There is no difference in the human experience today from what it was thousands of years ago. We hide from Him, and we hide from each other, full of shame and embarrassed by our humanity.
Didn't they know that the fig leaves would wither? It would take something much more brutal to cover what we had done—thus, the slaughter of an innocent animal.
Thus began redemption.
It is a heavy burden when we choose to cover our sin with fabric of our own making.
It has been many years since I first started blogging, and in my way of thinking, too many years have passed. However,
"For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways," declares the Lord.
—Isaiah 55:8-9
My ego and my self-coverings are no longer enough to hide behind, and He has begun calling me to walk naked before Him without shame.
Sometimes we give that lying lizard too much credit for the hard times in our lives. A Father who loves us enough to chastise us and lead us deeper into the knowledge that He alone is our source. It took His hand of correction in my life to get me to where I am today. Sometimes in that correction, I felt my very life was coming to an end. He will step down into the pits that we have dug for ourselves, and with His tender mercy, He will move us into a place of brokenness. It is in the darkness of those pits, where our lives lay in pieces at our feet, that our sight is being restored.
A lot of things broke my heart,
but fixed my vision.
I have always prayed He would allow me this one thing: that my journey to the cross, as rough and ugly as it has been, might spare just one person from the grip of heartache. The kind of heartache that is debilitating to the human soul.
I have cried, and prayed, and believed—and cried, and prayed, and believed. I have begged and cried more, yet the heavens remained silent. Or so it seemed. I needed healing, and I needed to be free from the strongholds that gripped my heart and soul. For years I struggled with guilt and shame, and it plagued my life. I needed the freedom that the Word promises.
"Peace I leave with you; My peace I give unto you, not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid." —John 14:27
Sometimes the healing that we so long for lies right before our eyes, but it takes the Holy Spirit to become involved. It is then that our eyes are opened, and the healing that we have longed for comes to life.
Revelation 12:11
And they overcame him by the blood of the Lamb, and by the word of their testimony; and they loved not their lives unto the death.
I have read this scripture more times than I can count. I have quoted it and shared it with many people over the years. Yet, I have never applied it to myself.
The title of my blog, "Samaritan Women Among You," is the story of the woman at the well in John Chapter 4. If you have never read her story, take a few minutes and read it. As you read, put yourself in her place for just a brief moment. Even if you have never felt the crushing reality of divorce, betrayal, and loneliness, try to imagine what it might be like to hang your head in shame and regret, along with a plethora of other emotions that many of us navigate through each day. Women like me have experienced it all.
Try to experience her hopelessness. For in that hopelessness, her vision of tomorrow holds no promise that life will ever be different.
We walk among you every day. You pass us on the street and in the grocery store. You see us in the doctor's office and sit beside us on the pews on Sunday morning.
I have studied that woman. I have followed her to the well in the middle of the day. I have watched her approach the well only to see a man sitting nearby. I watch as she pulls back into herself, trying to be invisible. I watch as she becomes defensive, a weapon she is all too familiar with. She braces for yet another knowing glance of condemnation. But that glance never came. She would meet the Savior that day.
I know exactly what she felt. I know exactly what it feels like for others to cast a side glance toward me. I know exactly what it feels like to wear a scarlet letter of shame and regret. I know what it is like to wear the title "second-class Christian," a title that, most of the time, I applied to myself. I know; I have lived it for many years. I know what it is like to sit on a church pew, worshiping with fellow believers, while praying they will never find out who I really am. That kind of fear paralyzes you. It is the job of the enemy of our souls, and he rejoices when he sees the chains that have us bound.
Some of us are prone to wander in our journeys, and I am one of those women. I was hard-headed, and at one time, I shook my fist at a God I did not know yet as my Father and shouted, "No one will ever tell me what to do again!" That statement, back in 1977, would bring me to this place: lying prostrate on the floor in the middle of the night, screaming into pillows so no one could hear.
Even in my darkness, I did not consider my pain important enough to be heard.
Broken people seeking love and acceptance takes them to places where there are only broken people seeking love and acceptance—and that is a recipe for disaster.
My testimony has been forged in the fires of abuse and heartache—regrets that keep me awake at night. Memories that cause me to cringe instead of smile. A lifetime of making decisions that set into motion the unbelievable sorrow that has enslaved me. However, in telling my story, I pray you will see Jesus. After all, my testimony is not for my sake, but for someone who might read it.
This has to be a journey of healing. It has to be the way for overcoming the darkness that has followed me for so many decades.
I need the healing.
If just one person, walking in shame as I have for so many years, catches just a glimmer of His face turned toward them and understands that they are precious in the sight of the Savior, Redeemer, then my journey has been worth the scars.