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Dandelion Love

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My three-year-old granddaughter loves dandelions. It is her mission in life to pick every dandelion she sees. She thinks they are beautiful and highly prized. With great pride, she presents her bright yellow bouquets to her mother, who is instructed to put them in water to keep them pretty. In her world, the only thing better than a blooming dandelion is a dandelion that has gone to seed. The seed-filled puff balls are picked and the seeds blown, sometimes with a few sticking to her little lips. Dandelions bring her joy.

Driving to church yesterday, my husband pointed out a field covered in dandelions. He sort of groaned, but I commented how happy our granddaughter would be in that field. That got me thinking how different our perspectives can be. To some, dandelions are just a nuisance, a weed to be eradicated from an otherwise pristine lawn. But to others, they are beautiful and even desirable. I’m okay with dandelions. To me they herald spring, which I am always happy to welcome.

I heard a radio commercial this year asking people to allow dandelions to bloom because they are one of the first and most vital nectar sources for pollination. They serve a very important purpose. Without them, we might not have other plant species we love or foods we enjoy. We can take a lesson from the lowly dandelion.

Sometimes I see myself as that dandelion that others dread seeing and would like to get rid of. I know I can be annoying. And I feel sometimes that I am not contributing anything of value to others’ lives. But then I remember my granddaughter and her perspective on dandelions. That is how God sees me. To him I am not a nuisance. I am his beautiful creation. And he has given me purpose and equipped me to serve others in my own unique way, that I may be a blessing to them and bring joy to him.

My worth doesn’t come from who or what I am, but from him. He made me. He gave me life. He died for me. He desires to have a relationship with me. So, like the dandelions in my front yard, I’ll keep growing, reaching toward heaven, doing my part to glorify the God who made me and loves me as I am. I will trust him to use me in my little sphere of influence to do the works he has prepared for me to do.

“For we are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.” (Ephesians 2:10 NIV)

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Testimonials

“I am so excited to see that Lisa is allowing God to use her difficult experiences to reach out to others.

I have been involved with the Seeing Eye, where they train dogs to guide blind people, and as a graduate of the The Seeing Eye have on many occasions shared the podium or stage with Lisa. She was always engaging, clear, often utilizing humor to keep the interest and focus of the audience.
I know that she will be used by our Lord to help others to come to grips with any similar or shared experiences. Lisa will be able to show how God can heal, comfort, and rebuild broken lives, no matter what the experience.
Perhaps, most importantly, how the Holy Spirit can bring real forgiveness into the lives of victims and abusers, tuff as that is to envision.
My humble prayers and best wishes go with Lisa, and to all that she may encounter, and that the healing will be real!”
John D. Hollenbach, Mayor
Perkasie Borough, PA

“We at Pinebrook Bible Conference recommend Lisa Radcliff as a speaker for a Bible Retreat type of speaking engagement. She has spoken during at least one of our Ladies’ Retreats in the past and was well received by the guests and received great feedback for the personal experiences and teaching she shared. We give her a great recommendation to be used at any future retreats at Pinebrook Bible Conference & Retreat Center and any other gathering of the Retreat speaking kind anywhere she is asked.
Thanks for considering this recommendation.”
Charlie Bomgardner
Director of Marketing
Pinebrook Bible Conference & Retreat Center

Better Than Baseball

Ah, April—trees budding, flowers blooming, birds returning to their home parks: Blue Jays to Rogers Centre, Orioles to Camden Yards, Cardinals to Busch Stadium. Yup, it’s Baseball Season.

I am a sports nut, but growing up, I hated baseball. In my opinion, it was the most boring game of all. Then I gave birth to three boys. They all loved baseball, and they were good at it. When our first son started playing Little League, I gave in, bought myself a rule book, and set out to learn the game of baseball. With a little one to cheer on, it didn’t take long for me to become a full-fledged baseball mom.

Three years later the middle boy showed extraordinary natural ability. From his first day of practice as an eight-year-old, Timmy wanted to be a pitcher. He let his coach know, but his coach had three nine-year-old pitchers, so he kept putting Timmy off with, “maybe next practice.” Timmy finally wore him down and after practice one day, the coach gave in. “All right, let’s see what you’ve got.” Timmy threw pitch after pitch right to the coach’s glove. When they were done, the coach told Timmy he did great and, it was good to know that he had another pitcher if he needed one.

The very next game, Timmy got his chance. After three innings, our three pitchers were all out of the game after each one had hit multiple batters. Our team was down 10-0. With nothing to lose and no other pitchers on the bench, the coach put Timmy in. He took the mound with the excitement of, well, an eight-year-old about to pitch in his first game. He struck out the first three batters he faced. Then our team started hitting the ball and scoring runs. Over the next two innings, Timmy only allowed one base runner and no runs. The team rallied around Timmy’s performance and racked up hit after hit. They were up 13-10 going into the bottom half of the last inning. With just one more out to go to win, Timmy went into his windup and threw for all he was worth. “Strike three!” called the umpire. His coach ran out onto the field, threw Timmy in the air, then swung him around. It was hard to tell which of them had the bigger smile. From then on, Timmy was a starting pitcher for every team on which he played.

As he got older and bigger, he got better. He developed different pitches and became known for his slider. Even if a batter knew it was coming, they rarely hit it. Usually they looked silly trying. His first year of high school, Tim pitched for the JV team. They won eight games that season—the eight that Tim pitched. The following year, Tim looked forward to trying out for the varsity team. The morning of tryouts, Tim woke up early with abdominal pain. He tried self-medicating with a donut and chocolate milk, but, believe it or not, that didn’t help. Being the patient boy that he is, he waited until his dad was up and ready to go to the hospital for work to let him know about his problem.

His dad woke me and let me know that he was pretty sure Tim had appendicitis (Dad is an OR nurse). He was taking him to the hospital, and I should come as soon as I was ready. It’s nice to have a nurse for a husband and a thoughtful son who holds his emergencies until a decent hour. I arrived at the hospital just after the appendicitis diagnosis was confirmed. He would need surgery right away.

I wondered if Tim remembered what day it was: varsity pitching tryouts. He did. As he laid in the emergency room, awaiting surgery, he realized he would not only miss tryouts, but even if he made the team, he would miss a few weeks of games. He turned to me and said, “I guess God wants me to do something else with my life than baseball.” I didn’t know it at the time, but it was in that emergency room that God first started calling Tim to the ministry.

Surgery went fine. Tim recovered very quickly and was back on the field in two weeks. Because of his stats and known ability, he was put on the varsity team without trying out. He didn’t get a lot of playing time, but always shined whenever he was called on to pitch. He was recruited to play for a Division III team in college. Following college, God’s call on his life was more evident.

The “what if” question, though, still lingered. What if he had pursued baseball? Could he have made the big leagues? He got an opportunity to find out. Tim went to a major league tryout. While they were impressed with his slider, his fastball didn’t quite hit 90mph. And then there was his age. At twenty-four-years-old, he was too old to take a chance on. If he had had the proper training and coaching, he probably could have been drafted and maybe even made the big leagues. But his time had passed.

In 2017, Tim was ordained as a minister of the gospel in the Bible Fellowship Church. Some might say he missed his chance at the big leagues, but did he really? As his mom, I was always proud of his performance on the mound. But I was truly moved at his ordination service, realizing that God had called him to something very special, much more special than major league baseball. “Therefore, brothers, be all the more diligent to confirm your calling and election, for if you practice these qualities, you will never fall.” (2 Peter 1:10 ESV)

As opening day approaches, Reverend Tim and I will enjoy the crack of the bat, the peanuts and Cracker Jack, and all that the baseball season has to offer. After all, it is America’s pastime (passes the time until football season~fly, Eagles, fly!).

Release Day or Relief Day?

It’s a day to celebrate! My new book, God is For Me: A Biblical Character Study of God’s Heart for the Sexually Harmed, is released today. It was a labor of love–love for my fellow survivors who struggle to know that God sees them and cares about them. Love from God’s heart to all the survivors I have had the privilege of walking alongside over the last thirty years.

Yes, I do feel a sense of relief that the work is done. The writing might be done, but the work is never really done. As one of my launch team members said at our launch party last night, “Sexual harm isn’t going anywhere.” There will always be more victims, more survivors, more hearts in need of healing. Praise God that Jesus is the same yesterday, today, and forever, and is able to heal.

It is a day of celebration and reflection. I’ll have some time to reflect on all of this tomorrow as I fly from coast to coast. Today I am celebrating both the release and the relief. Please buy a copy of the book. If not for you, for someone else. I can guarantee there is someone in your life who has suffered harm. They just might share that with you one day, and you can offer them hope with this study. Survivors who have read it have already told me they see themselves in the stories of the biblical characters. And they see that God’s heart if FOR them.

Join me in asking God’s blessing on this work and to heal the brokenness in those who will read it.

Then my enemies will turn back in the day when I call. This I know, that God is for me. (Psalm 56:9 ESV)

You can learn more about the book in this podcast

purchase God is for me

Nearing the Finish Line

Lunging, reaching, stretching, doing whatever it takes to cross the finish line. Have you been watching the winter Olympics? Crossing the finish line, landing the jump, making the shot, winning the game is the goal. For some of the events, the competitors collapse the second they cross the finish line. Some never make it that far. They stumble or crash or just run out of steam before reaching the finish line. It’s so sad when that happens. All that work gone in a moment.

Watching the winter Olympics is my only interest in winter. My avoidance of winter is nearing its end. Today, I leave for Nashville to attend the NRB convention where I hope my book will debut. I’ll have interviews about its message and do all I can to get it noticed. I’m looking forward to it with a little apprehension mixed with excitement. I’ve put in the work, but will it be enough? I’m wondering what connections God has for me there. (I hope to connect with at least one order of hot chicken!)

The last two months have been a whirlwind getting my new book across the finish line in time for NRB. There were file crashes, delays, winter storms that stopped the presses. I still don’t know if it will make it, but I am hopeful. Even if it doesn’t get there in time, I know that God is in control and has the best plan for me and this project.

My publisher, Abundance Books, has worked tirelessly to get it ready to launch on March 3. The managing editor even worked on it during her mission trip to Jamaica to keep it on schedule. I can’t express how thankful I am for them and their expertise. The prayers of my friends, family, and launch team members for this project have supported and buoyed me through the stress, like Olympic coaches and teammates, coming alongside me. We’re almost there, the finish line is in sight.

Like the Olympians, I’ve been working on this project for a few years. The work was arduous at times, and I wondered if it would ever get done. Then one day there was a cover and then inside copy and then everything fell into place. But then we hit some bumps in the road, and I wondered again if it would come together.

What will the next four days bring? Probably some wins and some losses, maybe some thrills and some scary moments. But my goals are so close. I’m reaching, stretching, using every ounce of energy to cross the finish line. I just might make it across, or at least push the book across, before collapsing. That will be a win!

Marriage Vows = Separation

I never thought that keeping marriage vows would end up in separation. Don’t freak out. Doug and I are not separating, we’re just temporarily apart as I hide from winter. After forty years, this is how Doug is keeping his vows to love and to cherish—in sickness and in health—till death parts us. He sent me away. Away from winter’s nastiness. My body, because of this weird condition I have, cannot handle the cold anymore. So, out of love, he has sent me to San Diego. Sometimes survival requires sun and beaches and palm trees. Of course it does!

Two days before our wedding, I had a serious car accident and was so stiff and sore at our wedding, I couldn’t stand up after I had knelt down for the prayer. Doug very gently but firmly pulled me to my feet. He’s been supporting me and taking care of me ever since. But there was so much more than my physical issues for him to deal with.

We didn’t know a few years down the road God was going to use my story of abuse in a very public way. We knew it had the potential to influence our relationship, but Doug had committed before we were married that he would walk with me through wherever my story took us. I truly believe if we had known in 1985 what we know now, we still would have made those vows, maybe in a more determined way than we did. But I am sure there was no one else I would have chosen to go through the joys and struggles of life than my wonderful husband.

It took me by surprise this week when I realized this latest chapter in our marriage is another way Doug is keeping our marriage vows. After suffering through a few Pennsylvania winters with serious consequences to my health, Doug said, “That’s enough. You are spending the winter in California.” It was a good news/bad news thing for me. The warmth and being with the California grands would be great, but I would be separated from Doug. But it was the right decision. What a difference it made in my health!

Two weeks into my winter hiatus in California this year, it dawned on me—this separation is keeping our vows to one another. It is strange that the best way for Doug to love me is to send me off to the sunshine. And the best way for me to love him is to go. As much as we don’t want to be apart, it is the most loving thing to do—certainly not the way we expected to keep our vows.

This time apart isn’t easy, even with the warm sun on my face. But it is a season of our lives we can be thankful for—we have a place to stay in California that costs us nothing but hugs. We have the opportunity to be stretched and grow in new ways. It makes a very positive difference in my health. Our phone calls and connection with each other are even more special. And, oddly, it teaches us another way to keep our wedding vows.

Doug will get a short break from winter when he comes out for a week in five days (yes, I’m counting down). And I am so looking forward to getting back to our normal, unseparated marriage in just a few weeks! Hopefully, winter will be the one sent away by then!

Christmas Anticipation

Christmas has always been my favorite time of year. I love everything about it: the music, the movies and TV specials, the lights, the decorations, the live Nativities, the shopping, the food, the parties, and the gathering of family and friends. But my favorite part of the Christmas season has always been the Christmas Eve candlelight service. There’s just something about candlelight. On Christmas Eve, the soft glow seems to fit the humble birth of our Savior.

As a kid, after the service, we sometimes took the long way home to look at the Christmas lights. Once we got home, we lit the last candle on the advent wreath that sat on top of our piano, sneaked a few cookies, then it was off to bed. I fell asleep in the golden glow from the electric candles burning in the windows and the mounting anticipation of Christmas morning.

Like most kids, my sister and I woke up early the next morning, but we weren’t allowed to go downstairs until our mom, grandmother, and great aunt were ready. We had to sit at the top of the stairs and wait and wait and wait. It killed us. They really knew how to build anticipation. I think they took longer than they needed just to torment us. And it did! “Please, hurry!” we begged. Knowing there were presents awaiting under the tree was almost more than we could bear!

When they finally had their hair combed and teeth brushed (and whatever else they felt was absolutely necessary to do before heading to the living room to open presents), we were told “Go ahead.” We barreled down the stairs, grabbing our stockings from where they hung, and plunged into them, eager to find the special surprises that were tucked inside. Christmas day had come!

I still love the feeling of anticipation at Christmas. I love seeing the anticipation on the faces of my grandchildren as we give out the presents and force them to wait to open them, taking turns and opening one gift at a time. I love having everybody gather together. And I still love the candlelight service.

This is, for sure, a season of anticipation. The advent season, in particular, with all the carols about Jesus’ birth, our savior coming as a baby. But I asked myself this year, am I anticipating Jesus’ return to earth with the same anticipation as Christmas? That day is also going to be a celebration with angels and trumpets and a gathering of God’s family. No soft candlelight—but the light of the world, the bright morning star, bursting onto the scene.

He won’t be coming as a baby this time, but as king—“Joy to the world, the Lord has come, let earth receive her king.” The advent of that day should also be a time of active preparation and joyful anticipation. We need to be ready to meet Jesus face to face. It’s like we’re sitting at the top of the stairs waiting with great anticipation and very soon, we’ll hear, “Go ahead, it’s time. Jesus has come!”

“So Christ, having been offered once to bear the sins of many, will appear a second time, not to deal with sin but to save those who are eagerly waiting for him.”  Hebrews 9:28 ESV

Dad’s Diploma–80 years in the making

In the spring of 1945, high school seniors were being drafted into the Army. My dad was a senior that year and was willing to join the war effort but not willing to join the Army. So, he dropped out of high school and enlisted in the Navy on May 23, 1945.

I have a shoebox full of letters between him and my grandmother from bootcamp to discharge, all in perfect cursive and complete sentences—it’s hard to believe he was just a seventeen-year-old boy. One of her letters described the Vesper Service on June 3, 1945. She wrote, “You know I felt very bad that you couldn’t be with your own original class to graduate. That’s a big disappointment. I am sending you the program. The choir did not sing a bit good. You know why, because you weren’t in it. The sermon was terrible. It did not even seem like a sermon. You know why everything was so bad because you weren’t in the class. See you really rate, you dear thing.” He really did have an excellent voice with perfect pitch.

His time in the Navy took him all over the world. He described Aruba as a hot wasteland no one would ever want to visit! I guess there was no tourist industry on that island in the 1940s. He was in awe of a newly commissioned aircraft carrier that his ship was docked next to in the Caribbean. It was the USS Midway. He went to Europe and the South Seas before being discharged in June 1946. The war was over. It was time to send the boys home.

By this time, his father had died, and his mother had to go to work. She wasn’t able to keep their beautiful home, described as the most beautiful home in town back then. When Dad arrived at home, he needed a job but didn’t have a high school diploma. He earned his GED and went to work for the US Post Office, but it always bothered him that he wasn’t awarded a diploma because he left school two weeks before graduation.

As part of a Veteran’s Day celebration, North Penn School District awarded my dad (and four other veterans) their diplomas last night. It comes eighty years later than it should have and twenty-seven years after his death. But he would be grateful—that’s just how he was. Gentle, kind, patient, a Navy veteran, and now a high school graduate.

Camp Good Enough

Mismatched silverware, pots with lids that teeter, used furniture in need of some reinforcement—these are the kinds of things you’ll find in our little cabin in Maine. The natives call it a camp, not to be confused with a cottage. A camp is more rustic (think outhouse).

The yard sale finds are described as “good enough for camp.” The maintenance and projects done achieve that same level of quality: good enough for camp.  Doors aren’t quite level—it’s good enough for camp. Your painting project dripped here and there—it’s good enough for camp. Using clothespins to hold things together—good enough for camp. You get the idea. MacGyver would love it here. Camp is not perfect. That’s where it gets its charm. Along with sitting at the edge of a pristine lake with the most spectacular sunsets you’ll ever see.

Camp is not my home. It’s where I go on vacation, disconnect from the world, slow down, and just relax. There are things I do here that I can’t do other places. Unfortunately, there are things I used to do here that I can’t do anymore. I can still kayak, but getting out of the kayak is all the cardio I need for the day (and maybe some prizewinning video for AFV). But the things that make camp special: admiring sunsets, stargazing, reading just for pleasure, listening to the soulful cry of the loons, and making memories with family and friends are still in my wheelhouse.

Of course, I have dreams of making it a little less rustic, at least attaining the dream of indoor plumbing. But for now, it’s good enough for camp.

What’s “good enough for camp” is not good enough for my permanent residence. Repairs need to be done correctly. Painting and other maintenance require precision. Furniture is purchased after much research, procuring just the right item for the space. A certain level of quality is expected. Even the silverware matches.

But that home isn’t my permanent home either. It’s very nice and well-equipped. It’s full of beautiful things with special meaning. Some are valuable, some are invaluable—like handmade cards and pictures from my grands. But even with all of those, it won’t come close to the beauty of my permanent home. That beauty won’t be the architecture or the sunsets or the furnishings. The beauty and joy of my permanent home will come from being in the presence of Jesus, my Savior.

I will do things there that I can’t do here, like worship God perfectly in spirit and in truth. It’s where I will enter into perfect rest. I won’t have to battle sin anymore, and I won’t shed any tears. No more sorrow or shame or anger or regrets or physical limitations. I don’t care what my permanent home looks like, although I think since Jesus knows me better than I know myself, it will be the dream home I couldn’t dream up on my own.

I don’t know what it is he’s working on, but he said he’s preparing a place for me. Considering he simply spoke the world into existence in a matter of days, I can’t imagine what he’s preparing. I have a feeling there’s a lot more to it than matching silverware and hopefully no need for indoor plumbing. What do you think he’s preparing?

I am writing this blog from camp. You won’t see it for a few weeks because we don’t have internet here. I’m looking out the window at a patio set that has seen better days. I was thinking we should replace it, but you know what? It’s good enough for camp.

In my Father’s house are many rooms. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and take you to myself, that where I am you may also be. John 14:2-3 ESV

Lessons from a Fire: Lesson 3 – Grieving What Was Lost

My last two blog posts shared connections I saw between a fire at a local bank and recovering from sexual abuse. The first showed how setting up boundaries is essential to rebuilding in safety. The second explored the dangers hiding within the walls. Today I’m going to move from the bank fire to something a little more personal—a fire at our home.

We were jolted awake by pounding on our front door. Jumping out of bed and running down the hallway, my husband yelled over his shoulder, “Call 911—the garage is on fire!” From our bedroom, I saw an orange glow filling the window at the end of the hallway, a stark contrast to the night sky. I stumbled to the phone, but just as I got there, Doug hollered up the stairs, “Never mind. They’re here.”

It was a police officer who had been pounding on the door. The newspaper delivery boy (remember those?) saw the fire and called 911. I was thankful for the young entrepreneur making his rounds, tossing newspapers on porches before sunrise. Fire trucks rolled up and started dousing the flames. The backyard filled with first responders, onlookers, and possibly the arsonist. We found out from the police that it was arson season. At the change of seasons, the arsonists come out. And they like to hang out and watch the devastation. I never knew.

Fortunately, our garage was at the back of the property, safely away from house. It was actually three structures meshed together over 100 years. The oldest was a chicken coop, then a storage shed, and finally a garage. We used the entire structure for storage. It was full: projects we were working on, kids’ outdoor toys, tools—you name it, it was stored there.

And that was the problem. So much stuff. By the time the fire was completely out, the garage and its contents had been reduced to ash, mangled metal, and unidentifiable melted stuff. The insurance company was happy to reimburse us for the value of everything we lost. All we had to do was figure out what was lost and the replacement cost for it—before googling was a thing.

First, we had to remember or identify all that was lost. Sifting through the remains, some items were obvious and some were not. A melted red and yellow lump stumped us for a short time. Then we remembered: the Little Tikes car. There were antique tools that just needed to be cleaned up. But other antiques, including a set of French doors we were refinishing, were destroyed.

The research began. We lived in an area saturated with antique stores. I visited several of them, asking about the value of the things we had lost. Then I browsed the local Sears Hardware store to price all the tools, ladders, gardening supplies, and other items we could remember were inside the garage. The insurance company would only pay one time, so anything we had forgotten to claim could not be claimed later. As the years went by, and we needed a particular item but couldn’t find it, we realized it was probably in the garage.

The connection to rebuilding after sexual abuse is that it is necessary to recognize what was lost. We may even have to make a list. That list might include childhood innocence, trust, safety, relationships, self-worth, and more. Grieving the things that were lost is necessary. But we don’t want to stay in the ashes. After acknowledging what was lost, it’s time to rebuild.

Over time, flashbacks or memories of abuse may surface. I still get those, 45 years after my abuse ended. I believe God brings to mind past abuses when we are ready to work through them. Unlike the insurance company’s one-time payout, we can continue to work through the memories and effects of abuse for as long as it takes.

For our garage, my husband designed the new garage and did most of the rebuilding himself, with some help from friends. The police never found the arsonist, so justice was never served in that way. Likewise, most abusers are never charged with a crime or brought to justice, but that doesn’t mean we are stuck with a pile of ashes. After the fire, we removed the ashes and rebuilt something better than the hodgepodge of structures that was there before.

Survivors of abuse can do the same with the help of friends, support groups, counselors, and God himself. He is the master designer and builder. The life he can rebuild from the ashes of abuse may be more beautiful than if the abuse hadn’t happened. But it takes work. Set up boundaries to rebuild from a place of safety. Recognize the harmful effects of abuse. Grieve what was lost. And trust God to create beauty from ashes.

And provide for those who grieve in Zion—to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of joy instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of spirit of despair. They will be called oaks of righteousness, a planting of the Lord for the display of his splendor. Isaiah 61:3 NIV

If I can help in your rebuilding, please contact me.

Lessons from a Fire: Lesson 2 – Danger from Within

Lessons from a Fire: Lesson 2 – Danger from Within

Two weeks ago, I shared parallels between a fire destroying a local bank and sexual abuse. The first lesson was about setting up boundaries to start rebuilding from a place of safety. You can read that blog here. The parallels didn’t stop with the boundaries. Today’s lesson is on the danger that no one could see.

The day of the fire, customers and employees came and went without a clue that there was something dangerous going on within the walls of the bank. It wasn’t someone planning a heist or a disgruntled employee about to explode. It was an electrical short, literally within the walls.

This branch looked no different than any other. Everything seemed completely normal, with no cause for alarm. But just hours later, the wailing of alarms pierced the air. Three fire companies raced to the scene. Witnesses described flickering hues of bright orange as flames engulfed the lobby. Thick black smoke billowed skyward. Vinyl siding dripped on the outside, insulation sparked inside, baskets of promotional pens melted into white mounds.

Once the fire was doused, the extent of the damage could be assessed. The building was a total loss. It would have to be torn down and rebuilt. The investigation found that faulty wiring caused the fire. It was an electrical problem that had been festering probably from the time the bank was built several years earlier. It finally got to a point that a spark triggered a fire within the walls, destroying the entire building.

Again, I thought of the devastation of sexual abuse. Abuse victims are among us everywhere we go, yet we can’t tell they are survivors of something so devastating. They look like everybody else in our circle. They smile, they raise their kids, they go to work, they attend church, they cheer for their home teams, they go to the beach for vacation. They seem just like you. Maybe they are you.

But maybe something has been smoldering inside them, unknown to anyone else. That was me. No one knew I had suffered sexual abuse until my abuser was arrested a decade later. People thought I was just a quiet, introverted child. Really, though, fear and shame paralyzed me.

 Survivors can live a lifetime with something smoldering under the surface. Every now and then, they squelch a small fire, and no one ever knows about it. Other survivors barely make it through the day without a complete meltdown. They succumb to triggers that send them into a tailspin of disaster. They try to hide the damage, but eventually that short circuit will shake them to their foundations.

Like the bank, they may need to tear things down to safely rebuild what was lost. There’s a process of removing the damage left by shame, fear, anger, mistrust, and hopelessness. It starts with talking about what happened with someone safe. It takes time to process what happened and how it affected them. But with a strong foundation of safety and support, they can rebuild with confidence.

There’s no point in pretending the abuse didn’t happen or didn’t cause any damage. Imagine if the bank had done that—just continued business as usual, ignoring the damage the fire caused. They probably wouldn’t have stayed in business very long. A support group is a great place to start repairing the damage. Survivors can share their deepest struggles with others who can empathize with them and begin peeling away the layers of damage.

The bank hired a professional to rebuild their building. They had the blueprints and ability to remake the bank building exactly as it was before. Survivors are in even better hands because God is in the business of healing and restoration. Even if there is no support group or counselor around you, God is always with you. You can trust him with all the damage abuse caused. He already knows what’s been going on inside of you that no one else can see. He knows what triggers you, and he knows the plans he has for you. He won’t leave you living in brokenness. He has a plan to build your life into something strong and beautiful.

I will restore to you the years the swarming locust has eaten (or the fire has burned or the abuse has stolen). This promise of God in Joel 2:25 was my foundation as I began the healing process. And God has been faithful to his promises. He walked with me through the fire of abuse. He took away my shame and fear and replaced them with hope. He made me stronger, more compassionate, and more resilient than I would have been without the abuse and the work it took to overcome it. He more than restored the years lost to abuse. And he will do that for all who put their trust in him.

Look for (at least) one more lesson from the fire in another week or two.

Lessons from a Fire – Lesson 1: Safety First!

A fire tore through a local bank building just over a year ago. The lobby was destroyed. Remnants of black smoke clung to the stone facade above the boarded-up doors and windows. Clearly, there was structural damage to the drive-thru, and large pieces of fascia curled away from the building like peeling paint. Over the next few weeks, a salvage company demolished the rest of the building and leveled the ground around it. The burned-out business put up signs saying they were rebuilding. Several months passed with no evidence of rebuilding. But then a construction company’s billboard-sized sign appeared, announcing the rebuilding project was underway.

This time, evidence of rebuilding appeared. Heavy equipment was parked on the property. Dirt was pushed around. But what stood out to me was that barricades were set up. One of the first steps in rebuilding was making the project safe. A big part of that safety plan was to keep out those who might cause more harm.

As an abuse survivor, those barricades were a visual reminder of the need to set up boundaries while in the process of rebuilding what was lost. Many survivors have false guilt when they create space between themselves and those who might cause them harm. They know that some of those people don’t mean to cause harm, but their words or attitudes do just that. So, to rebuild their emotional health, they may need to erect some barricades and keep certain people out of their lives, at least for a time.

The barricades on the bank building remained until the construction was just about completed. They were in place until all the structural work was done, and just the finish work on the inside was left. But it occurred to me that the inside still has a barricade in the form of a vault. Very few people who enter the bank will be allowed access to the vault. It’s not for everyone, just those with the right clearances. Survivors should make note of that too. There will always be parts of their life or story that are not for everyone, just the most trusted people in their lives. And that’s okay. It’s not just okay, it’s necessary.

Most abusers are people who were trusted. Being harmed by someone you trusted is as damaging to a person as that fire was to the bank. Like the rebuilding of the bank, survivors need to do the work of removing the damaged areas and preparing their hearts to rebuild trust. Rebuilding trust takes time.

Start with the barricades. They allow you to rebuild from a place of safety. The first steps might be with a counselor, pastor, or trusted friend. It might be in a support group. It needs to be with people who won’t do more harm. Over time, you will rebuild trust and be able to take down some of the barricades because you’ll feel safe without them. In the process of rebuilding, you’ll become more resilient. Even if someone harmful shows up in your life, it doesn’t mean that what you’ve rebuilt will come crashing down. You will have learned that other people don’t control you or your emotions—a big step in the rebuilding process.

Eventually, you’ll feel that the barricades can come down, except that vault. The keys to that are only for certain individuals and God himself. He is the one who can be fully trusted with your heart and life. We will never fully understand the depth of his love and care for us. He promises he will fight for us, he will restore us, and he will bring us safely home. Even when we don’t feel safe or wonder if all that was lost to abuse can be restored, God will fulfill his promises, and we can rest safely in that.

After you have suffered a little while, the God of all grace, who has called you to his eternal glory in Christ, will himself restore, confirm, strengthen, and establish you. 1 Peter 5:10 ESV.