Some things are impossible to forget.
I can still hear the sound of his boots on the wood as he raced up the stairs after me. I can hear the door slam. But the loud beats of my heart nearly stopped when he grabbed me and I looked into his eyes.
They were the eyes of evil.
There are very few words to describe the horror that followed. I was stripped of all dignity and control. I couldn’t get away. I was trapped.
In the semi-darkness, I instinctively cried out to the only One I, in my little girl heart, believed could rescue me. To this day, I’m not sure if the words were audible or not, but my spirit cried, “Help me, Jesus! Help me!”
As my body was being ravished and my spirit broken, I begged Jesus to save me.
But He didn’t come.
I was completely alone. Alone with evil.
For years, I didn’t have any words for the terror I felt. I just knew I was scared. Very, very, very scared. I lived in fear – fear that that terrible feeling of terror would eat me alive…next time.
Recently, I was able to name it. Its name is Powerlessness.
In those horrific minutes as a little girl on the cold, hard floor, I experienced complete loss of control. I could not get away. I could not make it stop. I could not even control my body. I was completely powerless.
And, to top it all off, I felt abandoned by God. Because He didn’t answer my prayer in the way I was expecting, it felt like He too, was powerless against that kind of evil.
I blamed myself for years. I deceived myself into thinking that everything bad that happens is my fault. I knew in my head that what happened to me as a little girl wasn’t my fault, but I couldn’t seem to shake the blame and guilt I subjected myself to on a daily basis.
It got worse as the years went by. I blamed myself for the wreck my family had when I was thirteen. I blamed myself when the alarm clock failed to go off and my husband was late for work. I blamed myself every time the children were disobedient. I blamed myself for anything and everything. I apologized frequently for the stupidest stuff.
Because if I could convince myself in powerless situations that “it is my fault”, I didn’t have to experience the awful feelings of terror that reminded me of the little girl at the hands of evil. It was my self-defense against feeling powerless.
It wasn’t until I came face-to-face with the reality of the scope of the powerlessness I faced as a child that I was able to truly believe in my heart that the abuse was not my fault.
Does Jesus understand powerlessness? Does He know what it feel like to be stripped of control?
Yes. He chose to experience powerlessness. He wouldn’t have had to subject Himself to the limitations of a human body and allow His creation to crucify Him on the cross. He could have stepped off of that cross at any point. But He didn’t.
He loved you and I too much to do that.
It is not wrong to feel powerless. It’s part of being created. After all, we are, in and of ourselves, powerless.
God is in control; not you, not me. Do I understand why He sometimes allows evil things to happen? No, I don’t. I can’t – because I’m not God.
But if Jesus loved me enough to choose powerlessness over powerfulness, then I believe I can trust Him with my life. And I can rest in the fact that He is good, even when I don’t understand His ways.