November 2, 2009
Stuck in an Indiana sunset
Sometimes I think my contribution the world is inadequate. I think many folks feel that way. We feel stuck in where we live, in our jobs, in our brokenness. We think we need to be traveling to the far reaches of the earth to touch someone’s heart who really needs love.
I took the picture above last evening from my back patio. It was not Photo-shopped, touched-up or changed in any way. This is how it looked at that very moment. I don’t know why God chose to bless the corn fields of Indiana with this spectacular sunset.
Except maybe He was saying–to my heart, anyway–my place in the world is significant.
He put me here on purpose.
He put YOU here on purpose.
He put each of us exactly where we are–and on purpose–because He knows our hearts and stories, our trials and tragedies, our hopes and dreams are a perfect fit for those who need them most . . . and a perfect fit for who we need most.
Indeed, some of us do need to travel to the far reaches of the earth. Some of us are called to bring the world to our front porches, like my friends at World Next Door. (I tell them some of us are called to stay home and pray, and they understand.)
But the next time I start beating myself up for not being able to get on an airplane to California–let alone Africa–without a therapy session, medication, and those cute little bottles of airplane wine . . . I’ll think about this sunset. I’ll think about how I’d miss it if I lived anywhere else. I’ll think about the lives I’m grateful to touch with hope through the ministry of this blog.
And I’ll think about the words to this song we sang at church this weekend. Like the sunset last evening, this song captures my heart’s song for God and the captives He so desires to set free.
Be blessed today, dear readers. Be blessed. Know that God is mighty to save and He is faithful to do it . . . to complete you . . . to exchange your pain for life.
Raise your hands and make a joyful noise
Our God is love, our God is love
He sets the captives free and offers grace
Our God is love, our God is love
Open up our hearts so we can show the world
What You have done for us
And how You change our lives
You are bigger than we let You be
You are strong enough to set us free
By the pain of the cross You bring life to the lost
You are love, You are love
Our God is love
He runs to those who call upon His name
Our God is love, our God is love
He sets the captives free and offers grace
Our God is love, our God is love
Our God so gracious
Our God abounding in love
Our God so gracious
Our God ever faithful
Our God Is Love, by Lee McDerment
November 1, 2009
Get ‘Em While You Can!
Two AMAZING books, Watching the Tree Limbs and Wishing on Dandelions are going out of print.
The books are a two-part, fiction series about a little girl who struggles with and finds hope after suffering childhood sexual abuse.
Beautiful literature from an author with a beautiful heart–Mary DeMuth.
Awhile back, I reviewed Watching the Tree Limbs on this blog.
You can get the books at a great, discounted, price on amazon.com here:
Or by visiting Mary’s website store.
Don’t miss out on adding these to your collection–or buying them for a friend who might benefit from them!
October 20, 2009
If ________, then _________.
Yesterday, my Bible study group (studying Beth Moore’s Esther) watched a video session on fear; or rather, living fearLESS.
Beth’s key point was about how our overwhelming tendency as humans is to walk through life with the constant hum of this phrase going through our heads:
“If ________, then _________.”
If you’re like me, you’ll have no trouble filling in those blanks.
Personally, mine reads something like this: If the worst happens, then I’ll FREAK. I’ll have a meltdown. I’ll eat an entire loaf of white bread. By myself. I’ll max out all my credit cards, then dissolve in a pool of my own sweat.
Oh yeah. I’ve had a bad case of “the what if’s” my entire life.
Beth Moore challenged us to fill in that second blank . . . not with I’LL FREAK, but . . .
. . . with . . .
GOD.
If the worst happens, then God.
Wow.
What a paradigm shift.
Since yesterday, God’s been pressing on my heart, telling me how much I’m (((still))) held captive by fear and dread.
Fear plagues my writing. It plagues my parenting. It plagues my wife-ing.
I don’t want to let my kids down.
My friends down.
My dog down.
I don’t want to let you readers down.
I don’t want to let God down.
And on, and on, and on.
I know these are lies and that fear is a fetter straight from the pit. But it doesn’t make it sting any less. It doesn’t deafen my ears to their overwhelming roar. It doesn’t keep me from feeling dumb and discouraged when I need to be most brave and courageous.’
Which is why, in general, we need each other. Christians need each other. No matter how insignificant our individual battles may seem in light of others’, they are significant to each of us. And we need to ask each other for help . . . for prayers of support . . . for the courage and wisdom to fill in all our “second blanks” with GOD.
“. . . perfect love casts out fear . . . “
I John 4:18
Praying God fills all your second blanks in big and mighty ways today.
October 13, 2009
Bricks and Mortar
Breaking free from our pasts and even present troubles seems so impossible. Unimaginable. Overwhelming.
Day after day, the pain hangs over us and hangs on us like a bad date. Annoying. Irritating. Inescapable.
One friend recently described this phenomenon of perpetual pain as “white noise.” The constant, mosquito-like buzz that just won’t go away.
Add to that the lonesome reality of our silo-like lives, and it’s enough to cause anyone to be in a funk. Discouraged. Disillusioned. Depressed.
Our “rugged individualism” has backfired, causing us to be strangely separate, sad and lonely individuals.
Nehemiah 4 offers a lot of hope. In particular, Nehemiah 4:19:
Then I said to the nobles, the officials and the rest of the people, “The work is extensive and spread out, and we are widely separated from each other along the wall. Wherever you hear the sound of the trumpet, join us there. Our God will fight for us!”
Indeed, as survivors of depression, abuse, death and whatever other tragedy, our recovery work is extensive. Our lives are too spread out. We struggle to spread the mortar of hope, and even if we succeed there, the mortar squishes out all over the place when we try to place a brick.
The last sentence of that Nehemiah verse is what catches my eye. We need to start sounding our trumpets of need. We need to start sounding trumpets for those who cannot or who are too weak or too scared to do it themselves.
Then God will come running. He’ll bring His troops to fight for us and help us build. Others will hear about the need and come help, too.
For only when we live our lives in a transparent, clarion call of truth can we join together to lighten each other’s loads and rebuild the walls . . . walls fortified with the redeeming love of Christ.
The LORD is my rock, my fortress and my deliverer; my God is my rock, in whom I take refuge,
my shield and the horn of my salvation. He is my stronghold, my refuge and my savior—
from violent men you save me. I call to the LORD, who is worthy of praise, and I am saved from my enemies. –II Samuel 22:2-4
October 4, 2009
To believe or not to believe
The other day, someone asked me what I thought about MacKenzie Phillips confession on Oprah. The person–an acquaintance–went on to say it would be a terrible thing if MacKenzie were just making it up for money, and that it’s hard to believe someone who has such a history of drug abuse and mental illness.
I don’t know this person enough to know if she knows about my blog or my past. Certainly, I make no attempt to hide my history of incest from the public.
Yet, the question rattled me.
“Um, well, um, I think it was brave of her to come forward like that.”
Then I changed the subject.
My stammered, clammy reaction made me feel like a betrayor of the community of survivors I am devoted to reaching here and whenever I’m asked to talk about the subject. I’m still beating myself up about the missed opportunity to share how much the world needs brave people like MacKenzie to come forward and tear the veil shrouding the silent epidemic of sexual abuse in America . . . how it’s no wonder MacKenzie has had so many struggles . . .
. . . because incest hurts worse than most physical ailments and it cuts deeper than any other abuse.
At the same time, my reaction isn’t surprising. The only thing that hurts worse than incest is people not believing it happened to you. And so I type through tears today, knowing MacKenzie’s battle to heal has only just begun.
Dan Allendar’s words from his book, The Wounded Heart, are so true:
In most cases, you would never suspect who has been abused. If asked directly, many would not recall past abuse; others would lie to avoid the shame of admitting that they were victims of one of the few crimes where the victim feels more shunned and rejected than the criminal. –p. 43
I’ve found that to be the case myself. My confession seems to receive one of two responses: 1) I’m brave/it happened to me, too/thank you, thank you, thank you; or, 2) denial/disbelief/well that explains why she’s such a mess. Relatives seem to embrace #2—in particular those involved in protecting themselves because they were perpetrators, or those for whom “family dignity” is more precious than the healing of the victim. Some will never speak to me again, shunning me forever for breaking the massive secret that’s bound generations of my family in a grotesque ball of feigned righteousness, lies, deception and repeated cycles of abuse.
Oh yeah.
MacKenzie’s brave.
In her confession, she’s like the riders in Braveheart with their faces painted blue, screaming, “FREEDOM!” at the top of their lungs. Freedom for incest survivors trapped in the web of family secrecy that imprisons them and locks them in an inescapable dungeon of pain . . . hides them in the dark corners of generational attics and forbids them to speak, alas to even breathe.
MacKenzie’s past mistakes have no bearing on her confession. Indeed, they are further evidence of the truth of it. As Beverly Engel, author of The Right to Innocence: Healing the Trauma of Childhood Sexual Abuse writes:
Incest violates my capacity to validate my own perceptions and renders me incapable of trusting my own judgment….The abuser steals across boundaries, in effect negating my boundaries and steals all control over my own body, my own life. A life out of balance—a life of emotional behavioral and attitudinal extremes. Not a matter of conscious choice—I do not respond cleanly to the here and now. Love can threaten, Touch can burn. Caring can seem to violate. My reactions can come as a surprise, even to me, and be opposite of what I want them to be or of what reason and sanity say they ought to be. They told me I was crazy.
And the reaction of MacKenzie’s family, to date, is further evidence of truth as well. Sue Blume, author of Secret Survivors, writes:
Families often turn against the adult incest survivor who breaks the secret….enormous conflict accompanies this truth and the psyche fights it through attacking its messenger. They are protecting themselves in a more fundamental way. Incest often occurs through the generations. So do secrets, including the secrets we keep from ourselves. …if the “closeness” that she risks losing by telling is a closeness that was bought with her silence, it is built on a lie. She cannot trust it. She may live an illusion of family intimacy, but what she sacrifices for the label of “family” is any sense of trust, security, or honesty…. No perpetrator stops on his own. In breaking the secret, she has, finally, the power to break the chain. pp. 71-74
MacKenzie, if you happen to stumble upon my blog and read this, know I am standing with you, shoulder-to-shoulder, and heart-to-heart. On behalf of all those who are still afraid or unable to speak. And willing to take the knife of people saying I’m crazy or lying . . . people thinking I’m gross . . . people thinking whatever they want to think.
Because the world needs us, MacKenzie. The world needs you.
The world . . . full of survivors of this most heinous form of abuse . . . needs us to fight for the revelation of truth.
I’m a thirty-something mama & wife trying--moment-by-moment--to follow hard after Jesus' scent. As a survivor of childhood sexual abuse and perinatal mood disorders, this site is my gift to you: a celebration of brokenness, hope, healing, life, art, and all the miraculous moments in between.
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