Set me free: The Roman collar still has me in a chokehold.

This man haunts my nightmares, when all I want to do is see Eric in my dreams.

Yesterday morning, as my mind began to awake from a deep, restful sleep, I shifted my body ever so slightly, and a searing pain shot through my neck and left shoulder. I tested the motion again, and knew this pain wasn’t going away with few ibuprofen. I was frozen. I was stuck. I couldn’t look down. I couldn’t look up. I couldn’t look left. I could’t look right. My face was pointed slightly down and to the left, and that’s where it stayed. I couldn’t shower, I could barely dress. I had to call for help to take care of my children and drive me to the chiropractor.

But why? Why so much pain? Why have my left shoulder and neck been aching so much for the past week, month, year, several years? Why, all of a sudden, did it flare up, causing me such agony? It’s because I’m stubborn. I started to write about Eric. I followed God’s lead. And then, when he was leading me right where he wanted me to go, I told God, “no.” I won’t go there. Not yet. Not until I’m good and ready. You can’t make me!

You see, there’s something about me not a lot of people know. I hide it well, even from myself. I am an angry person. I have a small cauldron of boiling black tar simmering in my heart. I intentionally keep the fire lit, intentionally stir the pot, dredging up old memories, old hurts. So now that I know this, the solution is easy, right? Just dump the poison, rid your body of the toxin. No. This anger is mine. I tend to it, make sure it stays fresh, but doesn’t boil over into other unsuspecting chambers of my heart, into other’s hearts. And while I’ve managed to do fairly well shielding the innocent, there’s one person I can’t protect from this weapon: me.

But why would someone want to be mad? Want to be depressed? Because I rose from those ashes. And if they’re swept away, what proof will I have that I rose in the first place? And it’s my secret weapon, my super elixir I can draw from should I ever need it. Because in my anger fantasies, when it’s me against the demons who destroyed my faith and family, it’s how I win. It’s how I find the strength to chew them up and spit them out. So why so much anger? Why do I have such hatred lodged deeply in my heart?

– Because my brother wasn’t just sexually violated at the tender age of twelve, it was at the hands of a man who masqueraded as a messenger of God.
– Because we didn’t know about the abuse until less than a year before his suicide, and he’d suffered alone so long.
– Because the first person at the Diocese my mother told about the abuse admitted the perp was a known pedophile (he now denies this). They knew. The bastards knew.
– Because this same person went straight to the psych ward where my brother was on suicide watch, and heard his confession. Heard his confession for a sin he didn’t
commit. I’ll let you guess why.
– Because Eric wasn’t the only one. There were at least four other suicides related to the same pedophile. It was like mass murder.
– Because his perp is in a low-security facility, living a relatively easy life. Torture children for thirty years, forcing some of them to such mental duress that they take their
own lives, and this is the punishment you get.
– Because some of those who shuffled this pedophile around from parish to parish, knowing full well what he was capable of, are still held in high respect in the community.
And when they give the invocation at large, community-wide social gatherings, the sound of their voice incites my rage and I refuse to stand up. I won’t pay my respects. I
won’t.
– And there’s more. So much more. So many others. They didn’t just take my brother. They took some of my family who will never be the same. And they took the one thing I
had to fall back on. The one thing I could turn to was gone. My faith.

So, this pain, in my neck and shoulders? This pain, that’s limiting my motions, affecting my entire life? It’s a physical representation of the anger that I carry with me. It hurts. It’s heavy. It’s ruining me. I want to set it down, but I’m scared. Scared that letting go means losing a major part of me. Scared that letting go means losing my connection with Eric. Scared that letting go means admitting defeat.

But they’re not carrying this burden. I am. I wish I could tell you I’ll wake up and be healed. But I won’t because I’m not quite ready. The Roman collar still has me in a chokehold, but not for much longer.

 

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Love Bigger than a Lie: God’s True Nature Revealed

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You’re accepted. Completely, lovingly accepted.

To be honest, I don’t want to tell this story. I’d rather forget it ever happened, keep it hidden with the other skeletons in my closet of shame. But, there are some stories that just have to be told. I hope the beauty and deeper meaning in this message surpasses my ugly deed. I hope.

January 2010: A blizzard was descending upon Wichita, and I was anxious to leave my office to make the 45 minute drive home. I sat white-knuckled in the seat of my Honda, eyes carefully trained on the road ahead, careful to avoid and slick spots or crazy drivers (truth be told, I drive like a grandma, and inclement weather brings on a high level of paranoia). I made it to the opposite side of town, and onto the two-lane that heads out to my neck of the woods. The snow was coming down hard, and my windshield wipers were working overtime to keep it from building up on the glass.

All of a sudden, my stomach dropped out from under me, and my head began to spin. I thought I was going to be sick. No, I wasn’t having a stress-induced breakdown from the treacherous drive (although it wouldn’t have surprised me if I did). Rather, I had just been hit with the realization that I’d forgotten something. Something very important. My parents had asked me to run an errand for them on my way home from work, and I’d forgotten. Now, this wouldn’t normally be a big deal, but this was something they really needed, and I’d been so consumed with my work lately that I felt I was majorly slacking in the daughter department.

This was my one chance to redeem myself. My one shining moment to perform a good deed and begin repay them for all of the love and support they’d shown me over the years. And, I’d let them down. (Let it be known that this pressure I felt was all self-induced. My parents were not pressuring me or guilt-tripping me in any way.)

I panicked. Did I have time to go back? No, it was all the way on the other side of town, and to turn around in this kind of weather would be foolish. But that’s exactly what I did. I headed back into Wichita. I made it less than a mile before I came to my senses. “What the hell am I doing?,” I asked myself aloud in the car. The snow pelted the windows, and the lines on the road were getting harder and harder to see. I couldn’t do this.

Headed back the other direction, towards home, I had to make a phone call. One that I didn’t want to make. I wasn’t really sure what I was going to say. All I knew was that I didn’t want to let them down. Didn’t want them to be disappointed in me.

Never in a million years could I have guessed what would come out of my mouth when my mom answered the phone. A lie. A big, terrible, ugly lie. I think I even covered my mouth after the words escaped my lips, I was so shocked by what I’d done. “Mom, I got in a fender bender. I’m okay, but I wasn’t able to pick up your prints in time…” And on and on the story went. It was as if it had actually happened. To this day, I’m still in wonder at where I came up with that story line, everything from the location of the accident, to the color of the truck that “hit” me. (I’m waiting for karma to catch up with me, and I now avoid this intersection as I’m convinced it will actually happen to me.)

But my lies didn’t stop there. I even told my husband when I got home about what had “happened” to me. He was very sympathetic, and so glad I hadn’t been hurt. I’m not sure why I felt compelled to pull him into this deception, other than the fact that I was crying by the time I got home, and I had to have a plausible explanation other than, “I lied to the people who gave me life.”

Coming Clean

The rest of the night was a blur. I was so consumed with guilt that I couldn’t focus on anything else. At 2-something in the morning, I welcomed the opportunity to get up with my 7-month-old daughter. I wasn’t sleeping anyway, and her warm, snuggly body gave me some measure of comfort. As I rocked her back to sleep, I knew what I had to do. I had to come clean.

The tears started falling, and falling and falling. I hadn’t cried this hard in so long. But why was I so torn up? Was I afraid they wouldn’t forgive me? Wouldn’t love me anymore? No. Rather, I felt this wave of emotion because I knew they would forgive me. They would always love me, no matter what.

After putting the baby back down, I snuggled in with my husband. He was awakened by my sobs shaking the bed. “What’s wrong?,” he asked. “I lied to you,” I blubbered. “Lied to you, and to mom and dad. I’m horrible. I’m so, so sorry. Please forgive me.” And he did. (I was blown away at his ability to forgive me so quickly, and assure me that everything was going to be okay.)

Still unnerved by my actions, I got back out of bed, sat down at the computer, and typed out this email to my parents at 3:41 a.m. (condensed version):

This is so awful. I just can’t sleep. I am so, so sorry. I hope someday you can forgive me. I don’t think I’ve lied to you since I was a teenager, and I’m sure I haven’t confessed what I lied to you about then, so I’m sorry. I am so incredibly self-centered, and I have no excuse for being that way. You raised me better.

I should have done this in person, but I was afraid. I wanted to call, but it’s 3:41 in the morning, and that would only benefit me by making me feel better, and I didn’t want to wake you up.

I love you both so much. You’re so generous, kind and thoughtful. I don’t deserve parents like you. I’m so sorry.

I hit “Send” and tried to salvage what little sleep I could. The next day, I frantically checked my Inbox, waiting for a reply. Even though I knew their love for me was unconditional, I was still scared. I felt like a small child, awaiting punishment after majorly misbehaving.

At 2:31 p.m., I saw a message waiting to be opened. Nervously, I clicked on the email, and braced myself for my parents’ reaction. Here is what I read:

All is forgiven … And, I’m so proud of you for letting us know.

If you were not so anxious to do us a favor none of this would have happened. 

I hope you know you can come to us with any issue as you would a life long friend .. because of course … that is what we are.

Love you forever,

Dad

And just like that, he had forgiven me. Not only did he release me from the shame of my sin, but he awoke in me a renewal in my spirituality, although I wasn’t quite sure why just yet.

It wasn’t until several months later that the true depth and meaning of this incident hit me. Up until this point, I’d approached my relationship with God all wrong. No matter how much I strived for his affection, his approval, his blessing, I never felt good enough. Guilt and shame clung to my ankles like heavy, wet sand bags, making forward motion nearly impossible.

As I divulged my shameful deed to my Bible study group, I realized something. I was so upset by my actions because I knew my parents would forgive me, that they would always love me. Not because I was afraid that they wouldn’t forgive, wouldn’t love. And if my earthly father feels that affection for me, how much more must my heavenly father feel?

Finally, after all of these years, I got it. I saw God’s true nature:

I am not accepted because I obey. Rather, I obey because I am accepted. 

He knows we aren’t perfect, but He loves us anyway. He knows we’ll screw up again (and again and again), but He loves us anyway. He knows that we will never measure up, but He loves us anyway. I regret that it took the consequences of a lie to show me His true nature, but I’m eternally grateful that He used my shortcomings to bring me closer to Him. His love is bigger than a lie, bigger than any sin from your past. Your debt has already been paid. All you need to do is pour your heart out to Him, and hit “Send.”

 
read to be read at yeahwrite.me