Ken

My Story

SHORT VERSION

My name is Ken and I am a grateful believer in Jesus Christ and have overcome sexual trauma, sexual addiction, rage, and loss. I am currently in recovery from church hurt. 

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GENERAL VERSION

Like everyone, I have been wounded and wounded others (for which I am still making amends). I believe the gospel message is healing, restoration, and reconciliation. Not because I read it or took a class on it, but because I have experienced it. Despite what you read below, I am not bitter, but better. I am not a victim of my pain, but live in victory because of it. I have been blessed with a HUMOR that has been antagonistic to my hurts and my greatest joy is to see the downtrodden spirit turn to joy.

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GRAB COFFEE VERSION

My life has always been somewhat of a mess starting with experiences of living in the Vineyard Housing Projects in Benton Harbor, Michigan. In Vineyard, I was coerced into an apartment that led to being raped at eight. Being raped ruined me although I didn't know it then. As early as I remember, I have chased after sex and orgies for as long as I could remember in a failed attempt to medicate the pain and loneliness. So much so that to this day, I don't know who I lost my virginity to.

The countless times I had to jump out the 2nd-floor window to escape my 6 foot 1 inch, 460-pound, alcoholic, and brutally abusive step-dad rightly named Big Joe.  I still have the scars on my face as small lasting reminders of my relationship with him. Because of Joe, I have witnessed domestic violence too many times to count; however, on one such account, I watched him drag, and then pull a plug of hair out of my mother's head. He then fell asleep drunk on the couch as I watched my younger sister jump in between him and the rifle my mother had put over his head. 

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In the summer following middle school, I was caught attempting to rob my uncle's house. Thankfully, he dismissed the charges. As a freshmen, I saw my youngest sister desperation to get out of the projects caused her to marry at fifteen. The summer following my freshmen year,  I witnessed my other sister getting pregnant at sixteen years old by a forty-year-old man, (the first cousin of my step-dad). A year after having her baby, this man would later get caught by that same sister having intercourse with my very promiscuous mother. 

The summer following my sophomore year, I found myself living in a halfway house for boys while my stepfather was in the process of being removed from our house by social services. After 10 years, I had enough and proceeded to beat him with a baseball bat (he was upset because I decided to eat dinner after 6 p.m.). This alcoholic stepfather eventually died of cirrhosis of the liver. Believe it or not, through him I learned the power of forgiveness (but that's another story for another time).  

I'm a junior now, however, because of my rage issues, my English teacher grabbed me, slammed me into a locker, and told me that if I didn’t change, I would be dead before my 21st birthday. I knew she was right. 

Two weeks after this incident, one of my best friends, Jeff, approached me about joining the army. I joined the Army's delayed entry program following my junior year. I left for Fort McClellan, Alabama two weeks after (barely) graduating. This same friend wrote in my senior yearbook, “To Ken a cool dude who I love to chase the ladies with. Please lose that anger before we go into the army.”   didn't. 

I'm an adult now, things have to change right? Let's just keep this simple:
- Stood before a Judge Advocate General (Military Judge) for striking an officer.

- At 20, I was so empty and lonely that I walked into a club and 10 minutes later walked up to a strange girl I had never met and asked her to marry me. Two months later, we were married. I had never had a serious girlfriend before as I saw no value in love. A year later we had my eldest daughter. The marriage (and unresolved trauma) eventually became overwhelming and led to a failed suicide attempt. This selfishly occurred while my wife was pregnant with twins.

5 months after the birth of the twins, while stationed in Europe, I received a phone call from the Red Cross telling me that both my twin boys were dead. On their grave stone, "So much love. So little time." We tried to make it work and immaturity caused us to jump into another pregnancy. Shortly after my eldest son was born, we separated (and eventually divorced) both still blaming each other for the death of the twins.

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I ran back into my drug of choice, women. For 10 years I was an addict to a drug that could not alleviate the loneliness and emptiness that became a plague; but I didn't know anything else to do. 

Years later, while in a coma, my 175-pound mother, a smoker since she was 11, dwindled to less than 90 pounds before eventually succumbing to lung cancer. She was able to wake up for about 10 minutes and began calling my name in a whisper. As a tear fell from her eyes, she looked at me and said, "I'm sorry son."  A few days later she died. I didn't cry when she died and didn't cry at her funeral. 

Years later, a girlfriend I had been dating off and on, got pregnant - with twins. Willing to try marriage again, we got engaged although I still struggled with the concept of love. Complications with the pregnancy cause the twins to be birthed at 7 months. My first child died 12 hours after his birth. I was sitting in a hospital intensive care ward, holding the second twin, now twelve days old, as they turned off the life support machine. I watched the beeps on the machine fade into a flatline as his eyes rolled into permanent sleep. I walked away from the engagement and dove, again, head first into my medication of choice, sex and orgies. 

Two years after the death of my second set of twins, a grad student I had been sexual with got pregnant, so we got married. 5 Years after this second marriage, I was sitting on the front porch of my sister's house bawling profusely as this attempt at marriage was coming to an end. However, instead of running back into my addiction, I ran into Mt. Zion Baptist Church in Kalamazoo, Michigan. After the Bible study, the pastor and I talked until almost midnight about my life, Jesus, and the call that God had on my life. The lesson that night was on purpose. I don't know if I believed all the religious stuff but the lesson struck a cord. I accepted Jesus and joined this church.

It has to get better...right?

I'm a Christian now and I have a bible to prove it. A year later I was recruited by Dr. Ruth Hamilton and became a doctoral student in Sociology at Michigan State University. Things are going well in ministry and I am finally getting the hang of doctoral-level research and study (it's no joke). Life is turning around. On a particular Wednesday while at my church's bible study, I received a phone call asking me to sit down. The caller sobbing, stated my professor and friend, Dr. Hamilton had been murdered; stabbed countless times by her son.

I dropped out of school but continued in ministry. Eventually, I met my current wife in church training and we eventually got married. 

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It has to get better...right?

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Two years after that, I found myself in Federal court as my oldest son (from my first marriage) found himself standing before a judge for possibly 20 years in Federal prison. 

Physical trials? Let's keep this simple: 
- 7 spinal surgeries and 6 other surgeries for multiple issues.
- Diagnosed with Allergic Bronchopulmonary Aspergillosis. Mold was eating away at my lungs causing me to regularly spit up blood. Covid had me hospitalized with my O2 dropping into the high 70s.   
- An accident at church caused me to have a partial finger amputation on my dominant hand.
 

Okay, that's enough. You get the picture. Pain has constantly chased after me causing me to chase after any and everything to relieve the pain. Defeated in so many areas of my life. Crying out to God at three in the morning as suicidal ideation became my obsession, I heard a inner voice say, “Stop Living Wounded!” I screamed out, "I am not living wounded, I am wounded and you're not helping!"

I eventually came to realize this was God’s way of telling me to live like He is my God and I am His child. While I wouldn't wish my life on anyone (as everyone has their own story to tell), I shared all that to say this simple statement, I WOULDN'T CHANGE IT FOR ANYTHING! I am not defeated nor am I a victim. I believe trials are not setbacks, but a setup for purpose and destiny.

I have committed my life to this simple truth,

God is good and you have a purpose.