchief in this relationship to whip out and hand to him when his eyes start sweating.  He is also what society calls a romantic.  When Dave talks about his wife, there is a twinkle in his eye and an excitement in his voice.  His love for her is written all over his face to the point that he reminds me of my girlfriends in our teenage years.  Don't get me wrong, I love this about him.  If all men felt about their wives and expressed those feelings like Dave does, this world would be a hugely different place.  Dave also gets giddy like a school girl when he talks about God.  The eye twinkle, the silly grin, the whole thing.  I like it.  If we all talked about Jesus like he does, the world would be a completely different place.
     I don't understand why I can't get it from my head to my heart.  Why don't I get all silly like him?  I know God chose me and I chose Him.  The first feelings that come to me is an awesome responsibility.  While I'm trying to figure out all this crappage in my head, Dave is out rolling around in the grass with the neighbor kids and their dogs.  Why did I get angry during the sermon?  Dave was talking about how the Holy Spirit guides disciplines and lives in us.  He talked about God as a parent choosing us, that's how we should see it.  I never felt wanted.  In fact I have always felt very unwanted.  Unchosen.  Stuck with.  It's hard to imagine that God isn't going to one day say, "I've found someone else who will do a better job."  Or maybe, "I'm going to give all you have earned to Sister Christian, because I just like her better."  Honestly, when Dave started talking about being chosen, the thought that popped into my head was that the only thing I have been chosen for was to be abused. 
     The other day I read an article about a man who was interviewed for a job as a policeman.  During the interview they asked him if he had ever touched a child inappropriately.  He admitted to it.  He has been arrested now for child sexual abuse.  The thing that upset me was all the comments being made by the public.  Hang him, shoot him, put him in prison where he will have the same done to him.  What a judgmental sick world we live in.  Point outward to get the attention off yourself.  How many of those people know some little kid who is crying out for help, crying out to tell somebody who will listen and help them, but they are too busy writing their "Doing nothing to change the world" comments.  I dare bet my income for the rest of my life that the man in the article cried out years ago and nobody helped him when it was happening to him and now they are all throwing stones at the results.

I am pissed off.  I'm angry and I don't know if I can ever let it go as long as innocent kids are being ignored.  So now I take the quote from above and change a couple words.

“I have absolutely no pleasure in the sexual abuse in which I sometimes so madly indulge. It has not been in the pursuit of pleasure that I have periled life and reputation and reason. It has been the desperate attempt to escape from torturing memories, from a sense of insupportable loneliness and a dread of some strange impending doom.”
― Edgar Allan Poe adjusted by ME



Jesus: What do you want?
Kayla:  I just want to stop hurting
Jesus: I can't promise you that all your problems will disappear overnight.  You have a hard road ahead of you.  But I can tell you, you will have a peace and a purpose, that will not only survive but it will thrive and grow if you trust me.  Will you follow me?
Kayla: Yes
Jesus:  Will you forgive all those people who hurt you, even as I forgive you?
Kayla: Yes
Jesus: Even Jake? (the sexual abuser)
Kayla: How can you ask me to do that?  You saw what he did to me.
Jesus: Yeah, but Kayla, look what he's done to me (he pulls back his sleeve to expose the scar on his wrist) I paid a heavy price for your step-father's (abuser's) sins.  It's the same price I paid for your sins.
The Encounter (movie)