Shattering The Silence

It is October.  That means that more than likely, other that pumpkin spice everything, you have seen purple ribbon and red silhouettes everywhere.  Or maybe you haven't seen them or noticed them. It can be easy to lose track in what can often seem like a sea of awareness months.  According to RAINN, Every 98 seconds, an American is sexually assaulted.  That means that there is a good chance that by the time your kiddo has let you read this far, someone has become a victim.

The National Center Against Domestic Violence reports that roughly 20 people every seconds are physically abused by an intimate partner (equaling 10 million in a year), adding that 1 in 7 women and 1 in 18 women believed they (or someone close to them) would be harmed or killed, and that just the presence of a gun increased the odds of homicide by 500%.

Of course, many of us know this.  It is not a surprise.  Many of us are way too familiar.  We have a friend, a family member, a neighbor, or someone we know from church/book club/the gym/fill in the blank who has experienced domestic violence. 

Or maybe we are that person.

Today, dear one, I want to be real with you. 

Today, I want to break the silence. 

 I want to shatter into as many small pieces that it can never be put back together.

I was that person.

I was in my early 20's and had met this guy leaving work.  We took the same route every day, so we had a chance to talk.  He was smart, funny, charismatic.  He had an amazing way of covering the walking dumpster fire that was his life.  He asked me to coffee, so I figured, why not?  Public place, lots of folks around...it was perfect!

We went out for coffee and hit it off.  He was a little older than I was, and was a hot mess; but at that point in my life, so was I.  I had reached max burnout in the mental health field and needed a break; so I was trying to find myself (and consuming a lot of vodka, tequila, rum, wine, beer alcohol of all varieties in the process).

At first everything was fantastic.  We would hang out and talk about philosophy. Religion. Politics. Life.  We would just chat. 

Early on, he asked me if I was “cool” (aka did drugs).  I told him no, and when he asked if I was cool with him using while I was there, I also said no.  In the beginning, he told me totally understood and respected the boundary.  And then he started getting high in front of me.  The first night he told me it was "just a little pot" and I was making a big deal of nothing.  I let it slide.  I mean, it was “just pot”, right? I was being ridiculous, right? (For all of you jumping up and down and arguing that there is no difference between alcohol and cannabis/it has medical benefit/etc., take a deep breath, this is not that post).

This was the first step.

Over the next few weeks he demanded I spend more and more time with him.  If I wasn’t there, he would insist I was cheating.  He started doing harder drugs when I was at his house.  Finally, one night, high on a combination of God only knows how many drugs, he choked me.  I was not sure if I would survive.  The second he let go (read: blacked out, high as a kite), I grabbed my keys and ran.

The weeks that followed included the typical pattern.  Calls, text massages, apologies, begging for forgiveness (bordering on anger).  Then he told me he was struggling so I am came back out (he knew this was a struggle for me).  We were together for another two weeks before he started hitting me, threatening me, doing drugs, and choking me.  I told him I was done and nothing would change that.


Then came January 3rd.

You know, I always heard the statistic that it takes, on average, 7 times before a victim will successfully leave their abuser.  I never understood...women who survived domestic violence were some of the strongest people I had met (I grew up volunteering helping women in DV situations). 

On January 3rd, I found out.

That night, he called me, just like before.  He told me that everything was falling apart and that he needed my help.  He said he needed a ride.  He insinuated that he was suicidal and needed to talk to.  I tried every way I could to get out of it.  I knew deep down that something was wrong.... very, very wrong with this.  But finally, I gave in to his feigned desperation. 

As I got there, I saw multiple people.  At least five guys.  Everyone was doing drugs.  It was clear that I had not been told the truth.  I tried to leave, but one of the guys blocked the door and gave me a drink.  Despite my protests, he told me to have a drink and by the time I was done, my ex would be "done" and ready to go.

That night, I was he and four of his friends held me hostage.

That night, they gang raped me

That night I was tortured and almost died.

But I did not die.  I survived.  And it took me a long time to realize that I did not survive to let him silence me any longer.  Back then, I had no voice.  Speaking out was not safe.

Today, it is different.

If you in an unsafe situation, find someone you can trust and tell them.  Tell them regardless of whether you are ready to leave.  Ask them to help you get to a DV shelter to create a safety plan (these can address notification, guns in the house, etc.). And know that you are stronger than you ever believe.  That does not change if you go back.

If you are a friend of someone whom you believe may be in an unsafe situation, first.  I would not recommend coming out and saying "is your partner abusing you"...that often shuts things down.  But conversations about feeling safe at home are important.  Feel free to approach it in a couple of ways, but also know that you have planted a seed.  Make sure they know you love and care about them and want to help however you can.  That way, if they feel ready to talk later, they will know you are a resource.

There are absolutely somethings that you should never say to a domestic violence victim.  These include:

1. I cannot imagine.  They were always so nice to Me!
2. Are you sure it is really domestic violence? Everyone fights!
3. Did you provoke them?
4. Are you just doing this for attention?
5. I know you have a (fill in the blank, drinking, drugs, etc.) problem.  Are you sure this isn't just a distraction?

6. Have you prayed for the situation to improve?

7. Have you talked to your pastor about marital counseling?

8. Have you tried being more responsive to their needs?

Things you can absolutely do to help a victim of domestic violence:

1.Take them to the library.  Many offenders track their computer usage, so having access to something they cannot view the history of is very important when they are trying to leave (In the planning phase)
2. Listen.  Make sure they know that they are believed, loved, and supported.
3. Express concerns about safety and discuss options but do not decide for them victims of domestic violence are trying to get of a situation in which they already have a person ruling their life.  You don't want to be another.
4. Provide transportation to wherever they need to go if they choose to leave.  Also, if you can, have a little go bag for your friend (and kids).  Toothbrush/toothpaste, pads/tampons, incontinence supplies (if needed) diapers, face wipes (these are available at almost every store at every price level), coloring books and crayons, etc.  These things don't end because of the hell they are living through, but they are the creature comforts that make us feel just a bit better.



In Peace & Love

JSB

Transformation at the Fringe: The Man With The Withered Hand

Welcome back, dear one! We left off yesterday, talking about the crazy, messy, overflowing love of Jesus. 

Now, I am not sure about you, but if your life is anything like mine, you have people who you who you love, and maybe even like. That said, no matter how much you love this person, showing them that love isn’t always easy. Maybe they are really independent and won’t let you help them (for those of you not sitting with me right now, I am raising my hand and laughing, and trying to stay quiet lest I wake a sleeping house). Perhaps the person is hard to understand. There may be miles between you. Whatever the reason is, no matter how much you want to love and serve that person, the timing is just not right.

This whole timing thing, it wasn’t a concern for Jesus. Jesus was a person of urgency. He knew His time was limited. So things happened when they happened. Period.

We can see this in Mark 3:1-5

“Again he entered the synagogue, and a man was there with a withered hand. And they watched Jesus, to see whether he would heal him on the Sabbath, so that they might accuse him. And he said to the man with the withered hand, “Come here.” And he said to them, “Is it lawful on the Sabbath to do good or to do harm, to save life or to kill?” But they were silent. And he looked around at them with anger, grieved at their hardness of heart, and said to the man, “Stretch out your hand.” He stretched it out, and his hand was restored.”(ESV)

Y’all, that is one powerful passage. Like, mountains moving powerful.


There are two audiences, and a whole lot of amazingness in this passage, so can we break it down, verse by verse?


In Mark 3:1, the scene is set for us. Jesus enters the synagogue. Jesus notes a man with a withered hand. 

According to the prominent archeologist Arthur Evans, this withered hand was was conveyed using the Greek word xeros. This is loosely defined as dry, with reference to land. In this context, it likely referred to “infantile paralysis”. Some have said this may have been what we know now as poliomyelitis or polio meningitis. This can cause atrophy to the muscles and create a deformity of the limb.

Now, I know this feels like a lot of conversation for one small detail, but hang with me for a second. Given that this man likely contracted an illness in early childhood that caused a permanent deformity, this would have made him unable to work, and therefore dependent on others for support. This would have been a man living on the fringe.

This man, he is our first audience in the passage.

Where do we always find Jesus? Pouring out love on those living at the fringe.

In verse 2, we see our second audience. The Pharisees have gathered. They see Jesus enter...they catch this man living at the fringe. Jesus sees him, but knows why he has everyone’s attention. They want to see if Jesus is going to heal on the Sabbath. They are collecting proof to make their case against Jesus.

And, y’all, Jesus never fails...He feels all eyes on Him, and in verse 3 tells the man with the withered hand to come forward. This is significant. He is making a public statement.

As the story unfolds, we see the real reason for the crowd in verse 4. The Pharisees hurl accusations poorly disguised as questions. Can you heal on the Sabbath? Seems innocent, right? Jesus, however, knows what they are really saying. He answers them with a different question...is it better to be evil and stand by doing nothing, or should the life be saved. They are silenced. 

Now verse 5...this is where the magic really happens. We see the love of Jesus come out in the form of something we don’t typically associate with Jesus. Anger...and when I say anger, I mean righteous indignation. Jesus sees this crowd, silenced, wanting to set Him up, willing to disregard this man in need as prop in their game. He sees hearts hardened. Souls tied to rules and law, rather than love. And then, Jesus returns to audience one...our man with the withered hand...and commands him to stretch out his hand. And he was healed.

Y’all, let me say that again. 

HE.WAS.HEALED.

This miracle is beautiful, complex, and significant for so many reasons. That said, I want to focus on one area...how Jesus met this man where he was. While this man was not only disabled (making him dependent on others), his disability was visible. There was no covering it. There is reference to it being his right hand (in Luke). This is significant because the right hand, in this time, because sitting at the right hand was considered the place of honor, left handedness was considered less honorable. The love of Jesus not only restored the use of a limb previously not usable, it freed him from disability and dependence, and restored him to a place of honor.

He was at the fringe. And then he was restored. He was made whole. And he was a new creation through the love of Jesus.

Dear ones, I don’t know about you, but there are times, when I feel like the man with the withered hand. Maybe our disabilities are different. Maybe they are not physical. Maybe they are not disabilities at all.

Maybe...just maybe, you have a dependency forcing you to be dependent on others in many ways. Addiction. Depression. Maybe it is a sin you feel is unforgivable...a sin that has left you unable to survive in wholeness on your own.

Dear ones, please hear me when I say, Jesus is waiting for you. Even if the throng of judgment around you is screaming, He is there. He sees you. And he has commanded you to take the leap of faith you didn’t think was possible, and believe He will heal you.

Dear one, stretch out your hand. He is waiting.

In Love, JSB

PS: As always, don’t forget to snag your journal page here!

A Messy Love: Transformation At the Fringe

Oh dear ones, welcome back. Our house has been a place of chaos and craziness. In the midst of a lot of calamity, I have spent time resting in the presence of the Father, and reflecting. But rest comes to an end and God has poured out His love and it is overflowing. God is good, y’all. God is good.

A wave of sickness hit our household about a month ago. It started with my littlest one, and within days, the oldest was sick. Cool, I thought. We should be through this quickly. This bug will move on in a week. 

Oh, how simple things seem when we think we can see the future.

As fate would have it, the two had different bugs (the joys of multiple schools). As the days passed, the kids seemed to get one bug and then the other. Then it morphed into some superbug. One by one, the kids got worse. The first was my littlest...a temperature of almost 104 and not responding to tylenol and ibuprofen...off to the ER we went (doctor’s orders). Diagnosis: Kidney Infection. Next up the bookends...my first and third. Upper respiratory infection and ear infection for both. Kiddo number two rounded out the month of yuck with bronchitis and pink eye. And Dad and Mom both landed on antibiotics for pneumonia (me to start, him to finish). Within a month, we had four sick littles camped out in our living room, timers set for medications, make-up homework, and a weary Mama. If lysol fumigated houses, I would invite them over. Red carpet and all.

So here I sit. Four littles, finally moving towards wellness. We have rested and healed. Praise God for modern medicine.

There was a time when a story like ours could (and would) have had a different outcome. Without albuterol, antibiotics, acetaminophen, ibuprofen, and probiotics, these kids could have faced a totally different outcome. The pause between sick and better….summer and fall...between the heartbeats of life remind me that God’s limitless love and healing never ceases...and sometimes comes in a prescription bottle. 

God’s word is filled with stories of healing. And not the neat, simple, viral respiratory infections.

Stories of a blind man seeing through Him. Of a woman, ostracized, desperate, and bleeding...healed. Stories of freedom from the demons of the emotional and spiritual world. Of people walking after ages of paralysis, of children being restored to health.

His miracles were huge. Life changing. They were love, bursting at the seams...the kind that cannot be contained no matter how desperately you try.

Simply put, His miracles were loud, large, and messy.

Does that sound weird? Humor me for a second. When I think of miraculous love that I encounter daily, I think of my four daughters. If you see us, we are a rowdy, messy, chaotic bunch. There is no containing these four. They are big, messy love.

I think of the beauty of nature. Because I have the fortune of living in the Pacific Northwest, I am blessed with the ability to see mountains, valleys, deserts, oceans, lakes, rivers, and countryside...all in the same State. While God probably didn’t weigh in on drawing the state lines, His hand crafted this small patch of the universe with so much beauty that it literally spills out and cannot be contained.

He has promised us in 2 Corinthians 5:17:

Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation.

The old has passed away; behold, the new has come. (ESV)

Dear one, God still moves. He still creates. Has never stopped healing. But before we can really dig into that, will you join me in exploring the stories of how Jesus transformed the lives of those at the fringe?

JSB

PS: Grab your journal page here!