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Here is a story I wrote to make a point:
Once upon a time, there was a happy little girl named Crystal. When Crystal was three, her loving parents left America and took her to live in another country. They told Crystal they had moved there to tell the people about Jesus. Crystal loved her parents, and she loved Jesus. Soon she also loved her new friends with brown skin, and she was glad that her family was there to tell them all about Jesus.
When Crystal was 6, and ready to start first grade, her parents explained to her that she was going to go to school at the mission base, which was a long way from the village of brown-skinned people where her parents lived. Crystal was sad and confused. But there were lots of other white boys and girls at the school. Lots of friends and playmates. Crystal and other little girls lived in a big dorm building. Uncle Joe and Aunt Nancy were the dorm parents. They became the people who parented Crystal most of the time, because she only saw her real parents on school breaks.
Crystal tried very hard to be good. She wanted her parents to be proud of her. Sometimes it was fun being at the school, and in the dorm. But sometimes it was scary. She was always afraid of getting in trouble. She didn't want to be spanked by Uncle Joe. She saw him get angry at some of the girls, heard him yell at them, watched him grab them by the arm and take them into another room, heard the swats from the paddle and their cries. So she tried very, very hard not to make Uncle Joe mad. Or Aunt Nancy. Or her teachers. Often at bedtime after the lights were out, Crystal shed silent tears of homesickness for her parents, her little brother, and her village friends. But she didn't tell her parents. She wanted to be a good girl for them. She loved them so much.
When Crystal was eight, Uncle Joe and Aunt Nancy went back to the States. They were replaced in the dorm by Uncle Jim and Aunt Sally. Aunt Sally was quiet and reserved. But Uncle Jim loved kids. He liked to wrestle with the girls, and they would pile all over him on the floor of the living room, giggling. Everyone wanted to be one of Uncle Jim's favorite girls, because they got special privileges, liking riding into town with him or staying up late after the other girls went to bed.
Crystal felt special when Uncle Jim spent time with her, helping her with her homework, or choosing her to be his partner at ping pong. Somewhere along the line, the special relationship turned into something Crystal didn't know how to define. She and Uncle Jim shared a special bond, he told her. The things that happened were their secrets. Because she was his favorite girl.
Crystal kept those secrets. She buried them deep. So deep she really didn't think about them much. Through Middle School. Into High School. In High School she was labeled a trouble maker. She snuck off with boys. She smoked, and drank beer, if she got the chance. She was suspended. That didn't reform her. In her senior year she was expelled from the mission school. Her parents took her back to the States on an early furlough, mortified. They weren't proud of her anymore. She wasn't their good girl.
Back in the States Crystal found the freedom she was looking for. She ran with a wild crowd and had a blast. She managed to graduate from high school, get a job, and chafing under her parents scrutiny, moved into an apartment with some of her new friends. Weekends were spent in a haze of excesses of all kinds. Crystal thought she was happy. Some of the time.
The years passed. Crystal went through a succession of jobs, relationships and locations. She was depressed and irritable. She had anxiety attacks, and sleep issues. There were nightmares and flashbacks. In her nightmares she was a little girl, hearing and feeling Uncle Jim's breath in her ear. She would awake shaking and crying. And have a few more drinks.
When she was in her thirties, Crystal heard through an MK friend that the mission was investigating reports of abuse at the school they'd both attended. With a sick, sick feeling in her stomach, Crystal made some inquiries, and learned that other women were reporting that they had been molested by Uncle Jim. So she wasn't the only one. Thinking about all this paralyzed Crystal to the point that she could not function, she got ill, and lost her job.
Eventually Crystal recovered enough that she decided if she wasn't the only girl Uncle Jim had hurt, she wanted to add her story to those of others, so that Uncle Jim could be brought to justice. He was an old man now, but she learned that he and Aunt Sally were still living in their home state.
Crystal drove seven hours to visit her parents. She tried to tell them about the investigation their former mission was conducting, and a little bit about what Uncle Jim had done to her. The conversation did not go well. It turned into a lecture about all the things Crystal was doing wrong, and a justification of the years Crystal's parents had spent in the mission and on the mission field. Crystal drove to a bar and got very, very drunk. She woke up in a stranger's apartment, went to her parents' house to pick up her bag, and drove back home, her head pounding and her heart racing. She was angry at her parents. She was angry at their mission. She was angry at God. She wished she was dead.
But Crystal picked herself up, yet again, and decided to contact the mission spokesperson about the investigation. The woman spoke in a kind voice, took down Crystal's contact information, and forwarded it to the head of the independent investigation. Within a few weeks, Crystal was sitting with three investigators who had flown in to speak with her. Her stomach was churning and she hadn't slept the night before. But she was determined to tell her story. If she could see some validation, and some justice, maybe she could move on with her life. Maybe the nightmares would stop. Maybe.
The investigators put her at ease. They were kind and professional. They were thorough. It was obvious they knew what they were doing. Slowly, with many tears, Crystal gave them all the information they asked for. She relived the most painful years of her life. It was agonizing, but four hours later, when she was done, she felt a huge weight had lifted off her shoulders. The investigators were so patient, and so understanding. They told her they believed her, and they confirmed that her story matched the stories of others who had been in Uncle Jim's dorm. When it was over, they hugged her, and thanked her for trusting them with the account of her abuse.
Crystal felt a hope she had not felt in years. She did not drink. She got a new job. She waited. She waited to hear that the investigation of her school was finished. She waited for a report on the findings of the investigators. She waited for justice. She waited for mission leaders who ignored reports of inappropriateness in Uncle Jim's dorm to be held accountable.
Months went by. Through the grapevine Crystal heard that a report about the abuse that she and other MKs suffered had been sent to the Executive Board of the mission. She waited to hear from the mission. Nothing. She waited to hear from the investigators. Nothing.
But they were so nice! They were so kind! She trusted them! They said they believed her! She told them everything!
Now she's feeling angry again. Betrayed again. No one will help her. She can't turn to her parents. There will just be another self-righteous sermon. What can she do? She is abandoned, once again. Abandoned by her parents. Abandoned by the mission. Abandoned by God.
Crystal drives to the liquor store.
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