Stumbling Towards Faith: Renée Altson
A heartbreaking story of abuse and struggling to feel loved by God.
From the cover:
Renée Altson understands all about being hurt, feeling alone, and full of doubt. While her story is an extreme example of abuse and mistreatment done in the name of God, her struggles with God as Father and with faith and disbelief are universal. This book is a perfect companion for those who have survived or know someone who has survived abuse, as well as for anyone who has ever questioned whether the journey toward faith is worthwhile. As you stumble with Renée, you will discover new deep places within your heart and the freedom to question a God who is big enough to handle your doubts. May this book help you learn the breadth and depth of the love of God and may the prayer you offer be the same as Renée’s: “I believe. Help my unbelief.”
Why should you read this book?
It should be noted, this book revolves around sexual abuse. Anyone who has been sexually abused and still struggles with the aftermath might not want to read this book.
But this is also why this book is so important to read. It’s a heartbreaking read that shines a light on a reality most of us don’t want to accept. Renée’s writing is very raw. It’s poetic. It’s full of pain and anguish and a desire to be loved. It reaches into places most of us never do. It’s a story of psychological torture. To believe in God, yet to be abused in the name of God. Instead of abandoning her faith, Renée stumbles through it, with anger and sorrow and beauty.
Excerpts:
“My father corrupted nearly every single thing that in my deepest moments of belief I see that God created for good or for righteousness.
He did it slyly, without my even realizing it.
He did it deliberately, without regret.
He fully convinced me that God was on his side, that I was bad, that I was lucky to be loved (by God, by him, by anyone), and that I was to blame for things no child—nobody— should ever be blamed for.
I had a strange sense of power because of this. I was terrified of God, yet I felt more powerful than God at the same time. My dad told me that if the sun didn’t come out in the morning, it was because it (the sun) “didn’t want to look at your ugly face.”
So I felt more powerful than the sun, but I felt powerless under the weight of my father’s body.
I dared God to kill me (it would have been a welcome relief). I embraced fundamentalism — it was familiar, it fit in with my self-blame, and to some extent, my overblown sense of power.
I wandered through various religions, particularly the ones with strict rules and definitive boundaries. I was baptized a Mormon, a Jehovah’s Witness. I flirted with Scientology. In the end, I came to one conclusion: the warm acceptance I felt in each of these groups was there only because I was conforming to that group’s ideals. The people loved me only because they had to, because it was written in their religion that they treat others well. They had faith in me only because I shared their faith, too.
The moment I doubted or strayed or showed independence, they became vultures. They told me I was unworthy. It was almost like living with my father all over again. Almost.
I don’t even know what “home” means, except that I long for it. I long to heal, to have this yawning chasm inside of me filled, to believe in something bigger than me, holier than I dare to imagine, more gracious and full of kindness than I dare to wish for.
This book is an expression of my journey “home.”
these hands clenched: through prayer or anger, or both.
even as the words fall from my fingers, even as the sentences form on the tips of my hands, i struggle.
i am fighting with my own soul.
i long for him.
this savior, so long held up, so long adored. this jesus, so revered, so perfectly blameless. he is intertwined into my very being, incorporated into my very sense of life. he is, i believe, the fulfillment of all i ache for, the completion of all in me that is broken.
flicker: this light, an ember, a small miracle along the path.
“If there’s anything I’ve learned about not knowing, it’s that it reveals the depth of my trust. Can I trust a God who will not explain himself? Can I trust a God who leaves me not knowing his purpose, his will? Can I trust something beyond the pat answers, the snatched promises, the ways we quiet ourselves when the questioning grows too strong?
Can I trust a God who lets me live with an “I don’t know” and expects that it is enough?”
About the Author
Renée Altson’s nonfiction and poetry have been published in journals and anthologies nationwide. Her weblog (www.ianua.org/weblog.php) has received wide acclaim and is viewed by the Christian and secular communities as an extraordinary narrative. She is the author of Stumbling Toward Faith, on staff at Infuze magazine, and the managing editor of The Journal of Student Ministries. Renée and her family live in La Mesa, California.