That Which the Locust Has Eaten

~The Emperor’s Old Clothes—Part B~

It’s abuse.

“Abuse. Abuse? Th-that’s just not possible. My parents didn’t beat me, didn’t even hit me beyond proper spankings. Dad never touched me in anger or in lust. I have not been abused.”

Is abuse only physical? Baby, you know better than that.

“But I come from a Christian home, with Christian parents. Granted, I recall seeing Dad read his Bible on only three occasions…and he didn’t partake of church from the time I was six until sometime after my fifteenth birthday. And yes, apparently a Christian husband doesn’t usually convince his wife to stop attending Bible study and women’s group—insisting that her time with the Lord is an idol—complaining that it takes her attention away from himself. Just because I can’t remember him praying with me at any time except his standard supper and bedtime prayers…just because he never had any interest in Mom’s repeated requests for a time of family prayer and devotions…that doesn’t mean anything. Right? Right, Lord?”

Will you listen to my Truth, darling?

Tremors filled me. “But it can’t be true. It just can’t.”

And why is that?

“Because…” My stomach clenched and I released a long, shuddering breath. The words came only in a trembling whisper, “Because…it would mean that what I’ve believed about my life, my family, for eighteen years has been—…”

Has been what?

“Oh God, please! Can we change the subject?”

Has been what, dear one?

“Please…I can’t look at this. Please, don’t make me look at this.”

Oh darling, is life apart from my Truth really Life? Trust me. I am more than sufficient; walk into my Light.

One shaky breath. And another. And then: “…what I’ve believed about my life, my family, for eighteen years has been a…lie.”

As the words left my mouth, they hit the cold air of Truth and solidified into a nimbus of frozen crystals that fell, painfully refreshing against my skin. “Oh, God. It’s been a lie.”

Relief. And Fury. I alternately gulped in cold, heady breaths of each. I looked down at the restricting garment I had worn for eighteen years. It was comprised of lies. And it was thoroughly repulsive to me. I had long struggled in this garment—the robe which bore none of my own personality. So to suddenly breathe in the Truth that my robe was a lie…

I acted hastily. I was sickened to acknowledge that I had carried such an unnecessary weight for years; I felt justified in seeking relief immediately. I would not wear the ideal of someone else! I should be able to dress myself; and that’s exactly what I would do! I didn’t wait to ask the Lord what He wanted to do with my garment—I didn’t bother to ask about His plans. I wanted nothing to do with that robe! In desperate anger, I tore it off and flung it behind me.

For the first time, I discovered that I had the freedom to make and wear my own clothes. More than that, based upon the input of my new friends and classmates, I was expected to dress as myself. So I tore my way out of my father’s garment and declared myself “free.”

But…did I have any concept of how to go about creating my own clothing? No. Absolutely not. I suddenly discovered that I had nothing to wear but the now-discarded robe my father put on me so long ago. So there I stood, with no replacement garments in sight.

I was naked. Completely exposed.

[to be continued in Part C]