“I will be glad and rejoice
in your unfailing love, for you have seen my troubles, and you care about the
anguish of my soul. You have not handed me over to my enemies but have set me
in a safe place.” Psalm 31:7-8
There has been much dialogue about
forgiveness over the last forty-eight hours; how we need to forgive Bruxy for
the damage he left in the wake of his secrets coming into the light.
I know this.
I am just not ready yet.
What is disturbing is the impression that granting forgiveness is somehow a barometer of what sort of Christian I am. The
inability to forgive is a black mark against me. Do I want to? Yes. Do I trust
that the Lord will bring me to that point? Absolutely! God knows I am incapable
of doing on my own.
Years ago as a baby Christian, my mentor
silenced me when I began to share of the healing that was taking place
specifically around the abuse. She cut me off with these words, “If you are
still talking about it, you aren’t healed.”
That was one of the last times I went to her
for advice and guidance.
Is that what a declaration of forgiveness is
meant to do? Silence us before we have a chance to unravel the deep layers of
hurt?
The barrage of unpleasant memories is nearly
overwhelming. I am surprised and saddened about the raw anger and grief they
have stirred up because I thought I had moved on. (A nasty little voice in my
head says I should have by now.)
But then, my life is wrapped with the chronic
and constant companion of PTSD because of the compounded and lasting effect of multiple
traumatic events. It’s hard to forget when you are constantly ambushed by panic
or tears that a mere word can trigger. (Yes, I am deeply angry about this.)
Recent events have been a colossal trigger.
I am trying very hard not to get buried in
the pain. Again.
Do I trust or don’t I? That is the question.
The church has been a place of great healing.
I can thank the good and kind men God brought across my path for much of it: my
pastor, our home church leaders, the men in my home church who have been
nothing but kind and generous. To turn my back on them because of the poor choices of another would be so sad.
It
would set me back by years…it took years to reach the point I was even
comfortable in the presence of these men. They didn’t push me. They treated me
with the highest respect. To my amazement, I began to feel safe around them.
And that is the greatest cause of my grief
and sense of loss. I am bewildered and unsure. Do I continue to trust my judgment
about these men or do I walk away?
Do I trust God?
Or do I simply wait suspiciously on the
sidelines for the “true nature” of men to reveal itself. Again. Regardless of
how good and nice they are. Abusers are very good at being “nice.” It’s why I
ended caught up in a cycle of chronic abuse in the first place. I so wanted to believe
they cared that I made allowances for anything that was untoward or inappropriate.
Oh, Lord, what a mess.
Men, I am sorry, sorry for feeling this way,
sorry for being so afraid. I have to hang on to the hope that you are not all
the same because I know in my head you are not. It will take time for my heart
to fall in line. Please be patient with me as I wrestle through these thoughts
and feelings. This, too, will take time.
Can I forgive Bruxy? Not today.
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