The Stanford Case: Shattering the Silence of Shame

I stood, face upturned to the starry sky with my arms spread open.  The song How He Loves was sounding from my cell-phone, joining with the cacophony of crickets and the frog somewhere off in the distance.  The fireflies danced in front of me, calling me back to simpler summers.  My heart was somewhere in between feeling at peace in the face of such glory and a restless longing for a deeper healing.  In that moment, I asked that the Lord would use my life for His glory, no matter what.  And yet, days later, I find myself wanting to run in the opposite direction when feeling the Lord leading me.  But, oh, may He give me strength to press in and be honest about what He’s putting on my heart.

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            “Shh.”  The shushing has been a theme song.  Silence has been my frienemy for decades.  When people don’t listen to you, you start to think it’d be easier to stay silent than have to fight to be heard.  Silence kept me company for years: at home, at school, in relationships.  Lies began to look like truth, further silencing me.  If I said anything, I’d be rocking the boat.  I don’t matter as much as other people.  I don’t want to upset anyone.  ‘Hurt people hurt people,’ I would remind myself, and give them an excuse for the things they said and did.    And when I did speak up, I’d wonder if I was the only one who heard it – for sometimes, my words didn’t seem to do anything.  My voice was disregarded.  So, I began to see my voice as worthless, too.  It was a waste of time. 

            It hasn't been bad in the past couple of years.  I've spoken up a lot more.  But recently, if I’m being honest, yelling has disrupted that silence.  When I don’t feel as if I’m being listened to, anger fills me from head to toe and I seem to step out of my body when the yelling starts.  It’s as if there isn’t enough room for me when the anger and yelling come to take up residence.  It doesn’t usually last long.  But I immediately regret it, and then the shame silences me again.  I’m quick to apologize to my mother or my grandmother (the only ones who have had the unfortunate luck of experiencing this).  But the hot tears of confusion and hatred for this anger still come. 

            This isn’t the life that I want to live.  This isn’t the freedom that Christ calls me to walk in.  So, I’ve started taking steps of pressing into confession, repentance, and the process of understanding my anger.  This is a very personal process and one that I was never going to share.  Maybe after I got to the other side.  Maybe after I had been married for 30 plus years, with decades of ministering to others under my belt.  Because, in my mind, if I shared the messy and raw struggles, perhaps that dream of “success” would never come to fruition.  If I spoke of the silence and the title of “victim” that I’m always trying to leave behind, then I’d be putting everything at risk – I could upset people.  I could be seen as weak all over again.  But then, the Lord pointed out my motivation for not speaking: how would I be perceived.  Just a couple of days ago I asked for Him to use my life for His glory – that His name would be known.  And here I am, worried about my name.  Forgive me, Lord. 

            I don’t know if you’ve heard of the Stanford sexual assault case.  I just heard of it the other day, myself.   Now, I can’t stop thinking of it.  I read the sexual assault victim’s impact statement in one sitting.  It may not have been the wisest choice, but I continued to read through the tears, the anger, the nausea, the flashbacks, and the sheer heartbreak.   And then to hear of his sentence?  I was overcome with despair – for her, for this country, for this world.  The brokenness and sin is so evident.  The injustice is clear.  The consequences of sin permeate everyone and everything.  Sometimes, it feels too much to bear.

            But then I read her closing paragraph, where she reached out to other girls (and may I point out there are many men who have also been silenced and hurt), to encourage them that they are beautiful and have worth, and to remind them that she is with them when people dismiss them.  I was grateful for her bravery and her willingness, in the face of such suffering, to speak to others in their own pain.  And this reminded me that despair isn’t the ending.  One of my favorite ladies, Elisabeth Elliot said, “Of one thing I am perfectly sure: God’s story never ends with ashes.”  Redemption and healing is possible because of what Christ did on the cross. 

            The victory that Christ won is offered to all who accept His free gift of grace.  He knew that this world was broken, He saw the suffering.  He came down into this mess to usher in a new hope: that by paying for the sin Himself, we wouldn’t have to.  This God loves us too much.  And, yes, it may be hard to sometimes see this love in the face of distress and violence and sickness.  That’s truthfully one of the reasons it took me several years to bow down before the Lord and admit that I needed Him.  His love may not make sense to our human minds at first.  But, as I press forward, trusting that He loves me and is my source of protection – I’m able to look at the times when I was silenced and know that He heard me even then.  That He hears me now.  That Christ’s redemption and healing speak much louder than sin and pain.  And that my identity is His daughter, not victim.

            Perhaps no one will relate.  Perhaps one person will.  That’s not up to me.  I’m choosing to trust that the Lord knows what He’s doing – that by sharing the voice that He has given me, others may hear His grace and love and beckoning call to “come”.  I have seen transformation that I couldn’t imagine five years ago.  I know more transformation will come.  I’m learning that there is no “I’ve made it” on this side of heaven.  I will always have something to bring before the Lord and ask for the precious blood of Christ to cleanse me from sin I’ve done and sin that’s been done to me.  It's an ongoing journey of humbly receiving more and more grace.  And as He gives me the strength to face the past – I’m more aware of His love and the security I have in Him.  I take heart in Joel 2:25-26: “I will restore to you the years that the swarming locust has eaten, the hopper, the destroyer, and the cutter, my great army, which I sent among you.  You shall eat in plenty and be satisfied, and praise the name of the LORD your God, who has dealt wondrously with you.  And my people shall never again be put to shame.” 

            Shame is a deadly silencer.  Christ’s death on the cross was enough to take away shame.  By God’s grace, my shame isn’t something I have to carry anymore.  I don’t have to hide.  If I’m hiding in shame, how many of us are cowering in the dark, afraid to say something.  The Lord is the light that this dark world needs – hurts and sin need to be brought into the light for His forgiveness.  So, dear one, if you’re reading this and you have experienced crippling shame, unimaginable hurts – if you’ve been made to feel less than human – take heart and know that you are not alone.  The Lord sees you, He hears you, and He wants to bring redemption to your story and hope to your heart.  Victory is a sweet song of the Lord's rescue.  And it's a song I plan on singing for eternity.  Won't you join in?

“I waited patiently for the LORD; he inclined to me and heard my cry. He drew me up from the pit of destruction, out of the miry bog, and set my feet upon a rock, making my steps secure.  He put a new song in my mouth, a song of praise to our God. Many will see and fear, and put their trust in the LORD…”Be pleased, O LORD, to deliver me! O LORD, make haste to help me! Let those be put to shame and disappointed altogether who seek to snatch away my life; let those be turned back and brought to dishonor who delight in my hurt! Let those be appalled because of their shame who say to me, ‘Aha, Aha!’ But may all who seek you rejoice and be glad in you; may those who love your salvation say continually, ‘Great is the Lord!’” Psalm 40:1-3, 13-16