Angry at God March 29, 2008

I am angry at God. I have looked deep inside my heart and found a secret so private I have kept it hidden even from myself. I, who Love God and have spent my life trying to serve him, have protected a buried green and purple festering mass. I have denied it. I have lied about it. I have belittled others who had it. But there it is.

I AM angry at God. The horrible paradox sends sharp stabs of pain through my temple, down my neck and into my shoulder. I have not slept well, eaten much, or thought clearly since the moment I realized the terrible truth. But it is true. I can no longer deny it. Surely God, who cannot lie, must have known all along. Surely God, who sees my heart, must have been wondering when I would have the courage to look. Surely God, who has searched me, is not shocked. But I am.

I am ANGRY at God. This isn’t the feeling I want to feel. I want to Love Him. I want to Trust Him. I want to Adore Him. I even want to Fear Him. I order myself to feel differently, but my heart defiantly shakes its furious fist. I feel what I feel and that feeling is Anger. Why did God fail to protect me? Why did He send me to such an unloving home? Why did He fail to meet my most basic needs? Why did He not keep me safe?

I am angry AT God. If I could only be angry because of God. If I could only be filled with a Godly, righteous anger. I would stand beside Jesus with a whip and drive out the money changers from the temple. I would tie a millstone around a child-corrupter’s neck and throw him into the depth of the sea. Or let me be angry for God. Let me fight with Caleb against God’s enemies. Let me drive evildoers out of God’s righteous land. But instead I am angry at the only One I cannot be angry at.

I am angry at GOD. God, the author of everything cool. God, the origin of everything I love. God, who gives every ounce of joy and peace and importance to the life I have. I am angry at God. God, who is Love. God, who is Truth. The truth is I am angry. If I deny it, I deny myself. If I deny myself, I deny Him. If I deny my anger, I am calling Him small. I’m saying He is petty and cruel and demands dishonest love. If I deny my anger, I’m falsely accusing Him. I’m saying He wants mindless minions who flatter His ego. I’m saying He can’t handle the truth in my heart. If I deny my anger, I’m saying He doesn’t really Love me. I’m saying He doesn’t know what Love is. True Love wants the Truth. Perfect Love casts out fear. True Love Trusts, and I trust Him with my last hidden truth. I fall at His feet, pounding my fists on the floor. I have nowhere else to go. I yell and scream and rage and God pulls me up onto His lap. He looks into my eyes and for the first time in my life, I know He sees me just as I am. My anger turns to tears and I sob into His shoulder. I am angry at God.

Guilt and self-esteem March 28, 2008

 Almost all victims feel guilty but there are two types of guilt; real and false. Real guilt is a fact, whether one feels guilty or not is irrelevant.

False guilt is a feeling of guilt when one is not factually guilty- when one has no responsibility for wrong doing.

Perpetrators work very hard to deny their own guilt and heap guilt onto their victims. As a sexual abuse victim I was very good at assuming guilt even though I was not guilty.

I read this story years ago and its always stuck with me. I feel its worth sharing. Author is unknown.

Once upon a time there was a pretty little girl. She lived in the country and loved to go for long walks int he open fields. She always wore a pretty white dress and loved to stop and pick widlflowers. She  had lovely, long golden hair.

One day while she was picking widlflowers and evil man came upon her and carried her off through the woods. He dragged her through thorny bushes and a stinky swamp. He tore her pretty white dress. Her face and arms were cut badly, but he didn’t care. Her beautiful hair was disheveled and torn. He took her to his dirty cave and abused her.

Terrified, weeping, she was finally able to break away from him, running blindly, wildly. Although her cuts stopped bleeding and the bloodstains dried, she kept running. She ran until the moisture from the swamp and mud had dried. She was free of him, but her dress was torn and filthy, her face and arms were badly cut, and her hair was matted with mud and twigs.

The next day she found a cape and wrapped it tighly around herself to hide the mud, bloodstains, and scars. She used the cape’s  hood to cover most of her face. She never removed the cape; to do so would have meant exposing th filth and the wounds.

Years passed. One day she met a mystic who could mend her dress, cleanse it pure white again, and erase the scars from her arms and face. She asked for help and was given all she asked for: Yet she found the change difficult to accept, for she had lived long with the torn dress, mud, dried blood, scars and protective cape.

She found that her soul was more scarred than her arms and face had been. Her spirit was more torn and muddied than her dress. As she walked away from the mystic he called after her; “You must now let go of the cape, for it will only remind you of the past. You must now smile at the sun, or you will forever fear the darkness of the cave. You must now comb your hair and wash your face, or you will foever think of yourself as being ugly.”

That to me is a good description of our torn, stained and bruised self-esteem from the result of sexual abuse. We deal with false guilt and these feelings of false guilt are the logs that fuel the fire of low self-esteem.

It was like the perpetrator used the axe of sin to cut the logs of guilt then heaped them upon the fire of your self-abasement. His hand may have lit the match….but our hand must pour on the water of forgiveness, self-love and kindness.

Abused women frequently feel guilty about almost everything…..I was like this and I am still working on it……I have often asked myself why I am so quick to feel guilt or shame…….with the Lord’s help I am a lot further than I used to be in processing false guilt but I know I still have a ways to go…… but I know that even in this, one step at a time my heavenly Father walks this road with me.

Resurrection Musings March 23, 2008

I spent a year in the Ural mountain reigon of Russia.  Such a long hard cold winter.  Such bitter bleakness.  We were close enough to the Arctic Circle that light itself was a precious commodity.  It was hard to stay motivated.  It was easy to slog along in my rut, thinking, ‘yep, this is life — this is the best it gets’.  Then finally one morning when I had just about resigned myself to be forever grasped by winter’s ruthlessness I woke up and sensed a subtle change.  A voice of hope deep inside me whispered, ‘take heart, Spring is on it’s way’.                                                                                                                                                                                                        Spring WAS on it’s way –and what a Spring it was!  That year my eyes were opened for the first time to the wonders of Spring’s glory.  I realized that every spring I had ever experienced was a pale weak imitation to the live-action reality that is a Russian Spring.  The deep rich green trees and vibrant flowers came to life before my eyes.  The air had a fresh clean newness that if it could be bottled would sell in the billions.  The world woke up and shook its sleepy head and I felt as if I was watching it all at ten times normal speed.                                                                                                                                                                                                              Sometimes I wonder if God toys with me.  Makes me wait for things.  What’s that about?  Is it the joy He sees in me when I finally get what I want?  Did the waiting make the giving sweeter?  Or does the waiting and the pain it brings along produce some whole and healing effect deep inside me?  Silent and invisible work being done in me while I’m not paying attention?   In my impatience, my longing to be in charge of the schedule, to plan out when each step is going to happen I miss something weighty and important.  I think it’s the fact that God loves the process.  And maybe that the realest and deepest work takes time. I’m waiting Father, for Your work in me.  Bring me to back life — like Your Spring — like Your Son.

Can we take her home?…Con’t. March 17, 2008

Interesting that after I wrote the post “Can we take her home” this morning, I believe the Lord showed me some things regarding this memory.

And this memory has to do with fear and changing my expectations.

Let me share with you another story- “A king wanted to find out whether his kingdom contained more weeds or more flowers. He called two men into his court. To the first he gave the assignment of cataloging all the weeks in his kingdom. The second man was given the assignment of cataloging all the flowers. They were given two months to complete their assignments.

At the end of two months they returned to the king. The first said, “O mighty king, your kingdom is covered in weeds! It’s a horrible sight! You must do something about it! It’s sad to have so many weeds overrunning your kingdom.”

The second man said,”O mighty king, your kingdom is absolutely overrun with flowers of every kind and color. They are glorious. They make your kingdom fresh and alive. It is a joy to be part of your kingdom.”

What we expect to see colors what we do see in life.

Could it be that this couple who wanted to take me home truly saw a child that they simply wanted to love. No ulterior motives, no evil intent. Maybe they did see a precious child, fair skinned and blonde, shy and yet friendly.

I am learning, ever so slowly, that sometimes in dealing with fear I need to change my expectations. Yes I was hurt once, no make that many times, and I did not enter life expecting to be abused, but I have to believe that there are not just weeds in the kingdom….. there are flowers in the kingdom if I wish to find them, if I wish to see them.

My life, like yours is not ruined because of weeds unless we decide to quit on ourselves. When we do our abusers win.

So could it be that we tend to both see and experience that which we expect? Perhaps we need to change our expectations.

Could it be that we need to see ourselves with fresh eyes? To ask our  Father to give us a vision of how He sees us? Just as I looked back and saw a little girl with ears too big and bad teeth, perhaps this couple saw a little girl completely different.

My husband often tells me that he wishes I could see myself as he sees me or as others see me. If I choose to do that then I have to admit that I am lovable, that I have qualities worth admiring, and yet that stirs up in me the old fear of expecting to be abused, expecting pain, seeing the negative side of things, suspicious of others motives…..although -this is slowly changing…..maybe this is one more small step in overcoming fear…..small steps, one at a time, pushing the edges further and further….to stop would be quitting on myself and because God does not give up on me neither will I.

So I ask you…does what you expect to see color what you do see in life?

Can we take her home? March 17, 2008

Its funny how one can be going along in life seemingly fine and then a memory pops into your head. A memory that was never buried or hidden it was just a memory that you kept out of sight and never allowed to come to the surface. Choosing to not give voice to it or examine it. Yet now this memory comes to the surface with such abandon that you know the Holy Spirit is asking you to ponder it because He desires to reveal something to you.

The memory is one of when I was a little girl probably around the age of 4. We had a small dairy herd of cows that we milked and sold the cream. Jim was the man who came with his truck once a week to pick up the cream.  We kept the cream stored in large cream cans and Jim took them to the factory. I always liked Jim. He treated me with kindness and always had time to chat with me making me feel like someone of significance and importance.

Our family would often go and visit him and his wife on Sunday afternoons. They lived about an hour away from us. One particular Sunday there was another couple visiting them as well. I don’t remember their names or what they looked like but I vividly remember the way they fussed over me. They continually talked about how cute and adorable I was and how they couldn’t believe I was this little orphan who had lost her mom and whose dad had given her up. As they continued to fuss over me I remember hearing words like, adoption and take her home with us, we need a little girl. Foreign words, scary words, too many words.

I began to feel tense, awkward and uncomfortable with their excited display of affection and words. I felt like something on display available to the highest bidder. My little four year old mind couldn’t comprehend all that was happening. All I knew was that at first the attention these people were lavishing on me felt like a warm fuzzy blanket. But then the attention began to feel uncomfortable and uneasy, the blanket becoming suffocating.

This went on for most of the afternoon until we finally went home. I can’t remember the responses of my aunt and uncle but I do remember staying close to my aunt and for once she allowed it.

Conflicting and confusing feelings.  My little heart afraid of being taken or given away. But as I stayed close to my aunt a quiet reassurance that my aunt wouldn’t allow this couple to take me settled in my spirit.

I write this with no final thoughts to it…without any resolution…only that I needed to give voice to it.

Even now as I write it and I look back at my pictures I wonder what it was they saw in this little girl. I wasn’t what you would consider cute. I had ears that stuck out to far, teeth that were bad, so what did they see? Was it pity? Was this a couple who couldn’t have children and they saw an easy solution? I will never know but I will wait on the Lord to reveal to me what ever it is that He desires to show me through this and about this memory.

And so……..I wait.

But I also wonder, has anyone else ever felt like a something on display available to the highest bidder? Have you ever felt your body, your looks or who you are judged and lusted after? Have you ever felt uncomfortable with attention and admiring glances or words? What does it stir in you? What does it speak to you? Did anyone ever fight over you or for you? If they did, how did it make you feel?

I ask these questions of you as I ask myself. No answers- just questions- just pondering…and waiting….and waiting is sometimes hard.

  

Loophole People March 16, 2008

I hate shopping. It seems like most men would love that in a wife, but it drives my husband crazy. This is how shopping works at my house. My husband and I and our two girls pile into the truck. We head out to the local warehouse club with abandon. Going up and down the aisles, my husband is a prodigal father, lavishing extravagant gifts on his daughters. My girls are still young enough to light up with excitement over cereal that turns milk green and candy that makes tattoos on your tongue. I get caught up in the moment, but still manage to maintain a voice of reason. I routinely veto four or five items per trip. “Last time, they didn’t finish that and we had to throw it away.” “It’s really a lot of sugar; can we get something besides junk food?” “We still have two boxes of that at home!”
About halfway through the store, I realize with dread he’s about to turn his attention to me. “What did you get for you, babe?” Oh, I’m all set. “How about some chocolate?” “Nah, I still have some at home.” “Look, you haven’t bought this in a while.” Somewhere around aisle six my stress hormones kick in. Cortizol and epinephrine rush through my body with dramatic effect. My heart beats too fast, my arteries widen, my lungs take short, shallow breaths. Power courses through me until I feel big enough to knock all the food off the shelves and run all the way home, but I quietly stroll along as if nothing is wrong. When my confused brain doesn’t get the reaction it needs from my intractable body, the opiates come. My daughter calls this ‘shut-down mode’. I can be rounding a corner, faking it. I can be in the middle of talking and laughing with my family and suddenly I’m gone. I’m floating above my body, out of reach. My brain has produced pain killers for a pain that is as invisible as I feel. My daughter pulls hard on my arm, “stay with me, Mom”, she says.
I know what causes it. I’ve lost the ability to Need. You see, my twelfth birthday present had a profound effect on me, though not the one my mom intended. I can still fill up a blank page with wishes: a kayak, a piano, a trip to Disney World with my family, OK, maybe a motorcycle. My want button still works, but my need button is broken.

And why are you anxious about clothing?
Observe how the lilies of the field grow;
They do not toil nor do they spin,
Yet I say to you that even Solomon in all his glory
did not clothe himself like one of these.
But if God so arrays the grass of the field, which is alive today
and tomorrow is thrown into the furnace,
Will He not much more do so for you,
O men of little faith?
Matthew 6:28-30, NASB

God promised to clothe me. From the time I left home until the time I married, I spent almost nothing on clothes. As my clothes became stained and worn I just wore them anyway. Sometimes at odd intervals, a friend would come around with a big, black, plastic bag. “I just went through my closet and decided to get rid of some stuff. Why don’t you see if there’s anything you can use?” I remember the awkward days of middle school when we had painfully little money. I knew what it felt like to be tormented, teased, pushed, hit, kicked, even spat on by my classmates. I knew it had a lot to do with my clothes. Is that what God meant by His promise? Through what divine loophole did I slip?
When I got married, I moved into my husband’s small one-bedroom apartment. I moved my clothes into his newly-emptied drawers. My underwear made him angry. He held up the stringy elastic with loops of cloth hanging down and began to boil inside. He grabbed all my underwear and flung it into the trash can in disgust. He looked deep into my eyes and said intensely, “We’re not that Poor!” We immediately bought shiny, new multi-packs of underwear from the store for me. “You’ll never be that Poor again,” he assured me.

Look at the birds of the air, that they do not sow,
Neither do they reap, nor gather into barns,
And yet your heavenly Father feeds them.
Are you not worth much more than they?
Matthew 6:26, NASB

God promised to feed me. Yet I remember hungry nights. I remember looking desperately through empty cupboards wondering what I could feed to my precious, hungry little sister. Is that what God meant by His promise? I hear preachers claim this promise again and again. “God will always feed you, there’s no need to worry.” Yet, I know that millions of children go to bed hungry every night. Thousands starve to death with bloated, empty bellies. As I now sit fat and happy in my middle-class American life, I can’t help but think about these ‘loophole people’. No amount of personal un-Wishing will fill their hungry stomachs. What is God’s explanation for that? What Grand Unification Theory of Infinite Justice can reconcile these mutually exclusive truths? God is all powerful. God cannot lie. God promises us safety. We are not all safe.
What loophole did I miss? Did I not have enough faith? On the contrary! Faith is all I had. My faith was much stronger when I was completely helpless, completely dependent on God’s favor. I like Job, question God, pleading for an explanation. Like Job, I will not, cannot curse Him. I know and have experienced His Goodness. I believe an answer exists, one that I cannot yet understand. At the end of his pain, Job received an answer from God, but not a real one. God never answered Job’s question. He stubbornly refused to answer.
In the same way, I have received an answer, but not an explanation. My answer came not from a cloud, but from a gentle whisper. God’s answer to me is clear, even if it isn’t satisfying. God simply answers me by saying, “Hold on to that Faith, Lisa. It’s what got you through.”

Light Dispels Darkness March 14, 2008

Love changes darkness into light and makes the heart take a “wingless flight.” ~Helen Steiner Rice~

As a child and teenager I was plagued with nightmares. It was always the same recurring dream and it involved snakes. I was terrified of snakes.

One time while walking barefoot through a pasture with my best friend, I accidentally stepped into what I thought was a gopher hole. Turns out it wasn’t a gopher hole but a hole filled with baby snakes. I still cringe when I think of the sensation of baby snakes wrapping around my bare foot. Needless to say I screamed and took off running as fast as I could. It was disgusting.

At other times my older cousin would challenge me to a game of sword fighting. This was a game we played as children and we always used sticks or willow switches. But this one time he came up to me with his hands behind his back asking me to pick which stick/sword I wanted. When I chose one hand he brought forward a live, writhing snake and wanted me to take it. I know now it wouldn’t have made any difference as to which hand I’d chosen I would have picked the wrong one. As I ran into the house screaming and crying I could hear him laughing hysterically. Jokes were always played at the expense of the other person, never just in jest but always with an edge of heartlessness and cruelty to them.

It was instances such as these that put within me a fear of snakes. Was it just because of these instances that I had these nightmares? I don’t believe so. I think perhaps they had something to do with the sexual abuse that happened to me as a child.

I shared a bedroom with my older female cousin who was about ten years older than I was. So many nights as a child I would awaken crying and in a cold sweat, terrified because I had been dreaming my bed was full of snakes. My cousin would try convincing me that there were no snakes in our bed but she would have to turn on the light so I could see for myself. Only then would I be able to go back to sleep.

These dreams lessened some as I got older and by the time I married I only had them occasionally. But then a most amazing thing happened.

When I, at the age of 20, surrendered my heart to the Lord Jesus Christ making Him Lord of my life the nightmares suddenly stopped. I never prayed about them, I never asked God to make them stop…they just stopped.

In the book of John, Chapter 1 verses 1-5 it talks of Jesus Christ as being the Eternal Word;   

In the beginning the Word already existed.  The Word was with God, and the Word was God. He existed in the beginning with God.
God created everything through him,and nothing was created except through him.
The Word gave life to everything that was created,and his life brought light to everyone.
The light shines in the darkness,and the darkness can never extinguish it

To this day I have never had that particular nightmare again. I am still scared of snakes and am repulsed by them but I thank the Lord I no longer have to be afraid to go to sleep.

I won’t discuss the meaning of dreams since it is such a wide and varied topic, and open to controversy. I believe children seem to be very susceptible to these kinds of dreams or nightmares. And I can’t help but wonder if perhaps the more severe the recurring dreams a child has if it is reflective of the trauma they’ve experienced. I don’t know, but what I do know is that Jesus is called the “Light of the World” and as the verse says above……light shines in the darkness and the darkness can never extinguish it….and with out even praying about it, the light of His presence in my heart was enough to bring light and life into a soul that was shrouded and hidden in darkness.

 Jesus the light of the world filled up my heart with His light and love. That is amazing grace!

Do you see yourself as Beautiful? March 5, 2008

Psalm 90:17….
And let the beauty of the LORD our God be upon us,
         And establish the work of our hands for us;
         Yes, establish the work of our hands.
Friends-women, I have a question for you……have you ever considered that its not only okay to believe yourself to be beautiful but that perhaps that belief is actually part of your spiritual heritage?

Beauty is an expression of spiritual creativeness, because beauty originated with God.
Ginger Garret says that, “ Beauty is a definition of God and a focal point of our praise.” She goes on to say that, “While many women worship God and have an intimate relationship with Him, only 2 % of women consider themselves beautiful.”

As believers we have been sold a lie that tells us beauty is only external and temporary at best.
But as believers, is it not the reality that beauty is actually woven into our very being and its not something created every morning in front of a mirror?

Friends, beauty is our spiritual birthright.

Its really not about what we are presenting….a finished design waiting to be judged……but perhaps its more about what we are expressing.

I believe that at the heart of every woman who is afraid to call herself beautiful…… is a woman who has been wounded. I know because I was one of them…..and to some degree I still struggle with this…..but I have learned that avoiding or denying beauty, or even refusing to pursue it….is self-protection.

In my heart I believed that I would never be good enough…….I would never be accepted. Avoid humiliation at all costs…..and being a (recovering) perfectionist made it a real internal struggle. What I showed on the outside did not reflect what I felt about myself on the inside……it was a facade….self-protection allowed me to not connect.

Growing up I was the “ugly ducking” with an older sibling who was the “beautiful princess”….everyone would always comment how pretty she was and then they would look at me….and well, the silence spoke volumes.
Throughout elementary school I was teased unmercifully about my teeth and called names by one boy, he bullied me into believing I was what he called me….one boy…that’s all it took for me to believe that I would forever be labeled and was unacceptable. So how could I ever call myself beautiful?

Beauty does hurt…..because if we acknowledge our desire to be beautiful it then hurts to open ourselves again to possible disappointment and rejection……the very wounds we fought to keep closed.

You know what friends….inside all of us is a little girl who as a child longed to know she was noticed, that she was beautiful. And that little girl who longed to be beautiful is still there. What are you going to do with her?

Can you take the risk, as I did, of bringing that little girl inside of you to Jesus? Can you ask Him to heal your wounds……can you believe dear friends that you are beautiful?

I am learning and slowly starting to believe that I am a woman who is deeply loved by God and even dare I say, beautiful by His touch……that as I confess and shed the self-protection, He in turn gives me a healthy awareness of how He sees me….sees all of us…..utterly loved, completely secure and beautifully radiant.

He made us accepted in the Beloved- Eph. 1:6

Jesus, we bring to you the little girl inside of each of us, thank you Jesus that you accept her just as she is……come Lord Jesus to your women, come Holy Spirit….protect us and give us the courage to believe….to believe again in love and beauty and in You Lord, a God who will always call us beautiful. Give to each woman reading here a supernatural vision of how You see her…..before others can see our feminine beauty we must first shed the cloak of aloofness and acknowledge that we need You Father to heal our hearts…set us free…..
no longer do we want silence to heal us, or avoidance to make us forget…..we acknowledge that the little girl inside us who longed to be to be accepted to be beautiful, , to be seen and cherished is still inside….only You Lord can come and rescue her and heal her……restore to us a Holy passion.
Father God- heal our wounds….come Lord Jesus come….

The Ultimate Gift March 5, 2008

Blessed are those whose strength is in you, who have set their hearts on pilgrimage. As they set their hearts on pilgrimage,

As they pass through the Valley of Baca,

They make it a place of springs;

The autumn rains also cover it with pools. Psalm 84:5-6

Every pilgrimage starts with a promise and ends with a provision. But so often between the promise and the provision is the valley of tears.The Old Testament declares a season for weeping as well as rejoicing. There is nothing unspiritual about having tears in our eyes as we go through a tough time. The promise of the Psalmist is that God will see us through the valley- turning our tears into springs of joy and pools of delight.

As I have looked back at my childhood I see glimpses of joy amongst the sorrow. Joy and delight even in the valleys. Although I felt abandoned by my earthly father I was never abandoned by my Heavenly Father. And even in the valley, the dark places, God showered me with good things.

Although I was being raised by my aunt and uncle, my mom’s mother, my grandmother always sent me gifts. She lived in England and for Christmas and Birthdays she always sent me gifts. As did my sister, brother and dad from time to time.

As always I had the most gifts under the Christmas tree, much to the annoyance of my cousins. But I delighted in these gifts. I loved gifts. These were from my family, and not for my cousins, they were for me only. I would sit and look under the tree at all my gifts…..I felt so special. I would tremble with delight anticipating Christmas morning when I could open them.

And the fact that they were from England added to the excitement. I wish I could tell you what some of the gifts were but I don’t remember.

But what I do remember are the feelings of love and of being special. These were exclusively for me.

 And after all the gifts were opened I carefully laid each gift out on my bed, admiring each one, appreciating each one…..and the meaning behind the gifts was that I wasn’t forgotten, someone remembered me, thought of me, loved me.

And to the credit of my aunt and uncle they seemed to understand the importance of these gifts, never resenting or begrudging them or withholding them from me. They didn’t take away the joy that was mine.

 

Maybe that’s why today one of my love languages is time….I love gifts and cards, but the fact that someone took the “time” to shop for me, to think of me blesses me so much and brings me enjoyment and delight.

Looking back its as if God took my small face in His hands, lifted my head, looked in my eyes and in these gifts told me He had not forgotten or abandoned me….He delights in giving us gifts.

I believe thats why it was so easy for me to accept the ultimate gift….Jesus. To realize that God made the ultimate and costliest sacrifice, providing His Son as the ransom for my soul. How it must have torn at the heart of God to sacrifice His only Son.

God showed how much he loved us by sending his one and only Son into the world so that we might have eternal life through him. This is real love—not that we loved God, but that he loved us and sent his Son as a sacrifice to take away our sins.    1 John 4: 9-11

This is love…..Jesus is the ultimate gift….just for me….just for you. He lifts your head, looks into your eyes and tells you how much He loves you, He has good gifts for you…we simply have to open our hearts and recieve them.

Who do you think you are? March 3, 2008

Finally after much begging on my part I owned my very own pony. She was a beautiful jet black Welsh pony that stood about 13 hands high. She came with the name Stormy but I often called her Black Storm. She had a white blaze on her face and two white socks, and I loved her.  I spent all my free time with her, grooming her, feeding her, riding her and loving her.

Maybe she wasn’t the fastest or even the most elegant but to me she was special. I took pride in her and each day together was an adventure. Each outing an opportunity to explore and to escape. Some days we helped with the herding of the cattle, or we had to watch the cattle while they grazed along our 1/2 mile driveway making sure they didn’t venture out onto the highway, and some days were just for pleasure riding.

I rode this little mare bareback and sometimes we would go into the vegetable garden and raid the carrot patch. I would grab enough carrots for us both and then head out to our favorite spot where we would just relax in the warm sunshine. Often I would lie down on her back while she grazed and I would munch on my carrots watching the clouds float by dreaming of a different life. Storm would sometimes turn her head and that was my clue to give her a bite of my carrot. She loved carrots.

 Storm also loved running through the creek getting us both soaked.Time spent with Stormy was probably some of the happiest days of my childhood. 

Except for one day, a day I’ve tried to forget so many times but a day that haunted me for years. A day when a lie formed in my mind. A lie I believed and lived, words spoken that shaped so many of my decisions and desires in the years to come.

I had just come in from a leisurely ride and had to go through the yard and pass by the house in order to get to the barn. I did what any normal child does- I looked to the house to see if there was anyone home. I didn’t look to see if anyone was necessarily watching me, I simply looked to see who was at home.

But just as I looked at the kitchen window my uncle looked outside too. We made brief eye contact. And the next thing I knew he was outside in a rage.To this day I can’t remember all the exact details but I can recall the hurtful, wounding words spoken. In an explosive rage once again he was in my face. Shouting and cursing. And what he said would be forever imbedded in my mind.

“Who do you think you are?”

After those six words that he shouted at me, I can’t recall exactly word for word all he said but he was basically saying I was a nobody, that nobody wants to watch me or see me ride by. Why did I have to look to see who was home? On and on he went until his rage was spent. And my heart once more shattered.

I led my pony to the barn, shoulders hunched, head down and tears once again silently streaming down my face. I groomed, watered and fed Stormy and I wept into her mane. As I stood there hugging her neck, my face nestled into her mane, she seemed to understand and stood quietly while I wept. Once in awhile she would give a soft whinny and turn her head towards me nuzzling me softly.

I made an agreement that day that I was a nobody. No one wanted me, let alone to ever look at me. I wasn’t worth being noticed, being seen.

It was better to be invisible. I was too much and yet so often not enough.Who did I think I was? I would spend much of my life hiding from people, never wanting to be noticed or recognized. Compliments were scary and threatening. 

That day my uncle left me a powerful, shaming legacy- the belief that any attention to yourself is wrong or sinful.That’s why it took me so many years to risk looking back at my past….but I needed to in order to provide a context for change. We can’t be free if we don’t see it. My shame-bound self-concept affected me and my relationship with God and with others.

Years ago in counseling I asked God to give me “wisdom in the hidden parts” of my self-concept so that I could recognize the negative effects of believing that others were perfect and I wasn’t. The negative effects that had me believing I was worthless while everyone else was worthy.

I risked asking God to help me to learn to see myself as He sees me…..realizing that He does see…..that He desires to see me….that I am worth seeing…..He is different than my uncle who was a father figure to me….God longs to see me to see us.As His child He delights in me…..in who I am and what I do…..He does not shame me or tell me I am too much or not enough…..He does not question me asking me who do I think I am…..He knows who I am and loves me…..He loves me!

And He continues to teach me to live in the freedom of grace and truth…..breaking the bondage of my past, of the lies, and leads me into a future where I am increasingly released from shame.