Set In Stone by Susan L.

Thank You, Lord, for those who gave me the time and space to follow my heart's cries until I heard Your voice, loud and clear. Imagine a clean hardwood floor. Imagine someone clomping in wearing manure caked boots. Not once. Not twice but time after time. The only eventual concession was to lift them up so a piece of newspaper could be put underneath to catch the stuff oozing off. Now imagine that person thinking it was incredibly amusing. Especially when there was company. After a while, it wasn't worth complaining about or asking for it to stop. Those pleas were ignored. After a while it wasn't even worth washing the kitchen floor. Step by step, those reeking, steel toed boots kicked and bruised and maimed. They just never left a physical mark. I've gained a better understanding about what my illness, Post Traumatic Stress, is about. I've done copious amounts of reading, the clinical breakdowns of its symptoms. I really know what flashbacks are about and the panic attacks. That is what has had me struggling these last few months. And as I said yesterday, afraid because I can't find my way out of the memories. God gave my experiences a name: Soul Trauma. An incredible weight has lifted off of my shoulders. My heart and mind, too. Those two words validated my feelings. My emotions have been justified even though they seem to contradict each other on a regular basis. I can grieve without feeling guilty that it has taken so long to get to this point. I can be angry without guilt. The malicious cruelty, rife in my marriage that had me so beaten down is not mine to receive or believe I ever deserved that treatment. The boot story is true. Father, forgive me for casting my pearls before swine. "But blessed are your eyes for they see, and your ears for they hear." Mat 13:16