Wednesday, June 24, 2015

The Edge - a guest post from @_TheAntiBlog_

My client has been making good progress, considering. Her story to the untrained heart is gruesome at best and soul-condemning at worse, with a past stained deeply with some of the most horrific acts of unredeemed flesh. Her struggles affect her thought process, her emotions, her actions. Her expectations, her self-worth, her hope are worn and torn to basically shreds. 

The problem isn't that she rejects Christ. She very much believes in His word and His person. But we are still working, possibly unbeknownst to her, on her conversion. I won't even say her "true" conversion, but a conversion to reality instead of perception. Her image and view of Christ, God, faith and salvation is hopelessly entangled in performance and perfection. Add to that mental illness and abandonment and the recipe is nigh to fatal.  She came to me, having been washed off the hands of her family and outcast by her comrades. As we started working together, her sister was willing to be integrated, slowly, back into her life.  Her sister was encouraged because she could see glimmers of change in her, but admittedly remained cautious.

"I've seen this in her before," she said. "It doesn't last very long. It doesn't stick."

"If you keep bringing that expectation around her, I guarantee it won't. You can't heal her, but it will be very hard for her to heal without you."

Her sister and I became the small army of two fighting to help my client make one step at a time. Today, progress has been interrupted by a frantic call from her sister. My client left a note with, to her sister, unintelligible information. However, after all our past sessions, I could decipher the clues.

Thankfully, I don't get pulled over though I'm going at seemingly break-neck speed. She's exactly where I thought she'd be, teetering on her edge.

"It's a little early for you to be out here, don't you think?" Always start with benign, calm dialogue.

"I thought you'd send my sister after me. I was going to do something poetic."

She stands up, and walks to the edge. She turns and looks at me, defeated, weary, hopeless. She looks over the edge and speaks.

"I'm going to fly down to the end. I don't have to wait to see how it plays out. It plays out right here, right now, at the bottom." She looks back at me. "Isn't that better? Isn't that better than this bleak existence?"

"You've given up?"

"I've been thinking...I have nothing. I've ruined everything God has given me. What's the point?" I saw tears fall and a resolve begin to solidify. She starts to look back over the edge.

"Hey!" Desperate and commanding, I grip the moment hoping she still feels her ability to choose. I ask, "Is God still God?" 

She looks at me a little bewildered, then freezes, realizing what is being asked of her. 

"Is God the God He says He is?"

Pausing, I hope it sinks in.

"Is God still God?"

She waited, thinking, knowing the answer would demand a change of her initial solution. More tears fell and the wind started to blow. She took a half step back from the edge and crumpled to the ground. I rushed to her, in awe of the victory grace had just won. She'd been brutally attacked by her past, her weaknesses, and her consequences, and yet God's grace still won.

Created Well is the primary contributor at She's a 30-something married Christian who likes to talk about the unexpected, especially the tough stuff. As a communicator, her loves include writing, speaking and teaching. She's been called a "Dream and Vision Consultant" by those she's helped and worked with. Find her on twitter @_TheAntiBlog_ 

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