Am I A Stupid Thing?: My Journey From the Prison of Abuse

By Rose Anne Martin

SO MANY QUESTIONS - WERE THERE ANY ANSWERS?

Rose existed in dark, painful confusion. Who was she? Was she a part of the human race? If so, why couldn't she be normal like other people? Why did she need so many beatings? Why was she so stupid? Why couldn't she remember her early childhood?

Almost half a century later, the darkness beg

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trilogy Christian Publishing
• Release date: Feb 6, 2024
• ISBN: 9798890415103

Rose Anne Martin

Rose grew up as part of the plain community in Pennsylvania Dutch Country and still resides in the same general area with her husband and a few animals. As she jokingly states, she never got very far in life! She is a mother, grandmother, and, most significantly, a follower of Jesus Christ. Since her healing and commissioning to share her story, she has become passionate about helping others find freedom through the power of the gospel.

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My Journey To Freedom

From The Prison Of Abuse

By Rose Anne Martin

Am I a Stupid Thing?

Trilogy Christian Publishers A Wholly Owned Subsidiary of Trinity Broadcasting Network

2442 Michelle Drive Tustin, CA 92780

Copyright © 2024 by Rose Anne Martin

Scripture quotations marked AMPC are taken from the Amplified Bible, Classic Edition, Copyright © 1954, 1958, 1962, 1964, 1965, 1987 by The Lockman Foundation. Used by permission. Scripture quotations marked NASB are taken from the New American Standard Bible® (NASB), Copyright © 1960, 1962, 1963, 1968, 1971, 1972, 1973, 1975, 1977, 1995 by The Lockman Foundation. Used by permission. www.Lockman.org. Scripture quotations marked NKJV are taken from the New King James Version®. Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson. Used by permission. All rights reserved. Scripture quotations marked KJV are taken from the King James Version of the Bible. Public domain.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without written permission from the author. All rights reserved. Printed in the USA.

Rights Department, 2442 Michelle Drive, Tustin, CA 92780.

Trilogy Christian Publishing/TBN and colophon are trademarks of Trinity Broadcasting Network.

Cover design by: Georgia Holder.

For information about special discounts for bulk purchases, please contact Trilogy Christian Publishing.

Trilogy Disclaimer: The views and content expressed in this book are those of the author and may not necessarily reflect the views and doctrine of Trilogy Christian Publishing or the Trinity Broadcasting Network.

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available.

ISBN: 978-1-64773-271-4

E-ISBN: 978-1-64773-272-1

Dedicated to those little ones who suffer and weep in solitude and to those adults who continue to bury their pain in silence.

May they experience the healing balm of Jesus in their innermost soul.

No Scar?

Hast thou no scar?

No hidden scar on foot, or side, or hand?

I hear thee sung as mighty in the land,

I hear them hail thy bright ascendant star,

Hast thou no scar?

Hast thou no wound?

Yet I was wounded by the archers, spent,

Leaned Me against a tree to die; and rent

By ravening beasts that compassed Me, I swooned:

Hast thou no wound?

No wound? No scar?

Yet, as the Master shall the servant be,

And pierced are the feet that follow Me;

But thine are whole: can he have followed far

Who has nor wound nor scar?

Amy Carmichael

We can rest contentedly in our sins and in our stupidities […] But pain insists upon being attended to. God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks in our consciences, but shouts in our pains: it is His megaphone to rouse a deaf world.

C.S. Lewis (1940)

Thank You, Lord, for giving us ears to hear.

A Note from the Editor

When I accepted Rose’s invitation to edit her book, I had little idea of what to expect. As I read about the unimaginable horrors perpetrated against her as an innocent child, I was tempted to be outraged at the injustice of it all. But chapter by chapter, I was drawn away from the outrage and instead drawn towards the unfathomable (yet true) testimony of God’s sovereign hand in creating, out of these atrocities, a gentle, loving, caring, strong, forgiving, and beautiful child of God, the adult Rose that I know!

By eliminating her actual identity (and hence the identities of her perpetrators), as well as by changing incriminating details, Rose hopes to minimize harm to and wrath from those people. In doing so, it is clear that her primary intention is to give inexpressible hope to those who have experienced similar abuse and not to bring her perpetrators to justice. She has left that in God’s hands. This deliberate focus on healing and hope rather than legal action is the reason that I am willing to put my name on the book (at Rose’s request) without being able to personally confirm each and every detail. The book is not about condemnation, revenge, or even punishment for the abusers, which I believe your reading of it will attest to. Such would bring glory to Satan. This book is about God’s love. Yes, God’s love! And the remarkable power of love and forgiveness against all odds.

We all know that sex trafficking exists and that abuse exists. We rarely get to hear the gruesome details, yet we know and believe it is a scourge of our world. Rose’s story has many hard-to-believe and agonizing details. As noted, we have gone out of our way to eliminate names and details which would specifically incriminate. However, without the darkness, the light cannot shine. So, we have described some deep places of darkness and evil that Rose experienced and into which the light shone so brightly. I rest my peace in supporting her autobiography, not in investigating or proving every detail of her story. Rather, my peace comes from knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that persons who have suffered sex trafficking and abuse (and those who want to help them) will gain immeasurable insight, hope, comfort, guidance, and freedom as they read her journey and begin their own. Please read now how one woman, submitted to the truth and faith that God is good, overcame Satan’s best evil shot and rose to victory! Glory be to God!

—Andrea Holder

Author’s Note

When I first began to set my story to paper, I was a bit perplexed as to what to do with all the ugliness. Who would want to read such a depressing story? It was overwhelming! Besides, it was not what I wanted the focus of my book to be. My desire is to proclaim the mercy, grace, and redemption of our most worthy and Holy God and to help victims and dysfunctional families find freedom, healing, and direction. It is my prayer that many will wake up to spiritual revival; it is our only hope, for we live in perilous times. Satan and his followers are tirelessly seeking to steal, kill, destroy, and devour.

I came to the conclusion that many incidents would be omitted from my story; I would ask generous friends to help me separate the chaff from the wheat. So, the story you hold is not the whole story, but it is sufficient.

My apologies to anyone who may feel traumatized by some descriptions of abuse in this story. Without personal experience, it is hard to grasp how horrific and devastating abuse can be. It is difficult for innocent people to understand, counsel, minister to, or empathize with a victim. It is only for the purpose of instruction that I describe some of my experiences. On the other hand, my story may bring up traumatic feelings for anyone who has, in fact, been through something similar and has not yet had a chance to heal. I pray that God’s grace will be upon you and lead and direct you to a place of true freedom.

I have also changed names in this story, including my own, and certain details, to protect the identity of individuals. My aim in this book is not to point the finger specifically at those who harmed me, though it may be best for the truth to come out and set them free. Rather, my intent is to bring the reader to an awareness that darkness can lurk in the most unexpected of places and that help is desperately needed to protect and guide the innocent who are suffering.

I wish to especially thank Linda, who spent countless hours and effort fearlessly walking beside me through the ugliness, darkness, and horror, gently guiding me to freedom in Christ and victory over evil. What a blessing her anointing has been in my life!

Also, I wish to thank Andrea, who did an incredible job of editing my long story, searching for grain amidst the chaff, and reducing it to a more readable form. It was an enormous task, and I am very grateful for her wisdom and dedication!

I thank our typesetter, who also put much time and effort into this project. We could not have done it without you; your hard work is very much appreciated!

I also extend thanks to the many kind people who encouraged, helped, and prayed for me on my healing journey and with the writing of this book. (You know who you are!) Your prayers and support are invaluable!

I am grateful for the patience and support of my husband and children/spouses as I navigated through overwhelming pain in my healing journey. Life has not been easy for any of us, yet we are so richly blessed!

Most of all, I thank God the Father, Jesus the Son, and the Holy Spirit, without whom there would be no story. To God be the glory!

The thief cometh not, but for to steal, and to kill, and to destroy: I am come that they might have life, and that they might have it more abundantly (John 10:10, KJV).

Trigger Warning

This is not an easy story to read. It contains emotional, physical, sexual, satanic, and spiritual abuse. Reading about these events may be overwhelming, distressing, and traumatizing, especially for fellow survivors with unprocessed trauma or those who are emotionally vulnerable.

I had no other option but to endure abuse for years. You have the choice of whether to read this story or not. Please be considerate and careful with yourself, and reach out for help if the need arises.

Disclaimer: Most names, also some places and details in this story have been changed to protect the privacy of certain individuals.

—Rose

Foreword

By the Facilitator of the Gospel Process.

This book is an account of the desperation of one amazing lady, whom we shall call Rose, to find freedom and fullness of joy in life. I fully believe that God has raised her up for such a time as this to be an emblem of hope for God’s victory for the oppressed and broken-hearted. What you read herein may be challenging. It may stretch your doctrine. It may defy your understanding of how the world and it’s ungodly systems actually work within the spiritual realm. This account may confront your beliefs about how the human mind works in the midst of trauma. You may feel fear or oppression. You may have trouble believing what you read. You may question Rose’s character and even her sanity.

I had the privilege of facilitating, through one-on-one Gospel Process* sessions, Rose’s path to freedom and healing. I can testify that the Rose I met in 2005 is not the Rose of 2023. Even though Rose was setting her face as flint for emotional healing, which she received, she has also experienced profound changes in her physical health…a direct result of her emotional healing. Although Rose had a quick mind and wit when I met her, she is now stronger, much stronger—spiritually, emotionally, mentally, and physically—able to speak and act with assurance and wholeness. I attest to the dramatic changes.

Life has been an excruciatingly hard journey for Rose, but she has endured and prevailed. On and off since 2009, I would sit with her in ministry sessions, sometimes apprehensive of what my eyes saw and my ears heard. At times, I cringed. At times, I looked away. At times, my eyes filled with tears. At times, my body felt pain. And at times, I went home and surrendered all I had seen and heard, confident that Rose and I both were protected through the shed, redemptive blood of my Jesus. I often wondered if Rose would be okay back home when faced with processing the atrocities that would come to light in a session. Would a new memory or a flashback terrorize her during her sleep?

There were even times I wondered, How could this even be true? But I could not deny the countless times when Rose would sense a certain offense had occurred, only to follow her body’s lead and display before my very eyes the gruesome detail of the atrocity re-enacted. Why? Because the body does not lie. Yes, a body cannot and will not lie because memories live therein and, when surfaced, reveal the truth. I repeatedly watched Rose’s body relive the horrors of the evil perpetrated against her. I could never ignore the miracle that Rose would walk into my office with specific, sometimes chronic, physical pain and leave healed, then and there, or within a few days! Jesus truly does heal through His good news, His gospel!

This book may at first seem a far-out story to you but know that I have every reason to believe it is true. I believe that as you see Rose’s remarkable journey of healing, redemption, and forgiveness, you, too, will know the truth that set Rose free. It has been my highest privilege to travel with Rose on this amazing journey. I met a locked-up lady in 2005 who chose to fully trust in the power of the gospel of Jesus Christ to not only set her free but to heal her and show her the way to live in victory! For that, I sing and shout, Hallelujah!

I recommend that you read this account fully and confidently, knowing that Jesus already won Rose’s war and yours!

Linda S. Ingham,

Life Awakening.

*Appendix D provides a list of tools of the Life Awakening Toolkit, which includes teaching of the Gospel Process used in Rose’s healing.

Preface

Take heed that ye despise not one of these little ones; for I say unto you, That in heaven their angels do always behold the face of my Father which is in heaven (Matthew 18:10, KJV).

I am hiding in Aunt Ida’s upstairs bedroom. Aunt Ida is always kind to me. I feel a bit safer here. I am very, very quiet. In my few short years of life, I have already learned many ways to protect myself. Mom is angry at me. Again. I feel she hates me. I know I must be very quiet; else, I will suffer if she finds me.

I look around the room. There is a small table with a lamp on it. There is also a string of pearls on it. I sneak over and touch them. They are so smooth and beautiful! I am fascinated by their iridescent beauty. I touch them again. Oh, I want to feel them some more! Very quietly and gently, I pick them up. Oh, no, the string is torn! The pearls fall and scatter noisily all over the floor! Oh, no! I was trying so hard to be quiet! How can this be? Oh, no!

The door begins to open. I quickly try to hide behind the side of the bed by the wall, but I am too late. She has found me. Now, I will suffer her wrath. What will she do to me this time? I am not long in finding out. Now, she is pushing me head-first out of the window. I am screaming and clawing at the windowsill, trying to keep from being pushed out, but I am no match for her incredible strength. Now, I am dangling upside-down outside the window. She is holding me by one foot, laughing and jeering, telling me that she will drop me onto the huge rocks far below and that it will kill me.

The trauma is too much for me to bear. I leave my body. From a short distance away, I see my body hanging upside-down, with my face towards the wall of the house. But I also see something else. Three angels are hovering around my body. They are very, very sad and grieved about what is happening.

Mercifully, reality fades away.

In leaving my body, this event will be blocked from my conscious memory for almost half a century. Many, many years later, I came to the realization that the angels broke my fall; this is why it did not kill me. God had a purpose and plan for my life, and He did not allow Satan to kill me that day.

Another memory comes that I believe happened around the same time.

I am scrambling among the straw bales stacked high in the old barn, searching every nook and cranny. My little girl heart happily anticipates finding a hidden nest of kittens. They are so cute with their little ears and pink noses! But the search is fruitless on this side of the barn. Maybe I will find some on the other side, in the haymow. I skip towards the other side, dodging the large equipment on the broad plank floor. The dust is soft and thick on my bare feet. The pigeons coo softly in the rafters far above. I am humming softly as I stop to look for them, blissfully unaware of the evil stalking me. Hearing a sound behind me, I freeze in fear. My heart stops, then begins pounding painfully as a rough hand grabs me from behind. Oh, no, no, no! Oh, how can this be? Oh, please! I am no match for his strength. There is no escape. I can hardly breathe. I am paralyzed with fear and terror and a sense of evil as a depraved man attacks and defiles my body. The pain and horror are indescribable.

As an adult receiving ministry, I will later learn that my child self will go into shock. The thought of crying for mercy or screaming for help will never enter my shocked mind because, all my life, no one has ever protected me. I am mute and totally helpless except for a gift from God that I now, as an adult, understand. Dissociation: My mind will go somewhere else while my body goes through the trauma. God has provided a way for a person to escape suffering and horror and thereby survive it. My mind will go to a beautiful, peaceful place. Somewhere, somehow, someone will make me a pretty dress, and I will be safe. Safe because I am fully dressed. Safe because someone loves and protects me and is gently holding me. Even though I do not know what it would feel like, it is nice to think of it. Somewhere, there really is such a happy, peaceful, safe place. Oh, the bliss! Oh, the joy! No one will ever, ever hurt me again!

I eventually wake up to a cold, hard reality that is not so easy. I must get dressed quickly, or I will get beaten for this! I will not dare complain to anyone about this incident; I have learned in my short life not to call attention to myself, for to do so would be an invitation to be beaten. I do not realize it, but once again, my body, soul, and spirit have experienced unbearable shock and separation, and I am broken into countless pieces. I am not at all whole.

Where is God when awful things happen to helpless little children? Does He not care? Why doesn’t He stop it? Countless abuse victims have asked these questions and many more.

But he does care. He sees it and weeps. The morning dew on the grass is His tears. His angels are hovering near and also grieve and weep. Jesus is in the picture with healing in His wings. He knows and feels the pain.

But God has given mankind free will on this earth, and we live in a fallen world. This is Satan’s domain ever since the fall in the garden. The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked: who can know it? (Jeremiah 17:9, KJV). The abuser has free will and free reign for a season, but God will hold him accountable someday. Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord (Romans 12:19, KJV). Their foot shall slide in due time: for the day of their calamity is at hand (Deuteronomy 32:35, KJV).

Too often, God gets the blame for what Satan has done. It is not God’s will that His precious little children should be violated. Listen to Jesus’ words in Matthew 18:6 (KJV), But whoso shall offend one of these little ones which believe in me, it were better for him that a millstone were hanged about his neck, and that he were drowned in the depth of the sea.

We are created spirit, soul (mind and heart), and body. God, in His mercy, has not left the victim totally defenseless; He has made a way of escape. This is why the spirit, soul, and body separate at the time of intense trauma. This is the gift of dissociation. The trauma is blocked from the conscious memory because it is the only way the victim can function and go on with life. But the victim is not whole anymore. The body knows something is wrong; often, the victim suffers from health issues and/or emotional issues for many years, not knowing what is at the root of it all. Frequently, there is a reason why someone has seemingly irrational fears. Certain persons, places, or situations trigger emotional reactions connected to the past. The dissociation is only a temporary remedy. True healing awaits those who want it and are willing to travel the journey God lays out.

A few illustrations may help the reader understand the long-term effects of trauma. Think of a toddler introduced to a dog for the first time. He is fascinated by this creature. He reaches out to touch it and is instantly bitten. He feels pain and cries; he is picked up and comforted. The wound heals; he grows up and does not remember the incident. All of his life, he has a fear of dogs but does not know why. His God-given instinct to protect himself is working well; his fear is legitimate and justified. His body remembers, but his conscious mind does not.

We all avoid pain if possible. If our fingers come into contact with a hot surface, we immediately withdraw from it to escape the pain. This is necessary, or else we would suffer severe burns. Likewise, when a helpless little child is tortured by a sick, abusive adult, where there is no escape, and the pain is unbearable, the child goes into shock, and the soul and spirit separate from the body. It is the only way to escape the pain. So it is with any kind of trauma: physical, sexual, emotional, etc.

Years later, when the time for healing comes, God brings the memories back. These are called flashbacks. However difficult, the truth must be faced to obtain healing. Jesus will bring healing if we put our faith and trust in Him. Just as there are many different kinds of abuse and different situations, so there are manifold ways of healing. When Jesus was on Earth, He healed in various ways, and He is still performing many miracles through the Holy Spirit. Everyone’s story and healing journey is unique. It is crucial to have knowledgeable, kind people to help with the healing. It is often a long, difficult journey of many years as the layers of abuse are peeled off one by one. It entails much faith and patience, but with God, all things are possible. To him that overcometh will I grant to sit with me in my throne, even as I also overcame, and am set down with my Father in his throne (Revelation 3:21, KJV).

Jesus says in Isaiah 61:1 (KJV),

The Spirit of the Lord God is upon me; because the Lord hath anointed me to preach good tidings unto the meek; he hath sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and the opening of the prison to them that are bound.

On my healing journey, I will eventually become aware, by the grace of God, of many more traumas experienced in my early childhood (which was really not a childhood at all) and on into my teen years. Sadly, the incidents mentioned already are not two isolated events but are part of a sick and ruthless pattern of abuse. God, in His mercy, revealed these traumatic memories to me in bits and pieces, not all at once, so that I could take the time to heal one memory at a time. Just like as a child, He provided me with the mental escape of dissociation to bear the repeated traumas, so also, as an adult, He provided a gentle, not overwhelming, sequence by which I could recall and then heal from each trauma. So, while most biographies are chronological, starting with early life and progressing forward, this book is organized in the order that God used to release memories and healing and is, therefore, not always strictly chronological. The order of the book reflects God’s order, His process.

I want to say that, of course, my parents had some good points. I realize now they carried many generational sins from their backgrounds, and they somehow lost their way. Certainly, my dad was a hard worker and provided for his family. I also have pleasant memories of him playing the harmonica. He was talented and could make beautiful music. He also had a sense of humor and could be fun when in a good mood. Possibly, he gets the credit for inspiring a sense of humor in me. Humor became a survival tool to keep my sanity in a world that made no sense.

There were even some pleasant Sunday afternoons when Dad would make a kite, and we would have a challenge getting it up in the air. And I had occasional fun with my younger siblings. Sometimes, we were allowed to spend Sunday afternoons with the neighbor children, go to the local horse show, or just relax. Somehow, I learned to sew and crochet, so someone must have taught me. As an older teen, I was allowed to buy an accordion with my earnings and learned the beauty of harmonizing. Music was so soothing to my soul.

When I was about nineteen, my youngest sibling (who had gotten into the cruel habit of hurting me at every chance) jumped out from behind a doorway and hit me. Mom saw and asked why I was crying, and to my great surprise, the hitting stopped from then on. I never found out what she did about it: I assume she put a stop to it because she was afraid that as I became older, my friends would see the bruises and the abuse would be exposed. Still, she did put a stop to it and helped me. I want to give her credit for that.

At about nineteen years old, I was allowed to buy a new bicycle with my earnings. For the first time in my life, I had a good bicycle, and I was thrilled! At about twenty, I was allowed to have a Tupperware party.

My parents did some good things for me, and I want to honor them for that.

But now, for the rest of the story…

Our God is a great redeemer! O praise the Lord, all ye nations: praise him, all ye people. For his merciful kindness is great toward us: and the truth of the Lord endureth forever (Psalm 117, KJV).

Chapter One

When my father and my mother forsake me, then the Lord will take me up (Psalm 27:10, KJV).

My name is Rose. I grew up on a Mennonite farm in Pennsylvania Dutch Country, in the 1950s. How shall I describe the first twelve years of life on the farm? A long, dark void with only a few scattered memories, most of them unpleasant.

I do remember being told countless times as a child how unwanted I was when I was born. Mom always told me how badly she wanted a boy and that the doctor had told her before I was born the baby would be a boy because I was so big. I could hear the anger in her voice every time she said it. She drilled it into my head how disappointed she was and that she did not want me. From her perspective, she was the injured party and had to get even with me for playing such a cruel trick on her.

Wednesday’s child is full of woe…. How I cringed every time Mom read that line in the Mother Goose book! I knew what would come next. She would say, Rose, you were born on a Wednesday, so your whole life long will be full of woe! Oh, it was so discouraging! What was the use of living if I was doomed to a lifetime of woe? I could feel the dark cloud of despair settle over me every time she placed that curse on me.

I also remember the despair I felt when I accidentally broke a mirror, and Mom told me over and over that I would now have seven years of bad luck. Oh, the years ahead looked miserably long! If only I hadn’t broken that mirror! Why did I make so many mistakes? Why was my life so terribly hard? It would be many, long years later until I was able to separate the lies from the truth.

How I hated to hear Mom’s shrill, hate-filled voice screaming at me that I was so rotten lazy that I reeked. I tried my best to work hard so that I would not be accused of being lazy. Looking back, I can see that this was the beginning of a lifetime of pushing myself too hard to the detriment of my health.

I was allowed to play with my younger sister sometimes as we were growing up. But we all knew that I was the outcast who did not belong and that she was much better than me, much like the plantation owner’s and slave’s children growing up together. I remember playing doll with my sister one day when Dad jumped out from behind the doorway, grabbed me, and took me to the shed out back for a beating. I had no idea what I’d done wrong.

These beatings were a common occurrence. Dad had something like a 2x4 to beat me with. He would beat and beat without letting up. I would try so hard not to cry, for I knew from bitter experience what would happen if I did. But finally, the pain became so bad that I could not keep from crying anymore. Then he would beat harder yet, yelling in rage, I’ll keep beating you ‘til you’re quiet! The only thing left for me to do was to leave my body. I would be floating around the ceiling while my body was down on the floor, being beaten. I remember one time, after I had put myself back together again and we were heading out the door, an involuntary sniffle escaped my lips. He took me back inside for another round of beating because I had dared make a sound. These beatings were accompanied by verbal abuse, shouting, and raging. He would work himself into an uncontrollable rage in seconds.

Even as a child, I sensed evil at work in my dad; it seemed he got a sick thrill out of torturing a helpless little child. Only many years later would I learn there was a much more sinister reason for those beatings: to instill fear, dissociation, and memory loss in me because my parents had even more to hide than the physical and emotional abuse they personally heaped on me. After the beatings, Dad would say to Mom, "We must break her spirit!" The horrors they were trying to beat out of my mind and memory would not come to light until many years later when the time had come for me to begin healing.

I have a few pleasant memories of playing with my cousins when the extended family got together, and everyone had their company manners on. My siblings knew to treat me like a normal person in public, and I also knew that I must pretend to be normal because the abuse must be hidden at all costs. There was always the possibility

Reviews for Am I A Stupid Thing?

[jjoycegm · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Horrific abuse in Pennsylvania Dutch country. This story needs to be told.