To My Friends in the Den,

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If you have read my poem Cry of the Wounded Heart posted yesterday, then you are witnessing a miracle in the making.

I used that phrase in Redeeming Our Treasures, a book that addresses my own victimization of 28 years, the denial by my mother, and the spiritual and therapeutic dynamics of healing.  As a Christian counselor, I have dug deeply in the Word of God for hope, healing, and guidance as I traversed a lonely path from the depths of suffering sexual abuse to the heights of joy and victory in Christ Jesus. I have discarded emotional baggage along the way and have experienced dynamic change in the process.

Wherever I may be on that craggy slope we call the mountain of life, I am not at the pinnacle.  Every time I think I might be, I realize I am simply at a plateau--and the journey isn't over.  The wonder of that is the glorious sunrises and sunsets I witness from where I stand.  The sun sets on some parts of my life and rises again in the morning.  More glorious and wonderful than ever before once the dark night has passed.

I love my friends in the den and I have shared my heart with you on a daily basis for the past several months. You are part of the support system that God has blessed me with.  Most of you, it seems, know and love God as I do.  Some of you may not know him, or even believe in him, but you respect my faith.  You, too, enrich my life with your compassion and understanding.  We are all created in the image of God, and share a part of His nature. We need each other--and we love to gift each other with the insights that flow uniquely through our pen.

So... I wanted to say more about the poem, Cry of the Wounded Heart.  I wrote an article on www.beyond-abuse.org yesterday that reflects my incipient understanding of the role the counselor and the church must undertake in order to reduce the affliction of sexual abuse on children in our society. 

Such musing originated the creative flow that birthed the poem: Cry of the Wounded Heart

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Many of you know how hard it was for me to come to this place. The first of the poem came easy--the middle came later--the last section-- I could not have written that part two years ago when I started writing Redeeming Our Treasures, because I didn't believe it.  I didn't want to believe it.  I knew it in my head but rejected it in my heart. Even when I wrote my father a letter saying, "I forgive you and I hope you go to heaven," ambivalence tore at my heart.  Part of me didn't want to be there, no not even in heaven, if I had to share it with him.  I didn't want to be in the same universe with him--here or hereafter.  I can't say that I will run up to the man and hug him if he squeaked through the pearly gates--but I have come to the place that a tiny part of my heart hopes, honestly hopes, that he made his peace with God.  And that, my friends, is a product of my healing.  

Healing and forgiveness are like twin rivers.  They flow together.  We cannot forgive without some level of healing--and we cannot heal with surrendering our bitterness so that forgiveness can flow.

Love to all,

Linda