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My Lament... His Hope
Tonight, Lord, You have prompted me to read Lamentations, and I know it is because of this intense melancholy I feel after everything that has happened this week . . . so much pain and memories of horrible acts; struggling with denial and feelings of despair. Even the weather outside seems to have been readjusted to my state, turning from a beautiful spring day into wind and rain and gloom. So in these surroundings, Lord, I hear Your voice inside my heart saying, "Join Jeremiah in his lamenting, his melancholy over Israel's sins, and listen to what I have for you."
(1:16) - "This is why I weep and my eyes overflow with tears. No one is near to comfort me, no one to restore my spirit. My children are destitute because the enemy has prevailed."
This verse really describes how I am feeling, Lord. I can't cry with tears, though -- it is difficult to weep. I feel so overwhelmed with this sadness. I feel so alone -- people who I trust and normally seek comfort from are unavailable. And even if I could talk with them, they can't fix this pain or make everything okay. They can't restore my spirit, Lord -- it has been broken and splintered into too many pieces. The children inside me are the child I once was, and they are battered and bruised in so many different ways. They are poverty stricken and in dire need of love and warmth and safe hugs and unconditional acceptance and protection. It seems like the abusers have won, Lord -- they don't seem to be affected by any of this -- they go on about their lives, arrogantly flaunting self-righteous lies, even enjoying a prosperous existence. Yet it is an effort for my family to make ends meet while paying for my recovery. They are free to go about their lives; I am still struggling with these innumerable and burdensome shackles resulting from their abuse years ago. When will they "get theirs," Lord? It seems like they will never have to pay for their crimes against me.
Dear God, sometimes I feel like You are destroying me with this recovery. I am angry because there doesn't seem to be any justice. My abusers are not suffering. Where is the justice in that? Going through it once wasn't enough? I don't get it, Lord. I am scared and upset and depressed and frustrated and angry, and I feel like screaming. Why is all this necessary? Why are You breaking me down and melting my insides, ripping me apart like this? I was perfectly content to coast through life in blissful ignorance and denial.
(2:9) "Her gates have sunk into the ground; their bars He has broken and destroyed"
This describes how I feel, God. Yet even as I read it in my anger tonight, I know You have done a good thing, Lord. My gates have kept You out and my bars have kept me locked up inside. Maybe I am beginning to see something here -- an insight into Your purpose for making me go through this process of recovery. You want what is best for me, and that means removing the bars and gates. Okay, Lord, I can accept this.
(2:13) ". . . your wound is as deep as the sea. Who can heal you?"
Is this what You are telling me tonight, Lord? It is how I feel -- as though my wounds are bottomless, in murky waters, depths way beyond my ability to see; so huge and overwhelming I feel too small, too weak, too helpless to save myself. You ask, "Who can heal you?" and whispering, I respond, "You can." Oh, Lord, where did that smidgen of faith, that miniscule amount of confidence in Your ability to heal me come from? Surely not from this pit of depression. Yet it is almost as though You answered Your question for me. "My precious child, I can heal you. I have strength for your weakness, power for your helplessness, and most of all, I am God Almighty, bigger than everything! Let Me wrap Your small, weak helplessness inside My big, strong, powerful arms. Let Me pick you up, My fragile, hurting child, and carry you, securely, to safety."
(3:19-23) "I remember my affliction and my wandering, the bitterness and the gall. I well remember them, and my soul is downcast within me. Yet this I call to mind and therefore I have hope: because of the LORD's great love we are not consumed, for His compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is Your faithfulness."
Oh, Lord, I am humbled by these verses. I have gone through so many painful recollections and revelations from some of my inner kids. My soul is downcast within me about all these things this week; I am even angry at You for this affliction, for the malice of the abusers. Yet here You remind me that You love me. I hear You say it in my heart, softly, gently, calmly, patiently, "Beth, I love you." Oh, Lord, tears are in my heart, and I am weeping inside at this realization of Your great love . . . for me. This must be why, when I feel as though I will die from this agony, that I am not consumed by it -- because You love me, You feel my pain with me, and You will never let it be too much. Because You love me, You have compassion for my plight. And this verse says Your compassions are renewed every morning. Does that mean You are always "fresh" for me? Every day You are waiting for me, with compassion, never tired or weary or sick of me -- but instead, waiting with unfailing, great love, caring for me. Indeed, Lord, "great is Your faithfulness!"
(3:24) "I say to myself, 'The LORD is my portion; therefore I will wait for Him.'"
Once again, Lord, the word I hate -- "wait." Yet if You are enough for me, and You are, then I should be able to wait for you. I should have enough faith and trust in You to wait. But I don't. Perhaps you are enough for me even in my lack of faith? All I need to do is give You my unbelief, Lord. And in realizing this, I am reminded of the man in Mark 9 whose son was demon-possessed. He went to You, Jesus, for deliverance for his son. When You questioned the man's faith, he humbly replied, "I do believe; help me in my unbelief!" And You did -- You took his tiny bit of faith and then made it enough. Oh, Lord, that is what I need of You today -- to take my own smidgen of faith inside this depression, and make it enough to withstand the pain and agony of recovery.
(3:31-33) "For men are not cast off by the Lord forever; though He brings grief, He will show compassion, so great is His unfailing love. For He does not willingly bring affliction or grief to the children of men."
Oh, Lord, You have not abandoned me! All this grief and affliction; I feel paralyzed to the point of barely being able to do the basics of taking care of myself. Yet You don't like what I am going through, either. This pain is necessary for my spirit to be restored to the person You intended me to be from the beginning. And You don't like this pain; you unwillingly allow it. Your compassion cushions me and carries me through it. You know this pain will one day be transformed into healing joy and I will no longer be bound by the shackles of abuse. But it is difficult to see that today. Instead, I feel overwhelmed and grief-stricken. There's no light at the end of the tunnel. (Help me in my unbelief!)
I don't understand Your unfailing love. What does that mean, Lord? It is too good to be true. There has to be a down side, or a catch someplace here. It is only a matter of time when I will do something to cause You to become so frustrated and so irritated with me that You will take back Your love and compassion. But even in my doubting, I am drawn back to look at the page, and there it is in black and white, in Your Word: "so great is His unfailing love." I can't imagine being loved like that! Totally accepting me, You never stop loving me, and You love me perfectly, never letting me down. Do I dare even trust or believe this? (Oh, Lord, help me in my unbelief!)
(3:55-59) "I called on your name, O LORD, from the depths of the pit. You heard my plea: 'Do not close your ears to my cry for relief.' You came near when I called you, and you said, 'Do not fear.' O Lord, you took up my case; you redeemed my life. You have seen, O LORD, the wrong done to me. Uphold my cause!"
I am in the pit of melancholy tonight, Lord. In the depths of overwhelming grief and depression I can barely whisper Your name. And yet You are my only hope. Who else can I turn to? You hear me, You reassure me, You calm my fears with Your presence. You are like a prosecuting attorney, keeping track of all the wrongs done to me, and waiting for the perfect time to bring charges against my abusers. You are like a judge who will avenge me, holding them accountable for their crimes.
(3:64-66) "Pay them back what they deserve, O LORD, for what their hands have done. Put a veil over their hearts, and may your curse be on them! Pursue them in anger and destroy them from under the heavens of the LORD."
This is exactly how I feel, Lord. From within my despair and hopelessness looms anger over what happened to me. It was not my fault. I did not have a choice. I am in anguish over what was done to me. And I am angry and want to see them destroyed and annihilated.
Oh, Lord, I feel this intense grief and anger, and all seems hopeless. Yet You come to me with arms open wide -- arms full of compassions "new every morning," great faithfulness, unfailing love. You are my portion, Lord -- You turn my meager smidgen of faith into enough; You have not missed one millisecond of my pain. You are here. You take my melancholy and give me hope.
(Oh, dear Lord, help me in my unbelief.)
Amen.
copyright 1996 by B. Bolthouse. All Rights Reserved.
Note: All Scripture quotations are taken from The Holy Bible, New International Version,
copyright 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society. All rights reserved.
To "Psalms for Survivors"
Persevering Counseling Ministries is a ministry of
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Michigan 49444.