Where Was God? (Trigger Warning: Descriptive and Sensitive Material)

I have had a few close friends over the years ask me how I could possibly continue to have faith throughout my life after the horror I have seen.  Most of the time I would spit out an answer that was morphed by a lifetime of church-taught lessons about trials and the reason God puts us through them.

When I was a toddler, I was diagnosed with a rare form of cancer. I was lucky to have this discovered at a very early stage, and while I still had to experience chemotherapy, I survived. Consequently, I had faith instilled at a young age. Even after the abuse had been going on for some time, I used the beauty created by God, through nature, to help me escape (mentally) one of the times HE raped me. Taken from my journal:

"He is on top of me. I remember looking out the window as he suffocated me with his tongue. A small part of me still had faith that day. I just kept staring out the window, focusing on the sun, trees, and birds surrounding me, the simplicity of it, as he rushed to get inside of me."

I have never questioned God's existence, but recently I have questioned my life, and why I have seen evil first hand. It wasn't enough for me to hear or say, "God puts us through trials for a reason." As humans who suffer, we might seek to challenge God by asking, "If God is all knowing, and all powerful, why does he continue to let these bad things happen?" and it is a valid question, I have asked it myself! Taken from my journal:

"Growing up, the answer to everything was God. "You just got to leave it to God!" As if God was there when I prayed he would stop hurting me...Where was God when he got on top of me? Where was God when he held me down? Was he looking down with sad eyes saying, "Ya know, I wish I could help, but I can't." I feel like my childhood wasn't supposed to exist...I just don't get it! Why would I live through cancer just to get raped?"

Soon after writing this in my journal, I realized I was looking for a scapegoat. Instead of facing the true source of my anger, I chose to blame God. Per suggestion, I began reading When Bad Things Happen To Good People by Harold S. Kushner and was enlightened by his words, because it rang true with what I had been telling myself all along. Someone finally agreed with me.

Everything that I have learned about "God putting us through trials"  made it easy for me to be mad at God, but the fact of the matter is, I simply refuse to believe that God would decide to have a little girl raped. God gave men free will, this much is true. It is a gift, but it is also a curse if not used wisely. I was raped by a man who CHOSE to rape me, not because God said, "Hey, lets toss this in Dana's direction, and see how she handles it!"

There is one statement from the previous journal entry, attempting to be angry at God, that I actually agree with; I do believe he was looking down with sad eyes. Kushner has given me a perspective that justifies my journey through healing. From his book:

"We can be angry at what has happened to us, without feeling that we are angry at God. More than that, we can recognize our anger at life's unfairness, our instinctive compassion at seeing people suffer, as coming from God who teaches us to be angry at injustice and to feel compassion for the afflicted. Instead of feeling that we are opposed to God, we can feel that our indignation is God's anger at unfairness working through us, that when we cry out, we are still on God's side, and He is still on ours."

So here is the deal... I'm going to continue to be angry for being raped, because I can. I'm not going to sit here and accept it, because it is a shitty thing that happened. However, I won't let it destroy me.  I am going to use the strength that God has provided me through the following:

• My husband and child.
•  Support system instilled by friends, family, and my therapist
• Music
• Writing, including this blog 

 God isn't judging me because I chose to write about my story to bring awareness to a horrible crime, because he is angry too! He won't shake his head in frustration when I have a flashback, panic attack, or nightmare. He won't care when I'm still in therapy months down the road because he understands the extent of my pain. He won't tell me to stop breaking down when I realize how I was failed.

I may struggle with alcohol abuse and self-harm, but it is easier to resist when I look to God as a warrior alongside me in the battle against my fears.