Saturday, February 15, 2014

He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not, He Loves Me...YES HE DOES!!!

I just realized last night that February 6th was my born-again birthday. I've been a Christian for 42 years. I don't know how I could've let it slip by. Getting born-again was by far the most important and best decision I've ever made, and probably will ever make. It's the one decision that affected my eternal destiny. At the time I didn't realize the import of it, I don't think, but now I certainly do, and I am eternally and forever grateful to God, and to my savior and Lord, Jesus Christ, God's Son, for loving me enough to die for me, for loving me enough to take the punishment for my sin. Oh my! Words can't express my gratitude… And the great mystery to me is that Jesus would love me at all, knowing the depth of sin in my heart. I just can't fathom that at all.

But He does, whether I can understand it or not! That's the weirdest, and yet the most wonderful part of the mystery. He loves me, even knowing my sinfulness!! I don't understand it, but I'm certainly not going to reject it. That would be just plain dumb!

Wednesday, February 12, 2014

Hope Destroyed, Hope Restored

I've been thinking about damages lately, the damage that sexual abuse does to a child for the most part, and in particular, the trauma that results from incest on a child. I wrote an un-mailed letter to Harry in a previous post (entitled "Am I Afraid of Anger, or Do I Get Angry At the Fear?", published Monday, May 27, 2013), where I told him everything I could think of about what his treatment of me during my childhood did to me, the damage that resulted, the terrible destruction that has been the result in my life. It has only been through the grace and mercy of God that I've been able to experience any kind of goodness and healing, and I'm extremely grateful for that.

In thinking further about this, I've come to realize that what Harry did that caused the most harm--destruction would probably be a better word--is that he stole my hope. His abuse was so thorough, so invasive and all-encompassing, that he annihilated any hope I might have had that my life could ever be any different. I think that's why I was so suicidal for so long, with nine suicide attempts over a period of about twenty years, eight of them while I was a Christian.

So what all of this means is that because Harry destroyed my hope, and because a person can't live without hope, it had to be brought in from the outside. God brought me hope in the form of an alter personality whose name was Wordsworth. She was eleven, and she named herself Wordsworth because she felt that words, both spoken and written, were the path to healing and wholeness. While she did write rhyming poetry, she didn't name herself after Wordsworth, the poet.

This is the first poem she wrote as herself, using me as a vehicle, in September of 1991. It's called Words:
     So many words in this wide world of mine.
     There must be a billion, three million and nine,
     Or maybe a trillion - I know not of more,
     But even a million's enough for a door. 
     Words full of laughter, of light, and of hope,
     Words that paint pictures for those who must grope
     Through darkness and longing 'til dreams become real
     And light in their tunnel means safety to feel. 
     Scrivening onward, word pictures I'll paint
     So others when thirsty won't give up and faint.
     Words will build true homes from castles on air
     Where laughter and rainbows take place of despair.
                                      S. A. Kuriakos & Wordsworth
                                          ©September 28, 1991

I've always liked this particular poem. It has a lilting feel to it, plus the first couple of lines sound a bit like Dr. Seuss.

When Wordsworth introduced herself to me, what she said about herself was that her name was Wordsworth and her job was hope. What I didn't realize or understand at the time was that it was Wordsworth who kept me alive through all my suicide attempts. It used to frustrate me to no end that I couldn't seem to kill myself no matter how hard I tried. Turns out Wordsworth kept calling 911 on me everytime. Back then it used to make me steaming mad. Now I'm very grateful both to Wordsworth, and to God, for saving my life.

In retrospect I've come to see what an important role hope plays in our lives. I really believe that people can't live without hope--I've certainly found it to be true in my own life. So how do we keep people from giving up their hope in this crazy, mixed-up world we live in now? Seems to me the best way is to tell them about Jesus. I think that's the answer: Jesus Christ. He restored my hope, He healed me and is continuing to heal me, He's helped me to forgive everyone--including my father--who ever hurt me. Basically He's restoring my life. There's still work to be done, but I feel more and more like the end is in sight.
"And hope maketh not ashamed; because the love of God is shed abroad in our hearts by the Holy Ghost which is given unto us."~~Romans 5:5, KJV
I know God loves me, something I never thought I'd be able to say. I have the hope of heaven, also something in which I never thought I'd have any confidence. I'm growing more and more bold in talking about Jesus--me who has always been such a fraidy-cat. I guess what I'm saying is that I'm getting healed!! Thank you, Jesus!!

Yippee!!

Monday, February 3, 2014

Those Bossy Clothes!

I had to take my computer to the Apple Store this afternoon, because I managed to lock myself out of it - harrumph!! - and I couldn't figure out how to get back in. Fortunately the guys at the Genius Bar were able to easily figure out the problem and get me going again. While it was happening I was very upset, but in retrospect the whole situation was quite laughable.

As I was leaving the Apple Store I saw this advertisement at a store across the street that said, "Don't let your clothes be the boss of you," that started me thinking. My first thought was that if I were letting my clothes be the boss of me, I would dress very differently than I do. I thought that I would dress in a very feminine manner - even though I'm not exactly sure what that would look like, maybe low-cut dresses all the time. The thing is, low-cut dresses don't look feminine to me. They look immodest and kind of whorish. 

And then the thought occurred to me that by dressing the way I do now, never wearing dresses of any kind, always wearing jeans and baggy tops, not even wearing nice pants or slacks, maybe I'm letting my clothes be the boss of me indirectly. Hmm… Isn't that a fine closet of clothes!! Now that I've figured it out, I have to determine how to change it. 

Maybe I should leave that part up to the Lord, or at least what the solution is. Once I know what the solution is, then I can go about carrying it out…