I was twenty-eight years old when I had my first memory of the abuse. Like many adult survivors, I had mastered disassociation to the point of amnesia. To this day, I have very few pre adolescent memories and that's fine by me. I don't believe in "digging" into the past. I believe in following Jesus where He lovingly leads and if it requires the facing of a painful memory, that too, is fine by me. A new level of freedom awaits me on the other side.

I've said before, that the best question I've asked Jesus is, "Who are you and who was I supposed to be before thousands of unwanted touches?" (Click home to view a video of my testimony).

His answer revealed that freedom is multifaceted. When I finally became willing to follow Christ through my painful past, I not only discovered who He is, I discovered aspects of myself that were worth holding on to. Refusing to look back will leave a hole in your heart because certain aspects of "who you were supposed to be" will remain buried in your past.

When I was a little girl, I loved animals. I had a little dog that I adored and I even dreamed of becoming a veterinarian when I grew up. But as I grew, I forgot everything...the good and the bad. I was indifferent toward animals. My friends with pets would joke that I'm not a "dog person" and I would agree with them.

Two and a half years ago, I made one of my "routine mom calls" to my son to ask what he was up to, and he informed me that he was at a flee market buying a puppy. He had just moved out and I remember asking him, "What in the world are you going to do with a puppy?" "You don't need a puppy!"

He bought a black Lab who was taken off of her mother's milk too soon. She was only four weeks old. He couldn't handle her and I offered to take care of her around the clock until she was eight-weeks-old, at such time he would take her home.

I got up with her every few hours night after night. I held her, I rocked her, I sang to her...I fell in love with her. And the day my son took her home, my heart splintered. I cried and she cried as she tried to run back to me.

I went into the house, sat in my bedroom closet, and cried so violently that it became clear to me that my grief was not limited to the loss of Jasmine. It was the grief I could never quiet get to in spite of the counselor's instruction to cry over the loss of a little girl's innocence.

Consider this; I have some memory of the abuse, but to this day, I do not remember the "day" my innocence was first taken.
Counselors will tell you that you must grieve to heal and I agree. But can we heal from what we can't remember? I believe I did.

I believe that God allowed circumstances that would awaken ancient grief, knowing that I trusted Him enough to cry out to Him in the midst of something precious being taken away. I know it sounds dramatic, but it really happened this way.

And that is the nature of God. He guarded my mind from a picture of that day with the shadow of His merciful hand. His grace called forth hidden grief, knowing that Light would bring justice to that dark place.

Two weeks later my son brought the puppy back. "Here, she clearly wants to be with you." And I received her with open arms, this time to keep.

Thank you God, for reminding me that I was created to love animals. Especially dogs! You took from me, pain I didn't realize I still carried, and You returned to me, a piece of myself that I didn't even know was missing.

"To console those who mourn, to give them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness; That they may be called trees of righteousness, The planting of the Lord, that he may be glorified." (Isaiah 61:3)

 Are you willing to go where He lovingly leads and that He has your best interest at heart?