Of Anniversaries and Redemption

Its been three years since I took this picture, a picture I’ve never shown anyone except for the people the very closest to me. A picture I took to send my best friend who I was supposed to be attending a conference with the next day. I sent it to her because I was trying to get out of going because I looked like Sloth from Goonies. My entire body was at war with itself, at war with my mind, with the denial I’d been trying to live under. My body was angry, demanding that I deal with 30 years of trauma and childhood abuse that I’d been stuffing into the bottom of my spirit. My body had gotten tired of the constant tension it was living in, the constant fear, the constant preparing for a blow or being scared in my own skin, trying to be accommodating to ward off what could be coming, so my body stopped moving forward and demanded I deal with the past. I went to the conference the next day with my broken body, my jacked up face, my heart so full of unacknowledged hurts bubbling to the surface I thought I would have a heart attack. I sat in the back row and I listened for two days as person after person stood on that stage and talked about the importance of honoring our history, of the cost of not redeeming our story. I listened and wept and felt exposed and raw, my trauma literally seared across my face. And after two days of trying harder and harder to fight it I stopped. I let the dam break and I felt every single thing I had been trying not to feel for 30 years. It’s an unimaginable three years (a lifetime?) later, three years of hard work, of sitting with my story, of creating practices around healing and health, of recognizing and naming my feelings and their origins, of recognizing which things I carry with me through the world and which things I lay down, three years of asking God to redeem my story and to use it if it could be used, and of watching for the opportunities. It’s been three years of learning to be obedient and to trust God enough so that when someone holds open their hands to say “here is my hurt”, I’m able to take their hands and say “mine too.” The redemption of my story means I’m not scared to admit it, to name it, and that simple act makes someone else feel less alone. After three years of intense healing I can tell you the bottom line is that the redemption of my story serves one purpose: it shows someone else that their story can be redeemed too. And isn’t that alone worth it? Whatever your story, whatever your trauma or hurt that you are still carrying, it can be redeemed, not just healed but it can blossom into something beautiful because it can serve as a beacon of hope to someone else. It’s hard work and sometimes the healing is more painful than the trauma but the other side, OH!!! The other side!!!!!! On the other side of that mountain is the River of Life, abundant, beautiful, life. I’m so thankful for that day, three years ago, the day that started my road across the mountain I’d been living beneath. I’m so thankful for this life on the other side, this beautiful, abundant life, and for a God gracious and loving enough to walk with me over the mountain, and lay down with me in the pasture. Happy anniversary sweet girl. You’ve done so well.