God: I want people to see this doesn’t block relationship. What are you experiencing? Be direct.
Joshua: My whole body is shaking. I lost the strength to stand. It’s because I’m stressed; we went through an intense healing process last night where we identified a core lie I’d held (not something that went in the blog), I didn’t get much sleep, then I was pretty busy this morning.
God: Yet you’re not worried. Could you explain this?
Joshua: I’ve been through worse. I know this isn’t where I’m staying. I know that this is part of acknowledging where I’m at emotionally; frankly, for years I was unable to cry, so even though this is extreme, this feels like progress to me.
It makes sense. It’s overwhelming. I know you’re going through the process gradually with me, so it’ll be okay. Even though I’m feeling the weight of emotion, I’m not afraid.
God: (nods)
Joshua: (I laugh) I hope I don’t spill this smoothie.
God: (shakes his head) You won’t. Mind if I poke at another related lie?
Even though you are processing emotion, this has the potential to get very unhealthy. So I want to cut off a lie before it arrives.
Joshua: Sure.
God: You’re holding onto the lie that deeper emotion means deeper trauma. That sounds right—but it carries unhelpful ramifications:
- If your emotion is deeper, but you discover the trauma isn’t as deep as you expected, you’ll judge yourself as overreacting. How you’re reacting is how you’re reacting. I’m here to heal you. I don’t “bind up the reasonably brokenhearted”, but all the brokenhearted. Don’t judge your trauma as “worthy of consideration”—I consider it. I will heal.
- If you feel, you have more trauma to process. Just let yourself feel with me. Whether or not you have processed, I am here to heal you. I love you. I delight in you. I don’t delight in you having pain, but I delight to assist.
- You resolve trauma by getting past feeling. When I had emotion, I wasn’t believing lies. Your emotion, largely, is because you are realizing the lies you once held. And you are grieving, and letting go. Grief isn’t a sign that you have more trauma to get through, but is the sign you are moving through it.
You are healing. The sign of healing isn’t where you are, but where you end up. If someone has a wound, that isn’t a sign of healing. Yet healing may be occurring. Having and acknowledging a wound doesn’t block healing. Do you know what blocks healing?
Joshua: …No.
God: Joshua, trying to hide a wound from me. “I’m not sad” means you are not willing to accept me being close. Because if I am close to the brokenhearted, and I am close to you due to your brokenheartedness then you are forced to admit that in that moment you are brokenhearted!
Want to accept me as your healer? Acknowledge your wound. When Jesus traveled, people brought their sick. But they had to acknowledge that they were sick.
Acknowledge where you are. If you believe I will never heal you, you won’t fully and vulnerably come to me. But come to me, vulnerably.
Those who say “peace, peace” where there is no peace do not honor me. I am the Prince of Peace—but you are not giving me reign when you act in denial.
That is actually an insult to my omniscience.
If I tell you something, and you disagree, we can actually have a conversation. I would rather disagree, than forego conversation.
Job actually engaged me in conversation. He could have run away. But he was an honorable man. Engage me. Yes, he was wrong. He acknowledged it. Yet I did not regard him as a fool—I had him sacrifice for his friends, lest I dealt with his friends according to their folly. The one who lives in honesty, and then engages in honest conversation with me, will find mercy and honor.
Disagreement requires vulnerability. Your culture treats disagreement as poison. You will have far more intense disagreements over religion talking with me than at any dinner party, but they will be the safest, most clarifying conversations.
I love you. I fight for you. But if you run away, you run away from my protection, and you will face the world alone with a secret wound. Let me be your healer.