Kindle Notes & Highlights
by
Joy Smalley
Read between
May 25 - June 10, 2024
Once the body is nourished, the symptoms fade as though they were never there, leaving the mind alone to carry the scars.
The mind of a child is an
amazing gift. While the world around them is unknowable, dangerous and threatening, their minds build foundations and stories and illusions that will protect them from the reality of what’s happening. Children are resilient, yes, but not unaffected, and it’s not until the child is grown that she can do the work of dismantling the structures she built for her own survival.
Jesus said that the truth will set us free,[13] and this is true, but as children, it’s the lies that keep us safe.
A new start always meant a new goodbye.
Stories, however, illuminate truths much deeper than words can take us. Stories give our pain space, while at the same time keeping it distant.
Self-harm, however, is a coping strategy that works. It helps the troubled soul find solace and peace, even if just for a day, or an hour, or a minute. It soothes the body, quieting the chaos and clearing the mind.
Isn’t that the heart of the missionary child? The heart that knows that they’re not important, that they’re insignificant in comparison to the great global crisis of faith and hell.
In a childhood riddled with abuse or emotional or physical neglect, the child can survive by focusing on the emotional needs of their caretaker, essentially becoming the caretaker of the parent. If the child can appease the parent, then they can reduce the harm received from that parent, while also numbing their own needs by focusing on the needs of someone else.
I would have lived in this cult forever, believing that this was the highest calling that anyone could have.
When suffering is exalted and forgiveness expected, we allow ourselves to be victims and believe that it makes us more holy. Villains thrive where victims refuse to speak up and they may even believe that their victimization is for their own good.
Kids may be resilient, but they’re not unaffected.
My soul longed to see my story within someone else’s story. I longed to understand myself.
The only thing keeping us from turning tail and running to safety was the intensity of our belief that the call of God was sure, suffering was inevitable, and God was good. In missions, there’s no differentiation between parent and child. A child’s life is simply the parent’s life, their sacrifice the parent’s sacrifice.
Missionary children aren’t seen as individuated humans with their own needs and souls.
God doesn’t need the missionary to save the world, but every child needs their mother and father to be whole and present with them as they grow.
There’s no prayer that alleviates the parental responsibility to create a safe and loving environment for children.
Missionaries don’t get a free pass on neglect because they prayed a prayer and felt that it was the right decision.
There’s only good in suffering when we confront it head on and face the inevitable pain. Suffering for the sake of suffering has no good in it. The trauma and the pain are never good. They’re not intended for our lives. They’re not what God ordained. But good can be found in suffering when we look into the abyss and interact with the relationships, the lies and the emotions that stagnate in the dark. Only then can good come from suffering.
But the son who stayed, the one who found safety in strict obedience and adherence to responsible living, was the one without hope or joy.
He’d been too scared of failure, of ruination, to do what he desired to do.
The narrow road is not narrow because the rules are strict. The road to healing is narrow because the road is meant to be explored through action.
Maturation will come only when we give the inner child the attention they deserve, no matter how silly or immature the requests. The neglected child needs the adult to put them first in a way that they’ve never experienced.
I have released God from responsibility for my abuse. I understand that He wasn’t the one who called my pain into being.
He urged her, in His gentleness, to expose herself and to come out of hiding. His intention wasn’t to shame, and it wasn’t to demand reconciliation or to punish. He desired her, He loved her and He longed for her to be whole.
There’s no shame too great, no action too big, no trauma too terrifying to take away our identity as God’s beloved. With His death, Christ took away any excuse we could have to continue hiding.
