A
What happened to me was different from what happened to you. It was a small house. (Eight years later, hubby and I moved into that section and I put some pieces together that, had I known that night, I would have reported it. They told me what town we were in, but I didn't believe them, because outside of the house was a field followed by a lot of woods. I knew the town. It didn't have woods. So how do I tell cops I was raped in a house in the woods in a town without woods? How do I tell them I had my rapists drive me home because I was so lost and beaten -- emotionally -- I didn't care? That's why I never told. Who would believe this story? But I didn't know that part of town, until we rented in there. And I actually figured out the guys who raped me worked for my landlady, because she hired druggies and drunks to "fix up" her rental units. The house wasn't vacant except for painting supplies and furniture covered up by tarps. They picked me up after a beer-run and were meeting a dealer in that house for pot later on. The pieces fit. I just didn't know it all that night.) I escaped from their clutches often enough, but we were on the second floor (little did I realize in the dark how small those houses were or I would have jumped out the window. They were vacation cottages from the early 1900s, never meant for full time use. Almost like dollhouses.) They never let me near the stairs to run away.
I only had one prayer for God that night. "Lord, give me a way to kill myself."
He didn't listen, but I really couldn't get mad at him for not listening to that prayer.
But I have been that angry with God later in life. I became disabled, but hubby was working. Much less money with just one income, but we were doing okay. I got mad at God when my chronic pain first hit. Mad because he didn't fix it, and madder because I saw a bunch of doctors to try to figure out the cause to fix it, and none of them did. They ignored the full story so they were trying to fix one part of my body, but the cause of the pain was on the other side of it. I got mad at God, but once I was given the tools to deal with the pain (including pain pills), I got over it.
But then hubby got sick. And the chemo hid other medical problems he was having and then caused physical problems to the extent he couldn't work. Sure, one disabled person in a family was fine, but why would God have both of us disabled? And why him? I was mad at God for making me disabled. I kind of got over it. But then I was FURIOUS when he made hubby disabled. (Furious? Doesn't really cut the anger, does it? It's bigger than that, but there is no word that tells the extent, right?)
2-3 years later, God gave me nothing on the Why. I couldn't deny him. Just couldn't. Too obviously real to deny, so I figured I had to get over it.
Somehow, (and I honestly don't know how since by that time it really was just him and me isolated), God got me to learn about this book. It's by Steve Estes and Joni Earicksen Tada. She's in her 60's now, but when she was 17, she was already a believer. She and her friends went swimming. She dove in and emerged a quadriplegic. She asked the obvious question -- Why me, God? Steve Estes was her friend. Together they spent the next six months finding out the answer. There is one and it's not the "God works in mysterious ways" junk, nor the "God didn't do this" escape hatch. The book came out of that and more.
At the beginning of the book it says to not read it if you're angry with God. Well, frankly, I wasn't going to get unangry with him on my own. And I really couldn't give up on him being there, since he is. So I read it. Now I know why he keeps doing these things to me. I could tell you, but honestly, it sounds so stupid when I do and it sounds like placating. It's not. The book is When God Weeps. If you can't get it, PM me. I'll help you there.
It answers the big question. It dissolves the anger because it finally told me what God's big plan for me is. (I'm still disabled, so it's not like I've done anything grand or noble either.)
I only had one prayer for God that night. "Lord, give me a way to kill myself."
He didn't listen, but I really couldn't get mad at him for not listening to that prayer.
But I have been that angry with God later in life. I became disabled, but hubby was working. Much less money with just one income, but we were doing okay. I got mad at God when my chronic pain first hit. Mad because he didn't fix it, and madder because I saw a bunch of doctors to try to figure out the cause to fix it, and none of them did. They ignored the full story so they were trying to fix one part of my body, but the cause of the pain was on the other side of it. I got mad at God, but once I was given the tools to deal with the pain (including pain pills), I got over it.
But then hubby got sick. And the chemo hid other medical problems he was having and then caused physical problems to the extent he couldn't work. Sure, one disabled person in a family was fine, but why would God have both of us disabled? And why him? I was mad at God for making me disabled. I kind of got over it. But then I was FURIOUS when he made hubby disabled. (Furious? Doesn't really cut the anger, does it? It's bigger than that, but there is no word that tells the extent, right?)
2-3 years later, God gave me nothing on the Why. I couldn't deny him. Just couldn't. Too obviously real to deny, so I figured I had to get over it.
Somehow, (and I honestly don't know how since by that time it really was just him and me isolated), God got me to learn about this book. It's by Steve Estes and Joni Earicksen Tada. She's in her 60's now, but when she was 17, she was already a believer. She and her friends went swimming. She dove in and emerged a quadriplegic. She asked the obvious question -- Why me, God? Steve Estes was her friend. Together they spent the next six months finding out the answer. There is one and it's not the "God works in mysterious ways" junk, nor the "God didn't do this" escape hatch. The book came out of that and more.
At the beginning of the book it says to not read it if you're angry with God. Well, frankly, I wasn't going to get unangry with him on my own. And I really couldn't give up on him being there, since he is. So I read it. Now I know why he keeps doing these things to me. I could tell you, but honestly, it sounds so stupid when I do and it sounds like placating. It's not. The book is When God Weeps. If you can't get it, PM me. I'll help you there.
It answers the big question. It dissolves the anger because it finally told me what God's big plan for me is. (I'm still disabled, so it's not like I've done anything grand or noble either.)
