The Cycle of Abuse - part 4

Surrendered

By the time I had left school I was fifteen turning sixteen and my friends were all actively pursuing relationships amongst other things but I had to throw them off the scent of absent pursuits so being preoccupied with drugs was a godsend. This became a cover and an escape for me. The deeper undercover I went the less the suspicion was cast over my behaviours. Suspicion is a curious thing, what was there to be wary of? Was I shady or untrusting. The fact that I was not interested in the futile chase of one night stands with cheap bimbos who exchanged huge amounts of alcohol for empty climaxes from premature ejaculations only then to be trophied with a loss of self respect, was nothing to navigate their assumptions upon. No, I wanted more than this when I was ready and the time right, when total restoration of self had been accomplished through what was probably then a naive optimism. As it happened my compass set new headings and a course toward change reigned in the years which followed. In obscure times and moments I too became involved with indiscriminate partners whilst propped up on illicit drugs fueled by insatiable cravings. Seduced by a pregnant drug addict at the age of sixteen and a brief affair with two lesbian sisters had also taken place, then by the age of twenty four after a six month relationship I was engaged to a divorcee who was raising a young child. I thought that this was the life dealt so I grasped at the chance of normality.

I also had my fair share of female company in between these years along with some who wanted more than friendships, but settled for apathetic partnerships. So eventually I complied to their whims of constituting couples who paraded their romance as we regularly dated. I know it portrays condescending overtones or as though I was something to be acquired, but in reality I accommodated them without remorse for to disappoint was not in my vernacular. I gave them what they yearned but sex was not a part of the equation. Warm embraces, kisses and benevolence was all I had to offer. Romance was inept and deep passion nonfunctional and for the time being they remained contented, ever hopeful of more. Sadly I had broken some hearts but took solace in hearing through the grapevine that they eventually did find their true love and settled into marriages without regret. I don't mean to sound so blase about these relationships but all the while I still was embroiled in asinine notions of breaking free of the hellish occupations which consumed my waking years. I couldn't remove the stain left behind or the cycle of abuse which ate away at me like cancer. Without a cure I would never be rid of the devastation which had claimed my life. We had served one another's indulgences all the whilst reaching mutual expectations of what we really desired from life and parted with exceptional friendships and experiences as significant others. I had sandwiched into these formidable years unscrupulous relations with consequences that diminished my expectancy of grandeur and sustainability with a loving life long partner.
I dwelt upon the plains of narcissism and frequented the impotent rock ledges of suicide. The indigent boardwalk of loneliness inhabited my soul and the cold arctic winds of despair coursed around me. I was alone in a wide eyed planet of gorgeous life in indulgent fantasy yet as though singled out I was exiled to it's outskirts, the province anonymous. Non existent I perused the streets of isolation, wind and dust storms shortened my vision, clothed in rags of aimlessness and despondency no destination was ever reached. I lay somber upon the old bed in a men's shelter at 18. An old wooden cupboard in the corner lord it over the empty room, inside it was as empty as the room itself. Shallow breaths echoed off the walls, in silence, I was as still as the chamber. Die, I just wanted to die nothing that weeping could ever change, alone at the fringes of death I now lay upon this empty bed. Sinking! no one to grasp at my hand, no passer by to look on, I could just slip away without anyone knowing of my stingy existence, the world entertaining itself in merriment and luxury. Blue skies, green grass, yellow sun, warmth and colour. My state bleak, cold and dark.
The human condition is one of intuitive survival, I had come to a colossal critical point in my life, would I live or would I give in to the summons of death? An extraordinary courage and resilience swept me to new heights and the former years were depleted by the now powerful adoration and strength of my new found saviour. Twenty five years of wandering aimlessly about the wilderness, lost and defeated I met the only one true hope, the one who could bring solace and comfort, healing and cleansing, The Lord Jesus Christ. I surrendered my all and took my rest in His words, words of truth and reassurance that I was worth something after all. Words that took the sting out of those lies that had corrupted me and sent me to the edges of total ruin. The stains of abuse washed away, the fractured pieces of my heart restored and a love I could believe.
The healing was never instant for me, for healing happens over time but over the years of maturing as a Christian, I was taught how to overcome and be sustained by the loving power of God. Never lose sight, never give up, if there is one thing out of all this I can offer you, it's this, there is HOPE and FREEDOM in JESUS CHRIST.
As the years passed by and the raging storms calmed I then met my faithful, beautiful and understanding wife of now almost twenty years, and have since been blessed with three adorable children which I believed I was not capable of ever having. Today we live a life of contentment in His power and are witnesses to the ever present and powerful God of restoration and miracles. Although my prior life was marred by so much uncertainty and perverse immorality I have remained fervent to Jesus, all the while contending with the past etched in my memory and the residue left behind in my soul. The mind is a very powerful part of the body, controlling us and leading us. I have said for many years now "wherever the mind goes, the flesh follows" this truth has sustained my embrace toward purity and holiness. I will never be perfect in this life but nevertheless I am committed to the process of being perfected in Him, being readied for the next.
2Co 5:17 So that if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old things have passed away; behold, all things have become new!

Rinaldo

The Cycle of Abuse - part 3

Iniquitous

I was seven or eight years old when I first ran away from the children's home for no obvious reason than that of adventure with another boy that was well acquainted with trouble. We left for school early that Monday morning a short walk of about 2 kilometers and even before entering the gates we had organized with one of the other boys that he would carry our bags into school, place them on the racks, and talk to no one of what we were up to. Unfortunately for him, he also had to bring the bags back home. The day before we had all attended church as a family and a dollar was stolen from the offering plate which enabled us to eat and travel Sydney's trains. I had no idea of what lay ahead or for that matter that I was even going with the boys. It was a last minute thing, I was so easily influenced and led. We jumped a train at the closest station which took us into the suburbs of western Sydney, Parramatta. I recall eating frozen ice cream from the freezers at Woolworth's and running rife throughout the store. This was all new to me as I had lived quite sheltered up until this point. We boys had a firm hand kept on us at the home and discipline was regularly handed out when needed. Now armed with cap guns taken from Woolworth's we burst into the empty halls of the local council chambers and fired those guns recklessly. The echoes pounded the corridors throughout the chambers bringing adults in suits out of their offices looking in fear both ways down the halls. Shoes scuffed running down the slippery polished floors whilst Kenneth and I ran for fear of being caught. Hurled abuses in earshot startled me as I had not heard these come from adults before and my perception of the authority figure altered that day.

Ken was fairly new to Ruhamah, the children's home, a little older than myself and more worldly than I. He knew the ropes and I just followed. He spoke of many new and coloured stories, things that I could never imagine. He also was a victim of sexual abuse and also was caught in the habitual satisfaction of unnatural desire. On our journey over those two days we slept under the house of a previously known girl to Ken. It was cold and damp and to keep warm we hugged tight throughout the night, a night of fear and unfamiliar sounds taunted me and daylight was a welcomed relief. We crawled out from underneath the old timber veneer house and left for the railway station. I vomited first thing that morning, from what I don't know but I suspect the gravity of the whole situation weighed heavily upon my slight and fragile mind. We had reached the town center and many people were staring at both Ken and I, we hadn't noticed up until this point but we were both fifthly from the dirt we had slept in under the house. Still wearing our school uniforms and looking ungroomed, ridicule and revilement's were cast at the both of us. We looked down at our appearance and shocked we tried desperately to brush away the dirt that stained our clothes but to no avail as we quickened our steps away. Hoping onto another train we ended up in Bankstown and jumping the tracks we escaped the railway guards as we had no money to pay for the ride. We jumped fences and stole food from the local store to satisfy our hunger. That day I longed to be back at home as now I'd had enough and was tired but we continued on, hung around shops and played games in the park. Ken knew a friend of the family who lived nearby so we decided to go and see if he was home. His hangout was also the local pub and if at first we couldn't find him at home this is where he would be Ken said. So we traipsed across town to the apartment with no answer as we rang the door bell. We waited on the street for only a short while when Ken spotted the friend walking toward us in amongst the crowd. He was a thin old man, old to me a boy of around seven, he must have been fifty or so with worn leathery skin and unkempt thin dark hair. His appearance was almost clumsy and I remember he smelled like stale beer. With nicotine stained fingers and discolored nails he wore a red plaid shirt with brown creased trousers and wore an old pair of brown shoes. He was pleased to see Ken and allowed us both in to visit. Surprised at his small apartment we entered into the dark room and sat on his sofa. What are you boys doing out of school he asked, knowing full well what we were both up to. He then asked Ken a peculiar question, I remember it so clearly to this day! He asked if we had played together. Ken answered boyishly, yes! I didn't understand at the time what he meant. I soon learned though the implication. The old man led me by the hand to the kitchen which had a fold out bed in it and sat me on it. He then proceeded to remove my pants whilst his hand entered his own. This was the first time I had experienced oral sex. I remained in silence, frozen still in fear as he finished what he had begun, surrounded only by the low volume of television coming from the next room. I only spoke once and that was to be excused to go to the toilet. I cried.
Strangely he allowed Ken to ring his natural father right after this and Ken's dad was fuming mad, being fully aware what this man was capable of. Ken also had been subjected to this deviant in the past. His father turned up within minutes and a short violent conversation was had between Ken's dad and the old man out of our earshot, then we left and were driven back to Ken's fathers house. It didn't take long before Mom and Dad were rung and within an hour or so we were both taking baths at home, pyjamad then readied for bed. We both were in a whole lot of trouble, missing for two days without a word and found with stolen property on us. Not much was said that night, the silence unbearable. I had never spoken of this encounter to anyone until now.
These events touched my life on a daily basis reliving my past with nightmares and the scourge of others that knew something of what had happened in my life. Even now as a mature adult and in Christian influenced circles I am still shunned as if my past has a promiscuous effect on me today. Jesus said to the pharisees on one occasion of scripture in the gospel of John, "if you can't believe that I am of the Father, then believe in the works that I do" Jesus had done nothing to disprove His righteousness, holiness and obedience to God. Even after all these years people who know me don't want to believe in the works I do, the way I live, instead have my secrets in their minds waiting for me to relapse into this horrific past life. As Christians we tend to keep people in boxes containing them in our tiny minds rather than growing them in love open heartedly. Why? The effects of our pasts are life long and you can never forget, if only! The reminders are there for a reason, to prevent you from repeating history, going against God and His ways. We have all been subject to one thing or another but its easier to cast stones and point out another's sin rather than face up to your own. This is the sin in my past life which you can see, but what is there hidden in the lives of others which no one can see. The bible tells us clearly that whatever has been kept in secret will be revealed. Luke 12:2 But there is nothing which has been completely concealed which will not be uncovered, nor hidden which will not be known.
I have struggled with my issues for years and dealt with so much only to have the resolved thrown back up at me by judgmental hypocrites. What gives them the right to uncover what the blood of Jesus has already covered? God allows certain things to happen in our lives for the greater purpose and then there are things which God does not allow and will intervene. I don't understand why I suffered so much as a child but what I do know is He was with me all the while and comforted me and guided me to Him. God's purpose was not to have me assaulted and tormented, no that was sin at work in someone else's life which effected and impacted on me as a result of the choices they made, which by the way will be held accountable by either the governing bodies here on earth or by God in His final judgment. No, God's purpose has always been to unite all of mankind to Him and in my desperation and despair He was the only one who could help, heal and change me. Now its my turn to reveal Him and His great healing power to others. The cause and effect scenario. God has the power to remove sin and its effects on us and on our futures. Future generation have been changed because I chose to stay and fight for them. There are no other Christians in my family. I am the first! and I will not be the last.
I had left the likes of Stephen and others like him behind at the age of ten when I went to live with my grandmother and sister. But the urges of habitual gratifications had followed me. For a time these dwindled into nothing but memories of the familiar moments of infatuate experiences nothing more, nothing less. The next few years seemed to coast along without incident to my relief but all the while nursing an injured esteem and protecting my contemptuous secret. Buried deep in the recesses of my mind were the decaying bodies of unwanted recollections which permeated my soul with the foul stench of immoral lusts. Corpses of shame and guilt ridden regrets were occasionally illuminated by conscience only to further expose iniquitous skeletons which at times were rattled by abusive triggers. Would I ever be free of these agonizing visions and abhorrent souvenirs, I needed an escape, an out, a life of regular exceptions. Alone in an empty apartment at thirteen I was again touched by further abuse. Now living in the inner city of Sydney with an absent mother who went about her own life, a new neighbor moved into the building awaiting his family to arrive from overseas. I was lured under false pretenses by him, how naive and vulnerable was I to think that a lonely married man would not do such a thing to a young boy. Did these occurrences really exist amongst adult males, how rampant was this? He offered me friendship and we walked together around to the local laundromat to play a few games of pool as his washing finished its cycle. The winner has to massage the loser, he said. Instantly I felt cornered but had laughed off the insane wisecrack as paranoia. Later he insisted it was no joke and was fully intent on going through with the deal. He tried to lose the game but I was not a great pool player and therefore was defeated. When we had arrived back at our building I found it hard to refuse the offer of going inside, so I went in. He again spoke of the massage and as the loser I was to be receive a full back rub. Afraid but believing that it would end there I went along with it. I had removed my shirt at his request and lay on the bed, but only then did I realize this was going to go beyond the back rub as he lowered my pants to look at my underwear size and quipped a remark about them, as if to test the waters and see if there would be any objection. His intentions were no longer obscure! It was the final assault on me as a child and I never saw him again. It was a month or so later when I noticed his wife and baby had arrived, I never spoke a word to them or to him. I avoided them like the plague. I felt so foolish, I was so disturbed by the event that I even begged him not to tell my mother what had happened for fear of her further rejection and repulsion of me. I was so blinded by the deceptions that surround abuse, guilt shame etc, that I never recognised that it was he who was the condemnable one, the erroneous one. I was so plagued and shackled by the lie the abuse bewitched upon me, I honestly conceptualised that I had been the seductive one. A young mind can be so easily manipulated into coercion of limitless bounds, for the devil refines lies until they resemble the truth.

The Cycle of Abuse - part 2

Camouflaged within society and socially repugnant

By the age of ten plagued in my conscience by the impure transgressions, these now had eroded my natural responses to the point of willful lusts. The whole course and the natural order of things had been altered and eradicated so there was no real hope in such a young mind or heart to ever return to the natural course of perusing wonderful pre-teen ideals and impulses and the natural desire to engage in the courtship and chase of true love. I had been fortunate enough to engage in a mutual infatuation with the pastor's daughter, Jillian. We flirted with one another and I longed for the weekends to come around that I might see her again. My school ruler and pencil case had her name scribed into them and she filled my awaking thoughts for almost what seemed to be a couple of years. At church we ran and hid together, the smell of the heavily scented jasmine bushes filled the summer night air and her hair swayed as we ran and tagged one another in joyful games around the jasmine. We held hands as no one looked and stole gentle kisses from one another when no one was about. It was evident the fondness we felt for one another which had also been noticed by several adults and parents. Totally innocent childhood crushes, she was my first sweetheart and a new love filled my being. I never knew love came in different forms but this was gentle and pure like the air we breathed. Breathtaking and tingly, I was in love, puppy love. The boys of the home teased me continually of this flirty romance but I didn't care she was beautiful to me and it never mattered to me who knew. She was blessed with a slender young form and long black hair, such a quiet beauty and her smile engrossed me. Gentle and elegant was her demeanor and her name Jillian was so beautiful to say, it rolled off my tongue with ease and captured the very essence of who she was. Ah! Jillian....
Our eyes searched for one another across rooms when attending church functions and on picnics we secretly found one another and held hands. At other social gatherings we both anxiously awaited the moments until we could see each other and be alone. This was perfect and untainted, I have always cherished those times I had with her. I was rich to have experienced her love, and to be special in her eyes, I had forgotten about my pain, my mother and the issues of abandonment when I was with her.
Disastrously for me though, after many times of subjected abuse, signals became crossed and disorientation messed up the finer details of puberty for me. Whenever I wanted to engage in the pursuit of crushes and romance, the suggestions of what was beautiful were now being overridden, manipulating me and controlling me to advance toward something else, an attraction to the very same which caused my grief my pain and my agony. I'd been robbed and denied the right to participate in the normal aspirations and impulses of male puberty. My orientation had become broken and mistaken. Romance was no longer eligible but merely satisfying an unnatural desire became habitual.
Misery became my friend as I watched my mates zealously engage in the natural order of their youth. I so wanted the same and to be the just like them but the attraction wasn't there. So there I stayed on the outer edge watching on from afar not participating in the likes of puppy love or light crushes that I had once known, nor tingling senses and the appreciation of God's creation, the building block that the average boy takes for granted. Sure, I could see with my eyes but not with my inner senses or emotions any longer, its like eating ice cream but tasting mashed potato missing the whole taste, textures, flavor and exhilarating appeal. I could see the beauty but never really experience it again for myself.
I quickly learned how to cover up and lie, how to avoid and manufacture. I talked the talk to protect my secrets, the things that riddled me with a gangrenous mind. I was camouflaged within society and socially repugnant. My life was empty and distorted by the abuses of my childhood and my future looked very dim.
I resisted and refrained these demented desires, it wasn't the life I sought or would allow for myself. The struggle for survival was tough. I wrestled constantly with my conscience, the torment sometimes was over bearing and depleted my soul of all hope to be like everyone else. No one would understand the turmoil within if I'd spoken of it. I felt alone and to be rejected yet again for something else in my life was now a reality and the thought of being exposed and ridiculed plus the humiliation then isolation could all but destroy me. After all I was still a child, sexually naïve but awoken to the realm of sex, attraction and fast becoming an addiction. Too young to be aware of this facet of life, yet now at a meager age well experienced in insatiable pleasures. Polluted and disdained I really never gave any one else the opportunity to reject me or get too close, a facade of shyness and meekness embodied me as I had been gutted of who I could have been and in place, I ensured that I would reject first and keep at bay all who wanted to know me.
Some of those who were attracted to me I let in. But only through my own promiscuity and arousal of investigative eroticism. An infant was left to cope with this shattered life alone bent down in the dirt reconfiguring the fragile pieces of a life left askew. He was thrown into array, directly without choice and had to grow beyond his years to battle this archaic ritualism of abuse.
Even now such shame and guilt still swamp me and surround me. My chest pounds in fear at the thought of loved ones reading my inner thoughts and troubled past. But when all is said and done, I need to explain myself for this life is short and the next eternal. Maybe somehow others may understand what goes through the minds of those caught in the sadistic cycle of abusive behaviours. Those who cannot wrought a life out of the fragile pieces left but rather continue on into the paths of ruin, destroying the lives of so many others through the consuming lust which has infiltrated their own lives. Escape is not a reality but confrontation is solution solely. Options are few, choices are fewer but devastation is yours, all yours.
The school yard was the devils playground filled with incessant behaviours of cruelty, bullying and sexual awareness. Negotiations were not a part of the marauding hordes in this prison yard of raging hormones and poorly thought out insults. Attacks came from every angle with only two or three loyal friends who would watch you from three paces behind as you took the berate of foul language and disgust at your mere presence. Without even knowing you or your life, you hair, shoes, lack of sporting abilities and friends would come under such scrutiny. Feeble and incompetent were your mates in these attacks nevertheless they stood by you through a loyalty beyond their years, then with a slight knock to the shoulder from their own as you wandered off together somehow brought a little comfort. Silence and moving on was the only formula of sustaining life within the walls and boundary's of the educational nightmare. I wondered was I wearing some huge label, could they see right through me? I am still amazed at how some people especially peers can sense what you have been adverse to or presume what you may be without the slightest of notions or inclination. Why do some suppose to nominate you a homosexual whilst others have no inclining of your past. Not that I would ever identify myself as homosexual or display flamboyant gestures but rather caught in a conflict and opposed to that nagging obsession of what had now shaped me from the abuse I endured as a child. Yes, although I participated in unnatural acts under the guise of habitual satisfaction as a young teen on rare occasions, the disdain which followed allowed me the luxury to persist in the resolve of always demanding a solution to overriding this horrendous burden and striving towards a normal godly life.
You see Jesus was preached to me as a child in the very same home I stomached these vile abuses and the rights and wrongs in a moral society were conveyed, but as the decay of such things perpetuated over time, so have the laws and obligations of humanistic ideals and values changed. For me as a Christian homosexuality is sin, according to the word of God by which I live, this was taught to me at a very young age. Hence the repulsion to live such a lifestyle even though being introduced to it so young. Diversion and distraction is the ploy of the enemy. Corruption is the easiest way to down a person. I have taught my family that the devil has schemes for each and every person to lead them into doing and performing his agenda, that is to destroy lives but God has a plan for your life, a map and a guide to lead you not by force, but simply to a better and successful life, a life mapped by God. A future of promise in a perfect world, whether or not it is in our lives only here on earth by simply living right, it's worth the struggle and fight to see that future generations hold onto what has been passed down. Purity, love, righteousness and truth. These are the ideals I value and which society are lacking today, the very same of which today's generation are eliminating.
I didn't want to live a corrupt lifestyle in disobedience to God and His natural order but rather keep what is pure and for my now family that they in turn would pass on to their children the ideals and values that I live by. How else can we keep a planet of debauchery and decay at bay? We need to fight against the evils and overcome them, even with a spoiled past we can change the future through our present choices.

The Cycle of Abuse - part 1

WARNING: SOME READERS MAY FIND THE FOLLOWING CONTENT DISTURBING

With no episiotomy her vagina tore open and my head emerged in a bloodied mass onto the white hospital bed sheet. 5:40am on a hot summer's morning my mother gave birth to a 10lb 4oz boy child. With her final scream and bearing down my shoulders pushed past flesh, blood and mucus, my torso and legs then slipped out into the world, an impure world an infected society of moral corruption, a planet of sin.
The bathroom was outdoors as an add on to the old brick and mortar house built in around the 1930's. Now the late 60's housing it's original stained glass windows in white timber frames, the house sat on a busy street in the southern suburbs of Sydney. From memory a narrow passage down the right side of the house led to the backyard. I remember often pulling up home grown potatoes and cutting rhubarb storks from fertile soil in a garden bed down the often shadowed passage way, the rhubarb then stewed into a syrupy dessert for all fourteen of us boys who lived in the house.
Every Saturday morning was job day which rotated weekly so that there were a variety in the chores which had been laid out for us boys to maintain.
I was on cleaning the outside bathroom this particular day with another boy Stephen who I can't ever remember interacting with before this. It was my first job ever! I was to clean the sink and bath tub with a powder cleanser of some type contained in a tall cylindrical shaped canister with holes punched in the metal top for the agent to dispense from and then mop the floors. I remember standing there that morning nearest the sink where immediately behind me from where I stood was an old large door to the bathroom, dark green I think, with paint peeling and an old loose brass door knob that rattled and a keyhole that you could see straight through to the outside if you were laying down in the tub, the door was open that morning. Outside of the door an enclosed passage way which led to the back door of the house which also housed an outside toilet, a number of hooks which hung on the wall as a coat rack for us children where we hung our bright yellow plastic raincoats and placed our gum boots underneath.
I remember well one of the older boys Richard had picked up his raincoat from the rack before school one rainy day and as he placed his arm through the sleeve he wailed so loud, we ran to him in shock and saw the largest cricket ever seen in my life emerge on his arm with its coarse legs and feet gripping him firmly. Well he danced and cried both at the same time as the cricket kept its grip, but then it leapt for it's life at the shock of either Richard's dancing or the pitch of his cry. We all ran away as fast as we could and laughed aloud at the sight but never gave this prehistoric looking insect a chance to reach any of us.

Early that Saturday morning as Stephen and I began cleaning, I noticed he was right behind me teaching me the ropes, cleaning the sink. The events which followed would undoubtedly change my life forever, not as a high tide would erode a cliff face over time or like a sapling would eventually over shadow the earth, it's roots bulging out of the dry ground never releasing it's grip of soil and clay and it's branches spread wide but as an avalanche would collide down a mountain face consuming and devouring everything in it's path within seconds and then laying everything which it took on it's sudden escape to the bottom of the huge mountain and again then rest as if nothing at all had taken place, almost as if unnoticed, silent the mountain would stand still again!
Stephen pushed behind me hard rubbing himself up against the back of me he pushed hard which I thought was rather unusual but then an image which I will never forget was Stephen's shorts being pulled down along with his underpants standing in front of me now with his penis erect.
His first words to me that day that I can recall were "suck me", "put this in your mouth". Although he spoke in English and I could hear his words, I had no idea at the age of five what he meant or what he wanted me to do. I was confused not in shock but confused. What was this? what was happening? It felt wrong, I felt very uncomfortable and unable to speak, a little intrigued as to where this was leading and at what was going to happen, all the time frightened, fearful and alone.
Irrespective of age I suddenly knew pungent and dreadful immorality in my heart. My senses then manifested fear although not identifying it immediately as fear. Fear of what he could do to me as his approach was intimidating and violent. As It took some time to comply with his request I threw up into the sink and that gave him a sense of satisfaction that at least I had touched him with my lips. He then groped me and tugged at my pants removing them below my knees and pushing himself against me. Thrusting and almost falling over he held me against my will tightly continuing until he had finished.
No sooner had this ordeal begun it was over, disgust and shame, guilt and fear were now mine. I owned this and the more I dwelt on it the more it became mine. He didn't give it to me, no took it from the experience and encountered it every time I thought of it or saw him. These feelings clung to me like death to a corpse.
Smell has an incredibly powerful way of reminding us of familiar events and can land us right in the very same passage of time once lived before in the past. It takes us through time and space in a second! Vibrantly alert aware of every sense, emotion and detail of where we have all once been, we are able to conjure up a moment and relive it, like an outer body experience but in the very soul of our being. Caught in a huge trance like state then only to be awakened suddenly by shock and disdain or to be gently awoken by the seduction of it's beauty, depending on the moment relived and recaptured.
Strangely I had never spoken of this to anyone and kept it to myself. Over time this encounter repeated itself in different forms and in different rooms of that house. Many attempts were made and I managed to escape his clutches and evil intent. It seemed now though as it had happened once I had also become the prey of others as if I had a label upon me exhibiting "here is an easy target". I had become victim to others without the suggestion of being another's prey before them. I think that they can somehow sense or pick up on your sexual physicality or vulnerability. Meaning that you have now been activated to an improper promiscuity in this realm and others sense it. I along with others had become the play things of elder boys and even experimental partners for the promiscuous at school or even whilst on church camps. Over time resistance became less and shockingly even had now become a source of comfort for me with those whom I had chosen to allow. It was contact! and I felt in a unhealthy reach loved and needed. It brought others pleasure and therefore made me significant.

Ten Pin Bowling - my style

We decided to go bowling over the weekend with the kids and their mates, the youth group and so on. I knew that it would be a long affair and I thought I would leave the kids do their thing! So I came prepared-with my laptop and one of my favourite movies "The Bourne Identity"

Amused I think would be the word as passer by's looked on along with the youth. Well why not with their pins and balls, strikes and random cheers of glory it all mingled with the screams and screeches of tyres the roar of wound out car engines, gunfire and the ricochet of bullets. The bloodied fists of Matt Damon escaping the clutches of those rogue agent sleepers. There's nothing like a good killing down at the local bowling lanes.....Oh! and a good burger and fries with that!

By the way, that's not my bag in the photo that's Linda's, she was doing card making....you think I'm nuts......

A Country Holiday - Part 2

We had so much fun together on holidays no matter where we went, the larger the number of us the better it was. Swimming down at the fresh water creek was a real treat escaping the heat of the day onto the cool gravel banks which were lined with willows and other gums. Swinging and jumping into the rippled water off ropes and splashing about was an afternoon well spent. Bathing in rubber ring inner tubes and playing tag, watching mom and dad sharing a moment together while mom adorned in her yellow floral bathing cap and dad with his handkerchief with the corners tied into small knots so as to cover his head and protect it from the harsh sun was a memory we all share. At one point that summer afternoon dad had yelled for us all to hurry out of the water! Once out we looked back into the yellow stained creek and saw a long thin water snake winding its way down stream. Skimming and winding its way across the surface with its head just above the water where we had just been swimming. This may have been lethal for one of us, they are very deadly. Land snakes were also very common for this country, red belly blacks, browns and even the odd green tree snake was seen hanging in the trees which we climbed. But the cool evenings were always my favorite as the sun set and the deep blues and purples rose above the horizon with the slightest twinkling of the first star appearing in the deepest blue sky. The silhouette of the now black hills and the golden and rust sunset settled down low. Stars emerged and gained brightness the longer I stayed and watched. I loved the cool gentle evening breezes the slight rustle of the leafy trees which were now absent from the light but the solitude and sounds made you fully aware of what was now hidden in the shadows. The night sky was immense out in the country with planets visible and celestial bodies above the crisp night air and I felt ALIVE!
Glorious is this creation above me I am so minuscule in the equation of things, small and insignificant in the greater picture. The colors of stars were more than diamond blue, but now diamond white with red and green jewels packing the heavens. Clusters and bunches, singulars and double stars all sparkled with life and filled the deep blanket of space above me. My memory for such things is sharp and the aromas of life still preoccupy my senses. The aroma of fresh culled lamb being roasted on a fire stove mingled with smoke racing up the chimney stack was deliciously pungent along with the hot crusty bread and potato's. The strong smell of cattle and manure from the earthy farm is not an unpleasant odor as it reminds me of happier times and the fondness for my surrogate family. The dusty dirt mixed with the dryness of the heat reflects upon times spent in open paddocks surrounded by sheep and the rancid odor of their soiled fleece. But never the less this was a time of youthful experiences growing up in a time of innocence and raw country.
Early morning would come upon us ever so quickly with the new day birthing itself through open windows and shadows disappearing. Dew covered webs were exposed between fences and tall weeds, glistening in the daylight. The echo of moans from cows and the slight bark of a distant dog was heard in the stillness of the country. Breathe in, breathe out ah that fresh morning air would hit your lungs like pure oxygen racing down a shaft. Breakfast was mayhem in that little cottage the ruckus of hungry men devouring every crumb of hot buttery toast and gulping down pints of fresh milk with the clatter of dishes and the mad dash to fly out of those barn doors stampeding off to various principalities of the farm to continue yesterdays adventure were all part of the morning ceremonial dance. As the day warmed the chorus of cicadas hummed loudly from the canopy above and we traipsed down dirt tracks and through the bush with the crunch of dry grass and sticks under foot. Grass hoppers leapt out of our way clinging to tall grasses and the odd rabbit scurried down brittle mud holes.


The families were out together on this particular day and we were given a crash course in what to do if we marched upon a sun bathed snake in the brush. Stop and signal! Do not run! and don't panic but call or whistle then we will get to you, so with this is mind we went off to search out firewood for the fire ovens and stove. Collecting was made easier for the farm houses with so many of us out scouring unitedly putting together bundles of kindling and piling up short logs and broken stumps. We had headed out into several directions and within minutes screams filled the bush! Yes it was me. I could hear don't panic and don't run! but run was all I could do. I had stumbled into the bush by myself when I stood upon a fallen limb from a gum tree to see if I could spot everyone else. As I stretched my gaze I was assaulted by a whole nest of hornets which they had built within the fallen log. I had stood smack bang on top of them unaware. There was no warning or humming noises to my recollection. Next I felt powerful mighty stings come from those yellow insects. I ran to escape them but they followed ferociously stinging me all over. My legs were covered with what looked like hives and my neck, face and ears were all victims of the indiscriminate attack. I think mom was the first to get to me and she had picked me up and huddled me into the cab of the truck in which we had traveled to collect the wood. Sobbing with fright and crying from discomfort all had come to see what the hoo-hah was. Disillusioned they left after peering in at me to carry out their task of collecting wood with no great tale to tell of the snake that had attacked one of us, what an anticlimax to what could have gone down into the chronicles of the Children's home.
With our holiday now winding down the mood was a little somber with packing slowly and other menial duties to perform we started to say our goodbyes and let our true feelings show. We were all going to miss this place and the newly developed friendships we had established with this family we had come to know and love. Shane one of the boys around my age, my best friend shared his first kiss with the farmers daughter. Tiny green frogs we had collected now had to be let go although some never made it as we had hidden some under our beds inside a monopoly board game only to find the next morning they had dried out like peas and obviously died. Dad and his two natural sons shared time with each other bonding while restoring an old yellow rusted out jalopy which sat motionless on the side of the dirt track to the farm house. We rode around the paddocks in that car with plumes of smoke trailing behind filling the air along with our laughter.
Horses were ridden one of which had bitten Stephen on the back and well deserved I thought for his mistreatment of so many creatures. Bunnies caught in traps squealed as their last breath was knocked out of them with a final lethal blow. Hiding in lofts, watching lambs culled and night spotting kangaroo were all practises of devout and antiquated farm life we had come to know.

Mesmerised in reflection as the drive home was long, we all sat silently staring through the dust stained glass into the horizon as shadowy blurs passed us by, wondering! what was happening at this very moment on the farm which had seduced us so swiftly and whilst not even bringing back so much as one single memento but instead rich memories and the dust left on the soles of our shoes. The farm has become a cherished memory deep in the annuals of my mind, sacred and unchanged.

The End.

Rinaldo

A Country Holiday - Part 1

Uralla - Armidale, NSW

The thought of going on holidays always filled me with high spirits and excitement, the anticipation was unbearable like that of youthful Christmas eve's, and waiting up to catch a glimpse of Santa Claus. The night before leaving we hardly slept, the air was filled with a commotion of whispers bags were packed, fishing rods out, tents lined up and the clothes to be worn the next day were laid out ready to slip into at 4:00am the next morning. "Check the batteries in your torches boys" Dad said to us all before hitting the hay. These were the summer holidays and we always had such great adventures wherever we went. If it wasn't camping on a river with canoes and fishing it was to the farm with trapping rabbits, shooting and riding horses. Sometimes it was a holiday house at the beach on the mid north central coast where we would swim, play cricket and run down sand dunes for two weeks. There were fourteen of us boys in total and never a dull moment had. We ranged in age from 20 years down to the youngest, 7, that was me. Two vehicles were packed and loaded and one with a trailer hitched the day before leaving. Early in the crisp quiet morning everyone was woken and piled into the vehicles and I was the last to be woken only to be ushered into the back of the little blue ford station wagon and laid down on my sleeping bag where I continued to sleep whilst traveling north to Uralla, outside Armidale, NSW. Farm country! Bush, dust, heat, plains, hills, creeks, cattle and flies! millions of flies.
Mom and Dad were fortunate enough to know someone who knew someone else that would rent out this small farmhouse on their huge property. Their names now slip my memory but they also had their own dwelling which housed the young family of five, with two boys around 10 or 12 and the youngest a girl of around 7 or 8.
The trip started out in what seemed the black of night, but in reality was around 4:00am but not far into the trip the sun dawned appearing with its blazing light shining directly upon us and square into our eyes. It was brilliant! The day was fresh and now stirring, we full of yawns and waking now sitting upright in our seats were headed for adventure.
We traveled along the main roads and highways that passed through toll gates on route. Coins were readied to be thrown into the basket at the toll booth so that the red light could change to green giving us the all clear to proceed on our way. Mom was driving the wagon on this occasion and the toll gates were dead ahead. Her speed never seemed to alter as we approached the light at the toll booth with the lowered boom gate. I could hear the fumbling for change as us boys stared at the boom gate wide eyed as we seemed to approach quicker and quicker! MOM we yelled! slow down, you have to slow right down and put the money in the basket! but Mom so casually kept going without even braking, whether she was nave or just gutsy I don't know but we all groped for the roof, the sides of the car, the dash whatever we could as Mom ran the red, she tossed the coins out of the window and they tumbled and crashed into the basket then making their way down to the bottom, she planted her foot just as the boom lifted in time. All this happened without Mom ever applying the brakes. We sailed through with not so much as a blink from Mom as we just sat there stunned with dropped jaws and bulged eyes.........well! this is how I remember it anyway. She let out a laugh and her grin was from ear to ear like a cat chuffed with itself after escaping with its ninth life, we were speechless. What at first seemed like a huge kerfuffle turned out to be one of the coolest things Mom ever did, we all laughed and thought how groovy Mom was. Where did she learn to drive like that? She must have seen it at the movies, where else?
The drive was long and dry but we had finally arrived turning onto the long dusty road that afternoon which would wind us through to the farm house. Through open yellow paddocks and cattle grids, and through the opening and closing of rusted old gates, we were on the open acres of their property. Rusted barbed wire fences with rickety tree stumps used as posts lined the dusty long track all the way through the dry bush. Flies buzzed around the windows as dirt smeared them and visibility was poor from the cloud of dust settling from the vehicle in front of us. I recall the long track as it was well traveled by us all which led out to the main road, it was the only way in and the only way out. The baker would come each morning and leave hot fresh loaves of bread in the mail box situated at the beginning of the drive. They were wrapped in open ended thin paper and we would ride the farms motor bike down the long road to pick them up. It was way to far to walk too. The aroma of that crusty bread still remains with me and the large thick slices with peanut butter spread across them were more than delicious. Lambs running in the paddocks and cattle roaming, dogs rounding up strays with whistles from the master were all a part of farm life here. I remember the fresh milk and the pale cream which sat beneath the bubbly froth collected in those metal buckets. Scones were made fresh with the milk from those early morning milking's and whipped butter smeared across those warm yellow cakes served right out of the hot oven with fresh cream and home made preserves. The smell of the wood fire oven even in the heat of summer was sensational, the small chimney stack on the iron roof was so charming in the setting of draped willows which surrounded the little farm house and sheltered it from the scorching summer heat. The cool breeze pushed the old tyre swing under the large tree nearest the house whilst we all ran about playing near the wooden veranda which swept all the way round the old quaint cottage. Cool lemonade was served for afternoon tea with those delicious scones and cake while the dogs lie in the shade tied by long rope to the heavy old machinery lying about in the tall grass.

For us boys fourteen in all, exploring for the first couple of days was the immediate plan of action with barns and wool sheds, dams and bush to conquer. This saw us through as mom and dad needed wind down time after the long haul to the country and several months of the getting us off to school, checking homework, cooking and cleaning, driving us to boys brigade to church and other social functions. Teacher parents interviews, kisses and cuddles, tucking us all in at night, saying prayers with us all morning and night then entertaining us with comical antidotes from their travels from England to Australia on the cruise ship the Oriana and the war stories of the bombing raids upon great Britain during the second world war. All these things took place while Dad held down full time work at the local technical teaching college. He repaired the family cars at home on weekends, worked on hobbies we undertook and could not finish without his help, fixed bikes, took us all water skiing or fishing but also had the infamous task of disciplining us boys with our quivering bare bottoms staring up at him right in the eye waiting for the spanking of a lifetime. It must have been as traumatic for him as it was for us staring at all those bottoms over the years, any wonder his hair curled and eventually fell out. Dads favorite word was Taboo! If we weren't to touch or do something it was always referred to as TABOO! Dad had a unique and apt way of gathering us all together on outings if we had wandered off too far or too long or simply when we needed to head off again. He would whistle! but not just any old whistle. He would cup both hands together with a hollow center in between his palms then put his cupped hands to his lips and blow through a small gap between his thumbs, we could hear it from afar. It was so distinct we all knew it well and we would come a running to that sound he was famous for.

The weeks passed by so quickly whilst on holiday and there was never a dull moment. The hours in the day never seemed quite long enough, we filled them to capacity with so much living. We rode horses and went rabbit trapping, shooting kangaroos in the wild and caught small green frogs placing them in glass jars with small holes punched into the lids and trapped tadpoles with buckets down at the dam. Nestled up in the trees we had nailed potato sacks from the farm across branches and lay around in them watching the long property views and spying on those who would walk by underneath in stealth. Looking back it was a little foolish laying high in the lofty branches but what did we know? just as well we were slender boys who actively worked off every calorie with hard play. We'd help out on the property by picking apricots and eating our fill of them whist doing so, gathering wood and helping with other chores around the place. There's some old footage somewhere of dad and I riding a motorbike which belonged on the farm. Dad left a trail of dust behind him as he rode down the dusty track towards the old 8mm camera up by the farm house we all stayed in. He looked as though he was riding solo until in the last few frames you could see my thin arms straining to gather around his waist and then the terrified look upon my face came into view as we both rode past the camera. One day we boys asked mom for chocolate as we were all hankering for something sweet, but none was to be found. Mom then realized that she had packed some chocolate laxatives, boxes of the stuff. Why she ever had thought to bring so much with her we will never know but she had thought what would it hurt if she gave it to us. It would do us all good to be cleaned out I guess! she must have thought. So she gave the chocolate laxatives to us......a whole box each!! We woofed it down so fast at the thought of that delicious silky chocolate not knowing what lay in wait for us all. Well may I just add at this point that there was only one thunder box for sixteen people! and not to near the farmhouse, for sanitation reasons of course! It consisted of a metal bucket underneath the roughly made timber seat which had to be emptied into a pit every time it was full. Flies buzzed about ferociously banging into the walls and our faces like blinded swarms of bats escaping daylight for the cover of darkness.
Well what a fiasco...within the first 20 minutes or so the grumble of tummy's began and the pains of swamped bowels started to show on our small faces or should I say the pipes started to moan and the mad dash towards the thunder box was on. It was the survival of the fittest when all fourteen boys needed to go at once. We danced about like natives on hot coals, choreographed like blinded drunks and nothing that you've ever seen before, running about like chook's with heads cut off banging into one another as we escaped through the fly wire screen door hands covering our bottoms as if trying to hold back the forces of nature in vain and anything that might want to suddenly escape. Some dashed behind trees some made it to the toilet and others ran into the paddocks. For the rest I don't know or wish to remember but all I know is that the pit needed filling in twice before our holiday was over.....

Rinaldo

Ruhamah—‘The ones I love.’

Hosea the prophet of the old testament was told by God to marry Gomer a prostitute, to illustrate how Israel has acted like a prostitute by turning against the LORD and worshiping other gods."

So Gomer the wife of Hosea became pregnant a second time and this time gave birth to a daughter. And the LORD said to Hosea, "Name your daughter Lo-ruhamah—'Not loved'—for I will no longer show love to the people of Israel or forgive them.

This was the name of the Baptist children's home I grew up in as a child. Born of no particular royalty or blood line or to any great future or call I existed along with all those other children who entered through the doors of that house. At the tender age of five I still remember the day my hand was let go and I entered into Ruhamah. The years passed and many of the children did not have parents or relatives visit them only I, one of 14 had regular visits from my natural birth mother every six weeks or so as she worked shifts. I would count down the days with such joyfulness and could barely contain the excitement within my tiny frame. My chest pounded and my heart ached at the thought of my visit now only hours away.

In the vestibule of the children's home sat on old black telephone on a stand surrounded with books and other papers and a silver shiny number dial. The hand piece was big and cumbersome and looked as though it had come out of televisions "Get Smart" episodes. I watched that phone from Thursday night through to Saturday morning hoping and begging for it not to ring. I knew that if that phone would ring, it would be my mother to cancel her visit. This happened often which crushed me. How a child ever recovers from this I don't know, the continual breaking of spirit and heart for me was a very painful thing to overcome and bear. I would have to wait a whole other six weeks and the countdown would start all over again. But I survived but can never forget the anguish and the distraught emotion which followed for weeks and years after.

But for others no one ever came! Mom and Dad of the home gave all the love they had but it was the Lord's love that we needed and His alone was the only love that could heal us.

The story does not end here for Israel knew their God to be a merciful God and He had promised that through their repentance and through God's great mercy towards them that they again would become His very own people whom He loved. Through unbelief some where broken off forever but for those who believed and who had obtained God's great mercy have now become known and named Ruhamah—‘The ones I love"

How merciful is our God, and His mercy has been demonstrated here to us boys who were the unloved but then became the loved by God! This children's home was no longer a house of the unloved but a sanctuary for "the ones God Loves"

My home today is know by its name "Hebron" which means a place of refuge, paradise and a place of peace. It is where the Lord dwells with us and we with Him. I do thank God for rescuing me and placing me in Ruhamah for its where I met my saviour, its where I was rescued and it's where I received mercy! and His LOVE....

Thanks Mom and Dad for your great love and sacrifice, I know you will hear those words "Well done good and faithful servants - enter into my rest"

Truly Thank you!

Rinaldo