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I was raised in a broken home. It was not divorce that broke the home, but the fact that my dad was an alcoholic and abusive.
Although my mom was a Christian, my dad was an atheist. Being the youngest and the only boy out of five children, I caught the worst of dad’s abuse. By the time I was twelve, the abuse had escalated, from verbal, mental, and emotional abuse to physical abuse, including sexual abuse. What made it even worse was knowing I could not tell anyone.
I did, however, eventually, break my silence. I tried telling several preachers, but they accused me of lying. This pattern repeated itself for nearly twenty years. Then while in a drug/alcohol rehabilitation treatment program in prison, I began coming into daily contact with some Catholics—prisoners, volunteers, and a priest. They told me over and over that I was not to blame for any of the abuse and that God did not condemn me. Rather, Jesus wanted…
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