The Matchbook Diaries
Beginning when I was 3 years old I was raped and tortured nightly by my mother. I lived alone with my mother for ten years. The following ten years I lived in rich households dominated by emotional violence and alcohol addiction. We experienced both suicide and insanity. The events of my life drove me into a lifelong study of redemption. My diaries will offer you one perspective on the use of faith as a way to harvest power, dignity, and peace. If you choose to read these diaries, know that I disguise nothing. There are horrors here. Those horrors were emphatic catalysts. My drive was to find real redemption, to find life that was in no way deformed or enslaved by what was done to me.
God has never once disappointed me. I bludgeon God with all of my intellectual and emotional might, and yet I have never left any encounter empty handed. God is certainly not petty, and so, whilst I am a Jewish Christian, I claim no monopoly on words for God. It’s monumentally absurd to think that if you call God up on the phone, God won’t answer unless you use the right name or pronoun. Jesus is the lens I use, but I will not use that name in these diaries as it is a stumbling block for millions. The name I use for God is God, without gender, without attachment to any faith. I’m an artist and I’m an evangelist. These are my twin callings. The faith I call you to is a liberating, empowering faith. Redemption does not look a certain way externally. Redemption is not service or lifestyle. Redemption is the power of the truth, the power of love. You’ll know instantly, upon opening this diary, if it is of any use to you. May God bless your life; may you know and believe that you are a child of God, beloved beyond price, and of infinite value.
When I was a terrorized child I told myself, “No one knows. No one knows.” At the time this expression partly reassured me that I was unexposed. My secret life of shame was not public. I comforted myself by acknowledging this fact. There was a second, important message in my CONTINUE >
In adulthood I repeatedly dreamt I was in public without underpants on. In childhood I was required to spread my legs widely every night, and then they were held down while my mother performed long sessions of oral sex on me. I was not allowed to move or to speak. CONTINUE >
Because of what happened to me, anytime I feel close to someone or something ugly, I am terrorized. Ugly is intolerable; it’s torture. As a child I was connected to something ugly. My mother once reprimanded me severely for asking her a question she disliked. She picked me up from CONTINUE >
Going public about faith, I feel how it must feel for someone else who comes “out of the closet” about something they are. I think this is how it must be to admit something you know will be judged, misinterpreted, flung back, or rejected. Most public pronouncements of faith are CONTINUE >