Next

“It is a curious sensation: the sort of pain that goes mercifully beyond our powers of feeling. When your heart is broken, your boats are burned: nothing matters any more. It is the end of happiness and the beginning of peace.” ~George Bernard Shaw

I remember, as a first-grader, growing a bean plant at school. I started with a hard seed. I soaked it in water and watched it soften. I planted it in black soil and waited for it to sprout. After a couple of days I became impatient. I dug it up to see if it was growing. To my surprise, it had indeed, begun to sprout, but the growth had broken the seed in two. A tiny vine split at the bottom, holding the two halves of the seed together while it derived nourishment from them. I planted the seed again and two days later watched as a brand new bean plant broke through the soil and began to grow. From that one seed I harvested countless bean pods, each holding new seeds.

Hearts are fragile things. It seems that no matter how well they are shielded, somehow, someway, they must be broken in order for us to grow. I suppose in many ways I've been living with a broken heart, but pushing back any new growth. I've been afraid to allow myself to let go of the hurt and to trust that there was a way for me to allow the new growth to reach upward and outward and make me a more productive person, to renew me, to make me whole.

Part of my love of beauty stems from the fact that when I was so sad I thought I would die, I could see the things that were beautiful and something inside me believed it was God's way of speaking to me--sending me a gift that could briefly calm the ache in my heart and help me breathe for another day. I knew, of course, that they were just natural occurrences, beautiful but random. But part of me needed desperately to believe that someone loved me enough to help me live.

When I began my journey to work through the devastation of my past, I knew that I would eventually have to hand my pain to my Savior. I knew that would be the inevitable end. It has been incredibly difficult for my heart to agree with my head. Reasons I resisted:
1. I could not resolve how I could be so wretchedly hurt as a child, but magically healed as an adult. I did not understand how God could allow me to be molested and abused, but tell me all could be made better just by handing it over to Christ. It seemed horribly inhumane and insensate to allow the acts to happen at all, and I questioned the omnipotence and sapience of a God who would do so.
2. When I truly came to love my Savior, the thought of him having to feel the things that I had gone through broke my heart. That my pain would cause him pain seemed doubly tragic and devastatingly unfair. I saw no comfort in the fact that because he knew how I felt he would understand how to comfort me. It seemed a pointless remedy for equally senseless acts of violence. To give it all to him made me feel as if I was abusing an innocent person. I would be as guilty as my cousin.
3. There was a sense of loss in yielding up the things that had damaged me. For most of my life I had clung to the fact that I had risen above them on my own, and I needed no one to help or heal me. Admitting I had simply ignored, not overcome, made me feel weak and defenseless. I was unwilling to let go and allow myself to be vulnerable.
4. I felt if I gave everything to the Savior I was admitting I had lost. Somehow there was a battle I had been fighting. There was no point to it, nor any way to be victorious. But giving up meant those who had hurt me would win and I would lose. I suppose it was here I finally found a turning point.

“Skepticism is the beginning of Faith.” ~Oscar Wilde

When I finally accepted I could change nothing, that my past was here to stay and my mother was comfortable not connecting or bonding with me, I felt an acute sense of worthlessness. I felt life was beyond my control and there seemed no purpose in striving to be or become anything. I was sad beyond expression. I felt hopeless. If this seems dramatic, I believe it is more easily understood if one remembers that I had been working through past emotions and events without pause for nearly two years, and I was exhausted. The outcome had not brought me joy.

For nearly two months I was in this state. I alternated between frustration and anger. I raged at life's unfairness. I longed to be able to make something--anything--change. I found myself once again, questioning all that I believed. A sweet friend whose faith is different from my own, reached inside himself and humbly offered the idea that I might find solace in the atonement of Jesus Christ. It didn't matter whether or not he believed it--he knew I did--he knew I needed to be reminded.

I've been thinking. I've been trying different things. Nothing has worked.

"Measure not God's love and favor by your own feeling. The sun shines as clearly in the darkest day as it does in the brightest. The difference is not in the sun, but in some clouds which hinder the manifestation of the light thereof." ~Richard Sibbes

I have stated without equivocation that I'm certain the people in my life have been placed there by the hand of God. Each person has touched me in a way only he/she could do so. Some have helped me repeatedly. All are remarkable. Last week I was chatting with Ambrosia and she said something I finally heard and understood with my heart. Tolkien Boy has often said similar things, but I was not ready to believe him. The experience with visitor Marvin to my blog prompted this conversation:

me: I just posted my farewell to Marvin. It's probably more attention than he deserves, but it makes me feel better. :)
Ambrosia: I still think he deserves a public flogging.
me: Or a letter on his chest. Wait...that doesn't work.
Ambrosia: hahahaha... Widespread shunning would be great, though.
me: I have a feeling he probably gets shunned on a regular basis, which might be why he's a bully. Maybe we need to overwhelm him with too much love.
Ambrosia: You are good at people.
me: I'm not quite sure what that means?
Ambrosia: You're very understanding. You don't just think about how someone's actions impact you--you consider why they're doing those things in the first place. And then you try to help them. Compassionate, perhaps, is the word I'm looking for.
me: Oh. I suppose I am--some of the time. I'm less compassionate to Marvin, because he threatened my kids and friends, but I still think he's probably hurting. That's sad.
Ambrosia: Yeah, I'm amazed that you can even stop to think that about a guy who threatened your family. I basically never stop to wonder *why * someone is being horrible. I'm just upset with however it's impacting me.
me: It's kind of funny. When Tolkien Boy and I had lunch with my icky cousin, I was fine the whole time. We chatted about his kids and family, work, etc. I was calm and friendly--I did have trouble eating, but that's nothing new for me. But as soon as we walked out of the restaurant I thought I would throw up or pass out. Poor TB, that probably was a little uncomfortable for him. I went from calm and collected to losing my mind in about 30 seconds.
Ambrosia: wow. I still can't believe you had lunch with him. I don't think I'd be able to stand looking at him after what he did to you.
me: I don't know. There's something empowering about knowing he's just a pathetic old man now, and that he can never hurt me again. There's also something wonderful about knowing I've done nothing to be vengeful or hurtful to him. I'm not sure that makes sense. It's just how I see it.
Ambrosia: No, I think it does make sense.
me: Actually, I'm glad we talked about this just now. Every once in awhile I have "ahah!" moments. I've been feeling for the past couple of months, that somehow I fought a battle I could never win for most of my life, and that I finally surrendered to defeat. But today, looking at what I just wrote, I'm not sure I was defeated. I think I won.
Ambrosia: Yes. I think you're right. You did win--you've not only built a great life for yourself, but you're a wonderful person. And you take the higher road by not doing anything unkind to him, even though if anyone ever deserved it, it's him. Sorry--I feel like my words are coming out weird.
me: No. Thank you. I needed to hear what you had to say. I needed to say what I did.

As I saw the words I wrote I suddenly felt the impact of what I was realizing. I think I wept for nearly an hour--not because I was sad, but because I realized I had not lost whatever I was fighting for--and there was no other way to express the feelings that overwhelmed me. I wrote to Tolkien Boy immediately, because he needed to know that the things he had been telling me, seconded by Ambrosia, had suddenly found a place in my heart:

Tolkien Boy,

I didn't lose.

I won because I'm still me. I'm not certain who "me" is, but I didn't lose myself.
I won because I didn't lose my love for others.
I won because I didn't lose my compassion.
I won because I didn't lose my ability to overcome.
I won because I didn't lose hope.

I won.

You've told me this many times. Today, finally, I believe you. I don't know how to say what I'm feeling in my heart. Anyway, I had to tell you. I always feel that I'm talking about things profoundly important to me, but not so much to anyone else. I wish I didn't feel that way, and I really, really wish I could stop crying. Thank you for helping me come to the point where I could finally accept this truth. I love you.


The feelings of despair and hopelessness lightened and I suddenly felt that life was good--and that mine was a rather incredible statement that unfortunate circumstances do not have to dictate an equally wretched outcome. I also began to understand that I'm ready, finally, to finish what I started with the One who loves me more than anyone else.
1. If I truly believe choice is a sacred gift, I must accept that some people will choose to act in evil ways. Sometimes those acts may harm a child. That child might have been me. No matter how much I am loved, choice is something that must always be allowed each human being. I know I was granted a measure of protection, and I believe in time, all things will be made right.
2. I don't need to worry about my pain causing the Savior, one whom I love with all my heart, more sorrow and agony. The deed is done. He did it willingly because he loves me--because he knew at some point I would recognize he could help me--because he values me and wants to help me learn to value myself. He has felt what I felt so he can give me the things I need to heal, the things I cannot give myself. He cannot change my past. He can, however, heal my heart.
3. Being weak and defenseless with one who loves me more than any other person is actually a pretty safe place to be. Giving up my anger and sadness allows room for more love and kindness. I don't have to worry about vulnerability because as I yield my will to his, he will not ask me to do anything that will diminish me. He will only build me. And I will become strong.
4. I didn't lose. I won.

And so I enter the next step. I've uncovered all the wounds. I've exposed them publicly. I've looked at things that were reprehensible and frightening. I've faced the people who inflicted the wounds, and I treated them with dignity and respect. I have nothing to regret. I'm ready for the wounds to be healed. I no longer wish to be the person I could have been had I not encountered the mistreatment I faced in my life. I wish to be the person I am--better than the person I might have been--the person Christ will help me become.

It will probably take a very long time. I think I can do it.