Surrender

Life is full of ups and downs. Even a single day or hour, can have wonderful moments and heart-crushing moments right after each other. If you are like me you want life to resemble a fluffy cloud floating on a gentle breeze but let's face it, life can be tumultuous at best. My tendency is to cling to the good and reject changes that issue in the unknown. Yet I keep sensing God asking me to surrender it all, surrender the unknown, surrender the good and bad. God gives and takes away. Even my breath is his to give and take.

 It's hard.... deep down not to desire some level of control over my present and future. Yet surrender means letting God be God. I'm not very good at letting Go but I can choose moment by moment to surrender.

Called To Be

Who are you really called to be? I wrestled with this very question over the past year. I had started to confuse my God-given identity and calling with my worldly identity. I am not the sum of my net worth, or my achievements or my physical attributes, or lack of nice attributes, or the sum of my many flaws for that matter. I am definitely NOT the sum of all my experiences. I am not a victim. Who I am called to be, so much more than all those things.

Yesterday I was reminded to walk in my true identity. God wired me to be a passionate, deep thinking child of his who loves the broken and has a burning desire to see lives restored. I am called to be a voice to those who have been battered and horrifically abused in every way........ to remind them who God really is.

I am called to speak to those who have lost sight of themselves and God as a result of trauma and share with them God's incredible faithfulness.

My life if a living testimony. My story may be filled with years and years of pain at the hands of others, but my story didn't end there. I am an overcomer because of the spirit of the Living and Loving God that fills my heart.

It is by his grace that I have survived and by his grace I will continue on.

The enemy is quick to deceive and he often has tried to convince me to hide behind a mask and pretend that I don't bear the testimony that I do. He lies to me and convinces me to be ashamed of my own story. The truth is, I was called to be a threat to enemy...... to stand up and declare truth and help set that captives free.

Learning to wait on God's timing

A tiny seed is kept in its protective shell until just the right time. Some seeds have to endure darkness and cold before they will grow. They start out weak and delicate but when nourished by the right soil, and provided with fresh water they become so much more than one could ever imagine.

We are just like those tiny seeds. If we trust God he will plant us in the right place at the right time. In my immaturity, I want to know what the plan is, what he has for me and what the future holds but this is our journey of faith.
Our job is to trust God to plant us. He gives us the word to wash us and nourish us.

Then when the winter has passed we will grow where we have been planted. Maybe we will feel out of place and fragile at first but as time passes we will grow into a righteous planting of the Lord. He will prune us and shape us out of love.

“But blessed is the one who trusts in the LORD, whose confidence is in him. They will be like a tree planted by the water that sends out its roots by the stream. It does not fear when heat comes; its leaves are always green. It has no worries in a year of drought and never fails to bear fruit” (Jeremiah 17:7-8).

So Lord, prepare our hearts to surrender to your plans and your timing. May we trust you fully. Give us a strong desire to always look upwards and seek you first. May we grow strong in you, bearing much fruit in due seas

on.

Fully Known

"We sometimes think we want to disappear when really we want to be found."

Each person's deepest desire is to be fully known and truly understood. Being alone is not the root of loneliness at all. The true root is when you are misunderstood and feel like no one really gets you.

Everyone hears and sees through their own perceptions of themselves and you. When you are not truly known or understood, that is when true loneliness sets in. You can be in a crowded room of people but feel lonely.

There is no point in explaining who you are or what you mean because others will only hear their interpretation of a portion of what you say.
I think one of my biggest life frustrations has been those moments when I felt mischaracterized and misunderstood.
Yet we live in a world where everything you do and say is judged through other's perceptions.

If you express your values you are considered a hater of others. If you give an opinion you are considered a know it all. If you are quiet you are considered closed if you are authentic you are considered to have no boundaries, or too open. If you are shy you are considered to be unfriendly, if you are hurting, you are considered weak. If you speak passionately you are considered condescending or overbearing or too intense. If you stand up against evil you are considered to be unforgiving or judging or stuck in the past. And the list goes on.......

Let's face it, in this world we are damned if we say anything and damned if we stay silent. It doesn't matter who you are, how many friends or family members you have, you are bound to be misunderstood at some point if not regularly.

Ultimately, the only one who knows our hearts and understands our deepest thoughts is God. He gets you, he knows, he sees, he alone understands. Our quest to be fully known and understood will never be quenched by finding a person to fill it. It can only be filled by the one who created your heart in the first place.

Worthy of Love

Is there even such a thing? The phrase worthy of love was a question I began asking as a kid? Am I worthy of love? Even from a very young age, I was keenly aware that love is not given equally to all children or adults. Some are loved from birth while others are rejected from birth. Some are loved by peers, others rejected by peers. So I set out to discover if I was worthy of love at as wee little girl. I decided that that young age that I most certainly was not, but was determined to try to earn love somehow. Well, we all know that love can not be earned.

When a child hasn't experienced the unconditional love of a parent it's really hard for them to fathom God's love. So I believed that's His love was just as unattainable, but still, I foolishly set out to earn it.

As adults it's easy to fall back into the trappings of childlike beliefs, trying to earn God's love and wanting to be worthy of it.

Here is the reality. There is nothing I can do or say to be worthy of anyone's love, least of all God's. What? You argue.. but seriously. IF "LOVE" IS BASED ON WORTH THEN IT IS NOT LOVE!!!

I will never be enough but yet I am fully loved by the God who created love. You see Love surpasses worth and merit.
We treat love like it is money. Money can be earned and traded for many things but when you have none your net worth is considered zero.

Love is the opposite when I am have nothing left but love, I have everything. God's love isn't like the twisted version I constructed as a child. I couldn't earn it by being good, doing chores, or serving. It had to be freely given by choice.

Each person chooses whom to love and whom to reject. I think it's more common to be rejected by others than to be loved.

But God chooses to love despite all the reasons others reject us. We can't earn his love or deserve it but we can choose, will we accept it or reject it. We all fail, we are all imperfect, we are all in the same human condition of being extremely fallible.

Yet, in the midst of it ... True love never holds out a measuring stick instead it embraces, transforms and makes a way.

I was rejected by mankind, even within my mother's womb but God's love whispers " you are mine, come as you are, I have made a way in my great Love for you. It is unchanging, unfathomable and filled with Grace."

The Clock Struck Twelve

We all know the story of Cinderella. Abused and neglected yet on that one night she was given the chance to go to the ball dressed as a princess. Suddenly , the clock  struck 12 and she found herself in rags again. The coach turned into a pumpkin and the fantasy was over.

Midnight came tonight and a chapter of my life ended. In many ways I feel like Cinderella must have, having tasted good but unsure of whether her future would be filled with more pain or more miraculous happenings.

Tomorrow we pack what is left of our belongings into a small trailer and move away. Tonight marked the close of this chapter in my life. At the moment it feels like my world is crashing down. My son will sleep under our roof one last time in his room. But tomorrow there will no longer be a room for him to come home to. All my kids will be so far away. How will we celebrate Christmas? I won't even have room for a tree!

Will I loose all my fiends? I don't know... maybe. Maybe they won't be able to maintain a meaningful connection with me. Thier lives will fill up with other people and things. I might not be needed let alone wanted. The place I held in thier heart might be filled with others who can be there and better meet thier needs. No one can promise to stay my friend. It's not a fair expectation because I won't be able to be present in thier lives to meet the needs I once met. There are no guarantees.

People always quote Jeremiah 29:11. Where God told the nation of Israel that he had plans for a future and a hope. I hear people adopt it as if God spoke it for them. I can never do that. From the moment my cenception was realized I was rejected. I have been horrifically abused in every way. I have experienced so much pain as suffering in this life that I have a really hard time imagining anything else.

This life is not a fairytale. The chance of me riding off into the sunset tomorrow and living happily ever after is utterly unrealistic and profoundly unimaginable for me.

I want to trust that this new chapter will be filled with joy and purpose but my past experiences beg me to expect pain, rejection and abandonment. I ask God to prove me wrong if he will.

I've lost so much in the past year, my career, income, friends, relationships, a church, family members, my daughter, and I even lost myself. Now we are losing our home, our city, our friends, our belongings,  our church family, our dreams.... oh God my heart cant bear to loose more.

I may not trust... I may not have hope, but please God may I not loose more. May my friends hold me tight and not let go, may my children choose to keep me close at heart. May there be a future that is filled with joy.

The clock  struck twelve, I sit in my rags hoping for a better tomorrow while replaying the blissful moments I had this summer, wishing it wasn't over. Oh God help me to have faith, to cling to hope, to trust, to dare to dream of a good tomorrow.

Hitting Rock bottom...... and surviving barely

My week has been a tough one, one Im ashamed to say, I almost didn't survive. We are getting ready to move to a tiny new home which has been very hard on me. We have to go through everything and downsize and get rid of everything we've worked hard to have.  I was going through some papers I had tucked away for the past 13 years.

I picked them up and began to read the nightmare that was my life between 2003 and 2006.  I had written a detailed outline of events that were filled with attempted murder, sexual assaults of myself and my daughter, stalking, domestic violence, and repeated rape.

I sat on the bottom stair of my house, pages in my hands and a sound rose up in me like a dying animal. I began to bawl uncontrollably.  The memories swam through my mind.  The worst memories are those of being raped after I had separated from him and we lived apart but he started raping me before we separated.

Some of the incidents all swim together in my mind and I can't place them but I see flashes of the memories. I see seconds of memories, awful memories.  Often I see it as if I am up in the air, floating over the room or I'm looking from the bottom of the bed seeing it happen to someone else as my mind desperately tried to escape the pain.

The first time he raped me we were still married. and I had been a willing lover, except for when I was in too much pain or had my period.  One that day,  He wanted sex and I said no. I was battling a flare-up of interstitial cystitis with a bladder and kidney infection and was in agony throughout my lower pelvis. I remember feeling my body being thrown backward on the side of the bed and as I am falling backward I realized I was powerless. There was nothing I could do to make him stop. The look in his eye was like a raging animal out to devour. He wasn't my lover, he was a fierce creature filled with rage wanting to hurt me. He forced himself on me in seconds taking what he wanted as I cried and pleaded for him to stop. I remember staring at the grain of the wooden bureau trying to memorize every curve instead of focusing on the weight of his body as he violently stole from me.

 Another time I remember the terror I felt as he raged in my face and forced himself on me, screaming at me.  I often dissociated and disappeared to protect my heart but he kept screaming and struck me across the face trying to snap me out of it and make me come back to present. I remember becoming present and hearing him screaming, " You are just a fucking dead log" You fucking worthless bitch".    I don't know why he felt he had to rape me. I don't understand. He was angry and violent and hurting me and abusing me, terrorizing me. My body shakes remembering, wishing it would all just go away like a bad dream that fades in the morning.  I feel such hatred, such loathing, such anger. I wish he were in prison but he's not because I was afraid and felt unbelieved.

At the time, I told the counselor from the church, that he was raping me. Our marriage was in separation. I believed he had no right to be in the house, and no right to my body but because I said no. Yet, he stole from me whenever he wanted.  If I was sleeping, he'd sneak in the house and start raping me while I'm asleep. I separated from him in 2004 but he came in and out of that house as he pleased, taking what he wanted from me, assaulting our daughter in the middle of the night while I slept, and sleeping with his whores on the side. In 2006 I moved to a new house. It was a place he would never have the key for.

 He had been stalking us. There were times when I'd wake up and find all the doors wide open in the wind. He was doing it to scare me. I got a special lock for the back door but couldn't install anything on the front door because it was a marble floor and hardwood door that I wasn't allowed to damage. One night, He got in and climbed in my bed sometime after two am.   I remember feeling like I was dreaming. I was fast asleep laying on my back. While slept, he fondled me. I woke up extremely aroused thinking it was a dream and suddenly saw him in my bed. My emotions went from blissful to sheer rage.  I screamed at him and pushed him away and felt such rage. I physically fought back. I pushed him out of the bed with all my might and jumped up and screamed at him and pushed him threatening to call the police. He did leave but showed up the next morning.

He pushed his way into the house and I was terrorized. I knew he planned to hurt me.  I corraled the kids into their rooms and locked their doors so he couldn't hurt them.  I begged them to turn up their music so they wouldn't hear him.  He taunted me.  he said, "You were aroused, you wanted it." he described the ways my body had responded to his touch.  I cringed inside, hating myself, hating my body. He was right, my body had responded and while I slept and I remember feeling sexually aroused in my sleep. Guilt smothered me as he taunted me, and told me he could take from me whatever he wanted.  He told me that he was in complete control and could do to me as he wished.  I remember the terror I felt as I screamed and pleaded for him to leave me alone and not hurt me.  the kids remember hearing my cries and screams but I have blocked out the rest I don't know what happened next just that the kids heard crashing and lots of crying and him yelling and hurting me.

The counselor, named Alison had told me It was my own fault because deprived him of sex during our separation.

So on read the letters that tell of years of violence and probably a dozen rape incidents and sexual assaults during our separation.   I broke inside I couldn't cope with it. It kept playing over and over in my head.  I kept crying at all hours and wanting the memories to go away.

The next day, Wednesday, I spent a day with my friend at the lake and shared a tiny bit but tried really hard to be completely detached from it all, as if it was someone else story. I told myself I was not going to feel or cry or let anyone see what it was doing to me on the inside.  But as I spent hours alone the memories played in my head.

At one point in the day she asked me,  What do you mean raped you?  I kept thinking of how she'd said my story isn't believable and thought of how the counselor and pastor knew and brushed it off as if it was nothing.  After all, wasn't I still legally married, so could he do with me as he pleased??? 

One of the memories on the pages was the pastor sitting us down and reading to Bill excerpts from emails I'd sent him the pastor spoke in mocking tone. He read them laughing at how Ludacris and extreme the allegations sounded of the things I'd reported Bill has done to me that week. He didnt beleive me, he mocked me!

Bill didn't laugh, he fumed and within minutes he was in a full-blown rage. He raged at Pastor Ken and Heather then stormed out of the room and began punching the wall of the church hallway making a hole in it.   Ken and Heather seemed to feel threatened suddenly by him and for the first time, Ken responded to me as if he believed my story.  He paid for my locks to get changed that night.

Yet two years had passed since the separation and he'd been doing this all along. I hadn't been believed. As a child, I'd reached out and told about the abuse. I told my mom about the sexual abuse. She claims now that its all in my head but then she told me it was my fault, that I must have worn a nightie that was soo revealing as a five yr old girl.

 Now,  still triggered by those memories I'd read on Tuesday, my friend's words played in my head over and over I and I thought no one will believe my story if I tell it. It has too many incidents, not just one or two. I thought I'm too screwed up to fit into this world. I felt like everything I have been through is worthless. What is the point of trying to overcome, no one will care, no one will benefit and I will still have these memories. I wanted the memories to stop.

Then a friend messaged me on Wednesday night and said:" Its time to just give it all to Jesus and just move on."  I was so angry inside.  Wasnt I crying out to Jesus the whole time this was happening. Wasnt I crying out to him to take the pain and carry this burden. I tried and tried to give it all but the idea that I somehow move on as if I can make it go away, or stop it from haunting my dreams.  How can I when these memories come up that was blocked out. I can't control that.  I felt so incredibly alone and misunderstood.  I cried myself to sleep with thoughts of the memories raging through my mind.

On Thursday morning, I was still crying and deeply depressed. But then my friend had hurt herself so I decided to pop over and encourage her. I knew I wasn't in a good space to visit and wished I were because I wanted to encourage her but I felt my outrage at my story bursting out of me. I hated the person that sat there with her, wishing I could be a better friend but feeling so broken and empty that I had nothing left to give.

We talked for a while then she made an innocent comment about my husband. she mentioned that he must be a patient man to deal with all the stuff I am wrestling with.   I quickly changed the topic, not being able to cope with the thought that I was such a failure that even my husband suffered because of me and had to endure. At first, I was deeply hurt, realizing that even my closest friend saw me as a person who is a drain, not a blessing. I shouldn't have visited unannounced I thought. Then I realized that's not her fault. If that's what I am, then I am the one who is a problem, not her statement.

I went home and wept. My husband noticed that I was really blue. So he asked what was going on. I told him I was frustrated with the one friend's comment about moving on as if she felt I somehow was failing to accomplish what the rest of the world does because the trauma is locked in my head and I can't control when memories surface and the pain all comes back.

Then I told him about my other friend's comment about him being patient. I said, she 's complimenting you but it hurt so deeply to realize that that's how she sees me. he said, " well that was really mean." I argued, no, she didn't say it like that. There wasn't meanness in her, she was complimenting you for being such a good husband. It just hurt deeply because it was true. I do require a lot of patience and I hate that. I don't want to be that. I want to be a blessing.

I cried most of the night. I kept thinking, I am such a pain to my friend I can't even support her through the simplest thing without requiring her patience. I am such a burden to my husband that it requires so much patience for him to bear with me. I won't be believed by anyone, therefore my testimony is worthless. I'll never make a difference in anyone's life, so my life is worthless.

How can I minister to anyone, no one will believe me, they will see me as a burden as someone who tests their patience.  All the abuse I went through,, the anger the rages, the violence because I made him angry, I was more than his patience could bear. Looking back at what I thought, I realize now that I was so deeply triggered, believing that I was to blame somehow because I tested their patience. Not by doing something specific, just because I existed.

I thought I can't take people. I can't be around people. People will just hurt me more.  I pushed away isolating myself. I was pulling away from my friend, yet I was so afraid I'd hurt her. I didn't want to hurt her. I kept thinking that I'd done enough damage to her. I felt so guilty I sent her a text to remind her that I still love her, knowing it wasn't adequate. But inside I thought, how many times have I hurt her and I probably don't even know it. I thought I'm an utter failure as a friend, as a wife, as a mother.  Thoughts of suicide swarmed through my head. I thought, they would be better off without me. The world would be better off without me.

I tried hard all day Friday to cope but just wept the day away, not coping. I felt like I was walking in a deep fog and couldn't get out. I wondered how it would end.  I poured my heart out on Friday night, writing out how I felt.  I pleaded with God, saying "Help me to hang on".  I knew I was on the edge of a dangerous precipice.

I hated myself, every bit of myself and I wanted to hurt myself more than anything. Friday night I went out for a bit. The lady I met said she thought God provided good gifts for his children. She said she didn't think God would put me in a tiny place without even a stove. So I sat in the van crying.  I smashed my hands over and over again against my steering wheel until they were bruised and sore. I didn't care.  I asked, God, Don't you love me. Don't you care about me? I thought, how could he, I'm such a disappointment. I have ruined my whole life by making bad choices. It's my own fault.
I thought, how could I be such a failure. My life is so gross, so disgusting.  No one will believe it and I am stuck with these horrible memories that won't stop playing in my head.

Saturday morning, I woke up in the same heavy slump. I was supposed to drop off a jewelry box at a friends garage sale. One of my older friends saw me there and gave me a hug. I  could feel my wall starting to burst. I wanted so hard to not let anyone in, lest they say something more that would put my fragile state over the edge. She just held me close in a long hug and it was what I needed. Her hand was on the back of my head and she said, It's going ot be ok.  Yet shame smothered me. I wondered if she knew on some level just how close I felt to the edge.

I came home and cried more. I felt like a zombie, detached from reality but somehow that hug had broken my wall just a little bit. I wanted to tell someone where I was at but couldn't.  I knew I needed counseling, but couldn't talk to my interim summer counselor. She'd told me that if ever I was suicidal she'd never try to talk me out of it because she says death is your constant companion and you need to embrace it. My regular therapist was on holidays so I knew I had nowhere to turn.

I was pleading with God If you want me to live then do something, send someone, make me stop. Just then my best friend sent me a heart sticker in messenger. Her previous comment was asking if I was ok.  I burst into tears. I was so angry at myself for not being ok and angry that I would never be able to be enough for anyone. Again her words played in my mind of my husband being so patient. I thought I don't know how to be different. I don't know how to require less patience, to not be annoying or frustrating. I don't know how to be a better friend or wife or mother.

I sobbed.  I went into the kitchen. on the counter was a knife. I remembered the last time I had tried to slit my wrist in college, the knife was too dull and I sawed at my wrist and it swelled and tI never got to my vein.  This knife was super sharp and serrated.  I stared at it, in a daze wanting it all to go away, wanting the pain to stop, wanting to stop being such a failure.  I felt like I was in a heavy trance, far away, but yet sobbing at the same time.

Then suddenly I heard the sound of my best friend coming in the door. I dropped the knife.  I felt like she shook me but I don't know if she did. She said she grabbed my face and said, look at me.  I vaguely remember. It was like I was sleepwalking, far away, trying to escape the pain, emotionally dissociated completely from the present.

She held me and I wept bitterly.  It felt like I was far away, and she reached through the fog and grabbed ahold of me and wouldn't let go until I was no longer dissociated.  Suddenly I realized what I had done, what I was doing.  Shame smothered me like a blanket. 

Suddenly realizing the irony of her running in my door at that split second, I looked up at her, standing there holding me an I asked," What are you doing here?" Here she was, loving me, saving me, and I didn't deserve it whatsoever.
We sat down on the couch and she put a pillow on her knee and pulled me towards her. I lay curled up on the couch, my head on her knee, like a small child. Somehow, on some level, it was what I needed, to break through the darkness and believe I was loved and loveable.  She spoke truths over me, affirming me while brushing my tears away and stroking my hair out of my wet face. At that moment, she felt like she was a big sister in a way, like the family I never had but always longed for.  I sat up and I told her the truth....... of what I was believing, of what I was feeling. I told her the truth of how I was perceiving her words and how I was struggling to cope with the memories.

I think it broke her heart that I would misunderstand her that way and end up wanting to die. As ashamed as I felt, I couldn't take back what had happened. I could only try to stay present and try hard to move forward.

In my mind, she should have rejected me then and there for hurting her. In my mind, I'm not worth anything but there was something about her response that made me want to hang on. I felt so loved, amid my shame. She reminded me of Jesus as the good shepherd who leaves the 99 to chase after the one undeserving sheep whose life is in danger.  She had left her family at home on a Saturday, something she doesn't do, and she ran after me, suspecting I was at the end of my rope, which I was.

Never once, did a look of disgust or shame cross her face. she smiled warmly at me, and brought me back from the edge of the cliff, saying no we aren't done, you have a purpose.

So I am here,  I am still battling heartache and overwhelming shame. But I want to heal, I want to be better. I want to be a good friend. I want to be a good wife. I am trying....... with all my heart.

Misunderstood

I wonder if there was a time in my early years when I was ever understood. If so I don't remember it. I recall my parents regularly accusing me of things that were not my heart desire. 

Once I went to kindergarten without wearing any underwear under my very short dress because my mother told me I  would be beaten if I put on any clothing other than the dress she'd laid out.  She was so furious with me for embarrassing her by not wearing underwear. I was simply terrified of the beating and trying so hard to be obedient. but in her mind, I was a vindictive five-year-old, out to humiliate her. 

Being misunderstood meant that everything  I did was twisted with accusation and punished with cruelty. This same pattern continued in my marriage.  My husband would accuse me of things I never even fathomed.  While he was unfaithful, he'd accuse me of being unfaithful, projecting his shame on me.  But what hurt most was when I was seeking God and trying to grow and heal. He'd interpret my fervor for something else. He'd accuse me of thinking I'm so special to God when in fact I felt unloveable to God. He'd abuse me, even threaten my life because he found me praying or worshiping, or because he found out I'd shared the gospel with someone. 

I felt so misunderstood. This trigger of being misunderstood has bled into my adult life.  I fear being misunderstood and when I am, I fall apart. A year ago I left my job feeling so misunderstood. I had uncovered crime but my boss covered her tracks and kept me from telling what happened. She falsely accused me to divert attention away. I felt so misunderstood.  I withdrew into myself and stopped trusting anyone. I didn't even leave my house for many many months.

It has been hard for me to go to therapy weekly because I fear being misunderstood. I am pushing through that fear but it is still there. Slowly I am learning to push past the fear of being misunderstood.  But the truth is the trigger is hit easily. In life, we try to communicate one thing and yet others read a whole different thing. It makes me want to recoil and I'm trying not to yield to the trigger and do so. But In order to heal, I must be vulnerable and risk being misunderstood.

No more beatings

I shudder to think of how many times I have been beaten, or experienced physical abuse.  My earliest memory of physical violence involved being thrown into a crib and hitting my head.  As I grew I was " disciplined". Yet no child should be struck the way I was.  I never knew where the lines were. Did I sing when I should be quiet? Was I too slow, was I just in the way?

I recall being beaten at church because as an eight-year-old girl I was letting my legs swing to the music. I wasn't even aware I was doing it.  I wasn't perfect, sitting still the way my mother wanted so she grabbed me by the ear, hauled me into the bathroom and let loose on me.

I was beaten because a friend ran up to me and gave me a hug.  I didn't know the rule was I wasn't to be hugged or love.  While I didn't receive love or affection at home, I had no clue I'd get beaten the day someone finally hugged me. 

She taught me how to beat a child without bruising them. She'd explain to me which tools bruise and which don't. If the blows are where others might see then it was advisable to use certain tools that bruise less but still burn. For instance, she taught me that using a rubber spatula hurts more but bruises less on bare skin than a wooden spoon.  She beat me with brushes, every kind of kitchen spoon belts and even ping pong paddles.

I remember sitting underneath the clothing in my parents closet as a five-year-old girl. I had been sent to go choose which belt my father would whip me with.  If I had stolen or done something horrible I can almost believe I would have deserved it, but I didn't.  I was hit without cause over and over.

My kid sister would call out from across the house and say " Eve-Marie's bugging me". I wasn't even in the same room. I was minding my own business and a beating would come.  Again and again, I was beaten because I could be.

My mother would have my hand wash all the dishes for a family of 12 and check in on me as Im working away. If she didn't feel the progress was sufficient she'd make me choose a utensil from the drawer and she'd whip my hands until they were red and swollen. Then she'd return ten minutes later and do it again, and again and again and again.

I recall sleeping on the floor in front of the washing machine doing my parents laundry as a small child. I didn't dare move because I'd be beaten.  Once I started folding the laundry I was too slow and was beaten.

You get the idea. I was beaten a lot.  I hate the things I was beaten with. Brushes, ping pong paddles, wooden spoons, spatulas, their hands.  So tonight I painted a painting. I am burning all the things I have been beaten within a bonfire and reclaiming my worth.  No child should be beaten as I was.  I reject that treatment and every item used to harm me.

Daughter of a Pedofile or Daughter of a King

Pedophile, that ugly word that means so much more than its three short syllables can begin to express.  In fact, words can't even begin to describe the disgust and repulsion I feel when I think of the horrible acts done by my Father.

A father is supposed to be your protector, someone who you can look up to, someone who takes care of the family.  My father was none of these.  Although, on the outside, he looked pretty fantastic.  For as long as I can remember he was in church leadership.  People saw him as a bible scholar, a man of tremendous wisdom and knowledge.  At church, he was calm, cool and put together.  Everyone respected him and thought he was fabulous.

They didn't know that he beat us before church. That I began to sing a worship song in the van on the way and he pulled over to belt me for being an annoyance to him.  They don't know the other horrors he did.  By the time I was four years old, he began coming into the room I shared with a foster sister.  She was about 12 years old.  She was on the bottom bunk and I was on the top.  He would lay with her and "teach her how to please her future husband as mandated by the bible".  I would make my breathing as silent as possible, trying to be invisible. I would lay as close to the wall as possible so he couldn't reach me and pretend to be asleep, all the while hearing every vile thing he said, and knowing every disgusting thing he was doing to her.

The terror that rose inside of me, on nights when my mother would get groceries was like none other.  After two years of him abusing my foster sister while I pretended to sleep. she suddenly left.  Another foster sister arrived. This time he built her a private bed in a closet, maybe because he hoped he could visit her alone.

By the time I was ten or eleven he began to notice me. I developed early.  I don't know if that was because I had endured sexual abuse by the foster kids during the previous years, but none the less I was a little girl who was well endowed.  He noticed. It seemed innocent enough at first, as he compliments the curve of my calf or the shape of my hips.  But soon my breasts became his daily focus.  I couldn't walk out of my room without him noticing and singing little jingles about them.  Every joke was about my breast and he looked at me in a way that was vile.   It like like he undressed me every time I walked into a room.

The first time I recall him grabbing me, and forcing himself on me was the day my parents had a date. I decided to surprise them by making the house extra spotless for when the came home.  I was trying so hard to earn love.  As soon as they arrived my mother walked down the hall into her bedroom and my father grabbed me, leaned me backward and stuck his tongue down my throat.  I fought to get away.

I can't remember the horrors that happened in those years because my brain has blocked out so much, but I do remember how my father looks naked. I do remember what his underwear looks like.  I do remember how his beard felt against my face. 

There were other girls in our home over the years and they have confirmed that they were his victims.   It feels so strange to admit that my father is a pedophile.  But he's more than that. He is a man who violently beat me. he is a man who was cruel to me. who locked me in the garbage bin with rotting garbage and maggots. He is a man who became a pastor and yet tried to force me to be his mistress.    i can't reconcile with the revolting truth.  My father calls himself a Christian pastor but does abominable things.

The last time he spoke to me was when I was 32. He was claiming me as property now that I was divorced and talking sexual to me.  He said I had no choice but to move in with him and I would be responsible for the cooking and cleaning. Then he talked about wanting to get his hands on me.  He said I had no choice...... it wasn't up for discussion. He said under Jewish law I was his property.   I did have a choice. I made sure he never found me and my children, that they were never exposed to his perversions.  That my daughter wasn't made to be one of his victims.

The hardest part of that story, however, is that he was pastoring a church. He was supposed to be a man of God yet he was a man of disgusting perversion.  I changed my name and disappeared to protect myself and have never seen him since.

So, am I the daughter of a pedophile?? Maybe not, maybe I broke that tie a long time ago when I said no more. Maybe when I broke that cycle and changed my name from his to Emmanuel I stopped being the daughter of a pedophile and instead chose to be the daughter of the King.  I chose the name Emmanuel because it means God with us. God is my father.... not Tom.  I choose to honor God.

Pieces to the puzzle being uncovered

 I sat across from my therapist as she challenged my thoughts.  She insisted that things didn't add up.  Pieces of my childhood story are missing, huge pieces that would make things make sense.  There are more questions than answers at times. For instance,

If my siblings saw me being physically abused, witnessed me being the object of my father's lust, know that I was sexually abused and have even read the horrific letter my mother sent me on my birthday to condemn me to death for getting counseling as a 32 yr old adult, then why on earth do they treat my parents like they are gold, and condemn me for setting boundaries and saying no to further abuse? 

I wrestled with the many questions that came out of the counseling session and wondered why awful things happened to me that didn't happen to my younger sisters.  Why was I singled out?  Then it dawned on me that there were five girls who lived in our home during my childhood, who were older than me.  While I couldn't remember some of them at all, I knew their names and that they had each lived with us for more than a year. 

I began searching on facebook to see If I could find any of them. Then I came across a name with no picture, it was the name of  a foster sister who had lived with us from about 1976 to 1978.  She was between the age of 11 and 13.

Now, as an adult, I was reaching out.  It had been forty years since we'd last seen or heard of each other.  I sent a text through a messenger saying.  "You stayed with my family for a while when you were young.  I am trying to put together some of the missing pieces from my childhood and am wondering if you are willing to let me ask a few questions." 

To my surprise, she answered quickly.  My first question was bold.  I asked, " Were you abused by my parents?" She responded with a question, " Where you one of Tom's victim's too?" 
I was suddenly stunned. It had never occurred to me that my father would have sexually abused anyone other than me. So with my heart racing, I answered simply " Yes". 

We began to talk over the next 24 hours and memories surfaced, tears flowed and healing began.  I was not alone.  I was not a magnet for my father's lust, he had an issue with pedophilia and I was simply next in line. 

Then she described the abuse and I fell apart.  She said that when my mother would go to get groceries one night per week, he would climb in her bed to sexually assault her.

He told her that he was teaching her how to please her husband like the bible mandates so she could be a good wife.  As he told me that, I froze and began weeping.  I remember hearing those words. I wasn't sure if they were spoken to me or someone else but I had heard them before.

As we talked it became clear.  The abuse she endured started with I was only four years old. We shared a room. I was on the top bunk.  I was there, for every moment of it.  I heard everything he did to her, everything he said to her.  I remember trying to pretend I was invisible, moving as far away from the edge of the bunk as possible so he couldn't reach me, and silencing my breathing so that it was like I wasn't there.  I remember trying to be still and silent with my heart pounding.  I remember grocery days.   

My foster sister stayed with us for only two years.  She was resilient and found a way out. She made it look like she had gotten into drugs.  It was the only way she could convince the social worker to remove her and place her back with her older sister.  She escaped before the assaults escalated to rape, the step the believed was next.

I was relieved to realize I wasn't the only one my father lusted after but mortified at the memories that surfaced.  Most of all I was afraid of what I still could not remember. Why did I need to be invisible, why did I need to disappear? Why did I hate grocery night? 

She remembered things I had forgotten, including the spiritual control that was used against us. It was as if, in order to please God we had to submit to the sexual abuse. It was honoring our father, and being obedient. It was learning to be a good wife since he said that is what the Bible teaches.  He twisted the bible and its teaching to manipulate us into submission for his own sick and twisted perverted desires.

The day after my conversation with Heather she contacted me again. This time with a tough question. She didn't mince words.  She asked if her brothers had sexually abused me.  I didn't want to answer, but she realized quickly that the answer in part was yes.  One of her brothers had sexually abused me starting two years after she left.

I was waiting for her to condemn me or attack me but instead, she affirmed me and validated my pain.  She told me that he also abused others in various ways.  Her own daughter had expressed that she didn't feel safe around him and there were red flags.

I wasn't alone. I wasn't alone....... Finally, for the first time in my life, I felt like I wasn't the only one carrying this heavy load of the disgusting things done to me. I had confirmation that two of the men who sexually abused me had patterns of doing this to others. Therefore it wasn't my fault, as my mother strongly insisted. I wasn't to blame, they are.  They are sick and disgusting vile filthy men who condemn themselves with their own hands and lustful hearts.

I felt guilty for what my family had done to these others.  I wondered if the other girls were abused too. I may never know. But at this moment I knew that my story was validated by the pain of another. My mother had said it was all in my head, that I imagined it but do two girls who haven't spoken about it ever, and who have been apart for 40 years have the same delusion and haunting memory?  It cant be....... it has to be true.  We both survived the cult that was my childhood home. We both endured the grooming and pedophilia that robbed us of our childhood. 

She even offered to testify before the courts and to verify my story to others. she insisted that when more than one person comes forward with the same horror story then people start to listen.  I am not alone and while my heart is aching, and painful memories are surfacing I am relieved to have someone by my side who can validate all I have been through.

For the first time in 46 years a family member is infuriated by the abuse. For the first time someone had decided to confront my abuser and refuse to let him near the little girls in the family. My pleas have been heard.

I am not alone.....

Battling worthlessness

Barely a moment passes when  a deep sense of worthlessness doesn't affect me. The reality is I was not deemed worth keeping as a baby. According to my  mother, I was not worth loving, protecting,  defending, spending time with, investing in, providing for.. and the list goes on. She deemed me worthless. She abused me as a child then cursed me to die for getting counseling as an adult and disowned me because I chose counseling instead of abuse.

I don't know why the value my mother places on me has so much power. I've been  told to rewrite the story with a new belief.  The problem is that it feels like a lie to deem myself as anything but worthless because it is the identity I was given from day one.  I don't know how to tell a different story. 

I've been given a challenge.  The challenge is that one day when that lie has been erased from my  heart I will do something to commemorate the new story.  I don't know if that day will ever come. 

Today I was reminded that my late Nana deemed me valuable from the moment I was born. My husband deems me worthy of love. The worth my mother has placed on me is not the only story that has been written for me. 

I can't just adopt a new belief because I've been told to.  I need to choose to rewrite my story moment by moment.  I also need  God to write his truth in my heart. So I'm asking God  to show me his heart towards me. 

I have chosen to be kind to myself. I will not speak the cruel words of my mother over myself. Instead I am going to start speaking the kind of affirmations I long to hear from my mother. The adult me needs to speak as a parent to the little girl inside of me and remind her that she a kind,  sweet,  loving little girl who had a pure and  tender heart of gold.

I will fight against the lies, one breath at a time.

Lessons learned from my mother (Happy Mother's Day)

From every person in our lives, we can learn lessons. Some are learned through love and encouragement, others through pain and still others are learned by see behaviors you do not want to emulate.

Here are some lessons my mother taught me that have shaped who I am.

1.  Always love.  No matter how difficult it is, love your child. In doing so you will emulate the love of Christ.  When they grow and seek God they will understand love because you did your best to teach it to them.

2. Forgive.  People will let you down and fail to meet your expectations. Forgiveness will go a long ways towards healing.

3. Set and maintain healthy boundaries.  No person should subject themselves to abuse.  It's ok to say no. It's essential to limit contact with individuals who are not repentant and who are not committed to changing their behavior.

4. Get help. We all need it. Whether its counseling, coaching, instruction, or mentorship, we all need help. It's ok to let people in and it's important to be teachable.  Without help, we tend to form our own unhealthy patterns. Letting people speak into your life is a gift to yourself.

5. Being a married wife doesn't mean being a doormat. It should mean that you are loved, and cherished. You are valued and have a voice.

6. Every child is precious.  No child is born worthless or unloveable. We shape our children's image of themselves by our words and actions. God loves each child and deems them precious and so should we.

7. Beauty comes from the inside. No matter what your genetic makeup, or your features you can radiate beauty.  It flows from the love you have inside and bubbles out of you, making your eyes sparkle and your heart beam.

8. Empathy is essential.  People everywhere are silently hiding the pain they carry.  A little empathy can break down the walls and bring healing.  God is empathetic to our plight and as such he hears our cries, he listens and he brings healing and restoration.

9. It's never too late. Its never ot late to say I'm sorry, to change, to make a difference or to reconcile. Its never too late as long as you are breathing.

10. God is a good God, of love and mercy. In fact, his Mercy is new every morning. He is not waiting to destroy or condemn us. He longs for real relationship and intimacy. He does not want anyone to perish, least of all me.  On judgment day he will not be standing there condemning me for that day I swore in high school. No, it was forgiven at the cross and he will welcome me with loving arms and declare me forgiven because of his great mercy at the cross.

I honor my mother in this, I will learn well. I will be the woman God desires me to be. I will not curse my birth or accept your curse of death on my life. Instead, I praise you mom for carrying me to term despite not wanting me.  I honor you by thanking you for teaching me these profound lessons, despite the methods.  I choose to forgive, love and pray for you, that you too will be forgiven one day.

Letting go and Letting God lead

We spend our lives, grasping for control. We want things in order, and if they aren’t, we feel out of control. We write lists and give detailed instructions. We try to convince others of our perspectives and defend our honor at all cost because to keep silent in opposition feels powerless. 

God seems to enjoy to placing us in positions where we need to give up all our control; When health fails and all we can do is pray for that miracle when finances are tight and there seems to be no way to survive the crisis. When people come against us and wrongfully accuse us when our children fall and make wrong choices. We can’t control any of these things.  

Oh, don’t get me wrong we can try but trying leads only to a deeper sense of helplessness, which in turn can make us try harder to control something...... anything in our lives. That's when we starting creating human messes. 

The reality is that God wants us to be completely dependent on him, LIKE A CHILD.  He wants us to stop focusing on our capabilities and successes, and start focusing on the fact that without God we can do Nothing!       (John 15:5)

We can not lead, or teach, or bring God glory, or serve effectively. We can not fix messes the mess our lives get into. In fact, without God, we don't even exist. God places us in situations to shape us. He places our leaders over us. He chooses the weather and decides whether or not a person is healed, or even lives. 

I have tried to control my workload, my health, my stress, and my kid's behavior, but God is teaching me a powerful lesson. He wants complete devotion and complete dependence! It's a lesson that could not come at a better time in my life, as I struggle by feeling overwhelmed with powerlessness. 

The only thing God wants me to control is my devotion to him. He wants me to saturate my life with scripture and walk in His truth, while I let him take complete control of my messy life so that new life can be breathed into it. 

I am so thankful to have a God who cares about ME......; one of the millions of ordinary people on this crazy planet. And not only does He care, but He desires deep intimacy enabling me to hear his voice as He leads me.  So this is my commitment. I will saturate my heart with God's word. I will devote my love to the One who gives me breath, and I will follow wherever He leads me next. 

This is my commitment! 

On my knees before God

As I sit in the dark, I listen for His voice. I hear the purring of my cat and the hum of the fridge yet the only sound I long to hear is the sound of my Father’s voice. My world is upside down. Not because of a mistake I made but because of the hurtful choices of another.

Lord, I pray that you will bring everything that is done in secret into the light. I pray that all the lies of the enemy will be revealed so that the truth will shine as bright as the sun at midday. I ask that you would move the mountain in front of me.

My enemies loathe me because I knew the truth. They tried to silence me but I chose integrity. The truth is seeping out. I pray that my enemies lies will fall upon deaf ears so they will not hear. I pray that those who have been deceived will gain discernment and be moved to integrity.

I pray Lord that you empower me with boldness. I pray that your voice in me will be heard so that all that is true and honorable will be exalted. I pray that all that is decietful will be cast down and removed. I pray that you will ignite a fire in me where there is passivity. I pray that your strength will be my portion. That I will walk in the calling you have put before me. I pray that you will lead me in word and deed so that nothing I do is out of wrong motives or self ambition.

I pray Lord that you raise up voices to stand in unison for what is good and holy. I pray that you will give ear to my prayer. I ask, as the daughter of the most High God for all that is good to proceed but for all that is evil to be cut off. As your daughter I weep upon your feet knowing that your love is free and undeserved yet overwhelmingly good.

I praise you for the miracle you are able to do. I praise you for the doors you will be opening I praise you for the appointments you are setting up for me. May I walk into the fullness of the destiny I am called to pursue.

Yours

Kirsten Emmanuel

Little Ewe- My story of healing in parable form

 There once was a shepherd with many, many sheep.  He loved each one so tenderly 
and knew their deepest thoughts.  There was one little lamb in his flock named Little Ewe. 
She was a gentle little lamb who loved the shepherd.  But Ewe was born to a mother sheep that had a deep wound which had never healed.   

The wound was so painful and searing that mother never let her lamb come close. Each time little Ewe tried to curl up close to mother, the mother would flinch in pain and angrily push little Ewe away.  Little Ewe couldn’t understand. She only wanted to love her mother, but instead of love she felt the intense stabbing pain of rejection.  Her heart cried out silently to mother lamb. “Won’t you just love me?”  But then she'd turn her eyes towards mother and see the angry tears that stung her mother's eyes.

Day after day, the loving shepherd watched little Ewe with immense sadness in his heart. 

He would call out to little Ewe, "You are mine, little Ewe, you are mine, I love you always, 
you are mine" 

 But little Ewe turned away and the shepherd's voice seemed to disappear into the meadow as if the words were never spoken. Little Ewe's heart began to long for a mother's love.  She would watch all the other mother sheep with their tender little lambs and secretly wish she could have
the same love of a mother. With each passing day, Little Ewe's heart grew heavier and heavier. 

Then one day Little Ewe met a large group of sheep. They spoke gently to her and encouraged her to trust them. They seemed to really care about her. It wasn’t long before she followed them everywhere they went.  But as time passed, she realized these sheep were not at all good. They often said cruel things to her and hurt her badly. One such morning the sheep began biting at her knees and kicking her from behind while jeering wildly. They were having great fun, at her expense.

The sheep pressed little Ewe towards the edge of the pasture near a jagged deep ravine. They continued to kick and bite little ewe until she stumbled backward. All at once she found herself falling. Jagged rocks jutted out from the sides of the ravine cutting into her flesh. Down, down she tumbled until she collapsed into some thick dark mud at the bottom. She lay there a long while, tears streaming down her face. She could still hear the cruel taunts of the sheep above her. Eventually, she managed to stand on her weary legs.  Frail and exhausted she limped 
over to a nearby creek at the edge of a lonely meadow.  She tried desperately to wash off the blood and caked on mud, but the mud had saturated deep into her thick wooly coat so all her efforts were in vain. 

The cruel sheep looked down at her again and laughed. They mercilessly taunted her for being so filthy. "It is your fault they jeered.  You are filth, and it’s your fault."  Little Ewe hung her head in shame. “I am filthy" she whispered to herself "its all my fault, I am filthy and nothing can make me clean." 

Little Ewe stumbled away, dejected and forlorn. The cuts on her legs and back stung as blood trickled out of the caked wounds.  Little Ewe found a soft grassy patch and then curled up tight into a mound that resembled a rock. She buried her face deep into the meadow grass and wept.  The Gentle shepherd saw his little lamb. He walked up to her and reached his arm out to gently stroke away her tears.  But little lamb pulled away.  Her heart cried out " Don’t hurt me, I am afraid"  The shepherd tried to lift up little lamb, but she wouldn’t let him carry her.

"Little Lamb, you are mine" Whispered the shepherd.  "I won't hurt you, I love you." His words were tender and sincere, but little lamb cowered away.  She kept her wounded legs pulled in tight under her so the shepherd couldn't touch the wounds. "Alright little lamb" said the shepherd, " I'll wait, and when it’s time, I will carry you, and tend your wounds."

Day after day little Ewe sat curled up tight.  She would cry to herself " Does nobody love me, does nobody care.?... I am alone and no one is there." Then gentle shepherd would hear her cry and call back, " I am here little Ewe, I love you always. I won’t leave you alone, I am waiting, little lamb. Let me carry you safely in my arms. Let me tend to your wounds" 

Little lamb listened to the shepherd's words, as they were sung sweetly over the meadow grasses. But then she would look at herself and say.  " I am no one's little lamb. I am too dirty. If you pick me up, the mud on my coat will go onto you. The blood on my skin is so ugly.  I am filthy. I am nothing; No one 
could really want me.  My mother didn’t want me, so neither could you.  Don’t carry me.... I'll bring shame to you! I am unworthy of the shepherd's love. ”The words of shame and pain rang through little Ewe's mind over and over, drowning out the shepherd's voice.

The shepherd's heart sank with grief. He loved his little lamb so very much and longed to hold her and tenderly tend to her wounds.  He watched as little lamb cried in vain.  She would sometimes try to stand up in the grass and look to see if anyone was near.  But the wounds on her legs were becoming filled 
with infection, making them weak and sickly.  She would collapse in agony, and hide once more in the long meadow grass.

Days passed by, and little Ewe grew bigger. But no matter how big she got, she’d whisper her words of shame again and again. Saying, "if a mother can’t love me, then nobody can. I am nothing, I am filthy, and I am unworthy of love" 

The shepherd listened to the sad song of her heart and decided that it was time to try something new. He called out to a warm wooly sheep in his pasture named Blessed.  Blessed was a gentle mother sheep.  She had two little lambs of her own that had grown into fine young rams. Blessed was a special sheep. She listened carefully each day to the shepherd’s voice and followed him wherever he led.  The loving shepherd led blessed deep into the lower pasture to the spot where little ewe lay curled up. 

Blessed looked tenderly down at little Ewe. Memories flooded Blessed’s mind of days gone by when she too had once lay hurting in the pasture. She remembered how afraid she had been and, how deep the wounds were that kept her from roaming freely through the meadow.  Just then the loving shepherd nudged her forward and said: "take my little Ewe, and let her know that I love her." Blessed sat down gingerly beside little Ewe.  "You are a precious lamb little Ewe. The shepherd loves you."

"How can that be?" wept little Ewe. “I am so filthy, if my mother can't love me, then nobody can, I am nothing I am unworthy of love." 

Blessed sighed a deep sigh, knowing all too well, that words were not enough.  "I'll be a mother lamb to you" she softly replied." I'll show you that you can be loved, I'll show you how much the gentle shepherd loves you. He has loved me, and I will love you"  she whispered placing a kiss on her tear stained cheek.

Day after day, Blessed sat with little Ewe. She would softly whisper in her ear. “You are loved little lamb”. Little ewe would cry and argue in her thoughts.“How could this be possible? If my own mother can’t love me, how can anyone else”?”

Little Ewe was becoming weaker by the day, as infection began to seep through her whole body.  Soon she was too weak to stand at all. Meanwhile, Blessed kept on telling little Ewe, that she was loved by the gentle shepherd.  Slowly those tender words began penetrating into her heart. One day, Little Ewe
 lay on the grass, frail and too weak to move. Her warm breath was shallow, and she felt as if she couldn’t go on any longer. 

“I am no-one, I am nothing, she softly cried, it would be better if I were never born” 

The gentle Shepherd heard her mournful cry and went to her once more.  “Little lamb”, he said softly “you have been badly hurt, and those wounds are making you sick, but I love you, and I have a plan for you. I want to carry you to safety and mend your wounds.” 

“ I am too broken”, sobbed little ewe, “no one can mend my wounds” she wept bitterly.

The gentle shepherd slowly reached down to pick little Ewe up. She flinched in pain and tried to resist him, but she was too frail. He tenderly pulled her in close to his chest. She could hear his heart beat softly close to hers. His strong warm arms embraced her affectionately as he carried her to safety.  
Blessed followed faithfully along behind, still assuring little Ewe “ He loves, you little Ewe, it's ok, He loves you”

The gentle shepherd carried her into an old wooden barn at the edge of the pasture.  Soft candlelight flickered from the lantern in the corner.  He carefully placed her onto a soft bed of fresh straw.  He took off his coat and placed it under her head.  He carefully washed away the blood and mud that was 
enmeshed deep into her wounds. 

Soft tears rolled swiftly down her cheeks as she looked into the shepherd's eyes.  “You do love me”, she thought.  She could hear the soft coo of doves in the rafters below, as she drifted off to sleep. 

The shepherd worked on through the night, washing and tending to little ewe’s wounds. Little Ewe, 
slept heavily, with fever racing through her frail frame.  Hour after hour, the gentle shepherd continued to tend to her. He wrapped her fragile legs in soft white linen and dabbed her hot forehead with a cool 
cloth, all the while singing over her “ you are my little ewe, whom I have always loved. When you are hurting, my heart breaks too.  If only you will come to me, and let me love you, I can heal your wounds and make you brand new.”  The words seemed to dance along the rafters and swirl about in their 
beautiful melody. 

Slowly, Little Ewe began to hear the shepherd words. “You are mine, you are mine”, he sang. Her eyes slowly opened and looked deeply into the gentle shepherd’s eyes.

“I am yours,” she softly whispered back.

At that moment, the lies that had gripped her heart for so long began to wash away, the shepherd would whisper words of truth into her heart, “yes you have been rejected but you are loveable.” “I can wash away even the most awful stain, to make you beautiful” And he did…. Day after daythe shepherd continued to tend to his little lamb, lovingly singing over her until she was strong 
enough to stand once more. 

Then one day the shepherd carried her out into the fresh air.  He laid her on a soft tuft of grass and gently stroked her soft white coat.  You are free little lamb, free to live. She gingerly took a few steps to a nearby pool of water.  She gazed down at her reflection.  She saw a beautiful lamb who
 was nearly full grown. Her tender wounds had healed and her wool was a vibrant pure white against her soft pink nose.

Blessed walked up behind her and nudged her gently, “You were beautiful underneath all the mud,” she said, “you were loveable underneath your wounds, and now you are whole again.”

A warm tear swept swiftly down Blessed's face, as she looked a this precious lamb she’d loved.  “You can always trust the gentle shepherd…. “she insisted tenderly. He will always be there for you.

Blessed stepped back as little Ewe leaped up into the gentle shepherd's arms. “Oh thank you” she wept… “thank you,”  “You were always there,” she cried “ I’ll love you forever” she whispered as she nuzzled in closely to his chest.

“Forever it is, my little lamb… forever it is………”