UNCONDITIONALLY

     He never stood a chance. They hated him before he was even born. Already a burden, he was fighting for survival in the womb. Neither of his parents had ever felt real love – had ever known it. Sure, they’d heard whispers of it in church on Sundays when they’d bothered to go, but they didn’t have any real knowledge of it themselves. To them, love was a myth – a money maker. Something Hollywood used to sell movie tickets. No one had this thing called “unconditional love” did they?

“For God so loved the world, that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life.  For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but so that the world might be saved through him.” -John 3:16-17

    Christ died so that all may be saved. So that our sins would be atoned for because we are unable to do so ourselves. His love is perfect, everlasting love. He died knowing we had sinned, are sinning now, and will continue to sin. He died for those who placed Him on the cross, and for those who would make that decision again, if they had the opportunity. At the very moment He died, your name and mine were on His heart. He died for us because He loves us so deeply, so unconditionally. Yes, some of us do know His unconditional love and it’s not a myth. It’s a love that changes us drastically, from the inside out.

“Cleanse me with hyssop, and I will be clean; wash me, and I will be whiter than snow.” – Psalm 51:7

    God’s love carries us through all the moments of our lives. Tonight, as I write this, my heart is heavy. I am remembering the past. I am remembering my sister and I am having flashbacks of the abuse we endured together. I am also remembering my biological father – the man who never stood a chance. The man who was hated from the moment he was conceived. Some would say that he deserves no mercy. He was an abusive man, who trafficked drugs internationally using Penske trucks and stolen personal vehicles. He beat women and children and even admitted to trying to beat me out of my mother’s womb while I was still inside. His parents – my grandparents – claimed to be devout Baptists. I never believed that for a moment. I met them when I was seventeen years old and one of the first phrases out of their mouths was laden with racial slurs. They hated the fact that I had ridden the Greyhound into town and it was filled with a diverse crowd. This was in the year 2000, mind you. Not the 1950’s.

Jesus said, “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.” – Matthew 19:14

    I cringe when I hear parents express delight in allowing their children to choose for themselves whether or not they want to go to church. That’s too much responsibility for a young child who isn’t even aware of what’s at stake yet. These same parents find other ways to fill their time than attend church events, then proceed to hold their heads high and say that they’re giving their children a well-rounded education. No, I’m sorry. You’re not. Kids need direction, structure, and information. These parents do as well. 

Pick up a Bible and read a few pages to see what it’s all about. Start with the book of John in the New Testament, and go from there. Avoid the books such as Deuteronomy, Leviticus, and Numbers that require a little more help to digest. At least make an informed decision before you decide to walk away completely. The same can be said for people. 

Look your child in the face. Look at them. Notice how small and fragile they are compared to you. Compared to the other adults in your life. What do they need? What did you need when you were that small? How could knowing Jesus – truly knowing Jesus have changed the trajectory of your life? I wish my biological father had known Him. I wish his parents had known Him (Jesus) too.

    I’ve talked briefly before about the ripple effect of abuse on generations of family members. Imagine that instead of a negative ripple, being caused by abuse, there was a positive, life-changing ripple caused by knowing and embracing the love of Christ. That sounds so much better, doesn’t it? It’s my life goal that by ending the cycle of abuse in my family, a new ripple will form and affect many lives positively. 

More than anything, I care about my children’s character and their walk with Christ. If they do well in school, that’s wonderful. How much of the Bible did they read today? Who did they share God’s love with? How did they spread kindness in the world around them? Whose life was made better by a simple smile today?

    When I was on the fence about committing suicide, God reminded me of His everlasting love for me. Many other times, He sent people into my life to begin conversations around the fact that I was loved a whole lot more than I ever realized. I was not an easy kid to love. I was very troubled, didn’t trust anyone, and if you were an authority figure you had the distinct displeasure of hearing me rattle off every vulgar word I knew – aimed directly at you. Still, God sent His love to me every day. Those moments of loving intervention started a new ripple effect. One that felt distinctly more pleasurable than the abuse I’d been subjected to. 

I wish, that during his life, I had loved my biological father more. I hope that the few times I did share the Gospel with him, he listened to me. I guess I’ll find out when I get to heaven. Hopefully, I’ll see him there.

My biological father holding my eldest child,
about 6 months after her birth.

Stay tuned for another episode. I aim to crank out the blog posts three times a week on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. See you next time! And remember, if you or a loved one is in danger, get help right away, and don't stop talking until someone acts on what you're saying.

National Domestic Abuse Hotline: 800-799-7233 Hours: 24/7. Languages: English, Spanish, and 200+ through interpretation service. SMS: Text START to 88788

National Sexual Assault Hotline: 1-800-656-4673 Hours: Available 24 hours. https://www.rainn.org/

988 Suicide and Crisis Lifeline Hours: Available 24 hours. Languages: English, Spanish. https://988lifeline.org/

In Christ alone our hope is found

Run, don't walk for help! You're worth it.

 

THE TRIAL OF BEING A CHILD

    Alcohol was usually a factor in the abuse that occurred between my stepdad and me. Of course, he wouldn’t remember abusing me every time that he did. He was usually drunk to the point of nearly passing out. I wonder what his demons were? What caused him to commit such atrocities against an innocent child? Was he drinking to forget something, or was he drinking to ensure that he wouldn’t remember the acts as he committed them? Sometimes I allow myself to wonder about all that. Other times I am just simply angry and disappointed in his choices.

Give strong drink unto him that is ready to perish, And wine unto the bitter in soul. -Proverbs 31:6

                That verse has always piqued my curiosity. In historical movies, we’ll often see someone who’s dying given some wine to drink to ease their suffering. It’s a pathetic scene to watch, as we, the viewers know already that the person won’t make it through to the next scene. The rest of the characters will carry on without them. It’s a kind of release, isn’t it? Wine drowns the pain and numbs the senses. But where is God in all this? What chance was He given to mend things? I wonder – was it His will that no final miracle of healing occurred, or was it man’s choice to fully exclude Him? Why are some saved, and others given wine to numb the senses and ease suffering? It’s something I’ll probably never know this side of Heaven, and that’s okay with me. God has His reasons.

                Many times, over the years, I have heard people say “the worst things often happen to the nicest people.” Is that true? Was stepdad ever a nice person? Something bad must have happened to him to cause him to commit such heinous acts against children. There is a ripple effect that can occur from trauma. One person hurts another who then goes on to hurt someone else, who then goes on to hurt yet another person, and suddenly, before anyone wakes up to what is going on, there is a generational curse in effect with decades of pain, trauma, and sorrow. Where and why did it begin? How does someone choose to finally end the cycle? Where did my strength come from? Why was I the only one who put a stop to it? I have a hard time believing this was not orchestrated, on some level, by a being far larger than myself. God, Himself had to have had a hand in this. I’m sure of it.

Rather, as it is written: “No eye has seen, no ear has heard, no heart has imagined, what God has prepared for those who love Him.” – 1 Corinthians 2:9

                The day I told that female cop what was happening at home was a very long one. She left our classroom around 9:30 am, and I told her then, in the hallway outside the classroom. From the hallway, we went to the guidance counselor’s office. I recounted my story there to him. Then, I played board games and waited for the social workers to arrive. I recounted my story to a very nice lumberjack-looking man (think Yukon Cornelius from the old Rudolph films at Christmas time). He had dolls and asked me kindly, gently, to show him what stepdad had done to me, using the dolls. I was terrified because he was a man, but I did the best I could at nine years old. After he was done talking with me, I had to recount my story to a very scary-looking police officer. He assured me he was there to help me, but I had already formed an intense fear of police officers by that point, so I clammed up and only spoke as much as I was able to. The female police officer took me in her car to the police station, and I sat there for hours, coloring on pages of McGruff the crime dog and any printer paper they could spare. Police officers came and went, offering me snacks, cookies, and eventually some dinner. It was past my bedtime when I was finally allowed to leave. I forget who took me, but I do know that I wasn’t allowed to go home. Instead, I went to live with my grandmother, three blocks from my parent’s house. I was now considered a “ward of the state” – whatever that meant.

                Grandma didn’t drink. She wasn’t chaotic. Her house was stable and we were on a nice routine day in and day out. She asked me questions I wasn’t comfortable answering, and I behaved like a scared mouse, trying to stay out of her way. She loved me fiercely, I know that now. At the time, it was hard to see it. She was trying to understand how, yet again, her daughter had made such a heinous mistake in choosing a man and imploding the lives of everyone around her. Grandma was beyond angry with my mother, not with me. I was too young to understand that at the time, and I felt very unwanted and bothersome at first. I began to resent every adult in my life. This wasn’t what I wanted. This wasn’t a whole lot better than the abuse. At least when I was home, I had my best friend – my sister. I had my toys, everything that was familiar to me and I had my family pets. At grandma’s, I had old people’s food, a stark bedroom, and a lumpy bed and I was forced to watch Lawrence Welk every night he was on. My perspective was skewed, but then, I was only nine years old and this was all so overwhelming. Where was my wine to dull the pain and numb the senses? Did anyone see how miserable I was? How hard the adjustment was to make? I don’t know. All I kept hearing was “your poor dad. He’s really going through the wringer right now.” How was I not supposed to feel guilty?

                On the day of the trial, I was led into a big, cavernous room. In the front, sat a wrinkly old man dressed in black with a stern look on his face. His blank expression scared me. I’d seen it before, on my stepdad before he abused me. This man in charge looked like he hated children. I don’t know if that’s true, but it was my thought process at the time. I sat next to the Yukon Cornelius-looking social worker, and as the wrinkly old man in black asked me questions, I answered them to the best of my ability. Minutes later, he was satisfied with my answers, and I was told that I could leave now. What just happened? I had no idea. Apparently, that was the trial. I was only informed of that days later when I asked my therapist when I would get to tell my side of the story. She said I did already, and I started crying. They hadn’t asked me about everything that I wanted to say, and I remember knowing that a lot of details were left out. They didn’t know all of it! I felt like a dumb kid that no one loved or cared about. My story didn’t matter. Only my stepdad’s did. I see that now, reflected on the court papers where he admitted to just six counts of sexual abuse, three of which were renamed as “harassment of a minor under the age of 14”. What a stretch of the truth. How deeply disappointing. The adults in charge let me down.

                I am determined that as a mother and an adult, I will listen to the children around me. Even when their stories seem silly or insignificant, such as my son’s make-believe stories about the rocket ship he keeps buried in the backyard. (Apparently, this rocket ship is equipped with everything one could ever need to survive any situation here on planet earth). By listening to children and building a rapport with them, we enable them to feel free to tell us all the things – big or little. When it matters, they know they have a safe adult to talk to, who will take their story seriously. As parents, we should be that adult for our kids. I take that responsibility very seriously and I am honored by the level of truth that my kids share with me. It is hard sometimes to sit and listen to some of what they have to say, I will admit. There are times when I just want to get up and get chores done, as I am an action-oriented person, but if I do that, I know I will miss out on forming a relationship with the most precious people in my life. So I prioritize everything around them the best I can. Truthfully, I can only hope I am doing as good a job as they say I am. Most days I feel like a failure because I am tired and my brain hurts from processing so much of my stuff. But I march on, praying every day for God to grant me all the skills I need to parent my kids in the way that He needs me to parent them.

And these words that I command you today shall be on your heart. You shall teach them diligently to your children, and shall talk of them when you sit in your house, and when you walk by the way, and when you lie down, and when you rise. You shall bind them as a sign on your hand, and they shall be as frontlets between your eyes. You shall write them on the doorposts of your house and on your gates. -Deuteronomy 6:6-9

My heart bursts with love for these kids

Stay tuned for another episode. I aim to crank out the blog posts three times a week on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. See you next time! And remember, if you or a loved one is in danger, get help right away, and don't stop talking until someone acts on what you're saying.

National Domestic Abuse Hotline: 800-799-7233 Hours: 24/7. Languages: English, Spanish, and 200+ through interpretation service. SMS: Text START to 88788

National Sexual Assault Hotline: 1-800-656-4673 Hours: Available 24 hours. https://www.rainn.org/

988 Suicide and Crisis Lifeline Hours: Available 24 hours. Languages: English, Spanish. https://988lifeline.org/

In Christ alone our hope is found

Run, don't walk for help! You're worth it.

THE FACE BEHIND THE SCREEN

If, for some reason, the video does not work, here is the official link to view it on YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2Wtc98JLbgg

 I want to take a moment to thank all of you for following along with my blog, Pulled Into Letting Go (https://mandytirado.blogspot.com/). To be a bit more personable, I recorded this video to show you that, yes, there is a real person behind the screen.

I am wholly unashamed of my faith, my Savior Jesus Christ, and my story of abuse and healing. The shame of the abuse is not mine to bear, so I will let not it hinder me any longer. I pray that each of you who join me on this journey is encouraged to find your own healing, embrace freedom and walk closer with God. He is absolute and can always be trusted. He will never leave you, nor forsake you. He will always love you and care for you. There is no one else who can make these promises and keep them. As I talk and as I write my blog, I keep an open Bible. Pain can tempt us to sin, and it is my goal to be NOT a stumbling block for others, but a source of encouragement and inspiration. It takes great strength to be kind in the face of pain and adversity, and I claim no personal victory in that. It is ALL God and the strength He lends me each day. Thank you to each person who follows along and prays for me. I feel your love and prayers. I love you, but more importantly, God loves you. May you be blessed today and all days.

Stay tuned for another episode. I aim to crank out the blog posts three times a week on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. See you next time! And remember, if you or a loved one is in danger, get help right away, and don't stop talking until someone acts on what you're saying.

National Domestic Abuse Hotline: 800-799-7233 Hours: 24/7. Languages: English, Spanish, and 200+ through interpretation service. SMS: Text START to 88788

National Sexual Assault Hotline: 1-800-656-4673 Hours: Available 24 hours. https://www.rainn.org/

988 Suicide and Crisis Lifeline Hours: Available 24 hours. Languages: English, Spanish. https://988lifeline.org/

In Christ alone our hope is found

Run, don't walk for help! You're worth it.

In Christ, Mandy Tirado https://mandytirado.blogspot.com/