How God redeems the trauma of sexual assault.
by Allison Wilson Lee
Just a few minutes — that’s all I had. A sliver of time to walk to the open-air market down near the lake and pick up a few things. Then I would return to our dorm for the remainder of our ministry team’s responsibilities that day.
That summer, I had joined a group of other college students and missionaries for a summer mission to Hungary. For several weeks, we conducted an English language camp, where young men and women practiced conversation skills with outgoing, talkative Americans. We taught them songs, shared the message of Jesus, and held a party in the dorm’s basement at the end of each week of camp.
Southern hospitality
Before long, I knew my way around the area well enough to take a quick jaunt to the town center for fruit and pretzels that my roommates and I kept in our dorm room. The four of us all hailed from Southern states. We’d cultivated a bit of Southern hospitality in our little space, where wet laundry often hung drying from cords stretched around the room.
Other team members on that summer mission trip often found their way to our room at night to laugh, tell stories, and snack.
To the market
That day, I volunteered to replenish our snack stash. I also planned to pick up a trinket for my grandmother, a little ornament to decorate her home.
People crowded the resort town’s pedestrian area on this summer day, licking ice cream cones and haggling over produce. Traveling down the sidewalk toward me, walking side by side, were three young boys. As they moved closer, I inched off the sidewalk to give them more room.
Sudden assault
But one of the boys — dark-haired, wearing shiny black shoes with his shorts and t-shirt — did not take the space I vacated on that dusty street. He moved toward me even as I shifted away from him and his friends.
Then suddenly, he lunged toward me. His hand shot out, and he half-grabbed, half-punched me between the legs. Silently and mercilessly, and seemingly without thought of his actions, either before committing them or afterward, this boy sexually assaulted me.
Unnoticed
I still remember the clothing I wore that day: a blue-and-white striped shirt with a white collar that my mother had sewed for me.
The incident ended as quickly as it began. The trio kept strolling leisurely down the street as if nothing had happened. The boy’s offense garnered no attention; nobody stopped to check on me. Nobody even seemed to notice.
I did not cry out when he forced his hand practically inside me. And now it seemed the world had gone silent.
Frustration
I spoke only a few words of this European language, and I believed that reporting the incident would bring no resolution.
I sensed, too, that this kind of degradation might happen more often than I realized in this tourist area, with new people flowing in and out throughout the summer.
Prayer and anger
I kept walking, putting one foot in front of the other. I clenched my fists and dug my fingernails into my palms. “I’m not speaking to You right now, God,” I whispered.
If prayer is simply having a conversation with God, this was one of the most honest conversations I’d ever had with Him. He could have prevented this situation, I reasoned, and now I was angry at Him.
Private vow
I reached the outdoor market, where I bought groceries and a souvenir for my grandmother. Then I walked stoically back to the dorm with a few minutes to spare.
On my return trip, I vowed I wouldn’t tell anybody. It’s not that big a deal, I tried to convince myself.
Emotional support
But when I walked into the room where my roommates sat, I could not hide that something had gone horribly wrong. One roommate prodded me with questions until the story poured out as I sat on my bed and sobbed.
My roommates held me as I cried, praying truth from God’s unchanging Word over me to combat the Enemy’s lies about my purity and worth. Then they made me a cup of tea.
Seeking communion
Later, I walked to a grove of trees on campus to spend time with God alone. I needed to have another (different) conversation with God, and I needed to experience His presence.
Psalm 27:8 says, “When You said, ‘Seek My face,’ my heart said to You, ‘Your face, Lord, I will seek.’” I longed for communion with God that only prayer could provide.
Crying out to God
Hidden under lush green branches, I cried out to the Father in my solitude. I believed that, even though I’d so recently declared I wouldn’t speak to Him, He would listen to me.
I trusted God would always grant me access to His throne of grace (Hebrews 4:16); it was His grace I desired. I needed His reassurance that I didn’t deserve that kind of abuse. I needed affirmation that I was worth protecting.
King Solomon wrote about “a time to mourn” (Ecclesiastes 3:4). I certainly grieved the offensive treatment I had received from a stranger. I needed to grasp the truth that God himself mourned with me.
Provisions
The Lord generously gave me all that. He loved me through those sisters in Christ who comforted me when I felt embarrassed and ashamed. They pointed me to the truth of my value in Him, the certainty that God took no pleasure in the damage imposed upon me.
The Lord provided more. He guided me to this verse: “For even Christ didn’t live to please himself. As the Scriptures say, ‘The insults of those who insult you, O God, have fallen on me’” (Romans 15:3, NLT).
Comfort through the Word
In this verse, I saw that the pain, confusion, and fear of sexual assault in broad daylight had not only harmed me but also offended the Father. That insult — against me and against the Lord, who cherishes His children — had fallen on Christ. He took that insult upon Himself, and He crucified it.
Jesus did not abandon me, leaving me to the mistreatment of a stranger that afternoon. He stayed with me and ached right alongside me. As God ministered to me through His Word, I experienced the comfort only He could provide during my “time to mourn.”
After I wiped my eyes one last time, I rose from the soft grass and returned to my dorm. The Lord had met me during that prayer time.
Lifting the burden
Later, friends stopped by our room to visit. There were jokes, funny stories shared boisterously. I laughed along with my friends as we passed around mugs of tea and snacks, moving laundry to make room for more visitors.
That night, surrounded by people who enjoyed my company and lifted my spirits, God reminded me I wouldn’t always carry the experience of this assault as such a heavy burden. He would bring healing, and He, who “daily bears our burdens” (Psalm 68:19, NIV), would carry it with me. Every time I bring a burden to Him, He promises in His Word to help shoulder the load.
Breakthrough
In the many years since this incident occurred, I have observed evidence of God’s healing in me. I would never seek to rush an assault survivor into forgiveness of their abuser.
For me, however, when this ordeal from the past comes to mind — rarely these days — I pray for the boy (now a grown man) who harmed me that afternoon. I desire for him, too, to experience Jesus as his own burden bearer.
As God teaches me about His character through His Word, He heals my heart. I trust He can transform that man’s heart too.
Allison Wilson Lee has been published in PRAY, Christian Living in the Mature Years, Purpose, Keys for Kids, Primary Treasure, and other publications. Her stories have also appeared in various Chicken Soup for the Soul editions. Allison also served over 20 years with interdenominational ministry Cru on three different continents. She lives in Bell Isle, FL. Visit her blog at https://presentmindedly.wordpress.com/.
Scripture quotations are taken from the New King James Version, unless otherwise noted.