#metoo

Currently, there's a hashtag trending on social media that basically means this: If you've been sexually harassed or assaulted, post #metoo to raise awareness of the issue. If you've followed my blog over the past few years, you know about my past. I haven't been raped physically or sexually per se; but if a man forcing his lips onto mine against my will qualifies as rape, I've been raped. And I'm also pretty sure that what I've gone through would qualify as sexual harassment. So, if this is a subject that you're not comfortable reading about, please feel free to skip this post, and I look forward to seeing you again in the following post.

Without further ado, #metoo. Normally on my blog, I don't use anyone's real names. However, in this case, I don't believe the men who raped/harassed me deserve the honor of my concealing their names, so I'll use their real ones here. My intention isn't to commit libel or slander but to tell my story and, in doing so, to give other people permission to tell theirs.

In the latter part of my high-school years, a church usher named Hermano Aranda befriended me. One day in the Sunday School room, he grabbed my chin, pulled my mouth to his, and kissed me. Eww. He was married with grandchildren. I had no intention of getting involved with a married man. I wasn't even attracted to him. But I guess either I was a total wuss at the time, or I didn't understand exactly what was happening... so I didn't know that I could say no.

Hermano Aranda would continue to steal kisses when nobody was looking. One time between church services, he sat next to me, put his arm around me, and said, "I wish you was my girlfriend." In the church sanctuary. In front of everybody. I found out that he had been treating my best friend the same way. I told my mother about it, and she told me to not tell my dad about it because "he has a big mouth." My dad was the pastor of the church. (I had a boyfriend who knew what was happening, but he didn't do anything to stop it, either.)

Right before I graduated from high school, Hermano Aranda died rather suddenly of a heart attack. In retrospect, I like to think that God finally put His foot down and did something to stop his behavior.

Unfortunately, I was not free.

When I was at home from college, I believe during the summer between my sophomore and junior years, a church usher named Hermano Pules befriended me. One day in the Sunday School room, he grabbed my chin, pulled my mouth to his, and kissed me. Sound familiar? Different church building, different man, same scenario. Again, eww! This guy was married with grandchildren, and here I was again unintentionally being an accomplice to adultery. Hermano Pules was a bit more aggressive than the previous guy and told me to not tell anybody.

I told my mother about it, and I'm kind of sure that my father knew about it as well, but neither of them did anything to stop it. Even though Hermano Pules' behavior was spreading to other girls. As time went on, I found out that my sister was one of his victims. One day, I even saw him shaking my mother's hand, and she quickly whipped it back away from him... and I wonder how far he tried to go with her as well.

I don't remember exactly how I escaped Hermano Pules other than I graduated from college and got involved in a different church in a different city. Or perhaps he and his family just started attending a different church instead.

"They have set fire to Your sanctuary; they have defiled the dwelling place of Your name to the ground." (Psalm 74:7)

At any rate, years later, I wrestled with whether or not God really wanted me to leave my parents (because He had told me to do so back in 1998). When I was thinking and praying through it, God brought these situations with Hermanos Aranda and Pules to the forefront of my mind.

In my current church, they teach us that God isn't angry with us because God's wrath was satisfied when Jesus died on the cross. And that's true. But I'm telling you, when I prayed about the whole leaving-my-family thing and God started talking to me about getting raped in a church building... oh, He was VERY angry about the entire thing. If nothing else, He wanted me to leave my parents so that everyone whom they were discipling would know that allowing your flock to be raped while under your care -- and you knowing about it and doing nothing about it -- was NOT OK.

Especially if the victims happen to be your daughters.

"He will redeem their life from oppression and violence; and precious shall be their blood in His sight." (Psalm 72:14)

Why do victims of abuse and harassment allow themselves to be victims? Perhaps a psychologist or social worker could answer that question better than I can. All I've really been able to figure out is that 1) if you grow up in an abusive environment, abuse is normal to you, even if you don't realize it 2) sometimes people fail to teach us that it's OK to say NO 3) some of us don't realize that we're worth it. One thing I know for sure is that abusers and harassers don't have any right to our bodies, period.

Even if machismo is a cultural thing.

So, thank you for reading. If you've experienced something similar to what happened to me -- or worse than what happened to me -- I'm terribly sorry, and I hope that you've found some healing. If you've allowed something like this to happen to anyone who has been in your care, I know you didn't do it on purpose -- but for goodness' sake, grow a pair, confront the guilty party, and say NO. Get the local authorities involved if you need to. Just know that it's in your power to protect your people.

At least, it should be. There's no reason to keep unrepentant scumbags in your church. And the victims are going to need to lean on you during their healing process, so make some room in your heart for that.

That is my two cents on the matter. Again, reader, if you've followed my blog in the past, you know that God has used these experiences to turn me into a fierce warrior who doesn't take crap from abusers.

At least some good has come out of all that.