I once counseled with a lady who
experienced some of the most severe childhood abuse imaginable. Her own father
and mother molested her. As a result, she was transferred to the care of other
relatives. Jenny has endured a hard life, some of it the result of her own
choices. She has prostituted herself, and has worked as an exotic dancer.
Though she is married, non-sexual intimacy and sexual intimacy elude her.
Strange, she is one of the most
“intelligent” people with whom I have ever conversed, though she has a very
average education. But the cynicism and blame have eaten away the fabric of her
very spirit.
She tends to mix drugs and church
attendance. Scripture and doubt. She’s a confusing mixture of agnosticism and
spirituality. And, of course, I challenged her on this. "Jenny" once told me about a dream she had. It seems that she was sitting in a rocking chair on the porch of an old wooden house. But she wasn't alone. She found herself in the very lap of God. And as God rocked, she found herself uncomfortable, and she anxiously moved from side to side.
For, in her own mind, there’s that
confusing symmetry between her earthly father and her Heavenly Father.
... They call themselves by the same title.
It’s unbelievably sad when children are
abused. Sadder yet, the enduring results of abuse. That inability to trust
another man, or God, Himself. My heart goes out to “the Jenny’s of the world.”
I hope that they may find a way to settle
down in God’s rocking chair; their arms around His broad shoulders, their heads
nuzzled contentedly against His bosom.
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