Secrets Buried Alive Never Die
By Andy Geesey
May 1, 2021
For generations it was common to control hurts, protect a certain version of the truth, protect eyes from seeing and ears from hearing. Whole generations have passed into eternity never dealing with hidden trauma. They were taught how to cover things up, how to be someone they were not, how to portray a perpetual lie, how to live with abuse, hurt, lies, deceit, and wickedness that never die inwardly, directing a way forward through life.
Trauma, inner hurts, physical, mental or spiritual wrongs (whether started as a child, or at any other stage of life), when stuffed away on the inside of a person, can work on that person shaping, molding, changing, them into someone they were not designed to be.
Whenever a child is made to believe that he or she must hold on to something, to keep secrets of any kind, shape, or form (especially when resulting from trauma), that soul is scarred over and over. The pain is never far away. Secrets buried alive never die.
MY INITIAL TRAUMA
In 1976, when I was eight years-old, my family went to Trinidad in the West Indies as missionaries. A revival/evangelistic tent meeting was conducted in Chaguanas, Trinidad for seven weeks. During that time, twelve Indian men who stood in resistance to the gospel, cornered me at a pond and gang raped me. Those men left me for dead—but not before instilling into me the fear of future hurts toward my family if I ever spoke up about what they did to me. This took place in June 1976. I kept the secret until February 2020. For 43 years and 8 months, I lived with buried secrets. In February of 2020, demons were cast out, lies were released, and both miraculous physical and emotional healing began taking place.
Even though my struggle started at a pond in 1976, deep generational secrets perpetuated through manipulation and church-controlled cover-ups had been passed on to me from my dad. Secrets that have affected our lives being rooted in pain, carried back as far as the early 1950’s with my dad, and yet further back through secrets carried by my grandfather.
THE COVER UP
Along the banks of the Susquehanna River, were two cousin churches that were Mennonite and Brethren. A man from the Brethren background by the name of David, was then having his way with some boys from the area, some of which were in these churches. One of those boys was a ten-year-old boy from the Brethren church.
The man, David, was able to abuse the boys because he was known by the families. The family of the ten-year-old-boy knew David. After the boy was abused, he did not feel safe at home, and since he was being loaned out to work on a neighboring minister’s farm, he began to spend more and more time away from home. His family began to see him as someone lifted, or who thought himself better than them. The minister farmer introduced the boy to a man named Ralph. Ralph became a friend of the boy, and in time the boy opened concerning David. The minister and Ralph, at that time, were in the Mennonite church.
Some of the leaders attempted to keep things quiet. They decided to watch David, to control him, to hold him accountable. All seemingly good things, except the man was never changed on the inside, and the violated boys never received healing.
In 1951, many churches became involved in a revival in Lancaster County, the impact of which is still being felt to this day. Ralph invited the boy to the meetings. He was dealing with a lot of shame and hidden emotions. He felt moved and went forward to receive Christ as his Lord and Savior.
At that meeting Ralph put his arm around the boy and told him that everything would be OK.
The boy was taught to hide his emotions away. He grew into a man, experiencing many things, both good and bad. By 1972, he had a wife and four children of his own. On one specific day, he, along with his family, visited the farm of his friend and mentor, Ralph, who by this time had married a sister of David and had two children of his own. At that time, David was living in a trailer on his brother-in-law Ralph’s farm. He had been watched by the Brethren and Mennonites for many years.
On this day, the boy, now a man, went for a walk around the farm. When something caught his attention, he was drawn towards the trailer. At the trailer, he found David abusing an 11-year-old boy, the son of his mentor, Ralph. Memories flashed back into his mind of what this very same man did to him as a child. He entered the trailer, took the 22-caliber rifle that was leaning just inside the door, approached the man, and shot him in the back of his head. The boy gathered his clothes about himself and ran out, not realizing what had happened. David fell to the ground incapacitated, yet still alive. The man being stuck in his mind with past hurts from the 50’s came to himself, realized what he had done, and saw David lying at his feet. He dropped the 22 caliber and walked out the door, continued his walk as if nothing had happened. He walked onto the porch of the main house, placed his hand on Ralph’s shoulder, and said, “Everything is going to be OK.”
That man rounded up his family and made the long trip back to Northern Michigan, where he was living at that time. He never spoke of what happened in that trailer. Soon, he received news that Ralph’s son had shot his uncle and then committed suicide. An investigation had commenced. The police had thought that maybe another person had been in the trailer, but it could not be proven. In the end, they figured that the boy walked into the trailer and shot his uncle in the head, then went outside and hid himself among some chicken crates and took his own life.
The man in Michigan went back to Pennsylvania for the funeral, but never spoke about what happened. In time that man was sent to Trinidad as a missionary. That man was my dad, Charles E. Geesey.
In October 2019, my dad was lying on his death bed, and asked for his son. At the time, I was extremely sick. I was living in a farmhouse with a woman who was not my wife, waiting to die from Parkinson’s disease. I was sick emotionally, physically, and spiritually. It was later said that I was already dead—they just forgot to tell me, so I was lingering around taking up space and time.
In the year preceding, my health had deteriorated so much that I had only been outside the farmhouse three times, and had never left the property.
A family member found me and took me to see my dad. I was in worse shape than him. His main concern was for me. A nurse came in, and together they started to convince me that I was worth saving. I promised to reach out and get some help. The nurse left us to visit. That day my dad, for the first time, told me about what happened to him as a child, and about what he had done in 1972.
David survived the gun shot and lived to be 90 years of age, dying in 2006, a member of the Brethren church. He lived needing health care for the rest of his life. To my knowledge, he had never confessed his actions towards all those boys. He was a secret that no one ever spoke about. His crimes took place in the early 50’s and 70’s. David never married, therefore never had a family of his own.
Through David’s actions, and the cover-ups of well-meaning church leaders and others who were familiar with what happened, the trauma went on in the hearts and lives of David’s victims and their families. David never spoke about what happened. The church never spoke about what happened. My dad never spoke about what happened. My dad’s father never spoke about what happened. Keeping secrets became a generational issue that has affected the hearts, minds, and lives of many people.
In time, the trailer was removed from the farm. Between 1987 and 1989, a house was built in that area. Ralph, his wife, and daughter moved into the house. Ralph was still holding many hurts himself, perhaps shame and regrets. Possibly overcome by grief, he may have begun to think that it would be better if he and his family were gone. One day, in June 1989, he took a weapon, went upstairs, entered his daughters’ room, and shot her dead. He went downstairs, entered his room, and shot his wife dead. He then turned the gun on himself and shot himself dead.
The whole family dead, murdered, suicide. Who can make sense of it all? Many Mennonites gathered, to the sum of nearly 500, and along with others, laid the family to rest. End of story. Just don’t talk about it. Think happy thoughts. Let it go. Time will pass. Time will heal all things. Everything will be ok. Except it was not ok!
Secrets buried alive never die!
After 1989, my family never spoke concerning Ralph and his family. My father and I became estranged more and more emotionally. Time went on with everyone carrying secrets which we dared not speak about, and shame that we were not designed to carry. There was desire to do right, even a love to serve God, yet there were continual failures which seemed to always knock us back down, ultimately creating a deep sense of remorse and guilt which affected our health in ways that we did not even realize.
Eventually I sat down with my dad at that hospital, and he began to release things that had haunted him, and things that he felt impacted me as his son. I also made some confessions to him. On that day, my healing journey began. Dad died two weeks later. Months afterward, a letter came to light, in which years before, he had briefly penned some words telling his story. Those words on paper made their way to me, and with them came more healing.
In February 2020, I moved from that farmhouse, and with the help of friends from the English, Amish & Mennonite communities, I removed myself from the woman that I was living with. Two weeks later, I was completely healed from Parkinson’s, and several other ailments that I had been afflicted with. Shortly after that, I spoke to a man in Lancaster County for the first time concerning the trauma that I went through in 1976. At that time, God brought my mother and my stepmother together and healed them through forgiveness which each received and gave. My mother then asked for my forgiveness, for not helping me when I needed it in 1976. They knew that something had happened to me, but they did not know how to help me. I forgave her. I also asked my mother to forgive me for blaming her and my dad for all the hurt, and she forgave me.
In July 2020 I moved to Ohio and began a journey of spiritual renewal and emotional healing. I also began to write my story, and in so doing, intend to release a new period of healing for others who have faced emotional and physical trauma.
God removes the power brought on through trauma, deep rooted pain, affliction, oppression, and secrets. Only the devil wants these things covered up, only Satan wants families to live in defeat and shame. It’s time to step out of the boat and fall wholly into the hands of Jesus. It’s time to give up the pain and hurt, and receive His healing, His cleansing, and His peace. Full redemption is found in the arms of love.
My desire is to release this same healing. Only God can cast down the chains of generational curses, bondage to men, hurts, pain, sorrow, past sins, condemnation, shame. Only God will bring peace to broken hearts; the kind of peace that in turn has the victim praying for the perpetrators. Not prayers of curses but for forgiveness, and for healing. Only God can heal a victim so that true forgiveness and inner healing can take place.
Secrets buried alive,
never die, but when
released in Jesus’ name,
the power that the
secrets held must die!
comments powered by Disqus« Back to Articles