I remember hardly anything about my early years until I was about seven years old. One night, at bedtime, Dad came to say goodnight to my sister and me. After we said our prayers, he turned out the lights and left-or so I thought. A while later he let out a scary yell, which frightened me terribly. Then he laughed. Apparently this scenario happened often, for I distinctly remember fearing that Dad was always in my room at night.
Dad's work took him out of the house for days on end, and when he was home on weekends we would all be afraid of him. He disciplined us heavily. He never hit us, but his verbal abuse sunk deep into our souls. And Dad drank a lot. He got ugly when he drank-slamming doors and verbally putting down my mom in very sarcastic ways.
Our family didn't know how to communicate. We never talked about our feelings. I could only talk with Mom, and we always tried to work out what was wrong with Dad. He was so "shut down" emotionally, and we blamed him for everything.
Dad and I loved each other, despite his faults and my fears. Part of me admired him. He had a lot of good qualities-when he wasn't drinking. He was clean and neat, always on time, and a man of his word. But he was also a perfectionist, and I lived under the constant fear of doing something wrong.
During the years before adolescence, I was a loner, except for one "special girl friend," which led to sexual attraction and exploration.
The most devastating times for me came during my early teens. The neighbor couple became my parents' weekend "drinking buddies." Dad started having an affair with the wife, which caused turmoil within our family. I felt betrayed and confused. I had loved this neighbor woman a lot, but I came to hate her. I had loved my dad, too, but also began hating him.
Then Dad's sexual advances began. No intercourse ever took place, but we did just about every other kind of sexual act. I was afraid of Dad, so I wouldn't speak up against what he was doing. Meanwhile, I was angry at my mom. Where is she? Why can't she figure out what Dad is doing to me? Who can help me? What can I do?
I felt so violated, both emotionally and physically, that I couldn't stand looking at Dad or even being in the same room with him.
During adolescence, homosexual feelings surfaced in me. I was filled with insecurity, not sure about who I was or what would happen in my life. I was detached from Mom, hated Dad, and wanted to hurt them both. So I felt justified in doing whatever I wanted-including the pursuit of a lesbian relationship.
The first one lasted nine years. In that time, I drank heavily and also took "recreational" drugs. I knew something was wrong, but my emotions were so buried that I couldn't "feel" anything but emptiness.
Eventually I ended up in a psychiatric ward, diagnosed as severely schizophrenic. During that period, I experienced a terrible break-up with my lover, and got involved in a new relationship. A new start! A brighter future! For a year-and-a-half we tried, but failed. We were both headstrong. I was afraid and scared, miserable and dead inside. The void within me was so vast, so black, that nothing seemed to fill it.
I tried reading the Bible, but couldn't understand it. Then one day I heard a song about Jesus, and my "spiritual ears" were opened. A few weeks later I experienced the most frightening vision of black emptiness I'd ever known. But I also felt an overwhelming presence of peace and warmth which I now recognize as the Holy Spirit. I surrendered, and instantly knew my problem: I was separated from God.
Somehow I knew that I needed Jesus to connect me with God, so I asked Jesus to enter my life and make me into the person He wanted. I began to experience the inner peace I'd been looking for all my life.
Ironically, my lover accepted Christ as Savior approximately two weeks before I did. Neither one of us knew of the other's conversion until we found each other reading the Bible. Changes started deep within each of us.
More than anything, I wanted to please God. As I grew, two things happened. First, the Lord began a divine division between my lover and me. Eventually we stopped sleeping together. Second, the Holy Spirit swiftly convicted me of my need to honor my parents (Eph 6:2-3). I knew that unless I forgave my parents, especially Dad, I would be stuck forever in bitterness and hatred.
I took God's Word seriously. I wanted to experience peace in my parental relationships. I wanted to be free from the ugly memories. But my pain ran deep. Just thinking about my dad, I would almost throw up. Yet Jesus had forgiven me, so I knew I must also forgive Dad.
In the beginning, though, I didn't understand forgiveness. I thought that if I forgave Dad, I'd be re-opening all the emotional areas that he had violated-that I'd be exposing myself again to his hurting me. Finally I realized that forgiveness doesn't mean agreeing with what some person did to me. Nor does it mean that what they did doesn't matter.
No, forgiveness was simply choosing to release Dad from my vengeance. That enabled me to begin removing the hardness from my heart and clearing my communication with the Lord.
Then I pleaded with God to give me a new heart for my father. Even though I'd forgiven him, I kept seeing pictures in my mind of terrible events involving my father and me. God showed me that these "instant replays" were a ploy of Satan to challenge the Lord's working in my life.
I took authority over those awful memories. Every time they tried to haunt me, I commanded them to leave in the name of Jesus. Also, I confessed out loud that I had forgiven my dad. It was a real battle, but eventually I felt a new freedom from the past.
Beside the whole issue of bad memories, the Lord gave me another clear choice. For years I had grumbled about my dad not meeting my needs. But I sensed God saying, "You had much higher expectations than your father was ever able to fulfill, even if the verbal and sexual abuse had never taken place. Are you willing to accept the fact that your father will never be able to meet your needs?"
I was at a point of decision. One path was clinging to my "rights" to hold hatred toward him. Or I could let go of my dream of having a perfect father and allow God to bring healing.
I chose the latter, releasing all my expectations of the "perfect" father. God would be my Father-I could trust that He would never hurt me. At that instant, I felt as though fifty tons had rolled off my back.
Then, in February 1982, my father was diagnosed with lung cancer. Chemotherapy started immediately. My greatest fear was that Dad would die without Christ. Interestingly, that fear showed me the depth of forgiveness I had already experienced toward him.
Due to Dad's illness, my sister came to know the Lord. But Dad still didn't want to hear any of that "religious talk" about God. Then I asked my sister if she had told Dad about her new relationship with Christ. "Do I really have to?" she asked. I encouraged her to speak with him.
The day after Christmas, Dad was very sick. My sister was talking with him on the couch when I heard her call me. "What is it?" I answered.
"Dad just doesn't understand that he needs to ask Jesus into his life in order to get to heaven."
I knelt down in front of my father and looked him straight in the eyes-something I had never been able to do.
"Pop, what is it you don't understand?"
"I don't believe in hell," he said.
"It doesn't matter whether you believe in hell or not," I answered. "The Bible says that there is a hell, so there is a hell."
"I want to be cremated," he retorted.
I thought for a moment before answering. "I don't know what the Bible says about that, but one thing is for sure.
Cremation will not be the end of you. Your spirit will leave your body when you die, and you'll be eternally separated from God."
Leaning forward, I continued. "Pop, we're a family. We're going to heaven and we want you with us!"
His face relaxed, and then he said the words I'd prayed for years to hear: "What do I have to do?"
During the next few minutes, my sister and I had the glorious honor of leading our dad to the Lord. He prayed with us, asking for God's forgiveness and accepting Christ as his Savior.
I didn't see the kind of changes in him that often accompany conversion. He was too ill to read the Bible or tell others about Jesus. But I did see God working within him. My dad had been a very bitter, angry man. All that anger seemed to fall away as the Lord's Spirit gave him a new calm and peace. I sensed that he felt God's love.
Another important event took place before dad died the following June. He'd never spoken to me about my former lesbian involvement, but I knew he was ashamed of me. The cancer had gone to his brain by then and I wasn't really sure he would understand what I was about to say. But it was so heavy on my heart that I had to tell him.
I leaned over him and talked quietly. "Pop, I never really was the daughter you expected me to be. I'm so sorry about that. Please forgive me."
Dad gave no visible response, but I continued on anyway. "You know, you weren't the father I expected either. But I've forgiven you. And God's given me such a love for you, Pop." My tears flowed freely as I kissed his forehead. "I'm so glad we'll be together forever with Him."
The whole time I talked, Dad said nothing. Whether or not he comprehended me, I have such joy in knowing from his heavenly vantage-point now he sees all the work God has done and is doing in my life. And I know Dad must be very pleased.
In the years since Dad died, my growth has continued. God has done such a marvelous work in my life. As He released me from hatred, unforgiveness and bitterness, my bondage to homosexuality was broken. And He has given me true love and forgiveness toward my precious parents. How I thank Him, for now I love them the way He always intended.
Penny Dalton is director of Whosoever Will Ministry in Middletown, N.Y. This testimony is adapted from Out of Egypt: Leaving Lesbianism Behind by Jeanette Howard (Monarch Publications). Copyright c 1991 by Jeanette Howard. Used by permission. Distributed by Love In Action, PO Box 753307, Memphis, TN 38175-3307; 901/542-0250
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