Morning Page: Unhealable Wounds
This Morning Page was a difficult one to write. And it might be a difficult one for some people to read. I talk about child abuse and broken relationships with God. I considered marking it private, but I think it's worth sharing. Worth discussing.
Sunday's sermon was, as is the case in many Christian churches, I believe, about Jesus as a young man, maybe no more than a teenager, going to be baptized by his cousin John. Baptism is usually considered a ritual of washing away the uncleanliness about ourselves. Washing away bad thoughts, bad habits. John objected to Jesus' desire for baptism, recognizing in Jesus that he was already pure. But Jesus insisted. After Jesus was baptized, the voice of God proclaimed, "You are my Child, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased."
Rev Terri's sermon turned on that notion, that Jesus, who certainly didn't need to be cleansed of sins, still took the action to seek out God. And God's response was "You are my beloved, brilliant, wonderful child. I adore you." She expanded it to ask us to think this week of our own baptisms, Of our own relationships with the Divine. To know that we are all the beloved, brilliant, wonderful, adored children of God. That God delights in each of us as dearly as any parent can possibly dote on her child.
I didn't really break down crying, though, until I received communion, and Rev Terri's soft blessing to me was, "Remember that you are God's beloved child." At which point I nearly went weak-kneed with tears.
I've been thinking about it since then, wanting to and not wanting to write this post about it. I am the church census taker and the transcriber of the prayer cards, so when I sent this week's prayers and messages to Rev Terri, I added one of my own.
Dear Rev Terri,
Thank you for your blessing today. For both your sermon, and for the message that I need, but don't yet know how to hear. I'm trying. I want to hear it. I want to believe I am beloved by the Divine Creator. Why is it so very hard to actually embrace that idea? Why is it so much easier to believe that I am worth nothing in the eyes of the Creator?
Yours in Love.
Nezu
She wrote me back this morning.
Hi Nezu,
Learning to ask the right questions puts you over halfway there.... do you have some hints about: "Why is it so very hard to actually embrace that idea? Why is it so much easier to believe that I am worth nothing in the eyes of the Creator?"
It often goes back to the role an adult(s) (our only early image of God) played in our lives as children... Sometimes it's about a disconnect from what we've thought God is and what that God has actually done/not done based on that perceptions (i.e. we have proof the God of our understanding hasn't met us). Whatever it is, the answer lays inside of you, a place that still yearns to be healed.... wants to be healed, loved...
Terri
Oh that damned wounded child issue. It seems no matter how far I put it behind me, it's still festering at the root of every problem. Is it really the case that you can never overcome having been abused as a small child? I've heard it postulated that violence that happens before a child is five leaves unhealable wounds. I guess in some ways it's true. I don't think I'll ever fail to flinch at the sight of a hand in motion near my face. I'll always sleep lightly, startle easily. But I wish I could believe that a sureness of God's love could seep in and make up for my equal sureness of my mother's early hatred.
And the thing I really don't get is this: I've worked damned hard to repair my relationship with my mom, and she with me. I am quite sure that however she felt about me as a child, she loves me now. In fact, I now believe she loved me as best she could then, she just didn't have the capacity for the love I needed, because she was so consumed by her own unhealed childhood wounds.
I have forgiven my mother. Planted a whole new garden of love with my mother. Why is that not enough? If I have healed that rift with my mom, why is the very foundation of my soul still a yawning chasm?
And is our relationship with God, really, in the end, only some shattered reflection of our relationship with our parents? Is there a God out there at all? Is there anything big enough to fill the cavity that a childhood deficient in love left behind?
I know she'll probably say yes. God is that big, God does love you that much. I wish I had that faith.
Sunday's sermon was, as is the case in many Christian churches, I believe, about Jesus as a young man, maybe no more than a teenager, going to be baptized by his cousin John. Baptism is usually considered a ritual of washing away the uncleanliness about ourselves. Washing away bad thoughts, bad habits. John objected to Jesus' desire for baptism, recognizing in Jesus that he was already pure. But Jesus insisted. After Jesus was baptized, the voice of God proclaimed, "You are my Child, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased."
Rev Terri's sermon turned on that notion, that Jesus, who certainly didn't need to be cleansed of sins, still took the action to seek out God. And God's response was "You are my beloved, brilliant, wonderful child. I adore you." She expanded it to ask us to think this week of our own baptisms, Of our own relationships with the Divine. To know that we are all the beloved, brilliant, wonderful, adored children of God. That God delights in each of us as dearly as any parent can possibly dote on her child.
I didn't really break down crying, though, until I received communion, and Rev Terri's soft blessing to me was, "Remember that you are God's beloved child." At which point I nearly went weak-kneed with tears.
I've been thinking about it since then, wanting to and not wanting to write this post about it. I am the church census taker and the transcriber of the prayer cards, so when I sent this week's prayers and messages to Rev Terri, I added one of my own.
Dear Rev Terri,
Thank you for your blessing today. For both your sermon, and for the message that I need, but don't yet know how to hear. I'm trying. I want to hear it. I want to believe I am beloved by the Divine Creator. Why is it so very hard to actually embrace that idea? Why is it so much easier to believe that I am worth nothing in the eyes of the Creator?
Yours in Love.
Nezu
She wrote me back this morning.
Hi Nezu,
Learning to ask the right questions puts you over halfway there.... do you have some hints about: "Why is it so very hard to actually embrace that idea? Why is it so much easier to believe that I am worth nothing in the eyes of the Creator?"
It often goes back to the role an adult(s) (our only early image of God) played in our lives as children... Sometimes it's about a disconnect from what we've thought God is and what that God has actually done/not done based on that perceptions (i.e. we have proof the God of our understanding hasn't met us). Whatever it is, the answer lays inside of you, a place that still yearns to be healed.... wants to be healed, loved...
Terri
Oh that damned wounded child issue. It seems no matter how far I put it behind me, it's still festering at the root of every problem. Is it really the case that you can never overcome having been abused as a small child? I've heard it postulated that violence that happens before a child is five leaves unhealable wounds. I guess in some ways it's true. I don't think I'll ever fail to flinch at the sight of a hand in motion near my face. I'll always sleep lightly, startle easily. But I wish I could believe that a sureness of God's love could seep in and make up for my equal sureness of my mother's early hatred.
And the thing I really don't get is this: I've worked damned hard to repair my relationship with my mom, and she with me. I am quite sure that however she felt about me as a child, she loves me now. In fact, I now believe she loved me as best she could then, she just didn't have the capacity for the love I needed, because she was so consumed by her own unhealed childhood wounds.
I have forgiven my mother. Planted a whole new garden of love with my mother. Why is that not enough? If I have healed that rift with my mom, why is the very foundation of my soul still a yawning chasm?
And is our relationship with God, really, in the end, only some shattered reflection of our relationship with our parents? Is there a God out there at all? Is there anything big enough to fill the cavity that a childhood deficient in love left behind?
I know she'll probably say yes. God is that big, God does love you that much. I wish I had that faith.