Hope for the Hurting: A Personal Account of Overcoming Abuse and Betrayal and Gaining the Victory

Copyright © 2012 Ann Wagner

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Scripture taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

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ISBN: 978-1-4497-1298-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4497-1299-0 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4497-1297-6 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2011922928

WestBow Press rev. date: 03/23/2012

CONTENTS

Dedication

Acknowledgments

Introduction

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Conclusion

End Notes

About the Author

Dedication

To my precious Lord and Savior.

It is only by His grace, strength, and wisdom that I have

been allowed the privilege to write this book.

Not unto us, O LORD, not unto us, but unto thy

name give glory, for thy mercy, and for thy truth’s sake.

—Psalm 115:1

To those precious ones who have

experienced abuse in their past.

May they choose to cling to the One who is able to

provide strength, comfort, and hope.

Be of good courage, and he shall strengthen your

heart, all ye that hope in the Lord.

—Psalm 31:24

Acknowledgments

Walter, there is no way I could possibly describe the thankfulness I feel in my heart toward you. You have been my faithful and truest friend. God knew exactly what I needed in a husband and I feel so blessed that He gave you especially to me.

Thank you, Megan and Meredyth, for being an encouragement to me. In many ways, parenting has helped erase wounds from my past and has replaced them with much joy. It is my prayer that you will always choose to follow the Lord and love Him with your whole heart.

Pastor Larry Duffer, thank you for helping me to gain a better understanding of my past. I will always be thankful for the counsel I received from you.

Finally, I would like to send a heartfelt thank you to those who contributed to this project. Dr. Keith Thibo and Dr. Joel Spencer, thank you for reading my original manuscript. Your comments were both encouraging and insightful. Thank you, Josh and Nicki Hoehman, Kim Kowalski, and Charity Hamka for your help in proofreading. Your contributions greatly improved the quality of this book.

Introduction

For nearly six years, the Lord has been thoroughly working in my life. The lessons that He has taught me have not been achieved without first costing a price. Although the lessons have been difficult and sometimes very painful, I have experienced more joy and peace than any other time in my life.

My love has become more devoted to Him as I have discovered that His grace is abundantly sufficient. While He requires us all to take up our cross and follow Him, He gives the strength necessary to accomplish this task. He has been very busy at chiseling away my own selfish desires and methods while teaching me that His way is always best. Although there have been times in the last six years that I have felt as if I were emotionally sinking in quicksand, God has graciously reached out to me and lifted me up on solid ground.

I have learned that the Lord is worthy of my praise. He is worthy of my trust and dependence. He offers healing that no man on earth can offer. There will never be words in any written language that could adequately describe the love of God or the benefits that come from resting in His care.

My goal in writing this book is for you, dear friend, to experience the same joy in your life. As you apply the very principles that the Lord has taught me, you will soon discover that the Lord is all you need. He can take your broken life or wounded spirit and restore your hope once more.

When I was first challenged by my counselor to write a book involving the lessons the Lord has taught me, I was very apprehensive. I was fearful and uncertain about sharing personal details concerning my past. I also knew there would be those who would misconstrue or misunderstand my motives. However, I could not ignore the strong impression the Lord placed upon my heart. I could not deny His calling me to yield my will concerning this matter.

The influential missionary to Asia, Amy Carmichael, said, If I am afraid to speak the truth, lest I lose affection, or because I fear to lose my reputation of kindness; if I put my own good name before the other’s highest good, then I know nothing of Calvary love. It became quite apparent to me that God was more concerned about my reaching out to help others who have faced similar circumstances than He was about my name or reputation.

May the lessons that I have learned through experience be a useful tool in your life. With God’s strength, you can find healing.

Chapter 1

My Story

The outward appearance of an individual can be very misleading. Most people choose to hide those things that cause them the greatest pain. Some choose to hide secrets by keeping them locked in their hearts for no one to see. People may also use clever excuses to keep them from sharing their painful experiences with spouses, parents, or family members. However, there will come a point in time when they will be faced with reality. The secret can no longer be hidden.

I grew up in a Christian home. I had the fortunate experience of being educated in a Christian school. I furthered my education by attending a Bible college and graduated with an Associate degree in Office Administration. My husband and I recently celebrated our twentieth wedding anniversary, and we have been blessed with two wonderful daughters. Upon the completion of this book, my husband and I will have been serving in full-time ministry for nearly twenty years. Judging by most standards, people usually look at me and my life and assume that things have always been easy-going for me. Because of God’s grace, the outward appearance may give that impression, but my life has been quite the contrary.

During my elementary school years, my pastor sexually abused me. Sexual abuse brings much shame, embarrassment, and secrecy. Very few people feel confident in reporting their abuse or making it public knowledge. For many years, I felt the same way. I have no delight in sharing the details of my personal experience, but I am willing to help those who have encountered familiar circumstances.

Statistics show that one out of every four girls has been sexually abused by age eighteen; and one out of every six boys has been abused as well.¹ These statistics are not only staggering but heartbreaking.

Like most sexual abuse cases, mine occurred with a familiar person of influence in my life. While the relationship I had with my pastor will seem abnormal to most readers, to me it was very normal. It was all I ever knew.

My first memories of establishing a personal relationship with him occurred when I was around six years old. I had become very close with one of his daughters at youth camp. She was a counselor and had been very kind to me. I would often seek her out in church and sit with her during the services. I looked up to her as if she were my older sister. She invited me to eat dinner with the pastor’s family after church one Sunday afternoon. I remember sitting on the pastor’s lap and sharing a bowl of ice cream with him. He made me feel special to be allowed this privilege. He was the pastor of a very large church with the membership including thousands of people. My pastor relayed to my mother that I was a very sweet-natured girl. She felt honored that he would make such a positive remark about me.

It was not unusual for me to receive hugs and kisses on the cheek from him. I especially received a lot of his personal attention during the weeks of youth camp. He often chose me from among several hundred children to sit on his lap during the evening services. I held his hand as we walked around the campgrounds. He frequently gave me hugs, kisses, smiles, and winks. He always seemed to enjoy my company. I looked to him as a granddaughter would look to a grandfather. There was so much familiarity with him; I felt as though I were a part of his family. However, this was not your typical pastor/church member relationship.

The time came when I was asked to meet him at his church office. The church office was directly across the street from my elementary building. I was called out of class to see him. I remember having multiple conversations with him at various times in his office.

His office offered him complete privacy. As you entered the church office building, a secretary was there to greet you. Her desk was located on the left. Past this secretary was a large room filled with multiple secretaries. The noise of music, various conversations, typing, and phone calls echoed throughout the room. It was a typical office atmosphere. The pastor’s office was located to the left of this large room. Recently, my husband found a book in his library written by a former assistant pastor from my home church. This assistant pastor described how important it was for the pastor to have complete privacy during his counseling sessions. To further illustrate his point, he described how he planned a soundproof office for my pastor. While constructing the office, they deliberately filled each one of the cement blocks with sand, giving the office a soundproof barrier. Aside from this, he also had the convenience of having a private, adjoining bathroom. This would also play a valuable role to him in the course of his deplorable actions. The pastor knew how well-constructed his office was and took full advantage of the situation.

During my meetings with him, he kept the door closed, offering us complete privacy from the rest of the secretaries or staff members. The praise I would receive from him seems to be what I remember most. He would compliment me by telling me how pretty my eyes were or how much I reminded him of his daughter when she was my age. Because of my close relationship with his daughter, this was an extreme compliment to me.

While I was in the third grade, I began visiting the school clinic quite frequently. I remember lying on the bed and looking out a window that showed some type of courtyard with cement benches. I remember thinking to myself, Is this where the pastor and his secretaries go to eat lunch? I felt a bit frightened and did not want him to see me. It was almost as if I were trying to hide from him. Perhaps because of my youth, I thought I would be safe hiding in the clinic. Because of the unusual number of visits from me, the school nurse contacted my mom to keep her informed of the situation. According to my former third-grade teacher, I often asked to go to the clinic while I was on the playground. This was unusual to her. Most kids requested to go to the clinic to avoid a test or class work, not recess. I still have distinct memories of being on the playground and feeling a variety of emotions, like guilt and nervousness. I frequently battled with these feelings during my elementary years. Again, remember that the pastor’s office was located directly across the street from the elementary building and playground. Perhaps it was the view of the church office that led me to these abnormal feelings.

Because of my age at the time, my memories mostly consist of bits and pieces, rather than a clear understanding of all the details. It has only been within the last several years, after contacting former teachers, that I have gained a better understanding. My sixth grade teacher remembered me being called over to the pastor’s office at least two or three times while I was in her class. When I asked how I was summoned, she remembered that one morning she found a written note from the school office asking her to send me over that afternoon. On another occasion, I was requested over the classroom intercom system. My parents were never involved with any of these meetings. Because I never mentioned these meetings to my parents, there must have been some type of agreement made between the pastor and me to keep these meetings secretive. Telling my parents that I had visited the pastor while I was at school seemed like a perfectly natural thing to do, especially since my parents had a high regard and respect for him. But, for some reason, I never told.

Despite the broken bits of memories, I have one memory that remains very clear. One day, during my sixth grade year, I was one of the many sixth grade students who had made a card for the pastor. We were honoring some kind of special occasion. On this particular day, he called me over to his office. He closed the door, as he always did, and proceeded to tell me that out of all the cards he had received, he thought mine had the prettiest penmanship. There were nearly one hundred students in the sixth grade, so I was flattered by his compliment. He then asked me to write something for him, so he could see my writing. I asked him what he would like for me to write down, and he said, God is love.

As I leaned over his desk to write the phrase, he leaned over my shoulder. After I finished writing, he began to chuckle and complimented me once again on my penmanship. Unfortunately, my pastor did not have pure motives. He committed a sexual crime against me that day. Over twenty years later, his actions against me would be termed by the law enforcement as lewd and lascivious behavior with a minor. While the abuse was taking place, he continually offered me words of comfort. He repeated phrases like, I love you or God bless your heart. He also tried very hard to keep me occupied by asking questions about my home life. My parents had recently been divorced, and he was clearly taking advantage of me and my situation. As I answered his questions, he continued with the abuse.

I remember feeling very nervous and uncomfortable with what was happening. At one point, I was sitting straight up on his lap with my back facing him. I kept my eyes focused on some type of shelving or short bookcase located behind his desk. I very clearly remember thinking, I guess he must really love me a lot. I thought he was showing me a great deal of sympathy or care because he felt sorry about what I was going through. Because children do not have the emotional capability to handle this type of abusive reality, they tend to escape by making excuses in their minds. I was no different. I simply excused his behavior. I thought