The following essay takes liberties and interpretation that are not specifically found in the Bible. As you read, please carefully consider this as only ONE perspective. The author does not assume that all reading parties believe the excerpt portrayed below is the sole truth found in the Bible between David and Bathsheba. The author has expounded and dramatized the story to validate and connect emotionally with women who have suffered from rape in order to help restore identity and hope.

Modern-day language used throughout to convey personal interpretation.

Some content may not be suitable for children.

bathsheba: rape part 2

I survived rape by a powerful man. A man beloved by all. Even I, before this time, admired the life of this spiritual shepherd boy turned spiritual nation-leader. David. Hero. David. Humble. David. Human. The depravity of man has never slapped me in the face as it has this year. There is much to tell. I have lost my first born son this year. I have lost my husband. I have lost life, family, and joy as I’ve known it since childhood. You heard me mention Solomon before and I will get to him soon. But first I need to share components of my recovery.

You may be surprised to hear me say there is recovery from rape. Granted, we all recover at different paces, though some not at all. While I would hope no one would remain in the state of utter desolation, I can understand why and how it happens. I will do my best to separate the rape emotions from the grief of Uriah being murdered shortly after that night. I was quite despondent after the first night with David. Sobbing into my covers for weeks afterwards, I could barely get myself up in the morning. I wanted seclusion. Quietness. Aloneness. Sometimes I feel nauseated, other times wracked by unconsolable sobs.

There really was nothing else I was capable of doing besides crying for God and watching and waiting. I have spent time with Him since being a little girl, cultivating my personal relationship with Him. The only thing I set my mind on in those days was knowing that my worth, confidence, and existence lies in His hands. I repeated it over and over to myself. But oh my goodness, I still can hardly breathe when I think about that night. It catches in my throat and I instantly withdraw further into myself, building walls and defenses towards anyone attempting to get close. My story is intertwined with David’s. I watched him continuously prostrate himself before God in confession, worship, and humility, and every time, anger towards that man quickly stirs, shooting blind hatred through me as I spew curses towards him. David attempted to apologize. Repeatedly. Weeping. I felt stone cold but I could not shake the inner turmoil of knowing ultimately what God was asking of me.

Forgiveness.

No. No way. I despised that word and I despise it now. Everyone writes about it, talks about it, and acts as if it is no big deal. As if it doesn’t feel like your guts being ripped out of you, or the most annoying human spitting in your face. No. Way.

I added steel bars to the walls around my heart. David had stripped me of everything. I want him as far away from me as possible. Not many rape stories have an ending like mine. Many are horrid and unresolved, and certainly not deserving of any resolution, repentance, or reconciliation. Believe me, I understand. And I do not criticize how you handle your own situation(s). Long-lasting trauma exists for many, and I am so sorry if you experience that. Fear is crippling and I can only hope there comes a time where things fade, where sweet memories sympathetically cover the memories you wish you never had.

Yet, my story is different. I am different. David is different. Our children are different. David falls at my feet, and not only my feet, but God’s feet, day after day, mourning his mistakes, his sin. I glimpsed in that moment what utter depravity of man really is. It is in the cruelty of knowing what temporary pleasure offers: broken relationships, crushed hope, and pain, indescribable pain, forced upon oneself and others.

I was beginning to understand.

This is not just David’s doing.

It is all our doing.

Do not get me wrong, I struggled. This was not a swift turnover of my emotions. Remember I mentioned spewing curses towards him? That is a thing. But one moment in the presence of Holiness during worship and I felt the steel bars slowly fall from my heart one by one. Layer by layer, moment by moment with the gentleness of God, I allowed myself to unclench and let go of the hurt and pain.

All those layers around my heart have claw marks on them.

I have clung so hard to the safety of those walls that even while I let them go, the sound of ripping and shredding resounds in my head, caused by my own stubborn resistance. You think it is easy for me to admit that I had to let go of those weighty emotions? I am a fool. But a fool I will be. Scoff at me, roll your eyes, I’ve done it all. However, I am resolved to live fully in my destiny. We both know the end of my story: the redemption, the ultimate King born through my children. I may still struggle with different aspects of that night and others, but I will not pridefully refuse God His glorious ending.

Do you know that when my son Solomon writes of the virtuous woman doing Him good and not evil all the days of her life I was speaking of our ultimate Bridegroom. Choose Him. Choose Him for your lifelong journey. Man is far too easily tossed about with treacherous ideas and desires to remain as faithful as we need. I must go, but if you want more, I still have not even barred my soul of the loss of my son or of my love, Uriah. There is much tension surrounding my life that I must carefully go one step at a time with my story. For now, know that your Bridegroom holds you complete and whole in His eyes.

Proverbs 31:12 She will do Him good and not evil all the days of her life. (capitalization emphasis mine)