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"Wendy Redroad is our go-to girl on the topic of forgiveness. She shares a powerful journey intertwining healing and forgiveness for women who've suffered all manner of abuse. She is relatable, compassionate, and biblically sound in her approach as she takes women by the hand and gently walks them through their own journey to healing and freedom."






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"Many times they afflicted me from my youth, yet they have not prevailed against me" (Ps 129:2).

Monday, January 27, 2020 4:34 PM

Modesty Meets Her Match

Monday, January 27, 2020 4:34 PM
Monday, January 27, 2020 4:34 PM

Last week I revealed my neurosis with small, enclosed spaces. Specifically, the steam room in the ladies locker area at the gym I frequent. The fun continues. I enter the locker room and there stands a woman without a stitch of clothing on.

(Thought bubble over my head): Shit. 

I apologize for the profanity, but it's my job as a writer to tell the truth as I experience it--and if necessary have a glass of wine to lesson the sting of how it feels to be judged or hated or both for writing what I think or in this case thought.

I'm an adult. It's a locker room. Why would I be shocked and embarrassed to see a woman who's clearly just come from the shower after an intense cardio workout. (A hygienical and courteous choice, I might add.) 

The answer; I'm overly modest. I actually tried to tuck the sheet to my sides when I gave birth to my sons. Does this have something to do with my abusive childhood? Probably. Will I allow childhood trauma to deter me from entering the locker room? Absolutely not.

Imagine me trying to find a way to walk from the shower and to my locker privately in a room already deemed private. It doesn't help that the dressing room affords the square footage to populate China. I don't feel like I'm in a locker room, rather, a restroom with a toddler toilet in the corner and mounting uncertainty about the functionality of the lock.

New Year's phobia #2 to overcome: Remain calm if someone sees me in my underwear. Reminder to self: No one cares. Your dog never laughs when she sees you naked. Christ finds this whole scenario amusing.

What weird thing are you trying to overcome lately?

Baby steps in Christ,


Thursday, January 23, 2020 5:37 AM

The Man with the California-Raisin-Hand

Thursday, January 23, 2020 5:37 AM
Thursday, January 23, 2020 5:37 AM

"The unalterable basis of an open heaven is a grave, and a crisis at which you can come to an end of your own self-life. It is the crisis of real experiential identification with Christ in His death."

--T. Austin-Sparks

Scripture Reference: Mark 3: 1-6

Jesus is not a fan of "red tape." His M.O. on any given day is "to give light to those who sit in darkness and the shadow of death."--Notwithstanding the Pharisee rule-book which clearly defines when the light of God may lawfully shine.

Jesus enters the synagogue on a Sunday and straight away notices a man with a withered hand. The Pharisees give him the stink-eye and watch to see if he hooks the man up with a new hand and thereby breaks a rule. 

I imagine it like this:

Jesus to the withered-hand-guy: Come here. And while you're at it, stretch out your hand.

Withered-hand-guy: Wait, what?

The Pharisees: Hold up, Rule-breaker! It's the Sabbath!

Jesus to the Pharisees: "Is it lawful on the Sabbath to do good or to do evil, to save a life or kill" (Mark 3:4)?

Jesus basically says to the Pharisees: I'm aware. But are you so attached to your rules for rest that you would call an effort to do a man good on the Sabbath, evil? (Crickets chirp in the background.)

Verse 5: "Jesus looks around at them in anger, being grieved by the hardness of their hearts," and says to the withered-hand-guy, "Stretch out your hand." So the man extends his little California-raisin-hand out to the rule-breaking Messiah, and booya (!), his hand is restored.

After church, the Pharisees meet up with some other folks who also hate Jesus and plot to destroy Him as they sip sweet tea and wait for their lunch to be served. I imagine they were lousy tippers.

This story is a practical illustration of how we can unknowingly hinder our own healing in the very presence of our Healer. If the man had been too afraid to do as Jesus instructed, he would have inadvertently rejected the miracle of restoration. 

The early church recognized the phrase: stretch out your hands as a prelude to death by crucifixion.This is serious business. When the man stretched out his hand to receive restoration, he died to the belief that it was unlawful to be healed on the Sabbath. Jesus killed two legalistic birds with one stone that day.

The Pharisees relied on their laws for protection--and healing. Rules made them feel powerful and in control. It's human nature to attempt to create and control our own restoration. Healing from abuse and traumatic betrayal is frightening and painful. But when quick emotional fixes take the place of obedience to God, we refuse our own repair.

Do you need to die to an old belief to receive the miracle of restoration?


  • I need to be drunk to face the pain of my childhood.
  • I need a new dress to feel beautiful.
  • I need to be in a romantic relationship to feel loved.
  • I need a new car to feel valuable.
  • I need to hurt you before you hurt me.
  • I need to _______________________.

If you're not ready to give up drinking or dresses or dudes or whatever it is you do to get from one day to the next, will you consider inviting His Holy Spirit into your everyday choices? 

I know this sounds a little nutty, but you might be surprised by the outcome. In 1991, I was raising a six-month-old baby and two young boys, alone. I'd had a *"terrible, horrible, no good, very bad-day," and all I wanted was a stiff drink. I locked myself in the bathroom and cried out to God: Please calm my nerves the way I know for a fact a shot of vodka would.

His peace I received. Know what else? If I had opted to drink, He wouldn't have condemned me.

"There is now therefore no condemnation in Christ Jesus" (Romans 8:1).

How about it? Will you stretch out your hand? The one that holds the drink, or the dress, or the hand of a man who cannot possibly heal you--sweet as his kisses may be.

We all have a little California-raisin-hand in need of restoration. Are we willing to die to the old belief that what we hold in that hand is life-giving?

"He feeds on ashes; a deceived heart has turned him aside, and he cannot deliver his soul, nor say, 'Is there not a lie in my right hand'" (Isaiah 44:20)?




*from the children's book Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day.

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