No Time for Despair- Learn To Live Your Life From One Who Has Died, Part 1
Posted: Thursday, March 19, 2009
by Ken McCreless
RMS1437
Greetings Fellow Travelers...
This is an article I've been wanting to write for some time. I am going to take you from the depths of despair best described in John Bunyan's "Pilgrims Progress," to the freedom and spiritual renewal at the end of the same novel. You could even say that this is my own Pilgrims Progress , forged in my own words and absolutely true- no dream, much like the misery of the above authors actual imprisonment. I am going to take you back to the year 1967, or close to it. We begin with a small boy, around 5 years old, whose family has moved from what the youngster considered paradise, a small ranch-like property, to a "neighborhood;" a couple of streets lined with folks wanting the security of a group of people and the laid back country lifestyle in a manageable mix. And, like the neighborhoods in todays world, this one held a monster.
To the world this man seemed to be such a cordial and helpful fellow, a "good neighbor," but inside he was a thief, a robber of souls, and the devils gullible Stoolie. I won't give the name of this wretched and damned creature, but his initials were A.B.C. This is important to know, as this fact endeared him to my family, and aided in his destruction of my soul and the quelling of my spirit. His willful, malicious, and overlooked acts would start the boy, me, on a course of self-loathing, despair, and hopelessness that still lingers in the background like a jackal circling a campfire.
I am not ready to divulge details, and I am not sure I ever will be. I may do so in my book in progress, my attempt to forever vanquish despair. But for now, suffice it to say that I spent many nights with him, including overnight trips out of town to places like Six Flags in Dallas, AstroWorld in Houston, and places in Galveston and the Texas Hill Country. I was taken to the latest Disney movies, carnivals and other special events, all of this- everything- with the blessing of my parents.
I was 8 years old when I felt that my father should know. He was a Baptist minister and would tell me how crazy it was that I felt guilty for what was happening to me. There was a stirring inside me that whispered in a growing urgency that this should not be happening. So I decided to tell him, and I remember it well.
He was outside working in his garden, wearing a big straw hat that I can see so clearly today. I approached him like I had to tell him of the death of a loved one, and I did. In a halting and timid style I eeked out the whole story, in some detail, of what happened to me when no one else was around. I felt scared, but relieved. My nightmare was over, but it had just begun.
Ironically, the "neighbor," my murderer, saw us out in the garden and decided to stroll on over, as if to gage the prospects of his face being re-arranged by the father of his latest victim. He needn't have worried.
My father never looked up, never said anything in words, only would make a slight nod or grunt at the spewings of the monster. After several minutes, when, I suppose, he felt no punishment was coming, he went back home, and the abuse went on for another 4 years. I can tell you with authority how a gutted fish feels. My heart, soul and spirit were scooped out and I was rendered like a beast slaughtered for meat.
But the "stirring" inside me would not go away. God had heard me, and was already at work.
End of part 1
This is an article I've been wanting to write for some time. I am going to take you from the depths of despair best described in John Bunyan's "Pilgrims Progress," to the freedom and spiritual renewal at the end of the same novel. You could even say that this is my own Pilgrims Progress , forged in my own words and absolutely true- no dream, much like the misery of the above authors actual imprisonment. I am going to take you back to the year 1967, or close to it. We begin with a small boy, around 5 years old, whose family has moved from what the youngster considered paradise, a small ranch-like property, to a "neighborhood;" a couple of streets lined with folks wanting the security of a group of people and the laid back country lifestyle in a manageable mix. And, like the neighborhoods in todays world, this one held a monster.
I am not ready to divulge details, and I am not sure I ever will be. I may do so in my book in progress, my attempt to forever vanquish despair. But for now, suffice it to say that I spent many nights with him, including overnight trips out of town to places like Six Flags in Dallas, AstroWorld in Houston, and places in Galveston and the Texas Hill Country. I was taken to the latest Disney movies, carnivals and other special events, all of this- everything- with the blessing of my parents.
I was 8 years old when I felt that my father should know. He was a Baptist minister and would tell me how crazy it was that I felt guilty for what was happening to me. There was a stirring inside me that whispered in a growing urgency that this should not be happening. So I decided to tell him, and I remember it well.
He was outside working in his garden, wearing a big straw hat that I can see so clearly today. I approached him like I had to tell him of the death of a loved one, and I did. In a halting and timid style I eeked out the whole story, in some detail, of what happened to me when no one else was around. I felt scared, but relieved. My nightmare was over, but it had just begun.
Ironically, the "neighbor," my murderer, saw us out in the garden and decided to stroll on over, as if to gage the prospects of his face being re-arranged by the father of his latest victim. He needn't have worried.
My father never looked up, never said anything in words, only would make a slight nod or grunt at the spewings of the monster. After several minutes, when, I suppose, he felt no punishment was coming, he went back home, and the abuse went on for another 4 years. I can tell you with authority how a gutted fish feels. My heart, soul and spirit were scooped out and I was rendered like a beast slaughtered for meat.
But the "stirring" inside me would not go away. God had heard me, and was already at work.
End of part 1
Ken McCreless is just a guy who loves to write, and was born to do so. He is a freelance writer with several projects ongoing, including books and magazines. A huge fan of both irony and history, Ken has dedicated his life and his writing to serve the Lord Jesus Christ.
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Top-level comments on this article: (7 total)Wow Ken...I sense some bad happenings here. The kind you read about that only happens to other people, or children should I say....I sense definate abuse here, and if this is true....what I am thinking.....It had to have been worse than a nightmare. And if it is what I am thinking....I have fallen prey to a same type of monster called "Uncle Jack". But I will hold off for now......I want to see what part 2. If what I think is going on here, is true....perhaps this is the best way to express it, as there are others.....believe me....there are. Your fan, and pal, and friend in pen.......Gary.Hey, Gary.I have reached the point where I not only can write about it but MUST. No more shame for me and I know there are folks who can really benefit from hearing my story, in an condensed version for now. I am no longer a victim, nor survivor. I am a warrior, scars and all.Thank you for reading and for the support. It means more than you know.
Hi Ken, it's a scary thing to be so vulnerable, but it does bring freedom and a special beauty that God brings when others can be encouraged and freed from their pain when they see first hand that healing is possible. I applaud you for taking this step. I know it will do wonders.Your story is already reminding me of Isaiah 61:1-3 "The Spirit of the Lord God is upon Me, because the LORD has anointed Me to preach good tidings to the poor; He has sent Me to heal the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives and the opening of prision to those who are bound; To proclaim the acceptable year of the Lord, adn the day of vengeance of our God; to comfort all who mourn, to console those who mourn in Zion, to give them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garmet of praise for the spirit of heaviness, that they may be called trees of righteousness, the planting of the Lord that He may be glorified"I believe this is what God did for you. It is one of the many reasons He sent His Son to die. Those ashes have been turned to beauty...Well told, I am ready for part two.Thank you, Teresa.The verses in your comment brought tears to my eyes. How far I have come!! No longer afraid or ashamed; ready to do battle against despair and hopelessness, not for myself, but for others. I used to wonder what could possibly come out of all this, how can all this come together and for what purpose. It is clear to me now.Mine is not a story of defeat but of victory, as you probably know already.Thank you again, Teresa.Hi Ken, God takes the mess that people make out of their lives (and other peoples lives), and does great stuff with it when we surrender to him. And this you have done. Some people say "if there was a God, he wouldn't let this happen". But God did not create robots, he gave man free will and some choose to use their will for evil and unfortunately, others are victims of that evil. But that's when God's grace steps in and as another verse says, "He makes everything beautiful in its time" And Ken, now is the time.I am blessed because I can't wait for the fullness of your testimony to come shining through!
hi ken,i am first of all, sorry for your pain. no child should have to go through things they shouldn't even know about.your writing flows beautifully, even with such sad content.i'm glad you wrote about this, and will continue. it has to have some sort of a relieving feeling for you.i have made amends with most of my childhoold demons and monsters, and it was just as painful as one would think, but it released the hold those memories had on my ability to move on without fighting those demons every moment of my life. hopefully, you can do the same, this article was, in my opinion, a great leap of faith, in every direction. good job, let the strength it took to write, permeate your soul, and always hold your head up high.my best to you,sueIndeed I will, Sue. It wasn't that long ago that I could not stand to look at myself in the mirror. I am telling my story to bring hope to those who are still hurting, to bring the news of redemption and life.I made it out. Others can too.Thank you for reading and responding, and for your work.hiken,it takes courage to tell the truth, no matter what it is about.i admire the courage you show.thank you,my best,sue
Hi Ken.I can only imagine what you are leading up to, but the fact remains that you were asking for help from your father, your source of security in the world, and he did not help you. That is a sadness beyond reckoning.I too am awaiting part 2 and hope that the writing of it will give you some resolution and peace.DianneI can only imagine why he did not respond. He never did talk to me about it. But there is a way out of despair, and I know what it is.I appreciate you taking the time to read and respond, Dianne.
What bothers me most is that your Father said nothing. You did the right thing by telling him, and as a child, you expected protection and understanding, but it seems that you were left on your own. What a scary situation; thank God I have never been in that position.I think you are doing the right thing by writing about it. It will help you and hopefully help others.It was a defining moment in my life, no doubt. It was actually harder on me as I grew up and became a dad myself, harder to understand; simply put, why?I know others will be encouraged by hearing my story.Thank you, David.
Dear Ken, Words fail this reader. But I want to try, to say that you deserve much credit for sharing this. This can add warning to many parents, teachers, and others. I hope they will read and pay serious attention. From what I have heard, it is often the "most appealing" people near the family who have evil intentions toward children. I hope you will accept readers' pride for you and appreciation for your valuable life and your writing. There is more that I wish I could find the right words to say to you. God bless you richly.Thank you, Jane. I gave up my life years ago, expecting death to come soon. God said, Umm-No, I have a plan for you. I love towrite so much, and there are so many things I want to do in life, but this comes first. A lot of people who are hurting will benefit, and I am ready.Thank you for the heartfelt response. I am yet learning to accept compliments, but will take your advice to heart.
I like to say: trust no-one entirely but yourself. This article proves that.My version of that is "Never blindly follow anyone." How many times have you seen someone do the stupidest thing because a priest told them so? God gave us minds with the capabilty to reason- for a reason.Thank you, Connor, for reading and responding. But mostly for writing!
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