Journey of Hope: How My Walk with Christ Helped Me Overcome Abuse

By Ruth Valor

When author Ruth Valor was just three years old, a male and female babysitter, friends of the family, sexually abused her. Shortly thereafter, a family member did as well. The aftermath of abuse led her down a road of pain and she experienced a far-reaching disconnectedness in relationships. In Journey of Hope, she shares her story, helping others who have been subjected to one of the five forms of abuse throughout their life.

Valor tells how, through her relationship with Christ, she realized she had to work on herself and hope for a better future. She chose to walk through an extensive healing process by making a commitment for the rest of her life to focus on the little girl inside of her—and for the adult, too.

By doing so, she became saved, and she made Jesus her Lord and savior. Journey of Hope offers insights into Valor’s life as an abused child and as an overcomer of abuse. She communicates that a relationship with God became an integral part of her healing and wellness.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Archway Publishing
• Release date: Jul 22, 2022
• ISBN: 9781665724586

Ruth Valor

Ruth Valor grew up on the South Side of Chicago, and resides in Florida. She is an overcomer of abuse, and the author of her Memoir Journey Of Hope. Ruth is also the Founder and President of her organization, and Ministry Journey Of Hope, Inc. Journey of Hope is a nonprofit organization spreading awareness about the five major forms of abuse affecting many Americans. JOH strives to bring hope and restoration through life studies and support programs to victims as well as abusers. The only way to limit the ongoing cycle of abuse is to educate the abusers on its destruction and make them part of a solution.

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Copyright © 2022 Ruth Valor.

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Scriptures taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV®.

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ISBN: 978-1-6657-2457-9 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6657-2456-2 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-6657-2458-6 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2022910040

Archway Publishing rev. date: 07/20/2022

CONTENTS

Journey Of Hope’s Mission Statement

Acknowledgments

About The Author

Introduction

1.     Early Life

2.     Early On

3.     My Childhood

4.     Ruth’s Story

5.     Relationships And Marriages

6.     Relationships

7.     Faulty Goals

Epilogue

JOURNEY OF HOPE’S

MISSION STATEMENT

Journey of Hope is a nonprofit organization spreading awareness about the five major forms of abuse affecting many Americans. JOH strives to bring hope and restoration through life studies and support programs to victims as well as abusers.

The only way to limit the ongoing cycle of abuse is to educate the abusers on its destruction and make them part of a solution.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

To my son and daughter, who have given me courage, and strength. I love you two to the moon and back. We’ve shared a lot of great times together and have also been through many painful and unfortunate circumstances. Through it all, I know—without a doubt—that our Lord and Savior wrapped his armor of shield around us.

God was walking with us every step of the way. I can honestly say that I am grateful and thankful for the pure hearts that you have been blessed with and the beautiful and amazing people you have become. Thank you always for working hard to excel in school and sports. I would also like to thank you for your love, kindness, patience, and understanding. I’m honored to be your mother and extremely proud of you both. May God continue to bless you and watch over the both of you. I love you to eternity,

Gratefully his,

Mom

W hat an awesome God we have. He is the Father of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. He is the authority, and gives grace and mercy. He delights in you, gives comfort, and strength at a time of need. So, when others are feeling distressed, needing our compassion, and encouragement, we can pass on to them this same help and support God has given us.

—2 Corinthians 1:3–4 NIV

This book is gratefully dedicated to my son, daughter, mother, brothers, and my father. Unfortunately, my father is no longer with us. Heartache was the stimulus for writing my memoir. Thank you all for your love and support; it has been a true blessing for me. I love you.

Special thanks to my beautiful cousin Mone’t. You helped me when I had writer’s block, with editing, and when I needed a push. Thank you to my dear friends Criss Bertling, Christi Thomas, Jamie Klingseisen, Sultane Franklin, Monique Friedman, Wayne Gill, Dale Fowler, and Walter Bernstein for your friendship and belief in me and this project. Thank you for being a constant source of encouragement to me both personally and professionally.

I love you.

Lastly, to a very special friend who is no longer with us, thank you for believing in me and for cheering me on. I miss seeing the variety of colorful wigs you wore, which became your trademark, and hearing your raspy laugh. You were a very beautiful and special person, inside and out. Your life is now in heaven, my sweet friend. I’m happy to know that you are doing all right. Your soul is at rest now, but your spirit lives on. It is here with us all.

RIP, Tamar (1989–2021)

I love you.

RIP, Daddy (1945–2016)

I love you.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

JourneyOfHopeLogo_Edited.psd

Ruth Valor grew up on the South Side of Chicago and is an overcomer of abuse. She is founder and president of Ministry Journey of Hope. She now lives in Florida. Valor has two grown children.

D o not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God’s will is—his good, pleasing and perfect will.

—Romans 12:12 (NIV)

INTRODUCTION

Not all walks are to be accompanied by other people. You must focus and mentally declutter from the reruns of a season captured in life. It’s time to introduce myself. I’m an overcomer. I am titled as holy. Yes, I am holy. I am set apart for God. I am special. When I became a Christian, I became a brand-new creation, and my inner person became completely new.

I have learned that who I am deep down inside changed from being someone who could not help but displease God to someone who is accepted, significant, and secure in Christ. I am also an ex-wife, a mother, a daughter, a sister, an aunt, a cousin, a niece, and a friend.

I would like you to visualize my story through my journey of life. I had had enough of what Florida had to offer. I loaded as many clothes in large Hefty garbage bags as my Mercedes could handle. I was eighteen hours and more than twenty years away from home.

I had to go back to Chicago to fix the cracked foundation of my life. I don’t know how or when it happened. All I knew was that it had to be repaired before I could rebuild myself. I sought no copilot. I opened my mind and heart to be led and protected by God.

Unfortunately, COVID-19 hit in 2020. The pandemic took so many lives, but it saved mine. I am so sorry for the many losses for the families that were affected. The disease will go down in history as the year of what we missed in everyday life as we once knew it. I truly believe that this is the time for us to trust and have faith in our heavenly Father.

It is a time for us to revisit our roots, regroup, reconnect, and rebuild our relationships with Jesus, our family, and our friends. This is a time for us to extend grace and mercy toward each other. Forgive our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.

Due to the pandemic. I was furloughed from both of my jobs in retail at the mall. I had just received my business plan for my organization. Journey of Hope is a nonprofit organization 501(c)(3) that spreads awareness about the five major forms of abuse that affect many Americans. We strive to bring hope and restoration through our life-support series programs to victims as well as abusers.

Shortly thereafter, I was invited to apply for a grant through a local foundation in Palm Beach. Unfortunately, one week prior to sending it back to them, they made the decision to close their foundation for the safety of their volunteers and the community. They would not be able to award any of the previously allocated funds for their community-assistance grant.

Even though I understood their decision, it was very disappointing. I was unable to receive funding for JOH, but I refused to lose hope. I also lost the short-term rental I was residing in. I was renting a room inside a lady’s home. We had met in church, and I was living with her until I could save up enough money to find a place of my own. Unfortunately, her daughter was returning from Europe, and her son was coming home too.

I tried really hard to find shelter. The day before I was supposed to move out, May 21, 2020, I found a room to rent, but I couldn’t move in until June 1, 2020. I asked Rebecca if there was any way I could stay in her place until then, but she said no. There just wasn’t enough space in her home to accommodate the four of us. I packed all my things and loaded up my car. By five o’clock that night, I was on the road for the eighteen-hour journey from Florida to Chicago. I had less than one thousand dollars in my banking account. I had to make that stretch until my unemployment checks kicked in.

I never would have thought in a million years that I would have experienced being homeless for the third time in my life. I can honestly say that God was walking with me every step of the way. God is a way-maker, a miracle worker, a promise keeper, and light in the darkness. My God is a good God. The verse that I go by every day is: The Lord himself goes before you and will be with you; He will never leave you or forsake you. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged (Deuteronomy 31:8 NIV).

I struggled with the thought of leaving my son, Kayden, and my daughter, Paige. I had not shared with them how much I was struggling to make ends meet and keep a roof over my head. They had their own worries and struggles, and I did not want to burden them with my problems.

My son had just gotten married to Karen. They found the cutest one-bedroom studio as their first home together. My daughter was sharing a two-bedroom townhouse with a friend that her roommate’s father had bought for her.

Calling to say goodbye and not being able to see them before I hit the road pained me so much. It felt like my heart was being ripped from my body. I wish I could have done it differently, and I am truly sorry.

As I drove through Boca on my way to the interstate, I thought about my beautiful son and daughter. I was fighting back tears before I called them. I thought about It’s So Hard to Say Goodbye to Yesterday, a heartfelt song by Boyz II Men:

H ow do I say goodbye to what we had? The good times that made us laugh outweigh the bad. I don’t know where this road is going to lead.

I finally had the strength to ask Siri to call my son and daughter

ONE

EARLY LIFE

I n a perfect world, every girl’s first love is their earthly father. My first love has been my heavenly Father. My first fear was my earthly father. Unfortunately, I was never acquainted with my father’s good side.

He stood at six foot two with smoky chocolate-toned skin, a slender build, and long limbs like that of an oak tree. He inherited a root of darkness. At the time he courted my mother, he learned to mask his flaws. Outwardly, he was sweet, kind, helpful, and charming. Momma used to say that when he had a job and wasn’t drinking, doing drugs, or stealing money from her, he had the potential to be a good provider, husband, and father.

My mother bit the apple of an unevenly yoked marriage. The only good it brought her was her two children: my middle brother and me. Our father was sick and broken. He was an alcoholic, and he abused drugs. His addictions were fed by a horrific childhood. His parents were physically, psychologically, and emotionally abusive. He was labeled as the black sheep of the family because of his dark skin.

T hey say that those who provide us our greatest pleasures in life could deliver us our worst pain.

—Dominic Herbst

I assume my father’s mistreatment was inflicted due to his complexion. To bring silence to the home, my grandmother practiced cruel forms of punishment. Grandpa worked the night shift, and Grandma made sure he got his rest under any circumstances.

If my father played too loudly or made a ruckus—as children do—my grandmother would beat him. Once she was done with the beatings, and he was crying, she would shove him in a dark closet. When those cries escaped the closet door, she would pour hot water on his face and slam the door behind her.

Grandma was known to grab my father by the neck when he was a toddler, choking the air from his tiny body, and dangle him outside of their high-rise apartment’s window.

Grandpa had his own inner demons that he unleashed in the privacy of their home. He used to molest his daughters.

T hey say that the hell that we live in is often not with the fire burning around us. It’s the fire burning in us. From the pain and the betrayal of the people that we trusted the most.

—Dominic Herbst

My aunt discouraged my mother from bringing her children around my paternal grandparents’ place. My brother was rejected for his similar appearance to our father. He had smoky, chocolate skin like Daddy. I am fair skinned like my aunt, which was very desirable for my grandfather.

I guess that was my aunt’s way of protecting us from their mother and father’s sick behavior and abuse. When Auntie was in high school, she often had to stay home from school to take care of Grandma because she had bad asthma. Auntie ended up graduating from school late.

My father beat my mother until she gained the strength to sever the relationship. He was physically, emotionally, psychologically, and financially abusive to her. I remember one disobedient day, at the age of around six, I was playing at the playground while my mom was working. We were living in a low-income housing development, and I saw my dad walking through the fields in my direction. I froze and couldn’t move.

He scooped me off my feet in a hurry, not to be seen, and said that I was coming with him. I found my voice and started screaming, I don’t wanna go! I don’t wanna go! He held tightly onto my small frame. Just like he had done to my mother, his huge hand slapped me.

His eyes were glossy, and he smelled of liquor, musty clothes, and project dirt. The pain from his forceful blows did not stop me from screaming and fighting him. I tried so hard to break away, but I couldn’t. All I could do was cry and scream. I don’t wanna go! Let me go! Help please! I knew in my heart that wherever he was trying to take me, I didn’t want to be.

Several neighbors witnessed what was happening. Miss Agatha and Miss Doris came to my rescue. They forced my father to release me. The second he put me down on the ground, I was free. I ran off as if my life depended on it! I ran as fast as my little feet could carry me home, and I never looked back. I saw my two brothers watching as I approached, but they too frightened to help me get away from the monster.

They would not open the door for me because they were afraid, they would allow my dad to get in. I yelled at them to get out of their trance and release the door handle. As soon as they unlocked the screen, I yanked the handle, sending one falling to the floor. I ran over him like a bulldozer.

The phone company’s line must have been hot. Someone reported my encounter to my mother at work! She was working security at a community college on the South Side. Momma called to see if I was safe, and once she knew that I was, she really let me have it.

She was screaming and hollering at me for being outside, but the worst was yet to come. I was in trouble big-time, and you don’t want to be around when Momma comes for you!

When my mother walked through the door, I could see that she meant business. She snarled at me like a Doberman pinscher. She was merciless. I disobeyed her; therefore, punishment was the consequence for my actions.

She entered the home with weapon in hand. She was swinging her belt like Bruce Lee, and she started hitting my brothers and me. Mom was beating them for not helping me get away from my dad, and she beat me because I had broken the house rules! I was to come straight home from school, go inside the house, lock the doors, and not let anyone inside of our home or answer the door if someone knocked on it. Instead, I had stayed outside to play.

I was traumatized by the events that took place that day. It frightened me so much that I was afraid that my father would beat my mother and attempt to kidnap me again. I remember my mother letting me go outside to play after my father’s attempt to take me. I was very fearful of him, and I ended up bringing a knife with me.

Our neighbor saw me outside with it and told my mother. My mom asked why I had the knife, and I told her that I had brought it with me just in case Daddy came back to get me. I’m gonna cut him, I said.

As I reflect on that day, I realize that anything could have happened to that little girl. I remember a story my cousin shared about a young autistic boy. His mother left him in the care of his older brother while she worked.

His brother was on crack, which the mother wasn’t aware of, and he took the boy to a crack house. The big brother got high and nodded out. While he was zoned out, his little brother was severely raped. From that incident, the boy contracted HIV.

Hearing that story brought tears to my eyes, and I am so sorry about what happened to that young boy. It made me realize that God was with me on that horrible day when my father tried to kidnap me. God was walking with me every step of the way. He wrapped his armor and shield around me, and he was protecting me from the unknown.

I didn’t see my father again until I was in seventh grade. I lost all memories of him. I became detached, and I blocked him out of my mind. It was a way to survive the physical, emotional, and psychological abuse that I had experienced with my dad. It was also the abandonment and rejection.

My mother told me that my dad called and asked her if he could see me. He wanted to give me a gift for my birthday. It was the first birthday present I would ever receive from my father. We went to a run-down transient apartment building on the South Side. When I laid eyes on the building, it gave me an eerie feeling.

Drunks in front of the building were smoking cigarettes and drinking liquor from bottles inside brown paper bags. People were passing weed around, rolling dice, talking loudly, screaming, arguing, and cursing at each other while Sam Cooke was belting out a tune over the radio.

I was scared to walk past them to enter the building. I paced myself and walked carefully up the three steps, trying not to look at them. I was afraid that if I made eye contact, and they saw the fear in me, they would try to hurt me.

I reached out very slowly and placed my hand around a hard porcelain doorknob with rugged edges from chipped pieces. I slowly opened the door, and the heavy door squeaked, sounding so creepy.

I hesitantly leaned over and stuck my head inside the door.

My father was standing in the lobby, which had a torn, dirty carpet, huge cracks in the walls, drab dark paint, and a horrible smell. My father was smiling at us with no teeth, and he was wearing tattered old clothing. He was so happy to see us. He did not bring the bike down because he wanted us to see his place. He invited us up, and we had to ride the elevator to get to his apartment.

There were two elevators inside of the building, but only one of them was working. They looked old; I did not want to go inside. The doors were black, and the inside walls were bloody red. The lights were dim, and they were blinking on and off. The elevator buttons were small and white and covered in dirt. After my father pressed his floor number, it took a while for the doors to shut.

After the doors closed, it took some time for the elevator to start moving. We just stood there in silence, and I was beginning to panic. Suddenly, it started to move very slowly, and I could hear the wires in the shaft struggling to lift the elevator. It started to jerk, and then it just stopped.

I felt a panic attack coming on! My father was shaking and beginning to freak out too. He pressed the alarm button and tried to pull the doors open. I could see the inside of