Sue's Story - More than just a survivor
Part 5. Rescue

After the divorce, the fact that life can change in a flash hit my eleven year old daughter Jess and I with shocking force.

Though few would have guessed it looking at our lovely lifestyle, our home life was a mess.

Despite the fact that my marriage had been far from ideal, it had offered Jess and I some sense of stability. After all, we were a family, and there had been many good times. (Although before the final abusive episode, exactly as all the textbooks say, the periods of calm between violent episodes were shrinking whereas the intensity of the violence was escalating.)

Apart from trying to cope with suddenly being single and being a single parent something else had started gnawing at me. I found I had reached a point where I realised that, besides Jess, and a few special friends, there was absolutely nothing in my life of any real worth. Even the prospect of achieving more career success no longer thrilled me.

This was not a good place to find myself! Up until then, I had always been happiest in the face of some new challenge at work. So it was terribly uncomfortable to suddenly discover that all the old things that used to energize me by feeding my appetite for excitement had started to taste like ashes in my mouth.

Suddenly it no longer seemed worth it to work such long hours so that I could rush to fetch Jess from the au pair’s house and then speed home so I could make dinner and get her to bed at a reasonable hour.

I soon got into the habit of drinking several glasses of wine every night, just so I could suppress my mounting anxiety and fall asleep.

Then one Sunday afternoon, sick and tired of it all, I got it in my head that we were going to church. There was one in Bryanston I had spotted many times from the highway that wasn’t too far from our home. At the time, I didn’t have a single church-going friend.  

My daughter looked at me in horror, as if I’d lost it, when I told her where we were going. I had to frog-march her to the car. Even though I was quite nervous knowing we would have to drive home in the dark (which most South Africans try to avoid because of the high incidence of carjacking) I was so determined to go I didn’t care. At the time, I would not have been able to explain why.

When we arrived at the church, I discovered we were early. So having no idea what to do, I made my way to a seat quite close to the front while my glowering daughter rebelliously plonked herself on the carpet, slap bang in the centre aisle.

Not wanting to cause a scene, I left her there. Every time she caught my eye, she scowled at me.

Something really amazing happened during the service, though I didn’t realise it then. A visiting pastor – who we later heard was the head of the International Council of Churches – pointed at Jess and told her before the entire  congregation that “one day young lady, you will lead the youth.” Afterwards people swarmed around us. Many of them told us both that she was “blessed to have been on the receiving end of such a wonderful prophecy.” (Prophecy; huh, what’s that?)

Even though going to church was not really what I had expected, I anyway enjoyed the whole experience. So we went back a few times.

Then the man who was to become my second husband, Eugene, invited me to go with him to another church. I agreed. The church was Hatfield Church in Pretoria.

After we arrived the service started with a band playing very ‘un-churchy’ loud rock-gospel music. Now that I liked, but when everyone started singing and clapping along with the music, and lifting their hands up in the air I thought I had made a huge mistake. “These people are nuts. Get me out of here!”

Then the pastor spoke, and he seemed normal and very nice. Plus what he said in his sermon made so much sense, that I soon found myself returning with Eugene week after week.

One day a few weeks later this pastor (Pastor Francois) said to the congregation “There is one thing God says to people more often than He says any other thing. If you would like to hear God speak, close your eyes and just listen.” The place became dead quiet.

“Yeah right” I thought. “Not a chance of that happening. God will never speak to someone like me.”

Then I heard this audible voice whisper in my ear “Sue, I love you.”

I had put up such high walls to protect myself against getting hurt. But hearing those words tore them down in an instant, melting my defences. Tears poured down my cheeks.
This was not at all what I expected to hear from God.

If anything I had expected “Get your act together.” Or, “You disgust me.” (That’s if you don’t consider that I had always thought that if God spoke to humans at all it would be through the wind rustling in the trees or something.)

In that instant I KNEW God was a tangible being! Not a concept. Not a collective ‘sum of the universe’ as I had previously suspected. God is a person.   

Although I felt quite embarrassed about crying in such a public place, especially in front of Eugene, at the same time I also felt this huge sense of freedom and relief.  

I think a lot of others in the church had a similar experience that day, because there was quite a lot of nose-blowing and sniffing going on.

Anyway, after everyone quieted down again, Pastor Francois said that the words people report hearing from God most are “I love you.” And when they hear these words, people also often hear God saying their name. (I have an Afrikaans friend who is delighted that God speaks to her in Afrikaans.)

Well after that happened to me, wild horses couldn’t keep me away from church; or away from God. Not long afterwards I committed my life wholeheartedly to the Lord.

I had numerous other divine encounters afterwards, where I believe Jesus held me in His arms, healed my broken spirit and even told me He forgave me for all the horrible things I had done in my life. Each time, the love I felt coming from God (and Jesus and the Holy Spirit – because I believe there are three) completely undid me!

Then in early 2004 Hatfield Church announced that they were sending a group to Russia and invited members of the congregation to go along on the trip. I knew that I had to go. It was like someone shone a torch on the printed “Outreach to Russia” notice in the church flyer that was handed out that day.

Unbelievably, because I’m usually extremely cautious when it comes to money, I spent my last ZAR12000 on the air ticket and accommodation. By this stage I had started my own freelance business, so I could work from home and keep an eye on Jess after school. No work for the two weeks I would spend in Russia meant zero income. But I didn’t really feel any concern. . . . Okay, maybe a little, even though by this time Eugene and I had married.

Then just three days before my departure date, the tax man sent me an unexpected cheque for just over R12000. To me, this just confirmed that the trip was meant to be.

Nonetheless I was nervous. Especially after the pastor heading up the group told us that there were long drop toilets, no running water and people living in very poor conditions where we were going! Eek!!!

Here we are in Red Square, Moscow. I am on the left.

One of the places we ended up staying while we were in Russia was at a retreat for women called Living Waters. There I met humanitarian, psychologist and missionary Paula, and her team. Their mission was to escort traumatised Chechen women from out of the war zone in Chechnya to try to help restore their brokenness after what they had been through. (I now know that whatever ‘they had been through’ possibly involved rape and extreme brutality at the hands of their enemies – the Russian forces.)

The War in Chechnya, was a conflict between the Russian Federation and the Chechen Republic fought from December 1994 to August 1996. After the initial campaign of 1994–1995, culminating in the devastating Battle of Grozny, Russian federal forces attempted to seize control of the mountainous area of Chechnya but were set back by Chechen guerrilla warfare in spite of Russia's overwhelming manpower, weaponry, and air support. The resulting widespread demoralization of Russian forces, and widespread opposition of the Russian public to the conflict, led Boris Yeltsin's government to declare a ceasefire in 1996 and sign a peace treaty a year later. The official figure for Russian military deaths is 5,500. Estimates put the number at between 3,500 and 14,000, with the number of civilian deaths at between 30,000 and 100,000 killed and possibly over 200,000 injured, while more than 500,000 people were displaced by the conflict, which left cities and villages across the republic in ruins.

On the left is a photo of the war-torn city of Grozny. On the right is a picture of Living Waters- the retreat for traumatised Chechen women in Armavir, Russia.

The reason why I went to Russia only made sense to me many years later. I now believe that God had a plan for my life all along because I had several divine encounters over there.
Four in particular stand out.

In one of the church services I experienced a flashback of my father leaving us that caused such emotional agony that it drove me to my knees where all I could do was sob uncontrollably for what felt like hours, but was probably a solid 20 minutes. Before this happened I had never even suspected that his leaving meant anything to me. I was wrong. My dad’s sudden departure all those years ago had gutted me. But I had buried all the hurt. The dam had to burst some time. Clearly God thought that was the time. Afterwards I felt completely peaceful. All the hurt had been completely washed out of me.

On another occasion, I found myself holding a lady in my arms as I prayed for her. (Yes, me, who had never been to Bible school or even been taught how to pray for someone.) Later through a translator she confessed that she had been the Madam of a Russian brothel. Yet she felt God forgave her when I touched her. Trust me – what she experienced had nothing whatsoever to do with me and my capabilities! It could only have been God.

The third experience that I found remarkable was when I prayed for another woman. I still remember her, because she was blonde, young and very pretty and it felt awkward hugging her because she was about 5.11” and I am just over 5.6”. I could not understand a word she said, and at the time there was no one around to translate for me. So all I did was hold her in my arms and pray for God to touch her. He did! I heard afterwards that when I held her, she said it felt like Jesus was holding her. Furthermore, while I held her and later some other ladies, my hands got all hot. I’m not joking. My hands felt as hot as stove plates.

The last experience I want to share with you was the most special for me personally. In one of the services I felt myself being drawn to pray for one really old lady. She had missing teeth and her face was so etched with suffering; my heart went out to her. Not knowing what else to do I just hugged her. She came up to my chin. As I did this I felt the burden of an especially tragic and hard life. Hot tears just flowed from my eyes soaking my shirt and I felt an overwhelming sense of compassion. But neither the tears nor the sense of compassion were springing from within me. So where then were they coming from?

For the remainder of this meeting I was like “an old lady magnet”. Every babushka in the place made a beeline for me. What happened to them all next was entirely supernatural and extraordinary. The minute I touched them, they toppled over. I swear on my life I didn’t push or nudge them. It happened to about 12 old ladies I touched. I was so shocked; my eyes must have been wide with surprise. Miraculously, as this started happening, there just happened to be a young pastor standing behind them to catch them. It all took place so fast it looked to me like a line of dominoes dropping one by one. He and I just gaped at one another in astonishment and kept moving down the line to the next lady in the queue.

All my life, I had been searching for that big thrill, that big high, that BIG EXPERIENCE of ultimate excitement. At a stage to try and find it, I even used drugs. I never expected to find the ultimate high in a church in some remote rural village in Russia.

As you would expect, these experiences changed me FOREVER.

I left for Russia as a normal person, with no particular sense of compassion for anyone outside my immediate family – least of all compassion for women. I returned to South Africa with a burning desire in my heart to help broken women. But I was broken myself. Why me? I pondered on what I possibly had to give?

I think of what happened as a heart transplant. I had a heart of stone before I left. I came back with a compassionate heart

Anyway, after I returned to South Africa I kept asking God to give me some assignment. I loved Him so much for loving me first that I begged and pleaded saying “Lord, give me something to do please. For you I’ll go anywhere. I’ll do anything.”

Several years followed. Though I volunteered for various church projects, none really captured my imagination. Then five years later In March 2009 I believe God gave me the vision that birthed WonderfulWomen. (I say ‘vision’ because it was like a dream, but the details are still so vivid and it was as clear as a movie.)

The vision started with a darkened field full of flowers. The flowers were many; ten or a hundred thousand, maybe more. The field had no borders. All the flower heads drooped. I perceived that the flowers were women. It was a dismal sight.

Then the sun rose and slowly passed overhead. Now bathed in light, faces up and heads held proudly, in unison all the flowers watched the sun journeying across the sky. I have no doubt the sun represented God. My spirit recognised His glory. And such gladness burst forth from those flowers!

A week after I had the dream, I believe I heard the Lord say “Tell your story.”

Believing that God Himself wants to lift up many women including the broken (which is sadly at least one in every 3-4 of us) and with almost 20 years of experience in marketing, business communications and PR - I knew that the internet was the best way to reach out to many, and discreetly. So about a month after I had the dream, with God’s help, I launched Wonderful Women. Getting the website and magazine going was the easy part. It took a while before I plucked up the courage to open up about my ‘colourful’ past. (I think when Lee told her story about domestic violence; it also showed me that a normal person could tell their story. So I will always be grateful to her for leading by example. It showed me the way.)

One interesting detail in the vision was that the flowers were all different. I find this quite significant because I see a unique beauty in every woman and I have this unshakeable belief that this is how God sees us women too.

If I had to describe what I do now and the reasons why, my passion is to try to have an uplifting effect on women and to heal some of the hurt that broken women experience.

I truly believe that the world would be a better place if more women were allowed to feel good about themselves. So I love doing what I can to encourage women to succeed and to see that no matter what mould the world and modern media tries to squash us into, in our heavenly Father’s eyes we all have unique value and worth.

I honestly believe that this dream to lift women up comes straight from the heart of a loving God, who I am convinced thinks that any form of abuse against women - in whatever form - is an abomination!

Though it may seem corny, more than I ever did as a child, I believe in that knight in shining armour.

Though I have never seen His face, I have heard Him speak and I have felt His touch. I know Him personally. He’s the one who rescued me in one of the darkest times of my life, when I felt completely unworthy of being loved. Because when you are a survivor of Childhood Sexual Abuse you believe a pack of lies about who you are. The biggest being that YOU don’t deserve unconditional love, so you end up doing some really stupid things to earn it. This just further reinforces that love always comes with strings attached and that people will always mistreat you which feeds the no-win downward spiral.

If you’re in trouble right now and need help, I urge you to turn to God for help. In Romans 10:13 of the Bible He promises that all who call on His name will be saved.

Try it. I absolutely know you’ll find you can take God at His word.

In a world where there is such widespread abuse of women and children, and often no real support out there for victims, He may very well be your only hope.

Conclusion

For those of you who know me personally and have known me for a long time, you will also know that although I obviously still have faults and limitations, with God’s help I have come out okay on the other side of Childhood Sexual Abuse and Domestic Violence. Although both will always be a part of my life story, I am no longer held in their painful grip.

I know this because I have a healthy intimate relationship with my husband and I have been faithful to him for over nine years. The last beating I got was a decade ago. There is no longer a divide between me and God. There is no longer any unforgiveness, resentment or weird soul tie between myself and my stepfather. I have made my peace with Les (my stepdad), my beloved late mom, my birth father and Jude (my ex-husband). I also now have healthy relationships with both men and women.

One big thing that I love about the healed Sue is that I know I can trust my own perceptions. When my inner voice sends out warning signals, I have found I should listen to it.

On the flip side, I still have “a few” control issues and I am still learning how to be assertive and maintain healthy boundaries. Also, trust in people doesn’t really come naturally and I’m not proud of the fact that I still smoke (albeit socially). Although day-by-day I can feel even this final addiction losing its grip.  

All in all - I am not the lost and damaged girl I used to be. And I give all the glory for this to God, who I can truly say has been responsible for “loving me back to life.”

One last point, while my ex-husband was mistreating me, out of everyone who knew what was happening, only one had the courage to tell him face-to-face that what he was doing was wrong. Her name is Bronwyn d’Hotman (now Kotzen). I will never forget how it felt to have someone stand up for me when I couldn’t stand up for myself. The same goes for Jude who stood up to my stepfather when I couldn’t, and for Eugene who told a friend of ours who was being abused that we would help her and her children if she ever chose to leave her now ex-husband. These actions have been some of the most significant I have experienced in my entire life. And I love you for it.  

Finding a solution to the widespread problem of childhood sexual abuse is by no means going to be easy. But if just one woman can see herself reflected in my story and thereby heal some part of her life, then the telling of my story would have been worth it. – With love and hope, Sue