The walk back to the study does not take long. Neither of us speaks, but the silence is comfortable. Somehow I am surprised to find that the study is unchanged from the way we left it. I walk to the windows to look out over the much charged garden, sighing.
“You still feel distant.” He quietly says over my shoulder.
“Yes.” I shake my head, turning to Him. “Why is it so hard to reconnect again?”
“You still bear deep wounds, more then you realize. Come. Let Me heal them.” Taking my hand, He walks to the chairs at the fireplace. Still holding my hand, He sits down. “Lay here, across my lap.”
I find I am hesitant to obey.
“Your back bears deep wounds from childhood from being ignored after correction. Rejection is deeply tied with correction for you.” He gently explains, easing my fears.
As I move to comply, He instructs, “Open your robes.” As I do, He allows me to see myself, for a brief moment, as He is seeing me. Ugly ragged wounds rage across my back and shoulders. My flesh is torn, infected. The wounds remain open, unhealed even years after they have been inflicted.
The weight of what He has shown me presses heavily upon me. I lean heavily across His lap, unable to bear the load of my own wounds. Carefully, He begins to spread a heavy fragrant salve across my injured back. The fragrance is more herbal than medicinal, more fresh than pungent. It does not burn; at first it feels cool, then warm, the warmth spreading throughout me.
“Forgive me for holding on to these things, Papa. I repent Papa. I want to let these things go.” I whisper softly, my knees sinking to the floor now.
For a while, He allows me to rest there with my head cradled in His lap. But then, He tenderly draws me to sit in His lap. I cannot help but notice the immense strength of His arms, made ever more noticeable by His gentleness with me. Even with all His power, He has never injured me, never purposed to harm me. I feel so secure, so safe in this moment, and yet there is still something.
“Drop the wall.” He says before I can even ask.
“What wall?” my confusion pours forth before I can contain it.
“The wall rejection has caused you to build.” He pauses a moment, gently resettling me in His arms again. “You have raised a wall like a pane of glass at the innermost place in your heart. Trust Me now. I will not reject or turn you away. Drop that wall, let it break.”
I find I must consider His words before I can act. He has never turned His back to me through all of this. He has not rejected me even as the blackness of my heart has been revealed. How can I refuse to trust Him now?
I choose to drop the wall. I find a pane of heavy glass in my hands. It forms a barrier between Him and me. I can see Him through it, but cannot touch Him nor feel His touch through it. It is difficult to move and even more difficult to release. For so long I have been taught not to drop, lose or break things, trying to do it purposefully is a struggle. Finally, though I am able to maneuver it and drop it the floor. I am surprised that even though it falls on the thick sheepskin, the glass shatters as it hits.
In that moment, I feel Him drawing me in close, closer that I ever have been before. My head pressed to His breast, I hear the beat of His heart, smell the sweetness of His breath. Softly, so softly, He tells me of His love and of the gifts He has placed within me. He speaks to me of the plans He has for me, for good. He reminds me to have confidence not in the gifts He has given, but in the giver of the gift and to know what He has given me is sufficient for the tasks He will lay before me.
For a moment I can find no words to speak. Finally, I whisper, “Be it unto me according to Thy word.” He holds me close, stroking my cheek. I feel so secure, loved in a way I never have been before.