Dare to speak ill of the clan...
Today was a big step. I dared to speak ill publicly of the family.
In a sermon I preached a few months ago, I shared the anecdote about the time I nearly died when my dad unwisely tried to fjord a river with his young children. I did not go into detail about how he shamed and blamed me for the event, how his primary emotion seemed to be embarrassment (for himself) rather than concern (for me) or terror (at the fact that I almost died). I didn't mention any of that.
What I did say was something like this:
"I want to honour my dad by saying that he spent a lot of time with us as children. We had a lot of experiences in nature, with motorbikes, with guns and dogs. We had a lot of fun! But...my dad did not always have a plan. And...honestly, we were not always safe..."
Then I launched into the story about sliding down the waterfall, and how a random stranger saved me. I related how I had come to resent missions because while in Africa, I felt similar unprotected. Sure, there was a grand adventure: but did God have a plan? I recounted how through counselling, I was able to see God as saving and protecting me in both scenarios: it was He who provided that man to save me from the waterfall. And, it was He who saved me in Africa. And, I concluded, it was He who had brought us to our wonderful church, where people were so gracious to help us through our burnout, which we experienced in 2015, shortly after returning from Africa.
It was a very moving sermon, and I regret not being able to share it here, due to my confidentiality policy.
I want to emphasize that I put my dad in the most favourable light possible, and very much did not focus on his part in my near drowning. However, I did mention it. It was kind of hard to avoid.
I delayed posting this sermon on social media and my podcast for months, since I knew I would be breaking a rule. Narcissists always have the same rule: you must never speak ill of me. Ever. Or else.
Finally, today, I posted the sermon online. Within a few hours, my mom commented the following on my blog. I suspect that she wrote it without listening to the sermon. She later sent a longer, much more pointed e-mail (see below).
***
Thanks for sharing this Ishmael. I just finished the long process of going through the boxes of pictures, letters and momentos of my childhood. It was very difficult but I can see God saving me all along the journey – through a Sunday school teacher, a Bible camp, kind people along the way… I remember the first time when I shared some of my memorabilia with my then boyfriend, and the love and acceptance I felt for my wounded heart. Now as my husband, helping me to put some photos into a scrapbook, throw some other stuff away, by my side with hugs and technical support (paper cutter and glue dots), God is using him to save me. Now the happy pictures in my life begin and it will be much easier to scrapbook and sort through the photos and memorabilia of our 40 years together. But still thankful for the technical support (LOL) – did you know that a metal spatula (turner) works best for removing old photos from those old sticky photo album pages?
Hidden messages:
1. All is forgotten. All is forgiven. Things are good now, you can (and should) come back to us now
2. I too have a journey of being saved by God, etc. (anytime you do something, I did it first, and better)
3. My then-boyfriend, and your father have shown so much love for my wounded heart (…but are you caring for me…?)
4. Our 40 years together (I guess with dad, and then with me) were oh so happy..
5. Dad and I are just so happy together. Can’t you picture us? Just in a golden glow giggling and cuddling as we take old pictures off of photo albums and rearrange them. Oh, it’s just so happy. Don’t you want to come back, and to be a part of this picture, once again?
***
...once she listened to the sermon, she sent me a much longer e-mail. It is packed with so much, I have made it a separate post. See here.
In a sermon I preached a few months ago, I shared the anecdote about the time I nearly died when my dad unwisely tried to fjord a river with his young children. I did not go into detail about how he shamed and blamed me for the event, how his primary emotion seemed to be embarrassment (for himself) rather than concern (for me) or terror (at the fact that I almost died). I didn't mention any of that.
What I did say was something like this:
"I want to honour my dad by saying that he spent a lot of time with us as children. We had a lot of experiences in nature, with motorbikes, with guns and dogs. We had a lot of fun! But...my dad did not always have a plan. And...honestly, we were not always safe..."
Then I launched into the story about sliding down the waterfall, and how a random stranger saved me. I related how I had come to resent missions because while in Africa, I felt similar unprotected. Sure, there was a grand adventure: but did God have a plan? I recounted how through counselling, I was able to see God as saving and protecting me in both scenarios: it was He who provided that man to save me from the waterfall. And, it was He who saved me in Africa. And, I concluded, it was He who had brought us to our wonderful church, where people were so gracious to help us through our burnout, which we experienced in 2015, shortly after returning from Africa.
It was a very moving sermon, and I regret not being able to share it here, due to my confidentiality policy.
I want to emphasize that I put my dad in the most favourable light possible, and very much did not focus on his part in my near drowning. However, I did mention it. It was kind of hard to avoid.
I delayed posting this sermon on social media and my podcast for months, since I knew I would be breaking a rule. Narcissists always have the same rule: you must never speak ill of me. Ever. Or else.
Finally, today, I posted the sermon online. Within a few hours, my mom commented the following on my blog. I suspect that she wrote it without listening to the sermon. She later sent a longer, much more pointed e-mail (see below).
***
Mom’s Comment
Thanks for sharing this Ishmael. I just finished the long process of going through the boxes of pictures, letters and momentos of my childhood. It was very difficult but I can see God saving me all along the journey – through a Sunday school teacher, a Bible camp, kind people along the way… I remember the first time when I shared some of my memorabilia with my then boyfriend, and the love and acceptance I felt for my wounded heart. Now as my husband, helping me to put some photos into a scrapbook, throw some other stuff away, by my side with hugs and technical support (paper cutter and glue dots), God is using him to save me. Now the happy pictures in my life begin and it will be much easier to scrapbook and sort through the photos and memorabilia of our 40 years together. But still thankful for the technical support (LOL) – did you know that a metal spatula (turner) works best for removing old photos from those old sticky photo album pages?
Hidden messages:
1. All is forgotten. All is forgiven. Things are good now, you can (and should) come back to us now
2. I too have a journey of being saved by God, etc. (anytime you do something, I did it first, and better)
3. My then-boyfriend, and your father have shown so much love for my wounded heart (…but are you caring for me…?)
4. Our 40 years together (I guess with dad, and then with me) were oh so happy..
5. Dad and I are just so happy together. Can’t you picture us? Just in a golden glow giggling and cuddling as we take old pictures off of photo albums and rearrange them. Oh, it’s just so happy. Don’t you want to come back, and to be a part of this picture, once again?
***
...once she listened to the sermon, she sent me a much longer e-mail. It is packed with so much, I have made it a separate post. See here.
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