How often, I wonder, are we led astray by appearances—not understanding, not grasping reality. How often do we miss the love and dedication that surrounds us and make our decisions based upon our opinions or expectations?

The decisions and choices we make when we are young are some of the most important of our lives—at a time when we are the least prepared. Becky Culver made such decisions based upon a child’s understanding of her circumstances, unaware of the depth of her mother’s love and her value to God.

BECKY’S CHOICE

A teenager strides through the dark, lonely streets of the Soho district of London. It is a dangerous place for a young girl alone at night. But she thinks, she has no choice, no family or friends to help.

Her pace is quick and determined. Seeing a phone box, she decides to call for help. Her friend is too busy with a young family to spare time to talk. She slowly hangs up the receiver as the emptiness in her heart joins the hollowness of her stomach. Although she secretly expected to be hurt again. She slumps as she turns and hurries on. Her friend reconsiders and attempts to call back, but its too late.

She is just sixteen, dressed in baggy clothes that betray no gender. Her long hair is swept back into a cap which is pulled low ever her face to hide her fear and shame. she is thin and pale from lack of food.

Becky Culver has run away from home—again.

As she walks the lonely streets, her thoughts turn home—what might her family be doing now? She can imagines them sitting in the living room, united in worry, listening for the telephone, hoping and fearing that it might ring. But, she thinks, I’m sure they’re better off without me. The thought settles into the ache already burning in her chest. If they are united by her absence, it is more than they ever were in her presence. She has actually done them a favor. Leaving was not escaping, it was an act of love. For when I’m there, She thinks, I only provoke division and terrible anger. I’m just not good for my family. It’s best I just disappear. The ache finds her eyes.

Onward she presses, through the tangled alleys and streets, searching for a way to the hostel where she has been granted a night’s bed. There, the dirt-white walls mock her desolation. There is no welcome, only a brief acknowledgment by a roommate she’ll never know. There are no friends in this hole in the night.

The agony of worthlessness is too crushing for sleep, as bitter memories rehearse themselves in torturous repetition.

After her birth, her mothers kidneys began to fail. And although her mother assured her they would have eventually failed anyway, she still blames herself, and besides, she was born a girl when her dad’s parents wanted a grandson to continue the family name. They disowned the family, even denying, that they had a grandchild. It’s all my fault, she thinks. And she loathes her womanhood, as her posture and clothes attest. And her fear of eating has taken its tole. Her arms show faint, self-inflicted scars—another sign of her self-loathing

Becky had been housed by friends and child-minders during her mother’s four-year hospital stay. She watched her mother deteriorate amid whispers that she would soon fail without a transplant.

But her mother did get the transplant. Even so, it was too late to help Becky’s self worth. For dark shadows lurked behind her memory of that time. Something had happened in the house of a child-minder—some obscure abuse that left her feeling tainted, adding to her self hatred and to her decision that her family would have been better off if she had been still-born. Even so, her home became more secure for a time. But school never was.

For there was always at least one bully who would make her feel sick on the journey, anticipating the horrors that lay ahead. Because of two teachers who acted like prison guards, even the classrooms were unbearable. (A friend had a nervous breakdown after a year of these “prison matron” teachers.)

At about the age of 13 Becky began to cut her classes, and by 15, she no longer attended school at all. It was not because of rebellion but of pure fear.

Thinking of school brought another pang of guilt. She had recently gained a place at an agency that specialize in teaching children who couldn’t attend school through illness or school phobia. For the first time, school became a friendly and safe place. It was like a community where she was missed when absent.

But regardless of how she tried to please her father, he became evermore easily provoked, Everything else that destroyed her self worth was overshadowed by his fury, which was her major reason for leaving. Now Becky would rather walk the streets of Soho than face her father.

Over the next few years Becky was sexually attacked by her supervisor on a collage work placement program. Many times Becky put herself in danger by running toward a busy road, intending to throw herself into the traffic. Other times running until she found herself in a lonely and unsafe part of town. Perhaps she thought that she would be better accepted in death. She even went home with a complete stranger because he offered her a place to stay.

She was so thirsty for love she was willing to marry into an abusive relationship, thinking it was all she was worthy of. For surely, she thought, no man would want me if he didn’t first meet his needs.

Strangely, though it made no sense, she always felt she was being guarded. For hiding in her childhood memory, were the words of her grandmother, “surely you will become a preacher.” And although she never doubted that God was there, she was convinced that she could never be good enough for Him—not after all that she had done, and as wretched as she felt, and with all that had been done to her. So she chose to not trouble Him.

But now Becky says, “I want to tell the whole world why I don’t feel that way any more.

“I now realize that through all this, it was true, I was always watched over, always protected, always shielded

“There was no sudden dramatic moment when I felt ok about things. I recall the shortest sentence in the Bible: ‘Jesus wept.’ and know that God isn’t judging me—only shedding tears of compassion over my hurts—frustrated with my refusal to allow Him to comfort me.

“The struggle continues, but I always win. For when my past begins to haunt, I recall His goodness. Then my heart fills with unspeakable praise because I sense Him gently shielding me, slowly making me able to help and comfort others who have no self-worth, no future, and no hope. As it is written, ‘I will say of the LORD, ‘He is my refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust.’” Psalm 91:2 (NIV)

“And with that comes the understanding of my mother’s love. Like God, she was there all the time.”

Becky says, “I no longer need to put on a ‘tough’ bravado, which is so liberating.” And she assures everyone, that in spite of their feelings of wretchedness, God patiently waits for them to accept the sacrifice of Jesus for their cleansing. It’s a simple act, and yet all Heaven celebrates with that decision.

Becky Culver has made the right choice.

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