A fractured family and a desolate woman, all beginning with these five words in 2 Samuel 13: “In the course of time.” This biblical story has all the elements of a prime–time drama—royalty, love, trauma, betrayal and abandonment.

Through the centuries, many have glossed over this narrative, an unfortunate incident in the life of Amnon, one of the sons of King David. But when read through the eyes of the king’s daughter, Tamar, it becomes a sordid tale, not of unrequited love, but of rape, incest and betrayal.

In today’s culture, often the #Metoo narrative concludes at the same place as 2 Samuel, as the assault is unveiled. At times the perpetrator is revealed and punishment meted out, but seldom does the account focus on the possibility of healing for the one who has been traumatized, raped, or victimized. Among the most tragic words in the whole of scripture is the verse that tells of Tamar’s future: “And Tamar lived in her brother Absalom’s house, a desolate woman.”

Statistically, up to one of every four women will be sexually assaulted at some point in her lifetime. The attack may come from a stranger, but more often, especially in childhood, it comes from an acquaintance or a family member. And yes, it happens even in the best of families, even in the church. Might there be a way out of Tamar’s desolation for them, for us?

Long before the #Metoo movement, I joined brothers and sisters who have been called to minister to the Tamars among us. In our ministry, we speak of both the dignity of being created in the image of God, and the depravity, or bent toward sin, that clouds that image. We embrace the presence of healthy longings: to be loved and to love in return, to find safety, to be accepted by others, to be understood, and to live a life of significance and purpose. Yet we also know the power of wounds suffered at the hands of others, leading to sorrow, shame, fear, anger and abandonment.

Through our encounters with the living God, in the person of Jesus, we extend healing to those who have been harmed, in the hopes that the prison of Tamar’s desolate life might be transformed to the abundance of life promised by Jesus. In doing so, we mine the pages of the Old and New Testaments to gather hope, drawing upon images of the Holy One of Israel to invite us into the presence of a healing God.

In Exodus 15, God is introduced to us as Jehovah–Rapha, the One who heals, or literally, “who mends;” the One who knows how to sew together that which has been torn. This name for God is self–proclaimed: “I am the Lord who heals you.” It is the Lord who speaks this name to the people of Israel: this is who I am.

The Hebrew people were in the desert, with no map or memory of this new land, traveling for three days without finding water. When they finally find it at Marah, the water is too bitter to drink, perhaps reflecting their own bitterness at feeling abandoned to the desert. After Moses cried out to the Lord on behalf of the people, he was instructed to throw a piece of wood into the water, and the water became good to drink. It was at Marah, the place of bitterness, that the Lord used this revealing phrase, “I am the Lord who heals you,” Jehovah–Rapha.

This passage of the exodus of a people serves as an image for the journey for one coming out of the arms of sexual abuse. The abuse is over (the people are out of Egypt), but the desert waits, with the fear, anger, sorrow and thirst found in the aftermath of the abuse. While the physical abuse has ended, the pain has not vanished, and bitter tears are wept.

When we do reach out, sometimes the water is bitter. “Get on with it,” our pastor tells us. “Just give it to God.” “That was ten years ago,” our friend says. “Can’t you get over it?” “Why are you so cold to me?” our husband asks. “Be quiet. Don’t take this thing to heart,” repeats the Absalom in our family. We attempt to drink of the water of relationships, but sometimes the abuse is repeated, and we grow bitter as we look for love in all the wrong places.

Yet Jehovah–Rapha is present. When we cry out to the Lord, we find the water that refreshes, that heals. When what is bitter is named and faced, the sweetness of grace begins to overcome what has been harsh.

In writing that weaves together the Tamar narrative and the presence of Jehovah–Rapha, the images of unstained fabric, a damaged remnant, a braided rag rug, a warm quilt, and an exquisite tapestry are utilized to offer hope and healing to those whose lives have been torn by the horror of sexual abuse. I’ve supplemented the narrative with questions to spur thinking and remembering, prayers to shape conversations with God, and tangible expressions for art and movement. Rapha’s Touch: Healing from Sexual Abuse is available through amazon.com or direct from the author.

“There is a place of quiet rest, near to the heart of God. A place where sin cannot molest, near to the heart of God.” Cleland McAfee