He has been on mind lately. I have his eyes. I have his nose. I have his tendency of connecting with a large number of people, making it difficult to be in public without being recognized.
I do not have his baggage. I could. I could hold on to the past. I could keep pointing fingers. I could cut everyone out of my life to protect myself and blame him for it. I choose not to. I choose forgiveness. I choose freedom.
What do you choose? Are you holding on to something that someone has done to you as if it could somehow be erased, if the person only confessed or begged for forgiveness… or died? None of these external events will set you free from your internal chains. There is one way to freedom.
Forgiveness. Letting go. Leaving the past in the hands of a righteous, just God and moving on to fully live the one life that He has given you.
It seems strange. Counterintuitive. But by the power of the Holy Spirit, and sometimes with the help of a professional therapist, I am here to tell you that it can be done. And it is worth it.
“Forgiveness is the fragrance that the violet sheds on the heel that has crushed it.” Mark Twain
“Bear with each other and forgive one another if any of you has a grievance against someone. Forgive as the Lord forgave you. And over all these virtues put on love, which binds them all together in perfect unity. Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, since as members of one body you were called to peace. And be thankful.” Colossians 3:13-15
“O Lord, you are my lamp. The Lord lights up my darkness.” 2 Samuel 22:29
We often fear what hides in the darkness. The UNKNOWN motivates us to leave the nightlight on, steers us toward well lit streets, makes us use the “Buddy System.”
Sometimes, what scares us the most is the KNOWN that is hiding in that same darkness. Sides of our personalities that have been met with judgment. Painful words that have warped our identities. Memories that have formed dark expectations. Wounds that hurt too much to dress. They follow us like shadows, less than a step behind. We think that keeping them in the darkness, where they can blend in, will keep us safe. We think that stepping into the light will expose our true shape, and the world will see us for what we really are.
Once when I was spending the night away from home, I turned out the lights and went to bed and my eyes began to adjust to the darkness. I began to see shapes. I looked toward the door and saw what looked like a tall person standing in the room, staring down at me. My heart stopped. I held my breath for several seconds before I realized that the shape was not moving. I soon realized that it was a robe hanging on the door.
This is what the painful knowns do when we leave them in the darkness. They begin to look like more than what they are, and they send us running, hiding from… shadows. We will continue to run and hide unless we step into the light, and take them with us. Once the light of truth hits them, we are able to recognize them for what they truly are: Warped shapes of things that no longer exist. Lies in disguise. Then we can stop running. We can be free.
I once read (I can’t remember where) that being yourself gives those around you the freedom to be themselves. This motivated me to be myself for the sake of others, in spite of those who might take issue with my oddities. I think this also applies to our shadows. Giving words to my shadows might help others put words to theirs. It might give them the courage to speak those words, exposing them to the light. The brightest light that shines is the light of Christ. The Word of God has cast many of my knowns into the light, providing freedom that only He can provide. For these reasons, I write about my shadows in light of Christ’s grace, love and power. I pray that you who read about my journey will experience that same freedom by joining me in the light.
Years ago, I read the historical fiction book The Mark of the Lion by Francine Rivers. Set almost 100 years after the death and resurrection of Jesus, a young Christian woman named Hadassah was a slave belonging to a Roman family. Eventually, her faith was discovered. By Roman law it made her a criminal, so she was taken to the arena for the “games.” There was no game. She was going to be fed to a hungry lion in front of hundreds of people.
She had lived her entire life filled with fear. Fear of being discovered. Fear of being arrested. Fear of dying. While awaiting her death in the dungeon, she realized that she was no longer afraid. She was free. Alone in her cell, she sang praises to God, free from the chains that had kept her imprisoned while she was still able to walk in the sun.
When I read that story, I recognized my own chains. I was constantly fearful. I was afraid of rejection and abandonment. I was afraid of my darkest struggles being exposed. I was afraid of being imperfect. I thought, “I want that kind of freedom. I hope that I do not have to be on the edge of death to experience it.”
Years later, I was there. I was in an emotional dungeon. I felt like I was on the edge of losing everything that mattered the most to me. There, in my solitary darkness, I finally let go. I let go of all of the things that I had been trying to control to keep my world “safe.” In letting go, I found freedom.
“The Lord is with me; I will not be afraid. What can mere mortals do to me?” Psalm 118:6
God instructs people (sometimes one person, sometimes a group, always us) 365 times in the Bible not to fear. Why the repetition? Because we forget. Because we want to be safe and comfortable. Because everything that we fear CONTROLS US. It drives our decisions. It shapes our environments. It fills our thoughts, our hearts, and our conversations. It drains our resources. We essentially become slaves to our fears.
What do you fear? What keeps you awake at night? What makes your heart race? What sends you running until you collapse, your physical, emotional, mental, and financial resources exhausted? What do you hold so tightly that your fists are white and your nails are digging into the heals of your hands? Stop running. Stop gripping. Stop trying to fix, protect, control, and shape. Place it all in the hands of Jesus. When you stop struggling against the chains that your fear created, He will lift them off of you and replace them with His arms. And there, in His love, you will find freedom that no human effort can provide or take away.
January 10, 2016: I had returned home from Vegas the previous day. I went to church Sunday morning. It was difficult to hold myself together when Dad’s death was mentioned in the announcements. In the afternoon, I wrote Dad’s obituary. I volunteered with the youth group in the evening, though I had to hide in the restroom when they played the song, “Good, Good Father.”
As we were preparing for bed that night, my husband and I got into a minor argument. I went downstairs to the kitchen, sunk to the floor, and wept. Loudly. Uncontrollably. David came to find me and joined me on the floor, placing his arm around my shoulders. When I could speak, I said, “I wrote my dad’s obituary today. I will never see him again. I can’t even think that he is someplace avoiding me anymore. He is nowhere. He no longer exists. He didn’t let us say ‘goodbye.'”
We decided to hold the memorial in May because of Val’s work/travel schedule. I printed flyers and delivered them to the two bars in town where Dad spent most of his spare time when he was in Michigan. We posted a memorial announcement in the local newspaper inviting all who knew him. I wanted Dad’s friends to be there. Cory did not think that they would come because he had left them as abruptly as he left us. One day he said, “You’ll never see me again,” and walked out the door. They were hurt and angry. But I wanted them to learn from his life. I wanted everyone to.
May 15, 2016: The day arrived. I was nervous. Excited. Ready. Unsure of what to expect. I was going to see people I had not seen in many years and family members that I had never met. Bless my soul, some of Dad’s friends from the bars arrived. I could have kissed them.
Dad’s cousin, Rich, began. He shared memories of Roger the child. The naughty things they did together. The happy memories of innocence. Next was Dad’s sister, Nancy. She also talked about the young boy. Her older brother who would pick on her, scare her, protect her. She mentioned their abusive father and how Dad couldn’t get past the pain of their childhood. When she had seen him shortly after their mother had passed a few years before, he still spoke of their childhood abuse like the wounds were fresh. Then it was my turn. Below is the video of my portion.
Afterwards, many shared stories with me about him. He was a jokester. He liked to sneak money to his friend’s little boy. There were consoling words and healing hugs. I realize now how badly I needed this day to come, to say what I believed needed to be said, to let him go and move on. When we got home, I said to my husband, “It stinks that he had to die for me to get to get to know him better.”
April 11, 2017: I dreamt about him. I woke myself up crying. A feeling of heavy darkness clung to me throughout the day. That evening I tried to do homework, but could not concentrate. My church had posted a new podcast that morning, so I decided to listen. The pastor spoke about obedience. What is God telling you to do that you haven’t done? The answer filled the room like a whisper from everywhere. Forgive. I did not want to. I was still so angry. However, I had learned that I could not live my life in disobedience to God. I said aloud, “I forgive you.” Again, tears flowed, but not of anger or pain. Tears of freedom. The anger that had burned inside me, erupting like a volcano whenever I spoke about him, was gone. Just… gone. I realized that a piece of myself had been in Dad’s Hell as long as my anger lasted.
The words of the song “No Longer a Slave” had held great meaning for me after Dad’s death. “I’m no longer a slave to fear. I am a child of God.” I was no longer a slave to the fear of being abandoned or rejected by him. I was no longer a slave to the fear of never seeing him again, because it was now a fact. And that day, I was no longer a slave to the anger that pulled me down into the pit where he had lived his entire adult life. I was free. I am free.
“So if the Son sets you free, you will be free indeed.” John 8:36
“Now a slave has no permanent place in the family, but a son belongs to it forever. So if the Son sets you free, you will be free indeed.” John 8:35-36
I am free, forgiven, and new. Jesus is in my life and my heart. I have no doubt. Yet, I still find chains wrapped around my mind. Shame beats me to the ground. My old self looks back at me from the mirror. Why?
There was a time when the nation of Israel was held as slaves in Egypt. The Egyptians were cruel slave-drivers. The Israelites were desperate. They cried out to God, and the entire nation was led, they literally walked, out of slavery. What did they do on the other side? They sang God’s praises! They used their freedom to become the best people they could be! They went to Disney World!
No. They didn’t know what to do with themselves. Life got hard and they wanted to go back. The familiarity of slavery seemed more logical than the blind faith that living in freedom required. Their bodies were free, but their minds kept returning to Egypt.
This is what I do. I think back to the familiar days of slavery, and my mind stays there. I forget that I am free.
Like Israel, my ticket to freedom was a one-way ticket. I walked out of slavery, crossed the desert, and have arrived at the door of God’s promises. Now, I will only look back to remember what God has done. Never to return. Are you with me?
“…for the Lord has told you, “You are not to go back that way again.” Deuteronomy 17:16b
Words Lived 