SPLINTERS FROM THE CROSS

© Mary Lawrence Comm

Used by Permission

“Mary,” He called softly.

“Yes, Lord?”

“How is it that you still don’t trust Me?” His voice was warm and deep. “Lift your eyes to Mine.” And with that He gently placed His hand beneath my chin and brought my face opposite His. Looking into His eyes I saw something I’d never seen before. There, a single tear swelled and spilled over His dark lashes and down His smooth olive skin. First one, then another. His heart was breaking for me. I lifted my hand to wipe the tears from His cheek, pausing to caress the precious face of my Jesus.

Then He took my hand gently into His own. I winced as my fingers touched the scar. He cupped His other hand over mine and with a pat of reassurance, in that same soothing voice, said, “Follow Me. There is nothing to fear.” With that He let go of my hand and turned and walked away.

There before Him I saw that road just as I’d always seen it before. But this time, Jesus walked ahead of me. I knew I had to follow. The road was long and winding. It was narrow and rocky. The incline was sharp and steady. My feet were heavy and each step became harder to take. I slowed to a crawl, but Jesus kept His pace and soon was far ahead of me, out of sight.

It seemed as though hours had passed as I neared the end of the road. But my heart was full of anticipation. I knew my Lord would be waiting for me, arms opened wide, just around the next corner. I wouldn’t have to face the void alone this time. Filthy, exhausted and out of breath I finally reached the end. As I rounded the last corner I couldn’t believe my eyes. Shocked and horrified a cry of agony filled my lungs as I fell to my knees. “Nooooooooooooooo!”

There before me hung my precious Jesus, once again nailed upon the tree. His skin hung in ribbons. Blood flowed freely down that smooth olive face as the thorns dug deep into His skull. There at the foot of the cross I wept, and once again I looked into His face. “Why?” I asked Him pleadingly. “Why did You do this for me?”

He pushed Himself up on the nail in His feet and gasped a reply I didn’t expect. “The question, My child, is not why?, but what now? What will you do with Me now?”

“I don’t know what You mean,” I sobbed. “What choices do I have?” Then there appeared next to me a large bucket, filled with a lifetime of atrocities. The stench was sickening, more hideous than anything I’d ever experienced before. It was all I could do not to retch at the sight of it. I looked again to the mutilated figure on the cross and, shaking my head, I pleaded, “I just don’t understand.”

Again He put all His weight on His feet and spoke in painful gasps. “Throw it on Me.”

“No!” I screamed. “I can’t! I don’t understand, my Lord, please help me understand!” I continued frantically. “You’ve already taken my sins, why must You do it again?”

“These aren’t your sins, My child, but the sins of the one you seek.”

“You mean, the one who hurt me,” I said quietly. It was more of a statement than a question.

“But You’ve already taken his sins too; why must You do this again?”

“My precious child,” He spoke lovingly. “Each time you seek him out, you drive the nails into Me all over again. Until you let go of the past, until you forgive him, I will hang here suspended in agony.”

With that I grabbed the bucket and flung it as hard as I could away from my Savior into the void beyond the cross. Then I threw myself at the foot of that tree. There I clung with all my might, sobbing uncontrollably. “I forgive him,” I cried. “I forgive him.”

An angel came at that moment and released my sweet Jesus and the two of them soon disappeared from view. I released my painful grip of the cross and pulled myself to my feet. I looked at my own hands and forearms, and again I gazed in astonishment. There, deeply embedded in my hands and arms, were splinters from the cross. As I pulled each of the shards from my own soft white flesh, the wounds immediately began to heal. Then, in a moment, the blackness of the void was overtaken by the glorious light of the Son of God. I was free.

Comment by Rob Harms:

We don’t need to know the forgotten details of our past unless the Lord brings them to our attention. All we have to do is say, ‘I forgive everyone who might have hurt me, and I ask Your blessing on them.’ Let Jesus sort out the details. Let Him be Savior and Lord! With the measure that we measure out to others is measured back to us.

Jesus is waiting.

More help

The Path to Healing A brief and most helpful overview of the steps to full healing from the devastation of abuse

Recovery from sexual abuse: Supernatural Solutions

When you can’t forget

When haunted by memories, or terrorized by flashbacks

Discovering that you don’t hate God after all

Where was God when you suffered unspeakable horrors?

Why would a God of love allow suffering?

God’s plans for you are comforting, not fearful

“I had always thought it was my fault!”

It is common for people to wrongly be convinced that they were to blame for being molested as a child. The more certain you are that it was your fault, the more you need to read Why children mistakenly believe they have “seduced” sex offenders.

The Dilemma of Feeling Pleasure When Abused

So powerful is sex that it is almost inevitable that any sexual encounter – no matter how despised and unwanted – will contain elements of pleasure and deep bonding. In an unwanted encounter, these are highly obnoxious consequences of sex but they are such an integral part of sex that they are almost impossible to completely remove from forced sex. This fact is so rarely understood that sex crime victims usually end up loathing themselves or at least being confused and deeply disturbed over what is just a normal reaction to unwanted sex.

Vast numbers of abuse survivors know from bitter experience that pleasure inflicted by a sexual predator can be more damaging than severe physical pain. Some survivors, however, have experiences so different that they find this incomprehensible or even offensive. Experiences differ for the simple reason that abusers differ in their techniques.

If predators are sufficiently skilled, the pleasure they inflict will be sexual. Otherwise – in the case of pedophiles – the pleasure their victims feel will be the gifts they bribe children with or the attention they give love-starved children. Rapists can even force unwilling adult victims to experience sexual pleasure. This very pleasure inflicts horrific, but quite unnecessary, pangs of guilt.

A degree of pleasure or bonding in no way justifies the offender, nor in any way hints that the victim might be perverted or immoral.

The memory of pleasure suffered (yes, “suffered” is the right word) during abuse might currently be suppressed but it could surface at any time. So it is good to prepare oneself by learning about this rarely understood consequence of unwanted sex.

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