In His Hand

In His Hand In His Hand

By Patricia Allan, as told to Bob Davies

After being raped by a cousin, I was so confused. In the years ofdrinking, drugs and lesbian love that followed, I felt so alone.Where was the God I’d known as a child?

From an early age, I sensed the hand of God on my life. Living inGuyana, South America, with my missionary parents, I rememberaccepting Jesus into my heart as a five-year-old. That experience wasvery real to me.

Unfortunately, another memory from my early life is not sopleasant. One day in a grocery store, a man came up and beganmolesting me. I ran outside and told my father, who dashed in to findthe man. His search was unsuccessful; when he came out, he was veryangry.

On the drive home, my father didn’t explain that he was angry atthe other man-not at me. That must have been really wrong, I thought.I must have displeased Daddy. I think from that day on, I beganrejecting men.

Another time, I overheard my father talking to Mom. “I have a hardtime loving Patty. I see all my bad qualities in her.” Although Iknew my father loved me, I never felt as much loved as my two youngersisters.

By the time I reached adolescence, my family had moved back toCanada. I’d long since forgotten about the molestation when I wassix. Then I was raped by an older cousin. During the whole episode,he told me, “You’re ugly and fat. No man would ever want you.”

Afterwards, his wife held me in her arms. “I feel close to you,”she said soothingly, “and I love you. I think you’re very beautiful.”

This bizarre event began to draw me into the lesbian mind set. Istarted to masturbate and, though I’d try to repent, it kepthappening.

I’m not repentant, I thought, so I’d better stop talking to God.He doesn’t love me anymore. My prayer life soon dried up.

I went to see my pastor. “How are you doing, Patty?” he asked.

“Do you really want to know?” Then I exploded. “I’m doing awful.I. . .I hate this church. . .and everything about it!” Rather thanfinding out what was wrong, he gave me a lecture. “You should beashamed of yourself! You have good parents, and a church that teachesyou the Bible. . .”

After a few minutes, I’d heard enough. “I know all that,” Iretorted, and stood up to leave. “Good-bye. I’m not coming back.”

I went home and told my dad I was walking away from God. Ratherthan being shocked, he said, “Patty, may I pray with you?” Then heasked God to take everything I did and turn it to ashes until I madeHim Lord of my life.

Soon after, I quit high school and found my first job. I becamesexually promiscuous with men, but didn’t know why. It all seemed soempty.

Then Karen, a friend from work, took me to a gay bar. When Iwalked in, my first words were, “Now I know where I belong.” It feltlike home. I was only 17 years old.

Karen and I became lovers, and I was with her for the next fiveyears. Initially, I tried to copy the loving relationship I’d seen inmy parents’ marriage. “Karen, I love you,” I told her one night. Inresponse, she slapped my face. I said it again, and once more she hitme. She couldn’t receive my love. It was a foretaste of what layahead in our relationship.

I soon discovered our commitment didn’t stop Karen from foolingaround with other women. To survive, I learned how to play the games.

“If I act jealous, she’ll be gone,” I reasoned, so pretended justthe opposite. At the bar, I’d ignore her and flirt with other women.She’d hang around me all evening, to make sure nothing happened. Ihad her right where I wanted.

I was a heavy drinker and gained quite a reputation as a streetfighter, although I never fought other women only men. Some bars hada lot of straight men coming in “to have fun.” All it took was a guyasking me to dance, and I’d attack with full fury. I hated men.

Karen and I broke up three times during the time I knew her. Afterthe second time, I moved back home. One evening, I tried to commitsuicide.

My parents had left at six o’clock to go out for the evening. Iswallowed some pills and went to bed. The next morning, my motherfound the empty pill bottle in the garbage and ran to my room. Sheand Dad rushed me to the hospital.

Twelve hours after I’d taken the pills, the concentration of drugsin my body was still above the lethal level. “It’s only a miraclethat you’re alive,” the doctor told me later.

Miracle or not, I wasn’t happy. “God, I just want to die,” Iscreamed. “You won’t even let me do that!”

I was soon back to my old ways, living with Karen, hanging aroundlesbian bars and taking acid. No one understands what I’m goingthrough, I thought. If anyone does, they’re as stoned as I am anddon’t care.

One night Karen and I were drinking at the bar. Somehow I got in afight and she found me unconscious in my car, covered with glass.When we got home, Karen confronted me: “Listen. If you don’t shapeup, you can just ship out of here.”

I glared at her. “You’ve said that one too many times. You’vekicked me out before, then asked me back. This time, I’m leaving forgood.”

I went to stay with Pat, a straight girlfriend who was separatedfrom her husband. She was very understanding; we were both grievingover our broken relationships. One evening, we talked about God’sunconditional love. Pat was a new Christian, and she encouraged me totalk to God about my messed-up life.

I took her advice. “Lord,” I prayed later that night, “I haven’twalked with You for the last seven years. People are telling me toclean up my act and love You, but I don’t know how. If You want me,You can have me.”

Then I told Him: “But if you take me, I don’t want to be aChristian who just keeps a pew warm. I want to move mountains.”

Then I saw a picture in my mind. I was down in a pit, with chainsand filth all over me. And Jesus was there. But He wasn’t standingover the pit, saying, “Come on, I’ll help you up.” He came down intothat pit, threw His arms around me and said, “Patty, all I’ve everwanted was you. I love you for who you are.” That was eight yearsago, and my life has never been the same.

I didn’t change overnight, though. For the next six months, Istill went out on dates with Karen. Then my friend Pat went back toher husband, and I moved home with my parents.

About six months later, I was sitting on our couch at home. It wasNew Year’s Eve. I’d sat there every day for a week, looking out thewindow and trembling all over. “Pat, what on earth is wrong withyou?” Mom finally asked.

“I’m not sure,” I said, “All I know is that God and Satan arefighting in me. My body is the battleground and I don’t know who’sgoing to win.” Unknown to Mom, Karen had asked me to move back withher.

“God,” I screamed inside, “I need a miracle!” I’m not sure what Iexpected in response, but nothing happened. So I gave in to the enemyand went over to Karen’s apartment.

“Hi,” I said to her, walking in the front door. “I’ve come back.”

To my amazement, my atheist lover scowled at me. “You love yourGod too much. Get out of here!” I instantly knew that God hadanswered my prayer.

I went back home. The phone rang, and it was my pastor returningan earlier call I’d made to the church. “Pat, you asked if you couldsing at church tomorrow? Yes, that would be fine. We’ll look forwardto seeing you then.”

I hung up and the phone rang again. It was Karen. “I’m sorry, Pat.Please come back.”

But I’d already made a new commitment to go back to church, backto God. “It’s too late now,” I told her, “Our relationship isfinished.”

My New Year began the next day with my solo in church about God’swonderful grace. That day-January 1, 1980-was a fresh start in mylife.

Through the previous six months of battling with Karen, I’d lostmy job. Then I heard about an opening at the InterVarsity office inToronto. I went to interview, and got the job. After working forseveral months, I took my boss out for lunch. Karen was beginning tophone me at work, and I wanted him to know about my background.

“Pat,” he said, “when I interviewed you, I knew there wassomething you weren’t telling me, but God stopped me from asking.” Hesaid they would stand beside me in dealing with Karen.

Working at IVCF was a time of healing, as I learned to relate toother Christians, basking in their friendship and acceptance. Even inthe midst of my fears, I prayed that I would love God enough to riskloving other people.

Eventually I went to Ontario Bible College. After graduating in1985, I was approached by three missions to go overseas, but I onlyhad one burden: ministry to homosexuals.

I threw out a fleece: “Lord, if you want me to stay in Toronto,bring one person into my life who is gay.” The next week, my sistertold me someone in ex-gay ministry had preached in her church. Icalled him up, and he invited me to the group. Ten days after myprayer, I was sitting in a room surrounded by twelve people comingout of homosexuality.

The leader was planning on going overseas, and I soon took overthe group. A Baptist church in downtown Toronto donated office space,and I began putting together a ministry board. Since then, God hasreally blessed our outreach.

Although there’s still more healing to be done in my life, God hasalready done miracles. I don’t struggle with homosexuality anymore.I’m much more in touch with my feelings and I have a new openness tomarriage.

My responsibility is to be obedient before the Lord, to do mybest. God will do the rest. Whatever the future brings, it’sreassuring to know I’m in His hand. There’s nowhere I’d rather be.

Copyright (C) 1989 by Bob Davies. Distributed by Love InAction, PO Box 753307, Memphis, TN 38175-3307; 901/542-0250