Tearing Down Strongholds

A few months back, a friend, when praying with me about this healing journey God had me on, saw a picture of God slowly untangling a knotted ball of string, gently teasing each bit out of the knotted mess and setting it straight.  

It's very much been that kind of a journey.   God has gently, precisely, carefully and lovingly untangled so much, piece by piece, layer by layer.   I've been determined not to go digging, though I have wanted to help, mostly to get it done and dusted.  Mostly, though, I've wanted Him just to leave the darn thing alone.  

Over the last week or so, it became obvious that there was a big knot near the centre.   My goodness, it's taking some unravelling.  By far one of the most painful parts of this journey and it's not done yet.   

I started to sense there was more to do, mostly because of the very painful flashbacks that kept interrupting my attempts at normal.    So I reluctantly asked to speak to our pastoral people, again.   We unpacked the trauma of the violence I lived, at the hands of my Mum.    For me, it was physical violence, oftentimes without warning.   For all three of us, the verbal violence and mind games were just as unpredictable and even more damaging.   

As I unpacked all that I could remember, I chose to forgive each instance and each hurt, and they prayed for healing.   All of this was shared with little emotion on my part and Ps Peter was concerned that there was a 'volcano' of unlocked emotion under the surface.   Then, he very astutely asked, 'Kath, if your Mum was sitting here right now, what would you need to say to her to be free of all that's locked up in there?'.   I didn't see that coming.   I froze.    I couldn't do that.   I could not bring myself to  voice my anger and disappointment, to actually feel the pain.   He asked me several times but the fear was absolutely paralysing.   It didn't happen, not that day.    

And he asked me why?  What was stopping me?   She wasn't there to hit me or lash out verbally.  Why couldn't I let it out?   I wasn't sure.  Was it fear?   Was it a distorted sense of responsibility?   Was it avoidance?  All of the above perhaps. 

It all went back to that day when I was 12, when I took on the burden of carrying her.   But what happened that day was buried in a pretty deep place.   I'd simply asked her for help and she had lashed out in the most violent and degrading way, physically and verbally.   

I've had flashbacks to that day that have left me shaking uncontrollably.   The physical violence left me in a crumpled heap in a corner, with my hands over my face.   It was the first of many violent episodes.  What happened that day, apart from the violence, was that I lost my Mum and any sense of being loved by her.   From that day on, there was no affection, there was no leaning into, no leaning on.   There was no compassion or grace for anything.  If she helped, it was because something was annoying her or she had something to prove.   But even that kind of help was unpredictable and inconsistent.  

On that day, I was someone she despised and hated and was jealous of, someone she saw as a threat to her.   Her words were toxic and devastating.   I never again asked for help or compassion.  Perhaps I made an inner vow, I don't remember.

I began to realise that I couldn't need her, couldn't go to her and ask for help, couldn't lean into or on her in any way, couldn't ask for a hug.  I also just couldn't believe anything nice or positive that she said, because I knew that those nice words would dissolve in the next round of anger.    And the more affectionately the words were presented, the less believable they were.    Just empty words, even if well meant, because it wasn't sustainable.   The nice words were more unbearable because they were so easily undone.   

What I buried from that day on was rejection, bitterness and anger.  It worked itself out in rebellion and criticism and cynicism in my teenage and early adult years.    What I also lost that day was the ability to believe that someone could love me sincerely or passionately.   I needed to deserve it, and she had made it clear that I didn't and never could, so I lost the ability to believe in unconditional love or that I could be cherished.  All of this became a platform, a belief system, not about her so much, but about me, and anyone who has tried to love me since, particularly women, has hit a wall.   More importantly, it became my belief system about God and His love. 

And it's that platform of lies, disappointment, unbelief and cynicism that God's truths have been bouncing off ever since.  

Very recently, a dear friend sent me a book, at God's prompting.  I got just a few pages in and the book ended up on the other side of the bed.   I resisted the urge to throw it across the room.   I tried several times to read it but something in me was screaming, 'lies!' in a big way.   I'm apparently a mature, Spirit-filled Christian who believes God's Word, but my soul isn't very sanctified, even now, and it was screaming, 'lies!' 

These were some of the words that fuelled the anger that was gradually rising from a very deep place, since unpacking the memories of violence:  

"I hope you will find, from these stories...., that God cares deeply for you, He understands your feelings, He is present to comfort and sympathize, and He wants to give you hope..."

There were other words too that just weren't gelling for me either - compassion, healing, loving presence, truth, sorry for the pain...    Inwardly, my real response was blah, blah, blah.  In a nutshell - cynicism and unbelief.   

The anger was rising exponentially the more I tried to cover this platform with God's truth.  Reading the Word, praying, listening to songs, reading this book and others - all of it was somewhat helpful to gradually dissolve the lies, but it needed something more.   I realised I needed to just dig up that platform, to be perfectly honest.   I realised that His truths, as much as I wanted to believe them, were going to keep bouncing off, till that platform was gone.    

Is this what is meant by pulling down strongholds?   I think so.  

For the weapons of our warfare are not carnal but mighty in God for pulling down strongholds, casting down arguments and every high thing that exalts itself against the knowledge of God, bringing every thought into captivity to the obedience of Christ.   2 Corinthians 10:4,5. 

And the unbelief that steals our ability to rest in Him?    It needed to go, along with the hardness that comes from it.   

For He is our God, and we are the people of His pasture, and the sheep of His hand.

Today, if you will hear His voice:   “Do not harden your hearts, as in the rebellion...

Ps 95:7-8

I wonder how much more unbelief there still is lurking down there?   Goodness, I hope I'm getting to the bottom of the lies.   I suspect I am.   I'm starting to see the light at the end of the tunnel.  Perhaps this valley will be over soon.  Perhaps this table drain will dry up soon and I'll walk free.   

I  knew it was time to get real.    And there is a time to express hatred and anger and to let it all out.  We don't have to stay there, but honestly, we do stay there if we won't acknowledge it properly and be real about it.   

There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens....

a time to tear and a time to mend, a time to be silent and a time to speak,

a time to love and a time to hate, a time for war and a time for peace.   Ecclesiastes 3:7.8

That platform could shift, but not easily.   I had to do what Ps Peter suggested, only I couldn't do it in company.  I needed to get really honest, and having grown up in a houseful of swearers, I knew that anger would probably manifest itself with a few swear words!     I'm too polite to say what needed saying in someone else's hearing.    Some strongholds need some pretty decent jackhammers!  

So, I took myself to a quiet place at the edge of the river, pen and empty notebook in hand.    The quietness of that place certainly didn't match my inner turmoil.

So I started writing.   I wrote down everything I'd shared with the pastors, and then some.  Only I addressed it TO Mum this time, instead of just talking ABOUT it.   And yes, there were a few swear words.  Sometimes, you need a way to articulate strong emotions and that's just how it is.  

Once I'd written it all down, I read it aloud.  So much harder to give voice to it.   It was like lancing a boil.  So much anger and pain.    Then He quietly asked me, 'Can you forgive her?'.   Instead of sitting there looking at all the gunk and hanging onto it, I had to agree to let Him wipe it all away.    I knew better than to quickly say yes to that.   But I did, eventually, after more tears and anger and 'it's not fair!'.   

Of course, I knew I'd never send that letter and that wasn't the purpose of it.  The purpose was to pull that platform apart so that His truths could seep into those deep places.

Instead of it going into an envelope, the Lord led me to take it down to the river.   I tore up that paper into very small pieces and bit by bit, threw the pieces into the flowing water.   I watched the pieces float away, though some of them got caught in the shallows.   I spent a few minutes just enjoying the quietness and the beauty and the power of the place, and the knowledge that it was done.   

I went back to the car and took communion, and by faith just received instead His mercy and grace, remembering His sacrifice on that cross, and that He actually did understand because He felt it as He carried it.   

Surely He took up our pain and bore our suffering....

the punishment that brought us peace was on Him, and by His wounds we are healed. 

Isa 53:4,5

I was spent.    I felt nothing positive or amazing, except a definite relief from all the heaviness that I'd been carrying for weeks.   Since then, suffice to say that His truths about love and compassion and comfort are finally making sense, and sinking into those empty places,  and seem believable.   Not only are they believable, but I can actually feel things I've never felt, perhaps what others have always known and take for granted.   

And it's good, very good, almost unbelievable!   But that's for another blog post, along with the developing picture He gave me. 

So very grateful for His precious blood poured out, that brings redemption, healing, forgiveness, and rich grace.     

In Him we have redemption through His blood, the forgiveness of our trespasses, according to the riches of His grace.  Eph 1:7

This song has been on repeat many times, as I've tried, in vain really, to believe His truths.  Now they are the truths to rebuild with, without that platform of unbelief underneath.   

Your blood speaks a better word

Speaks a better word

It's singing, It's singing out with life

It's shouting down the lies

Oh, it echoes through the night

The precious blood of Christ

Speaks a better word

It's calling out my name

Woah, and it's breaking every chain, yeah

Oh, it's making all things right

The precious blood of Christ