Brave Surrender Page 7

  Suddenly my thoughts were interrupted by Teresa’s voice. “You can’t throw rocks at Jesus,” she said with a smile. “You can throw something soft, like fruit, but not rocks.”

  I froze, stunned. She could see what I was seeing in my mind. I felt exposed, yet at the same time, I felt the compassion of Jesus. In His mercy and kindness, He had set me in a safe place with a trustworthy person who could lead me toward total healing and restoration. In this moment, God had allowed her to see what I was seeing in my mind so that she could teach me something I really needed to understand.

  Teresa understood that Jesus is not afraid of my anger, nor is He repelled by it. As a person with very big emotions, it felt so good to realize that it’s okay for me to experience big and sometimes negative emotions. It’s not okay for me to act out in demeaning or hurtful ways because of them. Her simple statement enabled me to let go of some control and surrender my anger a little more. The raging parts in me put down their rocks, and something like reverence toward Jesus emerged, along with greater trust that He could heal me.

  Asking the Questions

  One weekend a couple of months into my healing journey, I went home to visit my family in Oregon. It was a difficult time. I didn’t feel ready to talk to my family members about the healing I was fighting for, and I felt raw and vulnerable. Talking about things that happened in the past was not something we did in my family. In many ways, I already felt like a different, freer person, yet I didn’t know how to introduce them to that person when they knew me as someone else.

  After enduring a few uncomfortable days, I decided to drive back to Redding a little earlier than usual on Sunday so I could attend the evening service at Bethel. I walked into church a few minutes late and made my way toward the front. Immediately tears began to flow—tears of relief to be in worship, as well as tears of frustration with my current state of brokenness.

  There was a guest worship leader that night named Anthony Skinner. As he began to sing, I closed my eyes and immediately saw Jesus standing in front of me with His arms outstretched in welcome. Call it a vision, a dream, or something random in my mind—He was so real in that moment. I started sobbing as I realized that I wanted so badly to be in His arms and close to Him, yet also I was aware that I didn’t deserve to be there. I felt ashamed and so broken that I couldn’t even look at His face. Then Jesus moved toward me, and I couldn’t resist or put up a fight anymore. I collapsed in His arms and turned my face away, weeping. Fear of rejection and shame coursed through me, causing me to shrink to the floor.

  Suddenly two questions floated into my mind:

  How much do You love me?

  What were You thinking when You created me?

  Though I later recognized that this was the Holy Spirit exposing the deepest questions of my heart to lead me into more healing, in that moment, there was no way on God’s green earth that I was going to ask those questions. I thought I already knew the answers.

  For many years, that idea I had picked up as a young girl—that my dad’s disappointment in not having a boy meant that I was somehow a mistake—had led me to believe that God had messed up when He created me. So I thought asking God what He was thinking when He created me would just be asking Him to explain what a mistake I was. I expected Him to say, “Well, I was trying to make a boy, but whoops! You came out a girl.” I had always believed I should have been a boy. And to ask Him, “How much do You love me?” Well, how much could you possibly love such a mistake? I couldn’t risk hearing the rejection I thought would inevitably come.

  I hunkered down, refusing to respond to Holy Spirit’s invitation. Suddenly I heard Anthony Skinner speaking into the microphone.

  “You need to ask Jesus two questions,” he said.

  My heart started pounding. This cannot be happening.

  “You need to ask Jesus, ‘How much do You love me?’” he said. “And ‘What were You thinking when You created me?’”

  I was completely shocked and furious. This visiting worship leader had just called me out and exposed me in front of everyone! Of course Anthony did not single me out in any way—he was undoubtedly just communicating what he felt the Holy Spirit was saying. But I felt like he had just listened to my private conversation and then blasted the details over a megaphone for the entire room to hear.

  I closed my eyes and returned my thoughts and attention to this moment I was having with Jesus in my mind and heart. Realizing I was not getting away from this, I mustered up all the courage I could, turned my face toward Jesus, and asked, “How much do You love me?”

  Immediately I saw Jesus throw His arms open wide and say, “I love you this much!” His arms began to stretch as far as my eyes could see and beyond. He was laughing with so much joy. It was as if He had been waiting a long time to answer this question in me. I looked to the left and the right and couldn’t see an end to how far His arms were stretching. Realizing there was no end to His love for me, I began sobbing and laughing with joy. I was so amazed that He expressed His love toward me in a way that felt so fitting for who I am and the way I think.

  It was very childlike and joyful. He speaks my language, I thought. I was overwhelmed at a love that would call out to me directly, in the midst of a worship set with hundreds of people, just to pull me in to a moment of healing. To feel the love of God felt like sunshine breaking through an eternity of winter. The cold and bleakness of loneliness was suddenly replaced with the warmth of being seen and known. I felt so content and at peace that I thought, There’s no need to ask the second question. Or so I assumed.

  Weeks later I was spending an early morning at Bethel’s prayer chapel—that’s what the circular building with the red steeple turned out to be—reading my Bible and praying. All of a sudden, I felt the presence of God in the room so strongly. The entire atmosphere seemed to change. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, and a tingly, excited anticipation flooded my heart. Jesus felt so close. Instantly I knew what He had come for. He wanted me to ask my second question. I couldn’t believe it. I was hoping He had forgotten! My heart was pounding, and I could feel tears sting my eyes. It was as if Jesus was tapping me on my shoulder from behind and saying, “Kim, please ask Me.”

  Maybe if I start singing and worshiping, He’ll forget about it, I thought. Maybe if I read my Bible a little more, He’ll stop asking. But the tug on my heart didn’t stop. Just as before, I gave in and fell to the floor as huge, choking sobs burst from me. I could barely get the words out as I asked Jesus, “What were You thinking when You created me?”

  I was stretched out on the floor, face down against the carpet, and my eyes were burning from the tears pouring out of them. As I closed my eyes, and just as soon as the question left my mouth, a picture appeared in my mind. I was standing beside Jesus, and we were both facing God the Father across a table. The Father suddenly reached into His chest, grabbed His heart, and ripped off a chunk of it. He threw it down on the table, and it became clay. As He began shaping and molding it, I realized it was me. When He was finished, He reached over, grabbed a box, and placed me inside it. Confused, I turned to Jesus and asked what was going on. Jesus responded, “Shh. Watch.”

  The Father stood in front of the box with a look of excitement and anticipation on His face. Suddenly He threw open the box, and the little me began dancing, singing, and worshiping Him. It was like a girl’s jewelry box with a tiny ballerina inside that twirls to music when you open it. The Father became so excited and shouted, “Woohoo!” as He jumped and twirled around. Then He shut the box, waited with great anticipation, and threw the lid open again. Once more I sang and danced, and He ran around shouting for joy. I stood there watching Him repeat the same sequence of events over and over. I was bewildered at His excitement for me.

  Then the Father reached into the box and put me in the palm of His hand. In that moment, my perspective changed—I went from watching all of this along the side to being there in His hand. He was pulling me close to His heart, and as I got
closer, I could see the outline of the place where He had ripped out the piece to make me. He slid me into that spot, and I fit perfectly, like a puzzle piece. As I nestled into His heart, I could feel the warmth of His love.

  Then I heard the Father begin to speak. “You are not a mistake. I knew exactly what I was doing when I created you. I am so happy you are a girl! I made you simply because you make me so happy. You bring me so much joy! I love it when you worship me and sing to me. I love every single thing about you. You make me laugh! I think you are funny. This is the place you were made from and this is where you stay, here in my heart, so close to me. Nobody else can fill this spot. It’s just for you.”

  I could hardly breathe from the weeping that wracked me throughout this encounter. Years of pain and toxic beliefs slipped away as His love surrounded and filled me. As God spoke out His love for me, it was as if the vibrations from His voice were a wave of love rolling over the walls around my heart, causing them to begin to crumble. My heart felt like it was beginning to truly beat and come alive for the first time.

  When You Invite Jesus into the Room

  These encounters with God’s love brought a new level of hope and joy to my heart. However, I could still feel there were broken pieces of me that I had not yet surrendered to healing. I felt as though I had gotten to a certain degree of closeness with Him, but there was a thin veil separating us and keeping me from getting closer. I could see Him on the other side, and I wanted to be there too, but I kept holding back part of my heart. I began to realize I didn’t fully trust Him yet—it was as if I was saying to Jesus that He could have a lot of my heart, but not all of it. Even after feeling and encountering His amazing love, I still felt deep inside me that He could not be trusted with all of me.

  Questions lingered. Why did all the bad things happen? Why was I abused? Why was I not protected? Why did You let me live in so much fear? You are God. You could have stopped those things at any moment, but You didn’t. Where were You? These questions bounced around in my mind with increasing intensity and soon became tormenting. I could see they were holding me back from the total freedom for which I longed, but I couldn’t seem to let them go. They loomed like a mountain inside me, and no matter how hard I prayed or analyzed or tried to push it away, I just couldn’t make it move.

  Finally one day I hit my breaking point. I couldn’t take it any longer. I wanted to be free so badly. I wanted to experience the fullness of Jesus’ presence with nothing between us. And so I made a decision. I decided that my desire for Him was greater than my need for explanations. I was willing to surrender my questions if it meant I could finally lift the veil that seemed to shroud my spirit. Aloud, I made this declaration: “Jesus, I want You more than I want the answers.”

  That night I had a bizarre dream. I saw a strange object, and after staring at it for a while, I realized I was looking at a chunk of flesh. Something was moving underneath its surface, as though trying to break through. Suddenly it did, and I saw an eye. It squinted in the light, retracted into the flesh, and then popped back up again.

  When I woke up the next morning and remembered the dream, I thought, That was crazy. What did I eat last night?

  Just then I heard the Lord’s still small voice say, “You are getting new eyes today.”

  As those words echoed through my mind, I felt a trembling inside me. Something was about to break. Something was about to change.

  I went to work that morning and headed to ministry school in the afternoon. By the time I arrived at the church, the inner trembling had increased so much that it was all I could do to hold myself together.

  Seeing the state I was in, one of my teachers, who knew about the healing process I had been walking through, called Teresa and told her she should come right away to pray for me. Within minutes, Teresa and Jodi showed up with two other women, and we all headed to a private room. I could feel a huge something about to bubble to the surface inside me. We sat down, and Teresa immediately prayed and invited Jesus to come.

  I closed my eyes, and in my mind, I saw all of us sitting in that little office together. Then I saw Jesus enter this picture and walk into the room with us. Immediately I couldn’t hold it in any longer. I began to scream.

  “I hate You!”

  Everything I had felt for so long but never wanted to say began pouring out of me, my whole body trembling as I sobbed and wailed. Every fractured piece of me was howling at Jesus in furious rage and unspeakable pain.

  “Where were You? I was a child! You weren’t there. I hate You!”

  I saw Jesus walking toward me, completely unfazed.

  “You abandoned me!” I continued, shaking with anger. “You let me down. You didn’t protect me.”

  Then Jesus reached me. Slowly and gently He wrapped His arms around me and drew me in close, silently holding me as I screamed and shouted.

  At last, when my strength failed and my angry words were spent, I began to weep. I cried and cried for what felt like hours. It was as though a dam had broken and years of stored-up tears were gushing out in that moment. And one by one, each fractured part of me walked into Jesus until there was only one me left. Total integration.

  Gradually I began to grow calm, and new tears began to flow—tears that came from the revelation that I was not rejected. I had unleashed all my fury at Jesus, and He had not responded with anger. He didn’t punish me or walk away from me. He didn’t yell at me, condemn me, or tell me what a bad Christian I was. He only loved me. He didn’t demand perfection. He didn’t expect me to clean everything up and present something shiny and pure. He met me right where I was. Oh, what overwhelming, amazing love!

  As I opened my eyes, I was stunned. Everything around me was vibrant with color and life. Teresa, Jodi, and everybody else in the room looked different. Colors looked different. There was so much light. It was as if I had been living in a world of gray and heaviness, viewing all of life through a clouded lens of pain, and now that lens had been removed. I truly did get new eyes that day.

  This experience was one of my greatest moments of breakthrough. At last I felt like I could really breathe. I felt completely free!

  Looking Back with New Eyes

  This encounter marked the culmination of the healing process I had been in since I started ministry school. The deep pain and torment I had lived with for so long were finally and truly lifted from my heart and mind, and the experience of wholeness and freedom was completely exhilarating. But I soon discovered that God had an incredible gift waiting for me on the other side of surrender—the gift I had cried out for for so long.

  For so long in that healing process, I had held God at a distance with the demand that He answer my questions about the past. What I didn’t know was that answers weren’t what I needed in my unhealed state. Answers would not heal my broken heart or restore my ability to trust. Only His love could do that. So even if He had given me answers, they wouldn’t have satisfied what my heart needed. Only after He had healed me and restored my ability to trust could He give me answers—give me His truth about my story.

  And so, through that healing encounter, God gave me new eyes—new eyes that could see my past through His eyes. Now, as I stood on the other side of surrender, He wanted to bring me into even greater strength and wholeness by rewriting my story from a place where I was connected to His heart and His love for me.

  During times of prayer in the weeks and months following that encounter, the Lord led me back to the pivotal events of my life and began to show me His perspective on them. With every memory that He showed me, He answered the two big questions I had always asked Him: “Where were You?” and “Why did You let this happen?” First He showed me that He was always right there with me, and not as a passive observer, simply allowing things to unfold. He was protecting me, weeping with me, comforting me, and strengthening me. Then He showed me His redemptive purpose—which encompasses the end from the beginning—in even the most painful and confusing moments. In the process, He re
vealed certain truths about me that completely changed the way I saw my story and myself. It’s incredible how different your story is when you look at it with Jesus.

  A Fighter with a Voice

  When Jesus took me back to my memories of my dad’s first motorcycle wreck, I saw a beautiful gift inside a tiny girl make its first appearance. I watched as two-year-old Kim spoke to her dad in a coma and the room began to change. The Bible says our battles are “not against flesh and blood,” but “against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms” (Ephesians 6:12). In that moment, there was a battle. The enemy was trying to steal my dad’s life. He was fighting for it, and heaven was fighting on my dad’s behalf. My voice called out to him and brought strength, encouraging him to fight. The gift that Jesus put inside me to bring breakthrough was doing just that. Even small children can partner with heaven to see the will of our Father done.

  “The anointing you carry is not found in the songs you sing,” Jesus told me. “It was put inside of you when I made you, and it is carried in your voice.”

  I cried when I realized that God, who does not exist within time like us, saw everything. He knew what would happen to my dad before I was even born. He knew how it would affect each of us, and He placed a gift inside me, not only to help my dad but also to help carry me to my own breakthrough.

  I saw the same gift and fighting spirit emerge in the face of my first stepdad’s hatred. Whether Peter knew it or not, the evil in him recognized Jesus in me and hated Him. I saw a fierce, five-year-old girl with a strong voice who wasn’t afraid to say no and speak up when something wasn’t right, and a big sister who fought to protect her little sister. Again Jesus put inside me what I needed. He was there, every moment, standing tall with me, fighting with me, and weeping with me. And again His voice whispered reminders in my ears: “You are strong. Use your voice. There is strength in your voice. I am with you.”