my heart | his heart

We saw our therapist this week - it’s been a solid 2 months since we’ve seen him, due to scheduling conflicts. At our last appointment, he referred us to the Theophostic facilitator, we were spiritually attacked in his parking lot, and in the ensuing weeks, we discovered the truth about my husband’s CSA & how his parents both didn’t believe him and didn’t protect him from his predatory grandfather.

So we had a lot to catch up on. I think there are few things like recounting big, enormous steps forward, no matter how separated by time they are, to someone who isn’t living the reality of taking those steps. I think doing so is a good way to get The Big Picture and to be encouraged.

Which is exactly what happened in our therapist’s office. He was incredulous: “These are HUGE steps in a very short amount of time!” He listened and he actually let his poker-face down and his eyes widened as he said, “These are *miraculous* things you’re telling me! Praise God!” It was truly encouraging for us to get his perspective on it. Living with the reality of it all is sometimes overwhelming, and then we have to pick our way through the rubble of what was my husband’s childhood and how it still haunts us to create a new normal, a new reality.

So as we’re talking, the therapist is asking my husband what he’s doing now. My husband said, “I’m trying to investigate who I am as a man - what it means for me to be masculine, trying to define it.” We talked a bit about the world’s definition of masculinity and what that looks like and how it’s twisted and perverted. My husband will be going on a white water rafting trip next month and is looking forward to it; the therapist said, “Why are you going on that?”

“Because I think it will be fun and I want to.”

That was met with hearty approval and “permission” from the therapist to have fun and explore the things that he’s never done before, which is apparently what my husband needed. He really glommed on to that - he needed another masculine guy to encourage him and give him permission to explore, to discard what didn’t fit, and to have fun in the process.

Toward the end of the appointment, he asked what our long-term plans were: the answer is that we’re working on a new plan and seeing what God does. I’m looking for work so that we can afford weekly appointments for my husband - there is regressive-talk therapy that he wants to do with this therapist, but we have to have more cash in order to do it. When I have a job, we can make plans for that. But for the two of us meeting with him together, he said that we were doing well. That our communication-lines seemed to be open and that we were doing a good job of walking through the past destruction and avoiding the land mines that were there, but that if we needed him as a pair, to call him. He wasn’t “prescribing” any more couples’-appointments for us at this time.

I think that was one of the most buoying things I’ve heard in a good, long while. A professional therapist has watched us for the last 8 months, talked to us extensively, and says that we’re doing well enough as a pair to stop with regular appointments.

I feel like we’re making it through, guys. It’s a good feeling.

His and his,
~Cori

We have a family of foxes living in our backyard. Yep, it’s like Animal Planet over here - rabbits, chipmunks, squirrels, a groundhog, deer, and now a mama fox & 4 kits. It’s cool to watch, no question - but it’s also brought a bit more clarity to the Scriptural idea of “little foxes spoiling the vine” and what that means.

There was a tradition in Biblical times of tying lit torches to the tails of foxes (how they caught the foxes I’ll never figure out, as ours are quite shy & skittish…) and allowing the frightened animals to run through wheat fields, thereby lighting the crops on fire and decimating what would have been a good harvest. Samson did this in Judges 15:4-5 and Songs 2:15 refers to ‘catching the foxes that ruin the blooming vineyards’ (i.e., the blooms that will become fruit & eventually harvest).

So, okay. Cool imagery, right? Except that you have to know it has more than just imagery for me - else I wouldn’t write about it.

The other night, my husband and I were on the sofa, on respective laptops. His Twitter-client popped up and I happened to be glancing at him, talking at the time. I noticed an avatar of underwear and said, “Who the heck has underwear as their Twitter icon?” He replied, quite nonchalantly, “Oh, that’s blahdy-blah site. I follow them.”

Once more, with clarity, please.

It was pretty clear that he didn’t see a problem with it, and yet - it seems like a pretty big problem to miss. At least to me. So I stewed for a while and checked the site myself. Then after about 50 minutes or so of trying to figure out what to say and how to say it, I settled on, “I’m going to challenge you…” and proceeded to ask why he’s following them. He said, “Because I’m interested in underwear,” with the tone that implied, ‘don’t YOU like me in sexy underwear?’

I kept my response evenly toned, non-snarky, and replied, “Ok. Do you think that’s a wise site to follow and partake in for a sexual addict such as yourself?” He was stumped for a moment and then replied, “I never really thought about it. Maybe not. D’you want me to unfollow them right now?” My answer was, “Sooner rather than later, but you don’t have to do it at this instant …”

This reminded me that (dammit!) I still have my own issues that bubble and lurk. In my head, I heard “I’ll do this now, but you’re being a controlling wench…” which is NOT what he said. At all. And when I said that I didn’t want to be a controlling wench, he said, “I don’t see you that way - at all!” This takes me back to a fundamental thing:  I don’t want to be his “cop” or “parole officer.” I want to be his WIFE.

Bleah. These are the little foxes which spoil the coming harvest. I’m convinced of it. Things are trucking along and my husband is involved in a newly-formed sexual integrity group at church. This is a good thing and he’s encouraged & excited about it all. But little things like following a website on Twitter that does nothing but advertise underwear? That’s a recipe for disaster. Maybe not a forest fire today or next week - but at some point when we’re unaware. When our defenses are down. The fire, which was tied to the tails of the foxes will catch and all of our hopes, dreams, future, and harvest will go up in smoke.

A very long time ago, someone at a Promise Keepers event said, “Sometimes as men, we do something and think it’s like dropping a feather on our wives, but our wives feel like we’ve dropped a boulder on them.” Since that time, we’ve talked about feathers & boulders - and I sincerely think my beloved just doesn’t get the fullness of what his addiction does to me. It’s a boulder of the greatest magnitude, size, and weight. I don’t blame him for not getting it, but I do think it’s reality. Maybe he’ll understand more the further he walks in healing. Or maybe it’s a gender-thing and he’ll never fully get it. Either way, I hold a boulder.

A friend of mine (I’ll call her Sarah) is dealing with a similar situation in that her husband is a sexual addict. I don’t have many words of wisdom to offer her, as my attempts to cope with sexual addiction are sometimes successful, sometimes not. I can offer her what’s worked for me and what hasn’t, but somehow, some way, she and her husband have to pick their way through this minefield.

But Sarah & I are blessed to be around other men who are Godly, wise, and willing to impart their wisdom. One of these people is my friend David Cowan, who wrote & produced “Oversold,” the movie I wrote about a while back. I thought Dave’s words were particularly wise and I’ll excerpt them here:

…this addiction most likely pre-dates you. The issues that drive him pre-date you. Therefore, you cannot be the cure… his only cure is Jesus and obedience to Him…

…his problem is the addiction… which is essentially a spiritual issue that deals with the core of who he is as a man. At some point when he was exposed to porn, he was hooked like a piece of meat. That hook still has him. Your sexiness, your availability… YOU cannot remove that hook. Only God.

…You don’t have to hold on to the stress of being his everything… being his cure for this. That’s Jesus’ job. Jesus said that in Him, we can be free… free indeed! PRAY FOR THAT HOOK TO LOSE ITS HOLD ON HIM IN JESUS’ NAME!

Dave’s words to Sarah are ones that comfort me.  They remind me that yes, there are foxes that will try to spoil what we’re doing - either now or in the long-run.  This time, God allowed us to see them clearly and to cut off their tails to prevent further damage.  But ultimately, knowing that my husband’s healing isn’t my responsibility is HUGE.  Enormous.  Gigantic.  It makes holding that boulder of his addiction more like a feather, which is exactly what God designs it to do.  Jesus said that if we follow Him, He’ll make our burdens light.

As we look for ways to keep the foxes at bay and insure that they don’t damage our future unwittingly, I’m humbled and awed by the realization that God really *does* care.  He cares enough to show us the sneakiness of the Enemy - He gives us plans to avert disaster.  He carries us through the worst of it and is our Hope, our Light, and our Shield.  It doesn’t mean we don’t have to fight the battle, just that He shows up & lends us His Strength, Peace, and Comfort.  And many times, He fights the battle for us when we’re too weak to do it ourselves.

His and his,
~Cori

So my beautiful friend, Shula from Sensuous Wife, tagged me in a meme at her blog.  The original title was “Five Sexy Things About Me,” but since I don’t deny my sexuality and my blog is more about healing and addictions (and because I need to give myself a bit of a boost right now, staring down the barrel of the proverbial gun), I switched up some words.  My sexuality and love for my husband IS empowering, so I’m not sanitizing it - but maybe by using the word “empowering,” others will be able to say, “Hey! I can do that too!” and feel empowered at the same time. 

1)  My Feminine Heart & Identity - If I’m honest with myself, the core of my strength is my faith and how that lives out in my feminine heart.  For the longest time in my life, I thought I had to be masculine in order to be strong.  That being a woman meant that I had to eschew the feminine part of me and act like a man - not androgynously, but in the classic feminist sense.  Nothing could be further from the Truth.  Because for me, that sort of faux-strength would have me running away - protecting myself and my child, and not loving out of the core of my strength and with the power that my femininity gives me.  Embracing that part of me and being okay with how it looks (that I “enjoy being a girl,” to quote “West Side Story”) and to be confident in who God has created me to be and confident as I love my husband how God has called me to love him.

2)  My Hair - my hair has undergone many lengths, styles, and changes over the years.  It has fallen out by strands and left me with some bald patches, and it’s fallen out in huge clumps, thanks to the rat poison known as Coumadin.  I’ve contemplated what it would mean to have to shave my head and wear a wig if the Coumadin was to be a long-term treatment, and when it turned out not to be the case, I learned not to take anything I have for granted - including my tresses.  Thankfully, at this point it’s growing back and although it’s fine, it seems to be coming back in previously bald-spots.  It’s long, a light reddish-brown, and minus the occasional bad-hair-day, pleasing to my eye.  It reminds me of my femininity and who I am.  My husband doesn’t seem to mind whether it’s long or short (he says, “You’re the one who has to take care of it, not me!”), but I know that there are times he loves being draped by my hair <wink & smile>.  As odd as it might be, I find power and identity in my locks.

3.  My Body - It’s taken me a long time to be able to say that I like my body.  It has been a long journey from anorexia-bulimia as a teenager to where I am now, learning that although my body is “flawed” as per the world’s understanding and opinion, it is telios (Greek, “perfect”).  That word means “perfect, used as it is designed to be used.”  The Greek has no imputation in it regarding physical appearance - if a pen is telios, it means nothing if it’s scratched, worn, or used.  It only matters if this pen can do what it was designed to do:  lay down a layer of ink in a manner acceptable to its user.  So although my body is a bit bumpy, sometimes lumpy, and has scars both from surgery and childbearing, it is perfect - telios.  The understanding and embracing of that Truth has led me to be a generous wife (in every sense of the phrase) to my husband, and has freed me from the heavy chains I carried for so long with regard to my appearance and how I related to my husband, in and out of our marriage bed.

4.  My Generous & Courageous Heart - Generosity looks differently for everyone.  For me, it looks like this:  I can forgive and embrace passion and reconciliation.  Some might say that it’s naivete or stupidity, but I believe that my ability to embrace passion and forgiveness simultaneously is what God would have me do, but is also incredibly sexy.  Mo Annam Cara - (”my soul mate” in Gaelic) struggles with things that he never chose.  He struggled with sin that he did actively choose.  And I’ve had to deal with all of it at the same time.  My ability to find courage inside of me - that I believe God has placed there - and to do what I need to do, whether it’s forgive my husband, a man who seduced him, or a man who abused him (okay, I’m still working on that last one) is inherently powerful, empowering, and sexy.  Because it lends a passion to our marriage bed that we wouldn’t otherwise own.  We appreciate each other and what we have that much more because of what we’ve almost lost.  But if God hadn’t given me the courage and generosity in my heart, I’d not have any of this and I’d be a much poorer woman.

5)  My Hands - My hands have lots of scars on them and my nails go between long and short (depending on where I am with teaching our son guitar and gardening).  They are soft, though, and they are talented. *sly smile*  My hands enable to me to caress my husband, to hold our son and comfort him, to hold a book as I read to him, to cook dinner for my family, to knit, to hold the hand of a friend who is struggling and impart courage, or to type (write) as I look at my heart and mind and pour the contents on to the cyber-page.  My hands can be used for gentle, kind touches, or for rough, harsh touches that steal the life from those I love.  I choose life - I choose to use them for gentle, kind purposes, ones that enhance our intimacy and love, and ones that make me thankful I’m a girl woman who has the life she has, struggles, warts, and all.

What empowers you?  What about you is sexy & shows the underlying strength & gifts that God has given you?  How can you use them to bless your spouse and to enhance your marriage & life?

His and his,
~Cori

Remember that phone call I had to make?  I did it - I finally sucked up every ounce of courage I had and did it.

I knew that time was escaping and it was getting to critical mass for me. As I went to sleep last night, I couldn’t even honestly pray, “God, give me a sign that tomorrow is the day, because I know I have to do it.” Instead, I prayed, “…So please give me the courage to do it.”

It started with a text - because I wanted to respect this person’s time and space, especially if family time was going on after church.  I asked him to call me or text me to let me know when a good time to call him was; that I’d like to talk with him briefly.  As it turned out, text was a great option, because he was travelling and didn’t have availability for more than a few moments of a call.

We connected and he is amenable to having either lunch or coffee with me - and has time in the next few weeks.  It was a pleasant conversation and I’m incredibly thankful for the opportunity.  I have nothing but grace, forgiveness, and love to show him - and as nervous as I’ve been, I just don’t want it to be awkward between our families forever.  The Enemy would like nothing more than to destroy a bond that God forged between us, but I won’t give him that satisfaction.  He’s already tried to do so, but God’s love & power of forgiveness have overcome all of it.  In my heart of hearts I want only the best for him - the seduction, affair, and hiding notwithstanding.

I’m glad I did it - and I’m continuing to pray against complications from the Enemy surrounding our meeting.  Whether it goes well or not, I will write about it - because it’s part of my healing journey as well as my husband’s.

His and his,
~Cori

Of all the things on this journey that I didn’t expect, it has been the depth of sheer anger and rage I have at a man who has been dead nearly 20 years.  I am a natural redhead and have borne jokes through the years about my supposed anger.  The truth is that I’m really in pretty good control of my temper and it takes a lot to get me fired up.

Some of the things that fire me up are (listed in no particular order): racism, injustice, harm to a child, and not protecting someone who’s incapable of protecting themselves in the face of danger.

I was talking to Precious Friend in Texas yesterday on the phone and as we were kibbitzing and sharing what God is doing in our lives, she said something that triggered me to tell her of a conversation last week between my husband and me.

Me:  I know at some point I’ll have to forgive your grandfather…

H:  And my parents …

Me:  (reluctantly) …and your parents.  But if your grandfather was alive, I think I’d go up and spit in his face.

H:  But honey, you have to realize that all I went through made me in to the man you love today - the same one you married.

Me:  (speechless)

Theophostic facilitator:  Yes, this is really where Romans 8:28 comes in to play … God uses the awful things for His good…

By that time, I’d tuned out, because I truly didn’t expect my husband to say those things, but moreover, I didn’t expect the Theophostic facilitator to put a “nicey-nice” face on the horrors my husband experienced.  In fairness, she might not have done that, but it felt like it to me.  I have always recoiled at the application of Scripture that attempts to remove the horror from sin or from tragedy.  I find it much better for all involved to acknowledge the sin or tragedy and find hope in Scripture, instead of trying to put a good face on it.

Additionally, to say that my husband is who is he because of what he experienced… Please pardon me for a moment while I scream, “What the hell….!?”  God could have used any number of things to bring my husband to be the man he is today.  I will not accept lightly, easily, or joyfully the abuse that twisted his soul and gave him challenges, struggles and flippantly say, “Yes, but he wouldn’t be who he is today without those experiences.”  Those experiences tortured him in ways that we are just now beginning to understand and comprehend.  They haunted him for 40+ years and motivated his poor choices in relationships and sexual addiction.  They have been a seed of poison (although not fully comprehended or acknowledged) in our nearly 17 year relationship.  God could have used something else, although He chose not to.  But I will not simply say, “Que sera sera.” I find that contemptible and complete and utter bullshit.

So as I’m relating this to Precious Friend in Texas, she commiserates with me and acknowledges the absolute wrong that was done and how much it affected my husband and, by default, me for the better part of two decades.  She said beautiful things like, “Honey, if he was alive … I’d be going to a nursing home and giving someone a piece of my mind and kicking some old-man behind…” and, “Lovey, I am so for you.  I acknowledge your pain and anger and tell you that it’s okay you feel this way.  It’s appropriate for you to feel this way.  What happened to your husband was wrong.“  She didn’t try to tell me that I had to give it to God (although I know I do) - she let God be God.  She didn’t try to be Holy Spirit, Junior - she knows that He will move me out of this stage of anger, rage, and sorrow in His time.

She’s right about that, you know.

So as I’m driving to pick up my husband yesterday afternoon, I hear a song on the radio that talks about how things were wonderful when we were young, everything spread out before us in potential and possibility (paraphrase) and I’m struck with tears that sting my eyes so fiercely that I can hardly see the expressway before me.  My husband never had that chance.  He should have had an idyllic childhood, but he didn’t.  Someone stole that from him and victimized him for years.

And this is where the rage comes in.  No one seems to have truly grieved his loss.  I’m not even sure that he has grieved what he lost - what was stolen from him.  I am the one who is angry - and this anger doesn’t feel wrong, sinful, or anything else.  I think in part this anger that burns in me is what God feels and Scripture calls “righteous anger.”  It’s hard to classify, but since there is no conviction of sin in my heart with this anger, I have to believe that it’s okay to feel this.  It doesn’t come out at my husband, son, or anyone else in my life in inappropriate ways, and I don’t savour it - I don’t hold on to it.  It comes in waves and I swear to you, I see red.  I’ve never experienced anything like this before.  It’s almost as if I can taste the rage on my tongue in a metallic, bitter sensation on the tip.  My eyes well up and my jaw clenches - and none of this is of my own doing.  It’s all reflexive and I realize I’m crying before I feel the tears that are already running down my cheeks.

I will let this go, but I think this rage has to run its course.  I think there’s a purpose to it and when its purpose is served, I will be able to release it.  But right now, I find myself angry at the bitter irony that my husband was put in private school to “protect him” from the ravages of public school in a major metropolitan area in the 70s when the real danger was in his own family - and no one protected him from that.

It makes me weep and gnash my teeth, simultaneously.

His and his,
~Cori

A few months ago, I went to a Str8s meeting in my locality and met several incredibly supportive people as we walk down our path. I’m still not crazy about considering myself the “str8″ one in our marriage, but this is the name of the group & so I’ll adjust.

One of the women I met there was significantly older than me and was a spicy, saucy woman who reminded me of a Jewish grandmother from New York City. She had a twinkle in her eye, despite the hardship of her life & marriage, and had wisdom to impart. And she entirely captured my heart when we talked after the meeting and she leaned in to kiss me on the cheek.

I got word yesterday afternoon that Rose passed away.  Our Str8 community will be poorer in her absence, and despite the fact that I only met her once, I will miss her at the next meeting.

Rest in peace, Rose.  May you know that peace now.

I’ve had a post in my “work in progress folder” that deals with passivity.  There’s been something that has niggled at my brain for a while now in regards to passivity and men - and I think I finally put the pieces together.  I’m not confident enough to say it’s something that will stand all forms of clinical trial or scientific testing, but I know it’s true in our lives as well as the lives of other men I know.

But first, some history.

My husband has always been passive - to varying degrees.  I never fully understood it, but as two first-borns who aren’t always insisting on “MY way,” I didn’t complain.  There were definitely times when it wore on me - he wouldn’t make a decision, and as nature abhors a vacuum, I had to.  And within the last 5 years, it’s definitely been more and more of a sore spot for me.  Maybe it was that I was fed up with his porn addiction and this was one more piece of straw for the camel’s back.  Maybe it was that I was getting burned out and my feminine heart was dying … one decision at a time.  Whatever it was, it was killing me, slowly.  After my awakening last spring, I realized that his passivity was most apparent in our bedroom - initiating sex was *always* left up to me.  Despite our sexual problems and issues, never once in our (then 13 year-) marriage did I *ever* turn him down or refuse him, and yet initiating sex was more than he could do.  aRgH!

Combine that with me realizing that my husband has it good (damned good, if you must know) and that asking for a bit of reciprocity wasn’t out of the realm of reasonableness.  And so we began to talk.  And talk.  And talk.  And nothing changed.  He said he was afraid of rejection.  Ok… I can understand that.  But WHEN had I *ever* rejected him?  Why this unfair expectation out of me?  urg.  So I try a different tactic to get my point across - in reading Captivating and understanding more and more of who I am (a feminine soul) and that it’s really okay to BE who I am, I realize that all of this decision-making and stepping up to fill the void that my husband was leaving with his passivity really WAS killing little bits of my heart.  It was also making me resentful.  And while resentment in my heart isn’t something that my husband is accountable for, it is something that he’s responsible for.  This time, he begins to understand and to try.

We have steps forward and we have steps back.  Sometimes it feels like for every one step forward, we’re taking 1.5 steps backward.  But we’re making progress, even if it’s incremental.  I come to the conclusion (aided by John Eldredge) that passivity is incompatible with masculinity, and thanks to a group of men that my husband went on retreat with and has begun to hang around and build relationships with, the truism begins to penetrate his head and heart.

Then the information about the CSA becomes a front-and-center reality.  We didn’t start taking incremental steps backward, we started taking LEAPS backward.  As if the facing of this abomination completely stripped him of any ability to be forceful, to initiate, or to make a decision.

At that point it hit me.  Like a ton of bricks falling from the sky - the CSA is the root of my husband’s passivity.  While that sounds quite specific, it was actually a quite broad realization, because there are so many awful aspects to CSA.  It’s not like the recipe reads, “Add one boy, one pervert, stir in some sexual abuse and misconduct, and simmer for 40 years to yield enough passivity to incapacitate.”

This realization/hunch/conclusion was confirmed in our second Theophostic session this past week.  As my husband came to the realization that as a small child he told his parents about the abuse and they didn’t believe him, I heard God confirm in my heart:  this is the root of his passivity.  He tried to help himself and make himself safe, but he was not rescued, made safe, or protected by his parents.  And so he began the work of hiding - from himself, from God, and from any decision that had the potential to hurt him - including intiating sex with his wife, some 40 years later.

Which brings me full-circle to my conclusion.  The passive men in my life are the ones that have had some form of sexual abuse done to their persons.  It doesn’t seem to matter the age or ability they had at the time, but the actual abuse and the inability to prevent it or keep themselves safe from it seems to steal an ability to be forceful, initiate, or make decisions at a later time in life - much of what masculinity encompasses.  That’s not to say that all male sexual abuse survivors are effeminate - some are anything but effeminate.  But that’s not to say that passivity equals effeminate behaviour in CSA survivors; passivity looks different, based on the characteristics and personality of the survivor.  I believe that if you look deeply enough in to life of a passive male, you will find sexual abuse of some form that stripped that boy/adolescent/young man of his birthright - to be a strong, masculine, force-of-nature to be reckoned with.  It breaks my heart, but at least in our situation, the knowledge is power and gives us a footing for our next step together.

His and his,
~Cori

In the midst of this trying time in our lives, we attended a meeting last Saturday that was imminently encouraging and infused me with all sorts of hope.  And that’s a nice feeling to embrace - it seems like it’s been a while since I have.

Our church is in the forming/planning stages of a Recovery ministry - loosely based on Celebrate Recovery, it will launch with five modules for different support and recovery groups.  So that’s pretty cool, but the sweetest part of it for me was to see who was at this meeting.  People from all walks of life - those who struggled with addiction, those who work with addicts as a career, those in ministry (professionally), and those who simply have a heart for working in this field.

One guy is on permanent disability and is home all day - he offered to get another (dedicated) phone and keep it for the first-contact purposes, and came up with the idea of colour-coding the different areas of recovery ministry so that people wouldn’t have to stand at a registration table and talk about why they’re there or feel like “this is where the weirdos come.”  Because let’s face it - we’re all recovering from something, right?  If we’re honest with ourselves, everyone is trying to retrain their minds and patterns of thought in to what God says is Truth and right and most of us deal with some level of dysfunction.  So the attempt to normalize and remove shame from getting help is part of the goal of the ministry.

It was cool to talk counseling-philosophy (in regards to addiction) with others in the field of Marriage & Family Therapy (I’m headed back to school to get another Master’s in this relatively soon) - to realize that we were on the same page and that combining our faith and professional education and practices won’t be as hard as we might have imagined.

The meeting was supposed to be an hour - and I think we didn’t wrap up until nearly 3 hours later.  But for a change, I didn’t mind a meeting going over like this, because it was so great to see what God is doing and how His compassion and love is pouring out of people and will be spilling over in to our community.

It’s weird to be at this stage of life and feel like “I know what I want to do when I grow up,” and yet that’s right where God has me.  Despite all the hard work and the rest that will encompass it, His hand is in it and on me and this ministry is another extension of what He’s doing and how He’s healing me so I can help others find His love, grace, and healing.

I like this sense of hope - I’d like it to stick around for a bit, too. 

His and his,
~Cori

My husband and I had our first Theophostic meeting last week and I’ve pondered how to describe it and write about it for a full week now.  I’m really glad we went and we’ll be going back next week.  God completely showed up and met us there - and let’s face it:  He didn’t have to.  He isn’t obligated to do this and to reveal these things, but as a loving Papa, He does.  And He did.

We’re grateful for that - but it’s left us with a New Normal, and trying to wrap our brains around everything is particularly hard.

When writing on an easy topic, it’s a challenge to describe something to which you witnessed but didn’t experience fully firsthand.  When you change the topic to something as challenging as Child Sexual Abuse (herein CSA), it becomes a greater challenge.  So here it goes…

~~~~~

We met with our facilitator and made brief introductions; she explained the process to us as we settled in a comfortable room with some reasonably cozy furniture.  My husband sat on a chaise and I chose the armchair close by.  We opened with a welcoming prayer, asking the Holy Spirit to be with us, to reveal what He wanted to reveal, and to help us perceive and realize the Truth and whatever it meant to us.

My job was to intercede for my husband - he would be doing the real work, and work it was.  So as I got in to a more comfortable position for intercession, the facilitator began probing with some questions and my husband began the journey backwards.  He felt anger, hatred, violence, evil, disgust, and finally love as tangible emotions.  He said he felt “dirty,” and I had a vision of wounds - deep gashes - on his left shoulder, open & full of topsoil.  That same black dirt that allows things grow was what was packed in to his wounds - and causing infection.  He described other emotive words such as “used, rejected, and unclean.”  At that moment, God whispered to my spirit, “He feels unloved.”  I sat in silence, praying, and within 2 minutes, my husband said, “I feel unloved.”

God led him to room where he was a small boy, pretending to be asleep.  He described the facade with the words, “so he would leave me alone and not hurt me anymore,” and at that moment, God told me who his abuser was.  I became aware that I was not to say anything until he indicated that he knew who his abuser was.  So I continued to pray.  He prayed through anger - that he was abused, that this person, who should have loved him and doted upon him, blackened his spirit in such an evil way.  He had every right to hang on to his anger, but he chose to release it - and to ask God to remove it from him, simultaneously.  As he made that choice, it was almost as though his anger was visible to me - you know how heat looks “wavy” on the road in the summer or when you see air by a jet engine as a jet sits on the runway, the heat distorts what should be a clear view?  That’s almost how it looked coming from that corner of the room - the best words I have are “his anger roiled off of him.”  And yet, he chose to release it.  I’m not sure I could have done it, had I been in his position; he chose health, he chose freedom, and he chose life.  It was completely the right decision, and yet what an agonizing one it must have been.

As we talked afterward, he told the facilitator that he knew who abused him.  I raised an eyebrow at him and he said, “It was my grandfather.”  I knew it was okay to say something at that point and confirmed what I knew to be true - that was what God had spoken to my spirit during the time of prayer.  His maternal grandfather, who should have bounced him on his knee and doted upon him, chose instead to violate a small child with his evil, obsessive sexual desire.  I have a hard time comprehending what causes someone to want to do that, but ultimately I know it’s not mine to have to understand.  This man has been dead for nearly 20 years and I’m thankful that I never had to meet him or form relationship with him - but we have lived with his awful legacy for our entire time together.

Which is where the title for this post comes from - although my husband’s revelation of who abused him is new, the reality is that he’s been a CSA survivor since he was a very young child.  He’s just now getting help and beginning to understand where the roots of his SGA and issues are.  He’s just now coming to grips with what it means as the puzzle pieces continue to fall into place.  It really puts a new spin and perspective on things.

This man, whom I didn’t know or meet, stole my husband’s innocence.  He stole my husband’s natural predilection towards certain things.  He caused my inlaws to treat my husband differently and to reject him, based on the sullying this man did to a child.  He stole from me the man that I wanted and needed for the past 17 years of my life - although God is now in the process of restoring what was stolen.  I also have to choose forgiveness.  I’m in the process - this time, it’s a slow process, but one that I know God will help me through.

So where do we go from here?  I hearken back to an old line from “Sleepless in Seattle,” and one I quoted last summer in the midst of my Thorn pain.  “Well, I’m gonna get out of bed every morning… breath in and out all day long. Then, after a while I won’t have to remind myself to get out of bed every morning and breath in and out…”

This new twist in our path is a painful one, but one that won’t throw us off.  We’ll continue to walk it, together, finding a new normal.

His and his,
~Cori

We’ve been having dinner with friends from our church - or, more specifically, friends who are on staff at our church. Our goal has been to build a relationship, absolutely, but also to give them a safe place to “be themselves” as they struggle with a situation in their family. A beautiful friendship has blossomed out of our meals and conversations, which is lovely.

So last night, as we’re dining and sipping tea (we can easily polish off about 8 pots of tea between the four of us), the conversation turns sexual. Not in an icky, squicky sort of way, but in an honest appraisal of where the Church is on the topic, how we’ve messed up in the past, and how God is redeeming it all. And the topic of Ted Haggard comes up - apparently, he was on Oprah yesterday. Who knew? (I never have the TV on - it seems like a slow torture to me anymore.) And so as we talked, my husband and I exchanged glances and he dove deep. I told him later as we snuggled in bed that I was a little surprised at the level to which he went (he didn’t reveal all of his struggle, but most of it), to which he said, “That’s the only way to build relationship - to be honest - right?”

Yeah, he’s right.

And so as he shared and I interjected little bits here and there, our friends mouths gaped a bit, but ultimately, as we’ve striven to be a safe place for them, they were able to extend the same to us. Their warmth and understanding - compassion and love - encouraged us. One other staff member knows a bit of our struggle, but not the whole of it. I suspect in the coming weeks and months we spend with this couple, the full of it will come out. Which is okay - as the husband of the couple said when he looked at me and heard what God was calling me to in terms of another degree, doing therapy, writing, and speaking, “You’re going to be The Wounded Healer.” I’m okay talking about my wounds - especially as I see God’s hand knitting them back together. And I like the idea of being able to minister healing out of my scarred past - I’ve written before how a scar ultimately becomes a place of strength; stronger than the original tissue that was damaged.

But I’m really proud of my husband and where he is right now. We’re both a little nervous about the upcoming Theophostic appointment (who dives right in to new experiences without a little trepidation?), but that aside, he’s allowing God to do some heavy-duty work and out of that comes his willingness to be transparent.

It’s good. It’s healthy. And it’s freeing.

And for that, I’m thankful.

His and his,
~Cori