Tools for Battle

A few months ago I hit an emotional tsunami. My radar didn’t pick up on it, and by the time I realized what was happening, it knocked me off my feet. I hit the floor in prayer. I prayed for strength to battle “the uglies” again. I imagined them crawling up through the rubble, coming after me. Terror struck.

In the middle of prayer-ranting, and after the fourth or fifth “I” will statement, I fell silent. 

“I” cannot do this anymore. I wept as I prayed, “Lord, I cannot continue to battle “the uglies”. I’ve been at peace for years. Why now? Did You bathe me in love to abandon me?

I paused, sensing the real truth. God wanted me to go through this battle the way I should have done all the others, with Him. This meant taking down guardrails, unplugging defense mechanisms, and trusting fully. I prayed, “This battle is Yours, Father. Suit me up. Give me a rock to hold. Tell me when to hurl it. Fill me with strength and courage. You’re asking me to give You all that I am.”

A feeling of calm extinguished my panic. I felt Jesus ask me to forget the rock and pick up a shovel and pick. We were going deeper into the horror chamber of my mind. It was all I could do to breathe. For days and weeks before this, Jesus had kept me tight in His Word. Now He was going to show me how to kill “the uglies” and how to survive. Over the next few weeks, I trained hard. God kept asking me to remember all His promises and provisions. 

I’m ashamed to say it, but I began to fear these new demons more than trusting God. I knew how they operated – full demolition. Maybe I wasn’t strong enough to do this even with God. Could I put all my trust in Him? Could I throw out the “me” and all “my” coping mechanisms and let Him lead this next battle? Could I?

“Prayer is not just asking.

It is listening for God’s orders.”

~Billy Graham

Jesus said, “Remember!”

He drove me through copious journals I had written. For those of you that don’t know me, I’ve been writing since I was a little girl. Even when I couldn’t express my feelings on paper, I would draw pictures. Writing offered me the privilege of putting painful circumstances into some sort of reality, always mystical and unearthly, but it was a rationale I could comprehend. It allowed me to write down things I didn’t understand, and then be able to bury them deep in my mind. So, I sat and read things I had almost forgotten. Painful scenarios. Times of fear, struggles, depression, suicidal thoughts, and losing bits of myself in the aftermath. 

I wanted to remember all the good things. What I kept remembering was the hurt, the brokenness, the feeling of being unwanted and unworthy. And the fear. I wanted to scream at God to stop, but He pressed me on. I kept coming back with more questions piled upon questions, getting anxious and angry. Why God? I’m getting too old for this. Please just do this for me. I cannot.

Then God brought me to a place in time where I was sitting in front of a young girl. Her name was Feather. Hurt etched her face. Brokenness kept her locked awa; her eyes scanned her lap. I saw me in her demeanor, and I recognized the demons. I wanted to run. But I couldn’t. She was so fractured that I was afraid I would lose her, right then and there. I had no words; so, I wrapped my arms around her until her breathing went from shallow to trembling. I held her tighter, internally screaming for the demons to let her go. 

I tried to talk to her, hoping I could enter in and take her pain away, but it was too deep. Her wounds were raw and bleeding. When I left her I got in the car and screamed at God, “Why did You put me with that child? Of all people, why me? Are you trying to torment both of us? What can I offer her?” I beat the steering wheel until my hands were bruised. 

But I couldn’t leave her. 

I worked with Feather for several months. She began to smile and look me in the eye. She was so beautiful. In my heart she was mine, and I loved her. I wanted to protect her. Hope began to grow; I thought she was healing. I began to think I could save her. Then the call came from the hospital. Feather was in ICU. She had tried to commit suicide. 

I rushed over, sitting with her for hours. My youngest daughter demanded to go. She had met Feather. There was an instant connection, a sister-love. We stayed until we were asked to leave.

I was devastated. This is what happens when you give yourself away to love. God yanks it away. He lets you glimpse love, but then the demons, “the uglies”, have you and there’s no getting away. God let this happen to me, and now to Feather. 

Feather lived and was sent to live with an elderly Aunt out-of-state. I decided I would give up my CASA position. Who was I to think I could help teens or adults escape their tormentors? I couldn’t even help myself.

Then, I got another call. Another teen in trouble. The Judge I was working with wanted me on the case. Really, God! Really! 

But my determination to save pushed me onward. I went, stuffing my demons back in place.

One kid after another entered my life. Before long I realized I wanted to fight for them. I put everything I had into “rescue mode”. I didn’t even share with my family the full scope of what I was doing. When a neighbor asked my husband why so many patrol cars came to our house, I tried to blow it off, but seeing my husband’s concern pushed a confession. Police escorted me into unsafe areas to interview parents and family members. Little did my husband know how dark those places were and what it was doing to me.

We moved a lot with my husband’s job, but in every new location I worked hard to save the lost, the broken hearted, the dying (Hospice), the illiterate, etc. to ease my wounds and hopefully fill their voids and help them demolish their demons.

God wanted me to see these events again. But there were many pressing issues Christ needed me to focus on. He began to show me how wrong I had been about life, about hurt, and about injustice. I was not a lone warrior. Their struggle did not cease because of me or my armor to save them. It had always been about Jesus and what He had done through me. I had done nothing without His assistance.

God is the Rescuer. 

Even with this newfound revelation, I still didn’t fully understand. I had come to a point in my faith walk that I knew I was only an instrument of God’s divine grace and mercy. I studied and sought a closer relationship with Jesus. My devotion grew deeper daily. I saw God’s intervention in every aspect of my life. He had never abandoned me. I began to think I was healed. I thought that meant “the uglies” were finally gone. But God waited, keeping me in the silence, until I was ready to face another battle. Ready to fully give up all of me for all of Him!

 (“We see ourselves from the perspective of the mud we’re sitting in,

but God sees us through the blood of Christ that washes us clean,

in the present, in the middle of our messes.” Sheila Walsh) 

The day came when God took my hand and we ventured into the mind, into dark places. In there was a demon who held a fear I had suppressed and now would have to face.

Before God allowed me to see the demon in its fullest, he asked me to remember once more. This time He asked me to see the past through His eyes only.

Remembering God’s Way:

When I was 8 or 9 years old on my way home from school, a black man would beckon me to sit and talk with him. He talked about Jesus. I had no clue what he was talking about, but I loved the attention. He made me feel special. He smiled at me. God graced me with a stranger who showed me what love looked like when I had forgotten.

One face and event after another surfaced. Words spoken out of caring. Acts of kindness. Hugs. Encouragement. Smiles. Love. It was overpowering to see how many people Christ had put on my path to help me, and I didn’t even realize it. I was so stricken down with “the uglies” that I was bound up in my own sorrow. I had lost vision in my deep silence and hurt.

In my teens, God brought a young boy (now my husband) into my life who insisted I go to church because he loved a man called Jesus. Can you believe that? I still reel every time I think about God’s amazing love. We were baptized together in a small pond at 16. On July 3 we will have been together for 48 years.

God later maneuvered a precious young mom into my life. She taught me about a love that is not human, has no human frailties, and can only be gotten through believing in Jesus Christ. Her love for Jesus was contagious. She prayed Him all over me. Praise God!

The list went on and on . . . Jesus had always been with me, even in the closet where I hid. How can this be when I felt so all alone? 

It’s a God thing.

Jesus kept me digging and mining the deep crevices — things I had forgotten or felt were insignificant were brought back to my memory to view within His reality of love, grace, and mercy.

“Because in the end: What matters most

is not if our love makes other people change,

but that in loving, we change.

What matters is that in the sacrificing to love someone,

we become more like Someone.

Regardless of anything or anyone else changing,

the success of loving is in how we change because we kept on loving.”

~Ann Voskamp

A I unraveled painful childhood experiences I realized God was knitting me a new life in Him. A newness of security, being wanted and loved. Every day we would chisel away more of “the uglies”. It was all part of the preparation. Trust building. Love soaking. Less of me. More of Him. These were the tools to battle “the uglies” with Christ.

I’m beginning to understand who I am in Jesus. I’m getting more and more secure that He has always loved and cherished me. I sense His love is filling in the deep hollows that I’ve trenched out. Those places where I hid away my hurts and brokenness, questions and whys. 

The story isn’t finished. Now it was time to face new demons. I must never forget:  Fear is a liar. Shame is a robber. 

Lord, I’m prepared to follow You into battle,

Angela