The printed version of this eBook is the Fear to Courage book, ISBN-13: 9781596366244
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Scripture taken from the New American Standard Bible, Copyright 1960, 1962, 1963, 1968, 1971, 1972, 1973, 1975, 1977, 1995 by The Lockman Foundation. Used by permission.
Fear to Courage
Copyright 2013 God Crazy/Bella Publishing
Published by Aspire Press
An imprint of Hendrickson Publishing Group
Rose Publishing, LLC
P.O. Box 3473
Peabody, Massachusetts 01961-3473 USA
www.HendricksonPublishingGroup.com
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Fear
to
Courage
Kim Vastine
Paige Henderson
Sharon Kay Ball
The Freedom Series
Created by Michelle Borquez
This handy eBook...
- Guides you to examine the root of your fear and take the steps toward freedom.
- Uplifts and encourages you with a powerful story from Kim Vastine, a woman who was abused as a child and later learned to give her life to God.
- Includes questions for personal or Bible study use along with scripture passages and a space to journal.
The Authors
Kim Vastine was nearly crushed by the paralyzing fear, pain, and anger ingrained from a childhood full of unacknowledged abuse. She found her refuge and confidence in God, and then she founded Ambassador Alliance International (AAI), a ministry of justice and reconciliation for those who have no voice.
Paige Henderson is sought after nationally and internationally as a speaker who loves unlocking the passion in the hearts of women. Paige and her husband, Richard, founded Fellowship of the Sword Ministries [www.fellowshipofthesword.com].
Sharon Kay Ball , LPC-MHSP, is a licensed professional counselor and a mother to three children. In addition to her private practice, Sharon is a staff counselor at her church. Her own personal experience with suffering, the daily grind of single parenting, and counseling her clients has given Sharon tremendous compassion and insight for those dealing with lifes tragedies and trials.
Chapter 1
Kims Story
By Kim Vastine
For you have been my help, and in the shadow of your wings I will sing for joy. Psalm 63:7
The pounding of an impatient fist knocking on the wooden frame of our front door sounded relentless. It was one of those beautiful California days that had a tantalizing combination of warm sunshine and a cool breeze from the nearby bay of the Pacific Ocean. My mother had left the front door wide open so that the outside air could be welcomed in through the locked, screen door.
Feelings of dread grounded me to a frozen posture.
Hello, anyone home? Hello, Kim, are you here? The relentless knocking on the screen door jolted me out of my childhood afternoon reverie. Curiosity prompted me to skip from the patio through the house to see who was at the door. Upon reaching the front room, my eagerness was quickly replaced with a sickening panic as I recognized the figure of the man peering through the screen. He saw me, grinned from ear to ear, and his tone changed immediately to a sweet, syrupy drawl. Kim, honey, how are you? Let me in, okay?
Overwhelming feelings of dread grounded me to a frozen posture in the middle of the living room. Familiar fingers of fear began to tighten around my throat. I simply could not find my voice to utter a responsive word. My face felt hot and my stomach began to churn violently as the heat of shame surfaced. Sounding impatient now, Uncle Bucks voice grew stronger, Kim, honey, whats wrong? Come on now, let me in. I brought you something.
Then I heard the familiar sound behind me of my feisty little grandmother running from the garage. I felt the angry energy in her ample, yet agile, body as she raced around me to the front door. She began loudly berating the man whose face held no expression. How dare you show up at this house, you sucker! Get out of here now or I will call the police! Dont you ever show your face here again.
Uncle Buck stood there stunned. He quickly regained his composure, then looked past my grandmother at me. Kim, did you tell our special secret? How could you do that? You promised me ...
When I was a child, Uncle Buck was a friendly, distant relative in the family who occasionally stopped by to visit. I enjoyed the special attention and compliments he handed out to me like candy. It seemed that he really saw me. So when Uncle Buck had stopped by one day when mama was at work and I was alone, I was happy to see a familiar face. When he came inside the house and took me to my parents room to ask for a personal favor, I began to sense that something was wrong. But I was just a little girla good little girl. I could not tell an adult no.
I both admired and feared my abuser.
I hated what he made me do with him. Not just that time, but on other occasions too. Afterwards, he would give me the change in his pocket because I was such a good girl. I asked him to stop, but he ignored my tearful pleas and said he just could not help it. I came to despise being a good girl, but I also craved approval and attention.
After Uncle Buck started visiting me, my grandmother moved in with our family. She was my best friend, and my siblings and I thought we were the luckiest kids to have her with us for a while. She was a retired nurse and took great care of our scratches and bumps with warm hugs and bandages. Her pies and cinnamon rolls were the talk of the family.
I was only seven years old, but I kept Uncle Bucks and my secret. Like most children who are victims of abuse, I both admired and feared my abuser. I was ashamed and didnt want to get anyone in trouble. So when Grandma had demanded to know why I kept displaying signs of physical hurt and discomfort, I didnt admit a thing. She then marched me into the bedroom to see what was going on. It was obvious that I had been severely sexually abused. Terrified and confused, I confessed. I felt deep grief at exposing someone and was convinced it was my entire fault.
As a child, the agony and torment inside my body and mind were relentless. How could I have been so untrustworthy as to betray Uncle Buck? I had promised him I would never share our little secret. After my initial confession, my father reported it to the local district attorneys office. I dont remember anyone ever asking me for full details about what occurred with Uncle Buck. As a young girl, and later as a young woman, I certainly never offered to talk about it. Rather, our family pretended it never happened, even later when a sexually transmitted disease attacked my body. As bad as it was physically, emotionally it was worse. The cancerous tentacles of the secret were not excised and they found fertile soil to flourish in my heart and soul.
Our family life was a contradiction. There were days when we looked fairly normal. Other days, well, it felt like we lived in hell. Mama took us to church every Sunday morning. We also went on Sunday, Tuesday and Thursday nights, and attended endless revival meetings. Seasonally, my dad would go with us. Early on I discovered that I loved to sing, and people seemed to enjoy listening. Congregational and solo singing at church gave me a voice. It was a way for my heart to be heard and accepted. I sang soulfully and passionately. Music was a healing gateway; my voice gave me value. I sensed the Lord actually heard me and loved my song voice.
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