Let me start by saying I was adopted at the age of eleven. My adoptive parents did not abuse me, and this story is not about them.
My biological parents however did. Being in and out of foster homes you might expect children to have stories about abuse. Unfortunately, my mother tricked out her own five-year-old son for a six-pack of Budweiser. She should have at least held out for a case. She sold me to a women (Jane) that lived in the same building as us. My mother often drank with Jane, and we walked to school with her daughter who was about the same age as me. Seeing Jane on an almost daily basis made it much more difficult to deal with.
Before I sat down to begin this article I asked myself why? Why would anyone write about this kind of horror? Does it really make a difference? I don’t want people to feel sorry for me. I can discuss my experience without tears, anger, resentment, or bitterness. I write this because there is hope. I found hope. I found healing. I found restoration. God made me whole. I wish I could say it was instantaneous. What a great testimony that would be. It didn’t happen that way for me. There were dozens of trips to the alter. Pastors laid hands on me. Some anointed me with oil. Some prayed in tongues. Instead of an instant fix my restoration process lasted thirty years. Doesn’t that make you want to jump out of your seat?
Looking back I see that the process was was right on time. I was able to deal with one dysfunctional aspect of my life at a time. It would have been overwhelming any other way. The struggle also allowed me to be part of the process as I had to actively participate in my recovery. At first I couldn’t even get the words out of my mouth without weeping. Gradually I was able to share details with those close to me. Now, I’m able to share them with you.
There is healing from trafficking. Even if your mother is your pimp. It probably won’t happen overnight. It will take a while. For me, healing began with one word. Adoption. Two people chose to adopt an eleven-year-old abused kid. They didn’t know all the details. They just knew that two boys needed a mom and a dad. I wouldn’t be here today if it weren’t for my parents. Somehow they kept me from becoming a junkie or a drunk. They even got me off to college. They chose to love a kid who would burst into tears for no apparent reason. I was a boy who didn’t know what love was because I had never experienced it. Even though we fought like cats and dogs sometimes, I always,, always, always felt loved. Kids have to be loved to give love. As cute as it sounds babies aren’t born altruistic loving angles. They lean from people, and best from their parents.
After leaving home I still had a long way to go. The abuse I suffered put my parents in a situation in which the best they could hope for was to give me a foundation. God would have to put the crown molding and the chandeliers in later. Adoption can be messy. It can also can be the hands of Christ reaching out to lonely kids. I’m not pleading for you to rush out and pick a kid up off the street. I will say that if you’re in a position to adopt you have the opportunity to be “Jesus with skin on.” My parents chose to break the cycle of abuse. Because of them I graduated from college, have a really hot wife, and two awesome kids. Actually, I take credit for finding the hot wife, but everything else was all them.
Note: This is a guest submission to the editors at Live Action News.
