The Bruised Servant

"The Lord God is my help, therefore I am not disgraced; I have set my face like flint, knowing that I shall not be put to shame. He is near who upholds my right; if anyone wishes to oppose me, let us appear together. Who disputes my right? Let that man confront me. See, the Lord God is my help; who will prove me wrong?" -[Isaiah 50: 5-9A].

I grew up in a dysfunctional household.

My brother would verbally abuse me, daily.  My mother would say to me, "If you don't cry, he won't do that. You are too sensitive." Unchallenged, my brother began to hit me.

I went to school with black eyes. Everyone saw my bruises. My mother, when asked, would say, "Well, she is a tomboy."

I gradually shut down, numbing my feelings, ultimately taking a vow of silence when I was ten.

The teachers would contact my mother, telling her, "She barely speaks." My mother would tell them, "She is NOT shy, she is just reserved. Still waters run deep."

I stopped speaking because I had decided that no human could ever give me the Love and caring that I needed.

When I was fourteen, I was not physically safe, the medical care for my chronic lung condition was ended, the verbal abuse continued, I was not being fed on a consistent basis.

I had lost everything, really. Then my parents refused to continue going to church. They took that away, too.

Yes, I set my face like flint. I knew that I did not deserve this treatment. I was a child . . their only daughter . . the youngest. I was not the shameful one.  I had a right to be treated with respect.

I knew that I was trapped for the next several years, I was their dependent. I began hoarding food in my room, in case I wasn't fed. I began to hoard the little money that I earned from babysitting.

I tried to make things better at home as much as I could. I weeded my mother's garden. I knitted my brother a sweater. I did some small painting jobs around the house for my father.

Was I trying to buy their kindness? I don't know. Maybe I was just desperately trying not to become bitter and angry the way they seemed to be.

After awhile, I realized that NO ONE could take God away from me. They could take away my physical safety. They could take away my health. They could take away my food. They could take away my dignity. They could take away my church. But out of all those things that make us human, they could never take away God.

Over the years, I have felt God's presence at times of anxiety, at times of real danger, and at times of joy and peace. "He is near who upholds my right."

I am way stronger with God than without Him. "If anyone wishes to oppose me, let us appear together. Let that man confront me."

In many ways, I have "lost" my life. I fear going places alone. I have had trouble sleeping, eating, speaking up. My chronic lung disease needs constant vigilance. I need to lead a very simple life. I have had enough trauma and damage already over the years to fill a lifetime.

But, I insist that I was fighting for what was right. "Who will prove me wrong?"

And as Jesus says in Mark 8, "Whoever wishes to come after me must deny himself, take up his cross, and follow me. For whoever wishes to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake  . . will save it."

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