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The complexities of healing and forgiveness in the emotional aftermath of traumatic events often result in feelings of isolation in one's faith community. Survivor, Wendy Redroad, offers an innovative program where divine purpose is discovered in the passions. Professional recommendations & inspiration.

Mission
E
nlighten faith communities to the unspoken needs of the traumatized.
Defend human dignity.
Initiate an affirming forgiveness program.
Foster sustainable transformation.
Yield to mercy--with justice.
 

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Mission EDIFY operates under the fiscal sponsorship of Women's Non-profit Alliance, a 501(c)3 parent organization.

 

What are the passions?

"The passions are the feelings, the emotions or the movement of the sensible appetite--natural components of human psychology--which incline a person to act or not act in view of what is perceived as good or evil. The principle passions are love and hatred, desire and fear, joy, sadness, and anger."

(Compendium CCC, 370. Libreria Editrice Vaticana, 2006) The Compendioum's source on this topic is the teaching of St. Thomas Aquinas.

Tuesday, May 20, 2014 2:29 PM

"Hang with Me."

Tuesday, May 20, 2014 2:29 PM
Tuesday, May 20, 2014 2:29 PM

When a relationship ends due to betrayal, the time it takes for the clues you previously ignored (in the name of Jesus)--to demand your full attention, can be clocked with an egg timer. 

Eleven months later, I can tell you the frequency has diminished substantially. Most days I no longer think about. Truly, God has good plans for me and I'm excited about my future. However, last month, I had an emotional set-back that lasted five days. Five. 

Initially, I felt rage. I'm no stranger to this feeling. Generally, I sit with it and remain on the look-out for anything remotely humorous about it so I can tell you later. This time? Not the case.

I did what I discourage at times like this: I. Texted. Mostly i threat-texted. And by the end of the day I'd gotten myself all worked up. I hated how I felt. I hated my response to feelings of powerlessness. Powerlessness. Isn't it what most of our melt-downs boil down to anyway?

I needed to get a grip. I grabbed my journal.

Dear God,

Please teach me to disengage from the person who hurt me and yet, remain fully engaged in reality. Reality is, it hurts this bad because what happened to me is that bad. But here's the thing. When I broke my little toe, I didn't curse the bench i walked into. I didn't hate the bench. Granted, a bench is not a human being, but there's something I'm not getting. I'm missing something in the healing process. Teach me Your ways. 

Jesus. How did You do it? How did You endure the cross and disengage from fighting the men who crucified You? 

Child,

Hang time . . . stop fighting. I'm not asking you to let go of your feelings. You hurt because you've been hurt. I'm asking you to let go of the willful expression of your pain onto another. When the tears come, let them go. Cry. Allow your hands to fall to your side. Close your eyes. And meet me at the cross. We'll hang in this moment together. This is not the same as hanging out with Me--that's your quiet time.

What I speak of is altogether different. It's the space in time between crucifixion and resurrection. You must enter into suffering with Me. Experience times where there is nothing to do but bleed and sting and throb, as you wait to be made new.

In this place, you will be empowered to overcome the very emotions and circumstances that threaten the shadow of death. 

Bring your pain to Me. Every time. This is a heart sacrifice. Breathe. My part is supernatural. You will receive and overcome, because I have overcome the world. Hang with Me. "Behold, I make all things new."

[end journal entry]

Okay, girls. That's deep. Really deep, but it works. When pain comes, I relax. I breathe. I imagine my Jesus. Me and my Jesus. And do you know what else? I substituted my ex-husband's name in my phone with the words: Hang with Me.

What will you write in your journal today? What will you hear Him say to you? Please write it down.

You are not alone,

Wendy

 

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