He leads me to His chair. I sit at His feet, my back to the fire, facing Him. He is still holding my torn hands. “You believe that those who hurt you faced no consequences, that they have been blessed in spite of what they did to you. But you confuse My gifts and calling that are irrevocable, with My blessings that are often conditional. Let Me show you.”
He shows me images of consequences each has paid related to their behavior toward me. I do not know if they know the relationship, but it is there. Then He reminds me of the abundance of blessing I have received. I realize once again how blessed I am and how very blind I have been.
“Papa, forgive me, I did not see, forgive me!” I rest my head on His knew. “Thank You for showing me.”
“You are forgiven child. That is why I am teaching you.”
“I though I had forgiven all this. I don’t understand why is this still here?”
“Forgiveness does not heal the pain, it only opens the door to begin the healing process. You just pushed the pain down and never sought healing for it. It is time now for healing.”
Once again I feel so very angry about all that happened, so betrayed, so angry, so wronged. I do not want to keep carrying it around, but I also do not want to open the doors to it all happening to me again.
“There is no sin in your anger, but do not allow it to become sin.” He carefully explains. He seems so aware of my pain, so attentive to it. “Your wounds are real, child and have cut you to the core of your being. I want to bring you healing.”
“How—what must I do?” I stammer. The pain is a familiar companion and I am tempted to let it stay. But no, He does not want that and I must obey. I want and listen, though reluctantly. I want to hide, to withdraw, not to wait on His reply. My mind races with ways to run and hide. But I stay.
“First, you must want to be healed. You have been defining yourself with this pain of yours now. A large part of you does not want to let it go.” He finally replies, squeezing my wounded hands gently, as if to remind me He is still holding them.
I sigh heavily, His words challenge me. He is right, I do not really want to let it go. “Papa, forgive me, I do want to be rid of this. I am tired of being the martyr. I do not want it any more and I want to be free.”
“Good,” He rises from the chair and helps me to my feet. Still holding my hands, He puts His arm around my shoulder, “Come, let us go outside.”
He walks with me outside into the courtyard within the castle walls. It is still barren. Though there is sunlight, no plants are growing, only barren dry soil and dust.
“This courtyard is the place you wear all the pain, the place you are keeping it. It is a lifeless and forbidding place that people have to cross to reach your heart. Letting Me heal your pain means transforming this courtyard into a place where you can bring others, an inviting and welcoming place.”
I look out over the yard again. It is such a contrast to the garden, so lush and green beyond the castle walls. “I want to change it, Papa. I do not know how.” My voice seems so small n this place, wounded and dejected.
“Come then. We will begin here.” We walk to a spot just beside the gates that open out to the bridge. He hands me a fat seed like the ones He showed me what seems like so long ago. “Plant this.”
I take the seed in my hand and it round several times. I wonder what will grow from it. I try to dig a whole with my hands, but the ground is too dry and hard.
“Use the sword.” He instructs.
I obey, recalling the word of Ps. 51:12: Restore to me the joy of Your salvation and grant me a willing spirit to sustain me.
The soil gives easily under the sword. I place the fat seed into the hole.
“Water it now.”
The moat around the castle is the nearest source of water. So I cross the bridge and cup water into my hands. The water is cool and soothing on my wounded hands. Carefully, I take back the water and pour it over he planted seed. The water has washed the blood from my hands and I can see the wounds begin to close.
“There must be something now to fill the void left by the pain. This will grow up to take the place of that pain. It will grow quickly.” He nods at me. I think He is pleased.
Placing His arm around my shoulders again, He guides me back inside to the study once again.
“Now, look into the remaining boxes.” He instructs, turning me toward them and guiding me gently there.
I do not want to look at them again I already feel like I am hurting enough right now. As I peek into the first and then the second box, I am astonished to find that there is no more broken glass! “I don’t understand, Papa, what happened?”
“In confronting these issues, you have released all of it. You no longer have to carry it around, unless you choose to pick it up again.”
“No I don’t want it back! “ I hurriedly reply. “What should I do with these though? The pictures are all framed, but I am sure I do not want to display these images.” The elegantly framed pictures are not ones I want to look at continually. Even without the broken glass, they are painful to see.
“You are right, these are not for display. Take them out of the frames, out of the places of prominence. Stack them and put them in the drawer under the book stand. There you can keep them safely. You can hold on to what you have learned, but keep it in the shadow of My Word.
Looking at the pictures as little as possible, I quickly obey, putting the painful images into the drawer. “What should I do with these?” I ask, pointing to the now empty boxes.
“Burn them, the frames too. There is no need to hold on to such things.”
Some of the frames are very beautiful. I feel a pang or regret at destroying them. Realizing my feelings, I hurry to obey, lest I become distracted and fail to do as He bids me.
“Come sit with Me.” He invites as the fire flares brightly, consuming all it has been offered. He sits down and draws me into His lap once again. It feels good to have his arms around me once more. I feel safe here; finally I feel I can rest.
“I will give you rest, daughter. And I will bless you in the coming days. You will sow seeds that will reap a plentiful and significant harvest. You will see the move of My hand and the favor of your Father in rich and abundant ways.”
“Thank you, Papa,” I whisper.
“Now, rest in Me.”