He is my Rock

 

I woke up with this picture on Sunday morning.   I immediately knew what it meant.

This was my reality, from a fairly early age.  At the age of 12, after a violent altercation with my Mum, in which she made it very clear to me that she would no longer tolerate me needing her emotionally, I made the decision to become her stabiliser, the fourth leg if you like.   I somehow realised that she just couldn’t cope any more, couldn’t be strong for me, so I had to be strong for her. 

Of course, I had neither the maturity or life skills to do such a thing but I knew something had to be done.  It was really quite selfish in a lot of ways, because I was trying to avoid the fallout that happened if she got too stressed.   The fallout almost always landed in my direction, and that day it landed like it never had before, nor would again.

One of the best ways to avoid a major fallout, was to stop needing her to do things for me.  At 12, you’re fairly independent of needing to be fed, clothed, bathed, or even helped with homework.   You can also make yourself fairly useful around the place, doing what you can to alleviate the workload.  You’re useful enough to keep the baby brother somewhat occupied and safe.   You can sometimes even pretend to have an adult conversation and make it look like you know something, enough to alleviate a parent’s loneliness. 

It all sounds so noble, but it wasn’t.  It was survival.   And all these years, I thought it was God expecting me to do that, to be that for her, which I’ve secretly viewed as incredibly unfair.  I even said that to Him last week.  

Really, she should have sought help, but perhaps she didn’t know that she could.   So, she started to lean in on me.  And I enabled that, to the best of my ability. 

The year before the ‘crash’ that saw me step into that position, she had lost her father.  Only she didn’t get to say goodbye or go to his funeral because he died suddenly on the other side of the world.  I think her father’s death was the final straw for her.    She was in a difficult marriage, in a culture she didn’t understand, and suffering from the ongoing effects of hypothyroidism and manic depression, too frightened to seek help.   She was a very long way away from anyone she felt safe with (family) and it was before the days of easy phone access.  She didn’t drive and although we lived in town at the time, she was quite isolated.  She was working one day a week, and while that allowed her time with people other than us, it created its own pressures.   She was very needy and married to someone who wouldn’t tolerate it. 

When you’re carrying a huge load, and you feel so alone, and you have a capable daughter, you tend to expect far too much and allow them to step into a role they are not mature enough for, even if they appear to be.  I’ve seen it myself, seen it in myself.   It often happens about the time they’re as tall as you and start showing themselves to be really capable.  

After the crash that changed everything, I realised that crying was going to send that tottering table tumbling again very fast in my direction, so I stopped.   Not that I didn’t need or want to cry, I just didn’t.   I hid problems, hid needs, hid tears, hid pain, stopped asking for answers you should only get from your Mum.  I knew it would send that table tumbling again, so I hid my pain away. 

When Dad started the sexual abuse, I hid that too.   But she knew; she just couldn’t deal with it and I couldn't risk another crash.   She hinted that ‘it happens in families, women just have to suck it up to keep the family together.’  I knew what she meant.  So, I hid it.   I even hid it from myself for a long time, until it wouldn’t stay down. 

I was angry with her a lot in my late teens, early twenties, after I left home.    I sorted the raw anger, eventually, though it compounded into bitterness for a long time.     

I struggled to cope.  He struggled to watch me cope alone.  I struggled to let Him touch it.  He let me hold onto it, for a time.  

Finally, the grief of unmet needs, that’s been deeply, deeply buried all this time, made its presence felt last week.   I knew something was down there, but wasn’t sure what it was.   I knew He wanted to heal it, and I knew I didn’t want Him to touch it because it was going to be very painful.  I wanted to unpack it myself, understand it and then pack it back up.   But He said no to that.  Instead, after some wrestling, I gave Him permission to do what He wanted.  Once again, doing it afraid.   I gave Him control of the process.   And He did just that. 

I woke up one morning and I could barely function.  God, what is this?   And He just quietly said, as He does, ‘It’s time.’  

As that grief started to surface, the all-too-familiar anger kicked in.  Anger feels so much safer to me. But once again, the call came to not handle this with anger.    And once again, without anger, pain has no barricades to get past.   Up it comes. My goodness, it hit like a tsunami over several days.   I found myself just reeling in pain, though it wasn’t physical.  

So, we got through the next few days, wave after wave, hours apart, with little warning.   They say grief is like that.   From what I know of grief, it is.  But long-suppressed grief seems to have a power all its own.  

I guess that’s why He knew I needed to just let it go, not sift through it, not understand it, not even write it all out beforehand.     I had to trust His timing, His way.   And He honoured that and provided a way through.   He gave me people to minister to me with listening ears and with wise counsel.  He led people to pray through the watches of the night.    Just as importantly, people praying with me and over me – in everyday words, but also in words that we don’t understand, a prayer language that broke through all my resistance and allowed for deep healing and release, His Spirit ministering directly to mine.          

Somehow, when that pain was released, there was this quiet, solid peace and a strength from Him that He was placing deep within, not my own contrived strength that had been there before.  And with this new strength, a new revelation, not of being strong for Him, but rather strong IN Him.

‘See, I am doing a new thing!  Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?   I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland.’  Isa 43:19

When you live your early years as the fourth leg, it deeply impacts your understanding of God and your relationship with Him.  You assume you have to be strong for HIM.  You assume that He needs you to do that.   You underestimate His willingness and capacity to be strong for you.   You underestimate Him.   What a revelation it was to realise He didn’t give me that role or that burden.      

Instead, He said to carry burdens WITH Him, not alone.

These recent thoughts from a dear sister, who’s been struggling with chronic illness and a lot of pain, came at just the right time. Thank you!

“…….. at its worst, I cried out to Jesus, I sensed His presence and I could see it in my mind as he came and sat beside me on the lounge and lifted the yoke that was so heavy and placed part of it on his shoulder and said ‘I am here to share this with you’.   I immediately felt the heaviness lighten, it did not go away, still had to go through it.   But Jesus is right there, sharing it with me, sharing that pain and the illness and he stayed.   I believe he wants you to know that, trust in that and I believe he wanted me to tell you that he will carry you whenever necessary.   He feels all of what you are feeling, especially at the hardest moments.” 

I will learn to carry the load WITH Him.   And I will learn to let Him carry me.  

These words that He gave me on the very first day of this year now make so much more sense. 

Yes, my soul, find rest in God; my hope comes from HIM.

Truly, He is my Rock and my Salvation; He is my Fortress, I will not be shaken.

My salvation and my honour depend on God; He is my Mighty Rock, my Refuge. 

Trust in Him at all times, you people; pour out your hearts to Him, for God is our Refuge.

Ps 62:5-8

My paraphrase:  My soul can and will find rest in Him; my hope comes from Him, not me.   He is my Rock - He holds me up; I don’t need to hold Him up.   He will save me; I can’t save myself.   He is my safe place, where I am secure, not shaken.    My purpose, my identity and honour come from Him, not a role I play.   I can hide in Him, my Refuge, not hide from Him.   I can pour out my heart to God and know He will not crumble or lash out.   I can depend on Him because He is stable and predictable.  I can trust in Him at.all.times.  

The understanding of those words, finally, makes all the pain worthwhile.  

From here, a song of commitment to trust Him in the process, with the process, of continued healing.   I’m so grateful for grace being poured into those still-raw spaces and grace to practise a new way of walking.   When you’ve walked with a limp all your life, you have to relearn how to walk well.   Perhaps that’s the subject of another blog post.  

It wasn’t meant to be this way

Broken beneath the grief and pain

There’s nothing left here

But into my dust, You poured Your grace

Lifted my head and spoke my name

You’ll see me through this

You are the Maker of my heart

You are the Healer of my scars

God, I WILL trust in Who You are.