Whispersfrommyheart's Blog

Archive for April 2012

No longer is my name to be

“Survivor” any more;

For I have long since been redeemed

My life has been restored.

And I no longer will be seen

As one whose grief is worn;

Like medals from a battle won

For which my heart has mourned.

And shame no longer has the right

To claim me as its own;

Disgrace, dishonor are replaced

With Love, He has atoned.

And hate no longer covers me

Within its evil shroud;

Weighing down my heart and soul

To keep my spirit bowed.

For when I claimed survivor-ship

My heart believed the lie;

That grief and shame were evidence

Of what my past implied.

But Jesus came and set me free

Then showed me what was true;

“Survivor” kept me victimized

And kept my heart askew.

And as He taught me how to live

As one who’s overcome;

Instead of holding to the past

I now hold to the One.

The King of Glory; Jesus Christ

My Lord, and my Savior;

It’s through His blood I’m free and not

A victim any more.


I am a survivor. I was a victim of childhood sexual assault, but I survived.  I was a victim of rape and molestation, but I survived. I was a victim of domestic violence, but I survived. Victim and survivor, they go hand in hand with one another.

I was a victim, but now I am a survivor.

To me, the title of survivor was like a badge of honor I could wear. It grabs people’s attention and produces sympathy in them. When I refer to myself as a survivor, the response I receive is, “Oh, how awful that must have been,” or, “You poor girl”. The truth is, being a survivor gave me a sense of pride. I beat the odds. I proved the statistics wrong. I faced the worst in this life and I survived.

I was a victim. I survived.

Do you see what I mean? I can hardly refer to myself as a survivor without thinking about what I had survived; victimization; sexual assault.  One term always lead me to the other, and neither one gives hope of being without the other. Victim. Survivor…

Even though I have used the word survivor throughout this book, I really do not like it.  Today, I no longer refer to myself as a “Survivor” of childhood sexual assault. Mainly because it gives the impression I am still continuing to live with the trauma of my past.  Merriam-Webster online dictionary gives this as the definition of survivor. To remain alive or in existence; to live on; to continue to function or prosper”. Well, that’s an okay definition. I was alive after my assault. I grew up and continued to function as a human being. I breathed in. I breathed out. I continued to exist upon this earth.  Take a look at what it means to overcome. To get the better of; to gain the superiority: win: conquer”.

Do you notice the difference between the two?

As a survivor you are indeed alive or existing in this life. You continue to function or prosper just as I did, but nothing is mentioned about getting the better of the circumstances you have survived. There is absolutely no doubt you can continue to live your life by surviving. You can breath in and out, you can eat, work and come home, and you can go to sleep as a survivor, but you cannot be an over-comer if you are still surviving!

Another reason I don’t like to use the word survivor to describe who I now am, is that it creates a mental concept of self-pity and the need for others’ pity. In my opinion—and this is only my opinion—to claim the name of survivor is to say, “Look at the circumstances I have survived.” “It is important that you know what I have been through, and it is just as important to feel sorry for me.” The focus is not on what God has done, or can do, but more so, the focus is on what has taken place in the past. I was a victim and here are the circumstances of my victimization, but I survived.

Victim and survivor, you can’t get away from this one fact, one will always remind you of the other.

It’s just a little thing really. Understanding why I no longer refer to myself as survivor isn’t an earth shattering revelation, but rather, it was a realization I had during my journey. If I were going to find deliverance and freedom, then I would need to get beyond my self pity. As long as I remained in a survivor attitude, I could not let go of being the victim. My focus was fixed looking backward toward those awful events in my childhood, and not forward where it belonged.

There is yet another reason I don’t like the term survivor. The definition does not adequately describe what happens when someone is delivered through the blood of Jesus Christ. It doesn’t paint a whole complete picture.  As I stated earlier, the definition leaves the assumption that survivors are continuing to deal with the affects of their victimization. That simply isn’t true of one whom Jesus has delivered.

When I think about a survivor, the picture I see in my mind is one who still struggles to keep her head above the water. She treads with all of her might as the water pushes in on all sides. She hasn’t drowned, but she is still in the water. She is not able to rest from the chore of surviving. If she does stop, the water will surely cover her!

I don’t know what you think, but that doesn’t sound like deliverance to me!  While at one time I was a survivor, sometimes, simply surviving was not enough.  I wanted to do more than just survive, I wanted to get out of the water because I was tired!

I have spent a great many pages of this book trying to instill this one truth in your mind; Jesus Christ will deliver you from the emotional and spiritual bondages that have consistently bound your past to your present. Completely and totally.

The word deliver means to set free. To be set free means to be released, let loose, or liberated as from a trap. Those words denote a complete release, and it assures the captive the effects of their prior bondage will no longer have the control over them it once had. It is the same thought as unleashing your dog and letting it run free. The dog, which was once limited to where it could go, now has the ability to come and go as it pleases. Its boundaries have been extended beyond what it had previously known. Your dog is unencumbered. Your dog is free. It no longer has to contend with the restrictions of its prior leash, because the leash no longer has an effect on its liberties.This is what it is like to really be free. To walk anywhere you want with nothing holding you back or restricting your movements.

Beloved, we should be that free.

Jesus paid a very high price for the lives of human beings, and as I have stated repeatedly throughout this book, His death and resurrection were for more than just our deliverance from hell. Jesus’ death and resurrection is given to liberate us completely and totally from the effects of our prior captivities—the sin that was our responsibility and the sin that was not—both emotionally and spiritually.

An excerpt from the book: Whispers From My Heart BY: Cheryl A. Thompson

I am 7 years old and it happens.

There isn’t a thing I can do to stop it.

I am too young.

Too weak.

Too frail to stand my ground.

Too afraid to call for help.

Afraid of getting in trouble.

Tears fall hot onto my cheek. I silently scream.

I am 15 and it happens.

I feel so alone, like no one in the whole world will help me.God doesn’t rescue me, so why would anyone else?

I am not worthy to receive help.

I can’t tell anyone; who would believe me?

They would think it is my fault; that I started it. They will blame me.

Tears fall hot onto my cheek. I silently scream.

I am 40 years old and it happens.

I kept it bottled inside for too long. The turmoil kept me defeated.

I wanted to die.

Does God care?

Where was he?

Why did he let this happen to me?

Why can’t I just get over what happened?

God must be disgusted with me.

Hot tears fall on my cheek. I silently scream.

I am 50 and it happened to me.

It wasn’t my fault.

God was there the whole time. What happened grieved him deeply.

He held me while I cried.

He soothed me in my anger.

He understood me in my frustration.

He heard my heart, when words failed.

He gave my abuser the choice to obey him, or reject him.

His Spirit comforted me by taking my mind elsewhere. To help me cope until I found his healing.

He guided me to the path where true forgiveness is found.

He redeemed me from my ruined past and began to rebuild my heart and life.

He delivered me from the prison of emotional and spiritual abuse..

He saved me and called me his own.

He called me worthy.

His child..

I belong.

Tears of joy fall on my cheeks. No more silent screams.

The darkness came within the night

And filled my heart with fears;

Removing boundaries of life

In pain, confusion, tears.


The trust and faith of innocence

He shattered to the core;

And in its place the lie revealed

The guilt and shame I bore.


Throughout the years the bricks were set,

The wall was built to hide;

The trembling, hurting, dying soul

The lie had sealed inside.


Marked by a smile to hide behind

So no one had to see;

This ravaged soul of brokenness

The wounded child in me.


Then anger raged within my heart

No faith was found in me;

This hardened heart just couldn’t trust

The God I could not see.


But Mercy heard and Mercy saw

He grieved; He mourned; He wept;

For buried in the tomb He saw

The memories that slept.


And evil danced a happy dance

The lie, he thought had won;

The soul he stole away from God

Left tattered and undone.


And Mercy heard and Mercy saw

He wept; He grieved again;

And called the little girl within

This woman stained by sin


I know the plans I have for you”

I heard the Lord God say;

“What Satan meant for evil, child

I’ll use for good this day.”


“The ancient ruins will be rebuilt

And restoration true;

And all, once lost, will be restored

Behold, all things are new.”


Then evils laughter turned to screams

As chains began to fall;

The yokes and bondage’s released

For Blood had covered all.


“For Satan comes to kill, and steal”

Destruction is his game;

Determined to convince the soul

“Unworthy,” “You’re to blame.”


But God in mercy comforted

Renewed my heart and mind;

Now with the comfort I’ve received

No child is left behind.


You knew him once upon a time

So many years ago;

He offered you his friendship but,

Dear Daddy, did you know?


One night he led me into hell

With terror to bestow;

And stole your daughter’s innocence

Dear Daddy, did you know?


That night I pleaded; terrified

Oh please, don’t make me go;

You said “Enough! It’s settled now.”

Dear Daddy, did you know?


I didn’t want to go there but

I went there anyway;

Endured the pain and agony

Afraid of what you’d say.


I didn’t call when he was done

Nor think that you would come;

Or want to save your little girl

Now broken and undone.


I’ve often wondered through the years

Why Daddy didn’t see;

The fear that was so obvious

And cries that came from me. 


And how could Daddy never see

His daughter’s soul had died?

Behavior; attitudes that changed

Was evidence denied?


I’ve held this anger in my heart

Since I was only eight;

I’ve blamed you Dad for everything

And given in to hate.



Realities of what you said

Have echoed through my mind;

Became the ache of memories

Transcending years of time.


But Daddy there is something else

I want for you to know;

Despite the pain and suffering

Compassions seed has grown.


My Father Who’s in heaven has

Redeemed my ruined past;

He taught me how to love; forgive

And walk through life at last.


There’s one more thing that you must know

Straight from your daughters heart;

If I’m to bridge the gap at all

Today’s the day to start.


I’ve chosen to release you from


That once demanded justice for

The shame inside of me.


And with release I now forgive

Your words of long ago;

The secret of my troubled past

Dear Daddy, now you know.


The Dirty Little Secret...

Beautiful expression!

Jan Williams: Pregnant At Age Eleven By Brother Kicks Anti-Psychotic Medication.

Thank you for sharing Jan’s story. It has touched my heart!

She watched the disgusting child molester as he stalked his next prey. He had been easy to find. All Grace had to do was hang around the park a few days a week and wait for him to show up. It only took a couple of weeks before Jacob Pine made his appearance. He made her stomach turn. She raked her arm with her fingernails in an attempt to quiet the crawling of her skin. Disgusting.  Grace waited patiently for Jacob to get back into his car to go home. She followed him at a safe distance to find out where he lived.

            Grace checked to see if she had all the tools she needed for when she went back to Jacob’s house. He wouldn’t know what hit him! He was going to pay for his sins. She would make sure of that. She had watched his house for several nights and knew Jacob would shut the lights off, and be in bed by 10 p.m. She would wait until 11 p.m., just to make sure he was asleep before she broke in. She had waited for this day for so long, she was actually excited the day was finally here. She was feeling quite giddy.

            Scenes of her childhood played in the back of her mind. There he was. Jacob Pine. Sneaking across the hallway. She could still hear the sound of the floor creaking. The fear. Oh God! Help me. I shouldn’t be here! Why did daddy make me come here? Grace shook her head to clear it of the images threatening to overtake her. She had to keep her wits about her. She had a job to do. She couldn’t let memories distract her now. I wonder if he will even remember me. Grace checked her watch, eleven o’clock, it’s time to go.

            Jacob Pine snuggled down under the cover. A smile crossed his lips as he replayed the day. His granddaughter was getting so big. Watching her play at the park brought him so much joy. Because of his past, Jacob was not allowed to make contact, but his daughter gave permission for him to watch her from a distance. He had grievously sinned in his life. So many children he had damaged. Sometimes, the guilt was so much he thought he would suffocate. Still. He has spent 10 years in jail. Found forgiveness, yet, to him, forgiveness had been given too easily. He didn’t deserve it so freely. He needed to grovel; to beg.

He should have to crawl a mile on broken glass.

Grace imagined how the scene would play out once she was inside Jacob’s house. Terrorizing him. Hurting him. Making him scream. Tape. Rope. A knife. A gun was too humane. Jacob didn’t deserve humane…

Although the names have been changed, the above scenario is based on a true story. Mine. Hate consumed my life. Every day I daydreamed of finding the man—the so-called friend of my father’s—who had raped me when I was 7 years old. I dreamed of tormenting him. I wanted him to be miserable. I imagined causing him so much pain that he would plead and beg me for his life. I would have laughed at such a request. Laughing, while I tortured him to death.

The hate I felt for this man was real. It was murderous. I wanted him dead, and I wanted to be the one who killed him. I was miserable, he should be too. I was a mess; his life should be a wreck. I was lost in a dark hole of depression; he didn’t deserve to live. I spent so many years hating this man, so much so, plotting his demise kept me alive. Counseling helped. I learned how to forgive. But letting go of my hatred wasn’t easy. It meant retribution was out of my hands. Did I want to give vengeance back to God?

Would you?

Hate has the ability to color your perception. It deadens your heart. I remember the day God asked me to let go of my hate. I fought him. My heart continued to hurt until I obeyed. Oh, it didn’t happen overnight, but the process brought healing to my heart and peace to my mind

To this day, I do not know if my abuser has ever been caught. I don’t know if he has felt remorse, or if he has asked God to forgive him for the sins he committed against me. That is between him and God. J.P. will have to answer for what he did.

. I encourage you, if you are struggling with letting go of hate, to obey God’s word and let vengeance remain with him.


How many times have we desperately prayed for God to work a miracle in our lives and, in spite of our prayers, find that miracle out of reach? Or, we prayed unselfishly for another, who is going through a rough patch, and learned their suffering increased after we began praying. Maybe, like me, you too have prayed for God to deliver you from the pain of childhood trauma.

I grew up thinking if I had enough faith I could accomplish anything. I could move mountains just like Jesus said in Matthew 17:20.  In this chapter Jesus is approached by a man who told him the disciples could not cast out an epileptic demon from his son. Jesus rebukes his disciples, telling them, “Oh ye of little faith”! When the disciples inquired why they could not remove the demon, Jesus told them because of their lack of faith. If they had just a tiny speck of faith, the size of a mustard seed, they could literally move mountains.

I never moved a mountain.

I had a mountain of pain that overshadowed my heart. I wanted to remove it from my life. I was tired of living under its shadow. I wanted to be free. But, no matter how hard I prayed, or how sincere my plea, that pain remained.

Obviously, my faith sucked!

God didn’t heal my pain because I couldn’t even muster a “mustard seed” faith. Others agreed. “You only need a little, if nothing happens, then you do not have enough faith.” I believed them.

Why did my faith suck?

Even the sermons I heard reinforced the “Lack of faith” thought. All the arrows pointed to me, “There she is the lacker of faith.” This made me sad. There must be something wrong with me. I felt guilty. It’s my fault, I must not believe God.

But, I did believe God. In my heart of hearts, I totally believed he would heal me if I asked him.

What if your faith doesn’t suck? What if, the lack of healing is simply healing that is in the process?”

Wow. One little thought changed the way I considered my faith. It did not suck after all! My faith was not dependent upon my ability to conjure it up, but on “Whom” it rested.

Timothy Keller, a pastor at Redeemer Presbyterian Church in Manhattan, in his book, The Kings Cross, puts it this way…

                How much faith do we need to have to reach out and grab a branch jutting out the cliff we are falling off of? Not much. We only need to reach out and grab the branch.  “Faith” in your ability to grab the branch is not key, but the ability of the branch to save you (My paraphrase).

 Is God able? Yes.

Does our faith suck? No. We have enough to reach out and grab onto Jesus. That’s all we need to be  healed or saved.


      A painful emotion caused by a strong sense of guilt, embarrassment, unworthiness or disgrace1.

      What causes you shame?

      Do you have a painful past?

      I used to look at my past as a dirty secret. One that produced great shame. I didn’t want anyone to know what happened. I was embarrassed by the sexual abuse. Like, somehow it was my fault. Maybe I had encouraged it. Perhaps, I had brought the abuse on myself. Have you ever felt that way?  

      For those of us who deal with the trauma of childhood sexual assault, there is a certain dirtiness that creeps into our hearts to keep us under condemnation. Even though we were the victim, it is my belief that Satan—also known as the deceiver of mankind—uses our assault to his advantage. Feelings of guilt and shame become tools in his hands to convince us we are dirty; unclean. Shameful.

      Shame is something victims of abuse identify with. It is easy to associate ourselves with ignominy because of the value our abuser gave to us. That piece of deceitful information must be replaced with the truth that comes from the One who judges our heart and soul.

      Jesus Christ made us worthy the day he died on the cross. Shame has no place in our lives. Isn’t that good news? ” But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” Romans 5:8 NIV The bible also tells us in Romans 8:1 that there is no condemnation for those of us who are in Christ Jesus.

      Let shame fall like a blanket from your shoulders. Let it crumple at the foot of the cross.


  1. The American Heritage ®Dictionary of the English Language, Fourth Edition copyright © 2000 by Houghton Mifflin Company. Updated in 2009. Published by Houghton Mifflin Company. All rights reserved.

The darkest, quietness of night

In stillness as you lay;

The only sound or rhythm heard

Are words your mouth can’t say.


The tears that burn your sleepy eyes

A fist, in anger clenched;

The cry that asks “Why me, Oh Lord?”

The soul, in anguish drenched.


 And though it can’t be verbalized

Into a single word;

A whisper’s heard with every beat

Your heart is being heard.

The 1980’s  brought childhood sexual assault to the forefront of every American’s mind, as daytime talk shows paraded survivors onto the screens of our television sets. Their stories tugged on our heartstrings as the psychologists informed us how survivors were being empowered to overcome the trauma of the past.

As the Church became more aware, it certainly did acknowledge the reality of sexual abuse and the need to do something about it, but it remained oblivious to the deep-seated emotional and spiritual issues victims of abuse live with. In an attempt to address healing for the abused, the church initially met the challenge with prayerful consideration and a determination to make a difference. Unfortunately, those who meant to provide hope to survivors found themselves without wisdom or understanding of the continued emotional and spiritual upheaval.

As a result, the church began to recite the same mantra chanted by others, “It’s in the past; get over it.”

For decades, the church taught when someone commits their life to Jesus Christ, they are automatically relieved of all of the spiritual, mental, or emotional struggles associated with their past. Yet, the truth is, regardless of their commitment to Jesus Christ, many women struggle with the inability to overcome the past. This failure becomes the life altering issue that is swept beneath the facade of a smile.

For far too long, women have tried to get over what has happened to them. At church they keep their smile ready to show they are okay. These women spend years searching for help through books, television programs, counseling sessions, and step-by-step programs that promise freedom from the past, only to become disillusioned by the lack of progress they make. They are disheartened by God’s supposed lack of interest in their wellbeing. And, they are disappointed by the lack of understanding they receive from well-meaning friends and family.

                Statistics show that one in every three girls will be sexually molested by the time she reaches 18 years of age (For men, it is one in every six).

 Given the current population of the United States, the numbers are staggering to think about the actual hearts and souls represented by those numbers. Hundreds of thousands, if not millions, of little girls grow up to be women whose hearts are disillusioned with life, and disappointed with God. These women stumble in the dark, trying to find some sense of belonging and purpose in life. They wait for the question of their heart to be answered. They long to find the rest their hearts so desperately seek.  Unfortunately, instead of answers and rest, each woman learns how to exist within a prison of emotional upheaval and pain, and spiritual confusion.

And, they carry on with their lives like nothing is wrong. 

But wait, if you will listen long enough, you can hear it. In the stillest, quietness of night, the heart whispers the tale of its journey to its Creator. And, there in the darkness, God is whispering back.


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