Monthly Archives: September 2015

Accident 478; July 21, 2015

When I was a child, being raised in a Dutch-Canadian home, I was well learned on Corrie ten Boom.

One of her stories laid dormant in me until just a few weeks ago.

Corrie Ten Boom was famous for writing of a time when her and her family were in concentration camps as a result of hiding Jews in their home during the holocaust.  Afterwards, she wrote of a soldier that was well known for his cruelty.  The details of this man, and his relationship specifically to her, I don’t remember exactly, however, the childhood impact of learning that she was standing there on a pulpit talking of forgiveness, when walking up the isle to meet her, was one of the most sadistic men in the camp, raising his hand to hold hers in forgiveness.  I can only imagine the feelings that would have been coursing through her as she held his hand and tested her own preachings of forgiveness; only something supernatural can attest to her ability to forgive.

The horror of forgiveness has hibernated in me since.

How can you ever, ever forgive a bad person?  When so commonly, I can’t even forgive the snotty little teenager the neighbor struggles to control and stomps my flowers, let alone someone who’s been at the very least, reckless with my heart?

Through complete submission of all feelings to Dear God.  It’s the only explanation that I can think of that makes sense.  And it’s not a process that comes easily – I haven’t been in a holocaust, but I have had a man treat me worse than he did his dealer.  He tilted the rules of relationship to fit his gross agenda and lied extravagantly until at one point it nearly cost me my life.  Forgive him?  Worse, forgive me for participating in the relationship with him?  I thought it was impossible.

That keyhole and the camel story has some merit to it, because until you can truly allow your heart to break, you can never truly mend and it’s a [expletive adjective] tight emotional hole to go through.  But when you get to the other side, there’s a whole kingdom in there.

That keyhole is the horror of forgiveness; the willingness to be so broken by the pain that you’re willing to be healed by something that can only be supernatural.

I accidentally forgave my ex-husband.  I also forgave myself.

The healing is supernatural.

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Accident 38, Part C; June 15, 2014

Diary,

I accidental allowed my heart to open up to love again.

Just a week before I met this man, a dear friend of mine and mentor since I was 11 years old flew into town.

Her and I prayed extensively as we hiked, I had a panic attack, she prayed over me, as we talked and I cried, she prayed again.  In her prayers, she asked Dear God to bring love into my life and not just any love, but The Love of my life.

I was openly sarcastic and not without my doubts.  I mean, I only just started inviting Dear God back into my life, how in the heck does he plan on getting this stone of a heart to ever open up again?

So far, it opened and it can only be Dear God because I was on my own, hoping I’d transform into a Lesbian rather than ever trust in a man.

Mysterious ways, absolutely.  Knows my heart’s desires more than I know my own?  Absolutely.

Accident 501, Part C; August 29, 2015

Personally it has also been a journey.

When I get anxious, I pound away angrily at my keyboard creating tasks, spreadsheets, answering emails, haranguing employees, balancing the books, pulling reports … an exhaustive effort in tasks that do nothing for my emotional self.  And when there isn’t work left, I start on groceries, cleaning car, house maintenance and nagging those that live with me to live up to this standard of perfection around me that doesn’t exist.  It also doesn’t make me feel better while also alienating the people that mean the most to me – those that live and work with me.

So I’ve discovered, it’s not about the bible study, the daily reading or the intensive prayer before bed or even chalking up my church-going life to be put in the same category as my chores, and it’s not even in the lack of those things, but it’s the relationship, the people that matter.

What does this person, me, have with Jesus right now?  Today, am I a Mary or a Martha? Are we in relationship, or are we in task?

Great people are those that recognize people, not tasks, are the true measure of a person.

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