Rise

At times, the words echoed off the walls; other times they were spoken as a harsh demand, a rule I was expected to follow. I rolled the words in my mind. My comprehension of words and concepts exceeded my ability to distinguish truth from cruel manipulation disguised as correction. I must hide, or no one will like me.

Another phrase that remained with me was a lie. I conditioned myself never to speak those words. A spoken word defines a reality that defies reason and seeks confirmation. To speak those words aloud, or even to put them in text, might validate them; I will not take that risk. My refusal to acknowledge the lie was either profound wisdom or the grace of God—or perhaps both.

A wise man wrote these words hundreds of years ago: “By words we may inflict injury… especially by bringing sorrow to the heart.”

He explained that words are acts, not mere sounds, and thus can cause spiritual and emotional harm that is real and serious. Sorrow of the heart shows itself as discouragement, fear, and a dismantled confidence. He described the life I lived.

The phone rang. I was on the floor in the living room. My mom asked if I wanted to go to the house of a boy from my class and play. Fear enveloped me. I folded my legs into my chest and held tight.

“No.”

I had been taught that being known was dangerous.

For many years I constrained my actions and guarded every response. I now understand the damage that had been done to my soul, and I am unfolding—allowing myself to be known.

Sustained harsh words crush the personality and damage the soul. I once asked a man who trains bulls for professional rodeos whether the bulls were dangerous in the pasture. He pointed to a huge beast with a countenance that unsettled me.

“You could walk to him and scratch his head, and he will snuggle next to you.”

He pointed to another one.

“That one will kill you.”

“What makes the difference?” I asked.

“The way he was raised.”

A soul loved early and often responds with love; a soul shaped by fear and severity does not know how to love.

The environment of my early life required vigilance and endurance. The methods used to enforce compliance were severe enough to teach me to live with a guarded posture.

I am grateful that I remember the trauma of my youth. Better to know the source than to wonder about the reason.

In college I lived in close quarters with many other young men. The color of the leaves dictated the proper sport. The gold leaves on the branches and brown leaves on the ground demanded a football game. I decided to participate. Football seemed like a good way to be known; my innate wisdom enabled me to take the risk. The other players were unaware of the apprehension I had to overcome to join them.

The light rain did not deter the game. A football game on grass soon became a football game on wet dirt. As the autumn sun positioned itself on the hills, the air cooled. The designated quarterback tossed the football to his teammate, who caught it with a smile. We knew the game was over. I was as mud‑covered as any of them. As we walked back to the dorm we tossed the football to each other.

I looked to my right to see who quickened his pace to walk with me. He kept his face forward, with a quick glance at me. He rammed his shoulder into mine; an impish grin cracked the dried mud on his face. I had never felt as accepted as I did at that moment. My soul was a bit brighter.  My breath was less constrained. Back to our physics books and calculus homework.

Recovery begins when truth becomes more important than the damage. Truth cauterizes the wound, so the damage no longer controls the response. Old wounds become scars—proof that truth prevailed. The soul that God intended rises with a hug of gratitude.

Reflection

Participation was the catalyst that showed me my healing had been accomplished. My new friend, the kid who rammed his shoulder into mine, not only saw me, he acknowledged me. The shoulder ram was the first of many more similar clues. Not every clue involved a bumped shoulder.

When my faith slips, I guard myself. Even then, the old wounds no longer dictate who I am. My soul embraces me, every day.

Your soul knows the voice of the Lord and knows how to respond. You are not alone. You never were. The Lord has always been there, waiting for you to acknowledge Him. You were loved more than you knew.

He administered the process.

He protected you from ruin.

His truth replaced the lies.

Your soul reflects the Glory of the Lord.