LTRP Note: For 15 years, Lighthouse Trails has had the motto “Bringing light to areas of darkness.” One of those areas (which we call our Sensitive Issues) is bringing to light the reality of child sexual abuse. We believe that the sexual molestation of children is part of what we call “the Death Religion,” which includes evolution, pornography, abortion, homosexuality, mysticism, pedophilia, and antisemitism. All of these lead to one place – death, and the author of death is our adversary, Satan. We have published three books thus far on this topic: The Color of Pain (by Gregory Reid), Laughter Calls Me (by Catherine Brown), and Seducers Among Our Children (by Sergeant Patrick Crough) and carry a number of other resources like these.
Over the past couple years, the Boy Scouts of America have passed resolutions allowing practicing homosexuals (and now transgenders) to actively lead and/or participate in the clubs. What the organization has done is put countless young boys in harm’s way. We believe it is just a matter of time before our society says it is not a crime to engage in sexual activity with a child. With every world empire in history that came to that resolution, it was the last resolution they ever made. After that, their empire ended.
The following two excerpts by Greg Reid from his book The Color of Pain illustrates what happens to a young boy when he is molested. Greg writes from personal experience. While some may find it difficult to read such an account, it is wrong to bury our heads in the sand and pretend this is not really happening to boys and girls across this nation. And the Boy Scouts have now made it possible for that epidemic to grow bigger than ever.
As Patrick Crough says in his book, adults are supposed to be the shepherd’s of children. We have a responsibility to watch over and protect them.
“Letter to the Molester”
By Greg Reid
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To Whoever You Are:
Your name doesn’t matter, for to me, you were just a stranger in a Volkswagen who gave me a ride. And to you, I was just a number, a cute fourteen-year-old anonymous kid, one of God knows how many.
I think about it a lot. Even though you weren’t the first to molest me, you probably did more damage than most. At fourteen, I was just beginning to explore my sexuality, and I was vulnerable. All my sexual antennas were active, but then you knew that, didn’t you? That’s why you picked kids like me. We were easy prey; we were little enough to feel scared and overpowered by you, old enough to sexually respond to what you did.
I hated you, and I have forgiven you. Because to not forgive you meant I always lived for you, thought about you, lived in the darkness of what you did and longed for vengeance. Five years after you raped me, I saw you while I was driving, and pressed the accelerator to the floor to kill you. You were still driving the same Volkswagen. Only God’s grace pulled back my foot and let you live. And then I knew that you bound me still. And so I forgave not because it was rational but because it was killing me, not because you deserve it but because I needed to let it go. Forgive means “give forth” and so I gave back the chains you put me in. I don’t hate you anymore. I feel nothing at all, but sadness, for what you took from me—that I can never reclaim my adolescence.
I do pray for you for repentance, if possible. And if not, for imprisonment, not to punish you (for you must loath your every breath) but to stop you. Because if you raped me, I wasn’t the first, and certainly not the last.
I pray for all the kids you raped like me. You cannot know what you took, what you destroyed. The walking wounded see your face, feel your evil touch, and blame themselves.
I wish I could tell them it wasn’t them. You knew exactly how it’s done. They were powerless, and paralyzed, and afraid.
They probably still are.
“What Being Molested Cost Me”
By Greg Reid
The cost to a kid who gets molested is higher than most people know. It’s too easy to minimize the damage by saying, “It’s just one of those things,” or “Get over it.” Sexual violation is a violent thing even when it’s not violent.
It takes so much inside. After many years, I’ve taken notice of the losses (much of which has been healed and restored), and I want to tell you about it so you’ll know.
It cost me my childhood. Repeated molestation blocked my memories, and what I did remember was covered with a haze of physical illness, stalking fear, repeat nightmares, and deep loneliness.
It cost me my ability to trust. I resented authority and feared adults so much I wouldn’t go anyplace like a public rest room or swimming pool locker room because I’d get sick from the fear of what might happen.
It cost me my ability to be spontaneous. I kept such rigid control over my emotions, my body and my mind, that I couldn’t laugh, I couldn’t play, and being around kids who could made me feel sullen, angry, depressed, alone, left out.
It cost me my sanity. Shortly after the initial abuses, I was in a complete emotional dead zone; and one night, as I sat alone in a chair, my mind filled with filth and blasphemy, and tears streamed down my face, because I loved God and I couldn’t stop this mental rape, and I just snapped after several days of this, and I started cursing, and smoking, and drinking, and I told God to give up on me because I was evil.
I was eleven.
It cost me my education potential. I was a brilliant child. Being molested cost me my ability to think without confusion, trance outs, and frustration. I couldn’t concentrate. I could have been a straight A Valedictorian. Instead, by the time I finished High School, I was taking four basic classes and barely passed.
It cost me my identity. Being molested created such sexual and emotional confusion that I was an old man before I was fifteen and still a boy at thirty. I felt numb and removed, like I was not there, just a piece of property for others to use and discard.
It cost me my adolescence. Being molested made me afraid of adults, men, women, crowds, public places, challenges, fights and almost everything else including being scared to death I was gay and scared of all my emotions including anger and joy. I couldn’t date, I didn’t go to the prom, and alcohol was my only “friend.” Being a kid is screwed up and scary enough, but I carried enough guilt and fear to take down ten normal adults.
It cost me time. Being molested started me running, and I ran and kept going until I crashed in my late twenties, and then it cost me time in recovering, facing hard truth, and healing.
It cost me family. Being molested crippled my heart enough to destroy any potential marriage or children.
God has restored most of what was taken, and more. But you need to know being molested is not a “get over it” thing. It’s an evil robber whose damage goes deep and keeps taking until we can face it and start to heal.
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