The Best Part of Me

Restoration & Redemption

A Therapist’s View on Christ’s Love

Armour

I don’t often reflect on my past. I may be accused of that, but more accurately, others may be frustrated by how much my past holds me back. I wouldn’t disagree. The truth remains that I don’t often reflect on my past, as I try not to. It’s too painful. While I have the incredible pleasure of living a new life beyond my past, I cannot escape the scars that have shaped me.

There comes a point where I must put down the heavy armour that I wear. To rest, to regroup, to weep. Sadly, there’s only one real person that I choose to do that with. That I feel completely safe with, my wife.

We celebrate 20 years of marriage this year. “Celebrate” being the operative word. While our recent annual family photo shoots and rare social media posts portray movie-scene joy, it has taken a hell of a lot of work to get to that point. We don’t post the outtakes and the process is private. We seldom allow the sharp tongues of the world to do more harm than good. We value our success more than public opinion, because if you have genuinely achieved you don’t need to be loud about it.

Scars

It has been hard to stop the bleeding from past pain. The band-aid will on occasion be ripped off and I’m reminded how much I didn’t receive. It’s mostly correlated to how much I give of me. Paying it forward without old receipts. Trying to avoid another bleeding as much as me. While I appreciate this is a failed motive, the sentiment is a natural reaction, maybe even super heroically complex.

More subconscious than unconscious and managed with the most health I can muster. It’s as balanced as I can make it and am aware of my own limitations and frailties more than most.

Hypervigilant, I separate blood and water the best I can. Relying on divine direction as a priority, considering anticipated emotional pushback and how it aligns. Faith first. Frailty second.

Safety

Now while I’m hindered by past wounds and do my best to keep them at bay, God knew I needed safety. Something without a father in the home, I never really had. As an adult I quickly realised that beyond the knowledge that no one was coming to save me, I had to provide that safety for others. Yet, I still needed emotional safety. Without outlining the accommodations, I need in different environments; on occasion, I need to take off my armour at home.

My wife is that safe space. The only one who sees me without my armour, entirely. My children see as much as they need to, in their innocence. Much cannot be revealed if at all, until they are much older and mature. I know first-hand how much weight is too much, for a young child to bear.

Solitude

I cannot express what this woman has done for me. Beyond beauty and capability, her character stands firm. Few can handle being in a room with her, because of the Jesus within her. Most cannot navigate the level of honesty and integrity that we cultivate within our home. She is unrelenting in her pursuit of health and righteousness. People act dishonestly to her and to themselves, to avoid the discomfort of conviction.

She is not great because of who she knows, what she wears, or how much she earns. She is great because she reflects Jesus. My question would be, why are the people we look up to aiming for anything else? We need to rethink who we put our faith in and focus on that direction.

I truly believe that God’s greatest gift to me is my wife. I was, and in many ways still am, too scarred to have hope on my own. I know that Jesus should be enough, but in my frailty, there are areas where I haven’t yet found that to be true.

With certainty, He has used my wife to speak to me in ways no one else could. He has worked through her when a damaged and untrusting person was closed off to everyone else. He has healed and soothed wounds using the unique beauty that only a woman can have.

Furthermore, I wonder if the father wounds that I carry will someday be healed. Not out of entitlement, but honesty, maybe I’ll always walk with a limp. Yet, it’s not my current priority; I know what my role now is.

Helping others heal.