Woman Thou Art Loosed! 20th Anniversary Expanded Edition (4 page)

http://wtal.destinyimage.com/ch2

Lo, children are an heritage of the Lord: and the fruit of the womb is His reward. As arrows are in the hand of a mighty man; so are children of the youth. Happy is the man that hath his quiver full of them: they shall not be ashamed, but they shall speak with the enemies in the gate.
Psalm 127:3-5

The birth of a child is still the greatest miracle I have ever seen. Standing in the sterile white environment of a hospital maternity ward with the smell of disinfectant strong on my hands like a strange new cologne, I was handed my link into the future, my ambassador to the next generation. A blinking, winking, squirming little slice of love, wrapped in a blanket and forever fastened to my heart—we had just had a baby! To me a piece of Heaven had been pushed through the womb of our consummated love. Children are living epistles that should stand as evidence to the future that the past made some level of contribution.

C
hildren are living epistles.

The psalmist David wrote a brief note that is as loud as an atomic bomb. It speaks to the heart of men about their attitude toward their offspring. This was David, the man whose indiscretion with Bathsheba had produced a love child. Though inappropriately conceived, the baby was loved nonetheless. David is the man who lay upon the ground in sackcloth and ashes praying feverishly for mercy as his child squirmed in the icy hands of death. Somewhere in a tent the cold silence slowly grew. The squirming stopped, the crying stilled; the baby had gone into eternal rest. If anybody knows the value of children, it is those who just left theirs in the ground. David's son, Solomon, wrote:
“As arrows are in the hand of a mighty man; so are children of the youth.”
Perhaps Solomon had heard about his father's grief. He may have pictured the tears his father shed as they lowered his arrow into the ground.

Why did he compare children to arrows? Maybe it was for their potential to be propelled into the future. Perhaps it was for the intrinsic gold mine that lies in the heart of every child who is shot through the womb. Maybe he was trying to tell us that children go where we, their parents, aim them. Could it be that we, as parents, must be responsible enough to place them in the kind of bow that will accelerate their success and emotional well-being? How happy I am to have a quiver full of arrows.

If someone must be hurt, if it ever becomes necessary to bear pains, weather strong winds or withstand trials or opposition, let it be adults and not children. Whatever happens, happens. I can accept the fate before me. I was my father’s arrow and my mother’s heart. My father is dead, but his arrows are yet soaring in the wind. You will never know him; he is gone. However, my brother, my sister and I are flying, soaring, scientific proof that he was, and through us, continues to be. So don’t worry about me; I am an arrow shot. If I don’t succeed, I have had the greatest riches known to man. I have had an opportunity to test the limits of my destiny. Whether preferred or rejected, let the record show: I am here. Oh, God, let me hit my target! But if I miss and plummet to the ground, then at least I can say, “I have been shot!”

It is for the arrows of this generation that we must pray—they who are being aimed at the streets and drugs and perversion. Not all of them, but some of them have been broken in the quiver! I write to every empty-eyed child I have ever seen sit at my desk with tears and trembling lips struggling to tell the unmentionable secret. I write to the trembling voice of every caller who spoke into a telephone a secret they could not keep and could not tell. I write to every husband who holds a woman every night, a child lost in space, a rosebud crushed before you met her, a broken arrow shaking in the quiver. I write to every lady who hides behind silk dresses and leather purses a terrible secret that makeup can’t seem to cover and long showers will not wash. Some people call them abused children. Some call them victimized. Some call them statistics. But I call them broken arrows.

Whose hand is this that fondles the bare, flat chest of a little girl? Whose fingers linger upon the flesh he helped to create? Why has the love that should be mama’s come to snuggle under daughter? “Someone tell me how to rinse the feeling of fingers off my mind?” This is the cry of little children all over this country. This is the cry of worried minds clutching dolls, riding bicycles—little girls and even little boys sitting on school buses who got more for Christmas than they could ever show and tell. The Church must realize that the adult problems we are fighting to correct are often rooted in the ashes of childhood experiences.

A
dult problems are often rooted in the ashes of childhood experiences.

How delicate is the touch of a surgeon’s hand. Who needs surgery under a butchering hacksaw? In the ministry, there is a different prerequisite for effectiveness than what the textbooks alone can provide. It is not a medicine compiled by a pharmacist that is needed for the patients lying on the tables of my heart. We don’t need medicine; we need miracles. I always laugh at the carnal mind that picks up books like this to critique the approach of the prophet. They weigh the words of divine wisdom against the data they have studied. Many have more faith in a textbook written by a person whose eyes may be clouded by their own secrets, than to rely upon the word of a God who knows the end from the beginning. Whatever the psychologist learned, he read it in a book, heard it in a lecture or discovered it in an experiment. I appreciate the many who have been helped through these precious hearts. Yet I know that, at best, we are practicing an uncertain method on people as we ramble through the closets of a troubled person’s mind. We need divine intervention!

If there is something minor wrong with my car, like a radiator hose needing to be replaced or a tire changed, I can take it almost anywhere. But if I suspect there is serious trouble with it, I always take it to the dealer. The manufacturer knows his product better than the average mechanic. So like the dealership, ministers may work with, but need not be intimidated by, the sciences of the mind! God is not practicing. He is accomplished. I want to share God-given, biblical answers to troubling questions as we deal with the highly sensitive areas of sexually abused children.

G
od is not practicing. He is accomplished.

I earnestly believe that where there is no compassion, there can be no lasting change. As long as Christian leadership secretly jeers and sneers at the perversion that comes into the Church, there will be no healing. Perversion is the offspring of abuse! As long as we crush what is already broken by our own prejudices and phobias, there will be no healing. The enemy robs us of our healing power by robbing us of our concern.

Compassion is the mother of miracles! When the storm had troubled the waters and Peter thought he would die, he didn’t challenge Christ’s power; he challenged His compassion. He went into the back of the ship and said, “
Carest Thou not that we perish?
” (Mk. 4:38) He understood that if there is no real compassion, then there can be no miracle. Until we, as priests, are touched with the feelings of our parishioners’ illnesses rather than just turned off by their symptoms, they will not be healed. To every husband who wants to see his wife healed, to every mother who has a little girl with a woman’s problem: The power to heal is in the power to care. If you are a broken arrow, please allow someone into the storm. I know you usually do not allow anyone to come to your aid. I realize a breach of trust may have left you leery of everyone, but the walls you built to protect you have also imprisoned you. The Lord wants to loose you out of the dungeon of fear. He does care. We care. No one would take hours away from themselves and from their family praying for you, preaching to you, or even writing this to you if they didn’t care.
Rise and be healed in the name of Jesus.

C
ompassion is the mother of miracles!

What happened to Peter? Jesus rebuked him! How could he have thought that the God who rode with him in the storm didn’t care about the storm? Jesus said, “
Peace, be still
” (Mk. 4:39). To you He is still saying, “Peace, be still!”

But when He saw the multitudes, He was moved with compassion on them, because they fainted, and were scattered abroad, as sheep having no shepherd.
Matthew 9:36

And Jesus went forth, and saw a great multitude, and was moved with compassion toward them, and He healed their sick.
Matthew 14:14

Then the lord of that servant was moved with compassion, and loosed him, and forgave him the debt.
Matthew 18:27

And Jesus, moved with compassion, put forth His hand, and touched him, and saith unto him, I will; be thou clean.
Mark 1:41

And Jesus, when He came out, saw much people, and was moved with compassion toward them, because they were as sheep not having a shepherd: and He began to teach them many things.
Mark 6:34

Preceding miracle after miracle, compassion provoked power. We can build all the churches we want. We can decorate them with fine tapestry and ornate artifacts, but if people cannot find a loving voice within our hallowed walls, they will pass through unaltered by our clichés and religious rhetoric. We can no longer ostracize the victim and let the assailant escape! Every time you see some insecure, vulnerable, intimidated adult who has unnatural fear in her eyes, low self-esteem or an apologetic posture, she is saying, “Carest thou not that I perish?” Every time you see a bra-less woman in men’s jeans, choosing to act like a man rather than to sleep with one; every time you see a handsome young man who could have been someone’s father, walking like someone’s mother—you may be looking child abuse in the face. If you think it’s ugly, you’re right. If you think it’s wrong, you’re right again. If you think it can’t be healed, you’re dead wrong! If you look closely into these eyes I’ve so feebly tried to describe, you will sense that something in this person is weak, hurt, maimed or disturbed, but fixable.

I
f you think it can’t be healed, you’re dead wrong!

These splintered, broken arrows come in all colors and forms. Some are black, some white; some are rich, some poor. One thing about pain, though: It isn’t prejudiced. Often camouflaged behind the walls of otherwise successful lives, people wrestle with secret pain. We must not narrow the scope of our ministries. Many people bear no outward signs of trauma as dramatic as I have described. Yet there are tragedies severe enough to have destroyed their lives had God not held them together. To God be the glory. He is a magnificent Healer!

Each person who has been through these adversities has her own story. Some have been blessed by not having to experience any such circumstance. Let the strong bear the infirmities of the weak. God can greatly use you to restore wholeness to others who walk in varying degrees of brokenness. After all, every car accident doesn’t have the same assessment of damage. Many people have sustained injury without submitting to the ineffective narcotics of sinful and often perverted lifestyles. But to those who have fallen prey to satan’s snares, we teach righteousness while still loving the unrighteous. Most of us have had some degree of cracking, tearing or damage. The fact that we have persevered is a testimony to all who understand themselves to be broken arrows.

And they brought young children to Him, that He should touch them: and His disciples rebuked those that brought them. But when Jesus saw it, He was much displeased, and said unto them, Suffer the little children to come unto Me, and forbid them not: for of such is the kingdom of God. Verily I say unto you, Whosoever shall not receive the kingdom of God as a little child, he shall not enter therein. And He took them up in His arms, put His hands upon them, and blessed them.
Mark 10:13-16

It is interesting to me that just before this took place the Lord was ministering on the subject of divorce and adultery. When He brought up that subject, someone brought the children to Him so He could touch them. Broken homes often produce broken children. These little ones are often caught in the cross fire of angry parents. It reminds me of a newscast report on the Gulf War. It was a listing of the many young men who were accidentally killed by their own military—killed, however innocently, in the confusion of the battle. The newscaster used a term I had not heard before. He called it “friendly fire.” I thought,
What is friendly about bleeding to death with your face buried in the hot sun of a strange country? I mean, it doesn’t help much when I am dead!
Many children are wounded in the friendly fire of angry parents.

Who were these nameless persons who had the insight and the wisdom to bring the children to the Master? They brought the children to Him that He might touch them. What a strange interruption to a discourse on adultery and divorce. Here are these little children dragging dirty blankets and blank gazes into the presence of a God who is dealing with grown-up problems. He takes time from His busy schedule not so much to counsel them, but just to touch them. That’s all it takes. I salute all the wonderful people who work with children. Whether through children’s church or public school, you have a very high calling. Don’t forget to touch their little lives with a word of hope and a smile of encouragement. It may be the only one some will receive. You are the builders of our future. Be careful, for you may be building a house that we will have to live in!