This encore blog was originally published on December 28, 2011. Here I talk about what happened after the sexual assault when I was thirteen. How did my tragedy affect me as I grew to be a woman?

Introducing Melinda: Blog #9

“Whether I shall turn out to be the hero of my own life, or whether that station will be held by anybody else, I record that I was born (as I have been informed and believe)…” (Charles Dickens).

Thus begins David Copperfield, the surmised semi-autobiographical account of Dickens’ own youth, and thus began my life: “I record that I was born.” Unfortunately, it proved impossible to be the hero of my own life. I found myself in need of redemption. Previously, I detailed the journey that brought me into the embrace of the Hero of my life, Christ Jesus, crucified and risen for me.

I ran into His arms.

Having the assurance of His love, comfort, and guidance for the rest of my days, I came stumbling out of the gate. Like David Copperfield, I found myself in various compromising circumstances, many due to the events at the beginning of the story, situations entirely outside my control, wounds inflicted, self-image destroyed. To that I added my own mistakes and selfishness, knocking me flat on my face in the dust—my fragile jar of clay shattered, broken into shards of pottery in the dirt.

This happened more than once.

Broken heartbored-now via Compfight

But the Hero of my life did not leave me there. He never does.

As I groped about in the darkness, dragging the broken bits of myself after me, trying to find and grasp Him in return again—significant elements of me now battered beyond recognition, He began the slow, painstakingly-patient process of putting me back together, pulling me to my feet, and aiming me the right direction once more.

He never lets go, even when I am shattered. He continues to remake me into His image.

Finishing the demolition in order to begin the rebuilding—no matter how many times it is required, He smashes the dry shards into finely-pulverized bits that can be re-molded, adds some water, kneads the lump of Me-clay, and gently places me back on the Potter’s wheel.  (It always feels more like hurling than gentle placement; but that’s how clay has to be centered on the wheel—it’s necessary). With His hands about me, He kicks the whirling wheel into action and begins the reformation.

Who will I be?  He’s still working.

Finishing touch Aneesh Subrahmanian via Compfight

“Not that I have already obtained all this, or have already been made perfect, but I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me…I do not consider myself yet to have taken hold of it. But one thing I do:  Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus” (Phil. 3:12-14 NIV).

On that day, He’ll transform my body into the form of His glorious body, and I will be like Him—at last, finally! Complete! He’s already placed His Spirit within me and made me brand new in His eyes. But on that day, I will shine radiantly, just like Him, for I will see Him as He is.

The metamorphosis will be complete.