“There was a time in my life when I prayed and believed that my prayers meant something,” she told me.
The woman was close to my age, but I sensed that we shared more similarities than just the number of years lived.
“I prayed so fervently that I felt Satan himself flee from my presence,” she continued.
“Go on,” I said.
“What I learned was that just because Satan steps out of my view doesn’t mean I have stepped out of his.”
Her words reminded me of when the devil tempted Jesus: “And when the devil had ended all the temptation, he departed from Him for a season” Luke 4:13.
For a season.
“Sometimes we’re led by the Spirit into the wilderness,” I said. “In their natural habitat, the beasts dwell. We should not anticipate them to behave any differently.”
“I get that. I don’t expect beasts to act beyond their limitations. However, I did expect God to do more as He is limitless in His abilities,” she said. Anger festered just beneath her politeness.
“So, God disappointed you?” I asked.
“Not sure. Still working that out. I think I disappointed myself. I prayed so hard… SO HARD… that I felt certain God would show me favor and be just in the injustice dealt to me,” she said.
“What happened?” I asked.
“The opposite of what I prayed for. My abuser got off free. He got a new job and a raise,” she said. “I got my world turned upside down. The justice system failed at every level, machinating with my abuser, despite the evidence and the testimonies. It was unbelievable, and yet it happened. I felt condemned. Me. The one who absorbed the pain and holds both the scars and the memories – all of which have become tattoos upon my heart.”
“Explain what you mean by ‘tattoos upon my heart’?” I asked.
“I’m not sure I can explain. No disrespect, but unless you’ve been mentally or physically abused – or both – you’ll not understand. All I can say is your heart beats differently after abuse – it just does.”
“I understand much more than you think, which is why this conversation is important for us and others. So, please speak to what you’d like in the space in which you’re comfortable,” I said.
“Trauma sucks,” she said. “That’s it in a nutshell.”
“Yes, it does,” I replied.
“It sucks the confidence right out of you,” she continued. “The worst part is that when I went to see a counselor, they wanted to label me with a mental illness. This only feeds into the lopsidedness of justice, where the perpetrator is faultless, and the victim is perceived as dirty, tainted, or mentally ill,” she said.
Her voice rose slightly, and I could tell she had been feeling these words long before she heard herself speak them.
“Trauma is a natural response, not a mental illness!” she exclaimed. Her raised voice caught the attention of those around us. “Suffering is a part of human existence – always has been. Like death, suffering is not prejudice… it visits us all. For some, however, the visitor long outlasts its welcome.”
“I agree,” I said. “Unfortunately, some counselors and doctors worsen the situation by attempting to gaslight individuals who have experienced trauma. While the perpetrator appears unscathed, our charts are filled with diagnoses and dosages.”
She looked at me. I could tell her skepticism was waning. “Exactly,” she said, shifting her weight in her chair. “Exactly,” she repeated.
“Do you believe God’s hand will level the field?” I asked.
“What do you mean?”
“You mentioned that justice was not served. Your abuser roams free like a beast cloaked in tolerance. The world’s downfall is due in part to this tolerance,” I said. “So, I ask you, do you think God refused you and allowed Satan to win, or do you think justice will one day find its rightful target?”
“Both,” she replied. “I know, not think, that God didn’t answer my prayer as I asked. So much, in fact, now I fear praying for others. I fear I’m cursed, and what I pray for may bring the opposite outcome,” she said. “I’ve not been able to pray confidently since my betrayal.”
“Betrayal by the justice system or by God?” I asked.
“As you said, in the wilderness, you cannot expect a beast to act anything other than beastly… that is all it knows. This world is the wilderness. However, I confess I expected more from God. Take that how you will,” she said.
“Yes, that makes sense. However, I believe that God’s hand will level the field. Whether we see it or not, whether in this lifetime or beyond, I believe that evil committed will be served in the same intensity to those who administered it… spoon-fed from the devil himself. We commit to our actions, but the ultimate consequences are left to God,” I said.
“So, what should I do until God intervenes?” she asked.
“God has already intervened. Maybe not in the way you’d like, but He knows exactly what is going on. You must keep your light shining, even if it is but a flicker,” I said.
“A flicker? What can God do with a flicker?” she asked. “That’s all I am… a parting spark in a world medicated with tolerance. And yet, ironically, I’m the one labeled as mental.” She gave a soft laugh laced with sadness.
“A flicker of light brings welcomed attention to a room suffocating in darkness,” I said.
“And yet, evil still breathes despite being suffocated,” she scoffed.
“Yes, evil no longer barters in darkness,” I replied. “It roams freely in the day, so much that it blinds others to truth. And what does evil trade itself for? The hope that others will not stop it; that others will be too fearful or numb to speak against it,” I said.
“And you question why I fear praying? Listen to what you just said. Nothing matters anymore. Prayers are weak platitudes. Evil is winning!” she cried.
“Please, don’t give the devil more credit than he deserves. Sin is his lifeblood, and it will lead to death. Never stop praying. Beat your chest, if you must, but keep your prayers alive. Faith must be as active as love; both are required to move through the wilderness. And the only example worth following is that of Christ Jesus,” I said.
She looked at me with both a hint of doubt and a growing awareness of our purpose beyond this conversation.
“Did love put Christ on the cross?” I continued. “Or did evil?”
“Evil,” she said. “It was our sin that put Christ on the cross.”
“And yet, Christ went on His own free will, knowing full well He would endure the sin of all despite Him being without sin. Is this justice?” I asked.
She remained silent, focusing on me as if we were speaking as one.
“I dare say that our sin may have put Christ on the cross, but His love for us kept Him there,” I said.
“I agree,” she whispered. “I agree.”
“So, justice as we know it here will not always parallel with the plans of God. Look at Christ, who, in His innocence, was crucified in this world so that we may bask in eternity,” I said. “Sometimes, evil makes its mark, but the Believer will be resurrected in peace that only Christ can give. Jesus loves all His children, especially the scarred. He bears scars Himself.”
The woman looked at me, knowing I was on her side, even if our circumstances differed.
“I cannot say when confidence in my prayers will return, but I’ll pray while wait, trusting that He still hears me, sees me, and champions for me… even if I lost the battle I fought. I will try…” her voice trailed.
“I don’t have the answers, and who’s to say that you’ve lost if you trust the Lord? I know God has not abandoned you or me. I’ll join you in praying in faith for an outcome left to Him rather than the one that we’ve imagined. For His outcome will bring the most glory to Him; even possibly, our persecutors may come to know Christ. Wouldn’t that be the best outcome?”
“I’m not yet where you are in thinking that, but maybe one day I will be. Do you think my prayers still matter?” she asked. “After all, they meant nothing in my case. Nothing.”
“I believe keeping company in the Lord through His Word and our prayers means more than whatever man or woman can or cannot do. I know this because I have lived it and still do… daily,” I said. “In this, I think of scripture, when Paul said, ‘For I fully expect and hope that I will never be ashamed, but that I will continue to be bold for Christ, as I have been in the past. And I trust that my life will bring honor to Christ, whether I live or die,’ and I can only speak for myself when I say I have felt both death and life in this lifetime.”
“Same,” she replied. “I can honestly say I’ve lived and died multiple times in my life… sometimes all in a day’s time. And yet, you’re right… God has kept me despite myself and those who have tried to persecute me,” she said. “In this, I’m not defeated, no matter the world’s opinion. I do believe God has the final say.”
“I agree. I believe the same. God has the final say,” I said.
This column was initially published by CherryRoad Media. ©Tiffany Kaye Chartier.
