The End of an Era

I am going to share something that I wrote on the plane when I flew into DC for the first time last August--not really knowing what my mother's medical condition was, or the condition of her home. It's something that I wrote in the Spirit--meaning, I could not have possibly written it on my own. The style is unique to other writings that I've penned with the help of God, and not my "normal" writing style but I hope that perhaps someone who needs to hear these things will have the opportunity to read it and it will be a springboard as they enter their journey toward healing.

I'm posting it now because I am closing the door, ending an era of my life. Part of the recovery process for an adult child is going back and taking account of what really happened--even when the memories are excruciatingly painful, and then feeling that pain. I don't believe that there is a prescribed period for how long this period takes, but for me, God is encouraging me to close the door on that era of my life. It happened. It was real. It hurt. And I've felt it. But now it's time to stop living in pain and to move into the next phase--reparenting--learning how to live with healthy habits.

Enjoy...this was hard for me to read, but I found hope in it by the time I finished. I pray it reaches you and touches with arms of hope, healing, love, support, and encouragement wherever you are right now.


Going home resurrects deep-seated anxiety within me. The laissez-faire days of childhood have long ago been erased by the haunting of shame, false guilt, dread, and embarassment.

It's amazing just how much the human soul can tolerate, still functioning in "normalcy". Its adaptability likens itself to the chameleon. And yet, the past lurks just below the surface mimicing rational thought.

The hurt child grows and matures often, and may in fact appear to have received healing until faced with the return to the childhood home. And in that moment, the soul teeters between anxiety from what it has been unable to let go of and the "expected joy" pressed upon it by others.

How does the frightened child shake off the dust of abuse and neglect and instead cling to the fairytale-like memories of fleeting joy and happiness which although also experienced have been repressed and beaten?


THE LORD IS MY SHEPHERD; I SHALL NOT BE IN WANT. HE MAKES ME LIE DOWN IN GREEN PASTURES, HE LEADS ME BESIDE QUIET WATERS, HE RESTORES MY SOUL.


In silent repose, the soul and body find the ability to heal and be comforted. When the soul and body together are protected and nourished, healing and restoration come.

HE GUIDES ME IN PATHS OF RIGHTEOUSNESS FOR HIS NAME SAKE.


When the broken child's soul chooses to stop the cycle, to break the curse of abuse and walk a foreign route instead, it can begin to believe that not all things are created for its demise. Perhaps even, in retrospect, the soul can see how their brokenness has also developed character and moral rightness which leads others to ask, "How can this be?"

EVEN THOUGH I WALK THROUGH THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW OF DEATH, I WILL FEAR NO EVIL, FOR YOU ARE WITH ME; YOUR ROD AND YOUR STAFF THEY COMFORT ME.


In the midst of anxiety, the soul sees a glimmer of light above the mountain range of despair looming large on the horizon before it. Like the first fingers of morning sun breaks over the hills, so hope also reaches down to the soul. Even in the depths of the valleys, the low places of life's turmoils, even there light can reach.

And this hope can give the soul just enough to allow direction--safe, solid, sound--to hem it in and lead it down a path it might otherwise flee.


YOU PREPARE A TABLE BEFORE ME IN THE PRESENCE OF MY ENEMIES.


The broken soul hungers for something more, something better. The leftover crumbs of stale bread it has survived, though never flourished upon, previously just will not do; they will not be accepted at all. Yet a banquet, a grand feast is prepared solely for that soul when it trusts just enough to risk something different and unknown. The feast is for the broken soul alone, and it is held publicly to flaunt to the abusers, the grafters, the usurers the value of that lone, "insignificant" soul.

YOU ANOINT MY HEAD WITH OIL; MY CUP OVERFLOWS.


The benefactor of grace tends the wounds gently of the broken soul. The healer not only cares for present injuries, but also past scars and protects and strengthens the soul from future harm. He goes so far as to not just heal and protect, but to bless beyond measure. The broken soul receives far more than healing and restitution--it becomes more than what it idealizes "could have been".

SURELY GOODNESS AND LOVE WILL FOLLOW ME ALL THE DAYS OF MY LIFE AND I WILL DWELL IN THE HOUSE OF THE LORD FOREVER.


I pray this blesses you.

Comments

Brenda said…
Surely. The next era is going to be breathtaking. Thank you God for taking brokenness and giving your children restoration, I want to wear your restoration like a warm coat and allow it to comfort and carry me all the days of my life.

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