Bats, Battles & Declarations

I’m sitting at Starbucks and I’m mad. Not at Starbucks; Starbucks is medicating me with caffeine, sugar and chocolate at the moment!

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At 5:30 this morning I was lying awake, staring at the shadowy ceiling, when I saw a bat circling over my bed! I wish I could describe a heroic response. Instead, I yelled (guys in their forties do NOT scream, they yell!), and pulled the blankets over my head with a loud “GOD, THIS IS TOO MUCH!!!” The invasion of the bat was stirring feelings of being intruded upon and violated, feelings associated with very old memories. That’s the real reason for my anger.

I suspect that we all have memories that are about as welcome, and as intrusive, as a bat flying around the house.

Scripture instructs us to take every thought captive. (2 Corinthians 10:5). I used to believe that meant denying very real pain from very real memories by pasting on a very fake “everything’s fine, bless God” smile. But true healing from pain-filled memories necessitates more than mere “positive thinking”. Otherwise, positive thoughts become nothing more than blankets of denial to hide beneath, as painful memories swoop unchecked overhead – just like the bat flying over my bed. Memories heal as we take the risk to truthfully face the source of our pain.

 “The trouble with steeling yourself against the harshness of reality is that the same steel that secures your life against being destroyed secures your life also against being opened up and transformed.” (Frederick Buechner, The Sacred Journey)

Battles are not won by lemonade-sipping dreamers full of positive thoughts envisioning the enemy captured behind the barbed wires of a prison camp. (Nothing against lemonade.) Rather, enemies are captured by soldiers who courageously confront the harsh realities of their war.

I don’t know what pain-filled memories you battle. Mine stem from a history that includes sexual (and other) abuse, as well as my own battles with addiction.

Taking painful memories captive requires a courageous commitment to honesty:

1. honesty with God,
2. honesty with trusted others
3. honesty with ourselves (maybe the hardest!)

We who chose to face whatever lies behind our pain are the courageous ones. We won’t deny feelings of anger, hatred, revenge, sadness (the list goes on) that have held us prisoner. Our honesty allows us to freely grieve what (and who) has caused wounds.
Our honesty guards us from making excuses for our own poor decisions. Honesty makes the choice to accept responsibility for our responses to what (and who) caused painful memories.

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Honesty invites God to comfort wounds with His promises of new life. His love, often expressed through the support of others, shrinks giants of loneliness and confronts warped identities with truth . Grieving which is no longer repressed yields life. The time-consuming battle of honesty makes healing a reality.

The healing journey of honesty doesn’t undo the reality of my being abused or my own wrong choices. (It won’t rewrite your history, either.) But healing through honesty is strengthening my faith and growing my assurance in the future God has promised. Honesty is freeing me from a life lived in the shadows. Honesty is allowing me to give, and receive, forgiveness beyond what I had dreamed possible.

As I finish writing, I remain angry. But not at a bat. I’m angry at the enemy who used my past to hold me captive with pain-filled memories. I’m choosing to stand as a warrior in this battle. I hope you have made that same choice. I have no weapons of my own making, but I am given every weapon that I need.  (Ephesians 6) I stand, not in my strength, but rather in the strength of the One in me Who is greater than the enemy who comes against me. (1 John 4:4)