I want to write more about therapy, now that I've gotten so bold and detailed in my blogging about it.
It struck me recently that repressing memories is an incredible act of faith in oneself. What I did as a child was to say, "I literally do not know how to think about this. If I did, it would destroy me. But I know one day I'll be strong enough to sort this through, so I'm tucking it away until that day."
I can't go back and save myself from the abuse, but I truly can go back and save myself from my wrong thinking about it. It is a concrete act of grace. It is claiming some power for myself over the abuse. In doing so, I validate my own faith in myself. I am as strong, resourceful and clear thinking as I desperately needed myself to be.
I think there are some things we do, that no one else sees, that have the power to shake the very gates of hell. Those choices confound and terrify the dark, because they can't understand it. They can't understand grace, or meekness, or redemption. When they come in contact with this, it reminds then that they are on the losing side of reality, that they are only temporary and will shortly be undone.
It doesn't have to be done with thundering or huge internal wrestling, or shouting. It can be a silent thing, as simple as accepting grace for oneself, and then the shackles just slip off as if they never were at all.
I keep thinking of the greatest act of this kind, the one that made all the others possible.
"Surely He has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows, yet we esteemed Him stricken, smitten by God and afflicted. But He was wounded for our transgressions; He was crushed for our iniquities; upon Him was the chastisement that brought us peace, and with His stripes we are healed."
"He was oppressed, and He was afflicted, yet He opened not his mouth; like a lamb led to slaughter, and like a sheep that is before its shearers is silent, so He opened not His mouth."
-Isaiah 53:4,5 and 7
Yet in that silence, He saved the whole human race. In laying down His life, He claimed power over death and degradation and shame.
O Holy Night!
The stars are brightly shining,
It is the night of the dear Saviour's birth.
Long lay the world in sin and error pining.
Till He appeared and the Soul felt its worth.
A thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices,
For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn.
Fall on your knees!
