Recently I watched a program that reminded me just how much I abhor child abusers. Well, I really don’t have to be reminded, but this show got my dander up. It was a program most wouldn’t think would deal with the issue of child abuse. It was an episode of “Little House on the Prairie.” Yep, I was surprised.
When it was discovered that one of the children in the community was being abused, neither the doctor nor the town had much use for the abuser. But, they were willing to work with the guy in an effort to make him see the error of his ways.
Now here’s what I think about creatures who abuse children. Ship them all to a deserted island somewhere and just leave them there with nothing but their depravity. I don’t much care what happens to them as long as they are never allowed to touch another child again.
I don’t even what to think about what I would do if one of these lowlifes ever touched one of my kids or my grandkids. I’m sure I would go to a very dark place, which is never a good place to be.
I sat on a jury once that involved child molestation. It was gut-wrenching. This child lived three years at the hands of her molester—age 9, 10, and 11. At the time of the trial, the girl was nineteen. It took that long to apprehend the guy. The evidence was overwhelming. The doctor who treated molesters testified that there is no rehabilitation for these people. They are what they are. The only thing doctors and counselors can do for them is to give them tools to control their urges. But they are never cured.
As I listened to the mental and physical anguish this young woman went through, I found myself wanting to fly across the room and pound the snot out of that guy. Needless to say we found him guilty and sentenced him to forty years with no possibility of parole. The same deal the prosecution offered him which he declined. He chose instead to take his chances with a jury trial.
That young woman represented every kid who has ever fallen under the evil sickness of a predator. And every time I looked at her I saw my girls and my grandkids. It caused an anger to swell up inside of me like a volcano.
One of the scenes in the “Little House” show echoes my feelings exactly. After Doc Baker indicates that the abusive father needs help, Charles Ingalls responds, “You’re a better Christian than I am. I don’t much care about his father. I just care about the boy.” That’s so me. My tolerance for pedophilia or any sort of abuse is nonexistent.
The Bible speaks to the abuse of children in Mark 9:42 as it reads; “Whoever causes one of these little ones who believe in me to sin, it would be better for him if a great millstone were hung around his neck and he were thrown into the sea.” And Matthew 8:10 reads; “See that you do not despise one of these little ones. For I tell you in heaven their angels always see the face of my Father who is in heaven.” Leviticus 18 is also very clear about the Laws of Sexual Morality.
I’ve known some amazing people in my life who are abuse survivors. Their struggles throughout their life are heart-breaking. Some walk through it to find peace. Others don’t. I understand this because at the age of ten our next door neighbor tried to molest me. I was lucky though because I ran before he could touch me.
My friends and I were all playing games in the den when he came in and took me by the hand. He told me he had a new game he wanted to show me in the back bedroom. I went willingly. He was our neighbor. I knew him.
When we got to the bedroom he closed the door. He put his hand on my face and said, “Do you know what that’s called?” He was pointing to my private parts.
I said, “Yes sir.”
He said, “Take off your panties and let me see.”
I’m not sure what clicked inside my head but I knew what was getting ready to happen. I told him I didn’t want to and to please let me leave. He knew I was on to him. His hand moved from my face to my arm. As he gripped my arm he said, “I just wanted to show you how much I like you.” But he could see in my face and my efforts to loosen his grip that I was getting ready to scream, and he couldn’t let that happen. He released my arm and put his hand back on my face and said, “Well, maybe another time. We will just keep this our special little secret. And you won’t be telling your mommy or your daddy. I know they wouldn’t understand. They might even get mad at you.”
I was so scared that all I could do was shake my head. God was in that room that day. The creep stood up and opened the door and let me leave. I ran so fast out of that room. I didn’t even look back until I was safe at home in my own room with the door closed and locked behind me. I never told my parents. And until this very moment, the only person who knows this story is my husband.
When I think about that time, I can’t even imagine what kind of damage that man could have done to me. So can you imagine the damage that’s done to other kids who aren’t and weren’t as lucky as me? I don’t think about that time with any great regularity. It only crosses my mind every now and then. The only times I have total recall of it is when something triggers the memory. I’m not sure if that’s healthy or not, but it works for me.
So when I saw this program, the memory surfaced along with the anger. I decided I should share my experience. It’s been harder than I thought it would be. Awareness is the key. Shouting from the rooftops that abuse in any form is not okay. Encouraging kids whom you suspect of abuse to come forward and talk to someone about it is so very important.
Let’s be aware. Let’s take action. Let’s work to end the cycle of abuse before it happens to another kid.