Sometimes, in the quiet stillness of early morning hours, memories from long ago surface to dance unbidden across my mind. I close my eyes and sink deeper into my favorite chair, letting the memories play out like an old-time video graph. Not so long ago I would have stifled the memory and deliberately pushed it away. Now, however, I welcome them as old friends, inviting them to expose the emotions that are associated with the memory. Perhaps with their surfacing the Lord is bringing some new insight.

The memories this morning are more like fast moving slide shows of the childhoods of my children. I watch their smiles and smile myself. Then a picture of a terror-filled face, and as I remember the event that precipitated that look I experience once again the sorrow, the pain, and that incredible Momma-bear feeling. Like all mothers, I wanted to protect my children from anything that would cause them pain. Instead, my life choices are the reason they experienced the pain.

I see before me my 9 year old son with tears streaming down his face as he clings to the telephone, speaking to the 911 operator. His father is commanding him to put down the telephone while he holds down and abuses my daughter across the room. I am clinging to his father’s back and screaming at him to stop and at my son ‘don’t hang up, don’t hang up’. What kind of parents leave these kinds of legacies to their children?

When I was a child, all I ever dreamed of was being a Mommy with lots of children. I didn’t have dreams of fancy homes or brilliant careers. I just wanted children. Lots of them. I dreamed of our happy family living on a farm with horses to ride and cows to milk and chickens for eggs, and all the loving days and just knew that was how life would be for me. It was not – and there is no way I can ever make it up to my children. I can never make this right. Even now I feel the ache within me for what they endured and I offer silent prayers to my Father to please, please heal them. Please God, make it all better for them.

I wish you knew my children. One girl, one boy. They are adults now and I am so proud of them. They are loving and kind, generous to a fault, and absolutely delightful to spend time with, and they both love Jesus. The greatest joy of my life is when we get together and just enjoy one another’s company, sometimes playing card games or just playing with the grandkids. We really don’t have to ‘do’ anything to have fun together. We just love each other and it is heaven to me.

Today the Father reminded me that He is holding them in His hand and I can let go. He has their past, He has their present, and He has their future. He is making a way for them and He is using their pasts to help others who have also suffered. He loves them more than I do and He will prevail. He reminded me, too, that He loves being with me just as much as I love being with them. I don’t have to do anything to entertain Him or make Him proud of me – He already is and His greatest joy is when we are together. What a wonderful Savior!

As I wipe away the last tears I realize that with the surfacing and processing if this memory my Wonderful Counselor has once again remade part of me. He has brought release to this area of my memories and it has now lost its power to hurt and control me. Thank you Jesus for loving me.

A friend of mine called me just a few minutes ago asking for prayer. She is an elderly woman well into her eighties and has been having some health issues recently. I have known this woman for about 15 years and in all that time she has relied totally upon the Lord when she has health problems. She tore her rotator cuff about eight years ago and refused surgery, insisting that God would heal her. She then began a course of self-prescribed physical therapy along with dietary supplements. It took some time – about a year, I think, but she was totally healed. No surgery and complete restoration of the use of that arm.

Her current issues are causing her to become fearful. I could hear it in her voice as she explained that she is beginning to confuse dreams with reality and sometimes doesn’t know which is which unless someone tells her. She doesn’t recognize her own son at times and calls him “that man downstairs” who is so rude to her and won’t take her where she wants to go. She is concerned that “they” are going to put her away someplace and she won’t be able to get out. She asked for prayer as she looks for a doctor to help with her situation.

My heart cries out for her – I have been in her place during the worst stages of MS and I know what she is going through. It is awful to not be able to trust your own mind and even worse when your own family is unsympathetic and impatient with you. I remember one instance when my husband was explaining something trivial from his day at work and I did not understand what he was talking about – it made no sense whatsoever, and the more I asked questions the angrier and more frustrated he became with me. Then my daughter stepped to my side and put her hand on my shoulder and said “It’s okay, Momma. It isn’t important.” Those simple words were like oil on troubled water. I ceased being anxious and confused and became peaceful and content with not knowing what he was talking about. There were other times when I would be talking and pointing to something, trying to speak the word that identified the item and another word would come out. I would shake my head “NO” and try again, and still the wrong word would come out. In my mind I knew what I was trying to say but my mouth was under some other control and the proper words simply would not come out. If it had not been for my children and their amazing unconditional, constant love during those awful days, I don’t think I would have made it. I’m sure my husband would have had me committed someplace.

Having been set free from the demon that plagued me during those awful months I am heartbroken to see anyone suffer a similar fate. Some will never escape from the depths into which they are sinking. I asked my friend today if she could identify what her problem was – did she know what was wrong? She got very quiet and then she said, “I just want to live in peace. I want peace in my house and in my life. I cannot fight any longer.” I felt a quickening when she said those words and I wondered if perhaps what was happening to her mind was her way of escaping from the turmoil of her life where she cares for a schizophrenic brother and a son with OCD. Perhaps, finally, she will have peace.

The human brain is an amazingly powerful entity in its own right. We think we are in control when, in actuality, our brain is doing its own thing most of the time. I have observed that as long as we are going along and not causing undue stress to our bodies and emotions, our mind will function in tandem with our will. However, our brain seems to take over and do its own thing for self-preservation when we seem unable to keep all of the balls juggling in the air. I have no formal education to explain such things but I have seen the results of stress and trauma on the human mind on many occasions and also have my own experiences. The brain wants the body to survive and will go to any lengths to insure that survival – even going so far as to go into hiding to escape the onslaught that is causing the stress/trauma.

Today I am praying for freedom for my friend and all of those like her who have reached the end of their rope; for all those whose minds are going or have gone into hiding; and for all those who are still hanging on for dear life to the end of the rope: May God throw you a life line!

I was out grocery shopping this morning and entertaining myself by watching the people around me. One little fellow caught my eye and I couldn’t help but smile at him while at the same time feeling just a wee bit sorry for him. He couldn’t have been more than two years old. His Mommy had him by the hand and kept telling him to ‘Come on’ and ‘Hurry Up’. He was going as fast as his tiny little legs would carry him but he kept getting distracted by all of the activity and bright packages around him. He was absolutely precious and I’m sure if he had been given the time he would have dismantled the end-cap displays around him! His Mommy was trying so hard to be patient and it was obvious she has a full day ahead of her and didn’t have time to dawdle in the grocery store.

I remember my own children at that age and I was much like the mother I saw today. I worked full-time plus kept my own house and did all of my own cooking – fast food was only for very special occasions. It was only on a Sunday afternoon that I would have time to slow down enough to take slow walks around the block or trips to the museums and allow them to explore and just be little kids. Our quality time was limited but I remember how joyous it was to walk hand-in-hand with my small child, their tiny fingers clutching mine while their other hand reached out to touch whatever was close at hand, grasping leaves or dirt or ants or worms or bumblebees. I doubt they even remember those moments but they are etched in my mind – tiny slivers of time when my children looked at the world in wonder while holding onto me for safety.

It is impossible to walk like that with a small child and not see the world through their eyes. When we take the time to slow down and let them set the pace we rediscover a world we left behind in our childhood.

I am making a concerted effort to walk with the Father like a little child holding her Daddy’s hand. As I slow down and reach out to explore the lives around me I am discovering a wonder and awe in His creation that I haven’t noticed in many, many years. I have found such peace in watching a mother bird feed her young and sweet joy playing on the playground with little children. I have seen first hand how a kind word softly spoken can turn the most disgruntled cashier into a smiling friend.

When I take time to notice the people and the world around me I make some amazing discoveries about myself. What I have planned to do with my day is not nearly so important as the saunter through Abba’s day. When my pace slows (or speeds up!) to match the pace of the Father I find divine appointments all around me – appointments with people to encourage them or to be encouraged, and appointments with nature to gaze in speechless awe at the wondrous treat Abba has placed before me.

I have always believed in stopping to smell the roses. Today I encourage each of you to stop and take notice of what is happening around you, right in your own backyard. Surely God has set in place a symphony that you don’t want to miss!

The holiday season is here and the madness has begun.

All around town Christmas decorations are going up and the bleak winter landscape has taken on a festive air. Some shoppers are already in the spirit of the events and are happily purchasing their gifts while exuding joy and contentment.

Other shoppers, not so much so. They are already grumpy and complaining about long lines, inadequate store staffing, and overpriced poorly made merchandise.

Add to all of that the crazies that have taken over the highways and, yes, it is madness indeed.

The stress of the season has already begun to take its toll on unsuspecting and absent-minded people. I call them absent-minded because they have forgotten what it is all about – what this season heralds and why we celebrate with such joy and enthusiasm. We give too much, we eat too much, we laugh too loudly, and we love unconditionally – all because of Jesus.

I won’t get into the debate of whether or not December 25 is Christ’s actual human birthdate, because for me, it doesn’t make any difference. Long ago it was determined that this is the date that we will commemorate His arrival and I don’t have any argument with that. Believers around the world celebrate this date as the birth of Jesus and it is the biggest birthday celebration ever! What makes it so exciting is that even non-believers will be celebrating without even realizing that they are paying homage to the King of Kings. They join in the merriment with gift giving and party-going and family celebrations without ever giving a thought to why or what they are celebrating. That also makes no difference to me. The more, the merrier!

In the midst of all of my decorating and shopping and cookie-baking and present-wrapping and merry-making I am keenly aware of the troubles in the world around us. There will always be troubles until the Lord returns and I focus on praying for those affected rather than on letting the troubles dampen my mood. Today, however, I found myself grieved over a situation and no amount of cookie-baking was going to help.

There have always been and will always be people in the world who are hateful and hurtful to those who are having a good time. Whether they are jealous or simply mean-spirited, I do not know but it can stretch my ability to love my neighbor in entirely new directions.

During this season the enemy is using individuals who profess to be educated and take great pride and pleasure in sharing their knowledge and experiences with others, using social media as their outlet, denigrating the beliefs of Christians around the world and blatantly denouncing our right to celebrate the holiday as we choose. They know best, according to the words they are spouting, and the manner in which they talk down to those who disagree reminds me of many encounters with liberals down through the years. Mind you, they celebrate the holiday season. They don’t have a problem with that. They just have a problem with Christians celebrating Jesus. They cannot abide our spiritual celebration and rebut any Holy Scripture reference with anger and venom.

Let me encourage you in the Lord to set aside the natural reaction to engage such people in verbal combat and instead, let a soft answer turn away wrath. Let the love the Christ permeate your being to such a degree that such people are drawn into your circle of light. During this season, let’s join together to love our neighbors with the same love that Christ love’s us. Remember – even when we were at our most vile, He loved us and called us to Himself. Perhaps this season, He is calling them, too!

Merry Christmas!

I don’t know about you, but I have spent most of my adult life trying to figure out my ‘purpose’. Like so many others, I struggled through numerous classes designed to help identify my ‘gift’, my ‘purpose’, my ‘calling’. I came away more frustrated than ever before and not just a little bit disillusioned by the entire Christian brow-beating about finding our ‘purpose’.

Well, guess what. I have news for you. I have had highs and lows in my life – from an extremely successful career to divorce. Through it all, I never identified my ‘purpose’. What I learned through all of it is that the writer of Ecclesiastes had it right – it is all vanity.

A couple of months back I quit looking for my purpose. It was draining and emotionally exhausting so I decided to leave it alone. After all, I’m getting up there in age and if I haven’t found my purpose by now I’m probably never going to. And wouldn’t you know it. I stopped looking and the Holy Spirit showed up to reveal the true depth of the Holy Scripture and the meaning behind our ‘purpose’.

By His Holy Spirit, God is calling all men unto Himself. Not all will accept the invitation, however, and fewer still will choose to make Him Lord of their life and walk in obedience to His direction. This, then , is our primary purpose: To accept Christ as Savior and make Him Lord of our lives, dwelling in obedience with Him.

What comes next? For some, the primary purpose will be something they struggle with their entire mortal lives, and they won’t be able to take on anything else.   Matthew 11:14 …many are called….

For others, the primary purpose becomes what they live for and these blessed individuals find a deeper meaning in life as they become the chosen ones. Matthew 11:14 ….few are chosen. These darlings of the family have what they have recognized as a true calling from God – He has picked them up and placed a fire in their hearts for one thing and one thing only, and they pursue for the rest of their lives with a passion that is inspiring and enviable. These are the evangelists, the missionaries, the life-long ministers focused on saving souls and up building the Kingdom. You’ll find them in pulpits, in ministries, on the mission field, and anywhere there are souls being saved.

Then there are those who dwell in between. They are sold out for Jesus and will do whatever He wants, whenever He wants it. Their passion is Christ and they don’t seem to have a purpose other than to walk where He tells them to walk, when He tells them to walk; to speak what He tells them to speak when He tells them to speak; to do whatever He tells them to do, when He tells them to do it. These are also chosen ones and their ‘purpose’ is to serve the living Christ as He calls them to serve, whenever He calls them. You won’t find these in pulpits or heading ministries. They are focused on being available to the Living God on a daily basis and won’t be tied down to ministry responsibilities. They are also often invisible to their pastors and other church family members, because what they do is done solely for the Lord and they don’t talk about it or look for any kind of acknowledgement.

So, dear ones, what is your purpose? I can help you with that. YOU are your purpose. I don’t mean in a selfish-it’s-all-about-me way. I mean, God created you unique and He did so intentionally. You are not an accident and your life touches and molds other lives around you. YOUR purpose is to be the best you that you can be by studying the Word of God and building an intimate relationship with Him. Think of your walk with God as an education. You start in kindergarten and then on to elementary things, finally moving on to pre-teen years and deeper foundations, then high school. If you keep going, you will find yourself in graduate school and post-graduate studies. Your walk with the Lord is never finished and He never stops revealing Himself as long as you continue to seek His face.

Do your best to be all you can be in Christ and leave the rest to Him. When He is ready, He will place a call on your heart or lead you into position to be used by Him for His glory and the glory of the Kingdom. There is no greater joy than that, and no greater satisfaction on this earth. And always remember, if He has asked you to do something, then He will equip you and enable you to do it. After all, it is His work, not yours and He never fails.

Write what is in your heart, I heard the Lord whisper. But there is nothing there, Lord, it is empty and black, I replied. He countered with Yes, there is much there. Write what is in your heart. So I reached for my pen and I began to write and as the words poured out I realized the depths that had yet to be explored and were now being exposed.

The heart of a child is full of wonder and love and joy but it is easily broken. Careless words, thoughtless deeds, neglect and abuse steal the joy and replace the wonder with fear. The love, however, remains. Even when the child is marred and scarred for life, still the love remains. Such is the way of a child – though they may be filled with rage and anger and fear over what has happened or is happening to them, still they love.

The heart of a sensitive young girl is filled with hope and plans for the future. Her smiles are bright and her dreams are big as she faces each day fearlessly and confidently. But even the young girl becomes damaged as her peers spew hatred and judgment upon her, making her self-conscious of her appearance and causing her to withdraw into a protective shell. Her dreams of a boyfriend and school dances fade as she buries herself in books and food, trying to escape the vicious words and actions of her peers and family.

The heart of the young woman has begun to hope again after having escaped from the world of school and peer pressure into the working world. She is finding self-esteem in having a job at which she excels and money – earned by her own hands – to spend as she wants without anyone else controlling her decisions. She begins to bloom into womanhood a little later than most because unlike others she was retarded in her emotional growth. Her sensitive nature cost her dearly and she just could not get past the pain and hurt until she escaped the circumstances. Now she is on her own. Now she is free to be herself – to discover who she really is deep inside.

It is all a farce, really. She isn’t interested in finding out who she is but in finding someone who will give her affection and maybe even love. She is quick to fall into the trap lain by self-serving men and too quickly married to someone who doesn’t love her but wants to use her for his own devices. Hope and love which had blossomed briefly are now crushed under the pain of degradation, rejection, and psychological abuse from a bigamist. In her desperation to love and be loved she becomes pregnant, rejoicing in the fact that FINALLY she has someone to love.

The heart of the fully grown woman is wise and slightly hard. Yet even now it holds hope for some semblance of happiness – a taste of normalcy and the possibility of a future. She guards her heart now, not giving it to anyone even though she marries again in the hope that a normal family life can be found for her and her child. Yet again she discovers the agony of abuse, betrayal and rejection. The abuse takes on more physical forms in this relationship. It seems that the abuse has been escalating with each relationship and each time she becomes colder, more distant, more withdrawn into a shell. She has become adept at shallow relationships that do not reveal the true nature of her home life. All hope of normalcy is crushed when her own husband rapes her and then abuses her daughter. She is terrified of him as his drunken rages and terror tactics ensure her compliance and when she discovers he has packed a handgun to take on their ‘vacation’ in the country she realizes that she has nothing to lose. She begins to push and push against the terrorist, almost daring him to act. She refuses him again and finally, in his violent reaction she finds courage to stand against him and all he stands for – leaving him and her hopes of a normal life behind.

The heart of the mature woman is dead. Oh, she has learned to play the game and knows just what noises to make to sound compassionate and loving. She has mastered the art of the phony smile and if anyone sees behind it to the pain buried within they never mention it. She is the life of the party and puts on a face of enjoying her freedom, but deep, deep within she is crying out for someone to love her. She is forty years old and never felt loved. Surely someone out there needs to be loved as much as she does? She prays and waits and waits and prays.

Once again she succumbs to her loneliness and marries someone she is sure is different. In reality he turns out to be every bit the sociopath of her previous mistake with some insanity thrown in for good measure. This one lies so much she doesn’t know when he is telling the truth. He can’t be trusted. Even after all of the years of abuse and misuse she is still naïve enough to think he means what he says when he apologizes and makes an attempt at trying to change. But nothing changes and her dead, cold heart holds only one hope: death. She longs to die. She prays to die. Then she prays he will die. Then she repents and prays he will just leave her alone – forever leave her alone.

Sometime along the way the Lord heard her prayers and began to change the one she wanted to leave. Her heart is still dead but he is becoming less – – – offensive. Slowly he changes until one summer day there seems to be an epiphany of sorts and he is no longer the same man. Somehow great change has occurred but she is still unbelieving. Too many years of abuse, lies, deceit, and broken promises have made her more than a skeptic. So she waits, with her dead heart and no hope, to see what will happen next.

The elderly heart is tired of being dead, tired of waiting for what never comes and reaches out in hope, determined to cling to prayer and fasting until her need is met. Now true change begins. The dead heart is opened and old memories and deep wounds are healed, one by one, as the Lord restores what has been stolen and broken.   She has days where she thinks her heart is still dead but still she clings to the Lord, waiting for His intervention. He begins to replace the bad memories with good memories and the brokenness with joy and laughter. She rests in His presence and soaks in the sunshine of His love and grace, letting waves of mercy heal her wounded soul.

Finally, it comes. The elderly heart, once so dead and lifeless, is now full to overflowing with joy and peace and love which she carries with her at all times. It has been replaced with the heart of a child. Gone is the brokenness. Gone is the fear. Gone is the timidity. Gone is the victim. What remains is wonder and love and joy.

Our years are short and numbered. Sixty years is a long time to live in despair and destruction. It would be easy to fall into blaming and depression over the short time I have left to live in wonder and love and joy. Instead, I have chosen to believe that only God numbers our days and if He wants to, He can give me sixty MORE years to replace those that were stolen from me.

I believe He can do the same for you. My prayer today is that God will restore all of your years the enemy has stolen.

1 Samuel 30: 1-8, 18-19    “Now it happened, when David and his men came to Ziklag, on the third day, that the Amalekites had invaded the South and Ziklag, attacked Ziklag and burned it with fire, and had taken captive the women and those who were there, from small to great; they did not kill anyone, but carried them away and went their way.

So David and his men came to the city, and there it was, burned with fire; and their wives, their sons, and their daughters had been taken captive. Then David and the people who were with him lifted up their voices and wept, unto they had no more power to weep. And David’s two wives … had been taken captive.

Then David was greatly distressed, for the people spoke of stoning him, because the soul of all the people was grieved, every man for his sons and his daughters, but David strengthened himself in the Lord his God.

So David inquired of the Lord, saying, “Shall I pursue this troop? Shall I overtake them?” and He answered him, “Pursue, for you shall surely overtake them and without fail recover all.”

…So David recovered all that the Amalekites had carried away, and David rescued his two wives. And nothing of theirs was lacking, either small or great, sons or daughters, spoil or anything which they had taken from them; David recovered all.”

In the aftermath of a storm comes peace. Sometimes we are greeted with blue skies and sunshine, light breezes and clean, fresh air. Other times the aftermath is less peaceful as we view destruction all around us and hot, stifling air that makes it almost impossible to get a deep breath – almost as though breathing under water.

That’s how it is with me today. I am in the aftermath of a storm and around me I see all the years of destruction this storm wrought in my life. My breathing is shallow and the ache in my heart is real and very deep. This wound is deep and the infection within it was massive. Now, with the scab ripped off the infection is oozing out and I am on the bench, trying to remain calm as the depth of the infection and the stench of the wound make me weak and ill.

As I sat with Father this morning He led me to verses about anger and wooed me with words of love and healing. He wants me to acknowledge the anger – give myself permission to be angry. He wants me to rage and scream and let it all out so that the infection will be washed away but I am too weak and still too much in shock from what has been revealed. I am still surveying the damage all around. The realization that my own wounds caused me to make choices that inflicted the SAME WOUNDS on my children has left me in an almost vegetative state. I cannot change my past but I can confront it and be free from it. BUT HOW DO I HELP MY CHILDREN? I cannot change THEIR past AND I CANNOT CONFRONT IT FOR THEM SO THAT THEY CAN BE FREE!!   O God, help my babies!

Anger. There is so much anger. How could he? We are his children and supposed to be protected by him, not terrorized and abused by him! How could he?

But then I know the answer to the question. He abused because he was abused. He hurt us because he was hurt. He suffered not only the trauma of an abusive childhood but also the trauma of being in the trenches during WWII – at Normandy, on the road to Paris, and into Berlin.

My heart of compassion only hurts for him. I cannot release the anger yet because I am still making excuses for him. I am still giving him the benefit of the doubt and offering forgiveness when none has been requested. I am offering unconditional love in return for betrayal and abuse, terror and neglect. I am still a very sick little puppy.

This is so hard. The tears come unbidden without provocation, it seems. I try to stifle them because it won’t do to cry in public without reason. My pain is real and the hurt so bad I can hardly lift my arms. I am mourning for an entire lifetime lost to abuse.

Today I have been in contact with my sisters but no response yet. Today I have stripped off the mask – no longer willing to be a silent partner to the abuse of our shared past. Perhaps they are still in hiding. Perhaps they are still in denial. It doesn’t matter – I am giving them an open door to be free and I pray they will take it.

Even as I write this I feel the ache in my heart lessening. The truth will, indeed, set you free.

John 8:32  And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free.

Sitting here watching an old movie. Nothing else to do right now but relax so I tuned into TCM – my favorite channel because it has no commercials and the movies are usually just my kind – old, black and white, with lots of real acting going on. The movie guide says it is called “Something Wild” and is about a mechanic who saves a potential suicide victim and give her love. Looks innocuous, so I tune in.

And now, after just 20 minutes of watching I am sorry I tuned in. The story isn’t as innocuous as it is made to sound. Yes, the mechanic rescues her and takes her to his home where she can sleep while he goes off to work. So much for the love angle. Now he locks her in and won’t let her leave. Days pass and she is locked in every time he goes out. She never gets to leave the apartment. He comes in drunk and tries to attack her and she defends herself with a quick high-heeled kick to his eye, practically blinding him.

The acting is excellent, so why am I sorry I tuned in? Because I feel in my chest that same suffocating feeling of being imprisoned with a violent drunk. The suffocating feeling of not being able to escape, of being a prisoner in my own home without the freedom to go where I want or do what I want. A prisoner not only in body but in spirit, without any say in my own life. A prisoner, afraid to speak up for fear of the violent outbursts. A prisoner that tries to keep everything calm and stay in the background unnoticed, always afraid of what will happen next. No freedom. No autonomy. No hope. And the constant dread and fear.

The television screen is filled with his rage as she denies him, once again. (Yes, I have left it on because it is clearly something I need to finish working through.) I remember the rages in my own home. I remember my fear. I remember the pain. I remember the years of being lost – not able to find ‘me’. And as I remember I rejoice in being set free.

As I relive those moments of my past I am filled with compassion for all the women who are in like positions. I know how horrendous it is and I wonder that there aren’t more rescue centers for such women – centers that are equipped to handle women with children – all of whom have been physically and/or psychologically abused.

The movie continues as he has forgotten and left the door unlocked. She escapes, and my heart is racing as I wait for him to be just around a corner, waiting to grab her and imprison her again. I am remembering my own circumstances and am almost panicked for her. She sleeps in a park and washes in a water fountain, finally smiling and taking deep breaths of the fresh air and the freedom she is enjoying. She continues to walk, heading for her home but suddenly finds herself at his doorstep. And she returns – for him!

Classic! The abused returns to the abuser, hoping to make a life, sure that it will be better now.  The trauma bond is too strong for her to escape.

Once again, I am amazed at the way Abba works in my life.  Even as I identified with the victim in the film, I am so grateful because as I watched this movie not once did the old rage surface. The anger is gone. Forgiveness reigns. Hallelujah!

2 Corinthians 5:17  Therefore if any man be in Christ, he is a new creature: old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new.

Once when I was a little girl I had a pet alligator. Okay, so he wasn’t alive and he wasn’t very big. He was actually only about two feet long and had been stuffed, taxidermy style. I found him in a closet of a house we had just moved into – another short term rental in a long line of short term rentals. I had never had a stuffed animal though always wanted one and now, at about eight years old I finally had one that was all my own. This was one toy I didn’t have to fight my brothers and sisters over – no one else wanted it! He was kind of hard to cuddle. I mean, alligator skin is pretty hard and it clearly had not been tanned to make it soft and supple. He left a lot to be desired in the friend department but to a lonely little girl with very few toys he was wonderful!

I used to tuck him under my arm and crawl into the closet to play. There, in the semi-darkness with just the light that crept under the door, I pretended to be on safari with my alligator guide. Sometimes we traveled to faraway lands, escaping the dreariness and monotony of my everyday life into fields of heather or miles of sand dunes. I had quite an imagination and I put it to good use in an effort to distance myself from …. myself.

For many years I thought I was running away from my family. Then, I thought perhaps I was running away from my circumstances which included my family. And for a while, I was running away from the memories that included my family. But ultimately I have been running away from myself. Unable to be what I considered ‘normal’, I escaped whenever I could either in fantasy or simply by moving. As a young woman I married to escape, only to discover I had entered into another abnormal circumstance. More running, divorce, and another marriage led me to discover that not only was I GOOD at picking out abnormal men, I was expert at surviving in dysfunctional relationships.

But survival isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. A person can survive almost anything but that doesn’t mean that when the situation changes they will be normal or healthy. The psyche of a human being is really quite fragile, and even though people talk about how resilient children are, the fact of the matter is that those same children carry wounds that are so deep that without constant, loving care they will never be healthy, normal people.

Somewhere along the way I lost my alligator. It was left out of a moving box ‘by mistake’ when we left one location to move to another, as we so often did. I didn’t cry about the loss – I simply crawled into a new closet to harbor the hurt and create a fantasy world where my alligator guide took on invisible qualities. But the little girl was still hurting and the alligator is just a symbol for all of the things that were taken from me in my childhood.

Today I am in the last stages of mourning the alligator and all it represents. I am releasing the past to be the past as I bask in the amazing constant, loving care of Abba. And I think that this coming Christmas I will buy a present for myself – a soft, cuddly stuffed animal, perhaps even an alligator!

May Abba heal all your wounds.

Exodus 15:26  “….I am the Lord that healeth thee.”