It’s been almost three years since we’ve lived in the Mill house I wrote a book on, but surprisingly not a day goes by that I don’t think about it.
Something in my normal routine will spark a memory, and most days the memory makes me shudder.
This afternoon , we just happened to be in the area of the house. The children noticed where we were and began to beg me to just let them see a glimpse of their former home.
My spirit became guarded, and I snapped at our oldest:
” Asher! Why do you want to see that house? We have a much bigger house now! Why do you want to see it?”
Immidiately I knew those words hurt him, this was his home. He loved it there. Our pet chickens and the river.
Though my memories from there left me with battle wounds and trauma, his did not. This was a big part of his childhood.
” I’m sorry buddy, I shouldn’t have said that. I’ll take you to see it.”
I didn’t want to pull into the driveway. When we lived there we had several people pull all the way to the old Mill, park their cars in the middle of our driveway, and get out and fish! Or just take a casual tour of the mill as they pleased.
I’ll never forget one night I was getting the girls settled in their beds for the night. I saw this large family pull into the driveway, and park. They got out a massive cooler, and literally started GRILLING out in my front yard.
As you can tell, I hated it. Moving on….
So I stayed on the part of the road that is basically a side walk to let the kids reminisce for a while.
The more I looked at the farm house and the old Mill , the more anxious I became. Just like clockwork my ribs began popping from anxiety setting in.
The kids looked for the chickens on the hill as I had flash backs of evil happenings.
Though that property forever changed me , it didn’t ruin my faith, or my hope.
It pushed the limits I thought I had. Then revealed to me I have no limits with God.
It didn’t hurt my children, I knew that today watching them light up over fond menories.
The demon that tormented me, and even impersonated my children was still there. Glaring at me.
But this time he couldn’t hurt me. He couldn’t communicate with me. He couldn’t make me sick anymore.
My soul is free from that place, but it doesn’t mean life can go on and suddenly my memory will erase.
It just means that now when I happen to pass by, I can try and remember the good.
My morning coffee by the river. My third babies first steps on that 200 year old floor.
The first day I walked in , keys in hand. I sat alone in the living room and sobbed, I was sure I was finally home.
What doesn’t kill you sure makes you weary. Oh I meant, it builds your self esteem.
You know what , actually… Life can be really hard sometimes. Things will happen to you that leave a mark. Forever.
Let’s push aside the bull in our Christian vocabulary.
Trauma is real, with JESUS and without him. Don’t be afraid to say that you are hurting. It doesn’t make you any less Godly.
It just makes you real.
