Through out my life I have been objectified.

I was abused by several men growing up and because they viewed me as an object. I was no longer Lynse, my identity was taken away and i had become just another thing….a baseball card that is bought and sold…when you are done with it you maybe put it in the closet or throw it away.

There is not a lot of value in an object.

After years of being treated like an object i began to believe that i was an object. I was there for someone else’s pleasure. my dreams, aspirations and voice did not matter, because, you see, i was only an object.

I am no expert, but i feel like a lot of people i have talked to who were abused woke up one day and felt like “i have to find myself” or “reclaim who i am”.

As i was half watching Criminal Minds and half having an inner dialogue about the damage of being objectified i realized that it was probably the most damaging aspect, for me, of the abuse.

Once you are objectified over and over and over you begin to think you are an object and you follow suit of your abusers and remove your own value.

And the on going cycle begins…if you dont have any value in yourself then others wont value you.

today as i am 10 years past the most recent sexual abuse trauma i am still left picking up the pieces. I still am trying to learn to value myself. I am still trying to see that i have a voice and those that love me should value what i have to say. I am still learning that i am a valued person by those around me, and i deserve to be valued. I deserve to be a person and not an object.

This is why when we went to New Orleans and walked Bourbon Street messed with me. This is why a part of my heart aches for human trafficking victims. Not that i know the extent of the pain, loneliness and all other emotions that have to be tied up in there. But i know just a sliver. I know what it feels like to be devalued. To be told over and over by different people that you are worth no more than sex or the pleasure that you can provide to them.

each person deserves to be valued. valued by themselves and others.

this is something i am still learning…and will probably be learning for my entire life. Learning to first value myself and then those around me.

Do you have a hard time valuing yourself? What about others?

Each time i see it, it reminds me that we are to be LOVE to the world. How else will people around us know that we have the LOVE of God? If we repel people by offending them instead of loving them where they are what will make them want to come to God, who is LOVE.

I think about my story and how i got into church…i was a rebel, i was angry. I smoked, drank and cussed like a sailor. I had no reference for what was wrong or right in church or as a “christian.” No one had told me. It was a make it up as you go situation. But there were people, to whom i am so grateful for, who came alongside me and LOVED me where i was…and for who i was then. They knew that if they could encourage me to get closer to the God of LOVE that the different things in my life would begin to line up with scripture.

Had they have sat me down and attacked me i would have been so turned off…and to be honest i would still be turned off. I sent this tweet on Friday and i stand by it

“Don’t get me wrong I love Gods truth but if you say it in a judging manner and not in love I don’t want to hear it.”

There is a difference in speaking the truth in love and speaking it with judgement. LOVE compels you to improve while judgment causes you to back off and turn away.

So, i have a two part question….and would love your thoughts….

1.  Is it christians that are turning people away from God with their actions, words and judgement?

2.  As a christian, what could you/we do better?

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Dark night, dark blood carrying with it a river of rage that had brought her to this point. And the horror of it suddenly shone with the clarity of her face in the mirror as she reached down for the razor blade. She always kept a constant supply of loose blades for when the rage took over. The cutting helps relieve the tension, she says to herself in a reassuring voice. I’m not addicted, I don’t have to do it, I just do.

She lives on the street in San Franscisco, it gets cold at night. She doesn’t know where her home is, she doesn’t have a home. Every passing day she is more mad at herself for where he life is, or isn’t in her case. She holds so much rage and pain in her sixteen year old being. People say singing or writing is their therapy but it is really their “release” from a “free” world where everything is dictated. She sees drugs, alcohol and citing as her way out of a life she dreams of leaving everyday.

The blade is bone chilling as she drags it across her stomach as she does each time. She stops and sits in silence for a minute or so, and waits. She is waiting for the pride inside of her to die and the courage to rage so she can have the guts to push hard enough to break the skin. You would think after two years of cutting it would e no problem, not for her, it’s more like a ritual. In this ritual she is waiting for the pride to die so she can humble herself before her “god” an refuge of cutting. She places cutting before anything, before life, love and herself. The pain that is carried with cutting, pain on the outside is no match for the pain that she feels inside, the void of something she has never felt for herself.

She never cuts deep enough to do more than hurt the skin, she is too afraid. She doesn’t know that cutting the outside is killing her on the inside. So many people care that she doesn’t know about. Since she left home when she was thirteen she has thought parents have no care in the world. They only think about themselves.

As she presses the blade a surge of pain jets through her body giving her a “supernatural” feeling, if she even believes in anything spiritual. It feels so good. How could other people not get how good it feels? The blood trickles down her stomach and pools into her bellybutton. It’s like she has left her body. Like she is sitting on the stairs, watching herself. She knows that it hurts but not knowing what else to do. Cutting is her way out of a boring life into a life less ordinary. A life not too many sixteen year olds lead. Cutting to the world is wrong, it’s morbid and people that do it deserve to be locked up and need only counseling.

But to her cutting is all she has to survive the nothingness her life is.

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As I read this I was taken back to when I was 16. And when all of those feelings and emotions were true to me. I was a little girl trying so hard to get caught. To be found out so I wouldn’t have to live in silence.

It makes me wonder how many other people are out there just wanting their addictions to be found out so the silence can be broken.

As my week continued the phrase “my story was not nearly as bad and hard as yours” seemed to be a theme. I started reading a new book called “The Kids are All Right” by Amanda, Diana, Dan and Liz Welch.

It is their memoir, all giving an account of growing up under the same roof but having very different memories and stories from the same times. But the title says it all, the kids are all right. No matter what they felt or remembered…even if it was different than their siblings they are all right. It was as if God was trying to get my attention. To speak something to my heart.

During Life Group a couple weeks ago we were talking about some situations happening in my life and the lives of those of us in the group and it came up again. “my situation is not as bad as __________. So i guess it could be worse….”

and in that moment i think the lightbulb came on for me. I heard what God was trying to say to me all week.

I always hear people comparing their stories….almost one upping eachother to see who has or had it worse. But in either case dont we all have it the worst?

In our circumstances. In our stories. In our pasts. in our present situations. It is our story. and we are right.

and for us in that time or this time it is the worst….for us.

statements like “my story is not nearly as bad or hard as yours.” is robbing yourself of the hardships and trials that you had to endure to get you to today. Yes, mine may be different than yours…but harder?

to you it is hard….and it should stay that way…

remember as you share your story and listen to others that we are all right.  we all have different levels that we can endure…we all have different lives and stories.

But we are all right.

“People, even more than things, have to be restored, renewed, revived, reclaimed, and redeemed; never throw out anyone.” – Audrey Hepburn

Remember…in this holiday season, with your family, your friends and especially if you are in retail…that people grace.

Dont write anyone off.

anyways, in Chapter 7 called, Paste Jewelry and Sawdust Hot Dogs. The premise of this chapter is how we can be fake and put on religion as your protection but question everything and fake our way through this life and through our faith.

This is a quote from this chapter…it messed me up, made me think about my own life and my actions.

“The way we are with each other is the truest test of our faith. How I treat a brother or sister from day to day, how I react to the sin-scarred wino on the street, how I respond to interruptions from people I dislike, how I deal with normal people in their normal confusion on a normal day may be a better indication of my reverence for life than the antiabortion sticker on the bumper of my car.”

I would love to know your thoughts.

I sinned. I messed up.

When i sin or mess up my first instinct is to isolate and hide….to keep it a secret.

But I know that is not healthy.

So i resisted the urge to hide and keep my sin a secret because i knew that if i did that it would continue to grow and grow and i would keep doing it…because it is in the dark and not in the light, and thats where it grows and festers….

So i confessed it…first to God and then to a few trusted friends that i knew would keep me accountable.

I chose to tear down the wall and share my secret…where i am weak.

as always it is scary. the thoughts running through my mind

they will think i am horrible
i let them down
i cant believe i did that
they are not going to be my friend anymore
they are going to tell everyone
they are going to judge me

but after i told the response on the other end was not at all what i anticipated….

her exact words were

“Love you. Messed up just means allow the rescue. Nothing you can do but allow it in.”

she didnt judge
but, she didnt approve of what i did
she didnt unfriend me
she didnt make me feel like i let them down
she didnt tell anyone

this person simply reminded me that God is my rescue….that i cant save or rescue myself. I cant do enough to rescue myself….only God can.

Rescue is defined as (n) an act of saving or being saved from danger or distress; or (v) save (someone) from a dangerous or distressing situation.

She couldnt rescue me.
I couldnt rescue me.
Chad couldnt rescue me.
You couldnt rescue me.

only God can rescue.

and in that moment of grace and love i felt the rescue of God. His plan to rescue me from where i was…the emotions, the anxiety, the shame, the darkness…he rescued me when His son died on the cross.

But it is our choice to allow the rescue…

The next time you mess up are you going to allow the rescue in? Or will you flounder on your own trying to rescue yourself?

So often we are scared of not being good enough when in reality we just need to be in front of God and He makes us good enough.

So as you go through today, just be. Let Him pick up where you can’t continue. Rest and know that He is in control.

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My mom just text me to remind me about this poem, however I never forgot about it. I memorized it in 6th grade to recite at our Rememberance Day Assembly. She also told me today that my grandmother who was in WWII was so proud of me when i learned it. I cried.

Here is the poem,

In Flanders Fields
By: Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae, MD (1872-1918) Canadian Army

IN FLANDERS FIELDS the poppies blow
Between the crosses row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

link: In Flanders Field

Today i remember the people in the Candian and United States of America Armed Forces. They gave their lives for their freedom. and it does not go unnoticed.

As we were watching the kids we had a fun game going with one of the little boys. He was so sweet and innocent. I was holding the ball up and bouncing it on the ground. As i did he was trying to catch it and Chad was standing behind him snatching him up from catching the ball.

This game probably went on for 2 minutes and then we decided that we would let him catch the ball.

The funny thing was as i bounced the ball for him to catch he took 2 steps back and fell into Chad as if he was being snatched and kept from keeping the ball.

a few minutes went on and i looked at Chad and said “that was a spiritual principle if i’ve ever seen one.”

He had become so used to the fact that he was not going to get the ball even though it was right in front of him. He was used to being snatched up right before.

How many times do we do this? We cant get to the ball that God has in front of us because of the different ways the enemy keeps us. But once we break free from the enemy and can just reach out and grab the ball we back away and into the enemies arms.

I know that i am so guilty of this. Time and time again i go back into the grips of the enemy and his lies…

“i cant do that”
“my story disqualifies me”
“you are not good enough”

all of the lies that i believe.

But i just have to reach out and grab it.

The truth is the enemy has been defeated and we can overcome him. We have already overcome him. we just have to choose to reach out and grab it.

put your hands out.