Thinking again

On Easter I wrote a post about Christ--just like everyone else, I suppose. But my thoughts at that time have not left me. When I wrote the post I was spiritually wanting in many ways. I was experiencing horrible nightmares and flashbacks once again, and I was beginning to weaken. About a month later I ended up in the hospital, wondering what was happening to me. I have had to reevaluate many things in my life, and in doing so, have had to rely on God and Christ more than ever. I've realized that there is hope for me, but only through the atonement. I can become mentally healthy and strong if I continue to work, but I can't be free, truly free, on my own. I've spent some time talking with my Father about the things that are required of me. I've told him I don't want to do them. I've asked for a different way. And in the end, I've realized that there is no other way that will bring me the peace I desire.

So many times in my life I've partaken of the goodness of the atonement. Often, I haven't even realized it. There were times when I was alone and aching, my child-body bruised, my mind reeling with horror and confusion, when, in my heart, I called out to anyone for relief. I remember vividly, occasions when I felt peace wrapped around me like a blanket, and I was given rest for a moment. In my journey to adulthood, there was always some force that carried me forward, certain that the next day would be better and that I could continue on. Even when I knew that there was no God--for what loving Heavenly Father would stand by and watch while his daughter was repeatedly raped, abused, and discarded?--I wanted to believe. I wanted Him to come to me and tell me why. I wanted an explanation. I felt that I was owed that. It didn't happen. And for me, the why's eventually became less important than the what's. What will I do next? What will I choose? What if I live? What will I become? What will I make of myself?

I reread, recently, the accounts of the atonement in the New Testament.

And he took with him Peter and the two sons of Zebedee, and began to be sorrowful and very heavy.
Then saith he unto them, My soul is exceeding sorrowful, even unto death: tarry ye here, and watch with me.
And he went a little further, and fell on his face, and prayed, saying, O my Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me: nevertheless not as I will, but as thou
wilt. (Matt. 26:37-39)

I read the words and find such interesting ideas. Jesus knew the importance of what was about to happen--and he took two friends to be with him. Christ, the Greatest of us all, didn't want to be alone. He didn't isolate himself, or tell his friends to give him some space. He wanted to be with those who loved him and whom he loved. I need to learn from that. He expressed his sorrow to them. He told them how he felt. He wasn't afraid that they would think less of him, or belittle his feelings. He trusted them to sorrow with him, and uphold him. He felt dread and he was afraid, so much so that he fell on his face and asked God to take it away from him. In Mark it's stated a bit differently:

And he went forward a little, and fell on the ground, and prayed that, if it were possible, the hour might pass from him.
And he said, Abba, Father, all things are possible unto thee; take this cup from me: nevertheless not what I will, but what thou wilt.

Father, please don't make me do this...take it away from me...I don't want to go through or take on the task or trial before me...you're asking a lot...I don't think I can do this--so many times in my life I have spoken those words. Christ himself, asked to be released from what would be his most difficult task. At one point he did not want to do it. He understands when we shrink from what is asked of us.

According to Luke, a loving Father sent angels to strengthen and comfort his son as he bled from every pore and did for me what I cannot do for myself. Had I known then what I know now, I would have begged to be among those angels who were with my Savior. Had I understood how much I would need the atonement in my life, how many times I would use it, how there would be times when that was all I had left--nothing would have kept me from standing beside my beloved Lord, giving him every ounce of strength I could give, knowing that in the incomprehensible act of the atonement, every part of me could one day be healed. I know it probably wasn't so, and that I was not among those blessed angels privileged to be with the Savior in his moment of agony. But if I was not allowed to be a part of those chosen to be with Christ at that time, I believe that I must have looked on, praying for strength for him, filled with gratitude that he would perform the act that would save my soul. And, because I am who I am, I'm certain that I wept because my life would cause him pain--but perhaps my understanding then was greater than it is now.

I am slowly giving in, giving up, allowing all things to go to their proper places. As I let go I am afraid, but also hopeful that in allowing the atonement to work as it was meant to, I can overcome that fear, and one day be so much more than I am today. I don't know if I will ever understand why I have had to endure the circumstances that life has brought to me, but I have endured, and I believe that where I have been battered and broken, Christ's atonement can make me whole, inside and out.

I have to believe that. Ultimately, in spite of everything I do, my journey over the past 18 months has taught me that I cannot heal myself. If the atonement is not real, if there is no Christ, I am lost.