He Never Lets Go

The first box is now open.  A thick layer of dust had collected over the lid like a scab on an old wound.  The contents are now exposed to the first light it has seen in years.  

2 Samuel 22:29 says "You are my lamp, O Lord; the Lord turns my darkness into light."

So, let Your light shine, God.  Shine on me.  Expose this darkness.

Sometimes Satan uses invisible shackles to bind us up.  Shackles we don't even know are there, until God exposes the work of the enemy and in the light of His glory, He sets us free! 

I didn't know that this was holding me back.  Until Sunday.  When I saw the sister of a man who had wronged me.  Seeing her face - one I hadn't seen in years - caused me to dig far back into my memory...where did I know her from??  Her last name had changed, her face had aged...but I knew that I knew her...

When I finally pieced it all together, I was nearly knocked off my feet.  I knew immediately that this was no accident.  No...indeed, this was the divine appointment of God to bring this memory to the forefront of my mind so that we could deal with it - once and for all.

When a person you trust and look up to for guidance takes inappropriate actions toward you, you can walk away from the situation feeling guilt and shame.  Especially when you're an impressionable teenager.  And even more traumatic when it's a spiritual mentor. 

The guilt and shame attaches itself to you, like a cyst, and grows more and more toxic, the longer it is left unaddressed.  Guilt and shame has wreaked havoc on my adult life in ways that God is about to make known to me, through a complete healing and extraction of the toxic residue that has been contaminating me for more than half my life.

I don't know where this man is now.  I don't want to know.  I don't need to know.  But I know God has just called me to forgive him.  So I whispered, "I forgive him.  I forgive him.  I forgive him."  And slowly the weight begins to lift and the tears begin to fall.   

The most important thing that God is showing me through this, is that I was in no way guilty of anything and I have no reason to feel ashamed.  I need only feel compassion for the man who caused these feelings to take up residence in me and allow God's grace and mercy to wash over me like a flood.  Washing away the debris, the wreckage, the remains of the effect this event has had on my life.

I don't look any different.  Not on the outside, anyway.  But as I asked God to let all the residue that had been plaguing me to run off of me straight to the pit of hell where it belongs, I asked him to heal the wound and remove the scar.  He gently said to me that He would heal the wound, but that the scar would remain, as a testimony to his grace and mercy in my life, and so that others may see and know that they, too, could be healed. 

Scars offer opportunities to share our story.  I am reminded of a story I heard a long time ago:

Some years ago on a hot summer day in south Florida a little boy decided to go for a swim in the old swimming hole behind his house.
In a hurry to dive into the cool water, he ran out the back door, leaving behind shoes, socks, and shirt as he went. He flew into the water,  not realizing that as he swam toward the middle of the lake, an alligator was swimming toward the shore. His mother - in the house was looking out the window - saw the two as they got closer and closer together.  In utter fear, she ran toward the water, yelling to her son as loudly as she could.
Hearing her voice, the little boy became alarmed and made a U-turn to swim to his mother. It was too late. Just as he reached her, the alligator reached him.
From the dock, the mother grabbed her little boy by the arms just as the alligator snatched his legs. That began an incredible tug-of-war between the two. The alligator was much stronger than the mother, but the mother was much too passionate to let go. A farmer happened to drive by, heard her screams, raced from his truck, took aim and shot the alligator.
Remarkably, after weeks and weeks in the hospital, the little boy survived. His legs were extremely  scarred by the vicious attack of the animal and, on his arms, were deep scratches where his mother's fingernails dug into his flesh in her effort to hang on to the son she loved.

The newspaper reporter who interviewed the boy after the trauma, asked if he would show him his scars. The boy lifted his pant legs. And then, with obvious pride, he said to the reporter, "But look at my arms.  I have great scars on my arms, too. I have them because my mom wouldn't let go."

I can't prove whether or not this story is true, but that's not important.  What is important is what this story means...the moral of the story.  And that is that we have scars because someone loved us enough to hold on tightly and never let go.  That someone is God.  He loves us that much. 

We are in a battle for our lives, and while Satan may have us by the leg, God has us by the arms and He is too passionate to let go. 

Thank God, for He never lets go.

Be blessed.