In the wilderness

     This post is one I'm writing because I need to remember the things God has taught me.  Lately, I've been struggling a lot.  It seems, on this journey, that at time I will be walking along with shaky steps but still able to find the ground beneath my feet.  The path seems straight and clean even though I can hardly see in the darkness of it all.  The journey, while still difficult, is smooth and easier to handle during those times.  Other times, the darkness completely envelopes me, the path takes a sharp turn, and rocks I can't see trip me up until I can't feel the ground beneath my feet.  Those times I struggle to get through each day.  Those times are the hardest of hard days.  I have been stumbling along that section of the path recently, and I don't like it very much...okay, I honestly don't like it at all.
     During times where the ground seems too unstable to plant my feet upon, I find it easy to want to give up and walk away.  I was once again contemplating giving up just a few days ago.  It was not the first time I have thought about just walking away from it all and trying to pretend again that nothing ever happened, to put on my brave face that says "I'm fine" when really I'm the farthest place from fine one can be, to try to bury it all once more.  I'm pretty sure it won't be the last time if I'm being completely honest.  But, not too many months ago, God showed me how a well known story in the Old Testament applied deeply and profoundly to the journey I am walking.  Right now, I need to remember these truths, so I am sharing them with you as I remind myself.  It will be a bit lengthy, but it will be worth it.  Grab a cup of coffee or tea, cozy yourself in your favorite spot, and I pray you will be encouraged as you read.

"God spoke to Moses and said to him, “I am the Lord.  I appeared to Abraham, to Isaac, and to Jacob, as God Almighty, but by my name the Lord I did not make myself known to them.  I also established my covenant with them to give them the land of Canaan, the land in which they lived as sojourners. Moreover, I have heard the groaning of the people of Israel whom the Egyptians hold as slaves, and I have remembered my covenant.  Say therefore to the people of Israel, ‘I am the Lord, and I will bring you out from under the burdens of the Egyptians, and I will deliver you from slavery to them, and I will redeem you with an outstretched arm and with great acts of judgment.  I will take you to be my people, and I will be your God, and you shall know that I am the Lord your God, who has brought you out from under the burdens of the Egyptians. I will bring you into the land that I swore to give to Abraham, to Isaac, and to Jacob. I will give it to you for a possession. I am the Lord.’” Moses spoke thus to the people of Israel, but they did not listen to Moses, because of their broken spirit and harsh slavery."  Exodus 6:2-9

     That passage is one I read during my family's devotion time one afternoon a few months back.  As I read, I was really struck by how the Israelites responded to these incredible promises God was giving them through Moses. They didn't even listen to him because of "their broken spirit and harsh slavery." I had never noticed those little words before in the many times I've read through the book of Exodus, but it really resonated with me. Later that day, I looked up the meaning of those words and saw that "broken spirit" can be translated "anguish". They were in such anguish of spirit because of the oppressive conditions they had been living under for so long that the precious hope they were being given wasn't even something they could grab hold of. Oh how I understand that feeling.
     Last year I found myself in a place where, for the first time in my entire life, someone told me that God was for me and hope was held out in front of me in caring, open hands just waiting for me to grab hold of it, but I was just like the Israelites.  I was finally being told that God brings healing.  Someone was giving me the promises of God, and I did not believe it at all.  Not only did I not believe it, I simply couldn't.  I just didn't know how. Even as I moved forward towards the help being offered, I couldn't grasp the concept of hope. I had resigned myself to the way things were so many years ago that believing there was hope for things to get better, for healing to be mine, was more than my finite mind could even begin to understand. As I have continued to walk this path to healing, taking small steps in the right direction one day at a time, hope is still something I find so hard to grasp. So often even a year later, I still react like the Israelites.  I still doubt that His promises are real and that He says them to me.
     As I pondered the Scriptures I had read and the rest of the story of the Exodus, I thought about how the story continues. God was still faithful! He didn't condemn the Israelites because of their faltering faith and doubt. No.  In the middle of their doubt and sufferings, He had compassion on them. He still showed Himself mighty and brought about the freedom and redemption He had promised but they couldn't grasp the hope for. What an incredible and loving God.
     Then as He began to work, their faith was strengthened and their doubt gave way to trust and belief. By the time He told them to kill a lamb and put the blood on the doorposts and gave them all the directions for the Passover meal, they didn't question Him. They obeyed and trusted and believed that He would spare their firstborn.  And He did.  He told them to plunder the Egyptians by just asking for their valuables. That is ridiculous to think people would just hand over their most valuable possessions without a fight, but Israel believed God and did what He said. They were given their loot and they left Egypt behind. By the time they got to the Red Sea, they had such a strong faith. They trusted Him enough to walk through the Sea on dry land with enormous walls of water on either side. They believed He would hold the water until they got to the other side safely.  And He once again proved himself faithful, holding back the water until they were all safely across.
     The children of Israel started in such a broken place that they couldn't even believe the hope God was giving them, but God was still faithful in the midst of their doubt to work to bring about their freedom and redemption just as He promised. In the process, their faith was strengthened tremendously. I also started in such a broken place that when hope was offered, I didn't know how to accept it.  I do feel like I have a better grasp on the hope I have in Christ now than I did even a month ago, but so often it still seems like water that I grab for only to have it fall through my fingers leaving my hands empty once more. But in those moments when hope falls through my fingers, I can remember that God is still faithful.  When hope is something I can't grasp, I can remember that He is faithful and cling to that instead until He strengthens my faith to the point where hope is something I can cling to.
     It's very much an up and down dance too.  One day I'll have a firm grip on hope and believe with everything in me that things will get better, that God will bring healing to my heart and soul one day, and I'll feel like I can keep pressing on and fighting through all the junk.  I will take each step on this path in front of me with confidence that it will all be worth it.  Then the next day (sometimes the next second even), something flips a switch in me, and I spiral into a storm of panic and anxiety and fear.  I can't even imagine that hope exists at all.  I want to give up and find safety in the only thing I feel can be safe...my own walls that I have spent decades building.  God seems far away, and I feel like I'm falling apart.  That is when I can remember God is faithful even while I'm falling to pieces.  I can't seem to find hope then, but I can remember His faithfulness.  His faithfulness does not rely on the strength of my faith but on the character of my God.  His faithfulness remains steadfast even as I am tossed about on the winds of doubt.

     I kept pondering the story of the Exodus though, and God, ever faithful, kept showing me more.  I started to think about the Israelites in the wilderness. They had worshiped and rejoiced as God crashed the waters of the Red Sea on the Egyptians, and they were finally free.  But they lost sight of His promises again so quickly.  They saw miracles that we can't even begin to fathom because God doesn't typically perform those types of miracles at this point.  Even so, it didn't take long for them to lose hold of hope once again.  They were so close to the promised land, but they couldn't see it.  The wilderness was hard.  They doubted.  They complained.  They hardened their hearts over and over.  They even wanted to go back to the slavery and oppression they had been freed from for the sake of a meal because they lost hope that God could give them all the food they needed.
     When I thought about their desire to go back to the bondage they had wanted out of so badly, I thought about how often I think it would be better to go back to being completely numb and pretending that nothing ever happened.  When this journey feels too hard, I think it would be better to go back to the very place I wanted out of for so long.  I am just like the Israelites in so many ways.  I know that going back isn't going to be better, but I guess I never realized that the way out would be so hard.  I get to the point where I feel so overwhelmed I can't see past the moment I'm in.  His promises for healing and redemption once again seem too far out of reach.  Going back seems the best choice in the moment, and it seems like the only way to find the relief I am desperate for.
     But God wouldn't let the Israelites go back because He knew it wasn't best.  He knew that being tested in the wilderness was what they needed.  He still provided for their every need even when they didn't believe He would, and they complained relentlessly about the journey He was taking them on.  He was faithful where they fell short.  They eventually harden their hearts so much that God wouldn't let them into the promised land, but He showed His promises fulfilled to their children instead.  They were so close the promised land, but they wandered for 40 long years.  I thought of how in the New Testament we are told that the stories of old are there for us to learn from.  I thought of the verses in Hebrews that say "Today if you hear His voice, do not harden your hearts as in the rebellion."  I don't want to be like the Israelites who never saw the promised land because of the hardness of their hearts.  I don't want to give up when I'm so close simply because I can't see past the step in front of me and end up having to wander on this journey so much longer than I have to.

     I also thought about the promised land itself.  The promised land was so much more than they could have ever dreamed of.  The grapes that the spies found when checking out the land were so big it took two grown men to carry them.  I think of the "other side" of this as my promised land, the destination of this journey to healing, whatever that may be and however that may look.  Any idea I can dream up in my mind of what that will be like, the freedom I could experience, the feelings I won't have to carry around anymore, it's even better than that.  I can't comprehend the promised land. I just can't.  I've lived with all the hurts and shame and fear and all the awfulness of it that I can't find a word for, for so long that I can't begin to imagine what it would be like to have those chains broken and to finally be freed from it.  Whatever idea of it I can get into my head (which most of the time I really can't get an idea of that into my head at all), the actual promised land will be even bigger and better and freeing than that.  But not being able to have a vision of what the promised land will be like is part of what makes hope hard to hold on to.

     When I'm in the wilderness (and this journey, this path to healing is the wilderness), and I want to turn back (which happens a lot more than I'd like to admit), I can go back and remember that He is still faithful when I can't hold on to the hope He promises me.  I can remember His faithfulness to Israel even in the hardness of their heart.  I can remember their hardness of heart and plead with God to remove any hardness I may be harboring, so I can keep walking towards the promised land.  When I want to go back to my Egypt and just feel nothing again and pretend nothing happened again, I can remember I'm closer to the promised land than I think, that the wilderness really is better than Egypt and that God is allowing what is best for me.  I can cling to His faithfulness and keep pressing on in the difficult wilderness.
     What's even better is He isn't making me do it alone. He is always with me as He was always with the Israelites, and He's given me people on this earth to walk through the wilderness with me.  He has even been kind enough to put people with similar stories in my life to show me I'm not alone even in the depths of the pain I am left with.  I'm just in awe of His kindness to me even when I doubt and when I question Him more than trust Him.  (*If you think you are alone, you are not!  I am praying for you even if I don't know you, and I will be here for you.  Feel free to contact me via Facebook using the link on the side of the page.  I don't want you to think you must wander through the wilderness on your own.  I would be honored to wander with you.*)  
     Just the night before He showed me all this, I was in a really bad place.  Going back, giving up and walking away seemed easier, and easier always seems best in our human eyes. Then He met me right where I was.  He reminded me not to harden my heart to Him and the plan He is working out in my life for my good and His glory.  He reminded me to always go back to His faithfulness when I can't seem to grab hold of His hope.  He understands that hope is hard sometimes.  He gives me help even when I can't find hope.
     That day, the story of the Exodus became so precious to me.  I saw it as a road map for my own exodus.  It was like a gentle admonishment from God to not harden my heart, to not shut down again, to press on in the wilderness that won't last forever, to remember He will provide even in the wilderness.  Then He also showed me His faithfulness when I doubt and hope is too far away.  Sometimes it feels like the longer I walk this path, the deeper I go into the darkness, the more I face the truth of my past, the more I want to harden my heart, to shut down and go back to pretending it never happened (my Egypt).  God in His kindness used this family devotion to admonish me not to do that and to give me a rock I can cling to when I can't seem to hold on to the hope of the promised land.

    I'm in the middle of my own exodus.  Maybe you are too.  We have an advantage the children of Israel didn't have though.  We have the example of the children of Israel to remind us to remember who God is, to heed His voice and not harden our hearts and just shut down again.  We have evidence of His faithfulness in the middle of their doubt to remind us He is faithful in the middle of our doubt too.  Right now, Egypt seems like a great place to go.  The wilderness I'm muddling through seems too much to bear.  The promised land seems more like a dream than a reality I will reach one day.  If you are walking this path, I know you know the times I'm speaking of.  Times like this, when our feet can't find the ground, we need to remember we are in the middle of our own exodus story, and the same God that brought freedom and redemption to the doubting Israelites leading them every step of the way in the wilderness is leading the way for us in our wilderness and will bring about our freedom and our redemption just as surely as He did for them.  As I was reminded just the other day...keep at it; Jesus is worth it.

Tearing down and building up

   "Therefore encourage one another and build one another up,

just as you are doing."  1 Thessalonians 5:11

     A number of years ago, when I still thought the church was safe and that the church would care about the deep hurts I carry, this verse was used to keep me silent.  I had reached out for help.  I didn't know what kind of help I needed, but I knew that some things I was having a really hard time with were somehow connected to my past abuse.  I was put in touch with a lady at the church I attended at the time who was said to have some training in counseling people who had been abused.  I was scared, but I wanted to believe she could show me hope.  

     My belief that there was hope and help and care in the church quickly came crashing down as she told me to ask God to show me what part of the abuse I had caused and to repent of that.  I was a child, but I had been old enough to know better.  I was at least partly at fault for the sins committed against me.  She also told me I should not ever speak of what happened again.  She said talking about my story would only serve to tear down the body of Christ.  We are to encourage one another and build each other up, I was told.  My story could not do that.  My past would discourage and tear others down.
     After that, I gave up hoping that anything would ever get better.  I thought it wasn't safe for me to be around other Christians if my past came with me.  God was clearly not going to heal anything.  I shouldn't be hurt to begin with.  At that point, I stopped praying for help.  I resigned myself to a life of hiding.  I just gave up, and I was very careful to keep silent.  I did not want to hurt other people with my story.  I did not want to tear anyone down.

     Last year, God moved my family and placed us at a church that, as it turns out, really does care.  I have been unlearning a lot of lies that I never should have learned in the first place.  I have seen first hand how the church should care and does care.  I am learning that there is hope.  God can heal.  God does care.  Even a past like mine is not beyond the reach of God.
     But the lie that my story will only discourage and tear down others is one that has been hard to get past.  I am getting real help now.  In that process though, I have found times where I am afraid to be truthful for fear of tearing others down with my story.  I have been encouraged to look at that counsel I received so many years ago and examine its truthfulness in Scripture, to question whether that counsel is right.  I haven't really known exactly how to do that, but God has been faithful to teach me  even as I haven't known how to go about looking for truth.
   
     Recently, my life has intersected, for the first time, with other ladies who have similar hurts in their pasts and deal with similar struggles in the aftermath.  As we have talked with each other, something beautiful and amazing has happened.  We have each been encouraged and built up in finding out we are not alone, that there are others who understand and are not afraid of the ugliness of our pasts.  In speaking my story, no one has been discouraged and torn down.  Rather, others have been encouraged and built up.  The very Scripture used to keep me silent and protect those around me served only to tear me down and hinder the work of the Spirit.
     To think that the story God is writing in my life, the redemption He has worked and continues to work, the way He is choosing to move in powerful ways in my life would bring others down is very limiting to God.  It is simply ridiculous to think that God would use His story of redemption in the life of His children to tear His other children down.  I can't say why this is how God is choosing to work in my life, but it is.  To think that His work in the darkest corners of my soul would tear others down and discourage His saints just doesn't make sense.  He is working in real and powerful ways in my life, and seeing Him work in such ugliness encourages His other children with just as much ugliness in their stories.
     Being silent has served to discourage and tear me down.  So many others are told to be silent and are walking around hiding, discouraged and being torn down on the inside where no one can see.  The silence they are being forced into in order to "protect" others, is not protecting anyone but the one who told them to stay silent in the first place.
     Sharing my story is serving to encourage and build up others who are walking a similar and difficult path.  Listening to them share their stories with me is encouraging me and building me up to take one more step in my own journey.  I certainly wouldn't encourage someone to tell the most personal parts of their story to every person they meet, but when you feel that nudge to share something with someone, don't hold back for fear of hurting them.  Silence tears us down, but when we share the deep hurts we have and the deep ways God is working, we encourage one another and build each other up in the midst of  the mess.
     Yes, my story is painful to hear.  It is not easy to tell, nor is it easy to listen to.  But if you will sit through the hard parts, I will get to the parts where God works beauty out of it all.  He isn't done working, and right now I don't see much of the beauty myself, but one step at a time, He is working and beauty is left in the place of the ashes He is combing through.  In sharing my journey with those on similar paths, we are encouraged and we are built up in ways we never knew were possible.  After years of being torn down inside, I am seeing God build up not just me but those around me through the story He is writing in my life and theirs.  There is beauty unspeakable in the midst of the brokenness, for in the brokenness, He builds us up again.

Prayers in the silence

     I have spoken of the silence that often grips me when feelings flood my body and mind leaving my head spinning yet without words.  This silence is so important and much is being said in that silence.  Many times, when I am stuck in the silence with a storm raging in my whole person, I know I need God's help.  I am so aware of my weakness, brokenness, wounds, and helplessness.  I am, in those moments of quiet torment, desperate for relief that I know only God can provide, but I find myself unable to talk to Him.  It's not that I don't want to talk to Him, I do...oh how my heart longs to talk to the One who can provide relief both in the moment and healing for lasting relief.  But I can't.  I can't find words.  I frantically search for words, and as no words are found the search becomes all the more desperate until I crash into nothingness and lose any grip on hope I had at the time.  Everything stops...the storm of feelings inside me, the search for words to speak to my Father, the hope I'll ever find my way out of this darkness...I crash into exhaustion and my feelings go numb again.
     Those crashes, while they bring relief from the feelings that broke me, leave me feeling defeated and hopeless.  I know the relief of numbness is only temporary.  The storm will return at some point though I can't know when.  It's a vicious cycle that drains my already dry reserves.  At times, I wonder if God knows.  I wonder if He cares.  I wonder if He hears the prayers I want to pray but can't find words for.  I do know that God knows.  I do know that God cares.  But sometimes in the exhaustion after the crash, I wonder.  I find myself thinking about Romans 8:26 which says

Likewise, the Spirit helps us in our weakness.  For we do not know what to pray for

as we ought, but the Spirit Himself intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words.

     I wonder if my silent storms, when I want to pray but can't, are heard.  I wonder if the silence of the nothingness I crash into is a prayer God can hear.  Many commentators make mention of these groanings being the emotions so deep that words can't express them.  They say that the Spirit lifts up those deep emotions that leave us writhing inside to the Father in heaven who listens to our silence as we try to speak but find no words.  

     I find hope in that.  I will say, I don't fully understand that.  I don't think I have to though.  That is where I am called to take a step in faith and trust that God can hear the prayers I pray in the silence.  I find myself crashing into exhaustion with only the words "God You said You can hear that."  I am left in the numbness once more telling myself and telling God what He has told me in His Word.  I am clinging to that small hope in the promise He hears when my prayers are crying to Him out of my silent torments.

Help My Unbelief

God I'm calling to You though my voice is quiet

I need Your Spirit to pray for me here while I just sit

There is a cry in my heart but words only fail me

I'm laying here crushed by my silence, can You still see

Can You hear my heart when my mouth cannot speak

When I do not have words and my spirit is weak

When my thoughts spin so fast I can't find where to start

Will You hold me together while I fall apart

When the storm churns inside me will You be my peace

Lord I do believe...please help my unbelief

     I know it often feels like the desperate attempt at prayer that lends no words is a failure to pray at all.  I know that when the winds die down and the waves find peace in the nothingness it feels like defeat.  God gives a ray of hope even in that silent storm of a prayer.  He says He hears.  He says His Spirit brings our cries with no voice, our deepest hurts with no words, directly to His ears.  When the storm is over, when the crash landing leaves you beaten and bruised, tell God He said He heard your quiet, desperate, painful silence and rest on that promise from Him while you recover from the tumults you were thrown from.  All it takes is faith the size of a mustard seed.  Let His promise to hear the prayers in the silence be that mustard seed.  Remind yourself of that promise in the aftermath while you catch your breath and tell Him "You said You hear."  It is enough, my weary sisters.  He says so.

A love deeper than my shame

     I have believed a lot of lies.  I imagine that is common when a person is taken advantage of in such horrific ways as a child.  I was taught lies as truth growing up, and the person who was teaching me had the power to inflict pain beyond comprehension not just on my body but also on my soul.

His anger...my fault for doing all I could think of to survive.
His hatred...that is love.
My fear...that means I love him back.
His filth...it's mine now.
His shame...that's mine too.
His sin...I caused him to do it.
Respect and honor...he's earned it, I have none.
Value...he says I'm valuable to him by forcefully taking what is not his.
Worth...I'm only worth the body he can take from me, no need for me to be willing either.

     All lies.  I hold on to them all still.  There is some comfort in what is familiar, and they are familiar to me.  They're all I've known.  The freedom truth is said to bring is terrifying.  I cannot even imagine it.  I love the idea of freedom, but the newness of it brings fear that keeps me holding on to the lies I know all too well.  There are some lies that I can understand in my head are false, but they still have a tight grip on my heart.  Others I can't see as a lie at all (though I've been told they are).
     All these lies have shaped how I think God sees me and how I think He cares for me.  There is also a sense that the girl who lived through those years is not the same person I am now.  There is something that disconnects me from my past.  I know it is mine.  I know it is real.  I know it effects me greatly.  But it is somehow still a separate entity, and I can't seem to reconcile my present and my past.  I find it difficult to believe that how God sees me and cares for me now is no different than how He has always seen me and cared for me.  I feel like my past and present are separate, but God is not which causes an even deeper struggle to ensue.  I'm not sure yet how that will turn out.

     I was challenged earlier today (by someone who has been faithfully walking with me on this journey in all the ups and downs) to be suspect at my own thoughts of how God sees me and to compare them to what God actually says about how He sees me in Scripture.  I've been contemplating much of what she spoke to me today since I parted company with her and got on with my day.  As the day turned to evening and I had some quiet moments alone, I started searching the Scriptures.  Some of the passages were ones I had been directed to in my earlier conversation, others were passages that I am familiar with but wanted to look at again.  There are still many passages I am thinking over and questions I am wanting answers to, but through my searching this afternoon, God has shown me more of His love.  And I am in awe.

     One of the deepest, most painful, suffocating feelings I struggle with revolves around the lie that my abusers shame is my own.  I know in my head that the shame I carry heavy on my back is not really mine to bear.  I know that the shame attached to me was bound to me by the chains of another.  It reaches deep though, so deep I can't see the end of it.  The shame I carry with me is one of, if not the most, painful feeling I know.  All the darkness I can't bring into the light with words of truth yet (and there is so much still), I can't speak because of the shame that locks my lips and freezes my voice.  I can't imagine how dirty I am inside, and it makes me want to climb out of my own skin only I know that wouldn't take away the shame I have wrapped around every part of me.  Then I read this passage:

No creature is hidden from His sight, but all are naked and exposed

to the eyes of Him to Whom we must give account.  (Hebrews 4:13)

     I was initially looking at the verses that follow this particular passage, but my eyes caught a glimpse of this verse which I have read many times over.  As I read it, I was hit with the reality that all my shame is seen by God.  I may be able to walk around and hide it from others who walk this earth with me and around me, but I cannot hide my shame from the One who created me.  My shame is what keeps me from being honest and exposed to the main person God has placed in my life to help me face my past and work through the mess.  She knows it's there.  She can see it all over my face, but there is still much she doesn't know because my shame keeps me from speaking the truth to her at times.  She patiently waits for God to work and free me to speak it in time, but my shame keeps parts of me hidden from her.  The parts hidden from her and from everyone else who knows me are not hidden from God though.  I am exposed for all the lies I can't let go of, all the shame that keeps me in the darkness because the light is so painful.  But there is something more...

But now thus says the Lord, He who created you, O Jacob, He who formed 

you, O Israel: "Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name,

you are Mine...Because you are precious in My eyes, and honored, and I love you, 

I give men in return for you, peoples in exchange for your life."  (Isaiah 43:1,4)

     While this was spoken directly to Israel, this prophecy spoke even beyond that to Christ giving His life in exchange for mine, for yours, for all who call Him "Lord" and "Abba Father."  God...the One from Whom I cannot hide my shame no matter how hard I try...calls me His own.  He calls me precious, honored, loved.  He gave His Son's life in exchange for mine.  He sees the depths of my shame, and yet His love goes deeper still.  My shame goes so deep I cannot see the bottom of it, but His love for me goes deeper still.  Such a love leaves me speechless.  It is a truth bigger than my mind can wrap itself around.  But it is a truth that lends a tiny ray of light as I walk through the dark valley of healing from a past that has shattered me.  As the darkness brings to mind questions I feel are too hard to ask God and not worth His time, His love goes deeper than my shame, and I can appeal to this love as I cry out in the darkness.  I can struggle along the twists and turns, bumps and holes in the road knowing His love goes deeper than my shame, and that is a depth I cannot exhaust. 

     Will I never falter in knowing this truth?  Probably not.  Does it take away the shame I carry with me?  No.  That is still there, but knowing His love goes deeper than my shame, I trust that He will take that shame away little by little.  I trust that the depths of His love can and will overtake the shame I have clinging to my soul.  I can cling to His love for me as it washes wounds that are old yet still fresh and painful.  When He doesn't work as quickly as I want, I can see the depths of His love and know He is working in the time that is best for me.  As I look to His love for me and cannot see the ends of it, I can take questions to Him that pour from a heart raw with pain and trust that He will listen and not condemn me.  

     I can write all this now, and it may seem like I have a firm grasp on this.  I don't.  I see this, and I take comfort in this truth.  But learning how to live this out and learning to accept His love, as deep as it is, will be part of this journey.  There will be times I will go to Him hurting, ashamed, doubting, and terrified, but I will have to just remind myself His love goes deeper than my shame.  I will have to take Him at His word even when it doesn't feel true, because my feelings can lie to me.  Those times I will have to step out in faith and just go to Him.  In time, He will teach me how to live such an incredible and enormous truth.  In time, He will show me His love gently healing wounds I have a hard time believing will ever heal.  In time, He will anchor me in His love deeply and firmly.  For now, I just have to read His words and tell myself His love goes deeper than my shame.  For now, I lay stiffly on that truth knowing in time I will slowly relax and find rest in that truth.

     If you are reading this and you know the shame of which I write, know that His love goes deeper than your shame too.  Think on that for a moment and let that depth sink in.  That is a depth that words cannot describe.  He sees your shame, and He still calls you precious, honored, loved.  Go to Him and cling to that truth as you pour out your questions and your hurts one by one.  Lay stiffly on that truth and trust that He will slowly bring you to sweet rest on that truth in time.  Know that I am praying for you also.  I hate you know such deep shame, but I rejoice that His love goes deeper still.

My dear sisters, He sees your shame and yet loves you all the more.  No matter what you have been told, HE calls you precious...HE calls you honored...HE calls you loved.  And His love goes deeper than your shame.

For days when breathing takes work

     There are days on this journey when the bumps in the road take my breath away.  I will be going along and doing okay, feeling what I call normal, and then the anxiety grips me out of nowhere as I stumble over the rocks I didn't see on the path in front of me.  I feel the breath being sucked out of my lungs.  I breathe in...I breath out.  A few second later, I remember I never took a breath in again.  I sharply breath in the air though it doesn't seem to fill my lungs.  I have to actively remind myself to take the next breath.  When I forget to breath in, I don't feel that suffocating feeling you get when you hold your breath for too long.  I feel nothing, then I simply remember I did not breathe; even then, I only feel the air racing into my lungs though they never seem to take enough in.  My lungs never feel empty...I just don't feel the lack of air.  My lungs never feel full...I just can't seem to feel satisfied with the air I have.  Breathe in...breathe out...breathe in again...breathe out...I keep reminding myself to breathe.  On these days, breathing seems voluntary.  Breathing takes physical work...and it's exhausting.
     Today I found myself struggling to breathe.  I had been fine in the morning, but as the day progressed, I began to stumble.  I'm not really sure what rock I stumbled on, but my feet couldn't seem to find the ground anymore.  I forgot to breathe.  Anxiety began to close in as air was pushed out.  I had to tell myself "breathe...breathe...breathe" just to stay alive.  My mind began to race, and I couldn't complete a single thought before more words and more panic started a new one.  As I tried to slow down to breathe, my mind kept moving faster until I couldn't keep up.  Just...breathe...
     I knew there had to be help somewhere in my Bible, somewhere among the words God has spoken to my soul.  But when my mind is racing and all my energy is put into breathing, the Bible seems awfully big and the fresh air I need seems like a needle in a haystack among the pages.  I pulled out my kindle.  I didn't know what I was looking for, but I knew somewhere in the pages of Scripture was a breath for me.  I used the search function, and I started looking for air.  And God, ever faithful, showered me with His breath to fill my lungs and settle my soul.

"The Lord is gracious and righteous;
our God is compassionate.
The Lord guards the inexperienced;
I was helpless, and He saved me.
Return to your rest, my soul,
for the Lord has been good to you.
For You, Lord, rescued me from death,
my eyes from tears,
my feet from stumbling.
I will walk before the Lord
in the land of the living."  Psalm 116:5-9

     The whole of psalm 116 ministered deeply to my suffocating soul.  Tucked away in this psalm of praise for God who has delivered His child is a reminder.  The psalmist  recounts the Lord's faithfulness to him then speaks to his own soul, "Return to your rest, my soul, for the Lord has been good to you."  And with the psalmist I say "For You, Lord, rescued me from death...my feet from stumbling."  I remember God's faithfulness.  Every step of this journey, I remember God has gone with me and before me.  At every stumbling, He has grounded my feet once more on Him, my Rock.  He has not condemned me for faltering or sent swift judgement on me for falling down at a sharp twist in the path that caught me off guard.  He has indeed been gracious and compassionate as the psalmist points out.
     I begin to remember how God has been good to me.

• He has called me "daughter"
• He has been faithful
• He has stayed with me
• He has steadied my feet 
• He has calmed my mind
• He has held my heart
• He has covered me in His healing balm one wound at a time
• He has loved me perfectly

     

     And slowly, I remember to breathe again.  My mind settles.  My thoughts slow down, so I can manage them one by one.  My lungs feel fuller.  My heart feels His peace creep in and stay.  I remember He cares for me.  I remember He is faithful even when I stumble, even when I forget to breathe.  I forget to remember, and yet, I still breathe.  Little by little, I work less and less to breathe as my body takes over what it was made to do on its own without thought.  Anxiety falls away slowly as air flows around me once more.  He fills my lungs with the air of His promises, and breathing is easy again.  And I find joy in every breath I take without giving up because I know that is one more step I've taken towards a healing I've been promised though I can't see it from my spot on the road.  

"Return to your rest, my soul, for the Lord has been good to you."

     

Breathe in {He is with me}...

Breathe out {He will never leave me}...

Breathe in {He is faithful}...

Breathe out {He loves me perfectly}...

Breathe in {He goes before me}...

Breathe out {He knows where He is leading me}...

Breathe in {He leads me gently}...

Breathe out {He leads me to His healing} 

   

The right path

     Right now, I am working on memorizing Psalm 23.  It's a pretty well known passage of Scripture even among people who are not Christians.  Most people can quote parts, if not all, of it especially those who grew up in the church.  I have memorized this passage before, but I was recently asked to look it up in a different translation than I typically read and memorize that translation.
     This was something asked of me to help during a time of intense panic.  The panic I feel doesn't stay with me nonstop.  It comes and goes.  Sometimes I can see it coming, other times I'm caught off guard as something unexpected sets it off.  This last time, I was caught off guard.  Something I can't even quite put my finger on set me off, and I couldn't get my footing back for nearly a week.  In this time, I was asked to memorize this psalm to help put truth in to counteract the fears and panic I was drowning in.
     To be honest, I didn't like that advice.  It seemed too simple, too easy, too cliche in a way.  I went with it though, deciding to trust someone much wiser and more rational than myself.  I searched a few translations I wasn't familiar with before finding the Holman Christian Standard Bible translation.  I've heard of this one, but I had never really read it.  Here is Psalm 23 in HCSB.

Psalm 23

The Lord is my Shepherd; there is nothing I lack.
He lets me lie down in green pastures; He leads me besides quiet waters.
He renews my life;
He leads me along the right paths for His name's sake.
Even when I go through the darkest valley, I fear no danger, for You are with me; Your rod and Your staff--they comfort me
You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies; You anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows.
Only goodness and faithful love will pursue me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord as long as I live.

     I am still working on memorizing this passage.  I'm currently about half way though it.  As I was reading, memorizing and thinking on these truths, I noticed something that really struck a cord in me.  Verse 3 says "He leads me along the right paths for His name's sake."  This comes after describing a time of rest and peace with green pastures for rest and a gentle stroll along quiet waters.  The imagery is beautiful, peaceful, restful.  I have often continued thinking of this rest as I read that He leads me along the right paths.  It just sounds sweet and pleasant.
     This time, though, I noticed what comes next.  "Even when I go through the darkest valley" follows this peaceful scene.  God will only lead me along the paths that are right, the paths that serve His kingdom purposes and bring glory and honor to His name.  There is no question that in life, we will go through the "darkest valley."  It is expected..."even when" rather than "even if."  The darkest valley is still the right path He is leading me along.  It may not, okay honestly it never is, the path I would choose, but it is the right path.
     When the path takes me into darkness, when I can't see where the path is taking me because I can't see in the dark, when the dark valley floods me with fear, I can be sure that it is still the right path.  God is still leading me.  The right path will have places of peace where breathing is easy as I rest in green pastures and I am renewed along the edge of quiet waters.  The same path will also weave through the darkest valley where rest is unimaginable and exhaustion sets in.
     Thankfully, there is comfort even in the darkness, in the valleys I must travel through one step at a time.  Even in that valley where darkness surrounds me and panic easily takes over, I do not have to fear.  I am not alone.  Danger may lurk in the darkest valley, but I can take comfort knowing it will not overtake me.  God is with me.  Though I may not see Him in the dark, He is still there.  He has not, He will not, leave me.
     In the darkness, the lies are easier to believe because I cannot see.  I retreat within myself thinking I am safer only trusting me.  Shrunk into myself, I listen to the lies and forget the truth.  I find myself trapped, afraid to take the next step without knowing where it will take me...is it leading me to the way out?  Is it taking me deeper into the darkness, further into the valley?  I feel certain I am alone.
     What a precious truth that I am not alone in the dark...that the dark valley is still the right path...that I am not lost.  God is with me.  He has a purpose for the dark valley I am walking through.  He knows the way out, because He brought me in.  He will not leave me.  He is with me.  He is my comfort as the darkness presses in with lies and fears, and I feel weariness fall heavy upon me.
     My friend, He is with you too.  He is taking you through the darkest valley because it is the right path for you.  I can't tell you why.  I simply don't have that answer.  I ask the question myself.  I do know that God is a God of truth.  When He says He is with you in the darkness, walking with you through the valley, He is there.  Take comfort knowing you are not alone.  Find renewed strength, if only for one more step, knowing you are not lost.  He is leading you along the right path, and He has a purpose for it.  He is faithful.  He still loves you.  He is with you.  It is easy to remember He is with you in the times of peace and rest, as you lie in green pastures and find renewed strength along the quiet waters.  Take comfort knowing He is with you in the darkest valley too when your eyes can't see.  He is with you.  He is leading you.  You are still on the right path with God as your guide.  The path will bring you to a place of green pastures and quiet waters again in time.

When all I can say is nothing

     In keeping with the concept of "voice," I want to make one more point.  It is a point that I think is easily overlooked.  I want to talk about the times I try to speak and all that comes out is silence.
     There are times, many times, when all the feelings I shut deep inside begin to come to the surface.  While feelings are a normal part of life, I grew up without them.  I never learned what my feelings were, how to deal with them in appropriate, good, healthy ways, because feeling the emotions I felt would have killed me.  I shut them down deep inside where even I can't go, so I could be numb and survive.  Now, as an adult, I have a terribly warped view of emotions.  I don't like them.  I don't understand them.  I panic at the first touch of them (and when I say panic, I mean I get sick with panic).  When I feel emotions, I often do not know what they are called or how to describe them.  It makes me feel incredibly stupid.  Very often, my emotions are accompanied by various physical feelings that I can't describe which adds to my panic.  Feeling my feelings takes away my voice.
     Quite frequently, when I begin to feel some type of emotion, I cannot put into words what is happening in my body and my mind.  I want to get it all out.  The intensity alone of what I can feel leaves me paralyzed with fear.  In those times, I am silent.  But in the current days of constant noise with emails and notifications ringing in our ears without pause, we have forgotten how to be silent.
     When I can say nothing at all, when silence is all I have to offer as I sit paralyzed by the storm of feelings tormenting my body and mind, when my voice cracks under the weight of what I don't understand, I am still speaking, but it will take more effort for you to hear.  Silence makes us uncomfortable.  We want to fill the air even if it's only with the sound of nervous ramblings trying to ease the tension the quiet creates.  I can tell you, as one among the "voiceless," that I need you to hear my silence.  When my voice fails me, please do not rush to find comfort in the sound of your own voice.  When my voice fails me, listen to my silence with patience and understanding.  In my silence, I am speaking, and what I am saying is of utmost importance.  When I know you will listen to my silence, I will know you will also listen to my voice when words find my tongue as God frees me bit by bit to speak the truths that feel impossible to say.  By listening to my silence, you are helping me find my voice.

In My Silence

Sit still in my silence a moment

There you will hear my cries and my hurts

If you look into my eyes you will see

A brokenness too deep for words

Sit still in my silence a moment

I need you to simply be there

Your quiet patience in the midst of my silence

Speaks to me volumes of the depths of your care

Sit still in my silence a moment

I know that's a hard thing to do

But one day my silence will be broken

And I will know I can speak with you

To speak or not to speak

 

Voices

I hear you from your platform

You're a voice for the voiceless you say

Your cause and intentions are noble 

You expose darkness with the light of day

I appreciate the stand you take 

Against atrocities that should never be true

 I am one of the voiceless you speak for

As such I offer a different point of view

It angers you that I was silenced

My voice should have always been mine

But when you speak for me you keep me silent

You take from me a chance to redeem lost time

I don't want your voice to speak for me 

Since you cannot truly understand what to say

Though your heart speaks from a good place 

You have never walked the same broken way

You want to use your voice to change the world

Help those like me who by evil have been silenced

However instead of speaking boldly 

I am asking for your patience 

Instead of using your voice

Will you help me find my own 

The journey will be long and difficult 

But I cannot walk this path alone

I am not sure how my voice will sound 

But I trust that my voice I will learn to hear 

You can change my world as I find my voice

By simply sitting with me and offering a listening ear

      A few months back, I was pondering the idea of "voice."  To be honest, I was afraid mine was lost forever.  As a child, I was threatened with severe punishment and losing everything important to me if I told what was going on.  He never raised his voice at me actually.  The angrier he got, the softer he whispered.  But as his voice lowered, his eyes would scream louder and louder with rage as fear flooded my veins to my very core.  I never said a word.  Even years after it was over, any time I thought of saying something I would be overwhelmed with memories of the rage in his eyes and the fear would land heavy over me like a weight I couldn't stand under.  Even after he was sentenced to prison for what he had done to me and other girls he hurt, the memories of the rage in his eyes and the fear that came rushing back over me kept me quiet, kept me hurting, kept me stuck.

      Last year, I found myself in a place that I was supposed to be safe to speak in.  I was supposed to be able to speak the truth and begin the process of bringing light to the darkness I have carried with me everywhere I go.  But I couldn't.  I wasn't sure I even had a voice anymore.  Despite not being sure if I even had a voice, I also was very bothered by the trend of the day to use social media and the internet to "be a voice for the voiceless."  There are many causes that claim to be just that.  Victims of sexual abuse are one group of the "voiceless" that many who have never walked in our shoes claim to give voice to, and I don't like it.  I wasn't sure what about it rubbed me the wrong way though.  Certainly I did not have the ability to speak up for myself, and there is much work to be done to bring light to the darkness of abuse and how it is handled so poorly so often.  I managed to get my thoughts down onto paper after thinking on this a while.  The above poem is what came of it.  Don't get me wrong...those who speak up for those who can't in this moment are needed.  Their voices are necessary.  I need you to speak for me sometimes, because many times I still cannot do it for myself.  But be sure you do not forget those you are speaking for.  We are not "voiceless."  We have a voice.  God gave us one.  If you will walk with us, you will get to see Him free it from the chains another bound it with.  If you are patient, you will hear us whisper, then speak, and maybe one day we will roar.  

Welcome...this is why I'm writing

     Welcome to my blog.  I'd like to be known as Beautiful Ashes for now.  The reason for that is my story is filled with hurt, brokenness, fires in life that have left behind a heap of ugly ashes.  However, my story is part of a much bigger story, one I could never write or dream.  My story is part of God's amazing story of redemption.  He has made my story beautiful.  The funny thing about life on this side of heaven, though, is that I can't see the beauty He's brought about in my story.  I can't see the redemption He has already accomplished in my story.  I know He already redeemed my story and will continue to do so until the final stroke of the pen.  But the ashes are hard to see though.  He is faithfully shining His light through the darkness.  He is slowly giving me clarity of sight in the midst of the ashes and revealing a beauty I cannot comprehend or imagine at this point in my story.
     You see, my story is one of abuse.  As a child, I was sexually abused by my gymnastics coach who was also a good friend of the family.  I am at a place right now where I am journeying towards a place of healing.  I am not there yet, and often times I feel like I'm never going to get there.  God is faithful though even in the midst of my doubts.  My voice was silenced with threats of punishment and harm and fear.  I kept quiet for many, many years.  I am just now learning that I can use my voice.  I'm learning what it sounds like, what it can say, how it can be used.  Just like my soul, my voice has been redeemed.  I'm learning how to use it as such.  Even when all I can muster is a whisper, I am going to keep fighting to speak and bring truth and light to the darkness.
     I find I think and speak best when I write.  Mostly I write poetry.  At times, I can't stop the spinning thoughts in my head to make any sense of anything.  But when I write, I find clarity.  Some people create pictures with a camera or a paint brush; I create pictures with the words I write.  As I journey towards healing and learn to use my voice, I am sharing it with any who cares to listen.  I pray others can find hope themselves.  This is my voice.  This is my story.  Redeemed.