Please pardon the disappearance as Hannah and I prepare to head over to Mission EDIFY.
[My first night of group therapy for survivors of child sexual abuse. Circa 2003.]
I'm not a fan of this circle. Too late to run, introductions are underway. One by one we confess the nightmare of our childhoods. I liken it to watching a televised documentary on child abuse with no option to change the channel. My profile is up. I bow my head in shame and fight to hold back the tears my eyes are spilling. Am I crying? It feels more like bleeding. I look up to reach for a tissue and see these women for the first time. The hollowness in their eyes validates the hole in my heart deep as betrayal and wide as indifference. Intellectually, I know I'm not the only one. But I've yet to embrace this truth until I see the familiar pain in their faces. I am not alone. And I am right where I need to be.
[Six months later.]
Her name is Gracie. He father read the Bible to her at night before molesting her. She has associative identify disorder. She is a recovering cutter. And she has no desire to attend church (imagine that). She is twisted and honest and funny and I love her. She inspires me to reach for the Jesus who understands what I've been through, and He's mad as hell about it, too.
Gracie shares about a time she babysits at age thirteen.
She is broken.
We all know why.
And when she tearfully confesses a day she behaved inappropriately our circle of broken embraces her. Not the broken behavior, rather, the fragmented being slumping before us in shameful regret. The group assures her. God forgives.
I am me.
The only me I can be in any moment--ever, and I have a peculiar way of peering into pain. It's one of the perks of surviving a senseless childhood with a steely determination to assign meaning to it all. Here's how I see it: For all we know, the toddler (now grown) of whom Gracie speaks, is sitting in therapy professing what a monster his babysitter is and how she's ruined his life forever. And for the first time in my own broken life, I half-wonder what broke the man who broke me.
"Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they do" (Luke 23: 34 NKJV).
The take away for me is that what Christ accomplished on the cross is for all of mankind. We all fall short of His glory. We all need forgiveness--whether we've sinned or fallen victim to the cruel and careless sin of another. When I'm honest with the woman I see in the mirror, I can concede that in this world I reside on both sides of the fence of sinning and being sinned against.
The only true "other side of the fence" is perfection--where the shed blood of Christ makes all things new. Grace has the power to redeem me when I trespass against you, and you, when you trespass against me.
If what I'm proposing prompts a single digit of disapproval hold off if you can. If not, no worries. I've been there, besides, I'll be none the wiser. You gotta know, I did not invite you on this journey only to minimize your pain and your circumstances. I know how it feels when the pastor insists, "You must forgive,"--but you can't. I know the longing for validation, comfort, and justice. The rage of being discounted and the despair of feeling misunderstood. But I'm also familiar with the danger in thinking: I'm not perfect, but I've never sunk to the level "they" have.
We became the new them when the first drop of Christ's blood was shed on behalf of mankind. And that includes me, you, Gracie, and a man clearly in bondage to evil. Darkness knows an us and them mentality obscures spiritual insight and hinders healing. Your healing is for you, rather than the person who harmed you. Forgiveness is for mankind; collectively and individually.
Jesus "Father, forgive them, they know not what they do."
us (abused) | them (abusers)
To those who've suffered abuse,
Keep your eyes on Jesus. Look up, not to the side. The Greek translation for forgive is aphie'mi. It means to lay aside, leave, let go. From apo and hiemi, which is to send forth, in various applications (as follow): cry, forgive, forsake, lay aside, suffer, remit, yield up.
The earliest stage of forgiveness is when you choose to suffer and cry and yield up to Christ what has happened to you. You're gonna have to feel it, Pumpkin. Fix your eyes on Jesus and enter into your own suffering. You will heal. You will. And you will go in the strength of His unfailing love. And one day He'll ask you to give away the forgiveness that's been growing in your heart all this time. And you will have it go give. Forgiveness . . . the fruit of time spent yielding your broken heart to Jesus.
You are not alone,
Published on Friday, September 8, 2017 @ 11:48 AM CDT