Finding the Real Me, Christy's Voice (Part 3)

When my kids were small they thought a band-aid could fix anything. A tiny scratch or a banged up knee just felt better when you put a band-aid on it.

You and I know there is nothing magical about those sticky, adhesive bandages. They are a temporary fix while the real healing work happens—under  the band-aid, from within.

In a perfect world you could stick a band-aid on the hurts of life, ignore it for a few days and you'd be good as new. But real healing is intentional and it takes a lot of hard, often agonizing, work.

In my mid to late twenties two major conflicts in my life, including years of not dealing with the pain of childhood sexual abuse, became the catalysts for deep personal healing.

I had unknowingly put an invisible wedge between me and God. I wanted to feel connected to Him, but I struggled with feeling let down by Him because He didn't intervene. I had concocted an idea of who I wanted God to be and when He didn't measure up, I was convinced it meant He wouldn't take care of me. I wanted God to swoop in before bad things happened in my life, not just clean up the mess after.

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This is where God found me—covering myself with band-aids and in a lot of pain.

God started removing the bandages one by one. Sometimes quick, sometimes slow and careful. This process hurt as He showed me all that I had been hiding under there. With the bandages removed I could finally see the real me—wounds and all.

This is when the real healing began.

A Touch of Gray and Ounce of Wisdom, Tamar's Redemption Thursdays

 Hope and Encouragement for Moms

Once again the breakfast bar at our kitchen counter was strewn with homework papers and books. There was no place for a cereal bowl or even a spoon. I was frustrated. How many times do I have to tell her to put her stuff away? It was late. I was pooped.  She’ll hear about this in the morning.

Yet, the morning came, and I was unusually chipper. Amazing what rest can do.

She stumbled down the stairs into the kitchen on her sleepy mission to prepare for school. I had a choice. I could conjure up my frustration from the night before and let it fly. Or I could pull her aside, place a loving arm around her shoulder, and turn her toward the breakfast bar. Then ask calmly, with a lilt in my voice and a grin on my face, “So my dear, how do you expect anyone to eat breakfast with all your stuff on the counter?”

I chose the latter. I chose it because I’m a bit older, grayer, and wiser these days. You see, I’m parenting for the second time around. I have four mostly grown and launched children who have flown or nearly flown from the nest. They were my guinea pigs. I tried all sorts of parenting experiments on them. Thankfully they lived. And they do tell about it.

Yet in the middle season of my life, with my nest appearing more empty than full, God brought me new test cases—three little girls. Sisters. Filled with pain. Needing a mom. And believe me, I feel woefully inadequate for the job. Most days, I shoot up prayers for wisdom on a moment by moment basis.

But on this morning, I had an extra ounce of wisdom.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“You are forgiven,” I said. “And loved.”

You see, I figure she can’t hear those words enough.

And truth be told, neither can I.

What words do you long to hear today? Perhaps your kids need to hear them too.