“You have not handed me over to the enemy, but
have set my feet in a spacious place.” Psalm 31:8

Ring of Fire
Martin Luther gave us a word picture that resonates with my life’s story- the picture of a “caterpillar in a ring of fire”. I am a “struggler”. Deep inside of me is the inner demand for resolution, for questions of the soul to be answered, for the missing puzzle pieces to fall into place to produce the perfect, put together picture. All throughout my life I have been like Luther’s picture of a “caterpillar in a ring of fire”, trying to get out of it to the other side, trying but getting singed and burned. I am my own worst enemy. The only way out of the ring of fire is to be lifted by SOMEONE much bigger, much more powerful, much more all-knowing than me. Too innumerable were the times that I prayed for the strength to go through the ring of fire when I simply needed to quit resisting and look up in a radical trust to the ONE who would lift me out, to quit struggling and wasting my energy on what I was not designed to do.

Bomb Shell
At forty eight years of age, a bomb shell dropped upon me. It seems that the events and course of my life had reached a critical intersection where the roads had never been able to converge. My granddaughter was turning six years old and a month before her birthday I was invaded by horrible dreams concerning a brother ten years older than I. I was six again and my brother was in my bed under the initial guise of getting a back rub from me. When I fell asleep, he began touching me night by night progressively in unwelcomed places. He continued this for at least 3-5 more years, and as the time passed in more sexual ways. Each night, the dreams came back, and I woke deeply disturbed by why I would dream such heinous dreams about him. And then, over the next months, the images surfaced to my conscious awake life. And they became more and more vivid. I was totally overwhelmed, confused, and ashamed of my thoughts, trying to squelch them, to stuff them back under the covers, but the more I struggled to control them, the more they came in torrents. Finally, after three months of this intensity, I quit trying, and I turned to my husband and two friends and relayed all that had been happening inside of me. To say the words out loud felt like I was choking, but once out I was prompted to seek the help I had needed for years. I was being lifted out of my ring of fire, and the puzzle piece that had troubled me for so many years finally was put into place.

The Power of Dreams
All throughout my life, dreams have been the doorway to the truth within. In my twenties and early thirties, the recurrent dream of running feverishly round and round an oval track, out of breath, looking back into the fierce yellow eyes of a pursuing beast had plagued me. At one point through the urging of a spiritual counselor, I was able to reconstruct the dream and to stop running, turn around, and face “the beast”, say to it, “I am no longer afraid of you; come run alongside me; you are part of me but you no longer hold me.” The morning after the reconstructed dream, I literally felt physically lighter. I didn’t really know what the “beast” was. I surmised it might be despair and depression, feeling like I was never enough, or the clamoring need to be accepted and loved, but it wasn’t until I was forty eight that I understood what the dream meant. All of those “things” I thought the beast was were only surface manifestations of “who” it was. Finally, I was able to see that the pursuing beast had been my brother all along. The shame of those early years had been too much to bear as a child, so much so that I had pushed those experiences deep within me to the point I could not retrieve them. The dream of the beast was only the first step toward my healing, a healing that was to come many years later.

Re-framing Memories
Without doubt, the process of confronting these very painful memories has been anguishing and turbulent. How could I be sure that my mind wasn’t playing tricks on me, making up stories that never really happened? But the more we dove into the smut, the more my life and the treacherous dynamics of my brother’s life began to make sense. The giant step toward healing came when I asked God to reframe those memories so I could forgive my brother for what he had done to me. Through the venue of unceasing prayer, He granted me my request through two powerful pictures that continue to linger deep within me, enabling be to forgive.

Forgiving
In the first picture, I am the six year old child, but my brother is a toddler screaming in his crib, gripping its rails crying, crying and crying. No one comes to him or even hears him. Everyone is occupied. The room is dark and musty with the shades and curtains drawn. In the midst of this darkness, Jesus enters the room, lifts the shades, pulls back the curtains, lifts the windows and invites the Holy Spirit to rush in and breathe fresh air into the room. Jesus approaches him, wipes his tears, strokes his cheeks and lays him on his stomach while He gently rubs his back until he falls asleep. The door to the room is cracked open, and as the little girl, I am watching what is happening from that space. As Jesus turns toward me, he invites me to come to the crib and see the sleeping child. Cautiously, I approach but knowing that I am protected. When I peep over the rail, I see my brother sleeping peacefully, and Jesus picks him up, cradles him in His arms, facing me, gently holding him close to His chest. After awhile, He says, “Do you want to hold him? Don’t be afraid,” and as He hands my brother over to my arms, He circles around me with His arms under my arms, holding him with me. As I exit the room, I go outside and play heartily. The details of this picture have brought a deeply powerful healing to those wounded places, the secret places of my life.

Healing
The second picture is succinct. During the painful nights of pretending sleep while experiencing my brother’s abuse, sinking more deeply into myself for comfort and denial, the cover that is over me is the robe of Christ. How can that be? I cannot answer the question, except to say deep within those secret places of my soul, the mystery of His covering heals and brings me from those dark, dark suffocating trapped secret places to a sacred space where I am no longer alone. And suddenly, yet continuously, my wounds no longer bind me; I am no longer striving to get through the fire; and I am on the other side in fresh green grass filled with beautiful wild flowers, free to be alive. The picture is powerful.Am I healed? I am healing, and I believe that the pictures that God gave to me have been catalysts toward that healing.

Facing my “Beast”
Since that time, I have been able to write to my brother and tell him about the first picture. Though he never responded directly to me, he did respond via another brother who said that it had accurately described how he felt all of his life. As the middle child of six, this brother in the early years of his life experience a mom who was very stressed with three children under the age of three. As a adult, I remember her telling me when she was reflecting on those years of how stressed she was most of the time. I also remember my dad saying that this brother cried so much when he was a baby and as a little child. All throughout his years in a high achieving family, he was the “problem child”, needing the extra attention, and frequently having bouts of depression, anger, and even rage. He struggled throughout his years to measure up to his older brother who seemed to excel in everything. And yet he never could. And he never really believed that he was loved unless he was achieving. To this day, he tries to convince his family of his worthiness, and is constantly trying to be the center of attention at family gatherings. As his little sister, ten years younger, I hated the tension in the household, and just wanted it to stop. And so, late at night after my parents went to bed, he visited my room wanting a “back rub” from me. I gladly obliged. The actions beyond the back rub were those that I had buried in my mind, finally surfacing when I was forty eight.

Imagination or Revelation?
Did my mind concoct this picture of him in the crib crying, or was it planted there by God Himself? The answer to that question seems obvious to me. How could I know what he had experienced as a young child lest God give me this picture Himself? Since that time, my brother has tried to “make amends” in his own way, with lavish descriptions in cards of his admiration for me and even with very personal gifts. It is sad to me, even grievous, that it is too hard for him to come clean with me. Perhaps some day. I only know how far the Lord has carried me and continues to lead me toward forgiving him more and more. It is still very hard for me to be around him, but not as before, and now I see him with different eyes. Truly as long as these years were buried inside of me, in those secret places, I was trapped without understanding why, but now that He has brought them into the light, I am free to forgive. When I first confronted this issue, I was overwhelmed, wondering how I could ever forgive the offenses against me for which I had no proof. Humanly, it is impossible, but through the vivid pictures given to me by my loving Father, I am able to hold on to know that “He is wooing you (me) from the jaws of distress to a spacious place free from restriction.” (Job 36:16) I still “sweat” when I am crowded, on an elevator, in a diagnostic machine, in a subway, in a closed up space, or in uncontrolled situations. My body tenses up, (though not as strongly as before).

Beyond the “Ring of Fire”
The memories of the past are on the other side of that ring of fire, and I can choose to receive the freedom that God desires to give to me in spite of and even because of my past.