As we celebrate what is globally recognized as the birthday of Jesus and as 2024 draws to a close, I find myself immersed in deep reflection. One thought has crystallized in my mind: it is far better never to have been troubled, never to have been abused. It is infinitely better for a child to grow up unburdened by the scars of childhood trauma.

We live in a world that thrives on sensationalism, a society where negativity often overshadows positivity. Stories of abuse and adversity are amplified, while narratives of nurturing and stability are quietly suppressed. This has birthed a troubling belief: a story is only worth telling if it is born out of hardship. Worse still, those with uneventful childhoods sometimes invent tales of suffering just to seem relevant, forgetting that positive stories are not only valid but often more powerful.

Negative stories, no matter how redemptive their ending, carry casualties. They leave behind scars, some visible, others hidden deep within the crevices of the soul. Positive stories, by contrast, are not without their imperfections, but they shine as examples of triumph where the good so profoundly outweighs the bad that negativity fades into irrelevance. A positive foundation, once laid, becomes a steady platform for growth, leaving fewer burdens to carry into adulthood.

In reflecting on these contrasts, we turn to Scripture: “Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our tribulation, that we may be able to comfort those who are in any trouble, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God” (2 Corinthians 1:3–4, NKJV).

While this scripture does not explicitly address the troubles of one’s formative years, the very foundation upon which a life is built, tt does not exclude them. It speaks to the universal truth that God’s grace is sufficient to heal even the deepest wounds. However, it is critical to note that the comfort offered here should not be mistaken for “ease.”

The process of recognizing and receiving God’s comfort is often arduous, especially when dealing with the scars of a troubled childhood. Healing requires work, reflection, and sometimes painful reconstruction of what was lost. This is why it is far better to experience a childhood where a strong foundation is laid for adulthood than to endure the painstaking labor of rebuilding what was broken.

I grew up in a storm of immense abuse, physical, emotional, sexual, and neglectful. Encountering Christ on February 16, 1997, marked the beginning of my healing journey. Yet, this path is far from complete. Healing is a journey, not a destination. I am not where I want to be, but I am no longer where I used to be.

There are those who argue that God allows painful childhoods to prepare us for greater purposes. I strongly disagree. The God I know is not the author of abuse. He does not sanction suffering as a teaching tool. Abuse stems from human free will, choices made by people entrusted with the sacred and weighty responsibility of protecting, raising, and preparing our precious children for life. Tragically, they sometimes drop the ball due to various reasons, including the lingering effects of their own abusive childhoods, acting contrary to God’s design to cherish and nurture children as treasures. Where God sows flowers, man often sows weeds.

Some may point to the admonition in Scripture: “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose” (Romans 8:28, NIV). Yes, God does indeed work all things for our good, but this does not mean that the suffering we endure was part of His original plan. Abuse and pain are not authored by God; they are the result of humanity’s failure to follow His design.

Moreover, the process of “making it work for our good” is not easy; it is a divine effort at damage control, filled with challenges and complexities. It is God’s grace at work, mending what was broken. However, it would have been far better for things to have been good in the first place than for them to require redemption. A strong, healthy foundation is always preferable to the arduous process of rebuilding from the ruins of what could have been.

When abuse occurs, God, in His mercy, steps in, not to erase the abuse, but to work with us to repair its impact. This process is neither quick nor easy. Childhood is meant to prepare us for adulthood. When that foundation is broken, adulthood becomes a steep uphill climb. Those of us who were denied a childhood must learn, as adults, the very lessons we were meant to have mastered as children.

But here lies the difficulty: we are learning on the job. Imagine being required to sit an exam at 24 that you should have taken at 12, an exam that determines your future. There are no shortcuts. Similarly, when a broken childhood meets adulthood, even with God’s intervention, the original requirements of development remain. The lessons meant to be learned in innocence must now be learned in complexity, and the journey is arduous.

We must also bear in mind that even those who experienced a preserved childhood and were prepared for life still face the challenges of adulthood, which are tied to the common human frailties shared by all. Now compare that to those of us who were not prepared for adulthood, grappling with the dual burden of learning, as adults, the foundational lessons we should have acquired as children, while also contending with the universal struggles that come with being human.

Interestingly, the English language reflects this complexity in its definition of “child.” Many versions of dictionaries include not only a biological or chronological definition but also describe a “child” as an adult who behaves in an immature or childlike manner. This philosophical nuance highlights the disconnect that can occur when adulthood by age does not align with maturity in behavior.

The Apostle Paul captured this idea in his letter: “When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put the ways of childhood behind me” (1 Corinthians 13:11, NIV). The operative word here is “becoming.” Attaining adulthood is not simply a function of age; it is a process of transformation, marked by behavioral change that aligns with who we have now become.

When there is a discrepancy between who we claim to have become an adult and the behavior required of adulthood, we remain dysfunctional in that role. Such dysfunction denies the God-ordained characteristics of adulthood and deceives both ourselves and others. Despite this, we may pile significant responsibilities upon this shaky foundation: marriage, parenting, friendship, business partnerships, leadership roles in community and politics, and more. Inevitably, since we cannot give what we do not have, we crack, sometimes catastrophically, with irreparable casualties.

In many instances, the root causes of this dysfunction remain hidden because we fail to look deep enough. Our world often confines its solutions to the superficial, chasing symptoms rather than addressing the disease. As a result, the underlying issues, the “leprosy”, fester while we focus on treating “ringworm.” This misdirection leads to confusion and misplaced blame, as we reap the inevitable results of our flawed efforts.

This means that attaining adulthood by age does not inherently translate to leaving childish things behind. It requires growing our mental and emotional maturity to align with the chronological marker of adulthood. This alignment is a task many never achieve and, sadly, one that many are not even aware is necessary. For those who recognize its importance, the journey often brings frustration, as sustaining consistent and effective growth is no small feat.

Indeed, whether there is such a thing as “constant and effective fruition” in this realm remains a matter for deeper exploration. The complexity of maintaining mental stability and fostering productive behavior in an increasingly demanding and intricate world is, perhaps, best addressed in the context of a symposium, a discussion that must be ongoing, evolving, and inclusive.

This has been my experience since 1997 and remains my greatest motivation for my work in the field of Family Strengthening, Securing a Friendly and Protective Environment for Children®, and Rights and Opportunity-Based Parenting®. My unflinching and audacious goal is to render stories like mine, of an abusive childhood, uncommon and consign them to the forgotten corners of a museum of human history. Instead, I aim to deliberately encourage and celebrate preserved childhood stories that become the leading narratives of humanity, showcasing the deliberate raising of precious children whose solid foundations enable them to thrive, succeed in life, and make the world a better place. It is possible!

As the Bible reminds us: “But he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’ Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me” (2 Corinthians 12:9, NIV).

This truth applies both to those whose childhoods were preserved and to those whose childhoods were not. However, it should never be used as an encouragement to condone or excuse the mistreatment of children in the hope that God’s strength will be perfected in their weakness. When read in its proper context, this scripture speaks to human frailty and challenges common to all, not to justify abusive treatment or neglect of children.

This brings us to a sobering realization: how many abused children reach adulthood and willingly surrender their lives to God for healing? And among those who do, how many endure the difficult work of repair? The odds are slim because this is not the life God intended. We give God a difficult job when we deviate from His original design.

I tell my story not because I relish revisiting the pain of my stolen childhood but because I see its stark consequences in my adulthood. I never knew the joy of childhood, so I cannot eloquently describe what it feels like. But I know the haunting emptiness of its absence. That emptiness drives me to advocate for a world where no child is denied the sanctuary of their formative years.

I implore parents, caregivers, and society at large: let us not rob children of their childhood. The pain of such a loss lingers far beyond those formative years. I am raising my children to experience what I never had, a loving, stable, and protective environment. Their story will be different from mine because I now understand what was stolen from me.

Stories of stable homes, loving parents, and united families are not only valid but are far more potent than tales of hardship. These positive narratives show us what is possible when children are nurtured, not just in spite of the world’s challenges but because of them. These are the stories that inspire change, not from the pain of deprivation but from the joy of fulfillment.

There is a profound truth in the power of those who experienced the joy of childhood firsthand. They are uniquely positioned to replicate that joy in the lives of others. Their stories, rooted in stability and love, become a blueprint for nurturing environments where children can thrive. They speak not from pain but from fulfillment, their lives serving as living testaments to the value of a preserved childhood.

Conversely, those who did not experience this joy but discovered its essence in adulthood often carry a desire to share it, driven by the weight of their pain. While their intentions may be noble, they face the risk of unintentionally bungling their efforts. The scars of their past can cloud their understanding of what a joyful childhood truly entails. Without the clarity that comes from personal experience, their attempts to replicate joy might fall short, despite their best efforts.

This distinction is vital: those with firsthand experience of a positive childhood inspire through the power of what was; those who find healing later in life inspire through the caution of what should never have been. Both perspectives are necessary, but we must recognize the challenges that pain imposes on the process of creating something new.

As I reflect, I realize we must challenge the paradoxes of our world. Let us build a society that celebrates and amplifies what is good. Let us inspire with the light of positive stories, ensuring every child has a chance to grow, thrive, and live without the burden of scars they should never have carried.

Do have an INSPIRED Christmas celebrations with the family.