Not broken…

Its interesting how when you state a truth for yourself

that the tester of truth comes to test

I recently got an Ah ha moment

I am no longer broken

I am healed in the name of Jesus

I will no longer live life from my broken places

but from my healed risen life in Christ

it didn’t take long before

a situation came to one of my closest

reminding me of my past broken moments

Its strange that present things that charge emotional

can feel just like that crushing blow from the past

almost as if it happened today

and the innocence in the moment

crumbles into darkness and shadow

being covered by the blanket of past pain

I even heard myself say

My heart is broken

Telling myself that I am in need of forgiving myself

because I blamed myself for not being able to prevent

the situations that has reminded me of my shame

I have projected my inner reminder onto a current situation

when it was no where near the same

just reminisced inward that way

Can I believe??

There is therefore now no condemnation in Christ

can I believe ??

that the voice that comes to call me to shame is not the Spirit of God

it is none other than the enemy who seeks to destroy me and my faith

by getting my eyes off the truth

can I believe ??

that the soft and gentle voice that has asked me to lay the burden on Him

to release me from this tormenter of mind

is truly the Father who loves me who clearly calls me

Pure, clean, new, alive, restored, set free.

YES I CAN!

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Surviving Truth

I awoke out of a dead sleep. I tried to turn over and I heard the voice of a male say in a deep hush “don’t move.” I thought to myself am I dreaming and I tried to move again.  He spoke sharply “I said! don’t move!” but this time he pressed something like a knife, the tip felt like what I thought an ice pick might feel like and I froze. I was suddenly aware of what was happening. He then said, “lift up your shirt.” I said quietly and defiant “no!”  He repeated himself and so did I. He said more urgently “get up, slowly, don’t look at me!” and he pressed my face forward as he pulled me out of my bed.  I’m standing  in sweat pants and a t-shirt  I can feel the coolness of the floor on my bare feet. He stood just behind me to my right. His hand pressed on my left shoulder and his right hand held the knife to the side of my neck. He was tall. His shoulder was about level with my head and I could see out of the corner of my eye the tip of his nose and the light from the window shown off the top of his forehead. He moved  a little closer to me and wrapped his arm around my shoulders covering my chest. I reach up and grabbed his wrist to pull it down and away from my throat. I could feel a gauze-like covering on his arm. He said “ we are going to walk out of here! If you scream I will cut you!

Earlier that day I had met a man that introduced himself by his nickname, he called himself QT. Something about this man in my room seemed vaguely familiar. So I calmly said to the man “you’re QT aren’t you?”  He said, “no I’m not, now let’s go!” And again, I said “yes, you are! you are QT.” I remember thinking at this point it is very odd that he would be arguing with me if this was not QT. He said, “ stop saying that, no I am not!” And again I said, “ yes, you are!” This time, he gave me a jerking shove toward the door and said: “ let’s go!” I realized this was my last chance, either I find the courage to do something or this man is taking me out of my home.

My Mother and her boyfriend had their  bedroom right next to mine and it was about 2 o’clock in the morning. I had decided that there was NO WAY this man was taking me anywhere. He could cut me, kill me right here but he was not taking me anywhere to do whatever terrible thing he had in mind.  I knew what was up. I was an avid watcher of murder mystery and cop shows. I knew that if a perpetrator could remove you from the 1st location to a secondary location that you were as good as dead. So it was time to make a stand. I released all the emotion I had been holding back in order to stay calm and I felt a boil of rage, fear and terror coming from the bottom of my soul and it traveled up through my guts into my stomach and came out my mouth. It was a blood-curdling scream like nothing I have ever heard come out of me since. It was the stuff made of primal instinct, the reactions of the desperation for survival. I bared down and said in the most gut belting screech

“It’ssssssssssssssssss QT, AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

I heard the words “what the hell” come from the other room and so did this man who had thought he was taking me out of my home. He ran with swiftness and precision like he knew my house layout perfectly. The only thing that slowed his pace was in trying to open the front door. It was always locked with the bottom lock, the dead bolt, and the chain. That chain caught him by surprise, a detail he may have overlooked.  His pounding footsteps, the sounding bang of the chain catching the door and that door left wide open was the only evidence to my mom and her boyfriend of what just happened. My mom’s boyfriend ran out the door to see which way he had gone. My mom called the police.

While we waited for the cops. I told myself to calm down, I knew I was no longer in any harm. I didn’t think being an emotional mess would be helpful to the police. They needed the facts so they could catch the guy. The cop that came questioned me like I was up to no good. All his words forming skeptical and non-compassionate pictures. He kept asking me why I was so calm as if calmness meant I was a liar. He kept insinuating that I must have had my boyfriend over and it got a little to ruff and we made noise and this was the story to cover it up. He had decided that what I was telling him was not true based on the fact that I was not an emotional wreck.  The cop said to my mom “ you have quite a little actress there!” Needless to say, my mom told them to get out of her house. They never caught the guy. I’m not sure they ever really looked.

By all rights, I should be scared of dark nights, of being alone, fearful of an attacker coming into my home. But honestly, I am not. This moment in my life didn’t cause me physical fears. It formed spiritual ones. We all have been bent and shaped by the circumstances in our lives. For me,  I was more afraid of being considered dishonest, afraid of my word not being trusted. Through situations like this and a few others in younger years, I acquired a tape in my mind. It told me that people won’t believe me even if I do tell the truth. I have been in more situations than I can count where I think I hear accusation and insinuation or a little smidge of disbelief. I find myself studying the look on people’s faces or the tone in their voices, in reaction to what I am saying and I would shut down, turn off, and stop all communication if I caught a slight gathering that they didn’t believe me.

This belief system had formed the warped ways I had  expected trust from people all the while distrusting them. Instead of realizing that they have their own tapes from their own broken stories.

Psalm 44:21

would not God have discovered it, since he knows the secrets of the heart?

The Lord asks “ Do you trust me?”
Fear of what a person thinks was my warped expression of the need for trust and safety.

Through many years of God teaching me layers of what this trust issue looks like I have learned  I can be open and not shut down. I trust in God that while I am speaking my truth, no matter what happens, He will never change, nor will who He says I am or how He loves me.  Either I bow to fear and go silent or I stand in honor of my True King and speak rightly. He knows. He wants to walk with me through it all. Jesus wants to comfort me even when no one believes what I say and encourage me when I am afraid to speak with courage.

Do I stand or fall by what men may think or say?….no, not at all unless I embrace the fear.

I need only be grounded in the truth that God is the One I can fully trust to hear me, know me, and completely understand me and keep me, no matter what people around me may believe.

~Starla

I am linking with Emily @ Imperfect Prose

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