Gentle Lent-A Good Friday

This year's great plans for Gentle Lent have fallen short. In my failure to complete them, truth emerges.

Outward Focus: Open to Divine Appointments and Kindness Risks I feel less isolated. Each and every time I pause to talk to a person, I feel a little more open. The whole house is not cleaned and decluttered, but I have a great start for the summer.

Inward Focus: The getting up on time, abstaining from social media right when I wake up did not go so well. That plan was interrupted when Counting Mutant took himself to the ER.  However, I am more mindful of the time I spend, a quick glance then my feet hit the floor.

I’ve done well in the “no cheats.” So well it uncovered a bigger problem, I have to keep it. This last monthly cycle I had no PMDD triggered anxiety. The few days of food cravings were curbed by asking this question:

Will future me appreciate the present me indulging in this?

However, my first day experience was much less than ideal. My conclusion is: I need to keep clean eating regularly and cheat only once a month and investigate supplements.

Upward Focus: The quiet meditation for five minutes hasn’t worked out. My daily devotionals were hit and miss. I attended Lenten services. I still feel nervous going to the Lutheran church but anxiety is waning. The boundary of liturgy during the service melts away my fear.

The result is, found myself not wanting to rush to Sunday.

I want to savor this Friday. Participating in Maundy Thursday’s communion and watching the altar be cleared by women. The emptiness the building we call church without its focus. My own emptiness.

That cross held a priest I could identify with:

False accusations have been thrown at me. My role in Wonderland was a scapegoat. There is no redemption for a scapegoat. If something went wrong, it was my fault. It was my responsibility to fix it. People believe false testimony about me and chose to cut tie, rejecting a relationship with me.

I have been abused and wounded. Whether by family members who needed to feel in control of their own reality, an icky uncle, a lost boy looking for meaning, each left a deep and lasting wound.

In turn, wrapped in a cloak of my own brokenness I gave root to that seed of wickedness within myself. Unforgiveness and resentments are a deceptive shield. In moments of anger I falsely accused, lied and attempted to control. I repaid evil for evil.

But by His stripes I am healed.

All of these are placed on him. As I kneel near that Cross today my shame melts. I see my wounds on him and weep with Mary, her sister,  Mary of Clopas, Mary Magdalene and I am not alone. My sin did not put him there. It did not kill him. Kneeling at the foot of that Cross my burden of shame is lifted. Love put him there because God desired my freedom. My Creator saw my suffering.

Divine Love made a way: a transfusion of Holy blood to wash away my own tainted nature. Through faith I can cry and grieve the wrong done to me and the wrong I have done. I imagine myself sitting with them as they gathered in that upper room sitting Shiva as they facing life without him.

I feel humble. I feel grateful.

Gentle Lent: Wrestling in the Mud

Each time the Body of Christ gets into a tussle, I groan. It hurts my heart. I was grateful earlier this week when God lifted the burden of grief. 

Yet, I still wrestled with the scar it left behind. In Lenten service a few weeks ago Jacob wrestling with a Man on the shores of a river was the topic.

Jacob chased from what was comfortable and into uncertainty. He had cheated his brother and lied to his father. Alone, in the middle of wilderness, on that desperate night, with a stone for a pillow, God met him in a dream: on a ladder from heaven to earth, angels walked.

God spoke to Jacob the promise of Abraham and Isaac. Then God said something personal, “Look, I am with you. I will guard you wherever you go, and I will bring you back into this land, because I won't leave you until I have done what I have promised you.” Genesis 28:15

Jacob’s response is this: “Truly, ADONAI is in this place - and I didn't know it!... This place is fearsome! This has to be the house of God! This is the gate of heaven!...”

Jacob saw that small corner of the wilderness as something magical: a physical place where God was: Bethel-House of God.

Years later, Jacob sat on the banks of the lower Jordan. He was again on the run, the “victim” of deceit and cheating from his father in law. Then God showed up and Jacob wrestled with him. Jacob spent the entire night, grappling and struggling with a piece of God.

Then the Man touches Jacob and injures him. Jacob hangs on. The Man tells Jacob to let him go. Jacob says, “I won't let you go unless you bless me.”

As I sat in that Lent Service and Holy Spirit whispered to me: That’s what you do.

Since my 20s, I keep coming to that river-The Body of Christ. I keep showing up in either a church or bible study. As I sit on that bank sometimes my thirst is quenched.

Other times I dig through the mud for a handful of water for my dehydrated soul.

BUT each and every time it is to meet Jesus. To feel the breath of Holy Spirit. To experience that Perfect Parent, Creator and Divine Love.

I wrestle with Jesus and refuse to let go until I am blessed. It is not a platform for my political views, or to complete some kind of super hero agenda. I simply come to share what I have learned. The more I become acquainted with God’s love , the more I cannot resist giving Love and Grace to others.

As a child I saw the church as God’s place: a specific refuge for my battered and frightened mind, soul and spirit.

Now that I am an adult I see God has never left me. Divine Love has been with me as I wrestle in the mud.

So, I cannot walk away. I cannot abandon Christianity or the Church

No matter how dry the wilderness is
No matter how fierce the enemies
No matter how bitter the words of others might be

because Jesus hasn't.

I want to join Him as a table is set for us in the presence of enemies.

A Survivor's Dream

Potential triggers for sexual abuse survivors:

In darkness the door opened quietly.  His weight made the bed shift. This middle of the night visitor was not thinking of the little blond sleeping peacefully. He was a thief in the night.

Photo taken by curlsdiva

A five year old brain tucked it away. Waiting for when it could process. I returned from that Christmas trip afraid of the dark. Falling asleep was terrifying only to have nightmares awaken me. I tucked myself securely into the center of my bed so no one could touch me. I would fall asleep facing the door only to wake up in terror because I had rolled over.

Thirteen years later and on a course of healing from a different encounter with the same family member the memory surfaced. Triggered by my first home plate experience- to the horror and disappointment of the guy I was engaged to. The relationship ended months later in flames.

My childhood fear of night made sense. As I progressed in healing, often that memory overwhelmed me. I would cry out for healing and relief: none came.

One night before falling asleep I demanded God explain where he was and why he did not protect me.

That was the first night the vivid memory became a dream.

Photo taken by TammySue

I was in that room, asleep in bed. The man came in, sat on the edge of the bed and began. I turned my head to the left and saw, standing in the corner, an angel. The heavenly sentinel simply watched. The man finished and left.

Next morning woke with tears of rage. I demanded God to explain his point. I heard silence.

Months later I had the dream again. Everything was the same but this time when I looked to the corner, the angel was no longer stoic. Tears streamed down that divine face.

My rage melted into confused anger.

Months later; as I looked to the corner, the angel, tears streaming, walked to me and laid over me like a force field.

Realizing I was not abandoned I prayed, “Great, my guardian angel was there, but where were you?”

The dream recurred months later. This time when I looked there was no angel. Jesus stood in the angel’s place. His face expressionless and watched.

Photo taken by edouardo

I woke up feeling helpless and angry.  “All you could do was stand there?” I demanded. “What kind of powerful God are you? What kind of defender of the innocent stands and watches. I did nothing to deserve this. I sowed nothing to reap this horror.”

The dream recurred months later. This time when I looked there was no angel. Jesus stood with tears streaming and watched. My roar of my heart softened to confusion.

My dreams were quiet for a long time. When the dream came, Jesus, as tears streamed down his face, walked and laid over me. My small frame tucked safely within his body. The man’s hands did not touch me. They touched Him.

He was acquainted with my torment. I felt some peace.

Time passed and the dream came again. As the man began, I looked to the corner. Jesus walked to me with tears streaming. He picked me up and placed me in the corner. He turned, walked to the bed and lay in my place. The man did it all to Him. I watched as the man stood up and quietly closed the door behind him.

Photo take by sebastiano

Jesus then got up and walked over to me. He lifted me with strong, safe arms. The floor below us began to recede as I wrapped my arms around his neck. Clouds obscured the room as we began to fly away.

I never had that dream again. The memory only a faint scar of recollection.