bjm21

Bobbie Jo Morrell is a mountain woman, poet, writer, leather crafter, rustic furniture builder, cat owner, technical writer, website designer. She says, “Colorado’s Front Range, with the smell of pine trees in the cool air of morning, is my home.” Her blog address: http://soulscompass.blogspot.com/.

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Deeper Warrior Chapter 15: Stalking the Wild Hope

Looking carefully to make sure that Christine was nowhere in sight, I silently closed my door and slid out to the sunny sidewalk. Quickly moving down the street, I passed Memorial Lutheran Church, passed the Campus Book Store, headed for the little bookstore in the basement of the bank building. Again.

Once more I was in the Christian book store, drawn to, and frightened by, a small trade paperback sitting on a shelf. I made another stalking pass, and heard the question ring in my head again:

“Do you really want to be healed?”

The book was about abuse—childhood abuse—and how God wanted to heal you from it.

You’d think the answer would be an easy “Yes!” Ha! But I knew there would be a catch. I knew it would mean opening a door I’d been trying to keep tight shut for many, many years. A dark door, leading to a darker place, with shiny, flesh-eating ooze leaking out at the edges. Surely it meant death.

And what might God require of me? The forgiveness thing was heavy on me already. What did that mean? Would I have to face my abuser? What else would I have to dredge out of the darkness? Visions of some goofball Christian guy leaping out from behind a bush to shout at me, “It’s God’s will for you to marry me!” made me break out in a cold sweat. Being loved wasn’t even on my radar; all I could see was the confining duty of  the good Christian wife who quietly submitted to her “head”–the man.

Oh, hell no!

Can’t you just wave your magic wand and make it all go away? I can’t stand the pain and darkness of where I am—but I don’t know if I can survive the pain and darkness of opening That Door. Yes, I wanted to be healed. No, the pain and risk is too great.

Balanced on a knife edge of ambivalence, I kept coming back to stalk the book—to hear the question that Jesus seemed to be patiently asking me—over and over.

“Do you really want to be healed?”

Slowly I reached out to pick up the book. No electric shock, no lightning strike. Then quickly, before I could change my mind, I bought it and ran down the street toward home.

story by bobbie jo morrell, all rights reserved

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