John Gregory Evans © 2020, Boise, ID.

My intimate personal story and experience born October 13^th, 1954, only eleven short years after the horrific bombing of Hiroshima, Nagasaki, and the hidden tortures of the Holocaust. Little did I know between 1959-1960 I would be moving to a small German village near Wiesbaden, a somewhat seemingly peaceful, quiet little village with a trail along a cherry tree orchard, multi-colored snails on sidewalks, and quite obviously burned out buildings and bomb craters in the neighborhood. Also, little did I know as an American child of five or six, I would not be welcomed by the local schoolchildren raised as Nazi kindred who burned with rage at the sight of United States citizens occupying their homeland. Thinking back, a simple walk to the local bakery for bread and pastries reminds me of the village windows that spoke with biased eyes and hardened hearts over the loss of their hopes for a fascist German state and the Third Reicht. Adolph Hitler, now dead, was the voice of the masses for a new world order. And now, he was gone so the world that had fought for peace began her new reign upon European soil. I was fortunate enough to have embraced the opportunity to witness firsthand the aftermath and defeat of a people intent on ruling the world. This is where my personal journey into the nuptial mystery for a hypostatic union and an espousal love begins. Subsequently, we often will discover good things may originate from bad and awful experiences. This is one of those stories.

In retrospect I recall the specific memories of the attitudes of the German people. This village crying with hearts of hostility, thus, bearing down upon my little brother and I acrimoniously as two little Nazi boys chased us down the street into a bomb crater. We hung from a tree root or a cable at the bottom of the crater waiting as these two boys with fists clenched and Nazi armbands demonstrated their biased rage. Upon their leaving we climbed suspiciously out of the crater running back to our villa.

Another instance crosses my mind as we drove as a family to a place where there were buildings behind an iron gate.  We parked under a grove of trees. What I do recall is dad jumping out of the car as my mother told him “no, don’t leave me here.” He did momentarily as my little brother slept in the old car, and my mother upon hearing the silence tearfully began to cry. Out of fear, I began to cry, too, as I also tried to comfort my mother.

Yes, some memories are quite sad, even very frightening, but so much goodness perpetuated its way into the mainstream of my little life. As a small boy I made friends easily. A few of my earliest recollections were my first kiss from a little girl named Elizabeth, picking berries from blackberry and raspberry bushes, the convoy of American troops occupying the autobahn, multi-colored snails that became my friend even before my first year in school, the French lady who lived next door who let me water her beautiful plants in her atrium, walking in the cherry orchard, and my first day of school. All in all, life just keeps right on going despite the change that would create within my heart compelling and meaningful riches from a life of abuse and severe violence. Most of these dark places occurred as a young boy, thus setting me up to fail my first marriage, and subsequent friendships, job losses, a lowered self-esteem, and a very severe depression that lasted for many, many years.

At such a tender age I thought of miracles but began my religious training during this period.  Miracles occur to so many people. They can arbitrate upon our behalf for moments we may share of holiness in a shared love between an espousal and sacramental love, thus creating for us insights and discernments through our sensitivities that leave us holy. Holiness creates for us a moment in time “beyond the physical laws” and “raise us into the celestial order” (in one sense), and while in this “celestial order we become perfect[ly]” made. (ACIM, I. Principles of Miracles, pg. 5, #32). This encounter leaving us breathless shall also render us helpless and astonished by the cooperation of our hearts and souls with that of the Holy Spirit through what we know as a hypostatic union. This union is between the couple, the Holy Trinity, and we may become holy in a singular micro-atomic second of time. And this sensation of holiness leaving us numb to our faculties, may last a lifetime, depending upon the espoused couple’s love and dedication to one another faithful within this beautiful nuptial mystery.

Many do not fall into this categorial sense of being. So many souls vice-fully live out a life as the early  Cyrenaic and Hedonistic peoples lived, desiring stimulating physical pleasure.  Aristippus created a school of philosophy suggesting this type of pleasure was meant for the common good to obtain and receive happiness, (https://www.philosophybasics.com/branch_hedonism.html). A life who many victimized by childhood terrors of sexual abuse may eventually live out the horrors they were appropriated by. My wealth originates from childhood experiences and one experience serving in the military. When I was young pleasure crept into my cognitive database and I felt compelled to act impulsively upon desire. This eventually became habitual and deteriorated my vision as a young man to value the beautiful treasure that femininity truly is. Eventually, I abandoned the notion of valuing myself as good and considered myself bad. I felt I was good only as a subject for pleasure. A wise woman I eventually married as my second wife suggested this was typical behavior for a victim of sexual abuse. I have agreed believing now she is holistically right.

When I was seven I witnessed a little boy my age and in my first grade class run after the very same little girl who first kissed me, Elizabeth; tackled her to the ground and proceeded to assault her. I ran as fast as I could after him and challenged him to leave her be or I would inflict pain on him by kicking him in the face. Minutes passed. I continued to revile and berate him through angered words and condemnation. He finally released his grip on her whereby little Elizabeth stood disheveled and sobbing ran home. I told this other boy he never will do this again or I was going to demonstrate a surge of violence upon his person and tell his parents. He left the scene and ran home. As he left, he vocalized obscenities towards me. I never did see that little boy, again. How did he learn such behavior at such a young age? Was this nature vs. nurture? I do not know, really, but I met femininity on fair ground hoping, just hoping, one day she would step up to greet me.

            As soon as the tyranny was over, I walked to Elizabeth’s house to make certain she was alright. Her mother, angered at first, reassured me Elizabeth was alright and safe. Happy with her final tonal inflection I walked home and told my mother. My mother was a slight bit angered as well. The odd thing was as much as I had already developed a liking for little Elizabeth, I never did see her again, either. I have always thought of her and hoped she was alright and doing well. She will always be in my prayers.

            Peculiar this little boy and I engaged in many conversations prior to this day. I gathered for a little boy of seven had he not been abused, however, why would he do such an evil act? I later discovered his father was an alcoholic and gathering from the conversations this boy and I had learned much from his father. I have always hoped to somehow anthropologically, or any behavior  of this type could be tracked down regarding this DNA entity and try to understand why anything of this nature had not been addressed. Later in college, I read a book entitled, The Cry of Tamar written and scholasticized by Pamela Cooper, that shed great empirical data regarding rape and sexual assault, but I saw very little had been discovered of little boys, their assailants, and subsequent behaviors. I feel quite strongly this should be studied to a multi-level degree. Upon facing four assailants in my life, I exhibited a strange type of behavior during my late teens and early twenties. I was forced to seek professional care.

            Now, at this juncture in my story, you, the reader, may ponder where is this all going? To answer this, I felt quite strongly to demonstrate a little boy disturbed in the most horrific manner, “through a forceful violation of [his] sexual intimacy” (CCC pg. 566, 2356), whereas, you may also ponder the question, how may one journey into the nuptial mystery: a hypostatic union for espousal love if he has been undeniably raped? The answer is difficult to embrace but experience with said components allows me to share at least one experience, e.g. Military Sexual Trauma. This causes grave damage to a survivor and does not allow the individual to determine a position of right or wrong. But I discovered as I seek more and more a moral lesson and even the very tapestry of God himself, confessing my iniquities to him, answers swell within my being. This becomes one of those miracles and more “that restores the mind to its fullness…whereas; the spirit’s strength leaves no room for intrusions…as well, miracles are examples of right thinking, aligning your perceptions with truth as God created it.”  (ACIM, pg 5, #’s 34 & 36).

            In this way, putting God entirely first creates for us a moment of holiness. I will later in this argument demonstrate hypostatic union, espousal love, and the journey to the nuptial mystery.