Hey friends, Here is a poem a mentor of mine wrote. If you ever have time you can read it if you want - just thought I would share it being that it was she shared it with me. I usually do not forward things -- but I thought I would let you all peek into it as well, it could be worth it for some of you.. It's about healing from the inside out. We have things that may have happened to us, and we have yet to let them be exposed and truly deal with them- to truly heal - we instead push it down or tell ourselves that it's not there - rather than dealing with it. So this is a poem about that.. (The child she talks about is herself her wounded self that is intented to be healed and free) There is a child within me I’ve hated and despised. For long as I can now recall her thoughts have filled my mind. I’ve tried to keep her hidden—desperate for relief From mirror of the one I vowed that I would never be. It’s hard to live divided, to know the truth in mind, And yet be filled deep in the heart with thoughts of other kind. I’ve loathed her very presence within the sacred space That God carved out to be His own, to be His dwelling place. And shame of this had weighed me down in silent deprivation; I walled her off from conscious thought in vain retaliation. For years I lived this torment of feeling screams inside; And yet refusing to admit these cries were really mine, I wouldn’t dream of giving voice to this unlovely child. Instead I painted mask of self that seemed content and mild. I even sat en-masked with God, for fear it’s not okay To feel the things this child felt, to say the things she’d say. I actually came to think I was just as I fantasized, Except, of course, for moments dark when her tears filled my eyes. And all the time, God loved so well—so patient with my heart. He saw this girl as me—my self—even from the start! One day the tender Savior, He asked to see her face.
He said He actually longed to hear her screaming voice released. I felt ashamed at how she yelled, deserving of a slap. Amazed I watched as Jesus sat and called her to His lap. He wept as He embraced her there—she, stiff and afraid. She wasn’t used to love like that; I’ve always shown her rage. I guess I blamed her for the block I felt from life and joy, And thought that I’d at last be free if she could be destroyed. I did not know that she could not just cease or disappear. The soul can only be denied, or loved, or left to fear. Still watching as Christ held her, my eyes began to see Him sweating drops of blood as He cried out with troubled plea. His weeping turned to heaving sobs; He bowed under the weight Of something dark and crushing. I knew it was my hate. He bore her deepest sorrows; rejection pierced His soul, And all the blows she ever took now entered Him in full. He turned and looked at me. I wished to disappear, So sure was I that I would see raw anger through His tears. Instead I saw a depth of love I scarcely could believe. He longed for me and didn’t despise me in my poverty! His blistered lips were moving. I heard a prayer that broke me. “Father, forgive this one I love, this one whom You’ve loved through Me.” And then the torment of the pain returned upon His face. I saw Him wear my heavy weights of shame and fear, disgrace. And when I’d thought I’d seen the worst, an awful vengeance shook Him: A wounding deep—so deep I feared that it would even kill Him. It seemed my hatred of my self which had entered His heart Was minor cut compared to this—this wrath that tore apart His very essence, sense of self, His soul, His breath, His life, For God’s pure hatred of her sin and mine now raged with might Against this Man who only loved, who never bent toward self or lust But longed to show the Father’s face, to those with broken trust. And fractured souls, like girl He held, He claimed as Father’s own, As Christ gave up a cry and died as one who was disowned. The girl I hated—her He loved, and didn’t feel ashamed To be with her, to hear her voice, to even take her place. And now I sobbed. A well of pain was opened up inside, The years of tears grown bitter by them rarely being cried. And waves of mercy came on me, and grace to be the child That needed love—the only love—able to reconcile Truth and kindness perfectly, to heal the inward parts Wounded by broken images of the Father’s heart. For every living soul that’s born must answer invitation To leave father and mother’s house of misrepresentation, And cleave to One—the only One—anointed to reveal The Father in His fullness: the Christ with bridegroom zeal. And then somehow I found myself where little girl had been: Enclosed in Savior’s arms, but He was raised to life again! He looked on me with joy! And play danced in His eyes! They seemed to ask what He could do to make me most alive… An ageless gaze, He peered into the fabric of my frame And found the threads that He wove there, the dreams that Father dreamed. His eyes still filled with laughter, He reached into my soul And ‘wakened joy that long had slept beneath religious rule. I felt my heart would burst with thanks for Christ’s pursuit of me. I saw in Him the deep intent to totally redeem: With joy, to take each wounded part and every fallen place And make it grounds on which He would reveal the Father’s face. The day I saw Christ weeping while holding little girl, I learned to stop disowning her with daily curses hurled. I learned that she is me, and that she could learn to love. If I would let her talk with God, she’d hear Him and grow up. For soul becomes what it beholds and echoes what it hears. And heart that knows it’s loved is free to let go of its fears. Lisa Gottshall 2008 | 
