Uncovering the Real Me - We Love God!

Uncovering the Real Me Uncovering the Real Me

By Starla Allen

After the rape, I sensed a growing hatred of men. And I vowedthat one of them would never get near me again.

When I was 13 years of age, I was forcefully raped by a familyfriend. I was too afraid to tell anyone, especially my dad. He alwayssaid, “If anyone ever hurts my little girl, I’ll kill him.” He was abig man, and I was afraid he’d do just that. So I “stuffed” down thefear and anger for the next 15 years. Bitterness brewed inside. Infact, my real self, my femininity was buried by it, although I didn’trealize that for years.

My upbringing had been strict, but I knew my parents loved oneanother. In fact, my mother spoiled my father rotten, and they bothloved it. My parents were married for 32 years, until my motherpassed away in 1981.

Back when I was four years old, another significant eventhappened. My family was visiting my grandparents. Amid all thetalking and chit- chat, my grandfather started teasing me, and hehurt my feelings. I started crying. My father didn’t know how torespond. He took me into a bedroom and told me to stay there until Icould pull myself together.

I won’t show that kind of emotion again to Dad, I promised myself.I felt like I was being punished for doing something bad. I startedprotecting my emotions from that point on.

My parents warned my younger sister and I about the dangers ofmen, especially strangers. The message I heard was, “Don’t trust men.You’ll only get hurt.” The rape incident when I was 13 confirmedthose feelings. I knew better than to let a man get close to me afterthat.

I had an older woman friend who headed a girls’ group to which Ibelonged. One day, I told her about my rape. She was a Christian, andbegan praying for me. As time went on, she shared with me the changesGod was bringing in her life. I was interested, but I wasn’t yetready to invite Him into my own heart.

During high school and college, I didn’t have much time for men.I’d pretty much decided marriage wasn’t for me.

Then, in my third year of college, I met a woman who gave meunconditional love, just what I’d been seeking for years. Ourrelationship became close and emotional, then physical. We livedtogether almost five years.

The first couple of years were marvelous -there was romanceeverywhere. But our mutual neediness began taking its toll. I eitherfelt smothered or neglected. Toward the end of our relationship, mylover started dating guys and sleeping with them. That killed me; Icouldn’t stand it. One day, I confronted her.

“You can either learn to handle it, or we’re through,” shesnapped. I knew I didn’t have too many options. I figured it waseither make the relationship work, or I’d end up alone.

The relationship between my lover and I continued to crumble, andI drank to numb the pain. Finally, in desperation, I started dating ayoung man. We even had a short-lived sexual relationship. He knew mysituation, and was determined to help me out of lesbianism.

But there was no foundation for a friendship. We only had threethings in common: we liked sunsets, Chinese food and sex. I knew itwasn’t the type of relationship that I really wanted. And I was stillnot letting go of my emotions; those were carefully protected. Ididn’t want to get hurt again.

My life seemed totally empty. I started seriously thinking aboutsuicide, and even picked out the method I’d use. As I surveyed thewreckage of my life, I suddenly thought about my older friend who hadwitnessed to me.

Mom Nelson said that Jesus could really change lives, I thought.Well, I’ve tried everything else. I might as well give Him a chance.

“God, if you’re up there,” I prayed, “I’m giving you three days.Here is my life; see what you can do.” I decided if nothing happenedafter three days, I’d go ahead and commit suicide.

On the third day, I ran into Mom Nelson. “I’ve done something thatyou might be interested in,” I said, and told her what I’d done. Shewas thrilled, and immediately sat me down with a little booklet onbecoming a Christian. She wanted to make sure I was really saved!Then she plugged me into a church and a Bible study.

I knew I couldn’t go back to my lover. My lesbianism just didn’tfit in with my new relationship with God. So I moved to anotherapartment by myself. During my first year as a Christian, I had noproblem at all on a sexual level. It was like a great honeymoonperiod. I’d go home from work and soak up the Word. Finally I hadfound Someone who would give me all the love I could stand.

One lady in my church was very helpful. I could go over to herhouse any time of the day or night. We’d read the Scriptures togetherand talk about what was happening in our lives. She was a majorcontributor towards my healing.

At first, though, I was deathly afraid to tell her about my pastlesbianism. One night, I was sitting on her sofa, agonizing overwhether or not to tell her. I cried for about half an hour, while shejust sat and waited. When I finally told her, she said, “Well, Inever would have guessed.” It was then I realized that God wasalready working great changes in my life. It encouraged me to keep ongoing.

After several years as a Christian, I felt the Lord asking me togo back to the lesbian community with His message. “Absolutely noway!” I said to myself. I agonized over that answer for a few weeks.

Then God asked me, “Are you willing to come with Me and deliver Mymessage?” Knowing He’d be with me was just the reassurance I needed,and I said yes.

It was another three years before He got me in contact with ex-gayministry. A friend who knew my past gave me a newspaper ad whichmentioned Love In Action, a nearby Christian ministry to men andwomen overcoming homosexuality. I put the slip of paper in my pocketand thought, Is this God calling me to minister? It can’t be-I’m nottotally healed yet.

Two weeks later, the same woman gave me a copy of the ad again,forgetting that she had already mentioned it. I sensed God was behindit, so I decided to phone Love In Action. I got the address for theirgroup meetings and went to the church.

From the first night, I knew God wanted me there, and I startedgoing regularly. Then the leader left and I found myself in charge ofthe group. But there still wasn’t any deep sense of healing withinme. I was out of lesbian behavior, but I was just beginning to seewho I was as a woman.

One day, I shared with a friend at church my burden for becoming acounsellor. “That sounds great!” she said. “But you’ll need to goback to school.” I started looking into different programs, and choseBiola University near Los Angeles.

Soon I was on my way to southern California, with ten dollars inmy pocket and my little Datsun full of my earthly possessions. On theway down, I stopped to visit my dad. For the first time in his life,he took me to the bank, withdrew one hundred dollars from hisaccount, and handed it to me. I knew he was saying, “I love you. I’mbehind you.” I was ready to cry. It was the first step of restorationin our relationship.

Once in Los Angeles, I called a friend who’d been my first SundaySchool teacher. She lived fairly close to the school and said, “Myhusband’s out of town for two weeks. How would you like to stayhere?” I thought, “Hallelujah! I’ve got a place to stay for awhile.”That was nine years ago, and though I’ve lived in other places, I’venever lacked a home since that day. The Lord has taken really goodcare of me.

God has done a lot of good things in my life during these pastnine years. There’s been a slow healing process in accepting myfemininity. For example, as a result of the rape, I never dressed tolook pretty, because pretty meant seductive, and seductive meanttrouble.

“I need to learn how to shop for clothes,” I told my roommate oneday. About a week later, she said,”Let’s go shopping!” I broke out ina cold sweat.

“Uhh, wait,” I answered. “I’m not ready for that yet!” She waitedanother week, then tried again.

“Starla, I need to go shopping for something to wear on my trip.Do you want to come with me?” So we went shopping, and she really gotinto it. I was pushing through all the hangers, casually looking atthings. It was a start! Now when we go shopping, we try on all kindsof flamboyant things, just to see what they look like. I’ve learned abit about style, what colors look good on me-that sort of thing. Ilove it; it feels good to enhance who I am.

In fact, the Lord has totally changed me. About six months afteraccepting the Lord, I ran into one of the men I used to play poolwith. I shook his hand, and asked him how his family was doing. Hedidn’t even recognize me.

After our conversation, I walked away, floating about three feetoff the ground. “God, You’ve really done a work in me,” I laughed.Now when I tell people some of things I used to do, they say, “Ican’t imagine you that way.” And it’s true, because I can’t either.God has healed my bitterness, and the real me underneath isblossoming