BY DOLORES J. MOOREMelissa sat in the middle of a church pew with her husband. Although everything was familiar—the music, the people, the minister—she felt as though she was on the outside looking in. Melissa had taught adult classes here for years and was now head of children’s ministries. But still the feelings came, and with them dark memories of the past.
 
Mental pictures raced unbidden across her mind: incest, betrayal, shame, rejection. She wanted so badly to feel close to God, but the past imprisoned her in a state of feeling unloved and unlovable. It shadowed her everywhere she went.
 
This feeling surged when the minister’s message or congregation’s songs focused on God’s love. He can’t love me, she thought. It was there when she woke up in the morning and took a shower; she thought: I will never be clean. It came when she put on her makeup: I am rejected. It followed her to work, taunting, I’ll never be any good.
 
Where to Turn?
The emotion pounded relentlessly against Melissa’s fragile, smiling mask whenever her mother and stepfather visited. It boiled over with fierce anger and agonizing tears whenever she heard Jesus’ words “Forgive, and you will be forgiven” (Luke 6:37).
 
Behind her outward bravado Melissa was insecure, fragmented by fear that consumed her very life, and had for more than 30 years. She had tried to get help. She talked with many professional counselors. Finally one counselor instructed her to write a letter to her stepdad, pouring out her hatred. This, the counselor assured her, would finalize the pain and end the memories.
 
Melissa wrestled with the idea. The act of expressing hatred was contrary to her Christian beliefs. Yet being taught to love had not made love happen. She couldn’t love. She hated her stepdad for what he had done. She hated him because he continued to destroy her life now. She would do anything to find relief.
 
But she began writing. Repressed anger and intense hatred spit from her heart in sharp, ugly words. The portrait of pain was depicted in fierce black, deeply embedded into the pure white paper, just as unchecked evil was once engraved in the heart of an innocent child. “You are not my father,” she wrote. “I will no longer call you ‘Dad.’ You are no longer welcome in my home.” As she wrote those final words, her long-worn mask fell to the floor and shattered.
 
But so did her life. Instead of providing closure, the words opened the door of her soul wider to Satan. Instead of abolishing the debilitating memories, it multiplied them. Instead of ending her anger, it escalated it into a constant state. Her life was spinning out of control, and human reasoning seemed powerless to help. A stark fear grew within her.
 
Melissa tried to pick up the tiny pieces of the mask, the splinters of her life, and glue them back together, but the illusion broke in her hands.
 
Overburdened
Then Melissa heard about a weekend women’s retreat sponsored by her church. The retreat was designed to uplift Christ and help women grow spiritually. Melissa decided to attend. There must be something better than masking over bad feelings, or giving in to them, she thought.
 
Yet from the moment she set her suitcase down at the retreat, Melissa felt uncomfortable. The freshly made bed held a mint attached to a Bible verse describing God’s love. Instantly Melissa felt that familiar longing: If only that love applied to me!
 
Throughout the day Melissa was showered with love. It came in the form of little gifts sent by friends, even strangers; people who had come to this retreat before, whom she didn’t even know. They sent letters, Bible verses, crosses, bookmarks, candy, and homemade gifts. She found gifts at meals, at talks, on her pillow each night.
 
Melissa participated in Communion every morning and five meetings each day. The women were seated in table groups of eight, each with a group leader. The speakers spoke about the enormity of God’s love and His amazing grace. The words sank deep into Melissa’s heart, clashing sharply with the thought that even God couldn’t love her. If He did, why did He allow all the pain she had gone through?
 
As the love messages continued to build, so did Melissa’s tension. It climaxed Saturday afternoon when the women were invited to go to the foot of the cross, name their burdens, and give them to the Lord.
 
As Melissa sat there listening to others giving their burdens to God, she was overwhelmed by fear. She felt like a cornered animal. Suddenly she cried, “I can’t do this!” and bolted toward the door. Hands reached out and pulled her back. Arms circled her, calming and reassuring her. Women began to pray intensely.
 
Melissa longed to lay down her burden, but she feared that God would require something bigger from her, something she couldn’t give: forgiveness. Her tortured mind wrestled and fought as others continued to pray.
 
Finally, Melissa agonizingly made her way to the front. There, in front of the cross she cried, “Lord, I give to You all my anger, all my hurt, and all my pain that I have felt and lived with for so many years. Please help me to forgive those I blame for this.”
 
And Afterward
As Melissa walked back to her seat, she felt somewhat better, but she knew she had to forgive. She had to forgive her stepdad for his abuse. She had to forgive her mom for not protecting her, and for choosing to stay with this man who had destroyed her life. But how could she forgive? She wanted to scream, “He doesn’t deserve forgiveness!”
 
Melissa’s group led her to a small, private chapel. She agonized, Would granting forgiveness cut the last thread of my sanity and my ability to cope? The group leader prayed: “Father, please give Melissa the power to forgive. She can’t do it on her own. The pain is too great!”

In her quaking soul, Melissa prayed also.
 
Suddenly a startling peace came, such as Melissa had never felt in her life. She forgave, and she felt better. The release was intense, wonderful, incredible! But at first she was skeptical. She thought resignedly, When the weekend ends, the peace in my heart will end as well. Yet she felt such complete peace and overwhelming happiness, she couldn’t help praising God for these moments, however long they might last.
 

The retreat ended. Each night Melissa wondered when the peace would disappear. But each morning it was still with her. She began searching the Bible for answers to questions that had long troubled her (but she had always been afraid to ask) and wrote the answers in her journal. She spent time each morning in communion with God. Weeks and months passed. Not once did she experience a painful memory of the abuse she had suffered. God had truly taken the pain away.
 
Still, Melissa struggled with breaking old patterns. She was often depressed. She began to remember other bad times in her childhood, things she’d never really thought about before. The memory of abuse had been so paramount that only after it disappeared did these other hurts surface.
 
As Melissa realized that these memories were also between God and her, she knew what to do. In her imagination she put all the negative feelings of rejection, anger, insecurity, and guilt into a beautiful box, tied it with a big, shimmering ribbon topped with a bow, and laid it at Jesus’ feet. She envisioned Jesus, in all His love, grace, and understanding, taking it from her.
 
Never again did she want to let anything separate her from God. During the following months Satan often tried to bind Melissa with negative feelings. Each time, Melissa reminded herself that she had given them to God. She would not take them back.
 
Melissa still attends the same familiar church, but now everything is different. Forgiveness gave her the release she had so long sought. She feels a powerful sense of belonging. Joy fills her soul. Jesus loves me! she thinks. And oh, how she loves Him! Why had she waited so long to forgive?
 
As the congregation stands to sing, with every fiber of her being Melissa joins in: “O Lord, You’re beautiful! Your face is all I seek! And when Your eyes are on this child, Your grace abounds to me.”*
 
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* Keith Green, “O Lord, You’re Beautiful,” Birdwing Music/Cherry Lane Music, © copyright 1980.
 
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Dolores J. Moore writes from Nevada City, California. This article was published September 15, 2011.