To My Friend Who Doesn't Know What Safe Is

 

My Friend,

My heart breaks for you

You've known only unhealthy

In your family ties:

Yelling commonplace

Violence a given

Manipulation a daily system

Guilt-tripping often

Habits formed

Even as you start your own marriage

Much healthier than that

But friend,

You don't know safe.

You think family is important,

Yet

You don't know safe family.

You don't know WHY family is supposed to be important.

Family is supposed to look like:

Supporting you for you, 

Not trying to get you to fit a mold

Or telling you their plan for your life.

Listening to hear your thoughts

To understand you for you

Not to gather info for their next attack or rebuttal

Weeping with you

Laughing with you

No strings attached

No expectations

Open arms acceptance of you for you

Honest, humble, gentle challenging of your sin for your good

Not to show how much better they are than you (it's in their tone and face, no matter the words)

But because they love you (not just say they love you, not just challenging you because of their expectation of you)

Praying with you when you're confused

Taking you to God's presence, knowing He's the only One who can bring clarity.

Giving advice humbly when asked,

Not cleverly inserting it wherever possible,

Trying to get their way.

Giving an honest opinion 

Without judgment if you don't agree/follow

Always feeling safe to run to 

Because they don't judge others so why would they judge you?

Instead of unsafe family where you're always thinking of what they'll think of you

Because they talk poorly of others so often,

So surely they'll think poorly of you if you don't GET IT RIGHT

Getting it right isn't something you have to worry about with healthy family

Because they just love you for you

You both can kindly disagree (without raised voices) and go about your way

Knowing the love has not changed.

You don't know that family isn't valuable just because it's family.

Family is valuable when it is safe.

When family looks like any other unhealthy relationship,

The response can be the same: 

"No thanks" and "Goodbye."

Friend, 

I grew up in healthy.

I grew up safe.

So when I was abused by others, it hit hard.

The contrast was SHARP.

I knew healthy

So I knew something there was wrong.

I couldn't put my finger on it for years,

I thought if I could just learn to communicate with him...

Things would be different.

But after awhile,

Gathering all the pieces of gunk in a basket,

I started putting the puzzle together,

And I knew.

My body knew before that:

The heart-thumping with conversations

The cloudy head when I was desperate to understand and communicate

The stomach issues

The tight jaw

The tinnitus...

But friend,

You see my situation and think,

"It's not that bad; why would you react so strongly?"

But oh my friend,

You don't know what healthy is.

Photo Credit: Helena Lopes on unsplash.com 

Why Sacrifice to a Golden Calf after Crossing the Red Sea?

 Deliverance

I wrote this poem after studying Exodus and putting myself in the Israelites' place. It's hard to understand why they would worship a golden calf that they made RIGHT AFTER seeing the plagues and going through the Red Sea, before being delivered by the Almighty God. So I put myself in their place. What would make me want to worship an idol instead of Jehovah? And this is what I found.

This is our journey 

Our journey of deliverance,

Jehovah’s deliverance

When Moses came,

fresh from the smelly flocks,

we rejoiced at his words

he said he’d seen God

and he’d been promised the way

the way we’d longed for

the way out of oppression

of bondage

of death for our sons

of hopelessness -

the way out!

But then…

Pharaoh showed his strength

he rained down pain

further crushing

there was no way out 

after all.

We doubted Moses

we turned to anger

when Pharaoh punished us

for Moses’ words

God’s words of deliverance

that we’d cried for

for generations.

We were broken.

So we despaired at first discouragement.

But then — 

how to describe what began to happen?

I thought deliverance 

would go the way I begged

but this God

this I AM…

Well,

He seemed so distant before -

a family memory

“God of my fathers”

But now…

He was present.

Not like the idols of Egypt -

No indeed

I AM present is different

than I ever dreamed.

I did not think His deliverance

would look like blood 

lapping at the shores of the Nile

I did not think deliverance 

would look like sores 

peppering my neighbor

I did not think deliverance 

would look like darkness

as a border between us and Egypt

I did not think deliverance would look like teeming frogs

or clouds of locusts

or skies of hail

or the silent slaying of the son of my oppressor

as he lay safe in his bed.

I did not think deliverance

would save some of my enemy too

that deliverance

would show my oppressor my God

that the Egyptian would be given the chance

to believe, too,

in the God of my fathers.

I did not think deliverance

would set me trembling

in awe.

This was not my deliverance.

Then, delivered,

wide-eyed at Power,

we ran out in haste

and we faced

the sea.

As wheels rang behind us

“This is not deliverance!” we cried.

“You have led us to death!”

This God is not safe!

This is a God of destruction

and now He has authored ours

between the waters and the chariots

What is our deliverance - 

to be struck by the sword

and drowned!

Who is this God, 

this I AM?

Called to believe in Him,

called to silently watch,

we stood as Moses’ arm rose

and

the cloud behind us

shed its light on us

Jehovah, rearguard at our backs,

’til morning lit the sea

and we saw 

towering walls of glistening glass -

a way between the waters.

Numb, jaw slack,

could I be surprised yet again?

Will it ever stop - the unexpected?

The awe-some sights?

Shaken, yes, trembling once more.

Will I ever stop trembling, oh God?

With a bellow they followed us in 

but the cloud, Jehovah rearguard,

swerved their wheels that threatened death

the Hand was at our backs

Our enemy lost control

feared

turned back

The sea released

And we stood on the bank

watching chariots wash ashore

The sound of singing

the song of praise

Moses’ sister led the way

both of them now,

no holding back in them,

fierce abandonment in rising praise

one by one voices joined

all around me,

the song of deliverance.

And I wondered again,

Who is this God,

this I AM,

who gouges the sea

hurls the enemy

kills the firstborn

saves the oppressor who paints with blood on doorpost?

Who is the God of my fathers?

He does not deliver on my terms.

He is beyond my control.

And I am afraid.

Without food on the journey,

throats parched for water,

we feared

we railed

and I wondered again

gripped in dismay

this God, oh, He brought us here to die!

Alone, cut off

we will die in the desert

we cannot predict His ways!

This was not my plan of deliverance.

The flutter of wings almost unheard through my groans

the sound of rushing water

from dry rock flowing

deliverance again.

Ungrateful, afraid, 

I put hand to mouth

handful of manna

food crafted by a God

and wondered,

Who is this I AM?

Who creates bread from sand?

When will He be a safe deliverer?

Predictable?

Appease-able? 

Controllable?

In Egypt they could sacrifice

follow the formula

control the blessings and curses -

this God does not fit that mold.

This God leaves me trembling

as He delivers.

Do I want this deliverance?

At the mountain I decide.

God meets us there.

He shakes the mountain with His presence 

and calls, speaks to us

His thunder rumbles, 

lightning crashes

trumpets that we do not see blast

I AM is there, speaking.

He tells us how to live

We agree with offering

Then He calls Moses up

up to the cloud

Moses, face lit,

has given his all 

to this God.

His face is marked by excitement,

his fear is different

it propels him forward

as if this God is all he’s ever longed for.

Moses, all in,

goes toward the consuming fire.

And I decide.

Even though a cord inside draws me,

says, “That’s where I belong

my all of me belongs with Him

that’s where freedom lies!”

Even so…

I say no.

And when Moses ascends

and the long days weigh heavy with fear, 

the mountain rumbling,

I choose again,

with the others whose eyes reflect mine,

we choose a safe god

a familiar shape

a cow

under our control

in our making.

And when we bow in worship,

raise our voices in ecstasy,

I think,

“Yes, this is safe.

This is worship on my terms.

This is mine. I can grasp it,

decide how I want this to be.

I choose this god,

I choose me.”

***

It isn’t until later that I admit

not until later that I understand

my choice is death.

And as I stare at the bodies lying dead around me

I think,

so too do I deserve.

Why did He not strike all of us?

Why not me?

I chose my way,

chose an idol of gold

made of jewelry from around my neck

fashioned by hands

exalted only by our rebellious voices

Why did I not die for my choice?

Driven almost to despair,

wondering, hardly daring to live,

I take the small sliver of courage in my chest,

and I take my question to Elohim.

“God, who is I AM,

why do I live?

I did not choose You

I chose myself

and death lingers before me.

So why am I spared?

A living specter of sin,

Choice made,

choice regretted,

unable to live on,

heavy under the weight,

standing before a God

who knows all

who makes Moses shine

like the sun at noon.

I chose me -

why do I live?”

Though I go shaking,

I expect no answer

Why would the Holy One 

humble Himself to hear me?

But something draws me on,

and here I stand, waiting.

His answer?

So simple,

so freeing,

so true:

“You did not choose Me,

but I chose you.”

He does not say more now

but it is the answer to my heart,

the one I couldn’t find words to form.

And now…

I am His.

Photo credit: Mohamed Nohassi on Unsplash

Unlocking the Door

Sometime between night and dusk

I dreamed

A cabin stood before me

A friend and her daughter stood beside me

The door to the cabin:

Inviting

I knew God was in there

Waiting for us

Welcoming,

Safe.

It was a place of peace and rest

And it was ready for us.

The door was locked.

My memory of this part is hazy

But I remember

The key came out of the door

And one of us put it in our mouth

The clear part I remember:

The key would unlock the door,

But we had to leave something behind first.

What must we shed first?

God told us gently,

His tone firm and kind,

"You may come in

When you have left behind

All resentment,

Unforgiveness,

And anger.

Then enter into my peace with Me."

He was there -

He was not leaving us alone until we obeyed.

But it was clear -

There was something important, vital,

We must leave behind

Before we could rest in His Presence,

Before we could find joy in hanging out with Him

In that cabin.

Anger, resentment, unforgiveness

Did not belong there.

And we could not bring them in.

The invitation:

I realized upon waking and marveling -

The invitation was to freedom

 Photo credit: Nicolas Messifet on Unsplash - thank you for your beautiful art!

How Can the Bible Trigger an Abused Person?

My Prayer 

How evil is it

How twisted

When I hear Your Word in church

Or see it in my own reading

And my mind flies

Not to the meaning 

Or application for myself

But to:

"Does he read this and use it to justify himself?"

"Does he think he's like David and I'm the betrayer?"

"Has he been seeking You like he claims?"

Or "There - this person condemned here, that's what he's like.

I remember when..." and the replay starts.

Or "Am I godly and righteous in Your eyes?

Or have I made a terrible mistake

Deceived myself into thinking I was following You?"

Even though You have led me so clearly...

My ears pressurize and ache with fear

My mind is somewhere else - not safe

And it starts with reading Your Word.

My most precious possession,

Gift of all gifts!

Revelation of You, my God and Savior and King -

And  my insides curl and shrink in fear.

The Book that can give me most comfort

Most peace and love

Most assurance I'm doing as You say -

And instead I fly to repetitive thoughts and fear.

How much worse would it be

If I had been like others I know -

Abused by a person wielding Your Word as a revolting weapon

Twisted beyond truth to selfish lies

Distorted and used to oppress!

To back up their actions to squash and manipulate!

Of all things...

When in it, You proclaim freedom, justice, and salvation to the oppressed

And You condemn oppressors.

Yet some still use it to subdue their victims.

And it's bad enough for me:

Going to Your Word and drowning in doubt

When You've clearly led me

And freed me from him.

His abuse of me led to so much self-doubt.

I want the humility without the crippling doubt of what is true.

I want faith in You,

Who have led me all the way.

I feel angry...

And I mourn

That it's so hard to read Your Word

Without triggering thoughts of anger

Judgment of him

Or plunging doubt of me.

I want to receive Your Word in freedom

I want to apply it to myself without fighting to shift my thoughts 

From him and from hurt

I want healing...

Simply to read Your Word and hear Your voice

Without him in my head.

Someday, Lord?

"Yes.

Keep fighting.

Keep mourning.

Keep noting victory

(Symptoms of my abuse are fading:

my jaw no longer pops! my tinnitus is mostly gone!

my circular thoughts come less often!

I haven't shaken and cried over my Bible in months!)

Keep giving thanks.

(Thank You, Father, for healing bit by bit!)

Keep healing your mind, synapse by synapse

Pathway by pathway.

Keep empathy.

Discard self-protection and cling to Me instead.

Keep on, precious daughter.

And one day, the fight will be over.

The final victory will be won.

You'll be with Me and all

ALL

Will be well.

You'll be truly free -

More than you can imagine now.

And in the meantime,

I'm here.

Now.

Always.

Take My Hand,

Cry on Me,

Take a moment...

And be still. 

I will lead you on from here.

But for now...

Just be.

Be with Me."

Photo credits: Kajetan Sumila and Aziz Acharki on unsplash.com

Why Is the Abused Person Confused?

If I Could Explain

If I could explain to someone else

The way this feels to me

This whole mess, this relationship,

I would say something like:

Everything is foggy

There’s a buffer between me and reality

I’m closed off

I’m confused

I’m aching and yet numb

No motivation

I’m just trapped

And it must just be me

Because it must be all my fault

Because he justifies it all

Every time I get clarity

His reasons fog the picture

He talks and talks

I’m afraid to voice my own

My own opinion

— He’ll get mad —

My own fears 

— He’ll scoff or blame —

My own perspective 

— Oh, that’s not valid —

My own… truth

— But no, that’s not true —

I’m just hormonal

I’m just sick

I'm too emotional

I just don’t get him

His past makes him too complicated

I just don’t understand

But the least I can do is agree

And not bring anything else up

That would set off the volcano again

That volcano I fear —

The lava:

He’s a victim

How could I say such a thing

I misjudge him

I hurt him

How could I be so judgmental?

How could I misread him so badly?

How could I have so little compassion for him

and give it to everyone else?

How could I be so disloyal to him when I’m loyal to the ones I love?

He’s on the outs

He’s the victim

He’s crucified

And now I’m joining in.

I just don’t understand. 

The volcano wounds me

The lava just keeps flowing

It comes from nowhere predictable

Just the smallest comment from me

Or a tiny conviction I feel called to make:

And I have wounded him deeply

I’ve made him mad

He’s had to leave the room

Shake his finger in my face

Shut me down.

He can explain it all

Why don’t I love him the way he loves me?

The way I love others?

He has a hard time communicating — can’t I give him grace?

As he picks at all my words

Interrupting (but heaven help me if I interrupt!)

And I feel the conversation veering from control —

It’s always in his control.

Conversations don’t belong to me

They’re not mutual

I don’t get the same voice he does

Because I never say it right.

Why can’t I communicate just right with him?

If I only knew the words that would explain

That would help him see how he bruises me and others

How he talks down to people, disrespects them while saying he holds the highest respect for them

If only I could communicate perfectly to his personality

Then he would understand what I mean!

He would see the truth!

He wouldn’t be angry!

We wouldn’t spend hours going in circles

Veering out of known territory

And I wouldn’t feel so… terrified.

Because I do.

I don’t realize it until I listen to my body

And then I know:

This isn’t normal. 

Conversations with other people 

Don’t make me shake like a leaf

Don’t make me feel foggy-headed and desperate

Don’t choke my throat

Don’t have me questioning every word I say

Trying to find one that he will like and not tear apart.

Then I learned: 

This isn’t communication

It’s not my fault.

He’s not safe.

That’s why I feel this way.

Anyone in this conversation would feel this way

Because they’re not safe with him

When he’s on a roll

When he’s defensive

When he’s decided

It’s done.

I cannot possibly communicate perfectly.

He’s started from the premise:

He is right. I am wrong.

The end.

There is nothing I can do

Because he always has another argument

He must be right in this moment

He’s decided this time

And he can do this much longer than I can

Because he’s fueled by fear and control.

I just want to communicate.

He thinks he needs to hold the reins

And I’m just a bucking horse

In his eyes.

I’m calm —

But he sees a person who needs tamed.

I’m earnest —

But he sees an argument he must win.

I’m speaking truth —

But he sees a person challenging his person, his authority, his morals, his intelligence

And that is unbearable to him.

Because he does not trust You.

He says he does!

That’s what makes this so confusing!

He exhorts others to trust You fully!

He judges those who don’t!

There is such conviction in his voice!

But his actions, his arguments, the way he guilts me say:

He does not trust You 

Not here.

Because he cannot abide a gentle rebuke

Or me explaining someone’s actions that he doesn’t like

Or even a point of view he thinks challenges his own.

I’m being disloyal to him, not loving him, 

If I explain that someone is not the way he judged them.

He takes that as personal attack, me wounding him, choosing my friend over him.

When I write it in black and white

When I tell you, my friend,

Or You, my God,

I see:

This is not normal.

These circular, winding, wacko conversations

Are not communication.

They are avenues to abuse

Avenues to prove himself to be who he wants everyone else to see him as.

He says not to worry about what others think of you 

He judges others for living that way

And yet…

When I bring up a way he is fearing others

He justifies it.

He has a good reason, see?

This is why I feel crazy, my friend.

It’s easier to believe him

He sounds so convinced!

He is, you see?

He is not lying intentionally 

He is self-deceived.

He truly believes what he says

But that doesn’t make it true.

He’s not who he portrays himself to be.

But that’s almost impossible to see in the moment.

You believe him — everyone does! 

So do I —

Until I realize that

I can follow the twisting trails of crazy self-justification and blame-shifting

Blame his childhood and enemies

Feel sorry for him

Try ever harder to say things that won’t set him off

Just avoid the topics that will spark the volcano

Believe what he says about himself even when it doesn’t match what he does

Or

I can take Occam’s Razor (which he taught me)

That says the simplest answer is probably true:

His actions and words don’t match.

He is hypocritical.

He thinks he is entitled to a different standard than others.

My experience with him is the experience of abused people with abusers.

My body is not crazy when it tells me I’m not safe with him,

With shakes and stomach clenches and fast heartbeat and throat closings.

It doesn’t do that with safe people.

I could be crazy and his tangled web of explanation could be right

Or he is simply abusive with an idol of control.

So here I am, my friend,

Confused, yes

Continually doubting myself, yes

Always wondering if I’m doing the right thing by setting boundaries, yes

Begging God to steer me right, yes

And aching.

Aching, aching.

For freedom.

For lightness.

For safety.

For peace.

For… healing.

Because my wounds aren’t just physical 

— Autoimmune flareups with digestive issues,

Chronic pain, jaw clenching, teeth grinding, sleep problems —

They’ve cut into my mind as well.

Not just fear 

— That takes me out of my every day as I relive past situations, 

often right in the middle of a conversation that my toddler has to call me back from,

“Mommy? Mommy?” 

“Where was I? I’m sorry, baby, I was somewhere else.” — 

Not just trying to figure out the truth and going back through the interactions that left deep confusion or anger

Not just that and more. 

No, the hardest slice in my mind right now

Has scar tissue that I will have to cut out and start over raw:

I view healthy people as weak.

Compassionate, listening, humble leaders as weak.

The people he looked down on — 

I do, too.

This makes me weep angry tears more than anything else.

How do you heal a viewpoint?

How do you reroute a brain to see godly leadership as strong and good?

How… do you change the very lens through which you see?

I mourn this.

I mourn the hard, long road ahead.

But God, You can bring beauty from ashes,

And You can change hearts and minds.

You do it all the time.

You’ve done it with me!

So do it again, I pray.

Give me motivation for the hard work ahead

Give me Your eyes

Isn’t this what I need

— A brain perspective overhaul —

For most things?

Mainstream lauded ideas that go against Your word

Church misinterpretations of Scripture

“Christians practices” that aren’t that 

You have to give me Your eyes, reroute my brain, for those, too

So…

I surrender it all. 

Take my brain

Wounds, lacerations, scar tissue, issues upon issues, hardness of heart pathways

And redeem it. 

Make it Your own territory, owned and ruled by You.

This is what I want.

Thank You that there is hope.

Your hope is not futile or empty

Your hope is real

And I know that when You promise, You fulfill.

I know my best is right here in my lap.

I know You are good.

So thank You.

Thank You for taking me as I am

Lead me back to You ever, I pray.

Photo credit: Jakub Kriz on Unsplash.com 

If this poem resonates with you and you need to talk to someone, you can call the hotline on this website (a crisis hotline that offers free help. You can also search for help centers or hotlines in your area). Feel free to comment below as well if you'd like me to pray for you or connect with you. You are not alone, no matter how alone and/or ashamed you feel. That's normal, and God meets you where you are.

Psalm 34:18
The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit.

Ecclesiastes 7:7
Surely oppression drives the wise into madness...

Proverbs 14:31
Whoever oppresses a poor man insults his Maker, but he who is generous to the needy honors him.

Psalm 12:5
“Because the poor are plundered, because the needy groan, I will now arise,” says the Lord; “I will place him in the safety for which he longs.”

Psalm 9:9
The Lord is a stronghold for the oppressed, a stronghold in times of trouble.