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    Victim to Victory: My Journey from Sex Slavery to Freedom in Christ
    Victim to Victory: My Journey from Sex Slavery to Freedom in Christ
    Victim to Victory: My Journey from Sex Slavery to Freedom in Christ
    Ebook108 pages1 hour

    Victim to Victory: My Journey from Sex Slavery to Freedom in Christ

    By Tisha Dickson-Nickson and MBA/HA

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    About this ebook

    This book is about my Journey from Sex Slavery to Freedom in Christ. I was sold by my mother to a man that was twenty-one years older than myself and he was a well-known drug dealer. I was rape and beaten for a couple of years of my teenage life, But God! Later in life, I was faced with the daunting task of taking care of my mother during her life threating illnesses. By faith, I was given the strength to forgive her for all the wrong she had done to me and truly love her until her death.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherGatekeeper Press
    Release dateOct 11, 2018
    ISBN9781642372359
    Victim to Victory: My Journey from Sex Slavery to Freedom in Christ

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      Book preview

      Victim to Victory - Tisha Dickson-Nickson

      heard…

      Table of Contents

      Foreword

      Foreword

      Preface

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

      Epilogue

      Foreword

      It gives me the greatest pleasure to write the Foreward for Mrs. Tisha, who I have pastored for some time.

      I respect her for her candid and openness of the things that she has encountered during her existence, realizing that she may be judged, but she has the integrity to write her life story.

      I have been her pastor, spiritual advisor, mentor, and friend for several years.

      I’m elated and pleased to have the opportunity to listen to her questions, concerns and situations and offer help and guidance from a spiritual perspective.

      My expectation of this book is that it will bring spiritual growth and abundant blessings to all readers, not only females.

      I am excited about Tisha’s process and progress. Also, I am happy to be helpful as she embarks on it. Every step of the way for her has been accompanied by her belief and prayers. This book was written from her experiences over the years.

      I am truly pleased to accept this opportunity; it gives me confidence and fulfills the anointed mission the Lord has for her.

      The steps of a good man or woman are ordered by the Lord: and he delighteth in his way. Psalm 37: 24 (KJV)

      I’m proud that she has shared a glimpse of her life’s journey with all of us and hopefully, it will help to inspire others by bringing a gift of God’s blessing and grace.

      If thou shalt confess with thy mouth the Lord Jesus, and shalt believe in thine heart that God hath raised him from the dead, thou shalt be saved. Roman 10:9 (KJV)

      Pastor Walter E. Ellis

      Pilgrim Rest Missionary Baptist Church

      Montgomery, Alabama

      Foreword

      Mrs. Nickson has written a timely book that will inspire and encourage victims of all ages to stand in their own truth. Mrs. Nickson takes the reader on her personal journey through loss of innocence to becoming a triumphant Woman of God. Mrs. Nickson truly embodies the spirit of Esther in that she uses her beauty, intellect, and caring heart to uplift and improve the lives of everyone she encounters. Victim to Victory: My Journey from Sex Slavery to Freedom in Christ is a wonderful testament of overcoming adversity to embrace a brighter future. An awesome read!

      Mrs. Danette B. Battle

      Founder of Parker Royce & Co.

      Preface

      These things I have spoken unto you, that in me ye might have peace. In the world ye shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world.

      John 16:33

      I was sixteen the day my childhood ended. It was in May 1990, the day of the Mother’s Day concert at the Montgomery Civic Center downtown. Already in May the weather was warm and muggy, with just a little breeze that really didn’t cool things off much.

      In the early afternoon, my mother dropped me off at Grandmother’s house out in north Montgomery off Lower Wetumpka Road. I wasn’t related to her by blood; she was my half-brother’s grandmother. But I called her Grandmother because I’d known her since I was six years old, and I used to stay over at her house all the time.

      Mama left me with Grandmother because she’d said she wasn’t going to the concert. But Grandmother told a tale. Not long after Mama drove off, Grandmother got dressed and said she was going to the concert with her sisters. I said to myself, That’s not what you told my mother. I knew that’s not what Mama thought when she dropped me here and she wouldn’t have left me if she’d known.

      But I didn’t say anything. I didn’t really mind. It was nothing new for Grandmother to go out and leave me with the kids who were staying with her. I loved being over there with the house full of children and laughter, and always someone to play with.

      That afternoon there were probably twelve kids altogether my brother’s cousins and nephews and his other half-sister ranging in ages from five to twelve. We had a great time that afternoon, riding our bikes all over the neighborhood, or piling into my brother’s go-kart for a zoom down the street. For supper we ate fish or chicken or whatever Grandmother had fried up that day. Whatever it was, it was delicious because Grandmother was always frying up something to eat and it was always good.

      About 8:30 pm, I’d gotten the kids to settle down and watch TV. I was outside, straightening up all the kids’ toys and sweeping the porch, when a car pulled up in front of the house.

      One of my brother’s cousins, Lucky, was in the passenger’s seat and he was riding with James Holt, a man I knew from the neighborhood. Hey, Boo, Lucky called (because that’s what everyone called me). We’re going to the store. Do you want anything?

      I went through the gate surrounding the house, and up to the car window. Yes, I answered. I want a Coke."

      Lucky replied, Okay, when we come back, just come back out the gate and I’ll give you the soda.

      Lucky and Holt drove off and were back in a few minutes with my soda. Now, I noticed something odd about the way they drove back. When Lucky was talking to me, he was in the passenger’s seat of the car, which was nearest the house and me. The shortest way to the store and back would have been for them to take a quick left and then a right, which would have put them on Lower Wetumpka Road, which was where the little market at the gas station was. The quickest way back would to have been to re-trace that route, which would have meant pulling in front of the house in the opposite direction, with the driver’s seat closest to the house and the passenger’s seat on the far side. But instead the car went the long way around, passed the street that would have brought them back to the house by the most direct and fastest route, and instead took a left at the next entrance, and then another left onto Traction Avenue, Grandmother’s street, driving up in front of the house, again with Lucky in the passenger’s seat closest to me and the house.

      When I saw them pull up in front of the house, I walked back out through the gate and asked, Where’s the soda?

      Lucky got out of the car and pointed inside and said, It’s right there in the cup holder. Go get it.

      I had known Lucky since I was six years old. I also knew James Holt. I’d seen him around Grandmother’s neighborhood and knew him as a neighborhood drug dealer. But I didn’t feel any anxiety as I bent over to grab my soda. Then Lucky gave me a shove, pushing me into the car and closed the door. That’s when I saw the pistol on Holt’s lap.

      Chapter 1

      Thou, which hast showed me great and sore troubles, shalt quicken me again, and shalt bring me up again from the depths of the earth.

      Psalm 71:20

      I’d had a happy childhood up until that moment.

      I was born in Montgomery, Alabama, early one September morning in 1974 into an unusual family situation. I had two fathers. My mother was dating two men at the time, both named Mike, and she didn’t really know which one of them was my biological father. They both claimed me, and I called them both Daddy and loved them both dearly.

      My mother was not a stupid or bad woman, but she sometimes took advantage of people who cared for her. She told both men that they were my father. And my birth would ensure financial support from them both.

      Mama always told me that Michael Pond was my biological father. He came from an educated, upstanding family that owned land in Alabama. His mother was half Cherokee and half African-American and his father was an African-American who owned about eighty acres in Macon County, Alabama, just north of Montgomery. He had his commercial driver’s license and drove trucks. He moved to Michigan when I was three and I didn’t see him all that often. But he sent me gifts on my birthdays and at Christmas. He had three daughters and one son. One of these girls was only a year younger than I was, and we grew up together. Just about every weekend, she was at my house or I was over at hers. Everyone thought we were twins.

      My other father was Michael Tone. His mother was a single parent, disabled because she only had one leg, who had eight children: four girls and four boys. Tone was the black

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