Do Something Different

I’m not one for New Year’s resolutions. Or even the newer trend of choosing a word for the year. But as I drove into church Sunday morning, I found myself contemplating the phrase "Do Something Different."

My sister had given a lesson with that message at our Celebrate Recovery meeting on Thursday evening. She had shared that doing the same thing and expecting different results is insanity. Instead, we need to recognize that what we’ve been doing isn’t working and then do something different.

Friday morning, I sat in my psychologist’s office hearing basically the same thing. He pointed out that the value of the therapy we were applying was in being self-aware, recognizing the influence of the past in my reactions, and choosing to do something different in the present… something I was incapable of as a child. In my case, the “do something different” was to find my voice… and chip away at the lie that my voice, my feelings, were unimportant.

Later that evening, facing a small hurt, and trying to gather the courage to give voice to my feelings instead of simply shutting down and withdrawing, I found myself silently repeating to myself, “Do something different… do something different....” In the end, I did do something differently. I did find my voice. And it ended well. It felt good. Progress.

In the midst of all that, a friend had posted on Facebook asking people to share an accomplishment, favorite memory, or goal met during 2018. After some reflection, Saturday evening I wrote:

Losing 35 pounds since the end of September, dropping my insulin and getting blood sugar numbers greatly reduced with diet alone. BUT - even bigger than that for me... is finding my voice... including speaking in front of 385 people in our church about the effects of the childhood sexual abuse in my past and what Celebrate Recovery could do – not only for addictions, but recovery/restoration from all sorts of hurts, habits, hangups... and leading a small group for survivors of abuse. Huge for an introvert. Huge for someone whose PTSD includes feeling like I don't have a voice. Yeah... I feel really good about that, the healing it shows, and the work it has taken to get there. :)

I did feel really good about it. My friend’s question gave me not only an invitation to reflect and recognize, but also an invitation to celebrate the accomplishment. That, in itself, is a “do something different” for me. I tend to not even recognize my growth and accomplishments, let alone celebrate them. Instead, I usually downplay them. But this time, through her invitation, I reflected... recognized... shared... and celebrated! All kinds of “do something different” going on there!

All that was on my mind as I headed to church Sunday morning. Finding my voice. Doing something different. The growth I’d seen and celebrated. And the knowledge that this was just the beginning of what was looking to be an exciting journey – a journey that's been scary to contemplate at times. And I considered that “do something different” just might be something I need to keep in front of me for the new year. I’d never chosen a word for the new year before… but this phrase… at this moment.... It seemed right. And it seemed time. Worth considering, at least.

A little while later I sat listening to the Sunday morning message. Our pastor led us to Joshua… “Be strong and courageous.”

I quickly flashed to a counseling session just a few weeks ago. My psychologist had asked me what I felt God was wanting to say to me in that moment. I’d hedged, afraid of mistaking my own voice/thoughts for God’s. I’d said I had no clear answer, but agreed to pray about it. A few moments later, my counselor had opened his Bible to Joshua 1:9, “Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the LORD your God will be with you wherever you go.” I’d laughed out loud and admitted that "Be strong and courageous" was actually what had come to my mind when he'd asked his earlier question. He'd smiled and commented about seeing God’s fingerprints all over that. I knew he was right. And I've got to admit,  the affirmation had felt good.

So here I sat on a Sunday morning just a few weeks later with my pastor leading us to the same passage… “be strong and courageous.” Not only that, but he was teaching a message on change (my “do something different!”). He laid out the circumstance of the passage – Moses had just died. Joshua was taking over. And he was preparing to lead his people into the promised land (after 400 years in Egypt and 40 years wandering in the desert). Talk about change and new beginnings! But what amazed me was that our pastor's message was blending the exact two themes I’ve seen in my life in the last few weeks: Be strong and courageous; Do something different. Wow. God’s fingerprints? How could I think anything else?

So, yeah. I think I’ve got my direction and phrase for the year.

Do something different.

No... actually... it's more than that.

Be strong and courageous – do something different.

And... with a promise...

"Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the LORD your God will be with you wherever you go."

-jenn

Oh! And just because I'm working on sharing and celebrating... here's a video of my message to our church....

Abuse... Accusations... and Adonai

I’ve avoided saying anything on this. I don’t like conflict. I don’t like being in the middle. And I have friends on both sides. But I’m hurting myself with my silence. Literally. I woke up yesterday with my lips clenched between my teeth so tightly I could taste the blood. My unconscious evidently echoing my attempt to clamp my mouth shut…. So… here goes….

I am a survivor of childhood sexual abuse.

I was abused on two separate occasions when I was probably 6 or 7. I don’t actually remember the date or even how old I was. Many years later, when I first disclosed the abuse, we narrowed it down based on where the abuser lived at the time and the knowledge that it happened before my mom gave me “the talk.” So… I don’t remember the date or even how old I was. That’s not uncommon.

I remember some things with a high degree of detail – I remember exactly what he said to get me to do what he wanted (he’d seen something in a magazine he wanted to try). I remember my confusion at why he would want to do what he was doing. I remember being asked to perform oral sex on him and refusing (that was too “gross.” All I knew about that body part was that boys peed with it!). And yet I don’t remember how my clothes were removed (did I do it? Did he?). I don’t remember what I was wearing (was it pants or a dress? Was my top unclothed or was it just from the waist down?). I don’t remember what happened after he was done. I don’t remember getting up and getting dressed (was he still there?). I don’t remember leaving the basement (did we leave together or one at a time?). I don’t remember returning to the family upstairs or how I interacted with anyone afterward. I don’t remember… a lot. So… while I remember the events in some pretty clear detail, I don’t remember what happened before or after. That’s not uncommon. It’s how the brain works under trauma.

I didn’t tell anyone about it until I was nearly 19. Early on it was “our secret.” Later, after I realized what “we” had really done, I was afraid of someone finding out what “I” had done. That wasn’t something “good” girls did before marriage! It wasn’t until years later I fully realized it was something he had done to me… not something I was responsible for. So… I waited more than a decade before telling anyone about it. That’s not uncommon. Some for the same reason as I; some because they fear retribution; some because they fear not being believed.

I realize that if I were to try to press charges now… or even back when I first disclosed… there would be no credible corroborating evidence. There almost was… my younger sister started down the stairs to that basement while I was lying unclothed on the floor. My abuser yelled out to her to go back upstairs. She remembers it – entirely independently of my memory – and remembers feeling scared and like something “really bad” was happening in that basement. It’s a moment engrained in her memory as well as mine. But she didn’t actually witness it. And a decade later there wouldn’t have been any sort of DNA or any other corroborating evidence. So… I have no evidence. Again, that’s not uncommon.

So… I can see the fallacy and weakness in arguments some of the Kavanaugh defenders hold up. I really can. And I want to point out those things. Those arguments are damaging to those who have been abused and to how we approach those who have been abused. A delay in disclosure and what would seem like significant missing details are normal! We cannot hold those things up on their own as evidence to discredit the accuser or judge the allegations as false.

After my abuser's funeral, I finally disclosed for the first time to my future husband. And… after that… rather reluctantly to my parents. I’m not sure why I was still so reluctant. I actually wouldn’t have disclosed to them then if I’d had any choice. But... I was lucky… I was believed. Unfortunately, my participation in various support groups has shown me that belief is all too often not the case. Skepticism and disbelief are not uncommon… and are frequently even more damaging than the abuse itself.

And yet….

And yet we are a nation whose legal system has been founded on due process and the belief that a person is innocent until proven guilty. The burden of proof lies with the accuser, not the accused. And in aggravated criminal cases it must be proven beyond a reasonable doubt. The reason for this should be clear: if not for due process and the burden of proof, anyone – at any time – could be accused of something of which they are innocent. A person could face imprisonment or death by a simple accusation.

We look back on the Salem Witch Hunts as a dark time in our history. Innocent people were burned at the stake due to mob behavior, vigilante justice, and a lack of due process. False accusations with no burden of proof. If you didn’t like someone, just accuse them of being a witch and problem solved. If someone were to defend the accused, well, then, that person must be guilty too.

Today, I see people rising up and condemning without due process in all sorts of situations and my heart sinks. We see something on the news or on social media and with mob-like vengeance we shake our fingers in condemnation and call for what we believe to be justice… Without ever really allowing for due process to know what justice really is.

I wonder if our great-grandchildren will look back on this moment as an equally dark time in our nation’s history. As of this moment, there is no preponderance of evidence against Judge Kavanaugh. In fact, those very witnesses which Dr. Ford herself has named have refuted, not corroborated, her story. And yet we are ready to destroy a man we do not know. He stands lashed to that stake with the flames licking at his feet. And the mob gathers. If you don’t like someone, accuse them of sexual abuse and… yeah…. And if someone were to defend him well, then… yeah….

That’s why our legal system is based on the precept that a person is innocent until proven guilty. It’s too easy to lob an accusation at someone and destroy a life. There are those who argue that this is not a criminal case. True. But, honestly, a prosecutor wouldn’t touch it – there is no supporting evidence; no way to prosecute. Yet in a very real and crushing way, he has been declared guilty – his life forever changed. Not because there is any credible proof, but because a woman said so.

It sounds a little like Joseph. Tossed in jail because a woman said so. Actually, Potiphar’s wife even had a little more proof – she had a torn garment belonging to the accused. We sometimes question how Potiphar could believe Joseph would be guilty of such a crime – this man he completely trusted, who had lived an exemplary life in charge of his entire household. But isn’t that where we are today? Are we no better than Potiphar? Are we willing to destroy a man’s life because a woman said so? A woman without even a torn garment?

As a child who was abused, and as an adult who has many friends who have suffered abuse and then not been believed, I want to be able to always believe a child… always believe a woman… or a man… who claims abuse. But through my study and my work to heal I’ve learned a lot about how memory works. It’s not static. It evolves and changes with the story we tell ourselves. I actually have two different memories of how the stairs to that basement looked – one was straight and one was more of an “L” shape. I know memory is not infallible. There is a story in our family that has been told enough times that my husband swears he was there to see it. I know we were in a car on our way back from college and only heard about it. Memory is not infallible. And, furthermore, as a Christ-follower, I know we’re all messed up. We all lie at one time or another, for one reason or another. We live in a broken world with broken people.

And… as a believer… living in a broken world… I am given similar instruction to what the jurors in our legal system are given.

In Deuteronomy, Moses outlines to the Israelites the biblical qualifications given by Yahweh for bringing an accusation against someone:

“One witness shall not rise against a man concerning any iniquity or any sin that he commits; by the mouth of two or three witnesses the matter shall be established.” (Deut. 19:15, NKJV)

There it is… to bring an accusation we need at least two, preferably three, witnesses. Let me clarify that witnesses don’t necessarily need to be human. In our day and age a “witness” could be DNA, a fingerprint, a recording, a weapon… something that corroborates the accusation. The point is we are not to bring an accusation without any evidence. God is saying, long before the U.S. government, “Innocent until proven guilty.”

I admit… that can be a little hard to swallow when we can point to cases like mine where the accused would walk away due to lack of evidence… lack of witnesses. But the truth is, in a broken world, we either require evidence (witnesses) in order to have some sort of civility and in the process allow the possibility of injustice at times, or we require no witnesses at all and allow the possibility of injustice every... single... time. We either require evidence, or we allow a witch hunt. God sees the danger and He outlines His plan to protect the innocent in a fallen world: Two or three witnesses provide corroboration… which leads to credibility… which leads to clarity.

And it’s not just Old Testament that requires more than an unsubstantiated accusation. Jesus himself requires it. He actually quotes the Deut. 19:15 passage in his instruction:

“If your brother sins, go and show him his fault in private; if he listens to you, you have won your brother. But if he does not listen to you, take one or two more with you, so that BY THE MOUTH OF TWO OR THREE WITNESSES EVERY FACT MAY BE CONFIRMED.” (Matt. 18:15-16, NASB)

And in 1 Timothy 5:19, Paul reiterates the same principle:

“Do not receive an accusation against an elder except on the basis of two or three witnesses.”

When God says something three times we need to sit up and listen. He’s serious. He does not want us to miss this. And if we look at the rest of the passage in Deuteronomy we see just how serious He is. First, He gives instruction on what to do if someone does bring an accusation without a witness. Then He tells us what should happen if the accuser is found to be false:

“If a false witness rises against any man to testify against him of wrongdoing, then both men in the controversy shall stand before the Lord, before the priests and the judges who serve in those days. And the judges shall make careful inquiry, and indeed, if the witness is a false witness, who has testified falsely against his brother, then you shall do to him as he thought to have done to his brother; so you shall put away the evil from among you. And those who remain shall hear and fear, and hereafter they shall not again commit such evil among you. Your eye shall not pity: life shall be for life, eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot.” (Deut. 19:16-21, NKJV)

God takes false accusations seriously! The accuser is to be dealt the same punishment the accused would have if found guilty. Note, though, that God puts limits on it. The same, not more. Life for life; eye for eye… we can’t go life for eye. He is a just God.

Still, even with limits, the punishment may seem harsh. Why does God insist on such strict measures? Because God knows the human heart. If the accuser is allowed to bring unsubstantiated accusations and faces no consequences then false accusations will run rampant. The accused may be unfairly judged and have his reputation ruined or receive unearned punishment. And if not, well… no harm, no foul, right? Move on and try again another day. The accuser has no incentive not to try again. In fact, it’s just the opposite.

If we allow someone to be found guilty (either legally or public opinion) without corroborating evidence (witnesses) then false accusation will be rewarded and not punished. People will be motivated to use it, not deterred by any (non)consequences. It will become an everyday weapon. We’ll set a new precedent while abandoning both God’s law and the time-tested ways of justice. Every single one of us will be guilty until proven innocent.

I am not saying Dr. Ford has brought false accusation. She could be telling the whole truth. She could be telling truth as she remembers it (keeping in mind that memory is fluid and fallible). What I am saying is she has not brought forth anything to back up her accusation. And, in fact, her witnesses have refuted it and her own testimony gives us reason to question her honesty. (E.G. she claims she didn’t want to testify because she’s afraid of flying and yet we find that she flies for fun, family and business).

What I am saying is that even if she is telling the entire truth, we set a dangerous precedent if we derail Judge Kavanaugh’s life without some sort of supporting, credible evidence. If we let that happen, all that is needed to ruin someone is an accusation. No evidence. Guilty until proven innocent.

And, finally, one more thought. If the accusation she brought were undeniable, unrefuted fact (which it is not)… Does a sin 36 years ago, as awful as it is, disqualify a person who has lived an exemplary life since then from becoming a Supreme Court Justice? Please know, I am NOT saying boys will be boys and we should turn our eyes away. Boys need to be taught better and disciplined severely for that type of behavior!

But if you are quick to say something 36 years ago does disqualify him from service today – despite his apparently exemplary life since then and even now – I’d ask you to consider Moses. Before he was a lawgiver… before he sat and made decisions on the disagreements of the Israelites (he did act as judge for his people!)… before that… he was a murderer. It was witnessed. He never served time. He must have been terrified to go to Pharaoh knowing what was in his past! But 40 years (and God) had changed him. He went from lawbreaker and murderer to lawgiver and trusted judge. I’d ask you to consider David, Israel’s greatest king… also a murderer and an adulterer. I’d ask you to consider Paul the apostle, who was Saul the persecutor and murderer. God seems to forgive and use. We tend to accuse and abuse. And, finally, I’d ask you to consider Joseph, a convicted attempted rapist who became the second in command for all of Egypt. Yes, he was wrongly accused. But Pharaoh had no way of knowing that.

I want to make clear that my heart breaks for victims of sexual abuse. My heart is torn into shreds by the stories of those who weren’t and aren’t believed. I see them on my support groups with heartbreaking frequency. I’ve met several of them. Listened to many more. I know they are out there. But I couldn’t, even given that, toss aside the time-tested ways of justice and the mandates of God’s law in order to condemn a man whom the evidence has shown to be an honest, God-fearing, woman-cheering, man.

I have to ask... which is the more grievous error: to set free a guilty man, or to condemn an innocent one?

Based on Deuteronomy 19, I’d have to say God would answer the latter.


-jenn

Fishing Boats & Falling Chains

I saw something out on the lake last night I didn't expect. Felt something I didn't expect. But... well... I guess I should back up a little....

Healing is hard work. And while I recognize the people and circumstances that God has placed in my life at just the right time, truth is… most of the time I feel like I’ve done a lot of it. I’m the one who has had to look at it… see what it means… recognize the way things have impacted me… fought to step out of those protective mechanisms and become more whole. But there’s one area that’s just hard. I haven’t figured out how to do it. It’s not as simple as learning to be more open; or gaining the courage to face conflict; or trust someone else enough to share what’s going on inside me.

No… this is about actually feeling what’s going on inside me.

Emotions. Ugh. I learned to “stuff” them a long time ago. And despite the fact that I know it’s not healthy… and I know I need to feel and express them… I haven’t been able to figure out how. How do you feel something you’ve shoved so far down that you aren’t even fully cognizant of it yourself? There’s no book that tells you how to feel emotions; no 10-step method to success. I simply cannot fathom how to begin.

Earlier this year, it came up in a therapy session (again). And as I pondered it in the following days, I eventually came to this conclusion: This is something I can’t do. This is something only God can do. This… this is where I wait on Him… this is where He gets to show off. I. Just. Can’t.

It was only a few days after that revelation that my pastor preached from the pulpit on Acts 12:7:

Suddenly an angel of the Lord appeared, and a light shone in the cell. Striking Peter on the side, he woke him up and said, "Quick, get up!" Then the chains fell off his wrists.

As my pastor made the point that nothing can hold what God wants free, I knew I was hearing from God. He was giving me confirmation of what I’d come to days before: He wanted those stuffed, bound, emotions set free… and He had every intention of loosing the chains that held them. Him. Not me.

A few days later, some other things began unfolding that took my focus off my struggle with my emotions. Honestly, I kind of forgot about it in light of other things happening. And yet… those other things… unbeknownst to me… were loosing the chains without me even noticing.

It started a couple of months later with beginning to feel the good emotions – extremely joyful, contented emotions. A compliment from my husband a couple of weeks ago actually unleashed tears of joy as it touched something deep within me. Definitely not my norm! But it didn’t stop there… on the heels of that burst of emotion, I felt something else… something sad and grief-like. I told my husband, "...it's like opening my heart to the good emotions cracked open the door to others, buried deeper." I didn’t really recognize them, or where they came from… just a general feeling that there was something sad there.

And then… then last night… a grief I could recognize and name… a grief I should’ve dealt with 25 years ago… surprised me as it pushed through that door. I journaled:

Quiet day.

The first day with all the windows open. A slight breeze coming in off the lake most of the day. The sounds of water lapping the seawall… flag rustling in the wind… birdsong… neighbors putting in their dock. Sun coming in the windows….

As I worked on supper, the breeze laid. I turned on some soft praise music. And as I turned in the kitchen and saw evening falling on the lake… with quiet music filling my heart… peace… joy… out of the corner of my eye, in my mind, I saw my grandpa’s fishing boat out on the water. I felt it as much as saw it.

I don’t often get emotional thinking of my grandparents (it’s been nearly 25 years since Grandpa began swapping fish stories with Jesus’ disciples).... But tonight, tears gather. And to be honest, I’m not even sure if they are tears of joy or sadness. I feel joy in my heritage. Not just this lake, but my faith. Not just my grandparents, but the great-grandma whom I only have vague memories of, but I know beyond a shadow of a doubt prayed for us. It was who she was – a woman of faith and prayer. And so… there’s joy… at knowing my heritage… knowing they would have loved this evening… in this place… the same way I do.

And yet… at the same time… a longing…. To share this evening with them. To hear my grandpa’s laughter echo out over the water… to see his pole with a line out over the side of the boat… to feel their love surround me…. To sit and talk with my great grandma Cora about her life and faith. How did she become the woman she was? What was it that shaped her into such a strong woman of faith?

And, oh… to see Grandpa’s boat headed toward shore.

He would’ve loved this evening on the lake.

And I would have loved to share it with him.

And the tears fall.

Yeah… I’d say God’s working on those chains. :)

Slowly… gently.… Without me even realizing it.

I am realizing that my chains aren’t going to just fall off like Peter’s. They’ve been too tight for too long. Too much, too quickly… in something that’s been so cutoff for so long… would cause more harm than good, I think.  And so I know... it’s kindness that loosens them a little at a time.

It is… Jehovah Rapha.

-jenn

Even When You Don't Know You Need It (Life Lesson from my Chiropractor)

Two days ago, I woke with a hip that did not want to move correctly. It was tight and painful. It didn’t matter whether I sat or stood, I couldn’t find relief in any position. Yesterday, it was worse. I couldn’t bend forward. At all. Just the weight of my hands in front of me rinsing out an article of clothing in the sink caused enough pain to make me feel nauseated. My husband urged me to call our chiropractor. I did. But... I kid you not, less than five minutes after making the call, I put my heel up on a stair for a hamstring stretch and heard a very deep, very solid “pop.” Oh. Yup. That was it, I just knew it. But I felt a little foolish thinking about calling back just a few minutes after making the appointment to tell the office staff “never mind.” I wasn’t entirely sure, anyway – muscles tend to take a bit to settle down after something like that. So… I didn’t call.

Sure enough, this morning the hip felt pretty much normal. I considered calling and canceling my appointment. But I have this thing about commitment – especially when someone’s livelihood depends on it. I feel like it’s really rude to cancel without significant notice. What if they can’t fill my spot? So… I kept the appointment. I drove the 1.5 hours into the office (yes, I love my chiropractor that much, lol). I told him what had happened and he went to work. We chatted as he worked on my normal problem areas and I got in the car to come home.

And you know what? I felt better than I had on the drive in. I hadn’t felt bad on the drive in… if you’d asked me, I would have said I was fine and didn’t really need the appointment. I wasn’t in any pain, no noticeable tension… it was a good drive up. But on the way back, I could feel a difference. I felt looser and more “free.” And not just that hip, but my entire body – neck; back; shoulders; even a foot, lol. On the drive up, I honestly hadn’t noticed feeling tight or stiff at all. But after the visit, I noticed the absence of the tension I didn’t even know I was holding. I noticed the more relaxed feeling in my body.

And it hit me… how that picture of freedom I didn’t know I needed… healing I didn’t know I needed… reflects my life as a whole. I saw how my chiropractor’s touch on my body reflects the touch of God on my life... brokenness healed by a touch I didn’t even know I needed.

I was 18 when I first disclosed that I’d been sexually abused. I’d been 6 or 7 when it happened, and I assured those I disclosed to that I was fine – it had been a long time ago and I’d dealt with it… hardly ever thought about it. The only reason I thought about it then was in large part due to my abuser’s recent suicide. I actually felt compassion and grief realizing he had hurts I knew nothing about. My anger had dissipated years ago. My grief now was for him, not me. I was fine. I even counseled a few people in later years who were dealing with their own experiences with abuse – assuring them that it was possible to live a normal life after abuse. I was good, after all.

And then… over 20 years after I disclosed… in my mid-forties… I sat across from a Christian psychologist and told him I didn’t know why I had trouble sharing emotion and hurt with my husband – I knew he would never hurt me. And our counselor looked at me and asked who had hurt me. I couldn’t come up with anything other than childhood bullies. But as he began flipping though my chart, I suddenly knew what he was looking for. My abuser’s name quietly slipped through my lips. I argued, though: That was years ago; I didn’t harbor any hurt or anger – I’d forgiven and moved on.

What I began to see, though, – starting that day and continuing over the next few years – was the damage I hadn’t even been aware I carried. It’s been hard work. It’s still hard work at times. But there have also been times I’ve felt the difference. I’ve stepped out in a freedom that felt new and different. Lighter. God was (and is) slowly healing things I didn’t even know were broken.

I won't lie... sometimes that healing involves pain. It means touching areas I'd just as soon leave alone. But afterwards there’s a new freedom in places where I didn’t even realize anything was "stuck."

Like the visit to my chiropractor, sometimes I’ve felt the new freedom more than I’d noticed the existing tension. It’s funny how you can be broken and not even realize it. I think we all have those places. We're used to it. It feels normal to us. Only when healing comes do we notice the difference.

And… as I sit here feeling the beginning of tension in my hip again… I know, too, that there’s still work to be done. It’s a process. And one I need to participate in. It’s time to stretch… in more ways than I probably want to consider. But that’s how freedom comes… even when you don’t know how much you need it.

-jenn