Lies hurt. If you’ve ever been lied to by someone you love and once trusted, you can fully understand that statement. From my earliest recollections, I have been lied to.
As a child I was told repeatedly by two individuals that the way they were treating me was because they loved me. In reality, their treatment of me was ongoing sexual abuse.
I once asked one of those individuals if the saw blade he had just cut wood with was hot. He assured me it wasn’t. The inquiring mind of a nine year old touched it to find out and ended up with a 2nd degree burn on my hand.
A young man, older than this sixteen year old who dated him, told me he wanted to marry me. Nine months later, he came to my house and told me we couldn’t see each other anymore.
Years later, a family member told a lie that put my family in danger of being split apart. It also permanently destroyed relationships with family of origin that were, at one time, extremely close.
As a recovering victim of sexual abuse, I was once assured by a therapist that everything said would be held in confidence. That person then turned around and discussed some of the things I said with another person we both knew.
As a mom, I remember the sting of learning that one of my children outright lied to me about something. Childhood foolishness, I know, yet the sting of knowing they would intentionally hurt me was still painful as hell. Maybe that was a direct result of the lies that had been told to me throughout my life.
Today I feel that over the past forty plus years of my life, I have been lied to. The subject of that lie–God. I have been told that God was a watchdog in the sky, waiting for me to do wrong in order to punish me to get me back in line. Then I was told those teachings were a lie. Instead, God was portrayed to me as a loving being who was always good. I learned songs that proclaim the “goodness” of God. I tried so hard to believe they were true.
Today’s pain, both physical and emotional, have me wondering if perhaps all of that has been a lie.
I wonder how inflicting me with a physical illness that, for the first time, is threatening to rob me of the ability to walk can be considered good.
I wonder how causing my daughter’s little family (and taking with them my only grandchild) to move hundreds of miles away can be considered good.
I wonder how allowing years and years of depression to infiltrate my life can be considered good.
I wonder how causing my husband, who works so hard and so unselfishly, to chip away at medical bills that just never seem to end, leaving us with no savings account and little extra to really help our kids, to be saddled with a wife who is more of a burden than a blessing, can be considered good.
I could go on. Maybe you are reading this and thinking that I have it all wrong. Maybe you are right. But…maybe you aren’t. Because right now, I have never felt more abandoned or more despised by God.
Today, after attempting once again to attend church, getting there and staying for about 25 minutes, then quickly leaving long before the service ended because I just couldn’t be there right now, my husband and I stopped at Lowes. I needed a special light bulb for a cabinet in our living room. As tears ran down my cheeks from the sheer pain that came with putting any pressure on my feet, my husband said to me, “You may end up needing to use a walker.” I quickly thought of a few weeks ago, when we traveled to see our grandson and his mommy and daddy, and how he held his little arms up because he wanted Grammy to pick him up. I replied to my husband, “Then I won’t be able to carry the baby.” At that moment, I wanted nothing more than to scream and curse at a God who not only moved them away from us, but may take away my ability to even lift him up the few times a year I will get to see him. The tears, even as I type this, are flowing freely from eyes that I didn’t think could cry anymore.
This hurts like hell.
To feel like I’ve been lied to just adds salt to already deep, bleeding wounds.