Fade to White....

“Do not let any unwholesome talk come out of your mouths, but only what is helpful for building others up according to their needs, that it may benefit those who listen.” (Ephesians 4:29)

This means we’re supposed to control our tongues and make sure that our words are helpful, not hurtful. But I don’t always remember to do that.

“Do not be quickly provoked in your spirit, for anger resides in the lap of fools.” (Ecclesiastes 7:9)

Because I did not take every thought captive, I had allowed myself to be easily provoked and responded inappropriately at times.

Here is something to think about: When in the middle of a situation, where we are being provoked, we can either react, or we can respond. Say those two words out loud, and you will notice that it is difficult to say the word “react”, without sounding angry or aggressive. It is an aggressive sounding word. “Respond” sounds much calmer. When we “react” to something, or someone, it is usually immediate and without much thought, and it becomes easy to allow ourselves to be provoked into an angry reaction.

However, if we take a step back, take a deep breath or two, or seven, we give ourselves some time to think about how to properly “respond” to the situation so that our words and actions are helpful and not damaging. I tend to forget that sometimes. Because of this, I had to admit to something I had ignored for quite some time…..

I have anger issues. I denied that reality for a great many years. Then I read “Take Your Life Back”, by Steve Arterburn, and some of what he wrote there spoke directly at me and what I was going through. It was precisely what I needed at that point in time. It was at that time when I realized I had, what Steve referred to as, “Floating Anger”. I had read, prayed and adhered to those verses above and honestly thought I had it all under control. Especially after dealing with certain things I had previously gone through. But now, over the past few years, I had been allowing myself to be “quickly provoked”. Apparently, I had allowed someone to get close enough inside to trip those triggers and allow suppressed issues to come to the surface. Things I had buried so deep that even I had forgotten they were there.

I finally realized that I was only expressing those issues onto those closest to me, the people I love the most, and I knew I had to do something about it. I had to go all the way back to where it started so I could deal with the source of the anger and eliminate it once and for all. But I hit a roadblock. So, as suggested in Steve’s book, I sought professional help. That wasn’t easy to do.

During my sessions and treatments with my counselor, I was asked about things I still remember about my childhood and to try to recall as far back as I can.

The earliest thing I can remember is standing in front of my mother in our living room. It was late at night in our little house in Oildale. Mom had called the three of us kids out of our bedrooms, and into the living room. There she sat on the old blue vinyl couch, with my little sister to her right, and my older brother to her left. Mom in her robe and the three of us in our pajamas. She told us that dad had left and was not coming back. The year was 1968. I was six years old. Mom was crying as she shared this news. Little sister cried (probably because mom was crying), and my older brother cried too. Mom hugged both of them on either side of her. And there I stood. Right in front of them. Alone. I did not cry. I just stood there. Numb. I felt absolutely nothing. And that is all I can remember. I have no memory of my life before that moment, and most things following that are a blur. A couple of years later, a counselor told my mom that I was holding something inside, and that I apparently refused to deal with it. Me? I have no idea. The anger, the hurt, the feelings of abandonment, took years to surface. (Picture the Hulk, waiting for the trigger to set him off).

I have been told, although I do not personally remember the details, that dad was rather abusive toward us. When my brother and I got into trouble, dad would take us to our room (my brother and I shared a room in our small house in Oildale), whip off his belt, bare our butts and whip the tar out of us. Mom would pace the hall outside of our room and pray for us while she listened to the beatings and the screaming. If she did speak up or try to protect/defend/help us, he took it out on her too. (One thing I do remember, is the “flap-flap-flap” sound of that belt being whipped out for our beatings. To this day, when I remove my own belt, I do it slow and smooth).

Even though I have blocked this out and do not remember those events (mom said she prays constantly that we never do), I do know it to be true. The reason? When my son was younger and would mess up and deserve to be punished, in an angry rage I would go after him. At that moment, I would experience a “flash” of memory, sort of a micro-second “flashback”. What I saw was my dad doing to me what I was about to do to my son. It scared me so bad that it made me stop, yell at him to go to his room and stay there. This accomplished two things: 1) He could sit in his room and think about what he had done and what was coming to him, and 2) I could go outside and cool off.

When I finally did go to his room, he and I would talk about what he had done and why he is going to get a swat, or two. And, following the example of my step-dad, I always used my hand, to make sure I did not hurt him too much. Then, after the swats, I would hug him, pray with him, tell him I loved him and that he could come out of his room once he settled down.

I could not explain those flashbacks, where they came from or what they were about. All I knew at the time was that they scared me and I did not want my son to experience what I saw.

Another reason that I know those things to be true are that my older brother remembers it all. He dealt with it also, but in other ways. My aunt, mom’s younger sister, was also witness to a lot of it. I had to ask and press them to tell me what happened back then, because I needed to know. I needed to know so I could overcome those demons and escape the holds they had on me. (How can you escape from something you cannot see or understand? I have heard it said that you cannot think outside the box until you know what is inside the box.) I needed to know so I could heal and move on. I was told mostly generalizations, no details. I guess it is still too painful to talk about certain things. But I had heard mention over the years of “throwing a two year old into a wall”, and “kicking his son in the rear with cowboy boots”.

Other things transpired throughout my life which created a wider chasm between my father and me. I felt betrayed, abandoned, small, insignificant, and not very important. I had no value to him. I loved him so much it hurt. And he left me. My hero, my protector, my best friend, my everything - was gone in an instant. And he never even said goodbye. I meant nothing to him. I understand that he left mom for another woman. He left our family for another family. But the way I saw it, the way I felt – was that he… left….. ME !

I hadn’t realized it before, but my self-esteem was pretty low during those early years, even before dad left. My brother, my dad and I were involved in Indian Guides. It was a lot of fun and we all had Indian names. Dad was Black Hawk, my brother was Broken Arrow, and me? I was “Little Chicken”. We had other nicknames aside from Indian Guides too. My brother was called Dynamite, and I was called “Termite”. Yeah, by the time dad left, I was feeling really important! (heavy on the sarcasm there).

Life went on. He provided other disappointments over time, so much so that at the age of 13 I finally decided to give my step-dad a chance. That turned out to be a good thing. Carl was the one who taught me to live off the land, think things through so I could make good, well informed decisions. He taught me how to be a man. The kind of man my father refused to be. Carl, my real dad, is the best thing that has ever happened to our family.

My father died in November of 1997 and I still did not shed a tear for him. I felt nothing when I heard the news. If anything, I was angry at him for leaving me yet again. I wanted another chance with him, I wanted to talk to him, I had a lot of questions for him, and I was denied that opportunity. I wasn’t even told of him being nearby just a few months before his death. He visited my brother, and if I had known, I would have driven the hour and a half just to see him, if only just for a moment. And again, all those feelings of worthlessness came back. I never mattered to him at all. I was never “enough”.

The Bible says that the sins of the father can be passed down on his children for up to four generations. My brother seems to be okay. I however, have inherited dad’s anger issues. I found myself lashing in out in fits of rage at the slightest provocation. When treated as though I do not matter, that I am not enough, or not good enough, when I am looked down upon, or spoken to in a derogatory manner, I became angry and had often times lost my temper. And I took it out on those dear to me that did not deserve it. But none of that made any sense to me. After all, I was the good kid, right? The nice, quiet, timid guy at school that people wouldn’t take seriously because I would not exert myself. I guess, like a lot of people, I just wanted to feel like I mattered to someone. I did not need to matter to everyone, or to be important to everyone, I do not need to be in the spotlight or have any attention, but it would be nice to feel like I am a priority, someone of value, a person of some importance – to just one person. I have never felt that. Ever. And when the one person closest to me goes out their way (it seems) to make me feel insignificant – I would lose it and blow up. Sometimes I think that I was not actually angry, but just hurting so bad that the little boy inside me was screaming for attention, for someone to notice me and just love me. I have feelings. I have thoughts and ideas. But no one seemed to care. No one listened. I did not matter.

So, there I was. Trying to get to the root of this problem so that I do not continue the cycle of my father and grow past him and make sure that I become nothing at all like him. I have been told that I walk like him, talk like him, look like him and have similar mannerisms as he did. There is not much I can do about that. I can however, refuse to behave like him. I can refuse to be my father. The sins of my father, regardless of how many generations it is being passed down, ends with me. With ME.

And all that time, I had forgotten the one most important detail of my life:
I am a child of the King. I am a son of the Almighty God and I strive to be more like His Son, instead of Russell’s son.

I am however, human. I make mistakes and I sin. I wanted to conquer this sin and move forward and provide my wife and my family with a safe provider and protector and servant leader in my household. I want to be my wife’s “safe place”. I want her to be able to trust me.

The Bible teaches us that in order to have peace, we need to forgive and let go. I came to realize that no matter what happens – I needed to forgive him. Since he died in 1997, I can no longer talk to him about this, but I can talk to my Heavenly Father, and turn it all over to Him. Some say that dad was a Christian and that he is in heaven now. I honestly don’t know. I will find out when I get there.

From one of my daily devotionals, I read that :

Forgiveness does not mean pardoning the offender. It doesn't mean saying, it's okay...because, really, it's NOT okay. Forgiveness is simply putting it all on the willing shoulders of the only One who can possibly bear it, and leaving it there. (And if you're like me, you'll need to do that approximately 2,592 times a month.) It goes something like this for me: "God, I can't even sort out my part and their part in this whole horrible mess, but I'm just going to give it to You. YOU sort it. You deal with them. You heal me. I can't." And when you do that - when you stop trying to sort the blame and the hurt and the cruelty and how much hurt they must have gone through to treat you the way they did - oh, friends. It's like relief. You mean I don't have to figure it all out and demand a pound of flesh for every ounce of pain? No, really, you can't. The only way that lets you free of the ugly contagion of bitterness...is the kind of forgiveness that comes through the mercy of the Savior. You don't have to muscle through to a feeling of gentle kindness towards someone who has hurt you beyond words. I always thought THAT was forgiveness. All you have to do is dump it all, daily, hourly, every 10 seconds...on Jesus. He who bore the cross is utterly gentle with your scars...and utterly able to carry the unbearable weight of your past.
John 8
31To the Jews who had believed him, Jesus said, “If you hold to my teaching, you are really my disciples.32Then you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.”
36So if the Son sets you free, you will be free indeed.”

God’s timing is pretty awesome, isn’t it? Another one of my daily devotionals said this:
If you're going to face the dark secret, you need someone to go with you there who will not condemn you, and that would be Jesus. He's known your secret all along. He died to pay for all that sin. He died to forgive it. You need someone who is also strong enough to carry that secret, to heal its wounds, to restore you. Isaiah 53 says of Jesus, "He took up our infirmities and carried our sorrows, He was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was upon Him." That actually happened on Jesus' cross where every sin and every secret of your life was dealt with and paid for.

The problem is that I already knew all of this. But as our pastor explained, “Don’t just hear this with your ears, hear it with your heart!” As James 1:20 tells us, “Do not merely listen to the word, and so deceive yourselves. Do what it says.” Ouch.

So, I finally agreed to see a Christian counselor to try to work on my anger issues. To try to get to the root of it all, find out where it came from, why it was still there, and how to heal and move beyond it. My therapist suggested a form of psychotherapy called EMDR, Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing. I was reluctant at first but decided to give it a try. There was no “in your face” eye treatment, but rather a different form of the treatment where the therapist helps me relax and remember. I read that EMDR shows promise as an effective treatment for post-traumatic stress disorder, or PTSD. The article said that PTSD, aside from veterans who have been in combat, that it affects about 8 percent of civilians. PTSD is a debilitating illness that can result when a person lives through a traumatic event such as war, rape, physical abuse, serious accidents, and natural disasters. EMDR uses a patient’s own rapid, rhythmic eye movements to dampen the power of emotionally charged memories of past traumatic events. So, was I dealing with a form of PTSD? I really do not know. I do know that I was physically abused as a child and survived being shot in the face when I was 20. So….maybe. Either way, I thought that the EMDR procedure was worth a try.

I was asked to close my eyes and go back to the earliest thing I can remember, which was the scene at the couch, and was asked to recall what I saw and felt. This process occurred several times.
Following my first EMDR session, I felt numb. Just like that six year old little boy missing his dad. I thought I would get better over time, but I had been numb every day since then. Someone tried, it seems, to test me a few times and provoke me to anger, but I refused. I took every though captive to Christ and refused to allow the enemy to have a hold on me, my emotions, and my thoughts. When spoken to negatively, I changed the subject to something more pleasant, or I just walked away. Sometimes both. Although I was not angry, I had no joy either. I felt nothing. It took a lot of energy to just get through the day, every day. When I took a deep breathe, which almost sounds like a heavy sigh, I was asked, with contempt in their voice, “Why are you so mad?!?”. I could not get them to understand that I was not angry, I was just taking a breath. Sometimes I need a deep breath to collect my thoughts, and gain my composure. It does not mean that I am angry. It could mean that I am taking steps to not allow myself to become angry. (So don’t push it!).

My heart felt like it was dead. Actually, I could not feel anything in my heart. No anger, no love – no……. nothing. Just numb. I didn’t want to be numb. So, what did I want? I did not know.
Because stuff happens, it was a few weeks before my next session. I needed to get un-stuck from the slump I was in. So at my next appointment, I was eager to pick up where we had left off.

This time, when I would go back to that scene in the living room in front of the couch, things changed. I had asked God fervently to lead me and guide me and provide the healing I so desperately needed. And He showed up. I had been resisting Him and doing things my way for way too long. I am so thankful He never gave up on me.

You see, only God, through His love and grace and power, could truly set me free and bring peace, to me and those around me. Remember the story in Luke 19 where Jesus asked his disciples to get him a young colt that had never been ridden? Jesus rode that unbroken young donkey into Jerusalem while people were screaming, shouting and throwing their cloaks and palm branches in front of him. Total loud chaos! And that young colt kept its cool. As any horse person can tell you – that was not normal. That unbroken animal should have been freaking out and buck of its rider. But, it was being ridden, controlled, by the Master of Peace Himself. I needed Jesus to calm the wild and hurting animal inside of me, for me, for my children, for my wife, for the people I love, and for all of the people I've hurt. I cannot change the past (oh, how I wish I could), but I can take charge of my future.

So the treatments continued. Each time I went back to the scene in front of the couch, it became increasingly more difficult to see colors, which before, had been quite clear. I found myself in a place that seemed like the inside of a white cloud. I approached what I believed to be the Throne of Grace, the foot of the cross. I needed to talk to my dad, but I no longer have access to him. I asked God to talk to my dad for me. I asked God to forgive me for sinning against Him and my wife, my children and everyone else I had ever taken my anger out on, and to please tell my dad that I forgive him. I forgive him. That I love him. That even though I miss him, I no longer need him. I want him to know that I will always strive to be the man that God wants me to be in spite of the poor example he provided to me and my brother. I hope he is well and that if he is indeed in heaven, I will see him again one day. I asked God to give my dad a hug for me, if he is there with Him. I then turned it all over to God, and left all my anger, my anxieties, my hurt and all bitterness at the foot of the cross. As the song says, my chains are gone and I have been set free.

By the last time I was asked to go back that living room, I could not make out any details. Every image, everything I could once see clearly, was now a blurred image faded out like an old photo that had been overexposed. For the first time in a long time, I felt a huge release as I was able to sit up straight and take in a deep breath as I let it all go, and watched everything, with tears streaming down my cheeks, slowly fade to white. The images didn’t go dark, or “fade to black”. It all became lighter, brighter and faded to white.

I am no longer numb. I am no longer in a constant state of depression and a new joy has filled my spirit. I now fully understand what is meant in 2 Corinthians 5:17, where it says, "If anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old has gone, the new has come!"

Oh, there are still those bad days when it isn’t easy to feel the joy, but after spending some time with my Heavenly Father, He restores me. I do my best to meet with Him each and every morning, and to spend time talking with Him throughout the day.

The old is gone, and the new has come. I called out to God in my darkest hour, and through His grace and mercy and power, it all faded to white. It…..faded…..to……..white.

“Come now, let us settle the matter,” says the Lord.
“Though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow;
though they are red as crimson, they shall be like wool.”
(Isaiah 1:18)

So, do I still get angry? Yes, sometimes. However, God’s Word tells us “In your anger, do not sin” (Ephesians 4:26). It is not a sin to become angry. It is only sin when your anger controls you. My anger, when it happens, is less than it was and it does not control me.

“My dear brothers and sisters, take note of this:
Everyone should be quick to listen,
slow to speak and slow to become angry, because
human anger does not produce the righteousness that God desires.”
(James 1:19-20)

So I make a constant, conscious daily decision to take very thought captive, be slow to anger, and focus on being the man that God has called me to be.

Walk in Love.