restorer of lost voices

 

The Lord said to Moses, “I will also do this thing of which you have spoken;
For you have found favor in My sight and I have known you by name.”
Exodus 33: 17 (NASB)

 

I never liked my name. It could be because Martha means “lady” and “mistress of her house.” Both seem too stiff and proper to describe me. Although, I had no natural, athletic ability, I was a tomboy who grew up in a household with three brothers. We often played a boisterous game of basketball, we pushed, pulled, and taunted each other. And we had foul shot competitions. Then I rode my beat-up bike for hours on the dirt roads that were connected to our country lane.

Likewise, my brothers and I frequently explored the fields near our home and climbed a mulberry tree that fed many hungry birds. Our lips, hands, and bare feet wore their ripe evidence.  We also waded in the creek, searched for tadpoles, and built forts in the nearby woods. Times were different and my parents weren’t concerned for our safety.

My siblings and I weren’t allowed to watch much television, and computers, Facebook, and electronics didn’t exist. I spent most days barefoot outdoors, so my name was a contradiction. I was anything but poised. I was a restless runner of the fields.

Perhaps, I disliked my name because it reminded me of the trauma that my mother’s family experienced when her older sister, Martha, and her unborn baby were killed in a head-on collision. I was born several months later, and I carried the heavy loss with my name. I’ve often wondered if Martha was the true lady and mistress of her home; or, was she quiet and shy and a tomboy like me? Did I live up to her memory?  I blamed myself for the sorrow that lingered.

My name was also a cruel reminder that I’d been taken and I was no longer pure. I had no word for what happened. The window of my childhood shuddered with its dark secrets and tainted perspective. I recall the years lived in terror. I still feel the panic that overcame me as I checked my room each night. I looked in the closet, under the bed, locked the door . . . and then checked again. It was my bedtime routine. My privacy had been violated and my innocence stolen. I was on guard. I held my breath as if I passed through the Chesapeake Tunnel. But it wasn’t a fun competition.

Everything had changed. Sexual abuse left an ugly mark. I lost my safe place, position, and voice. I told no one in my family until I was an adult and I had children of my own. There was no easy manual that explained how to respond, not for the extended family, and not for the victims that began to come forward. But I began to heal as I wrote about my experiences. I released the hurt and anger as I identified and examined each ruin. Then I re-framed the lies of my abuse with God’s Truth. And God led me to freedom as my broken pieces fit together in a mysterious mosaic. Beauty was possible.

Like Moses, God knows our name and He favors us. He has a purpose for the pain we endure. He sees our need and affliction, and He breaks His silence. He rescues us from those who intend harm. We may not like our name and/or our history, or our once marred perspective, but we can praise Jesus for the freedom He now gives. When our identity rests in Him, we become part of His royal family. We no longer have to run in fear and doubt and restlessness. God’s presence is a promise that He goes with us, and He will give us rest. Therefore, we must tell the next generation of our hope. Jesus saves!

God knows you by name. Let Him lead you with His courage and confidence.

Be blessed!

Lily Mae

Upon you I was cast from birth; You have been my God from my mother’s womb. Be not far from me, for trouble is near; for there is none to help. Many bulls have surrounded me; strong bulls of Bashan have encircled me.  Psalm 22:10-12 (NASB)

 

 

 

 

Sent from Mail for Windows 10