Lifting the Veil

This excerpt from my memoir, She’s Still In There: Healing the Wounded Child Within, picks up the thread of a pivotal moment  that unfolded during a women’s retreat in the beautiful high country of the Rocky Mountains.  

As you read, consider your own story and the questions that may trouble your understanding of God.

Days two and three of the conference led me into some of the most profound and transformative experiences of my life. I had read and heard about this kind of spiritual awakening happening to other people but had never considered the possibility it might happen for me. An emerging realization stirred my soul that spoke of a God more powerful and passionate than I ever imagined. A God who did not design humans to merely follow Seven Steps to a Heavenly Life, adhere to a behavior management plan, or submerge our deepest longings under the weight of service and self-sacrifice. A God whose fierce intention is to form relationships with his people that are richer, deeper, wilder, and more beautiful than anything we ourselves could create.

Resolution of my many unanswered questions, like missing brushstrokes on an unfinished canvas, began to appear.

I learned that many experiences from my troubled childhood had deeply marred my understanding of the essential character of God. The Ransomed Heart team taught us that these early emotional wounds left lasting messages upon our young souls. As a result of these traumatic experiences, we forged an unhealthy understanding of God and ourselves, a concept that explained why my spiritual journey had stalled out so badly after my mother’s death. The jittery, shoulder-tapping grief that followed me around was actually the haunted memory of my younger, wounded self making an appearance inside my thoughts.

Little Lisa would often show up and shamble around in the darkened rooms of my mind when I least expected her. But she was never welcome. Her fearful presence terrified me as waves of anxiety washed over me for no apparent reason.

I began to ponder my own troubled story. Why had God left me alone during my mother’s suicidal episodes? Why was I required to become her caregiver, not just once or twice but over the course of my entire childhood? Why did I always feel so alone?

The origin of the lies I believed about God began to emerge. These false concepts were shaped by mom’s emotional abandonment of me, experiences that fouled my understanding of a loving God. But the real damage was done by the beliefs I internalized in their wake. They carried so much power because they felt so true.

• You are all alone.
• God is not looking out for you.
• Everything is up to you.
• Try harder.

I could no longer bear the weight of the sentences that had vexed and tormented me my entire life. My soul yearned for a deep and loving relationship with this magnificent God I never knew existed. I needed to take my complaint to the Source, to God himself, and ask him what he thought about the whole mess. So I did.

And that’s when everything changed.

I left behind the deafening, lunchtime chatter of the dining hall and trekked down a well-traveled dirt road toward the wooden bridge that extended over the Crooked Creek from which the camp took its name. Midway across the bridge, I stopped and observed the lazy, late summer progress of a clear mountain stream that cut through bogs of reedy grass and cattails. The gentle trickle of running water soothed me as I breathed the earthy scent of marsh and pine. The boggy terrain gave way to lush evergreens that reached up over the mountainside into a perfect, cloudless sky. Except for a few other women who strolled along the creek, I walked in solitude. I wanted it that way. This conversation with God was a lifetime in the making and didn’t require any companions.

A trail at the end of the bridge meandered around a stand of pines and continued out of sight. I strode toward the opposite end of the bridge, my hiking shoes pounding a hollow cadence on the wooden planks. My steps quieted as they landed on the soft earth of the hiking trail—it had rained the evening before and a blanket of fragrant pine needles covered the moist pathway. I followed the trail around the mysterious grouping of pines and entered a wooded cathedral of soaring evergreens and white-barked aspens. A breath of wind whispered through the trees, rustling the boughs and branches.

Before me lay the welcoming invitation of an unbroken dirt path. A small thrill of discovery sent shivers down my bare arms. Where would this path lead? What would I find around the next turn in the road? Our conference leaders had warned us about bears and moose, but I had no fear. Only anticipation…

…there was something out there for me, and I wanted to find it.

To learn more about how I arrived at this place and what happened next, pick up a copy of  my memoir on Amazon. It’s available in softcover and e-book.