And they overcame him [the enemy] by the blood of the Lamb, and by the word of their testimony… (Revelation 12:11 NIV)
[ OVERCOME :: verb – succeed in dealing with (a problem or difficulty) ; defeat (an opponent) ; prevail ]
We can sit on our battle wounds, sit on our scars. We can hide them. We can push them under our coats of performance or perfection or “normalcy”. We can keep their stories quiet.
Or we can expose them, risk sharing them. We can share our scars’ stories and open them up to the oxygen outside their hiding places so they can breathe and heal, really heal. We can tell the stories of our battle scars so others can hear them and so others can gain strength from them. We can tell the stories of our battle scars to celebrate the songs that they sing.
May we tell the stories of our scars to celebrate the songs they sing.
Songs of victory.
A Victory Song
It was 6th grade Health class. We were watching a movie on suicide and suicide prevention, and my innocent ears couldn’t tune out the deep voice of the narrator as he shared stories and statistics on the topic. I was sitting in the back of the classroom at my desk, scared to watch the video yet as a student, unable to leave the room for more than a quick bathroom break. The film was being so detailed about kids who were suicidal and what their tendencies were, what their thoughts were and how they acted. I was scared hearing these things. It was a terrifying topic for my 11 year old mind to try and comprehend, and that was before the moment itself actually came.
But let’s not start there.
Let’s start from the beginning.
I was born during the time of boy bands and Furbies – an early nineties baby born into a family with two amazing parents, a beautiful older sister, and a little pink house in a small Charlotte neighborhood.
If you lived in that little pink house (which yes, in fact was pink), you believed in Jesus, said your prayers before bed and understood the household standard of southern hospitality and good ole’ love and respect. I grew up going to church and was baptized around the age of eight, fully aware of the decision I was making and fully aware of my God who created and loved me. God was always there.
When I was still in elementary school my family picked everything up and moved from our cute Mellencamp house in Charlotte to a nicer home in Harrisburg, North Carolina, but my parents made sure we packed our great memories with us along with our deep faith. Looking back, I am so thankful to have grown up personally knowing God like I did. There’s nothing sweeter than a childlike faith, and I’m grateful to have been raised in an environment that encouraged my walk with the Lord. I actually attest the foundational joy that I have now, which started as a young child, to knowing God for so long. He was always there.
However, middle school years were particularly tough for me, and I remember always being right on the outside of the ‘cool’ crowd, right on the outside of being…well, in. I thrived on academics and dance, but there was something about those few years of teenage awkwardness that I didn’t quite seem to have down (though who ever really does…it’s middle school!). As if the braces and red-framed glasses didn’t help enough, I remember sitting in the atrium of the school on the outside circle of the group of pretty people and class all-stars. Looking back, that moment served as a metaphor for where I sat in the social hierarchy of my pre-teen years.
And then came that day in 6th grade.
As I said before, we were in Health class and were watching a film on suicide (a topic I personally believe NO young mind should ever be exposed to). I was uncomfortable watching it because it frightened me, but being that it was the end of the day and I was likely not going to share my discomfort with the teacher (#SOuncool), I sat there in the back of the class squirming in my seat, writing “I love you Jesus” over and over on my notebook paper and trying to avoid hearing too much.
A part of the film came where the narrator spoke about the actions a teenage boy took in the days before he ended his life, one of those actions being that he gave away his personal items – things like his wallet. In those moments, in that Health class, I felt a question rise up in my mind – a deceptive and confusing thought that would follow me for many years to come: I’ve given some of my things away before. I’ve done some of the acts he’s mentioned. Am I suicidal? Maybe I am.
At that moment, in that Health class, fear of self-harm and the harming of others entered my heart and mind. I became overwhelmed by the dread and horror of such acts and equally as horrified that I had actually thought I might want to attempt such things. As you’re reading this correctly, you’ll see that it wasn’t my desire to do any of those awful deeds. I wasn’t suicidal. I wasn’t angry or vengeful. I was a vibrant and joyful young girl with Jesus in my heart and a bright future in my eyes (despite those desperately unfashionable glasses I wore…sigh). However, that simple lie from the enemy had so horrified me in my young age that I couldn’t help but feel confused about my motives and intentions, and because of that, feel dirty and ashamed.
Be alert and of sober mind. Your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour. Resist him, standing firm in the faith, because you know that the family of believers throughout the world is undergoing the same kind of sufferings. (1 Peter 5:9 NIV)
The enemy is an awful one, isn’t he? He doesn’t care about how young or innocent you are but will do anything he can to try and take you, God’s beloved, out of the game. His craftiness goes as far back as the book of Genesis when he confused Eve into thinking she could eat from the Tree of Knowledge. He twisted her perception and convinced her to believe something contrary to God’s truth, and unfortunately, she fell for it. And so had I.
And surprising as it may sound, I couldn’t shake that fright. For years after that day I struggled with waves of fear, having terrible thoughts of wicked acts like suicide and murder roll through my head like destructive storms : they’d come in, tear the serene landscape of my mind apart, and then roll out, leaving me there to clean up the pieces. The irrationality of it seems crazy though, right? To have a fear of thoughts, a fear of doing something to myself or someone else that I didn’t in fact want to do – it almost sounds silly. However, the deceptive seed that had been planted in my mind on that 6th grade day had started taking root and was choking out the garden of peace in my mind and spirit.
I questioned how much God could love and forgive me. After all, God had to be disappointed. How could He love me with all of those terrible thoughts running around in my head? I wasn’t a bad person on the outside, and (because I didn’t WANT to do the bad things in my mind) I didn’t THINK I was a bad person on the inside, but those thoughts and that FEAR that haunted me (that I tried so hard to push away) made me feel that I had to earn God’s love anyway, which we know we can never actually do. I would have conversations with my dad late at night saying, “Dad what if I think I’m good with God, but when I get to Heaven He says we weren’t on the same page and sends me to hell?” Or, in an attempt to divulge some of this inner turmoil, I would ask him, “Dad what if I have thoughts of bad things but don’t want to DO those things?” And though he made valiant attempts to comfort me with things like, “Morg, it’s not what’s in your head, it’s what’s in your heart,” I could never quite shake that painful confusion.
However, despite those seasons of inner turmoil, my upbringing was filled with beautiful moments of family, friends and JOY, and a common thread wove itself through all of my child, adolescent and teenage years – the thread of Jesus Christ. I look back and see times of sweet peace in my life, of progress and victory despite the waves of internal and external trial, and I know the only way that could have happened was because of God’s covering, His leading, His Spirit in me.
The same childhood bedroom that saw tears from fear and confusion was the room that my parents let me cover with hand-painted Bible verses and was the same room filled with stuffed animals and sleepovers.
The car that I’d drive to my dance studio (a refuge where my fear would temporarily subside) was a car often filled with uplifting worship music (sung countless times with an open sunroof and blasting speakers – some things never change).
I even experienced God’s overwhelming peace for the first time as I prayed one day on my parents’ bed. I had cried out to God for help and received his awesome peace, not yet knowing the scripture Philippians 4:6 which only until months later would I read for the first time.
…by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. (Philippians 4:7 NIV)
Despite the enemy’s regular attempts to confuse me and take me out (quite literally), I continued to grow in my faith, walk into my destiny, and experience God’s love and hope in greater and greater ways. God was always there.
And even in my lowest points that came later in life – when I wouldn’t watch any movie or show with a lot of violence, when I cringed at medicine commercials as they mentioned “suicidal thoughts” as a side effect, when at age 18 I wouldn’t go into the kitchen for fear of touching knives and harming myself or others (yes, it’s true) - God was always there.
He was there when I hit my knees on my bedroom floor, close to giving up and praying to what only felt like the ceiling. He was there in the park when I sat at a picnic table trying to figure out what was going on with my life and desperate for answers. He was there the night I sat all alone at my apartment fighting contractions of anxiety with only worship music and His Word. He was there.
And he was also there when I thrived academically through high school and college. He was with me when I went on my (fully-funded) first mission trip to Los Angeles and first heard my call to women’s ministry. He was there when I left college and a 4.0 GPA to complete my second year internship at Freedom House Church. He was there when I received my prayer language, when I spoke my first message on platform at Freedom House Church and when I came on staff and began this journey into ministry that I am so grateful to be on now.
Through the clearest mountaintops and the foggiest valleys, God has always been there, and because of that Presence, I haven’t limped through life with these challenges but I’ve actually grown and thrived DESPITE them.
And that’s just who God is. He’s there with us in our lowest moments, in our times of trial, in our successes and in our greatest victories. He has NEVER left us, and he never will – He’s a faithful, loving God who has a never-ending HOPE for our lives – lives filled with joy and peace in his Presence.
The thief [enemy] comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full. (John 10:10 NIV)
There are a few things I’ve learned from this journey and a few truths I’m still uncovering as I run this race. I hope these few encouraging words speak to you in YOUR personal journey with God.
1. God is always with us, no matter what the enemy is up to or what life circumstances we face. The Bible says he is an EVERPRESENT help in times of need (Psalm 46:1), and he never leaves us or forsakes us (Deuteronomy 31:6). The sun may be tucked behind the clouds some days, but we know at all times that it’s still there in the sky; the same is with our Heavenly Father. Some days we feel his great warmth and some days we have to rely on our faith to know that he’s still with us, but he is. And he’s still all-loving and all-powerful and is cheering us on as we walk out the calling he has for our lives. He is always there.
2. As a mentor of mine has said to me for years – Know your Bible. The power in those three words is tremendous. To face any trial, to nullify any lie, to be able to (I believe) survive and THRIVE as believers in this tough world we have to know God’s Truth. It’s everything. God’s Word is our sword, it’s our bread, it’s our lifeline, and we need to have it ingrained in our hearts so we can BE encouraged and so we can also ENCOURAGE others in their own lives. With as much emphasis as I can convey – we must know our Bible. If you have read this far in my story and are financially unable to purchase a Bible, please reach out to me and I will personally get you one. It’s simply vital.
3. Our lives are JOURNEYS, and if we are always looking for the destination, it can become quite exhausting when we realize how far off that destination actually is. As much as I wish I could steer my life’s ship onto the golden shores of an easy, struggle-free life, that’s just not reality in this world. Reality is that we will face trials of many kinds, and some of those we may wrestle with at varying degrees of difficulty throughout our lives (the enemy doesn’t stop his fighting!). However, we can rest assured that with Jesus in our boats, we are SAFE, we are STRONG, we have AUTHORITY over the enemy (remember – he is under your feet!), we are LOVED and we are headed in a FIXED, GUIDED direction no matter the storms we face. We are meant to rest and ENJOY the ride because our God is with us, and he is GOOD.
The Lord is my light and my salvation – whom shall I fear? The Lord is the stronghold of my life – of whom shall I be afraid? (Psalm 27:1 NIV)
And finally, I’ve been learning throughout this journey the power in our scars and the power in their stories. We’re in a real, spiritual fight on this earth for God’s kingdom and for His people, and that means life’s difficulties will often leave us with battle wounds. However, God’s Word says we overcome by His Son’s blood and by our TESTIMONY, and though for a long time I kept this piece of my story quiet, God’s shown me that it is when I share the stories of my scars (even if I’m still in the midst of the battle), I find the MOST empowerment and am able to encourage others on their journeys too.
When we freely expose our scars to the oxygen outside their hiding places, they heal greatly while helping others to heal as well. When we tell our battle scars’ stories, they have beautiful songs to sing, and those songs need to be heard.
May you find encouragement today to tell the stories of your scars so their songs can be heard.
Because those songs, my sweet friend, sing of victory.