Looking in His Love Eyes

    This post will make more sense if you read yesterday's post first.

    Yesterday I went to see a counselor.  We started by asking God's protection over the time, that no lying spirits would speak, only the Spirit of truth, in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ. 

    Now I know that for some of you reading this, that might make no sense at all - -- might seem like a bunch of mumbo jumbo.  Your reaction might be similar to that I feel when I see people using crystals.  I hope you hear me out anyways.

    I told Susan, the counselor, of a time when I was a kid -- of six?  eight years? -- when I had some disagreement with my mom.  My mom was incensed at my lack of respect -- probably the tone of voice I used.  I don't think I called my mom any names, even as a teenager.  She told me that when my dad got home, he would deal with me.

        Well, he did.  With his belt.  The first and the last time he did that.  Even now I can see him out on the concrete patio pulling his thin, brown leather belt out of the grey loops of his trousers.  It's been just a shadow of a memory in my mind lately, no feeling attached to it.  But as I talked to Susan the dread came ebbing back, then a flood of terror and anger.  I felt betrayed by my dad.  He hadn't even listened to my side of the story -- just acted on what my mom said.

       Susan asked me, "What did you decide on the basis of that?" 
       "To be very good and very smart."

       That sums up well the thrust of my life -- such a burden.  After this, I explored wtih Susan another memory that portends me taking on jobs too big for me in order to forestall conflict, keep anger at bay.

       No violence in that next memory, but still it brought momentous effects.  I was a child of perhaps ten (old enough that my siblings had stayed home from this binannual trip to southern CA to relatives).  I was trying to read a map and give my dad directions of how to go through Pasadena.  No one had taught me how to read a map and I didn't feel competent.  I didn't like the job but did it to preclude my mother taking that role and the inevitable anger and arguement between her and dad if she did so.  I hated (and still hate) open expressions of anger between people. 

    What's the point of all this?  I asked Jesus to come into these memories and I believe I'm a new person as a result of that.

     The details:  After I asked Jesus to come, at first I just saw myself with a plexiglass cube around my torso.  It  extended in front, on my sides and behind me so that I was shielded.  It represented my defenses, the protection devices I've devised to keep people from getting too close and hurting me further.

    I decided I wanted the hard rigid sides of my cube protection off, despite that being scary.  I don't know whether I took it off or Jesus.  But repentance is like that -- I do it, but God helps me do it.   Then I saw myself naked with barbed arrows going through me.  It hurt. A lot.

    I asked Jesus's help.  He took them out, but big round holes as big as nickels remained.  I looked at myself and saw the blood trickling down from some twenty scattered holes. He took a white cloth and wiped them clean and applied salve. 

    Then he invited me on his lap.  I sat there on his soft, brown robe extended wide over his spread knees.  I wanted to cuddle with him but was afraid of messing him up.  He told me, "Don't worry.  I don't care."  Then I leaned against his breast. 

     I wanted to look into his eyes, but couldn't see his face.  So I asked him why.  I heard an old song, "Look into my love eyes . . . I washed you with the blood flowing from those love eyes."   I knew then I need to keep looking in Jesus's eyes so as to feel the love from him, know him as my source of rightness and  that would diminish the pain of others' anger.

    I came home feeling free of an immense burden, feeling loved.  I decided I needed to relax that night, not do more unpacking.  In the hours since then, I keep hearing the  echo, "Look into His love eyes."   So although I'm sad that a given person is mad at me, I'm not paniced, not turning it over and over in my mind as I normally do. When I think of Jesus I see a big smile and feel a light beam chasing away intruding darkness.