There are times when I feel sorry for myself, for having the particular story I have. You too? Sometimes I hate that I spent years writing it down. Why did I go through all that agony? Nobody really wants to write a rape memoir!
Then I get a letter like this one, and my self-pity washes away, like sidewalk chalk after a rain. What’s left behind are the stories that need to be told — in print and in pixels — words which will never completely disappear.
Dear Ruth, Thank you so much for sharing your story. I’m still sobbing after reading it straight through the last 3 days. Thank you for pouring out so much of your agony and fury onto the pages of your book. It is a perfect document. I found myself, while reading, getting lost for moments as if I were reading journal entries of my own describing the pains, confusions, and piercing cries of “WHY” to God. Thank you for not resisting God’s love, and for being willing to be used in people’s lives such as mine… used to offer a ray of hope to hang on. Reading your words was the first time I knew I wasn’t alone.
You found me and I found you. We are not alone.
Speak it. Speak the truth of our stories.