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How Healing Starts to Happen

“not once,” i whisper. “not once did you or mum come into my room, sit on my bed and say sorry. not once did you ask me how i was doing; why i was hurting myself, and what you could do to help.”

Click here to continue reading How Healing Starts to Happen, written by my dear friend, Emily Wierenga. Honestly, I’m at a loss for words to sufficiently introduce this article. Parents of aching children and the aching children of parents can both find healing here. All I can say is … please read her words. You will be glad you did.


The Journey

by Elizabeth Wyse Cook


that wall is 13ft thick and is broken Pictures, Images and Photos
 source

Iwish I could tell you the whole story of how God rescued me and healed me, but that would take at least ten posts. But I will say this. It was personal, intimate, and totally tailored to where I was each step of the way.  God kept bringing the right friend, the right book, the right message, the right quote, the right mentor, or whatever I needed at exactly the right time. 

So how did I get out of legalism?  Two words:  God & friends.
GOD:
Who knew my desire for Him
Who patiently waited for me to be ready
Who came to me
Who gently shone His light into my cell
Who gave me genuine choices
Who smiled at me
Who loved me no matter what choice I made
Who spoke without speaking
Who held me close while I cried
Who showed me my heart
Who walked with me every step of the way
Who promised to help me tear down the walls
Who promised to help me clean up the toxic waste
Who helped create beauty where there had been darkness and chaos
Who has never given up on me
FRIENDS:
Who loved unconditionally
Who looked beyond the walls to see the real me
Who loved me even when I hid from them
Who listened and listened and listened
Who gave when I was afraid to receive
Who gently insisted that I receive
Who validated pain
Who gently reasoned against slavery
Who gave me courage
Who cheered at the smallest progress
Who recommended resources
Who told me the truth
Who taught me that friends are essential
Who were real, not perfect
Who taught me to see beauty