I was 10 years old when my stepfather started molesting me. I still cringe at the memory of how I was defiled, and I can still hear my silent cries. I wished that God would strike me dead, but although He would not, I was already living a dead life.
My mother was always out working. My older sister at that time ran away from home for an unknown reason. I was left to tend to my younger siblings. I wanted to run away, too, but I could not leave them. The thought of being away from my family crippled me. So I stayed and pretended that nothing was happening.
I was molested for four years. Four years of hell. My mother came to know about it but did nothing. She always told me to just maintain distance. So I did. But when night came and all were asleep, he would attack again. I would tell my mother, but instead of protecting me, she would give me the cold shoulder. I resented her more than him, but I wished that both of them would die and go to hell.
One day, I lost it. Everyone was outside the house but I went inside. The next thing I knew he was behind me and doing something to me that I cannot remember anymore. I cried and wailed, and he panicked. Then my mother came in. I cried louder so the neighbors would hear. She scolded me and began packing my belongings. She gave me money and told me to go to my aunt’s. She said she would come for me. I was 14.
My aunt and her family welcomed me. They wanted to send my stepfather to jail, but my mother pleaded for him. And she did not come for me. She never did.
I thought the hell years were over but I was haunted by my dark past, causing me to despise my mother and stepfather. I devised plans to destroy both of them.
I strived to get good grades in school and received a lot of awards. But I was shy and my self-esteem remained low. My teachers did not know what had happened to me. Nobody knew. I never had romantic relationships because I was afraid of how they would feel toward me once they knew, and I didn’t want to be taken advantage of again.
I was 18 and in my second year in college when I flunked one of my major subjects. It was such a bad time. My aunt’s business was failing. I was emotionally torn: I withdrew from a friend with whom I had a mutual understanding. My bitterness toward my parents twisted my soul, and no flicker of hope could be found. Everything just piled up until I tried to commit suicide. But all my attempts failed, from ingesting expired medicines to jumping from a river to slashing my wrists.
One Saturday night when I was planning yet another suicide attempt, a friend from high school invited me to a Bible study session. Surprisingly, my overprotective aunt allowed me to go, so I went. The people there were singing and dancing, which I found hilarious. I told them I had to go home early because I needed to work on my school project, which was a lie. One woman told me to stay just a little more and God would help me finish it. So I did — and it changed my life.
I learned about God’s love. I remembered that I was molested but that my stepfather never got a chance to rape me. God gave me a second family who cares for and protects me. I learned that I had sinned. I remembered how I planned to complete my studies, work and earn just enough to hire a hitman to kill both my mother and stepfather, and how I shouted at and disrespected my mother in front of other people for no reason than to get even with her. I learned how Jesus died for my sins, and how, even if I still had to actualize my plan to kill, just being angry with someone is already murder in God’s eyes. I learned that Jesus took my suffering and nailed it on His cross so I would live and not die eternally.
On that day, I accepted God in my life and my old self died. I prayed that God would give me the strength to forgive my mother and stepfather, and I did—not automatically, but gradually. When I started earning a living, I gave them financial support even though they did not change. I never heard them apologize for what had happened. But I feel an overflowing love for them, a love I never knew until I met the lover of my soul. I now know I need to die to my self every day so I can love other people. So I can love even my enemies.
I know that God is in control and that no matter what happens I am in His loving hands. I may have a shattered past, but He mended my broken pieces, glued them with gold, to create a new and stronger me. I no longer disrespect my offenders. Every time I am tempted to dwell on what they did to me, I think of what Jesus did for me on the cross.
Nabeel Qureshi, who died of stomach cancer last September, wrote these beautiful words: “But no matter what is going on, I cannot think of something worse than being crucified.”
I was crucified with Christ and felt that I was no longer living. But Christ now lives in me. The life I now live in the body, I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave Himself for me. (Galatians 2:20)
* * *
Ednalyn Lebrino, 26, is in between jobs. She is also a candidate for a STEP UP scholarship, a blogger (moanaonthebunkbed.wordpress.com), a Sunday School teacher, and a winner of two essay-writing contests at the Polytechnic University of the Philippines