WAVES OF MERCY

"Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who in his great mercy gave us a new birth to a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead,... In this you rejoice, although now for a little while you may have to suffer through various trials....so that the genuineness of your faith, more precious than gold that is perishable even though tested by fire, may prove to be for praise, glory, and honor at the revelation of Jesus Christ."

1 Peter 1:3,6,8

We worked diligently on the exercise that our therapist gave us. Within a few months I slowly graduated a few levels, first holding his hand, then embracing the desire to be near him and touching without sexual intimacy, and then kissing. The wall became very thick and unyielding at this point. Physically my body would react with personal performance anxiety, the need to please squeezing the air from my lungs.

Lord, I pray for healing. I miss being with my husband as my husband. I know he is frustrated and I want all of this to work out for both of us. I've cried out to you a dozen times for you to crack this wall that is between me and true intimacy. I need to break free! This is a continuous process for me and I have faith that you will walk me through the wall and into healing. I want to be a woman who gladly accepts the gift of sexuality and gives this to her husband.

I poured out my prayers to God in desperation for healing. One morning it dawned on me I had never followed through with the penance I'd been given before I became youth minister.

Afraid of how Neal would react, but certain I needed to be clean and clear in our marriage I convinced Neal to attend a one day married couples retreat. That afternoon, hand in hand we went for a walk, still tentative and shy from the year of hard work we'd been through in counseling.

"I need to tell you something." A lump swelled in my throat.

"Okay.”

"Remember that guy, Sean, I would talk to every now and then back when we lived in La Porte?"

He nodded. "Yeah, that guy you met in New Orleans?"

I swallowed and decided to blurt it out like ripping off a bandage, fast so the sting would be quick. "Well, it was more than a friendship. I never saw him. He lived states away, but we became emotionally connected."

Neal stopped walking. The pain in his eyes stabbed into my heart.

"It was never physical.”

"Like that makes a difference?"

I turned away unable to look into his eyes any longer. "I'm so sorry. I haven't talked to him in over a year, since we moved. I don't even know why we were close. It was unfair to you and to our boys and I am so sorry." The anticipation of the imminent anger that was to erupt made my fingers go numb.

The silence was excruciating as he processed it all. Finally he grabbed my hands again. "I forgive you. I don't want to hear any more. I don’t want to hear details. I don’t want to know. It wasn't right and I don't like it but we need to move on."

Just like that. He managed probably the three hardest words for a spouse to give and he did it with no other explanation. I forgive you.

Neal had his reasons for not wanting to know more or discuss. I was happy to move on but in hindsight more should have been dealt with in the moment. Rushing or forcing forgiveness can often bring about resentment. Resentment does not fit well in marriage.

We held onto each other and let it be.

On equal ground Neal and I felt the wall begin to crumble.

I don't believe I'll ever be 'normal' as far as passion and desire go but I do want to please my husband in a healthy way. I explained in my journal. I've been praying for this breakthrough for so long and God has finally answered. Perseverance is key.

Last night, in my dreams, the greatest thing happened. I believe my sub-conscience healed itself. In the dream I was at a party at Paul's house (the friend who raped me when I was seventeen) and Matt was there (my boyfriend who died in the car accident) and in the dream I knew Matt was visiting from heaven. In the dream we were all still at the age of seventeen and I told Matt I wished he were alive so I could show him the love I had for him instead of pushing him away. Because he was there in front of me I could. I was able to tell him I loved him. I felt alive and free!

Then in the dream Paul turned to me. "You wanted to be at my house, don't deny that."

I was honest. "Yes, I did, and I'll admit that I might have eventually wanted to have sex with you but not then and not like that. I said 'no'."

The scene changed and I watched the rape take place and the violence stunned me. I fought against him but he kept trying, hurting me, pressing his fist into my mouth to keep me silent. It hit me like a splash of cold water on a blistering hot summer day: I did nothing wrong.

Through the dream I finally accepted this obvious revelation. In a sense I was awakened. God answered my prayer!

In a personal therapy session I shared this revelation.

“I’ve always known deep down that it wasn’t my fault but I have always felt the shame and guilt from being at his house.”

"Shannon, I know we've discussed those who've been your perpetrators of the two rapes and you've forgiven them. We've talked about your older sister and how growing up in her shadow also affected your life. Did you send her the letter?"

I nodded. “She called. I can’t even believe it.” Writing to Carrie added to the difficult steps I had to take to heal. Growing up in her shadow I witnessed her in situations that a child should not witness. She held me as her only confidant bringing me into her world of secrets, lies and all the drugs that kept her emotionless.

When Carrie called my heart sped up and my hands broke out into a sweat.

“Hey, I got your letter.”

“You did?” I waited for a barrage of curses and held my breath.

“Yeah, Shannon I’m sorry. I didn’t know I was hurting you. Most of the time I don’t think I even realized you were around. All I wanted to do was escape.”

It was the first time I'd heard her acknowledge anyone but herself.

"It's not hard to forgive Carrie. I forgave her a long time ago.” Her actions were a product of the abuse inflicted by my grandfather. I felt sorrow for her more than I felt the need to forgive.

"But I wonder," my therapist paused tapping the notebook with her pen, "have you forgiven yourself?"

My ego battled with the response. On one hand I wanted to lash out and ask, "Why would I need to be forgiven?" and on the other my spirit cried out in agony because I knew she'd hit the target.

I shrugged my shoulders in response because my throat was too tight to let out a peep.

"I want to do something with you that I’ve found to be successful when it comes to personal forgiveness. I don't advertise that I offer this service because it's been exploited in the media as a way to 'make up' repressed memories. Some call it theophostic healing but I don't go that deep into the memories. Through hypnosis I would guide you through a meditation. Do you think you'd be interested?"

I'd been hypnotized before on a comedy stage for my cousin's bachelorette party. I knew I wouldn't be out of it and that I would be able to know what was going on but at the same time feel calm and secure. "Sure." I wanted to try anything.

I got comfortable on the couch.

“Okay, now I want you to focus on this object and I’m going to count.”

She hung a medallion from a string and counted. “One, two, three, four, five,…

I don’t know how far she counted before she told me to envision myself with Jesus beside me.

“Now imagine a place where you first felt like you were afraid or kept quiet. It might be a room, or outside. Your mind will take you there.”

It was a stream. The sound of water rushed and gurgled as it rose up and washed over river rocks. It wouldn't be until nine years later that the significance of this place would cause the most impact and healing in my life.

“Are you at the place?”

“Yes, it’s a stream.”

“Good. Now I want you to go to the girl inside of you that needs you most. The age you were when you first felt violated. She’ll be standing there at the stream.”

I was young. Very young. With Jesus by my side I knelt before the little girl and reached out to her. I held her in my arms. “I’m so sorry this happened to you. I’m sorry you hurt and you’re confused.”

When I came to, my face was wet and my tears stained the pillow in my lap.

“How old was the little girl you went to?”

As clear as a high definition movie I recalled myself embracing the young girl. “Four, maybe five-years-old.”

She jotted something on her notepad. “Why do you think you chose to see yourself so young and not as a teenager when Paul raped you?”

The weight of a hand on my shoulder remained. Jesus’ hand. The vision held me captive and I wanted to cry again. “I don’t know. Maybe because that’s when I started seeing my sister act out sexually?” I looked at her as if maybe she had the answer.

“There could be a number of reasons why you chose to forgive yourself and reclaim your childhood. How do you feel?”

I sat up in on the couch. The warmth was gone from my shoulder and my body felt lighter. “Good. Real good.”

I thought I embraced forgiveness that day but I failed to receive the gift of worth that forgiveness can offer. In a journal entry not long after this therapy session I tried to put the confusion to words:

Lord, I am grateful to you for my life. There is so much you give me in a day, a smile or hug from my boys, Neal's love and acceptance, work done, rest, etc. Thank you for loving me. I know that you love me now, but there is still a child in me that struggles to think you thought much of me growing up. Lord, help me to be with you and to heal this 'inner child'. All rationale says I should be able to overcome my 'idiosyncrasies'. If I could heal myself then I might be able to feel I am worthy. I know I deserve happiness, success, and pleasure. I haven't gotten to that point in my life where the fire within is let loose because I'm not able to accept what keeps me from receiving the joy. Lord, I know you will guide me. Please help me.

There was something deeper that I couldn't touch, that I didn't want to touch and in that moment I subconsciously (and on a level consciously) chose to put it aside for a better time. I couldn't focus on the little girl in me when I had my own little boy to think about. At the very moment we were in the heart of counseling with Ryan. His pre-K 4 teacher recommended we get him evaluated. The outbursts in class, tantrums, rocking, humming, and temper had escalated to such heights that it was no longer easy to brush aside or put off as my inability to parent.

Nine months Neal and I'd been in counseling and nine months Neal had given up receiving love through the gift of intimacy. There was a hint of defeat because I knew I wasn't fully 'whole' again. I wasn't 'fixed' but I was on the mend and ready to embrace the new boundaries I'd learn to follow. Most importantly I both wanted and needed Neal.

Healed 'enough' I said goodbye to my therapist and proclaimed Neal and I had graduated from therapy. I could be intimate enough. It was all I could do for myself because my son needed me more.