A Nightmare... but God was in the details,

 This morning I awoke with a start, terror coursing through my veins. “Your safe now”, I tried to convince myself as the nightmare replayed in my mind. I wanted to shut it off, but the sheer horror made my heart race, as the thoughts, “We are going to die, he’s going to kill us, I have to escape!”, kept racing through my mind. I forced myself to wake up more, assuring my pounding heart that it is over now, We survived, and Im ok. 

The reason for the nightmare was that on this date in history, the nightmare was real and my body recalls it so vividly, that despite the truths I’ve told myself, the trauma remains for the time being.  

December 3rd, 2004 began like most any other day with one exception.  Once my husband had left for work, I curled up with a curious book.  It has mysteriously been placed on my doorstep two days prior, wrapped in brown paper, with no note to explain who had placed it there. 

It was titled, “When Love Hurts”.  I read it with awe and trembling as it described what Abuse Is. For so long I had convinced myself that everything was ok, even though it was far from ok. My husband’s violent rages were becoming a daily occurrence.  All of my freedoms were being stripped away. I wasn't permitted to speak to anyone, even on the phone without him listening and approving. I couldn't even check the mail, or drive to the store. The consequences of breaking an unspoken rule were terrifying. My empty womb, a painful reminder that he could take anything from me, If I wasn't perfect enough, or submissive enough. I would have been 38 weeks pregnant by now if only I hadn't made him so angry, I mused.

Now as I read this book that mysteriously appeared, it explained that everything I had survived, was abuse, it was wrong. He didn't have the right to hurt me, to treat me with disdain, to rape me, to smash my head, or suffocate me until I passed out. It told stories of other women facing much less and I was in awe, as it described the terror that each day held for me and yet called it abuse. 

I was trying to be whole, trying to be the best wife I could be.  I had confided in a lay counselor friend a few days prior, secretly telling her about his rages and how I would curl up in a ball, trying to protect my head. Her response had been this. “ You are feeding the monster. He wants you to cower so he feels big. You are making it worse. Next time he rages at you stand tall, don't show your fear, and speak truths to yourself. Use I statements and it will be fine.“   

He would be home by 3, I thought as I glanced nervously at the clock. Today I would be stronger, I would stand up and not be a part of the problem, I decided. I continued to read the book as it explained, what to do if your life is in danger. It told me how to secretly pack in a way he wouldn't see, and how to escape with my life. I prayed that wouldn't be my reality, after all, I mused, I was the problem not him, right? Maybe today, standing up and speaking truths would make things different.  I hoped. 

3 o'clock, I kept reminding myself, I have the house perfect, dinner already prepared and the kids busy away where he won't see them when he walks in, …just in case. I started making some stew, and while it simmered away on the stove, I thought,  “I’ll just check my email. It was my last freedom, a place I could open my heart and now be censored or controlled.  I hopped up from the computer for a quick second to stir my pot, making sure nothing burnt. Just at that moment, Bill walked into the house. 

I could sense the air shift as he came in, almost as if the oxygen was sucked out of the room and what was left was a thick choking fog.  He was early,  I wasn't ready for him.  Panic made it hard to breathe. You are early, I thought, but the words wouldn’t come. 

He glanced at me, seeing the fear I was doing so poorly to conceal, as I noticed my open email.  His eyes followed mine to the open screen, where my heart lay bare on the page. Within seconds his rage was that of a roaring monster. 

Please, I begged, please don't take this away from me? What had I done? He could see everything!  While I never told a soul what was really going on, I expressed fear of what my husband might do to me. He started reading emails out loud, his fury growing with each word. 

You little #@$#@$$ he’d scream. How dare you open your @#$# mouth. He screamed. 

I tried to calm my pounding heart. I had to get this right. Use “I” statements, and don't cower. I reminded myself. 

Shakingly, I tried to say “ I feel worthless when you speak to me like that.”  

His eyes, narrowed with contempt as if to say “ How dare you to defend yourself!”  You ARE a worthless piece of @##$  He bellowed, grabbing the chair from the table and hurling it at me with more expletives spewing from his mouth. 

I ducked, and the chair, missed my head, landing on its side behind me.  “Don’t cower” I ordered myself, “you are the problem, stand tall, and don't feed the monster” I silently coached myself. I moved closer to my pot and began to stir furiously, not looking up as the rage built.  

“I am a highly loved daughter of the most high God”, I silently repeated over and over. While my heart didn't believe it for a second, those were the words that my son’s teacher kept speaking over me. I knew, I was meant to believe it, if I was a good Christian and had faith like I was supposed to. 

Bill continued to rage, pounding his fist on the table. I continued to stir, hoping this new tactic would work but it seemed to make him angrier than ever.  Just then, I heard Jeremy’s little feet skitter down the stairs. "Oh no, no, no", I thought, I didn't have a chance to make sure the kids didn't hear, didn't see. It was too late to try to put them in their rooms, Bill stood between Jeremy and I.  Jeremy’s sweet little face was etched with fear with eyes as wide as saucers, He looked at me as if to ask if I was ok.

Bill saw my fear for Jeremy and before I could blink away my tears, the unthinkable happened. All of his anger and fury became focused on the tiny little boy in front of him. 

“ We are going to go play smash-up cars”, he jeered in a  sickening tone. “You will never see him alive again.” he taunted, "This is what you have done!"  He continued as he pulled Jeremy by the arm, leading him abruptly out the front door.  

My body felt like a dead weight, I needed to move, needed to stop him. Hysterically, I screamed, "No, no, no Im sorry. Please don't kill him, please no!".  Seconds later, the van squealed out of the driveway and down the road. “What have I done, I wept, He’s going to die, and it's all my fault."  I wanted to do something, anything, but I stood frozen in place staring towards the empty road where the van had disappeared around the corner. 

Moments later, the phone rang. It was Darlene, Jeremy’s teacher.  "He’s going to kill him," I sobbed hysterically, “What have I done, he’s going to kill him”.  

“You need to leave, now”, she said, “you have to get away, or you could all die.”

“ I cant”, I wailed.  “I need to wait to see if Jeremy survives”.  

“Ok then”, she answered, “Tonight, you need to leave tonight, when he’s sleeping.”  She went on to explain that her husband had come to her two days prior with the strangest comment. He had said, if ever there was someone who was in danger and needed a place to go, we should take them in.  She said she was so taken aback by his comment, as it was completely out of character. When she asked him where this came from he answered that he felt God was telling him to do this. 

She assured me, God’s already made her husband's heart ready to help us, so I should trust God was in this.

Tonight would be the night. IF… Jeremy survived. 

I didn't think to call anyone for help, I didn't think at all…. I panicked, wept, and stared aimlessly out the window like a hopeless child.

 Hours later, my traumatized little boy walked in the front door.  His joyful spirit was deflated as if the child I’d known had completely disappeared and was replaced with an empty terrorized shell. The sparkle was gone from his eye, and in its place as a dark emptiness that broke my heart.

BIll laughed at my obvious distress as I scooped up Jeremy in my arms. He turned and went to go play video games with a bottle of coke in one hand and a bag of chips in the other. 

I took Jeremy upstairs and held him,still weeping, telling him how sorry I was, and how much I loved him. 

“That wasn't right what Daddy did, Im so sorry!” I wept as he clung tightly to my neck 

 He tearfully told me how Bill had driven for seven blocks down King George Hwy on the wrong side of the road, playing chicken with traffic, then had pulled over into 7 eleven. He said he sat quietly for a long time then said, “ Im not really going to kill you. But I want to make sure that your mom thinks I might have, so we are going to sit for a while and make her good and scared.”  

Looking at my tender-hearted 7 yr old, my heart burned with fury over his trauma.  It was one thing for Bill to hurt me, but to threaten to kill his own little boy, this was the straw that broke the camel's back. 

I won't let him hurt my kids, I silently fumed, with terror still racing in my bones. I knew the consequences of breaking rules, If I didn't do this right, His countless threats of killing me and the kids may come to pass. He had already suffocated me, to the point that I’d lost consciousness, he’d already cost me the life of our baby, I knew he wouldn't stop there. 

The words of the mysterious book kept playing in my head.  I had to escape, carefully, with such care that I don't risk anyone’s life this time. I busied myself around the house as if I was doing laundry. I carefully packed a single change of clothing for each of the kids, I put Elisa’s clothes on the top then placed the pile neatly in her drawer as if it were all her laundry 

He watched me intently any time I entered the room but then continued to play his video games. I carefully packed the kid's school books, as if preparing for another day of homeschooling. I hid my wallet, and cell phone in the school things so he wouldn't see my purse get moved.  

Finally, at 6:30 in the morning, he went to bed. I made a single call, as planned, and within moments three ladies appeared at my house. Adrenaline coursed through my body as they helped me sneak the kids out of their beds fearing the worse.  I grabbed the tub of school books and scooped up the pile of clothes from Elisa’s drawer, and ran out of the house. The ladies had already come up with a plan. They split the kids up and myself into different vehicles and drove in three different directions just in case he saw anyone leave and followed. 

Confused I asked my friend, how did these ladies know? She explained that she called the children’s pastor of our church, But the children’s pastor wasn't surprised in fact, she has been sleeping with her phone for three days after the Lord told her to be ready to help rescue us. God has prepared her, and she has gotten another friend of mine to help.  

We escaped.  My son’s teacher hid us away.  

I was a shell of a woman, so confused and ashamed by everything. I recall Darlene pulling some chicken out of her freezer to make us dinner. The price tag read $7.55.   I kept thinking, Im not worth that. Every pore of my being was in revolt with shame, feeling like it was the crime of the century to accept a meal made of chicken that cost $7.55.  I tried to give her the last $20 I had, the only money I had. 

At that moment, I knew we didn't even have clean underwear for the week, and I most certainly didn't have a place to go, let alone presents for Christmas which was three weeks away. I had nothing physical, but what I did have was a God who was in the details.

He sent the mysterious book. I later connected with the author who told me that it wasn't in stores until several months later. She didn't know who had gotten a copy or how it got to me. No one could answer that mystery, but it helped save our lives that day, 

God had prepared a place for us to run to. God has prepared ladies to help us escape, all unbeknownst to me. God had stopped Bill from further harming Jeremy,(although I wasn't able to see that yet)  

Jeremy was severely traumatized that day. In the weeks and months that followed he would be found curled up, hiding or staring out the window, voicing suicidal thoughts, based on his Dad’s threat to kill him. One day he even said,” I think dad didn't kill me because he paid too much for the van and didn't want to waste his money., maybe if it was a cheaper car I’d be dead.” 

The trauma we each carry from this piece of the story is significant, but one truth remains.. God was there in the details.  He was instrumental in rescuing us. I believe with all my heart, that had God not set a plan in motion, we wouldn't have survived, because it had gotten THAT bad.  But God was, and is…… so today as im shaken with emotional flashbacks, nightmares, and memories that make me tremble, I also thank God for being there, in the midst, and giving us a way out. 

Worth....

I'm growing and healing. Ino longer feel worthless. But I'm not sure i feel worthy either. 

We were given a generous gift from a friend. I wondered, why would they do that? 

Someone stuck thier neck out for me, I wondered why... what do they want and expect in return? 

A healed person might be able to accept kindness without feeling so unworthy of it... but I'm not there yet. 

I feel like a fraud for accepting generosity. 😕 

Suffocated

I was pregnant with our fourth child but the abuse in our home was rapidly escalating. Then one day this happened...

Without warning Bill vehemently grabbed me from behind. His hands pressing firmly into my face covering my nose and mouth. Sheer terror and hysteria overwhelms me as his hands suffucate me. I can't breathe. At first, I am confused and  I don't understand why he's doing this. I think, what have I done?. I can't get air. I'm trying to gasp but nothing comes in. His hands hold so tight squeezing. I can taste his hands, they taste like dirt and gasoline.  I feel terror and confusion swirl in my head and nothing makes sense. It's like my eyes only see blotches.  My heart is exploding as I try to breathe. My head hurts like a bomb went off.  I can't escape. I realize at that moment, I am going to die

 I'm gasping, panicking. I'm clawing at my neck and chest as if it would help. 

I feel like I'm passing out. 

Suddenly He shoves me away as if disposing of me with repulsion and then he walks away. I collapsed on the hallway carpet gasping,  sobbing, confused, terrified, hysterical. 

 I curled up in a ball and rocked. I didn't understand what just happened. I just wanted to hide. I thought about crawling into the bottom of my closet to cry. 

Just then,  I remembered the kids downstairs. I panicked . He's headed down the stairs.

I shakily picked myself up off the floor.  I had to take care of the kids. I needed to keep them safe. I needed to make sure they stayed quiet and played outside. I wiped the tears off my face and put on a smile for the kids and headed downstairs. 

I lost the baby within my womb shortly after this horrible event. I held my tiny unborn baby. I named her Carissa Marie. This was around Mother's day 2004.

Why God?

I sat eating my breakfast outside on a warm summer morning. Around me the birds sang happily, crickets were chirping and a soft gentle breeze swept over my skin. I turned on some music and sat in my garden enjoying the beautiful flowers and plants that danced on the warm breeze. 

On the outside everything seemed perfect. An acquaintance's words danced through my mind. "You hide your pain well." She had noted, referring to my health, but I knew it also applied to my heart. I can wear a mask like a pro when I need to.  

The chorus of a Riley Clemons song began playing on my phone, singing " For the good, for the good, you work all things together..." 

Suddenly I found myself sobbing uncontrollably.  I raged at God. "Why didn't you protect me, how can being violently raped, at the age of four, work together for good?" How can years of sexual abuse work together for good?"

"Do you protect your children? Who do you protect? Not me, obviously, or have you?" 

Shame swept over me as a flood of questions swam through my mind. I shouldn't be questioning, after all that I have seen and experienced God's true nature. Yet here I am, on a beautiful July morning, unravelling at the seams. 

"Show me God" I pled. As flashbacks of my tiny body being mutilated with metal objects and raped flooded my mind once more. Through a flood of tears, I began searching the Bible for answers. 

I know mankind has free will. I've learned that God can't just recant free will or he would have to change his nature. Free will is the essence of his demonstration of love to us. It is a demonstration of perfect love.

Every moment of abuse I have suffered at the hands of others included complete powerlessness. My free will was taken, as they controlled and dominated me in mind and body.  I wasn't allowed to cry, scream, say no, or fight back. I wasn't able to escape or choose for myself. I was held down, raped, tied up beaten, suffocated, locked up, imprisoned in my own home and even tortured at times. My free will was violated with every vile act of abuse committed year after year. 

But God is the only being that gives free will entirely. He doesn't withdraw it when it suits him. He lets mankind choose for themselves. He does this so we are never forced to choose Him. True love doesn't coerce or manipulate you into a place where you surrender your heart. Only abusers do that! 

God isn't an abuser. I know that he abhors everything wicked including the filthy crimes committed against me. 

In my heartache and desperation, I always wished that my anguished cries to God resulted in some kind of intervention. I prayed with faith, pleading for him to make them all stop. But it seemed my prayers went unanswered. Even if one abuser left my life another took their place. I thought I must have had a sign on my forehead that everyone but me could see, that read. I am yours to violate and destroy. It was the only way I could explain being violently abused by so many men before I even turned 16. 

I was an utterly obedient child, having been taught unquestioning submission to all those placed in authority over me. I obeyed everyone including every pedophile and rapist.  Until I was 13 I didn't even know that it wasn't normal. It was my normal. 

I was confused, on the day I was taken to my pastor by a friend's mother and told that I needed to tell him about the memories that made me scream in my sleep and wake up others. 

I wish Pastor Bob hadn't died suddenly after hearing one piece of my story. Maybe he could have helped save me from the nightmare that continued. 

But God saw... He saw every violation, every horrible moment, every beating, every bruise, every time I was denied food, clothing or love, or kindness. He saw. 

It's strange but I recall feeling God's presence even in my darkest hours as a tiny girl.  I would say to him " You are the only one who won't hurt me" as I lay curled up on my bed in the dark, nursing the wounds that no one saw. At times I felt like He was holding me, whispering calm into my shattered heart. 

His presence was what I clung to. But my understandings were so primitive and warped. I thought I had to be perfect, to earn his love. I tried desperately too. If only I could be perfectly obedient at all times, perfectly poised, never showing my inner pain, then perhaps I'd earn God's love.  Of course, that's impossible. 

 I decided as a small child that I may never be worth loving. God still met me there in the dark, comforting me  So I decided to love him as best as I could. Sadly I thought that If I could serve him enough, and honour him with every part of me that in return he would make the abuse stop. This twisted teaching was drilled into my head by my parents ironically. It was a foundational belief in the cult they had become entrenched in. 

Gothard taught that perfect submission results in protection. If bad things like rape happen it is because some hidden part of your heart isn't fully submissive to authority. I was taught that it was all my fault and I believed it wholeheartedly.  Perhaps I didn't display the required joyful countenance. Perhaps I was angry at my parents.  The truth was that I secretly held hatred in my heart. It welled up while I was beaten. It welled up while I was pinned beneath the men who stole my innocence. I felt hatred as I heard my father rant and rage over stupid things.  I felt hatred as my mother skillfully stripped me of my free will and treated me as an abhorrent creature that needed to be destroyed. 

I masterfully kept my anger hidden. When I was alone, I turned every bit of it inward pouring all that hate against myself. I told myself, you are so stupid and ugly. Your own mother can't even stand the sight of you. I convinced myself that God can't love me because my heart was too ugly and I was too imperfect. 

As each new day dawned Id try again to feel nothing but love for my family. I'd shut out every wicked thing they did and try to focus only on the good. 

My mother was so talented. She could paint or draw anything. She was a writer and poet, and musician.  She opened her mouth and people listened hanging on every word. 

My father was brilliant. His extraordinary IQ made him a commodity. He would travel all over, to fix the most complex computer problems out there that no one else could fix. He was a skillful carpenter who could create anything he imagined. He was a scholar and respected religious leader. 

Perhaps if I focused on those things and pretended the rest wasn't happening then I would be "good enough",  and God would finally deem me worth protecting. 

But I couldn't find good things about everyone. What good was there in the gang of boys at school who made it a competition, of who could sneak up and sexually assault me the most times? I hated what they did to me day after day at school. 

If I couldn't hate them, I'd just hate myself.  I hated my curvy body for being a target of men's lust. I hated being a female, a physically damaged, mutilated female.  I hated my mind for remembering vivid details. I hated my existence. I loathed myself and determined that everyone else should too.  I decided that I was beyond worthless. I believed that even an all-powerful God couldn't love such a disgraceful girl. It didn't matter that it was all against my will. It didn't matter that I chose to be pure in every way I could. I still felt utterly unworthy and If I'm honest I still battle that belief daily. 

I am saddened to think of the constant striving that I did for so long, all because I believed lies. So, if God's protection wasn't based on my worth, or my lack of worth then what is true? 

Here is the truth...

All of mankind has free will.  Many exploit that gift to destroy others.  God doesn't allow abuse per se.  He allows free will because he truly loves us and wants us to choose for ourselves whether we will love him in return. 

He never promised to stop everything bad from happening on Earth. Why do we expect him to stop the bad? If he did, he would have to either make us brain-dead robots he controlled, who have no free will or he'd have to destroy us completely because even those of us who try to be good fail. We hurt others even if it's inadvertently. We blame him for all that is bad, instead of thanking him for who he is, a God who is waiting with an outstretched hand saying, I love you... 

While God doesn't promise to make life painless, he does promise things. He promises to not leave us, to be there when we cry out. He promised that if we choose to be in a relationship with him, giving him our hearts, he will save us from the consequences of all our sins. 

I gave my life to God. I asked him to be my saviour realizing that I need a saviour because I am flawed too. So I am a servant of the Lord. 

My heritage is resilience. All the wicked weapons created to destroy me will not succeed. All the lies against me will be refuted. I'm not a worthless, unloveable girl, despite what I feel. I'm a highly loved daughter of God, adopted with an eternal purpose. 

This is my heritage from God. 

Note* As I was asking God how he can work things for good. Two young women messaged me. Each was struggling and thankful that I was pouring into their lives. One thanked me for encouraging her. She mentioned that by sharing what God had done in my life, she was given such hope. She wanted to hear more. I know that is the answer. He is working all things together for an eternal purpose and he's using my pain for his glory, despite the reality that I'm still hurting.  Even in our brokenness, he can bring good from the pain of this life. 

All in a days work for God.

When God's word is fulfilled is it a miracle or to be expected? We call it a miracle because we find it to be unusual.

Is my resilience a miracle or just an example of God's faithfulness to do what he says? He promises that every weapon forged by my enemy will not avail and every lie uttered against me will not prosper. He says this is the heritage of the servant of the Lord. Isiah  It doesn't mean that I won't get hurt. It doesn't mean that those wounds won't go deep. What it means is that the enemy won't be able to destroy me. He can not remove the spirit placed in me. He cannot touch my eternal inheritance.

Yes, the wounds are excruciating but I have the Lord God to walk me through my darkest nights and keep my heart focused on him. 

"No weapon formed against you shall prosper, And every tongue which rises against you in judgment You shall condemn. This is the heritage of the servants of the Lord, And their righteousness is from Me,” Says the Lord.

Isaiah 54:17 NKJV

A golden core, draped in thier shame

All my life, I felt so destroyed by the horrors perpetuated against me. I thought every part of me was broken beyond repair. With that belief my hope was snuffed out. 

But yesterday during a session of EMDR I had a breakthrough that will forever change my life. 

That tiny little girl who suffered at the hands of the wicked, was not wicked herself.  She was a sweet little girl who loved deeply, served tirelessly and longed to be good and pure in all her ways. 

Inside her was this golden core, a part that never died or faded. It always loved others, always had compassion and always lived a life with a unswerving desire to bless and honor both God and man. 

From the day  I was born, the wicked forged costumes for me to wear. They were forged out of thier vile thoughts, their wicked actions. They covered me with a costume of shame, and insisted I wear it every day. 

I'd look in the mirror and see the costume they placed on me, shame, disgrace and worthlessness. The mask they made me wear, hid the truth. But no matter what they said or did, my inner core still shone brightly through.   They destroyed my flesh but nothing could touch that core. 

I've lived a life of passion, seeking to help other victims, seeking to help the poor, broken hearted and destitute, because I know what it feels like to loose hope. 

But yesterday, I realized that I've been wearing thier shame and filth, the costume they forged from thier own wickedness. I wore it like it was me. It had nothing to do with me. It was their filth. 

As I unzipped the wretched costume I'd worn, and removed the mask of worthlessness,  what was left behind was me. I could see my golden core who I've chosen to be, despite it all. I am a child of Grace, filled with overwhelming love and compassion. I always was and always will be. 

I survived 34 years of violence and sexual assault. They stole so much from me. But.... they couldn't touch that core, it radiates brightly bringing hope with each breath. 

I'm burning that costume, worthless, dirty, unlovable, stupid, dumb, soiled, and more. It's not who I am. It never was. 

I've stepped out, my step is light. The burden I've carried has been removed. I was never Shattered, just hidden by thier projections. 

I am whole, and hope filled

Green peppers, purple bruises and gold stars

I sat on a phone book at the dinner table, surrounded by my two brothers, my parents and more than half a dozen foster kids. Dinner consisted of stuffed green peppers, a food I had a strong aversion towards. 

I suppose, even at three and a half, I knew the rules. I wasn't allowed to show any signs of disliking food. I tried to eat the green pepper but an involuntary shudder emanated from my core, giving me away. 

The punishment for showing dislike was to be served double, forced to eat It without reaction, or I'd get more, and then getting a licking with the belt. 

My mom smuggly placed another whole green pepper filled with beef, declaring that that's what I get for my reaction. 

One by one, everyone left the table and disappeared. I sat there alone, my parents angrily threatening me, watching me to see if I flinched or gagged or shuddered. I had to finish it all without any other expression of dislike, or else. 

I knew i couldnt do it. My tummy was already full from the first one, and now i had more. I remember feeling so afraid. I couldn't stop what was coming. I froze, unable to move. If I let on any expression I'd get a licking, it was coming no matter what. My parents attention was all on me, as both of then angrily coaxed me to try to eat without expression, threatening again and again that my licking was coming. 

I wanted to obey. I tried, I tried desperately to eat, but the flavor of the green pepper turned my stomach.  My mouth was full, but I couldnt swallow, as if it was stuck. I panicked, I tried but I couldn't swallow. They angrily yelled at me, making me more and more afraid. 

Finally in a rage my mom grabbed me off the phone book that served as a booster seat. My dad took off his belt and put me over his knee, pulled my pants off and began lashing me with the belt. 

It felt like searing fire across my legs and bottom that kept burning fiercer with each blow. 

I didn't want to be so bad, I wanted to make them happy but this daily ritual of being spanked was evidence that I was horrible. 

Following the fierce belting, I was firmly commanded to go to bed. My bottom and legs stung making me want to crumble into a heap.   I crawled wimpering up the spiral staircase. I recall my mom yelling at me to hurry up. 

I don't know how but as I turned to look at her, from the spiral near the top,  I suddenly lost my balance. I felt myself falling as I tumbled down the long flight of stairs, landing at my parents feet.  

My body hurt.  I couldn't put weight on my leg without searing pain. This made them even angrier. My mom accused me of trying to get out of going to bed. She always thought I was bad it seemed. 

Moments later, she had a wooden spoon in hand. She grabbed me from behind and began wholloping me, "to teach me a lesson  I wouldn't soon forget", she promised. 

 I remember trying desperately climb the stairs after the second beating, my whole body hurting, tears running down my face. My back side burning fiercly. I didn't look back, I crawled obediently , painfully into bed. 

The next morning my mom angrily stormed into my room. " why aren't you up and getting your Sunday clothes on."  I couldn't speak. I stared at her mutely afraid to answer. She pulled back the covers and told me to get up now "or else." 

Glancing down i saw that my leg was black and blue, my ribs were bruised and a giant purple bruise covered my shoulder almost to my elbow. My mom pulled me off the bottom bunk, but as I tried to put weight on the bruised leg, I gasped in pain, hot tears pouring down my face. "I can't,"I cried. 

The next thing I remember was being at a hospital or clinic.  My mom acted strangely happy, speaking to the doctor in a sing-song kind of voice that seemed foreign . She explained to the doctor that I was jumping on the top bunk and fell off, landing on my toys. 

I didn't understand. I didn't remember that.  The Dr was kind and told me no more jumping on the top bunk. Ex-rays proved that my ankle was broken, and a piece of bone was chipped off completely. He said there wasn't a fix for that. But I'd need to wear a cast  and be on crutches to heal the other break. 

We left the hospital and mom was mad again. She said we couldn't go to our church because of what I'd done. I didn't understand what I had done but Ifelt bad for making her so angry. 

We went to a strange church. Not our own. I was on crutches. I was supposed to say I'd been bad and fell of the bed. I didn't want to say anything at all. We arrived more than half way through, making me feel embarrassed as I entered the Sunday school. I thought I was bad, for making us late. And I was certain God thought I was too. 

On the classroom wall there was a chart, with stars beside the kids names. I stared at the chart, wishing I had my name on a chart. But I remember thinking that bad girls like me wouldn't get stars anyhow. 

I didn't get to go back to my own church until my cast came off. 

mercy or punishment?

Unless you've lived my crazy story, you may not understand the perpetual processing of past trauma that happens. 

Thinking back to the day my tiny four year old body was mutilated on the insides. Nothing is more horrific than that moment. Unlike other memories that caused awful emotional and physical pain, this one can't fully heal. Why? Because the damage done inside my body was permanent. It didn't just cause scars, it caused permanent nerve damage, damage that would stop me from ever experiencing the pleasures others do during intercourse. 

Yet in the days, months years and decades that followed my body was used and violated over and over and over. I've read in some books, that sometimes women felt pleasure during rape and or sexual abuse despite the horror of it all. They then feel confusion, and guilt for that part of thier experience.  

I only remember feeling shame, physical pain, repulsion, and discuss, for myself and what was done. I did not experience pleasure, even when raped as an adult.

So could it be that the worst part of being sexually abused and raped as a tiny child, was in fact a mercy?

Can torment be mercy? Can heartache, or terror be mercy? 

Fragments of my mind

I wish for a moment that I could listen to the thoughts of another person so see how others minds are. I only know mine and it has been fragmented by Cptd since I was very young. 

I can't even count how many flashbacks I get in a day. They aren't necessarily crippling but they certainly impact my whole being and how I see myself. 

I feel ar war within myself on a moment by moment basis. I imagine rejection by others, then try to convince myself that I'm just catastrisizing. If overthink everything, playing imaginary conversations in my mind of how I wish it could go. Sometimes these imaginings keep me up all night.  This happens any time there is stress in a relationship,  and I'm triggered by it, fearing rejection and wanting desperately to explain myself fearing all be misunderstood, like in my childhood. 

This Cptsd is a crazy making experience. I want a steady mind, not a fragmented mind, that swirls with anxiety, fear, insecurity and awful memories.  

No one knows my story from beginning to end, no one knows the details. A part of me wished someone wanted to know and would be safe to tell. I feel like I've carried this nightmare alone for too long. 

Until then my story will remain as broken fragments of my messed up mind. 

Grace

When we think of parts of the world where people have no freedom, no voice, and no choices, that is the closest glimpse we have of what life would be like without God's profound grace. 

We experience his Grace so abundantly every day that we may have become forgetful.. or even oblivious to its incredible impact on our lives. 

I saw grace today:

In the support systems God has placed around me

In the love of my patient husband

In the beautiful creation around me

In the provisions I have

In the gifts I've been given

In the healing I experience daily

God's grace impacts every part of our lives.

Triggers that baffle

The crazy making part of complex post traumatic Stress syndrome, is the subtle daily triggers. 

This week it was en email. I found myself feeling misunderstood, panicked, defensive, inadequate, anxious and utterly insecure. It wasn't because someone actually said or did anything to evoke those responses. Rather, it was a trigger. 

Something deep inside of me that I can't pinpoint yet was triggered. Past rejection, past misunderstanding, yet no matter how far in the past all those negative cognition came upon me like a storm, robbing my sleep, making me restless with obsessive thoughts and anxiety.

Cptsd can be like an internal ticking bomb, the only problem is that the detonator is hidden in the depths of our memories, often blocked out due to  the pain associated with it. 

The email trigger today made me feel like a teenager, fighting to be heard, understood and believed. So, I would be led to believe the trigger is routed in trauma from that time period. It's like a younger part of myself calling out for help. 

I  need to calm the younger me and remind her that it's 2022. I've got this. I'm not being rejected, misunderstood or unheard. I AM valued, safe and so there is no need to be afraid any longer. 

I don't have anyone trying to harm me. I can rest, heal and breathe. 

Triggers are a shadow of the past that deceives our minds into thinking we are still in harm's way, decades after the harm has past. 

Thankfully as we acknowledge our past, face the pain and process it, we can heal and eventually eliminate those triggers once and for all. 

Christmas Miracles

CHRISTMAS Miracles still happen!

Have you considered doing something nice for a person this Christmas, but are wondering if you should? Perhaps it feels awkward? Perhaps you wonder how it will be received? 

Let me share my Christmas Miracle and see if that changes your mind. I was a single mom. We had been in hiding for two years, after escaping abuse and attempted manslaughter. 

I was now a struggling single mom, with three traumatized kids. I had moved to a new town and didn't have work yet. The idea of Christmas was daunting. I wasn't sure how we would have enough to feed my kids and pay the bills, let alone get gifts for them. It seemed impossible! But God is in the details and he had a plan.

Someone had heard the story of how my seven-year-old son's life was threatened by his dad, and how we fled that very night. They heard of how God had miraculously cared for us in so many ways, helping us to escape the violence, the stalking and the terrifying death threats. 

That someone traveled back east and told their family members about God's hand on our life and the crazy nightmare we'd survived. The family ( complete strangers to us,) got that burning sensation in their hearts that they had to act. 

Meanwhile, the kids and I were preparing for a humble Christmas. The kids and I would often spend time worshiping together in our living room. As we did one night, we felt the Holy Spirit prompt us to take the food we had left in our cupboard and give it AWAY to someone we knew was in need. The kids and I all prayed and knew God was speaking clearly to our hearts so we obeyed, knowing that we now had nothing left. We had No food, no money in the bank, no options for Christmas, but at that moment we all had complete peace. We knew God had miraculously brought us out of harm's way. He had provided a home for us to stay in, he had answered so many impossible seeming prayers. So we knew God had a plan. 

The next day, we opened the mail and there was a cheque, from strangers in Ontario who obeyed God's prompting to provide us with a Christmas. They sent a cheque for $1000. which not only provided gifts for everyone, but food and some money to take care of a few needs. 

I often wonder, what would have happened that Christmas if they refused the nudging of the Holy Spirit. I wonder if they realize that their obedience not only gave us a beautiful Christmas but it permanently impacted our faith. We knew without a shadow of a doubt that God was our provider. I knew that he was now my husband. Even years later I heard one of my kids share this story and how it let them know that they weren't fatherless, God was the good provider and was their father. 

Often we don't know even half of the struggles a person is facing. We also don't know the eternal impact that our obedience may have. So if God is prompting you to do something this Christmas for someone..... Do it!

The big R. rape

I think I was around seven the first time I was raped. Although I have some scary memories that make me wonder if I was younger. (Maybe 4?)

Before bing raped by flesh I was mutilated by pieces of metal. 

I'm learning that God didn't allow me to be raped, but he saw it all. He saw the years if assaults that followed. He saw me raped again as a teen, and then lastly by the man who had sworn to love me til death do us part. 

It wasn't until I'd survived marital rapes that I understood how thoroughly a husband can destroy his wife. 

Rape isn't like any other sexual encounter. It isn't about sex!. Rape is all about power, about humiliation, about creating powerlessness.  It's about destroying a person for fun. 

My ex told me he felt a surge of energy and power that was so enticing that just thinking about it made him hungry to taste that power again. 

I recall him angrily lashing out at me for dissociating when being violently raped. He wanted to see the fear, hear my cries as I begged him to stop. When my brain shut down and I began to leave my body to escape, the stiff frozen body didn't give him the reactions he craved. 

I don't know how many times I've been raped. I have flashes of memories and try to put things together. 

But it's like building a puzzle when met of the pieces are missing. It's impossible. 

I may always grieve the losses I've incurred from rape. There is no nice way to frame it. Roe is vile, horrific and destructive. 

Unfathomable

Unfathomable....

Every morning the mists rolls into the valley beneath our place.. The giant trees are swallowed up, the farms disappear, the enormous mountains hide their faces. Instead what I see is an insurpassable ocean, that isn't really there.  In a few hours I'll see lush farms, cows grazing, trees and mountains. But if you've never seen the valley below us, it would be hard for you to fatham. 

This is what being a believer is often like. We see only in part. We see the ocean of mist and start to believe that is all there is. But God sees everything we can't. He sees into or hearts and minds. He sees the past and future. He sees the heavenly realms. 

When we can not fathom a way through our oceans of trouble, he sees a way. There have been seasons in my life where the circumstances were dire.i was blinded by the fog and began to lose hope. As I called out to Jesus, he showed me a way. His was was mind blowing it was a way I never would have fathomed. He carried me through. 

" Trust in the Lord with all your your heart and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all your way acknowledge him and he will direct your paths." Prov 3:6.

Today I ask God to help me to trust in what I can not see, what I cannot fathom and what I do not net understand so that I walk by faith and not by sight.

Inner strength

Inner Strength....

I've seen so many social media posts lately telling what it means to be strong. Messages online can be so confusing and misleading.  So I will share what I believe it means, to be strong. 

1. Being strong means setting and maintaining healthy boundaries. It's ok to say No. 

2. Being strong means being willing to take a good hard look at yourself. Ask God to show you your rough spots, then start working on those areas. 

3. Being strong means you are willing to get help, get counselling, get coaching, get healthy on the inside. 

4. Being strong means choosing integrity, every time no matter what. 

5. Being strong means being accountable, before God and others. Admitting your mistakes, making amends and reconciling takes great strength. 

6. Being strong means humbling yourself before God and man. Leading through serving. Jesus was strong when he washed the disciples filthy feet. 

7. Being strong means staying soft in a cruel world. Being kind, compassionate, and loving. It's easy to hate but to truly love others (especially if you've been wounded) takes inner strength. 

All these things require inner strength.

He Sees and Redeems

I sat in the sanctuary listening to the Sunday message. It had been a tough week, as I came to grips with the new horrific memories of being violently raped and sexually mutilated me as a tiny child. 

I tried too focus but the memories kept surfacing. Waves of overwhelming emotions were threatening to spill out. I glanced up at the slides on the screen, trying to regain focus. It was then that I read this. 

" He was naked, and mutilated by the Roman whips." He chose this torture and suffering to pay for it only my sin, but he sins of my rapists. 

I couldn't hold back the tears. He saw as my small body was ravagaged, my insides mutilated and permanently damaged. She saw my shattered heart, and tortured screams. He sees, and chose to have. His own flesh torn.

The shame I've carried for so long has crippled me, robbing me of so much. Yet Jesus took the shame of us all I his shoulders as he paid the price for me and you. 

He paid this price long before I shed my first tear. I am not alone. He does know and understand. He saw then and sees the torment I bear now. He is the God who sees, and then redeems and heals. 

Broken little girl, or resilient survivor

Let me tell you about a little girl named Eve-Marie. Rejected from birth she didn't know or understand love. She knew what it was to be hurt, abused and violated in the worst ways. 

Her family was cruel and tormented her. Before she was even old enough to attend school, She was being sexually assaulted by multiple family members. This nightmare continued until she left home. 

As a little girl,  they mutilated her insides, raping her in the worst ways,  destroying the nerve endings inside her tiny body, causing permanent internal damage and triggering a medical condition that would leave her in agony every day for the rest of her life.  Her cries were Ignored. Her screams were silenced with beatings.

She wanted desperately to earn love, so she remained the obedient daughter. She submitted dutifully serving like Cinderella, but there were no cute mice, just perpetual beatings and being denied food. She was stuck believing their lies and that she needed to be punished because she was somehow bad and utterly worthless. 

Rather than protecting her, her parents encouraged and created a family atmosphere where she was to carry the shame for all their incestuous crimes. They even adopted one of her rapists, knowing full well what he was doing to her. They used her, beat her, tortured her and shamed her. 

Her name changed from Eve-Marie to "Ugly". Her siblings abused her. She had no one to turn to. 

She was tied up, she was locked up, and tortured. She was punished without cause. She thought this was normal. She thought she deserved it because she was so worthless. 

After violent teen years filled with more sexual violence and rapes, she survived, barely, carrying even more shame and heartache and less will to live.

She met her first husband at 16, and  married into abuse. She was submissive and sought to please God by being the most loving attentive wife she could be. It wasn't enough. He was a stalker, rapist, pedopile and wife beater. 

 She continued to be cruelly abused. The violence became life-threatening, even causing her to lose the babe in her womb. After he tried to kill their 7-year-old she scooped up her three traumatized kids and ran away, without a penny. 

Her Pastor shamed her for running away,  blaming her for her husbands violence, his adultery, and his violent rages. "Good wives don't leave" he said.  She remained kind, submissive to the core trying to be good enough to earn God's love. But her pastor said. " Everyone says you are so sweet, so what, is it about your sweetness makes you so repulsive that he feels driven to do this." She lost all hope. 

Her father, a pastor discovered that she was separated and planning to divorce. He claimed her, as his property, under Jewish law He was coming for her with taunts to perpetuate the nightmare she'd once left. 

Meanwhile her husband was stalking her, broke in and raped her and threatened to kill her.  In her utter despair, She cried out to Jesus, pleading for help. He alone knew her heart. He made a way. He planned her grand escape though series of prophetic words that he miraculously fulfilled. He helped her and the kids escape, and change their identities. He gave her His name Emmanuel and began teaching her what love looked like for the first time. 

She remarriied, with the hope of healing, but her ex wouldn't relent pursuing her. Moreover Her childhood abusers cases had escalated with other victims surfacing. Court cases became her constant nightmare as her ex tried every possible legal tactic to force her out of hiding. While others were building a life she was fighting to keep hers, and escape the very real death threats. Instead of buying a house, she was paying legal fees and fighting to keep her kids from killing themselves out of fear that he'd murder them. It cost everything.  After year's of legal nightmares, even the sight of a legal email correspondence would shake her to the core triggering so much trauma. 

Finally, a page turned and a new season began. Slowly, she began to heal. But as one memory healed new flashbacks of horrors surfaced, shaking her to the core day and night. 

She clung to Jesus, sometimes pleading that he would protect her from the very real temptation of ending it all to make the pain go away. 

Now, sometime later.  She is learning to accept love. She has spent every day pushing through horrific memories, flashbacks and nightmares. But she has consistently pressed into healing and pursuing wholeness. 

She has slowly cut off toxic relationships with unrepentant criminal abusers who perpetuated harm against her. She has worked hard to establish boundaries, although it's a daily challenge to not submit out of fear of punishment or harm. 

After surviving more than thirty consecutive years of violence and sexual assault she finally is safe, and focusing on healing. 

She bears scars both on her body and in her heart that may take a lifetime to fully heal. But she is a strong, resilient survivor. A woman of profound faith and love for Jesus. 

Her name is Kirsten. 

Running from the past

Past traumas can be crippling as they affect every cell in your body, your hormones, your brain activity, your digestive systems, your nervous system and even your respiratory system. 

Some people say ignorant things like, just don't think about it. Ask yourself this, if you push it down, where does it go? When will it be triggered and cause you all consuming distress, and how will it affect your health, long term. 

Did you know that survivors of extensive child abuse are at much higher risk of cancer, stroke, and heart attack, let alone an extraordinarily high risk of severe auto immune conditions. 

Drs have a scale they use called ACE. Adverse  experience test. Anything over a 4 out of ten places you at high risk of so many medical conditions,. My A.C.E. score is a seven. 

A single 3 second flashback of being violently raped at age seven, makes my heart pound, tears pour, muscles contract. My blood rushes from my brain making me foggy. My insides react as if it's happening now, with muscle memories, phantom pain and multi system response. I feel sick to my stomach, struggle to breathe. Etc.... 

I have two choices now, I can push it back down. However trauma memories are like jack in the boxes, you never know when or where they will surface. If you are in mixed company, working or out in public, there is no way to time it. 

Or, my second choice is to face it. I contain it In my minds eye temporarily until I can meet with a therapist who can assist me through it. 

I hate fresh triggers like the one that had me sobbing today. They are horrific. But it's present now. I'm adult. It's just a traumatic memory, not a current happening. I already survived the horror, now it's time to heal. There is no running from the past, or it catches up to you and takes you down. 

Undone by His Love

There is nothing as powerful,  moving or all consuming  as the love of God when it truly ignites in your heart. 

I'm sure we all have dry seasons, where we go through the motions of loving God, but it feels empty of course. I have sometimes prayed fervently that God would reignite that first love. I've learned that he answers that prayer!

It is when I truly began to understand, and experience the depths of his love, that it grew and grew inside of me. As His Love sank to the depths of my empty , dry heart, it covered the most tender parts with a love so sweet and pure. It began to ruminate in my spirit until it bubbled up and overflowed. 

I can't understand such love because, in my brokenness, I simply do not know how to love well. I try of course, but He knows that I struggle to trust, struggle to recieve and struggle to believe I'm worthy of love.  But God doesn't need my approval or capacity of loving well to love Me well in the first place. He loved first! I just need to breathe it in deeply and let it saturate the very cells of my body. 

He's been transforming my heart from the inside. It is His incredible love that is changing me. It transforms how I think. It's enveloping every part of my being, filling me with joy! Because I've earned it??? No, certainly not! Because I'm good? Nope, not a chance. 

He transforms hearts because it's who he is. He loved us first. 

It is undeserved, pure, and inconceivable love. It burns so brilliantly that it shines right out of us like a beacon on a dark night. It isn't showy, no His love is so sweet and beautiful that it brings me to tears at the mere thought of it. 

Because of His love, I am truly undone... and that's how it was meant to be all along. 

EMDR- Wading through the Trauma of Extensive Sexual Abuse by a Family Member

 Today was my second EMDR session. I wish I had known such a thing existed many years ago.  The sessions are intense but so incredible, especially when combined with letting the Holy Spirit lead.  

Today's session was a scary one  I was diving into the memory of being five, and being sexually abused by a family member. It was very painful. I cried, a lot! But using the EMDR paddles, I was able to bring the trauma from its stored place into the processing side of my brain.

Using my mind's eye, I could remove my younger self from that member and place her in a safe place being protected by Angels. I was able to make connections in my mind that I couldn't before. 

I had felt so defiled,, damaged, ruined, and broken. I felt like I was to blame, not only for what he had done to me but for what he did to my sisters and my cousin. Im not sure why I'd carried his shame all these years the memories of the abuse haunted me day and night. It caused body memories, where my body responded with protective spasms, of muscles,

tightening, my bladder spasming, and my whole body feeling tense. 

as we went through the memory, It felt like there was an invisible wall between He and me that had never been there before. The memory became distant, and he shrunk. I mean literally, The giant of a man that he was to the five-year-old, six-year-old, and seven yr old self, became a shrinking monster who couldn't get to me. I can't explain it but my mind placed me in the present where I am safe and where he can't hurt me any longer. The intense emotions attached to the trauma faded, like an image fading before my eyes. 

As I prayed with my therapist I clearly heard the Lord speaking to my spirit. This is what I heard. 

You were never alone, I was with you all along. 

I asked, why did you not protect me?

He told me that I was valuable all along. Mark never took my worth into consideration. There was nothing I did, or didn't do that factored into his choice of abusing me or anyone else. He told me that I was loved, but I would not feel loved until I chose to trust and believe and accept that what he was saying to me was true. I wrestled with God. If you want me to trust, how can I when you didn't protect me 

Carla reminded me that he says, in this world are my trials and trouble, but he has overcome them all. we arent guaranteed a free pass from the sin of others. 

I was shown that there was nothing I could have done, 

I spoke to my mom in the session and told her she is wicked. It was wicked to blame me for the sins of family members, shame me and reject me, then embrace those who did such harm to me, knowing full well what was done. 

I felt that it is done, the young part of me survived, intact, not destroyed She was resilient and strong. She loved Jesus so much amid so much confusion, 

I couldn't say I felt loved 100 percent because I needed to deal with the part of me that is still struggling with the lack of protection. piece. I need time to process this.

but I feel this memory is distant. Mark no longer holds me captive on his lap in front of his tv, harming me. I am separate from him once and for all. I am free to heal and grieve and grow strong. I am free to feel love because my worth didn't factor into his choice. He was a monster and now I am free from him and free from his shame. 

Sweet, Trauma Responses- being agreable to protect yourself

BOUNDARIES: 

That first sentence hit so hard. "Agreeing to things, just to keep the peace is a trauma response". How many times have I been agreeable, instead of honest, while my insides screamed no. "Oh Lord help me,"... too many times!

Boundaries are hard for me! I grew up in an environment where personal boundaries were not permitted, let alone respected. Being agreeable was a form of self protection from the escalation of violence that was a constant part of my childhood and first marriage. 

 I have to work extra hard to break patterns of passivity. Whether I like it or not, being passively agreeable in order to please others is actually being deceitful. Ouch what?? Yikes, I said it. It is  not being truthful to yourself or others. 

If I agree to something, while my body screams no, my mind pleads with me to say no, but I smile and bend to the will of others, I'm not doing anyone any favors. 

We each have variable amounts of elasticity. Passivity can result in us pushing ourselves too far, too hard. We become  stretched so thin that we loose elasticity and burn out. 

In contrast, when healing from trauma takes place, we begin to  advocate for ourselves, respect ourselves, and as a result we learn to speak truth. 

" No, I'm not up to doing that." 

" thanks for asking , but I need to decline."

" I appreciate your need, but I'm going to have to say no." 

In saying No, you :

* break passivity 

* are honest with yourself and others

* are respecting yourself as God intended

* are excerising emotionally healthy boundaries 

* it is showing respect to others, trusting them with competence to emotionally cope with your no. 

I have soooo far to go, but being healthy is a journey, a daily moment by moment journey. I take one step, then another. If I fall, I dust myself off, learn from my fall and keep pressing forward.

From the blog Shattered Hearts Restored by Kirsten Emmanuel .

I Quit

I QUIT...

I think the word quitting has a bad rap, but sometimes its good to quit.  Sometimes admitting defeat and failure is the most liberating thing, to come to the end of yourself and realize, you just couldn't do it all.  Sometimes, realizing you have nothing left to give, is where the real freedom begins. 

For anyone like me who tries to hold the world up by myself, you know what I'm talking about.  Maybe, our freedom begins when we realize our limits and let God begin where we stop. Maybe realizing our own limitations is a part of dying to self, so there is more of God and less of me.

What do you need to quit, and replace with surrender? I'll be honest, the thing I need to quit, is performance mentality. I need to quit trying to earn love, the love of God and mankind, and just Be loving. 

I need to sit at the feet of Jesus and BE, not perform. I need to love, not strive to earn love. So, that it, I quit! I quit the striving  to please man and God. I can't do it. Instead, I accept where my limitations are. I surrender.  

I quit, I surrender, and suddenly that emptiness can be filled with what God intended all along, himself!

Grace in the Midst of Flashbacks

Grace, in the midst of Flashbacks....

In the space of a single moment, your mind can  rapidly, involuntarily replay the horrors you've survived. Your heart races, your body freezes and your body releases a flood of chemicals and neurological responses as if it were happening all over again. 

You didn't dwell on the past, you didn't intentionally do Anything, yet the trauma was triggered in all its volatility. 

Those who have never known severe trauma often will ignorantly say things like:

-Well, just move past it...

-Don't look back...

- Just give it to Jesus...( as if the person hasn't done  so a million times over, praying for help and healing. )

- Try not to think about it...  

Well meaning people say things while they are utterly oblivious to how the brain works, how trauma rewires the brain and how  all those suggestions just heap more shame on a person!

On occasion,  my sinful flesh has angrily thought ," I'd like to see them glibly say that, after being.......

 [violently raped,  repeatedly assaulted, or tied up, or  tortured  or locked up in a dark scary space or violently abused, or suffocated, or stalked etc etc etc]. And if they experienced all and more, would they begin to understand those of us who have? 

As much as I want to educate others on the authentic realities of surviving of abuse, the truth is I would never wish any of that on a single soul.

Instead I yearn for us to be a people of Grace! 

Did you know that  1 in three little girls are sexually abused. Moreover, Canadian statistics say, at least 30% of all women over the age of 15  have been sexually assaulted or raped.  Many victims of child sexual abuse were assaulted for years, or even decades. 44% of women have survived domestic violence. These are facts!

We acknowledge the horror of sex trafficking, yet somehow forget that many women experienced the similar years of horrors within  their own families and communities without a single penny being paid. If you knew what God knew, and saw the truth of what's been done you'd  never be the same again. 

We need Grace.... !!!

There is a need for GRACE, for ourselves and others who have experienced abuse. 

There also needs to be understanding.Traumatic flashbacks are an involuntary response, triggered by normal sights, sounds, words, smells etc. 

Something as simple as the sound a door makes when it opens, can trigger an involuntary cacophony of horrific memories in someone who has experienced trauma. 

Here is a mild Example; 

 Seeing a tiny spider, triggers terror in me and the memory of being 8, as my father cruelly dumped a viel of spiders into my shirt, then violently beat me for screaming in terror as they crawled all over my flesh. 

I can think as an adult and rationalize but when that memory is triggered, my subconscious brain responds to the threat as if it were happening in the present.

Myth: recalling memories is a voluntary choice, to live in the past as a victim

Myth: recalling past trauma means you haven't forgiven.  

Truth: As a person experiences flashbacks they are being given opportunities to begin working through the horror thier mind wasn't ready to face at the time of the trauma.

Truth: No one wants to relive the nightmare they already survived. For this reason we block out memories, we suppress feelings that surface and at times do more damage by not working through our brokenness. 

Grace for ourselves, allows us to accept what has happened and work through the trauma, breathing truth into each memory. 

Grace for others, means choosing not to judge a person by the pain they feel. Grace for others is choosing  not to shame a person,  who has already been forced to  carry the shame of others sin against them. 

If you haven't walked in another's shoes, you can not know another's journey! 

How long do think it would take to You, to heal from a violent rape,? What about 10 violent sexual assaults?, what about 100? What about decades of violent assaults? 

How long does it take to recover from attempted murder? How long does it take to recover from years of being beaten, and abused? I pray your brain can't fathom what it would be like... 

But, in the somber reality of those questions I challenge you to then have Grace. 

When you see 10 women in a room, statistics say 3-4 of them will know the painful reality of which I'm blogging about.  They may never tell a soul. They may work very hard to hide the pain they feel. Maybe their pain comes out in other ways? 

Grace... 

May it pour over us. May we have grace to face our past, and grace to allow ourselves the gift of a future without abuse. 

May we have grace to cry, without shame, grace to wrestle with God, grace to allow ourselves the time it takes to heal. 

May we have grace to accept where we ar with compassion for ourselves. 

May we have Grace for the child, or teen or adult part of ourselves or others, who wasn't able to cope with the trauma in the moment.

May we have grace for ourselves and others as the flashbacks come. 

May we show grace by understanding that each person on the planet has varying amounts of elasticity. Some may have been stretched already to their breaking point... 

God himself is Gracious. 

May we choose to be vessels of Grace, and instruments of healing.

From the blog "Shattered Hearts Restored" by Kirsten Emmanuel.  A journey of healing.

No smoke and mirrors in Gods eyes

Every moment we surrender our hearts to Jesus, he uses. He doesn't leave us as a shattered mess. Oh, it may certainly feel like it, when triggers of past trauma arise. However I believe God uses all those broken pieces for his Glory. 

This week's events had triggered many childhood memories in my heart. The sum of which was the message deep in my soul that I was deemed worthless, because I was treated so cruelly as a child, while it seemed everyone was oblivious or condoning or participating in sin while pretending to be Godly. 

 

I may never be able to make sense of the cruelty I survived, or the shaming I've experienced many times over for saying no to all that is wicked. I am comforted that God is able to make sense of our pain. He knows all the why, what and how of each broken piece of our hearts.  While others may not be face the painful truths of what was, God does. He sees every confusing piece of the puzzle. 

He doesn't get overwhelmed by it. So he doesn't mask the truth. There are no smoke and mirrors in the kingdom of heaven. Sin is sin, evil is evil, lust is lust, aboninations are abominations. His eyes cut past the denial, the lies we tell ourselves and the lies we have believed. 

So, that shadow of the past that reminds me of being deemed worthless trash? What does God do with that? 

He speaks truth into each memory. 

 

To the little girl who was abandoned,  the one who was tied up,  the one who was locked up with the garbage, the one who raped, and assaulted year after year, the one who was covered with spiders,  the one who was beaten over and over, the silenced, shamed and disowned one. His voice never says""You are worthless trash, NO! .  His voice Lord breaks through the darkest lie. 

He hates all that is wicked. He hates what is vile. He sees what is done in darkness, he 

Is  El roi, the God who sees. 

No amount of smoke and mirrors, can blind Gods eyes. Perfect pictures and performances don't fool him because he Is truth! 

Where man has deemed his workmanship as worthless, he instead redeems. He calls us his own. He loves us deeply. 

Worth forged through pain

Original painting by Kirsten Kirsty Emmanuel Dyck

The meaning behind this painting, 

Life's event can often affect how we see ourselves.  A few years back, I was working through some very painful childhood memories and those memories had caused me to feel utterly worthless. It was not because of my actions, but those of others.  

Then I had a strange dream that I honestly believe was heaven sent! In my dream I saw an awful infected wound on my face. I hid my face in shame so no one would see it.  Then that wound produced a shimmering purple pearl. It was so beautiful and it reflected the light  I thought, how could something so pretty come out of something so awful. Then in my dream I heard God speaking to me as if he stood next to me.  He said, You hide your face in shame, hiding the wounds of the world. But I have used them to form you into a pearl of great worth. 

I awoke from that dream and knew I needed to paint that pearl. I depicted it in the mud, to represent the ugliness that it came from. I painted a butterfly as a reminder that I am in process of being transformed by God.  My worth is not set by the things I have gone through, rather I am precious to God and he is making me into something beautiful that can reflect his light into the darkness.

After I awoke, I felt like one of the lesson's being impressed upon my heart, was to stop hiding my testimony in shame.  Hopefully my story helps someone else as they are being transformed into beauty.

I later looked up purple pearls and learned that they are rare and especially valuable.  I love how God uses all sorts of ways to bring about healing and restoration in our lives.

Marriage after terror

Marriage...

I have been married twice. In my first marraige, I experienced sheer terror, violence, infidelity, and awful abuse. It shattered me to the core. 

Several years later, I married Kevin.  I finally saw what God's design for marriage is. I've discovered what it is to be secure, knowing I am fully loved. I've learned to trust, discovering the beauty and safety of a faithful husband. I've learned what it is to be able to share the deepest parts of my heart and know that even my most vulnerable thoughts would be received with tenderness and respect. 

I'm still healing from the trauma of my first marriage but as the horrific memories surface I can know that I am now safe, fully loved, and secure. I am thankful that God's design for marriage is beautiful. I am thankful that he rescued me from the nightmare that was once my life. 

In another two weeks, we will be celebrating our thirteenth wedding anniversary. I couldn't be more enraptured by the love of my husband.  

I feel like I have lived through hell and now am seeing a glimpse of heaven. When I think of my husband's love for me I realize it is just a taste of the incredible love God has for me. As his bride, I am secure and lavished in his love. In that place of security is where he heals our hearts and transforms us into something beautiful.

The God who saves...

When you look at a person you can not see what they have survived, how God intervened or what their life would look like If he hadn't. 

A counsellor once told me that she couldn't understand how I wasn't an addict or needing a padded room after all I had survived. She came to understand that God met me in the darkness again and again, and carried me through.

Just as the Israelites were told to look back and recall God's faithfulness, I believe as a Christian I should do the same. 

The first miracle I recall was when I was four. Our van was sliding off the edge of a cliff after hitting black ice. Suddenly, we hit something unseen in thin air. It pushed our van back on the road. My mother got out and checked the side of the van to see if it left a dent. No dent was found. But we believe that God must have sent an angel to push the van back into the road and stop us from going over the edge. 

That memory shaped my faith in the years to come. While I experienced so much trauma in all the years that followed, God repeatedly revealed himself to me. 

The truth is, I wouldn't be here today reasonably sane and competent if God hadn't been so faithful. 

I still have had to suffer many years of abuse because we live in a fallen world,  but I didn't walk a moment alone. God saw and has been faithful to restore me. Moreover, nothing is wasted. He helped me overcome, and in turn I've been given the precious opportunity to speak life and hope into the lives of countless other survivors.

Skewed Perceptions

Skewed perceptions...

I've been told that your perception is your reality. When in fact perception is often created by personal beliefs regarding ourselves and others. Those beliefs are often formed during childhood and shaped by life events. 

A counsellor once told me that deep wounds or traumas can cause us to have perceptions that aren't completely accurate. It is as if we are looking through coloured or warped lenses that distort what we see. 

I've learned that my perception can often be wrong. I don't see myself the way others do. Despite knowing in my head that God loves me, I still perceive myself as worthless. It is as if that message is written in my cells, and echoed in every childhood memory.  I know it's a faulty perception. I often perceive that others might see me that way too, and often subconsciously  will interpret the world through that lens. 

Did you know that when a loving mother holds her newborn baby, the mother's brain lights up, and then within seconds, the baby's brain responds in kind? This was shown through MRI scans. From that first bonding moment, a child receives neural feedback that tells their developing mind that they are loved, wanted, secure, and of value. 

But what happens when a mother rejects her baby at birth? If that child never experiences affection, safety, affirmation, or love, skewed perceptions become embedded deep in the subconscious mind; perceptions such as; 

"I'm unloveable", "I need to perform well to be worthy of love", etc. 

People who were rejected by one or both parents at birth and throughout early childhood struggle their whole life to change their perceptions. If you are like me, and experienced rejection from birth, all is not lost. 

It just means we have to continually challenge the lies, that say we are not enough, not worth loving etc. 

I am determined to speak scripture to my heart. When my thoughts conflict with what Scripture says,  I am trying to discipline myself to answer with biblical truths such as: " I am a child of the Most High God. I am created for a purpose, He loves me with an everlasting love." Etc...

It takes intentionality to examine my perceptions, and try to identify wrong thinking.   It's not easy, it's not an instant fix.  It's a journey that often requires external reinforcement. 

A special person in my life used to always say, "You are the highly loved daughter of the Most High God." Now that phrase often replays in my mind when im struggling with wrong perceptions. Another person always reminded me that I am a resilient overcomes.. When I feel defeated, her words replay in my mind and give me renewed determination to press on.

I am so thankful for those who shatter my false perceptions when they surface. I need those people to speak truths into my heart especially when I am blinded by hurts. 

Is there a truth you speak over yourself, to change your false perceptions?  Who speaks truths into your life? 

Here is the truth from scripture:

“For we are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.” – Ephesians 2:10

We are God who says we are, so if you struggle with embedded perceptions, then I challenge you to join me in asking God to shatter those lies and replace each one with his truths.

I believe he can and will....

#shatteredheartsrenewedinchrist

Power in His Name

Power in His Name....

When I was nine years old, I got severe burns on both hands from a blow torch. I lay on my bed bawling in agony. Then I called out the name of Jesus. The pain instantly stopped. 

I went to the ER, and was treated for 2nd-degree burns. My hands were wrapped to protect the giant blisters that covered the surface of my fingers and palms. But the pain was still gone from the moment cried out to Jesus.

Jesus had intervened because he is faithful, and he didn't stop there. Soon after, I saw some monkey bars in a park.  Ran to them with my bandaged hands and began to go across them. I was with family and church friends. They all gaped in shock and horror, after knowing of the giant blisters. 

They removed the bandages that I wore like gloves to reveal perfectly healed hands. It was "impossible"? Yes. It was Jesus who answered the prayer of 9yr old me. Why? Because he is good, and his mercy endures forever. 

He knows that I fail daily. Yet he answers prayers, daily.  I'm not a very religious person, but I believe in Jesus, as the Son of God, sent to pay the price for all my sin so that I can enter heaven one day with a heart white as snow. 

I asked Jesus to be my saviour when I was four. It was a simple child's prayer. He answered my little prayer and has been faithful ever since, to walk with me through every one of life storms, because that is who Jesus is to me.