Grief Must Make Way for the King

Humble yourselves before the Lord, and he will lift you up. James 4:10, NIV

In the great day of kings, subjects were not allowed to look into the eyes of their king. Man's idea of a king and God's idea is so very different indeed! We are invited to look into our King’s eyes. No, not just invited. Encouraged to look into His eyes!  

My Lord is the lifter of my head and, one day, He did just that. One Sunday, I no longer cried. What made that day different from all the rest, I do not know and cannot tell. I am not God and His workings are so very far beyond me that I can only guess.

So here is my best guess. The deep sadness and pain that comes from repeated abuse takes time to heal, and there is no one reason why someone like me finally comes up from the depths of depression, loneliness, isolation, and despair. The grief of being hated by the ones you love, being abused and beaten by the ones who should have loved you back is a deep and terrible grief—far more terrible than anyone can really imagine.

But there is a time for grief which needs to be expressed in tears, words, writings, and song. There is a place for grief, and it needs to be a place of honor within the church. God intends for us to grieve our losses; it is good for us to do so. It is healthy to express our agony and heartache for He understands the grief and the despair of our hearts. We also need to allow others who are grieving the space to do so.

We need to allow time and space for prayer, counseling, and faith to do their work. We need to give space to the heartbroken and provide a place where they can come and find tenderness, love, and peace. Grieving is very hard work indeed.

Never underestimate the hard work and faith needed to recover or the amount of work it will take to reach those who are in deep despair. But isn't that what we're called to do? Isn’t that our service and our joy? Isn't that what separates us from dead religion? While we cannot underestimate the price that we may pay to ransom a soul from heartache, we must also understand that, in the end, it is the King's gaze that is the ultimate ransom for our soul. 

When the King comes, He looks into the eyes of the brokenhearted and lifts their head so that they can gaze into His eyes. And they are changed. 

What I know is this: My King took a moment in time and changed my life. With His hands, he lifted my head and gave me hope.

Next Time: Why Are We Wasting God's Time?

Let God Lead You!

Two years after I met my friend, I joined his church. But before doing so, I had to wait for the Lord to give me permission to leave where I was attending. For months, that permission didn’t come. Week after week, I prayed for permission to leave. Week after week, I was told in no uncertain terms that it was not time.

                    

I waited without knowing why the Lord had not given me the freedom to leave. I waited impatiently, but I waited nonetheless. One day it became clear why I was asked to wait so long. God wanted me to touch a man's life through a dream He had given me to share with him. That night, the Lord then told me that I was free to leave, and I did so.

The next Sunday, I visited my friend's church for the first time. I sat in the second row on the right in a movie-theater church. I was both excited and terrified. I was excited because I saw something in this man that told me he would never be an imposter. I was terrified because I felt that I had exhausted almost all hope and energy.because I knew that in order to heal

I had suffered from migraine after migraine for 30 years and had lost two jobs and my stature because of them. When a migraine came on, it felt like an atom bomb had exploded in my brain, and each one brought more and more discouragement. I was in enough pain to consider ending my life, but I didn’t. I hung on because I was far too stubborn to die. This man, who had listened so carefully to me two years earlier, represented what I feared was my last hope.

My friend began to speak. A simple man, he spoke in clear and simple words. Silent tears that had remained blocked for far too long suddenly began to leak from behind the windows of my soul. I leaked and wiped and leaked some more. I leaked Sunday after Sunday and month after month as God began to release the pain. I never apologized, but I wanted to. My friend never mentioned it and I'm glad that he didn’t. As we walked out of the theater church, he hugged me. That’s all I needed.

Sunday after Sunday, there were no miracles, but I hung on. Sunday after Sunday, I leaked. Nothing changed. Then the migraines got far worse and I felt crushed.

Still, after church my friend hugged me and I him. Nothing changed. Yet I came and he preached and I leaked. Sunday after Sunday and tissue after tissue and hug after hug, it never changed. Then one day …

Next Time: Grief Must Make Way for the King

How to Choose the Right Pastor

A few years later, I met a man who was a pastor. I would have never guessed his occupation unless I had asked. He was a kind and humble man who was without the pretense of religion.

                 

I met him when I was working at his home. One thing led to another and I began to share my story of abuse and shame. Somehow this man had learned to listen intently and openly. He gave me the space and time necessary to lay out the details of my agony. He had the ability to listen until I was finished and then he allowed me the space I needed to clarify my thoughts and express my grief without interruption. When I was finished, he simply said something similar to “Wow.” After that, he remained silent for a long time while I waited to hear his advice. He offered none.

Then I told him that I was about to undergo cancer surgery in a couple of days. He asked if I would mind if he came to pray with me on the morning of my surgery. I told him that I would appreciate it. That morning, he, my wife, and I prayed together. He stayed until I was out of surgery and then he slipped away.

The greatest gift any person of God can give you is to listen. If your pastor, elder, or leader can’t give you this gift, find one who can and will. Keep going until you find the one who opens his or her heart to you as this man did to me.

Healing requires a relationship with others who are strong, full of faith, able to listen, and are emotionally intelligent. Find those leaders who are worthy of your trust, your honesty, and your openness. Open your heart to them as they prove to be worthy of your trust in them.

Again I caution you: Whoever you choose to pray with, counsel with, and worship with is receiving a great and precious gift. Make sure they are worthy of that gift. If they are not, then run like the wind and find those people who are.

Next Time: Let God Lead You!

Identify the Imposter and Run!

An imposter is toxic to your recovery because they do not minister from a healed and tender heart. Many years ago, I led a home church as part of our church’s ministry. I was successful at this and when our pastor needed to be out of town one Sunday, he asked me to preach the sermon. I was as excited as I could be.

                             

I prepared a message that talked about how God adopts us into His family. But the message that I prepared was not coming from a heart that was healed. I had recently learned that my dad regretted having ever adopted me and I had not yet recovered from the pain of this.

                                      

I would have been okay if I had simply told the truth and said that my own adoption had failed, but that God's adoption of us into His family never fails. That would have been a refreshing and honest message that could have brought great healing to others. But I tiptoed around my own experience. As I stepped up to the podium, I looked down and realized that I was wearing two totally different shoes. One was white and the other brown. Not only was I an imposter, I was a poorly dressed one to boot!

While people praised my delivery, God didn't stand up and cheer. As the days passed, depression set in; then weeks passed and the depression got worse and worse. I told my pastor that I just didn't have the courage to get up in the morning or even to dress or come to church. He then called me a coward and we parted ways.

A couple of years later, he went through a severe depression himself and came and apologized to me. He told me that he had learned so much from what he had suffered. Both of our hearts were healed. Two men, who both loved God, had learned that heartbreak and pain can’t be ignored. Each of us had been an imposter and each of us had to learn the hard way.  

Remember: Whoever you choose to pray with, counsel with, and worship with is receiving a great and precious gift. Make sure they are worthy of that gift. If they are not, run like the wind!  

Next Time: How to Choose the Right Pastor

How Do You Start a Conversation with the King?

He calls his own sheep by name. John 10:3, NIV

I dedicate this post to Angie and Brian whose hearts are broken today because they can no longer hold their son Seth who died so suddenly.

How do you start a conversation with the King? How do you stop the tears from flowing as He sits down beside you?

You wait with Him. You cry with Him. Your pain becomes extreme as you slowly become silent with Him by your side. Then you are comforted as He speaks your name.

We will miss you, Seth.

Quit Listening to Imposters!

For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.  Matthew 25:36, NIV
    
If you have been shattered by abuse, then you are likely already drowning in bad advice. Imposters come in all shapes, sizes, and temperaments and from all walks of life. They are hard to spot at first; the truth is that they are usually very well-meaning people who are really only trying to help you. But bad advice is toxic, hurtful, and violates the principles of Matthew 25:35-36.

My road to recovery has been made far rockier by the ill-informed ideas of some pastors, elders, teachers, friends, and others who I'm sure meant well, but who actually brought more guilt, pain, confusion, discouragement, and finally despair. These people did not minister God's grace.

While I struggled with the issues that follow severe abuse survivors, such as post-traumatic stress disorder, guilt, and depression, my recovery was stunted, slowed, detoured, obstructed, and nearly destroyed by the well-meaning, the uninformed, and the unskilled who were willing to give quick-fix answers to some of my most deep and impossible situations. And when their advice did not work, they did not blame themselves; they simply said that I did not have the faith that was required for miracles.

During my time of recovery, I was given every explanation possible as to why I was struggling with such deep and unrelenting pain, and was given tons of advice on how I could move forward and recover. I was told that I needed to pray more, worship more, praise more, get excited about God more, feel the Spirit more, and—my favorite one of all time—that I needed to put more money in the collection plate when it came around. Even my abuser joined the chorus of those who sang from the wrong hymnal and told me that “prayer got him through the day” and that I should “try it sometime.” Imagine the arrogance of the man who never apologized for a single beating to counsel me on how to recover from 14 years of terror and fear inflicted by him and my mom. I consider this simply stunning, but, sadly, far from unusual.

Imposters can do more to derail your healing process than the traumatic memories of the abuse itself. If you are going to heal, then you must eliminate the advice of the posers, the imposters, and the ill-informed—even tune out the advice of well-meaning friends who actually hurt your recovery rather than aid it.  

Next Time: Identify the Imposter and Run!

I felt her hand clasp my finger. Moments froze. They hung as fragile as crystals and pregnant with both hope and fear. They bookmarked the moment in my mind. Then they just melted away.

                   

The little girl was shorter than my knee and had lost her way. She was separated from the safety of her mama's hand. I found her in silent tears behind a frog display in a children's museum.

We walked a hundred steps and she was reunited with her mom. Within minutes, her tears were dried and gone. That's the way of children. They trust.

But I haven’t recovered from our encounter so quickly. The bookmark is now buried deep within my soul. I am changed by the experience. I will not forget that little girl, and I am grateful.

Trust is so basic and yet so very brittle. It does not bend. Once broken, it never mends exactly as it had been before. That is why trust is vital for a child—and for us.

Trust is necessary throughout our lives and essential to our health and vitality. Shattered trust breaks the heart. Dreams are lost and hopes are abandoned. Childhood is cut short, love is destroyed, and overnight life can become a nightmare.

That is the grief of little ones who have been abused. Their dreams have become painful and their hopes have been abandoned so long ago.

Perhaps the reasons for your pain are different than mine but the resulting ache is not so different. The route to healing is long and filled with risk as well as reward. I am not sure that healing is ever perfect. What I can tell you is that your experiences will make you stronger.

If you are one who has experienced the betrayal of trust, then you are not alone. Know and remember that you are never alone. It's time to hope again and take the hand of someone who understands your pain and struggle.

It's time to heal, to hope, and to share. Maybe you never shared your story. Maybe, like me, you have preserved the public image of those who hurt you by remaining silent. Maybe you have denied that anything really happened or have simply decided that you deserved it.

These words of mine are unrehearsed and frankly honest. In them, I share my hopes and dreams of success and safety. In them, I share the thoughts of a man whose life was shattered. But most importantly, I share the love that my God has shared with me.

Eventually I will share my story. I will tell you of the love that forgave me for not fighting back. About the love that holds me when I cry. But I will share with you far more than cute little stories. I will share the One Who extended a finger to me when I no longer knew how to hope and Who extended His hand to me when joy had turned to perpetual fear.

But for now, just imagine sitting on a park bench in the shade of a great old elm tree. Take a moment and listen to the beat of your own heart. Hear the birds and feel the gentle breeze as it stirs the air.

As you listen, imagine a kind, old man who can barely walk strolls up and asks permission to rest on the bench beside you. He tells you that this is his favorite place to rest because he planted the elm so very many years ago. He is both harmless and kind and so you invite him to join you. He asks you about your journey through life and soon moments melt into hours as the two of you become friends.

It is my hope that you will come often and linger awhile when you do so. There are so many words I would love to share. Please come often and bookmark these pages so that you can enjoy them again and again.

Better still, please invite a friend. There are so many that need encouragement, hope, and a little more time in the shade of a great old elm tree.

Welcome to Words from the Bench!