Those Who Trust

Religion is for those who fear Hell. Spirituality is for those who’ve been there.—David Bowie

I have lived my life on many stages. Different plays, each representing a new phase. In each play, many characters came and went. The single constant, of course, was me. After a good run with one play, I exited stage left. With a quick change of wardrobe, it was time for the next. Each play began anew, had its run, then closed. The settings changed, the players wore different costumes, and with each curtain call I replaced the actor playing the leading man.

In each play, before the final curtain, I played opposite some shady characters. The characters weren’t doing good things. They were breaking the law and harming others. By the second play, a sequel if you will, not wanting to abandon yet another stage show, I thought I could work with the actors and give them an evolution, a better character arc that led to redemption. It was during this time in one play’s run I found the darkest evil, which led to one of the worst times in my life.

To set the scene, I had remarried after a failed first marriage only to find my second husband had gotten into more trouble than the first. With the law coming down hard on him for many counts, including felony fraud and child pornography charges, I had to close the curtain. But these curtains didn’t seem to drop quickly, and for a while I had no new stage to move towards. Though I prayed for help, my struggle continued. I was raising two girls, working most of the time, and many aspects of my life had become fraught with torturous moments of despair.

I gave up looking for the next stage and quit interviewing new actors. I chose work over fun and checked out of most events in my children’s lives. Becoming more disappointed in myself, instead of turning to God, I closed that door completely. Expecting things to change by doing nothing was like living in Hell’s waiting room.

The trauma of our situation dripped evil into the energy around us, severing the connections in our hearts .

Each night, vivid dreams tormented me and woke me up as I struggled to fight or tried to escape. One time I sprang from the bed to elude a dancing disembodied head that pursued me across the room, and I ran into the wall. The hit freed me from the terrorizing vision, but left me on the floor in a dazed heap.

Another time, I fought off a faceless attacker and awoke as my dog, who slept with me, was crying out in pain. Mistaking her for the assailant in my dream, I had kicked the dog so hard she leaped from her spot and wouldn’t sleep on the bed with me for days.

No one is spared from the evil that lurks around us. It seeps in and blurs the lines of consciousness.

The worst nightmare came after my youngest daughter graduated high school, an event I didn’t want to miss. She was wearing a yellow tie in recognition of her outstanding grade point average. I was proud and emotional, but standing among her peers’ parents wasn’t easy. Despite the time that had passed, they still recognized me. Some of them pretended not to notice me, while others looked right through me.

After all that had happened to us, time hadn’t stopped them from judging. They didn’t need to know the entire story or any of the sordid details of what had happened to my family. It seemed they prefabricated their condemnation. According to their standards, I had messed up, then excused myself from my kids’ lives. Adding to my cynical opinion of God was my disappointment in humanity. Was this God’s plan? How long was I to be punished for reasons I still didn’t know? And then came that nightmare. It was to be the pivotal moment. The event that brings the epiphany.

In that dream, I was searching for my youngest daughter. She had been missing for days. I spotted her among the homeless in a group near the downtown high-rises. They gathered in the alley where they would spend the night. My daughter saw me but had no reaction. She was standing with a woman who was putting clothes on over the clothes she already wore.

“You’ll want to wear everything you got.” The old woman instructed my daughter as she pulled an article from her bag. “It will be coldest between three and six am. The layers will help you stay warm.”

My daughter caught sight of me as I approached, but her eyes showed no emotion.

“Come home with me.” I suggested.

She shrugged her shoulders. Her tortured, somber eyes cut through me. I read her thoughts. She said, ‘You were not there when I was little and I needed you. I’d rather stay here.’

“Please. Come home. I had no choice.” I begged.

My daughter shook her head slowly. ‘No. No. No.’

I waited with tear-filled eyes, but my daughter didn’t budge. Turning around, I walked away, and the dripping tears became a waterfall. I looked back to see my daughter still on the massive stone staircase of the multi-business office complex with the bag lady. Under the tutelage of her new friend, my daughter was pulling a pair of sweatpants over her jeans.

The heaving up and down in my chest brought air in and out of my lungs, but I wasn’t breathing. The cries of pain came from my mouth in silence as my anguish didn’t seem to matter to anyone.

I awoke from the night terror when my screams gained function. The evil swirled around me and seemed to draw me down. Moaning and groaning, I sat up in bed and stared into the darkness. “No. No. No. I can’t let this happen.”

I blinked hard once, twice. Trying to see where my daughter went. I reached out to her, but there was nothing but space. Collapsing sideways onto the bed, I wanted to go back into the dream and find her.

There was no going back. My quest to rescue my daughter was denied. The many mistakes I had made had caught up with me. I begged for the darkness to end my suffering. I had become the evil that surrounded me, and not even Jesus could save me.

Not understanding reality, I wasn’t aware if I was still dreaming when a beam of light penetrated my consciousness. The beam of light I was perceiving turned audible. It wasn’t like I heard a voice, but I received a message. I understand the plan now. I get it.

I knew I was awake, and the essence of the visiting light became me. The noise that felt like a voice in my head had driven away the evil. I felt grateful, blessed.

I tiptoed down the hallway to check. As if the dream had really happened, I thanked God when I saw my daughter asleep in her bed. That started a rushing, gushing geyser of emotions.

After returning to the covers that held no residue of the evil that had transpired there, I lay awake in bed crying, sobbing into the pillow, begging forgiveness and praying.

“Dear Heavenly Father, take my heart, my soul, my life. I can’t do this anymore without you.”

In my prayers, I was thankful and filled with appreciation.

“Lord, you took care of me when I didn’t deserve it. Thank you for looking after my girls.” I asked for nothing and praised the Lord for all my blessings.

Starting the next day, and every day after, I found time for family, and fun. I went to church and reveled in the fellowship, wondering how I had survived without it these long years. Freeing myself from the shackles of a faithless life was easy. My doubts evaporated and my faith returned. God welcomed me back. He’d never left me.

Sometimes what we pray for might seem right, but there are things we don’t know. We live on a timeline, but in God there is no concept of passing hours, days, years. God was providing me with an opportunity to learn. I’m not sure God thought it would take me so long, but He never gave up. Had He answered my prayers with what I wanted, I wouldn’t have gotten what I needed.

When I was young, I learned about God. I accepted Jesus as my Savior without question. I had taken my faith for granted. As long as what I wanted aligned with the greater plan, I thought I had it in the bag. I never had to go deep with God. I lived my life according to what I thought God would have wanted.

I prayed perfunctorily. My motives weren’t for anyone else; they were all about me, and shallowly so. What I prayed for wasn’t from the heart; it was from the head. My relationship with God had no balance. I treated it as a one-way street. When presented with challenges, I had no blueprint. The consequences that fell upon me because of my ex-husband proved I had no coping skills.

In living through the trauma, I resisted help. To me, admitting overwhelm felt like a sign of weakness. Ingrained in me is the phrase, “God helps those who help themselves.”

Clever though it may be, this saying has nothing to do with God. Often credited to the Bible, this phrase is not among the scriptures nor listed in proverbs. This phrase contradicts the grace in God’s words. All God wants for us is that we have faith. When things go wrong, it is not to test our faith but to strengthen it.

Where there is faith there is no room for evil. Old wounds heal from past trauma, and life falls back into place.

Now I pray every day. From the heart. I give thanks. Thankful that I don’t have to know the answers, and I don’t have to understand. I don’t have to make the plan; I just have to live it with gratitude.

I pray for others. There are those living a drama of their own. Let me exemplify what moving forward can achieve. I also pray for wisdom and for continued knowledge of God. In a quiet way, through actions and words, I wish to embody what it is to live a godly life.

In God, there is peace within the worst turmoil. Through God, you can rise above the fears that plague you, knowing in the end it will be okay. Because in the end there is God. And where there is God, there is peace. And where there is God, there is laughter. God is love and joy. In the end, there is God.