We Are Their Example - and Sometimes the Sermon

I have grieved many losses over the years, but this one hurt deeply. And I avoided the Holy Spirit’s prompting to uncover this cavernous path. My weekends of cleaning out caverns with the Lord was usually met with childlike giddiness because I knew that when the Lord cleaned out an area, it was for GOOD. I received such sweet revelation and healing thus far, but this one…no, I knew this one would be different.

I stood at the top of this gaping cavern and felt a crushing weight in my soul as I saw my own responsibility of teaching my children offense with church leadership and spiritual authority. My precious gifts from the Lord watched as I wrongly accused church leadership of falsity and untruth. They watched as I showed them how to play the victim, carry an offense, hurl accusations, listen to lies, and dig wells of bitterness toward leaders in the Body of Christ.

This is not what I was called to as their mother. This was not the mandate of scripture and the heart of God when He granted me the honor of parenting these treasures. Instead of showing them how to speak the truth in love, reconciling misunderstandings, and how to walk in forgiveness, I showed them how to spew accusation, hurt, anger, and spread gossip.

I most certainly lost my mother-of-the-year nomination.

Pain, trauma, lies…changed me. But my bitterness, hurt, anger and fall out from the former changed them.

And I carried the weight of responsibility like a mother carrying her child into the emergency room.

The more I repented, the more light dawned in this painful cavern. The Lord and I spent many hours that day digging, cleaning, and changing my grave clothes. As I repented over my children and proclaimed a release of redemptive work, something shifted.

The Word promises He redeems our life from destruction (Psalms 103:4). Our life is an example to those who watch. A sermon to those who listen. Will we be an example of accusation? Or will we be an example of redemption, grace, mercy and His abiding love in ALL circumstances?

Grave Cloaks are Never a Fashion Statement

Anger feels good. It justifies, drives, and motivates. It even feels powerful.

When protecting my nest from people in the body of Christ, it felt righteous. The reason for the protection is not up for discussion, as that situation is long gone and under the blood of Christ. But the Holy Spirit showed me stench from grave clothes from covering my nest from the church.

The day my ministry dreams died I put on a cloak and became a wounded animal. I was the only one that stood in silence at the edge of the grave of my dreams. My grieving could not be public for I still had an image to maintain and children to protect. Instead I became reactive and protective. Know what happens to a wounded animal when you poke it with a stick?

I was angry for a long time; too long, and it was time to rip that stinky cloak off. They aren't even in fashion anymore! Did you know that the cloak of hurt, anger, and bitterness can seem fashionable to the one wearing it? It can even seem necessary? Yup, as necessary as a flashlight in day time.

This emotional fashion statement didn’t want to be sheared off. When the Lord said, “It’s time, daughter,” my soul screamed somewhere in the shadows of the cavern. A dark wail surged to the surface, a part of my soul that was suffocating in pain. I never recognized it before because it still looked and felt like a fashionable mantle.

I never felt the depth of loss as I was busy surviving and caring for my children. I denied so much because it was too horrible to look at. It was a leviathan – a beast that sucked me under and quietly drowned me. The outside world went on about its business. On the outside, I did too.

Finally, after hours of crying, repenting and finally feeling, the Lord brought me to Isaiah 43:1-

Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by your name; You are mine. When you pass through the waters (or get sucked under by a leviathan), I will be with you.”

The scripture goes on in verse 18 to remind us:

“Do not remember the former things nor think of the things of old.

Behold I will do a new thing. Now it will spring forth.

I will put a road in the wilderness and a river in the desert (direction and refreshment)."

This grave cloak was finally gone. The light shined in another cavern in the Land of Meh, and I got a new garment of praise!

Caverns, Grave Clothes and the Land of Meh

At the beginning of 2017, I told the Lord I was ready for a catalytic change that would take me from the wilderness and caverns to being joyful again. I was finally ready to see what lurked beneath this “Meh” season I’d been in for 10+ years. What is “Meh” you ask? Meh is the place between, “I’m doing good!” and “I am so depressed I can hardly move.” It has no real definition in Webster’s. It’s just there. It is that nagging pull deep within that we can’t define or really see in our mind’s eye. The symptoms you exhibit when you have been in the Land of Meh are no passion, no life, and almost a cynical irritation that lingers behind what used to be dreams and hopes. Anyone that has been to the Land of Meh knows exactly what I mean.

How everyone gets there is a little different.

If Meh goes on long enough, and traumas do not get dealt with, caverns develop. These are deep recesses in the soul that hold on to hurt, trauma and the like. We can’t always see them or feel them; but we can sure smell the decay of stale pain when it stays there long enough. How does this happen?

We are all familiar with the stages of grief. Some psychologists say there are 4, 5, or even 7 stages. No matter how many roads in the cycle, if any of those are not walked to the fullest or have their complete work and release in our soul, things will linger and go stale.

For much of my life, I experienced traumas or pain and I never fully grieved the changes they brought. I went thru the denial, anger (camped out on this one a LONG time), bargaining, depression, but never quite made it to acceptance before another trauma burst onto the scene. Thus a new cycle of grief, forgiveness, death, etc would begin.

My therapist explained this was the perfect material for cavern-building.

So Holy Spirit and I went to work. Starting January 27th, every Friday and Saturday was spent in concentrated fasting and prayer to climb through the dark caverns to pull out grave cloths left there to rot. Holy Spirit didn’t give me a road map or a sign from heaven. He just brought tears. Lakes and floods of tears as He would remind me of a forgotten heartache. Some were from childhood. Some from my marriage. Others were from my own imperfections as a wife or mother.

No matter the cause or the age, we spent the next four months unpacking stinking, rotting, stale grief.