A good deal of thought has gone into writing this blog. It is, quite possibly, easier to write spontaneously from the heart than to compose a descriptive process on completing said task.
The issue is vulnerability. How much of my self can I safely reveal to the reading public? How much of my family’s life do I share? Life is way more than just me. As a person who wears my heart on my sleeve, do I allow my heart to be transparent before the bloggers of the world?
A good deal of fear can hold us back from sharing the real issues of the inner self; will I be judged? Will they reject “the real me”? I am safe only knowing who I am in Christ.
Will they love my words and what has come from the tempest driven storm? Better yet, will they feel something? Will their lives and hearts become richer channels of Christ for having shared, in prose, the tale of woe?
In view of the powerful Word of God and Biblical writers, I immediately think of David, who from the inmost chambers, his heart finds fluid form via the Holy One, to wash over the wounded spirit to begin a cleansing, a Spirit cleansing. The intently personal, the intently deep has a way of ministering to the soul like none other…deep unto deep…
What does God say about sharing from the heart?
What does Jesus demonstrate?
Where does He come in?
Holy Spirit-inspired encouragement for others?
Do we take the chance that someone else might be helped or comforted by the experience that has forged the human heart into the category of being more than a conquerer? Is it just honesty?
Is it more than that?
It is the recognition of the Divine One in His great knowledge, who causes all things to work together for good…the good, being the comfort, received first from the Comforter, then expressed from the warmed heart as intrinsic sharing. It is a heart to heart with another whose name you may never know, never share tears over their story, but, oh, the Father certainly does, and, using articulation of the heart, may tell the needy that they are not alone; there is hope; someone has walked this way before. I believe God uses the written language of the heart to throw a lifeline to another, to minister life to the hurting. Precisely, it is a language of love.
Writing as therapy is noted to provide relief from Post Traumatic Stress, information which was valuable to me in expressing the articulated pictures in my book that were persistently causing my post traumatic issues. Some use the metaphors of having stomach flu, to “vomit out” the toxins that remain within as result of the heinous hardship of that season past. To write, with tears streaming down the cheeks, is healing. The imagery associated with Post Traumatic Stress sets us up for the painting of exact and explicit pictures. God catches every tear and puts it in a bottle. The Helper is near, as the Hosts of Heaven cheer you on. I definitely received a healing. I was never again awakened with the picture of my daughter lying dead in the emergency ward. Thank the Lord. To Him be the glory. I believe He did share His feelings of losing His Only Son. I didn’t know how the healing would come, except through facing it, head on, and ripping the mask off the enemy by exposing his face, tactics, and whereabouts.
Through writing One Mother’s Story, I recall the triumphant exhilaration upon completion, having accomplished a long, arduous task in the writing. Having received a God inspired command to write, I had knowledge that the story in all its fullness was intended to be shared, as an encouragement to families who walk a difficult road with their children, then, to tragically loose them; a parent’s worst nightmare. As I wrote, the laborious process became joy as I neared the end, the story having taken on life and form on the pages of my manuscript as a monument to my daughter who died before her time.
Since the release of One Mother’s Story, many individuals and families have shared the book, then, having the courage to return, share with me their own story of grief and loss; yet others, with curiosity, come bearing questions mixed with sorrow. I count it a privilege to have heard the stories of so many others; to encourage, embrace with tears the wounded, and then release them to God in prayer. One mother shared the deep sorrow of having just lost a daughter to murder. I felt her grief. She has, over the past two years, begun to heal… a heart growing used to the pain of her daughter’s sudden death.
I was given the courage to face the haunting circumstances, and now, I am at peace. I have heard it said that one does not know peace until you have lived without it. I continue to seek inner healing with a deeper level of forgiveness each day, and am met faithfully by the Prince of Peace Himself. Joy and peace of Christ to all who read these words.
Beverley E. Romanow is the author of One Mother’s Story, a book which shares from her heart as she recounts the events leading up to and following the death of her 16 year old daughter: an unthinkable suicide in City Police cells. The quintessential hope is eternal….that others with be helped and blessed….and that 16 year olds would always have a safe place to run away to.