Sex. Abuse. Jesus. Poverty. Prostitution. Slam Poetry. Coulda killed me.

Dave & I saw these dudes perform today.  They are Gabe & Kirk of Kinetic Affect, masters of spoken word / slam poetry.

They were some kind of amazing.  Super deep.  Awesome.  Engaging, raw, challenging & over-the-top talented.

I was affected.

What struck me about their pieces was how real-life it was.  They spoke of their fathers’ abandonment, divorce, suicide, cancer and more.

In poetry!

In spoken word.

In unison! (sometimes)

In other words, they went there.

They took me somewhere with them.

I was affected.

I went there.

I sat and thought about some of my own drama: being an abuse victim.  A minority.  Poverty. The Detroit Ghetto.

I remembered how those issues made a 10-year-old-me, feel.

I remembered the many ways I felt my whole identity wrapping itself around the warped view that I had no worth.

Other than sexually, of course.

As Kinetic Affect did their thang, I remembered the moment I decided I was ready to commit to following Jesus.  It was a particularly sad moment, with me crying and snotting all over the place because that is what happens when I feel something.

And I feel things, a lot.

So there I was crying, snotting, feeling guilty, ashamed & buried under the heavy load of worthlessness telling Jesus that if he was worth his weight in gold -like he, um, claimed to be and all- that I would gladly follow him to the moon and back if he could do something about the aforementioned issues in my life.

He did.

Back to this morning… there I was remembering that time when I put Jesus to the test, and for the 1st time connecting that I still feel a bit unworthy, guilty & ashamed.

Ugh.

It’s been 14 doggone years.

One would think one would have made some progress on said issues.

It was a sad moment, but also a productive moment.

Why was it “productive” you ask?

Well, in short I think I know more clearly today what I need to bring to Jesus to ask him to heal me of.  I think I need to do a little crying and snotting –again– on behalf of my brand new issues.  Though the guilt and shame are the same feelings, the issues they stem from are now different.

Makes sense right?  A married 33-year-old is bound to face different regrets and fears then the immature, single 19 year old that cried and snotted her way to Jesus 14 years ago.

In addition to being sad, and productive it was also a good moment.

Why good?

I stand resolutely firm on the idea that I would not change my broken childhood -not even the severe sexual abuse I suffered for 8+ years at the hands of dear old Dad who wound up spending the rest of my childhood in prison for.

I wouldn’t even change that.

I realized anew today, through Kinetic Affect’s performance how much I STRONGLY IDENTIFY with the suffering of humanity and I’m glad.

Because of the mess that was my childhood, I see broken people and I “get them.”  And I watch people who had pretty great upbringings (you know the type, fairly normal people) and they don’t “get” us.

They just don’t get it.

I watch me get it, and I watch them aloof and I am so glad to be amongst the people in the world who have lived through hell.

I’m glad to stand in solidarity with the raped, with minorities, with the poor, with the hungry, with the wounded, with the beaten, with the outcast.

I’m really glad I’m one of those people who lived through something.  Who got through something(s) that could have killed me.

For example:

I don’t have to be the girl who never got drunk, or even buzzed. Ever.  (Still never tried beer –that “drink” is some kind of nasty)!  But I should have been.

I don’t have to be the girl whose never had an eating disorder (well, unless you count my inability to resist weekly, if not daily trips to McDonald’s). But I should have been.

I’m not a smoker.  Never been.  (Hello, cancer stick anyone?!?!)  But I should have been.

I’m still married.  Never been divorced. (But statistically speaking, I should be).  Never had an affair. (But I should have by now).  Never hit my husband with an object, though one time I’m pretty sure I threatened him with a fork.  He was smart enough to take cover until I calmed down.  And I think I may have punched him once, though I am almost certain he deserved it. The details on this are remarkably fuzzy…

I love my children dearly and I WILL NEVER RECOMMIT THE SAME FILTHY, NASTY CRIME my perverted father did to me.  Ever.

Yes, as I have admitted before, I do struggle with major depression issues and I do have a whole lotta anxiety and I do tend to blow through money like I’m Paris Hilton or something.  I have issues, about that I aint nevah lied!

But, I’m still here.  For the most part, I survived.  I’m surviving.

I still love Jesus, and I still believe without his hope and his healing and his hand and his kingdom coming to bear in my life I’d be one of the statistics up there: a drunk, a druggie, a depressed baby-Mama with multiple partners and or divorces to my name.

And so I am proudly a member of the “suffering,” and I wouldn’t trade any of my childhood to NOT understand what it’s like to be a woman and think of yourself as whore and a slut and a bitch and a good-for-nothing sex object.

I saw my Dad look at me that way.  I’ve seen a bezillion men look at me that way.  I know what it’s like to have someone address you as a whore without a saying a word to your face.  And I know the face that I get when that happens.  And I know what that face looks like when it’s worn on other women.  I know it.  I can’t describe it any other way.  I just know it.

I  know what their thinking and I know what it’s like.

And I’m still trying to figure out the best way to address it without being a big, giant weirdo.  Mostly, I want to give them a bear hug and tell them what they are worth…not just to me, but to God himself.

And that’s why I’m glad.

Because my suffering helps me to see people the way Jesus sees them: as people with intrinsic value who he deeply loves and cares for ESPECIALLY if they count themselves amongst the suffering.

Is this not who Jesus said (over and over and over again) that he loves, he values, he came to bring joy and peace for?

Doesn’t a prostitute —the one whose job is the oldest profession and oppression in human history— more clearly show who Jesus came to save than suburban housewives?

Please don’t be offended suburban housewives.  I’m sort of one myself.  Jesus loves you & I too.  The image of suburbia though is one of non-dependence on God, specifically those who may feel they have “no need” for a savior in Jesus.  In Jesus’ day he frequently rebuked the rich “suburban” religious leaders simply because they showed very little actions that reflected a true faith in God.  As a suburban housewife myself, I am often faced with this reality: how much am I actually trusting God?

The fact of the matter is: the prostitute -unlike the suburban housewife- is stuck in a VIOLENT form of oppression that -always has- broke Jesus’ heart.  He loves the suffering.

Jesus loves the suffering.  He loves the underdog.  Wants nothing more to see these women, these child sex slaves of today FREE.

So I do too.

That may not be possible were it not for a genuinely screwed up childhood.

Any spoken word | poetry group that can make you think ALL of this in just one performance deserves a lot of good snaps.

And perhaps a viewing of their performances on YouTube.

And better yet, buy a C.D.  So you can “go there” too…