Through the Valley of Pain

Fear.  The nameless "it" which haunts my waking thoughts, always lurking in the shadows of my mind, waiting to paralyze me.  Fear of rejection.  Fear of losing friends.  Fear of being misunderstood.  Fear of being maligned.  Fear of hurting others.  Fear of being hurt.  Fear of disappointing my parents.  Fear of failing God.  Fear of failing others.  Fear of pain.  Fear of living.  Fear of being afraid. 

I read a blog by my wife's friend yesterday.  She said some things which were triggers for me, triggers I did not know I had.  I found anger and frustration welling up inside, and it spilled over onto paper.  Without realizing what I was doing, I found that I was engaged in HeartChange Tool Kit tool #9: Letter Writing.  I had written a response to her blog, but I could not post it.  I could not click the button.  I allowed a level of timidity to prevent me.  But I will face it here.  I will roar my challenge, and I will stand my ground.  It's time to face the source of my fear - pain.

I have a lot missing from my early memories.  Almost nothing before age 5, which is probably normal.  Not much for several years after, which may be less normal.  I just noticed that have pockets of memories missing throughout my life.  I suspect nothing horrific in most, if not all of them.  Most of them are probably there to shield me from whatever pain I was feeling inwardly.

I have minimal memory of 3rd grade, however.  I know a lot of what I know simply because I was told about it years later.  Let me tell you what I do know of that year.  I was the only white boy in a school of 969 Japanese kids.  Funny how I can remember the exact number of students that year but I can't remember much else.  I remember the teacher's name, a Mr. Susumu Yamashita.  I can remember getting coal with other classmates for the coal furnace which heated the classroom - down two flights of stairs, turn left, go the end of the hall, turn right just before the gymnasium, go a little ways and turn left, turn left again and go down another flight of stairs leading below the gymnasium stage,  and there before us in large piles were tons and tons of coal.  I remember some friends.  I remember doing some things that I wish I never had.  I remember the occasional 5th/6th grader, or small pack of them, knocking me around, trying to force me to speak English.  What I don't remember is that this bullying took place on a nearly daily basis, or that I had been beaten up by groups of boys numbering up to 10, or that I feared to go to school because they were waiting for me, both before and after.  I do remember hanging around the school for longer than I needed to after class, then taking any number of longer but different ways home to confound the boys that were waiting for me.  Also I was forgetting English, so my mom insisted on teaching me English at home right after school.  I lost quite a few friends because I could not play after school.  I was not permitted even though I had promised to play and they were waiting outside.  To them I became known as a liar. Yeah.  I guess it's a good thing that most of 3rd grade is missing from my memory.  

For the next six years I was home schooled, up until I began teaching my mom Algebra in 9th grade, and I had never had it before.  I was with some other missionary kids for a year or two.  They were friends, but not always good friends.  They got me into stuff that has haunted me since.  Then I was alone for several years.  Completely alone, or so it felt.  No friends.  In some respects my growth was retarded, in other respects it seems to have accelerated some.  I remember still playing with GI Joes (the little 4 inch ones) and Transformers until I was at least 14.  They were my friends.  Even now, I freak out at the idea of parting with them.  The Joes, I can part with those.  The Transformers, don't even think about it.  They are with me, even now, in my office.  Though inanimate, they were always there for me when I needed them.  Some other missionaries came during my last year or so at home, but their kids were messed up a lot worse than I was, and I don't consider myself really messed up.  I can call them playmates, but not really friends.  It may be a good thing that there are holes in my memory from this period of my life.

In 10th through 12th grade I went to a Christian school in South Carolina and graduated with honors.  I respected my friends because once they found out that I wasn't going to budge on obeying my parents, they never more asked me if I wanted to go do things with them that I wouldn't have been allowed to do, such as go to the movies.  It would have been nice to have been asked on occasion, even though I would have had to say "no."  At least I would have known I was being thought of.  I've always felt socially awkward, anyway.  In any gathering of people I felt like the albatross around the mariner's neck.  And then came senior trip.  Some of my high school classmates said they hated our senior trip, and other aspects of our senior year.  I loved it.  I remember being at a low point in my life one particular evening after our day's tour. We had a general assembly, with our school administrator conducting the meeting.  I don't remember what was discussed, probably a word from Holy Writ, and we were encouraged to share.  I remember saying that I had trouble accepting myself.  Never before had I felt accepted like I did that night as classmate after classmate gave me words of encouragement and acceptance.  That one moment has done more to sustain me over the following years than any other single event.  It stands as a beacon of God's love in an otherwise foggy night of walking barefoot on a path with sharp rocks at irregular intervals.

And then I went to Bible college, where I learned how to truly fake Christianity.  In class after class, we were taught that real Christians do not listen to music with a back beat.  Real Christian men do not "drink, smoke, cuss, or chew, or go with the girls that do."  For God's people there is no room for divorce no matter how bad the abuse gets.  Godly Christians do not do C D F or G, and never ever H, but they also must do W X Y and Z, and occasionally they can get by without doing W, but don't push it.  If at any point in his life, even prior to salvation, if a man has done M, then he is bared forever from the ministry.  Or, should he happen to marry a woman who has done L M or N, then likewise he is bared from serving God in a formal capacity.  He might be allowed to teach an adult Sunday school class, but that is to be evaluated on a case by case basis.  These people over here are OK to hang out with, but do not associate with those over there because they hang with people who hang out with people who hang out with people who associate loosely with people we don't associate with. I could go on and on.

Then started the attacks as kids from "good and proper" churches who could not handle someone who thought differently than they did challenged my beliefs on the doctrine of election (I'm a Five Pointer all the way) and on the KJV (it is only a translation, nothing more).  Then came the personal attacks as I shut each one down because none of my opponents could make a coherent argument because none of them had ever bothered to research the issues for themselves. They only parroted their infallible pastors (I'm not kidding. These kids actually believed that everything their pastor said was Truth).  Then came the rude shout-downs as they would attack my position verbally, loudly, in a crowd of people but refuse to let me speak in my defense.  Then came the rumors, the slander, the malignment as they sought their vengeance, spreading lies about what I believed, destroying my reputation.  After four years, I left without graduating, sick of the lies, the gossip, the double standards, the fake Christians, the obvious favoritism among the staff, and the nauseating self-righteousness of many of my peers.


I then moved back to the Greenville, South Carolina, area where I found a job and tried to find a good church to go to.  I only found what I left at Bible college, only more of it.  In one church, the singles' class all but shunned me because I did not graduate from their school.  At another I was made painfully aware that I was not wanted because I looked and dressed different than them - I wore a beard, a wide brimmed Australian hat, and a duster.  At a different church not only did I experience the first two, but also I was further hated and maligned because on an outing, I dared to talk and spend some time with a fellow missionary girl who was mostly by herself who few others seemed to be talking to.  Come to find out somebody in the group liked her, so the rumor was that I was trying to steal his girlfriend - news to her (and me), since she hardly even knew the guy.  So, the petty factions united against me because I was supposedly engaged in an unwritten taboo.

During this period I would spend months at a time not attending any church because all attempts ended in pain.  Some people told me that I needed to be in church, to keep looking for a good church to go to.  The problem was that these WERE the good churches, according to standards I believed in, good and proper Independent Fundamental Baptist churches.  They had the best pastors, the best music, the best ministries, the best people (supposedly).  Among the adults I was accepted and welcomed, but my peers rejected me with the exception of two, one of which moved away quickly thereafter.  Oh, there were other churches I could have attended, but they all used the "wrong music" in church, or their dress standards were "loose" or substandard (i.e. the women wore slacks to church, and some men wore jeans and T-shirts)," or what have you.


So, let me ask you.  Whether right or wrong, is it realistic to expect someone to continue to subject himself to pain and rejection simply to satisfy the mandate placed on him by others to "be in church?"  You see, the conventional wisdom among IFBs (Independent Fundamental Baptists) is that if the doors of the church are open, then a person should make every effort to be there.  Also, there is never a good excuse to not be in church, so even if you suffer hurt in your church, you need to be there, because it is not about you.  It is about honoring God.  Besides, you can still get something from the message.  

Oh, really?  Let me ask you another one.  How am I supposed to get anything out of the message when all I feel are my wounds throbbing?  I tried the "be in church because it honors God" route.  All I got were more wounds from people in a church from which God had long since departed.  Is it honoring to God for me to deliberately subject myself to hurt for His name's sake in a church He wouldn't even attend?  I've been told to "suck it up" and keep doing what I know is right, because to do otherwise is sin.  So, which is right?  To protect myself from hurt from people who claim to be God's own, or to go to church so that I can let "God's own" carve me up?  I felt as if I were expected to be a masochist. Others would tell me to hang in there because I am being persecuted for the sake of Christ.  Really?  Was I really being persecuted for Jesus' sake?  Or was I just being bullied?  Again?  If I had even an inkling that maybe I was being persecuted, I would have felt a hundred times better about going to church.  At least I would have known that my sufferings were not in vain.


Let me ask another.  Isn't church, the gathering of God's people, supposed to be a time of encouragement, renewal, and healing?  Am I supposed to prepare for the pain I will face in the world by being stabbed by those I am supposed to trust?  Was this God's intent for the church?  HELL NO!!!!!  Does it happen? Unfortunately, yes.  And it seems to happen most among IFB churches.  IFBs seem to be the only ones that love to shoot their wounded, then go out of their way to look for the weak among them to destroy.  Hurting people in IFB churches generally do not allow anyone to know their hurt because they know they will be either dismissed or attacked.  Yeah, I had the old "it's just in your head" handed to me a few times.  I've been told to "take these verses, wash them down with prayer, and call me in the morning if you don't feel better."  I know many who have been attacked, run out of church, yanked from their ministries, all because they dared to expose their hurts or struggles and simply wanted prayer.

I know that not all of them are like that.  I have been in a couple in my life that I would say try hard to be a proper New Testament church.  I know that there are others out there.  There have to be.  God has always saved for himself a remnant.  Unfortunately, I am finding more churches outside the IFBs that try to be as God's heart would have them be.  

The pain is there.  I have it, and it goes deep.  I hurt.  I still hurt.  These memories are painful.  But, I have a choice.  I can live in my past and wallow in my suffering, or I can chose to hand everything over to Jesus and grow in His grace.  Several HeartChange tools from their magnificent Tool Kit are in play here on this blog.  Here are the ones that I see applying:

• #4:  Negative Tapes - the way I feel now about myself is usually the result of something in my past which I keep replaying in my mind, something I am believing which keeps me defeated.  My past influences how I see myself and how I expect God to be seeing me.
• #5:  Victim/Choice/Accountability - I have the power to choose how I will respond to my circumstances. I can either repent and receive forgiveness, or I can forgive and bless, depending on the circumstances.
• #9:  Letter Writing - this blog turned into an open letter of sorts, not addressed to anyone in particular.  By writing, I am able to bring to the surface much of my pain which has kept me from thriving in Jesus as I should be able to.
• #16: The Waterfall of Grace - God's grace is available to me in the shape of my need.  I chose to step into it.
• #20: Blessings - I will consistently think and speak encouragement from God to myself and to others.

I choose not to play the tapes anymore.  They are part of who and what I am, but they don't have to define me or influence me anymore.  I choose to forgive those who wronged me, the older kids when I was in school, and my peers in college and afterword.  I sincerely desire God's blessings upon them all, and if possible, the very blessings of HeartChange.  I do not blame my parents for everything they tried to do to help me.  How could they know that the very thing they did to try to help me was the very thing that caused me more hurt?  How could I, who could no longer formulate a simple sentence in English, adequately communicate with them who had to work hard to formulate a sentence in Japanese?  We had developed a language barrier.  No, I do not blame them for anything they lovingly tried to do for me.  I choose now to step into the waterfall of His grace, and I will allow God to fill the holes I have, to salve my wounds, and to hold me close.  And when the negative tapes begin to play, I will remember my dagger, and I will remember the blessings spoken to me at HeartChange.

I am blessed, and I am at peace.