“Look not every man on his own things, but every man also on the things of others. Let this mind be in you, which was also in Christ Jesus; Who, being in the form of God thought it not robbery to be equal with God: But made himself of no reputation, and took upon him the form of a servant, and was made in the likeness of men: And being found in fashion as a man, he humbled himself, and became obedient unto death, even the death of the cross. Wherefore God hath highly exalted him, and given Him a name which is above every name: That in the name of Jesus every knee should bow, of things in heaven, and things in earth, and things under the earth.” Philippians 2:4-10

Our weekly Christian devotional

It has been a few years since I worked as a stripper. But like a haunting nightmare, the memories of those days are as vivid to me as if I had just danced this past weekend.

Most people assume that after a career of enticing men, I wouldn’t think too highly of them. Although I must admit that being a stripper didn’t do much to enhance my impression of men; the most damaging part of my job was how it affected my view of people–in general. The saddest part was that stripping made the most terrible impact on how I saw myself.

I became an expert chameleon. And for over a decade, I invested a lot of time and money in learning every trick of the trade. Not only did I invest a hefty chunk to enhance my chest, I dyed my boring brown locks into an enticing shade of blonde. And, of course, who needs brown eyes when you can have baby blues for the price of colored contacts? Sadly, the madness didn’t stop there—I practically tanned myself into another ethnicity, trained my petite legs to walk in eight-inch stilettos and probably dieted and exercised about half my brain cells away…

The unfortunate truth was, the more I moved away from the real ‘me’, the more money I made. This truth couldn’t be denied; the proof was in my garter.  It expanded considerably with every alteration that was made.

It didn’t take long for this job’s poisonous ways to start affecting my already low self-esteem. It was my choice to fashion myself into becoming a desired object. And, for a while, I was actually okay with that. After all, I was a very expensive object that many were willing to pay astronomical amount of money for!  So, of course I naturally concluded that: “I must be valuable!”

Sadly, that ‘value’ was based on an illusion. And, this illusion had an upkeep that was starting to consume more time, effort and money to maintain.  Eventually, my roots would begin to grow out and the fake tan would wash off in these strange, uneven spots… My beautifully fake luster would begin to fade again. And when my mousey humanity would poke through I would quickly find a way to smash it back into oblivion with whatever cash my garter could pony up.  Some days I could only afford a set of fake lashes or nails. On good days, I would treat myself to a three hour hair torture of highlights and low lights.  But, the consistently sick truth was that my life was always about…me.

When I quit dancing, I went through what I can only describe as terrible withdrawal symptoms. Although I can’t say that I have never been addicted to any foreign substance, my pride and vanity were getting massive doses of affirmation the whole time I worked as a stripper. And, when I quit, my ego got a huge wake-up call.

For so long, I saw people from such a warped point of view: What I could get from them, and what they wanted to get from me. I was constantly grappling with trying to have it all and feeling like nothing was ever truly mine.

When I read Philippians 2:4-10 it was a complete reversal of thinking for me.  How could I possibly tend to the needs of others?  Who would look after me? I wasn’t just your garden-variety kind of selfish—I was selfish to the core.

Learning how to trust God was one of the hardest things I have ever done. But, putting myself out there be available to help others was actually much harder. After being a predator for so long, I almost felt as if God was expecting me to actually become the prey. After all that I had learned about people–I was wise enough to know that this kind of behavior was risky to say the least!   It felt downright insane.

But, as Philippians 2:4-10 reminds us, Christ was God wrapped up in human flesh.  If Jesus could humble Himself to be a servant to others, I started to see that my ‘great excuses’ for not obeying didn’t really give me a stable stiletto to stand on.

So, who am I, exactly?  Honestly, I don’t have a cut and dried answer for that yet. I’m slowly beginning to discover this for myself as the petals of my salvation experience continue to unfold everyday.

On certain days, I’m excited about what the Lord will show me.  On others, I feel like hiding under the blanket of Jesus, not daring to touch the floor and face another day attempting to be vulnerable and kind–again.

Like I said, my selfishness runs to the core. But, I suppose my simple acknowledgement of this is actually good news.  For years, my depravity didn’t  bother me at all.  And, I can honestly that my recognition of it is how I know that God is real.

You see, God said that if simply ask Him, He will open the eyes of your heart. He will allow you to see yourself as you truly are. But, there is relief in the fact that He has no intentions to just leave you in that state.  He will kindly give you the keys to change (the Bible) and the power to do it (the Holy Spirit).

Today when catch a glimpse of myself, I no longer see an angry girl who is running away from herself. I see a woman who is exploring just how beautiful God can make her from the inside out. And, I’m finally beginning to understand that true beauty isn’t a commodity that can be purchased at Sephora.  It is something that only God can develop.  And this development can only happen as I continually allow Him to change me.  One day at a time…from glory to glory.

“Dear Heavenly Father,

When I think about what Jesus did at the cross, His humility and submission humbles me.  Who am I that you would send your Son to die for a selfish person like me?

I’ve lived for myself my whole life. Others came as a vague and passing thought; the needs of God weren’t even considered.

Lord, how patient you have been with me.  I don’t deserve to be a loved by you.  Yet, I know you love me.  I feel your mercy bathe me every morning.

Help me to be as good to others as you have been to me.  Give me eyes to be particularly merciful to those who are living in blinded selfishness like I was. 

If Jesus could die for me, I can do more than I am doing today.  Show me what Jesus would do if He were living in my body…because He is.  He is living in my heart.  Let His heart rise to the surface of my hands and feet; that I may walk in love.  In Jesus’ precious name, because you deserve my best shot, Amen.”

Thank you for reading our weekly Christian devotional on verses: Philippians 2:4-10

Please check back and see what we have for you next week!

Author: Julia Shalom Jordan

Photo credit: Rich Markese

Can you face the TRUTH about YOU?

These videos describe how the Jezebel spirit operates to destroy the lives around her.

“For as many as are led by the Spirit of God, they are the sons of God.” Romans 8:14

Understanding the Jezebel spirit

“For I am not ashamed of the gospel of Christ: for it is the power of God unto salvation to every one that believeth; to the Jew first, and also to the Greek.” Romans 1:16

Our weekly Christian devotional

“What makes the Jews so special?” Sara’s blunt comment and angry demeanor shocks me a bit; she is half Jewish!

“That’s exactly why I became a Buddhist in the first place–because of literature like this.” Glancing disdainfully at the open Bible in my hand, she rolls her eyes.

“What do you mean?” I honestly thought Sara would be happy when I read her Romans 1:16.

“When I was a little, I actually believed my parents and rabbi when they said I was special.”

“So when did you stop believing that you were?” Respectfully closing my Bible, I listen with every fiber of my being.

“When I attended Brown University, I realized that my Judaism actually separated me from humanity.  It’s a crazy concept to believe that one human being is more valuable than another.” In subtle irony, she looked at me as if I were an un-educated peasant.

Sara’s frustrations with Judaism were the same issues I struggled with before I understood why God did what He did and what the actual meaning of Romans 1:16 was.

If you don’t understand the context in which it is written, it’s easy to assume that this verse is implying that the Jewish bloodline might be considered more valuable than any other.

So, if that isn’t what this verse is implying, why is Paul making it very clear that the Jewish people should be the first ones to be presented with the gospel of Christ?

Well, you can’t really touch on this topic without delving into a little bit of history and theology.

In the Old Testament days, there were two groups of people: Those who worshiped the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob and those who worshiped pagan gods (They were referred to as Gentiles in the Bible).

During those ancient days, the Jewish people were a nation that operated very differently from the pagans who surrounded them. How they worshiped and whom they worshiped made them a very unique nation.

If you study the Old Testament, you will notice that God not only blessed the Jewish people with some amazing instructions for a blessed life (the Ten Commandments), but He also provided for His people in many miraculous ways.

The Old Testament also foreshadowed God’s plan to redeem the world and His people. God said He would do this by sending the Messiah.

The Jews (even today) refer to Messiah’s reign and rule in countless customs and traditions that have been practiced since the Old Testament days.

Now, let’s get back to Romans 1:16, shall we? The reason Paul is urging all Believers to reach out to the Jewish people first is because this particular bloodline carried not only the salvation of the world, but also the keys to unlocking His identity.

In Old Testament custom, a blemish-free lamb was slain for the sins of a man. When Jesus (who was sin-free) willingly sacrificed Himself, He atoned for the sins of all who would accept His sacrifice. The salvation of the world came because God sacrificed His only son to atone for our sins.

Today, the Jewish people no longer practice sacrificing perfect lambs.  There are two reasons for this: The first one is because there is no longer a temple standing in Jerusalem.  And the second reason is because Jesus’s death is considered God’s New Covenant (hence the term: “New Testament) with man.

My friend Sara was very correct in her observation that there isn’t a higher inherent value for one human life over another.

God sent Jesus to die for the sins of all humanity, not just the Jewish nation.  Jesus the Messiah was sent to set the whole world free.

There are many different reasons why many refuse to accept God’s gift to humanity. Some feel they should be the exclusive ones entitled to God’s blessings. Others cling to the opposite end of this spectrum by embracing some version of Universalism.  This spiritual concept considers all human beings to be equal in value. But, Universalism also ignores the very real problem of sin and it’s consequences.

Perhaps that’s why many ‘Universal concepts’ have become so popular today; sin isn’t a very popular subject.

The thought of someone like Jesus acknowledging it to the point of actually dying a very brutal shameful death because of it; can make anyone squeamish. The wickedness of our sin is the very reason innocent blood was shed.

But, discomfort should never be a reason for avoiding the uncomfortable truth.  We are all sinners.  We are all in need of salvation. How bad do you want freedom?

True shalom will only come when you find it.

“Dear Heavenly Father,

I repent for being jealous.  For years when I would read Romans 1:16, I felt as if you were saying that the Jewish people were more valuable to you. 

I see now that the Jewish history was important for identifying Jesus as the Messiah.  This was not meant for me to take as a personal offense against me, but as a logical order in which your Son could be explained and understood by all nations.

Oh, Lord, help me to share the good news of Messiah with my Jewish friends.  They are a blessed people for so many reasons, but if they don’t have the kind of shalom that only Jesus’ sacrifice can provide, they haven’t got the true riches in life.

Lord, I am blessed to know you.  Help me to show others that Jesus is the Messiah.  If I get rejected, help me to not give up.  Help me to remember to shake the dust off my feet and move onto one who will listen to the good news.

Those who reject your message are not really rejecting me personally.  They are rejecting a personal relationship with you.

Bless me to reach those who are sick of avoiding the truth for fear it may be painful to hear. Give me wisdom and discernment on what to say and when to say it.  In Jesus’ precious name, because I want everyone to enjoy the same kind of freedom Jesus gave me. Amen.”

Thank you for reading our weekly Christian devotional on verses:

Please check back and see what we have for you next week!

Author: Julia Shalom Jordan

Let my People KNOW.

Jesus Culture sings about the strongholds that only the name of Jesus can break in this lyric video.

“Nay, in all these things we are more than conquerors through Him that loved us.  For I am persuaded, that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, Nor height nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of god, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.” Rom. 8:37-39

“Break Every Chain” By: Jesus Culture

Ask and it shall be given unto you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you.” Matthew 7:7

Steffany Frizzell-Gretzinger “Closer”

“For nothing is secret, that shall not be made manifest; nether anything hid, that shall not be known and come abroad.” Luke 8:17

Satanic Bloodlines and the End times

For the love of money is the root of all evil; which while some coveted after, they have erred from the faith, and pierced themselves through with many sorrows.  But thou, O man of God, flee these things; and follow after righteousness, godliness, faith, love and patience, meekness.  Fight the good fight of faith, lay hold on eternal life, whereunto thou art also called, and hast professed a good profession before many witnesses. 1 Timothy 6:10-12

Our weekly Christian devotional

“Skylar on stage next.”

“Can’t he see that I’m with a customer?” Dragging my feet across the stage, I turn towards the DJ booth. I want to be sure that he can see the angry scowl etched on my face.

Eager to recover my financial loss, I scan the edges of the stage. Unfortunately, there’s only two men watching my show.

“Great.” Lazily, I swing my heel around the brass pole.

The rest of the diminishing crowd was either occupied with their favorite dancer or placing a drink order for last call. The DJ sees my misery and cranks the music louder trying to keep the guys by the stage awake.One customer responds to his obvious ploy.  Fumbling for the wallet in his back pocket, he never drops his eyes from my cleavage.

I move closer to him, ready to unfasten my loosely draped dress. We both have a look of hunger in our eyes; his is for a glance at my naked body. Mine is for a chance to rape this stranger’s wallet. But, my Lucite heels stop clicking across the stage as soon as I see…

That he’s only holding a single dollar bill. My mind quickly calculates that isn’t the big spender that I was hoping would fall in love with me (at least until the end of the night).

“Well, then, I won’t be spending any time with you.” Turning quickly, the edges of my sequin dress float up; giving him a final tease of what he will be missing out on.

Quickly, I recalibrate my focus.  I’ve got my sights set on the opposite end of the stage. Our gazes meet.

This man’s expression is vastly different from the last. His dark eyes are sad; as if this seedy club is the last place he wants to be. Just for that, I feel like I can relate to him.

“At least I don’t have to fake a smile.” I think to myself.

As I draw closer towards the stranger, the colored stage lights hit his face. Something glistens off his cheek.  I move closer, intrigued.

His kind eyes pierce right through me.  And, not in the seedy way that I’ve grown so accustomed to. He looks at me as if he doesn’t even notice the provocative clothes that I’m wearing. It’s as if this stranger has known me my whole life. The glistening speck rolls down his cheek; his eyes never break contact with mine. Time stands still as it begins to hit me just who this stranger is…

He used to be my best friend.  I used to pray to Him when I was scared, or lonely.  I used to come to Him when I had a bad day or even a good one. There was a time long ago when I called Him my Lord, my King, my—everything.

“But…I had to grow up.” My mind reels defensively, because for some reason I just know that He can read it. Automatically, my hands touch the diamond cross dangling from my neck, as if wearing this symbol were actual proof of my love.

He sits in silence, those big brown eyes filling up like glassy pools of love and sorrow.

The music thumps even louder and the customer at the other end of the stage is now energetically waving a twenty dollar bill. Glancing at the cash, my greedy instinct seems to kick my heels in his direction. In just a split second, I find myself turning my back on my dearest friend.

After collecting my tip, I turn to face Him. He is gone.

For years I worked as an exotic dancer.  I had no problem telling people that I loved God. But the truth was: I was deeply in love with myself.

Nothing in my life reflected any fear of God, respect for Him or honor for the things that were dear to Him.

Then, one day I got real with myself. The sad truth was: my actions spoke louder than my words.

Consider this: If I claimed to love my husband yet cheated on him every chance I could get, what would those actions say about my love? So, why should God expect any less from our relationships?

Is your heart so occupied with something other than God you’re missing out on the only relationship that’s eternal? Invest the moments of your life wisely, because it’s the only life you’ve got. There is no do-over.

“Dear Heavenly Father,

There was a time when I knew you well.  I would pray to you and I would feel your presence.

But, then the cares of this life swept me away.  I figured I wasn’t being practical by believing in you, praying to you and depending on you to actually provide for me.  In this slight change of thinking, I veered very far off the path you had in mind for me.

Lord, forgive me for this.  I’m so confused.  I have no idea how I got so far away from you that I’ve even begun to question whether you exist or not. I know you are real, even though I haven’t felt your presence in a long time.

Lord, remind me of the times that you were there for me.  Show me those moments that I have forgotten.

Now, Lord, show me the times where I have broken your heart.  Let me feel the pain of your sorrow.  I need to feel it.

I repent that I have turned from you, that I have hurt you.  Set my eyes upon you, Lord.  Help place my feet to begin walking in your direction.  Show me my weakness and help me overcome them so I won’t ever get this far away from you again.

It is good to be washed by the blood of Jesus and it’s very good to be back home again, Lord.

I am your prodigal daughter/son.  But that hasn’t made you love me any less. I receive your forgiveness and love. In Jesus’ name, because of His sacrifice, this moment is possible. Amen.”

Thank you for reading our weekly Christian devotional on verses: 1 Timothy 6:10-12

Please check back and see what we have for you next week!

Author: Julia Shalom Jordan

Love has EVERYTHING to do with it.

WARNING:This testimony is sexually explicit and graphic.  It may not be suitable for children under the age of eighteen.  But, because of the reality of sexual abuse and the shame that is associated with it, we at www.shalombewithyou.com feel it is important to share stories of true abuse and the individuals who have experienced extreme transformation through Christ in order to give those who are currently suffering some hope.

My history of being trafficked sexually began nearly at the beginning of my life. I was born into a fairly large middle class family in a suburb near Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, and was the youngest of six children. One of my earliest memories is of being taken into the bathroom at the age of 3 by my father and violently raped. This continued until I reached the age of 5 and began elementary school. During this time, he began taking me places so other men could also rape me and they paid him. One of those was his brother, the father of two cousins I enjoyed spending time with. On one occasion I was taken to this uncle’s house to help with yard cleaning and left there for an hour or two. I wasn’t thrilled about it, but made the best of the time by talking with my cousins. Then my uncle ordered me to help him in the cellar, and I was raped again just as my father had done. When my parents came to pick me up, I emerged from the cellar feeling numb and less than human. The tearful, frightened stares of my cousins told me they knew that feeling also. My father and uncle talked quietly as I walked to the vehicle, and I saw the money exchange hands. I heard my uncle say, “He took it like a man,” and they laughed loudly. Another incident that took place before I began school involved being taken to a party while my mother was elsewhere. There were 20 to 30 adults, mostly men and only a few women. Another little boy was there, the son of the man who owned the home. He was upset and crying for some reason that I didn’t understand. As the night progressed, I was made to understand. I turned to one of the women as if she could protect me, and she said, “It’s okay. You can take your clothes off.” The other boy began crying hysterically, and then a gunshot from outside the house silenced everyone. A man walked in and I recognized him as a police officer, only he was off duty. He sat me on his lap and let me look at his gun. I respected this man as someone important already. That respect changed out of fear as he began touching me and then raping me, not violently, but with strength and control that crushed any resistance. After he was done I was taken to a room and told to get down on my knees. One by one, 18 men entered the room to force me into performing oral on them. I remember counting 18, breaking into terrified sobs once I realized no more were coming, then passing out. There were a lot of regular visits with certain men and sometimes our family vacations to see relatives included arrangements my father had made for me to be sold and raped in secrecy. The last time he attempted to sell me happened at a barber shop, and he said something to the owner that caused us to be yelled at and told to leave.

I entered elementary school with a lot of dissociation and frequently was taken to counseling. No one could know my secrets, though. My mouth couldn’t form the words. I had night terrors and often woke up screaming in such fright that no sound would come out. Even though my father no longer preyed upon me, I bore the mark of The Used and Abused, and I was in demand. An older male cousin whom I had thought was a close friend molested me and threatened to kill me if I told anyone. Another older male cousin attempted to trap me in his bedroom during a family visit, but I escaped. An older brother who shared a bunk bed with me crept up the ladder in the middle of the night and violently raped me while I was nearly suffocating in my blanket. A classmate at school that I walked home with told me about a man who was his friend and kept pet snakes, and after school we could stop by to see them. Being an intelligent child with a keen interest in science, I gladly agreed to go. Upon entering, we were shown the snakes in the living room and told there were more in the bedroom. When the bedroom door was opened, I saw a luxurious bed with tiger print sheets and pillows and a camera set up on a tripod. Knowing instantly why I was brought there, I quickly turned and ran, nearly dropping my book bag and explaining that I heard my mother calling me. In all of these incidents I related within this paragraph, pornography played a role. There were porn magazines in my cousins’ rooms and hidden among my brother’s artwork. The man who enticed me into his house with reptile pets was charged years later with possessing child pornography, some that he had filmed himself. At no other time in my life did I feel so betrayed, desperate and vulnerable.

At the age of 10, I found out that my mark of The Used and Abused wasn’t only visible to male predators. On a summer day while I enjoyed the break from school in the back yard, a middle aged, female neighbor called to me. I walked over to see she was taking in her laundry, but her husband was at work and the basket was too heavy. Making compliments about how strong and handsome I’d become and turning the Big 1-0, she asked me to carry the basket into her house for her. Feeling safe and quite flattered, I did so. By that time, my sexuality was awakening and I was very much aware of the fact that I was alone in a house with an attractive woman who happened to be wearing a bikini. I felt awkward, though, and when she urged me to sit with her in the living room and help her fold laundry, I nervously agreed to. When we were done, she asked me if I wanted to play a game, but wouldn’t tell me the details. She started touching me, but I didn’t back away. Then she instructed me to wait while she went to get something and returned a moment later with a handful of shoelaces. She used them to tie my hands and feet to heavy furniture and told me to close my eyes. Then she performed oral on me and also took my virginity. It was rape, only it took 30 years to finally realize it. It wasn’t violent. I wasn’t afraid. It felt good. It made me feel wanted in a different way. I thought it was love. When she finished with me, she gave me five dollars and told me to buy some ice cream from the truck that used to come down the street every night. In my head I thought it was love, but on a deeper level, I made a connection between sex and money. The next day I knocked on her door with flowers to give to her, but her husband was home. The door didn’t open, but I heard them arguing within. He wanted to know why I was there. Then my high that I thought was love came crashing down and I walked away completely lost in hurt and confusion. The world was no longer a place where heroes saved the day and everyone lived happily ever after. My soul was dying. In addition to these crimes committed against me, I was also witness to the rape of my girlfriend in the spring of our 3rd grade year. I tried to help but the perpetrator scared me away, and when I tried to tell relatives who lived nearby, I was reprimanded for ever accusing someone of an act like that and my mother was called from work to take me home. It took me a while to tell my mother about it, and when I finally did I told her I wanted to burn the man’s house down. Nothing that I know of was mentioned to authorities, though, and my girlfriend moved away. I never saw her after the rape. I also witnessed my father raping one of my sisters through a basement window. I had been out playing in the neighborhood and when I returned and saw that, I tried to get into the house to stop it but was locked out. My heart felt like it was being ripped out of my chest and after being told so many times not to tell, I ran into a nearby field to hide and cry until there were no more tears.

Any sense of love or respect for my father was gone, and I did what I could to avoid him. I also began shutting down emotionally and avoiding other family members. This changed briefly when my sistermoved out and an older female cousin came to live with us. She had been kicked out for accusing her mother, my father’s sister, of being abusive. She was six years older than me and had an active social life, and was also rebellious. I gravitated to those qualities and envied her. We spent time together talking about music and other things we had in common, and one day when my father was alone with the two of us, he forced us to engage in sex while he took pictures. Again the numbness took over, but I saw how my cousin handled it like it was no big deal and I played the part the way she did. She acted like she enjoyed it, and maybe she did, though this was obviously not her first time being sexually abused by an adult. After the pictures, he made me move aside and forced himself on her while I watched. I was being shown what to do, not only by him but also by her. When he was done and left us alone, we comforted each other as best we could. That incident brought us closer together out of sheer desperation, and we started talking about running away. It also gave her an opportunity to demonstrate her twisted sexuality on me, whether she meant to or not, I’ll never know. She gave me a progression of “sex lessons” that taught me about the female body, how to give the most pleasure and how to do it as quietly as possible so no one would know. This continued throughout the span of almost a year that she lived with us, until I accidentally said something about her wanting to run away in front of my parents. She ended up getting kicked out of our house, and with her went the only strand of stability I felt I had.

It always seemed that just when I couldn’t find myself any lower, a new low would come along. The next new low came in the form of alcohol and drugs. I was looking for any way to ease my pain and rebel against my father, and I fell in with the rocker crowd at the beginning of my teenage years. My taste in music made me popular with them, and as I drifted further from my family and obeying the rules, I started gaining some sense of independence and inner strength to stand up for myself. I pushed the limits of my curfews, making my parents worry and call the police to look for me. When their punishments didn’t seem to phase me and my growing determination to break free, they backed off and let me go. I noticed my father spending less and less time at home, which gave me some relief, but it also caused stress for my mother who suspected him of cheating. I also noticed his pornography collection had expanded and featured increasingly more hardcore content. My own sexuality was in high gear to the point of obsession, and I sometimes stole his magazines for my own use. Pictures couldn’t give me what I craved, though. I needed to be held, touched and set on fire. The flames of passion became my DOC, drug of choice. I began having regular sexual partners, usually girls who were older and more experienced than me. I became wrapped up in a relationship with a drug-addicted girl who I later found out had been sexually abused and was a prostitute since she was 14. We had so many things in common that our coming together was practically inevitable, and we saw each other off and on for a few years. As I reached 15, I developed severe depression and was taken for counseling and given medication. I knew it would solve nothing and I stopped taking it. My mother, who knew more than she’ll ever admit, knew it would solve nothing as well. I began to gain some self-confidence as time went on, especially as I began working some small jobs. I found myself falling in with different friends who were more trendy yet less socially accepted. This was during the 1980′s punk and new wave movement, and I suddenly discovered the ability to reinvent myself. I changed my appearance drastically and my attitude followed close behind. I became edgier and cocky, like I owned the world. For the rest of my teen years, it seemed like I did.

Before this reinvention, I had been in and out of a few hard rock and heavy metal bands that my friends had started. I traded between playing keyboards and singing lead vocals, and gained a reputation as a talented musician, but I just didn’t have “the look.” After turning to the punk scene, I discovered what “the look” meant. I had been ill and lost a considerable amount of weight, and that alone garnered more attention. As my focus became more appearance oriented, I was more fashion conscious and experimented with avant garde style. My friends got into the habit of taking me with them as a sort of style consultant when they shopped, and from spending so much time around fashion retail, I began working it. Two stores hired me and I took some advice I received about trying out as a model. The retail jobs I bounced between also featured me as a model from time to time, and as I took each step more doors opened. As an added source of income, I began escorting for a female-only clientele. This made all the wrong doors open, but being caught up in the moment, I thought nothing of consequences. I was very blinded by the attention and couldn’t see myself spinning out of control. I also had a habit of romanticizing everything, and even the most brief of sexual encounters brought about an emotionally heavy toll. Strangely, the more painful I felt, the more women were drawn to me. I viewed beauty as my salvation, and every face I looked upon glowed with the possibility that I might be set free. From the time that I was 10 up to and during my 17th year, I had been involved in over two hundred sexual encounters, sometimes with multiple partners. Most of these encounters were with females 18 or older, and this was my fetish that developed from being abused by older females.

I was essentially repeating my past experiences over and over, yet deep inside wanting a different outcome that on another level I knew would never happen. It never occurred to me that I was just being used like I had been as a child, although my depression was returning and I had buried the abuses too deeply to remember. Or maybe I chose not to.

During this chaotic period, I became involved with a girl who was older than me by two years or so. She was a model, like many of the girls and women I was involved with, but with a dark side that I was deeply attracted to. We were both drinkers and sometimes drug users, but because we were under legal drinking age we had to scheme our way to get what we wanted. She knew a man who produced porn that frequently featured underage talent and distributed underground, and also provided alcohol or drugs as perks. She had been filmed before and was preparing for a career move to L.A. She resembled Traci Lords and was banking on that as her ticket to bigger porn studios. I was like a puppy going wherever she went and doing what she told me I should, and ended up being filmed myself, both with her in scenes and other female talent. It seemed to be a high point in my life at the time, but it was the really the lowest of my lows. Some scenes brought on flashbacks of losing my virginity at 10 and my first experience with being photographed pornographically with my cousin. I tried to drown it out with alcohol but couldn’t shake the feeling that I had to get out. A few days before my girlfriend and I were to leave for California, I broke our relationship off and chose to stay on the East Coast. Then it dawned on me that I was nearing 18 and didn’t have a future.

While walking down a busy street with a friend one day, I saw my father’s vehicle coming toward us and waved, then felt the sidewalk give way under my feet when I saw he was with another woman, and at an hour when he was supposedly at work. When I got home, I told my mother, but she denied it. I could see the questions and doubts swarming in her eyes. It was confirmed when the other woman confronted them at a restaurant and all hell broke loose. They came home fighting, he left and she followed him, finding him running to the other woman’s house. She was the mother of the young prostitute that I had been involved with years before. When they returned again, she was distraught and walked alone out into the night. I threatened to beat him senseless if anything happened to her, and he appeared not to hear me but then went after her. The time that followed was tense and silent, and I went to sleep every night not knowing if I would be alive in the morning, a knife tucked under my pillow. Somehow he smoothed it over and things went back to almost normal, and he suffered a heart attack not long after that required quadruple bypass surgery. When I went to see him,

he was no longer the monster of my past. He was frail and pitiful, and I knew I would never fear him again. When he recovered, I grew to tolerate him but always had hate on the tip of my tongue. Every son would like to say they loved and respected their father. No matter how much I would have liked, that moment never came. The damage was irreversible. As I’m writing this, a voice in my head is saying, “He was your father, don’t be so harsh.” Not being harsh would be a severe injustice. It is what it is, and to hell with filial piety.

With my father no longer a threat, I started focusing more on some kind of plan for my future. I was getting fiercely independent as I turned 18 and insisted on finding a direction that pleased me. I turned away from fashion and modeling, suddenly becoming frustrated with the superficiality of it all, and threw myself back into music. A friend of a friend offered vocal lessons and I upgraded my keyboard equipment. It was no surprise that I found my old friends still trying to make the big time, but it was surprising to see how far they’d come. I fell back in and we started booking sessions at IRIS recording studio in the city and got ourselves some gigs. The 80′s hard rock and heavy metal scene on the East Coast was exploding, with bands popping up on every block. From 19 to 20, I saw my dreams rise and then crash in slow motion. As the stakes got higher, so did we, and as much as I hate sounding cliche, it really was sex, drugs and rock n roll. We were creating a buzz on the scene, but internally the band was coming apart. Not everyone was as committed to the music as they were to the lifestyle, and I again grew frustrated with superficiality. I started distancing myself from the band, although much of my wages from a new job were being spent on it. Because I played keyboards and sang backing vocals, my dwindling interest wasn’t noticed all that much. I was also backing away for another reason. I had begun attracting the attention of people who were obsessed. It was bad enough I had my own issues to deal with, but then I was being stalked. I was still living at home and my parents had a listed number, so anyone could locate me. Adding to the mess, my growing depression kicked my drinking into high gear along with the need to medicate with sex. I returned to escorting to try and build my savings back up, because I wanted to go to college at some point. At least that’s what I told myself. It was more like a giant hand was pushing me back from any attempt to move forward, and I started thinking that my whole life was spent living a lie, and that the reason I was brought into the world was to simply be a whore. That was my line of thought, not truth, but I couldn’t see a way past it. I also realized I was becoming intensely attached emotionally, and rather than craving sex I craved the rush of the initial stages of attraction. I needed to feel like I was in love. I had become a love addict.

By the spring of my 20th year, my number of sexual encounters had nearly doubled. There were times I didn’t expect payment. As long as I wasn’t alone, it didn’t matter anymore. I just couldn’t stand to be by myself with the darkness closing in on my heart. I spent hours walking the streets to keep the numbness at bay, my pulse quickening with every car that drove by, my eyes pleading for someone to take me with them even if only for a little while. For the first time in my life, after all the hardship I’d gone through, I was losing my will to go on and seriously contemplated suicide. I had told myself for a long time that if I could just meet the right girl, everything would somehow be fixed. The band had continued to plod along and suddenly had an opportunity drop into their lap, so a celebration was taking place one night at a friend’s house. Of course there was plenty of alcohol, and I drank heavily, keeping to myself. Then there she was. Our relationship didn’t come without it’s difficulties. I did stop drugs. Alcohol took a little longer and I still have to be careful. I decided to leave the band and entertained the thought of working with other musicians, placing advertisements as a lead vocalist, but that came to a screeching halt when the stalking incidents not only continued, but worsened. I was hounded by both women and men, and some of my old fears were returning. My response this time around was training in tactical applications of martial arts. We became engaged and moved into our own home together, and even though we moved twice more in a span of a few years, there were still obsessive phone callers until we finally changed to an unlisted number which we maintain currently. In the years prior to our children being born, I sometimes struggled with maintaining fidelity, even after our marriage. Once the kids came along, I was a changed person, but also began experiencing anxiety attacks due to news stories about child abductions and molestations. I suddenly found myself feeling vulnerable again, and never knowing I was dealing with post traumatic stress disorder, began to practice martial arts again in earnest. I became obsessed with monitoring sex offenders in our area, yet simultaneously my past was pulling me in another direction and I began reconnecting with old contacts from my love and sex addicted years. I wanted to make things right but everything was turning out wrong. That’s when I started imploding, followed by being completely shattered by the death of my father and the flood of memories that came with it.

Over the past four years, I’ve successfully been treated through EMDR trauma therapy for the horror of memories and flashbacks that disrupted my daily life. Following the advice of Jill Vermeire, a West Coast therapist who assisted Dr. Drew with the cast of the Sex Rehab reality show, I joined a 12 Step program for recovery from the remnants of my love and sex addictions.

I also sought help through Shelley Lubben and the Pink Cross Foundation. I felt compelled to assist with outreach efforts and connected with Kacey Jordan at the urging of her mother to see if I could help with her own traumatic experiences. I was still struggling too much with my own issues, though, and she didn’t seem ready to open up, so we both moved on.

Seeking further support with the memories of being trafficked and becoming a sex worker, I joined Girls Educational & Mentoring Services, GEMS, where I found a safe place to discuss sensitive topics within Rachel Lloyd’s survivors group. Seeing how much of an impact Rachel was having on the movement against exploitation and trafficking, I began pouring my energies into advocacy.

My life took on a new meaning as I joined forces with other survivors and advocates, and I found my voice was much stronger than I realized when letters I sent to members of federal and state Congress were drawing positive responses and cooperation. Throughout my life, there were times when I was overwhelmed by the sense of abandonment. I still struggle with that and feeling alone at times. Because the past acted as a dark veil over my ability to clearly see truth, I became blind to the unconditional love of Our Heavenly Father. It is deeply disturbing for a child to be treated in such a way by a parent, and my distrust of men led to a distrust of God.

Many people don’t get second chances. I have had more second chances than I can count, and the truth is that is My Father reaching out to me. He always has, through the people who randomly offered kind words, through a stranger who gave me a ride to safety when I ran away from home, through those who assisted in my recovery. Most of all, though, He has given me the chance to experience real love and to demonstrate how real love should be given, through my wife of nearly 20 years, my daughter and my son. My most life changing moment, however, happened when I fell asleep while driving home from work late at night due to inadequate sleep apnea treatment and rolled my vehicle in a ditch. I emerged with nothing more than a concussion. A little more than twenty years ago, I had wished for death. Now my only wishes are to fully appreciate the life I’ve been blessed with alongside my wife and children, and to fight against exploitation and modern slavery in any way I can.

*www.shalombewithyou.com does not assume any responsibility for any personal decisions or choices make by its readers.

Testimony of Wayne Houser

The story of a drug dealer that found God and became the father he always wanted to be.

“Whoso despiseth the word shall be destroyed; but he that feareth the commandment shall be rewarded.” Proverbs 13:13

The testimony of Duche Bradley

I’m not a theologian, but there’s enough religious diversity in my own family to see the vast difference between gods and various styles of worship.

I have a personal issue with a popular mantra that circulates among the politically correct. This sentence is the one that seems to calm the storms of controversy whenever the topic of religion is touched.

“We all basically worship the same god.”

Although I’ve noticed that these words do a fabulous job of neutralizing heated conversations; it simply doesn’t make the actual statement any truer.

This falsehood needs addressing because I believe that our discomfort in facing the truth has caused many to sweep an important issue under the carpet.  This issue is crucial because it addresses our eternal destiny.  Who you worship in this life, determines where you spend your eternal life.

No matter how warm and fuzzy the words:“We all basically worship the same God.” Seems to make people feel, the fact remains that not all people bow their hearts to the same god. By deductive reasoning if you choose to submit under the lordship of one God, you are in turn, rejecting the lordship of all others.

I am by no means an expert on religion, that’s why I’m only going to touch on a subject that I am personally familiar with. Interestingly, it just happens to be the most basic religious debate that is affecting America today.

Do Christians and Muslims worship the same god?

In my earnest search for God, I felt compelled to look into other religions. I didn’t feel that I should believe in something because that’s ‘just what our family believes’.  God deserved more. He shouldn’t be ‘inherited’ as if He were heirloom silver. The two religions that drew my greatest personal interest were: Islam and Christianity.

Since history began, there have been countless gross atrocities done to mankind in the name of religion. And, I must admit that for the longest time, I was pretty ashamed of the title “Christian”. How could I not be? It came with such heavy baggage!  Tyrants like Constantine and Hitler didn’t do very much to bolster Christianity’s reputation.

But, then I actually took the time to read the Bible. That is when I learned the teachings of Jesus.  He was all about love, forgiveness, turning the other cheek and helping the poor and the disadvantaged.

So, why was it that in all of Hitler’s violence and destruction he is still associated with the peace-loving Jesus? It was because he used the name of Jesus to further his deception. This was probably done because it was a name people naturally felt safe and comfortable with. But, once Hitler gained the masses trust and alliance, his actions were anything but Christian. Everything he did and stood for was the exact opposite of Jesus’ message of love, peace, forgiveness and mercy. So, even if Hitler slapped a “Christian” label on heinous cause, his actions were anything but. According to the Bible’s definition, Hitler would definitely never have qualified as a Christ follower.

On my journey to discover the truth, I was intrigued by the fact that so many people told me that the Bible’s God was the same god mentioned in the Koran. I needed to see for myself what was going on with this odd dichotomy. So, I decided to read both with an open mind and heart.

When I first picked up the Koran, I truly wanted to give Islam a fare shake. So, I made a conscientious effort to put aside all associations of violence many have done in the name of Allah.  This only seemed fair; because I have seen the name of Jesus marred by Hitler, Constantine and many other power-hungry tyrants.  (As I mentioned earlier, the actual teachings of Jesus and Hitler’s actions didn’t match up…)

When I first began reading the Koran, I noticed that many of the Surahs certainly sounded similar to the teachings of the Bible. But after delving deeper, I also saw how the teachings of Mohammad morphed into a greater hatred and violence against Islam’s infidels.  (The definition of an infidel is anyone who chooses not follow the teachings in the Koran; more specifically: Christians and Jews.)

I was impossible not to think of the violence that has changed our landscape of peace on this side of the globe. The twin towers crumbling to shards of metal and dust, the senseless Boston Marathon bombings and the gruesome machete murder that happened in plain sight on a busy street in London.  All these acts of violence were done in the name of Allah.  And, according to the Koran, those who performed these heinous acts would be rewarded in the next life with virgins as plenteous as tissues and riches that could rival a sheik in Dubai.  These great gifts of honor could be gotten for the cost of taking another human life here on earth. The violence matches the teachings of Mohammad.

If you’ve been telling yourself (and others) that Christians and Muslims worship the same god, to avoid discomfort at a dinner party, I challenge you to delve deeper and really search for the truth. Because not only will knowing the truth set you free, I believe you are worth the trouble that it will take to find it.

Take the time to actually read the Bible with an open heart and unbiased mind. Then, take the same amount of time to read the Koran with the same open heart and unbiased mind.

There is a God who that is so loving He sent His only Son to die for the sins of humanity.  This Son, Jesus, not only walked and talked without ever sinning but His powerful and life-changing words were captured for us by His disciples. You can find them in the four gospels. We have the luxury of Jesus’ instruction at our fingertips: His wisdom for life is available whenever we read the New Testament.

Then, there is the god of Islam.  Allah. He demands that you serve him with repetitious prayers and self-mutilation. Allah has no interest in a personal relationship with you. He only desires your devotion to the level that you will violently take innocent lives in his name.

Jesus loved the whole world that He GAVE His life.

These two religions certainly sound like they are on opposite ends of spectrum to me.

My intention isn’t to offend, but to state my personal observations that I have made in my own journey of discovery through research. God bless you as you search for Him with a diligent heart–for yourself.

Author: Julia Shalom Jordan

Not ALL gods are the same.