Shades of martyrdom

Had the oddest thought process the other day. So what better to do with something like that than put it up on the ol' blog and see what you all think? Hee.

I was thinking about how easy it is as a survivor of childhood sexual abuse to fall into the trap of asking why God allowed the abuse to happen. I mean, He's GOD - He certainly has the ability and power to keep bad things from happening to innocent children. This train of thought is deadly because you begin to wonder if God just doesn't care about you or something - if He did, He surely would've kept you from being hurt, right?....

But God doesn't keep us from sinning. He CAN, certainly, because He is God - but He won't because if He stops us from sinning, we lose our free will. If we have no free will, there is no hope for our salvation. And we know that God "desires all men to be saved and to come to the knowledge of the truth" (I Timothy 2:4). Having the truth imposed upon you is a lot different than coming to a knowledge of it. This is why God did not stop the abuse from happening to me. He did not stop my grandfather from sinning because, ultimately, He desired his salvation. I guess it's easiest to think of God's response to what happened to me in the context of being a parent: A couple of years ago, we were at a church conference in Denver. We were on a patio enjoying a casual dinner and when we finished, I took the plates, etc., over to the trash can. Emmelia, a toddler at the time, came running across the patio towards me. On her way toward me, she fell and scraped her knee. As a parent, my heart went into my throat. There was nothing I could do to prevent her from falling and being hurt... all I could do was gather her into my arms while she cried and put a band-aid (good thing her Godmother had one in her diaper bag!) on her owie. We don't like to see our children hurt, but sometimes there's nothing we can do to stop it - we can only provide help and support towards their recovery.

Although God could not stop my grandfather from sinning, He protected me from some of the most devastating effects of childhood sexual abuse. He gave me people in my life to teach me about what love is really supposed to be like. He led me to Himself and His Church as a safe harbor and hospital to begin the healing process. He put a band-aid on my skinned knee and held me while I cried.

Here's my odd thought process: if I stop asking God why He allowed this to happen to me and accept that it did, I am somehow participating in my grandfather's salvation. In a way, it is a little form of martyrdom. By sacrificing the innocence of my childhood, I recognize that God was allowing my grandfather the opportunity to repent and turn towards Him. And "greater love has no man than this, that he lay down his life for his friends." (John 15:13) Forgiveness becomes not a process yet to be accomplished, but an integral part of the entire experience of being abused and rising out of the ashes. Forgiveness is ultimately the desire that my grandfather be saved and by accepting my role in his opportunity for salvation, my obligation to forgive this trespass against me is accomplished.

Okay, so that is circuitous at best and perhaps completely misguided (I never claimed to be a theologian). Still, you have to admit it's an interesting idea.