Honestly
by
Sheila Walsh



be addressed to:
-~ ZondervanPublishingHouse
Grand Rapids, Michigan 49530
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Sheila Walsh, 1956-.
Honestly by Sheila Walsh.
p.  em.
ISBN: 0-310-21916-7 (Softcover)
1.  Sheila Walsh, 1956- 2.  Christian biography.  3.
Entertainers-Religiouslife.  4.  Depressed persons-Religious life.
II.  Title.
BRi 725.M449A3 1996
248.8'6-dc 20   95-45383
CIP   International Trade Paper Edition 0-310-20835-1
All Scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated, are taken
from the Holy Bible: New International Version.  NIVa.  Copyright
Oc 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society.  Used by
permission of Zondervan Publishing House.  All rights reserved.
All rights reserved.  No part of this publication may be
reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any
form or by any means-electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording,
or any other-except for brief quotations in printed reviews,
without the prior permission of the publisher
Published in association with the literary agency of Wolgemuth &
Hyatt, Inc.,   8012 Brooks Chapel Road, #243, Brentwood, Tennessee
37027.
Edited by Evelyn Bence Interior design by Sue Koppenol
Printed in the United States ofAmerica
9899 OO Ol 02 03 J+ DIll 12 11 109 87 6 54  CONTENTS
     Foreword  9 Part 1
The Volcano
     1: The Distant Rumble    13   2 : How Do You Mend a Broken
Heart9    27   3 : Hiding in the Shadows     37   4 : Winter     51
Part2
The Valley
     5 why Are You Maid 9   67   6 Paralyzed by Shame     85   7 : The
Longest Night  107  8 : Forgiveness Comes Full Circle  125 Part3

The Road Home
     9 : The Companionship of Brokenness     145  10 : Following
the Shepherd   163  11: The Incredible Lightness of Grace   183  12
: Stand Up and Walk 197  Epilogue -     213FOREWORD[)
Strong.
I've always thought of that word whenever I've run into Sheila
Walsh.  The first time was in Holland in 1983; her hair was spiked,
herjacket was leather, and her style of music was as direct and
straightforward as the gaze in her eyes.  From there, I encountered
Sheila now and then at conventions, conferences, or even on "The
700 Club." I noticed her style, whether in music or manner,
softened over the years, but she still seemed to exude that same
strength, that same resolve to live life straight-ahead.  Pure and
upright.  Controlled.  Strong.   
I liked Sheila Walsh.  And I was glad she was so high- wattage.  I
remember hearing her sing and thinking, What power what clarity in
her voice.  with a gift to be able to reach the rafters with those
high notes!  I also remember being interviewed by her on her
television show and thinking, that intelligence, what
thoughtfulness in her questions.  May God bless this woman who is
doing so much to reach so many.   
And then, like you, I heard the news.  This high-powered woman who
seemed to live life so vertically with the Lord, who seemed so
direct and upright, had been admitted into a psychiatric ward.  I
remember hearing the news and thinking, What a shock, what a loss. 
 
I lost track of Sheila at that point.  I heard she finished her
rehabilitation and was in southern California.  Someone told me he
had seen her with books in arm at his seminary.  I smiled.  It was
good to know that the broken pieces of her life were begiming to
come together, and I thanked God she was recovering.  I smiled
again because I, if anyone, knew what it was like to come through
rehabilitation and recovery   
That's why the next time I saw Sheila, a different and even better
word came to mind.  Gentle.  More so, broken   
HONESTLY   
and gentle.  A mutual friend of Sheila's and mine had arranged for
her to come and speak to our office staff at JAF Ministries.  As I
watched Sheila stand before our group and begin to tell her story,
I breathed a prayer of relief and gratitude.  She described her
experiences in the psychiatric unit and said, "I never knew God
lived so close to the floor."   
This was a different Sheila Walsh.  And yet, the same.   She still
had power and clarity in her voice.  She was intelligent and
thoughtful.  But strong?  No, she was weak.  It was Christ who,
through her weakness, looked so straightforward and dynamic.  Our
staff was deeply impressed with the firm yet tender tone behind her
singing and message.  That's what happens to people who fall flat,
face down on the floor I thought.  Jesus becomes, oh, so potent in
their lives.   
I see it every day in our ministry to people with disabilities and
their families.  I see him time and again fill and flood with force
the hearts of broken people who have "hit the floor." And every
time I see it, my own heart is warmed, and I'm reminded that I,
too, "can do everything through him who gives me strength."   
This is what Sheila's book, Honestly, is all about.  It is gentle
but disconcerting; poignant yet very powerful.  In fact, I
earmarked more than a few pages where, after having   
a page all dressed up strong and confident, pure and upright.  
Then by the next page, you will realize your need to have God keep
breaking you so that his strength, not yours, keeps shining
through.   
So be prepared to dog-ear a few pages as you begin this special
journey with Sheila.  And be prepared to live life a little more
honestly by the~time you finish her book, knowing more fully that
living life close to the floor is an open invitation to be strong
in his strength.   
Joni Eareckson Tada President, JAF Ministries   
On the edge of a volcano   
I have lived for many years.   
Now it seems the distant rumble's   
getting louder in my ears.   
I have tried to walk away   
from broken pieces of the past,   
but their edges tear my feet   
like shattered glass.   
I have tried to push disturbing thoughts   
beyond the reach of man.   
I have tried to burn my bridges   
but I've only burned my hand,   
pushing things under the carpet   
hoping that they'll go away   
but I know I'll   
lose my balance   
any day  The Distant Rumble   
of this sad time we must obey;   
speak what we feel, not what we ought to say   
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE,   
KING LEAR   
It was a glorious summer morning in 1992.  The sun was rising over
the water, and the bees were beginning to hum.  I went out into the
yard to fill the bird feeder and stood for a moment in the
stillness.   
I saw my neighbor sail off in his little crabbing boat, and I waved
good morning.  I wondered about his life.  He was always alone, and
every day he set out onto the water, the first to ripple the quiet. 
A solitary life.  My little white dog barked at a vIsiting duck,
but the duck seemed unImpressed.   
I drank in the sounds of the lapping water as it broke on the boat
dock.  I imagined for a moment that I was ten years old again, home
in Scotland, standing by the ocean, my place of peace.   
I turned my back on the water to prepare for the day ahead.  I felt
heavy inside, as if every bone in my body had turned to lead while
I slept.  After I showered, I took my coffee outside, and in the
morning warmth I prayed, "God, please help me get through one more
day."   

It was a lovely drive from my house to the television studios where
I worked.  I left early enough each morning to avoid the rush of
traffic.  As I drove through the main gates of the Christian
Broadcasting Network (CBN), I thought again how strange it was to
find myself in Virginia Beach, as co-host of "The 700 Club."   
My husband and I had moved to Los Angeles from England in 1986.  My
record company was based in L.A.,  and most of my concert touring
was in the U.S.,  so it made sense for us to make this home.   
I had fallen in love with this country instantly.  I loved the hope
that seemed to be part of the fabric of the people.   I loved the
freedom to be able to try new things, to find new ways of saying
what I believe.   
In 1988, Jackie Mitchum, the guest coordinator at CBN, saw me being
interviewed on a morning show, a Canadian program called "100
Huntley Street," which broadcast extensively to certuin markets
across America.  Jackie taped the interview and showed it to Dr. 
Pat Robertson, president of CBN, who was looking for someone to
fill the position of co-host for their flagship show, "The 700
Club." CBN flew me in to meet wIth Pat and to audition for the
position.   
I had worked for three years with the British Broadcasting
Corporation (BBC) in London, but this was very different.  I was
used to taping shows in advance, so that if anything went wrong,
there was time to correct it.  This was a live show, and because it
was live, it was hard to rehearse.   The afternoon I arrived, the
producer enlisted the help of a secretary for me to "practice on." 
 
The next morning was the real thing.  I was taken to makeup at 7
A.M.  and by the time I left, my face felt as if it were three
times its normal size.  I was definitely made-up!   My hair no
longer had an opinion; it was set in stone and larger than life.  

Pat arrived a few minutes before the show started and prayed with
six of us in his dressing room.  Then we were on.   

I was petrified.  Within minutes it became apparent to me that I
was supposed to be fully fluent in world events.  But, as I told
Pat when he looked to me to kick off a discussion on the situation
in Israel, "I know about as much about the West Bank as I do about
the Bank of America!   
Despite the fact that I was obviously not the Scottish Barbara
Walters, I was hired that day.  A month later we moved from the
West Coast to Virginia Beach.   
I loved myjob and the stimulation of discussing pressing issues
with prominent church leaders and theologians.   I subscribed to
The Economist and brushed up on American history and world events. 
As a student at London Bible College, I had been constantly
challenged to open my mind to the input of other believers whose
experience of God was a little different from mine.  I like to live
with mystery.  And now, every day, I listened and questioned as
Billy Graham, Charles Colson, Chuck Swindoll, and countless others
sat with me for a while and talked about life.   
On the surface I had it made and everything looked fine-but I was
not fine.  I had not been fine for a long time.   
Life, like a volcano, seems to offer early warning signals.  Long
before a volcano blows, there are signs that the level of activity
under the surface has increased.  Distant noises and rumbles become
more pronounced.  They say that animals are more tuned into it than
we are and become restless and alert, sensing something's not
right.   
There were many areas of my life that did not always make sense to
me.  I loved my job.  I loved being able to talk about the love of
God to such a diverse audience every day.   And I received hundreds
of letters from viewers telling me how the show impacted their
lives.  I knew this was true, but sometimes I felt like a
secondhand car salesman; I had a sickening sense that what I just
sold people may not get them all the way home.   
For example, many of our vIewers were very sick and longed to be
healed.  I believed, and still believe, without a shadow of a doubt, that God is able to do anythin~ He only has to
speak a word and disease is gone.  But, at least for the moment, in
America those miraculous healings are the exception rather than the
rule.  Day after day many people wait, wondering if this will be
"their day" If it's not, they wonder what is wrong with them.  Some
people claim that if you have not been healed, it is your fault;
you have unconfessed sin, or you are harboring resentment toward
someone.  I realize that the Bible is very clear on our
responsibility to confess our sins to one another and to pray for
one another so that we may be healed.  But what do we say to the
many people who love God passionately, who have done all that they
know to do, and still are not healed?  I'm afraid we either doubt
their efficacy in confession, or we simply walk away and say
nothing.  How barbaric we can be in our perception of faith, how
brutal in our pursuit of the miraculous.   
It was a privilege to be part of a ministry that reached out across
the world and affected the lives of so many, but I used to wonder
about the viewers who watched from a wheelchair or a hospital bed. 
Was I helping them in their journey, or making them feel more
alone?  I once received a letter from a young girl who was losing
her battle with cancer.  She watched the show every day Sometimes
it helped her, she said, and other times she wanted to take her
shoe off and throw it through the screen.  "You show me people
every day who have been healed and I thank God with you, but you
never talk about people like me, who love God but who are dying and
are trying in the midst of it all to live and die in a way that
would honor him.  We are part of the family too." Her cry for
dignity and acknowledgment tore at me.   
I realized then that there are no quick, easy answers for any of
us-even for myself.  I'll tell you more about that later, about the
rumblings that preceded the volcanic explosion in my life.  But for
now I will simply say that my life blew apart, the volcano erupted,
in 1992 as my marriage lay   

at my feet in shambles.  It was over I was grieving and I was angry
and I was so sad.   
At that time I also kept an utterly impossible schedule.   Most
weeks I was at CBN from Monday through Friday, 7 A.M.  till 6 P.M. 
After the show was over on Fridays, I would tear out of the studio
to catch a flight to wherever my concert was that evening.  I would
usually have a Friday concert in one city and a Saturday concert
and/or speaking engagement in another.  I would often get back to
Virginia Beach at 11 P.M.  on Sunday night, and Monday would begin
the whole process all over again.   
As I look back now, I ask myself why I never stopped to breathe,
why I pushed myself so punishingly hard.  A large part of it was
simply that at those moments when I would stand on stage and talk
about the love of God, I felt alive, hopeful; I knew that with God
anything was possible.  But when the lights went down and the
people went home, I felt powerless to grasp hold of those truths
for my own life.  I could see dimly where I was, and I knew where
I wanted to be, but I had no map to get there.   
At times I tried to arrest the manic pace of my life, but it's hard
to stop a train that is moving so fast.  It's easier to just hold
on tightly.   
By the spring of that eventful year, I knew I was losing my hold. 
I felt numb and old and distanced from people.  I would wake up in
a hotel room on a weekend when I was traveling and wonder where I
was.  Sometimes I would be physically sick before I could pull
myself together enough to get ready for a concert.   
When I wasn't working, I resorted to an old, familiar habit-walking
the beach.  When I could get there on a sunny summer day, I'd be
surrounded by children in swimsuits, dogs with Frisbees, and radios
blaring the latest songs.  But I was cold inside, as if a damp,
heavy blanket had been wrapped around my shoulders, its winter
breath seeped into my bones.  My thoughts were slow and labored.  


I wasn't eating much at all.  I would come home from work and lie
in a dark room, but I could not sleep.   
Sometimes, when I couldn't sleep, I would walk for miles along the
beach at five or six o' clock in the morning.   But though I was
surrounded with beauty, with glorious sunrises over the ocean, I
was numb inside.  I would pray a prayer that was becoming
increasingly familiar to me, "Lord, please hold me.  I'm falling
into a dark well." In my journal I wrote, "I feel as if I am
disappearing a little more every day.  I am so angry inside that I
am afraid of myself.  I feel so alone."   
I felt as if I were slowly losing my mind.  Although I was still
functioning on the show, I knew that my distress was beginning to
show.  One morning as I was listening to a guest I was interviewing
answer a question, I found myself staring at her.  I didn't have a
clue who she was.  I couldn't remember what I had asked her or what
I should say to her next.   Fortunately, I had some notes on my
lap, and I quickly referred to them.  The floor director must have
seen the look of panic on my face, because she asked me after the
show if I was okay I said I was fine.  I was too embarrassed to
admit what had happened.  It shook me, though, to feel so out of
control.  I didn't feel I could talk to anyone or laugh about it
with anyone, so I tried to dismiss it from my mind.   
A few days after my memory lapse, I started to cry as I was
interviewing a guest.  I could not stop.  I wanted to lie down on
the studio floor and just cry until I had no tears left, but I
managed to pull myself together enough to finish the show and then
locked myself in my dressing room until I was sure everyone had
gone home.   
That summer I received a letter from one of our viewers saying, "I
do not know what it is that is causing you so much pain, my dear,
but I can see it in your eyes.  Please get some help.  I am praying
for you."   
That letter is one of the most precious gifts I have ever received. 
Somebody noticed.  Someone saw beyond the  
words of encouragement, beyond the smiles.  Someone heard me.  I
cried for a long time when I read it.  Here was an old woman
struggling with cancer, taking time out to pray for me and tell me
it was okay to go for help.   
I decided to go home for a week in September.  My family lived an
ocean away, and I missed them very much.  I had already scheduled
vacation time away from the show, and I booked my flight to
Glasgow.   
My mother was a strong link in a long line of godly women.  She
knew a little of what was happening to me, but I knew I had to try
to prepare her for how I looked.  I had dropped about twenty
pounds, a significant loss on my five- foot-four-inch frame.   
My mother had seen bad times herself.  When I was four years old,
my father had suffered a brain thrombosis.   He died a year later. 
His absence was felt every day, but my mother filled our home with
her spirit, her understanding, her faith, her love of life, and her
wonderful sense of humor.   
She had always been there for me.  When I came home from school, I
knew she would be waiting to hear all about it.  When I was eleven,
I asked my mother if she would pray with me.  I wanted to make a
personal commitment to beginning my own journey with God, even
though I had no idea where that road would lead.   
For a while I wanted to be a missionary in India I don't think I
experienced a specific call to the mission field; it just sounded
like the ultimate sacrifice.  I hated to be away from home, and I
was petrified of snakes and spiders, so I figured such a visible,
measurable sign would show God that I loved him.   
During my teenage years I remember watching as a friend from church
rebelled for a time, drinking and partying.  The impact that had on
me was a fierce commitment to be different.  I would walk along the
beach after church or youth group meetings and pray out loud,
calling on the stars   

to be my witnesses that I would never let God down, that he could
always count on me.  That prayer became a theme for my life.   
At nineteen I left Scotland to study at London Bible College.  I
thought I had arrived in paradise.  They say that when you are
tired of London, you are tired of life.  Well, I was wide awake. 
I went to the ballet, the opera, the theater, all on student
tickets.  My seat might have been far away, but I was right there
on that stage-I never missed a note.   Though I drank in the
atmosphere daily, I never forgot for a moment why I was there: I
wanted to know God's purpose for my life.  Still seeing the mission
field as a woman's "most committed option," Ijoined so many mission
prayer groups I often had to let someone else pray first to remind
me what group I was in.  (It's Thursday, it must be Mrica!)   
As time passed I began to see that there was a mission field right
on my doorstep.  As part of our evangelistic practicum I would
visit other college campuses on the weekends.  For me this was much
more than a course I needed for credit.  Some of my friends and I
put a band together, and as I stood in college gymnasiums singing
about my relationship with God, I knew I had found what I was
created for.   
When I graduated, I let the boat for Calcutta sail past, and I
joined Youth For Christ as a staff member, traveling across Europe
and the United Kingdom, singing and speaking the Gospel.  Here am
I, a musical evangelist, I often thought.  Lord, send me wherever
you can use me.   
And he did.  For the next ten years, I traveled all over the world,
gaining an increasingly loyal audience.  I released several record
albums and served as host for a BBC TV show featuring contemporary
Christian and traditional black gospel music.   
The problem was, somewhere along the road I had lost my way. 
Somewhere I'd lost the joy of my salvation and my   

calling.  I chose to carry my calling rather than let the One who
called me carry me.   
Now I looked out of the plane as we circled the green fields
outside of Glasgow.  I was home.   
As I stood in the early morning chill at the airport, I drank in
the sounds and the accents as I waited for my suit- case, the
wonderfully comforting sounds that had surrounded me as a child.  

I picked up a car and drove fifty minutes south to my mother's
house in Ayr.  I love that drive.  The roads wind narrowly along
green fields, over hills, past herds of the black and white cattle
this area is known for.  There is a point in the journey where you
can first see the ocean.  I look for it every time.  when I see it,
I know I am almost home.  The Ayrshire coastline is so beautiful:
sandy beaches, cliff tops that hold the remains of an old castle,
seagulls, and salty spray.   
I drove up the familiar road and parked outside my mother's gate. 
I knew she would be watching for me, as she always did, kettle
boiling, ready to make that first cup of real tea   
When she saw me, she started to cry.  I guess I looked worse than
I realized.  I had asked her not to tell people what was happening
in my life; it still seemed too unbelievable to me.  But over that
first cup of tea, she said; "If you don't want anyone to know that
something's wrong, Sheila, you had better stay home all week,
because anyone who knows you will be shocked when they see you.   
I began to eat when I was home.  Mom made all my favorites: minced
beef with peas in it, mashed potatoes, home-baked cakes, and piping
hot tea.  It was so good to be there.  Our family pastor, an Irish
man, came and spent some time with me and prayed for me.  His
gentle words and strong prayers were like rain in the desert.   
My sister and her husband and their two little boys live in Ayr
too.  One night when I was at their house, David, their   

older boy, presented me with a chocolate cake he had baked himself. 
"You look ill, Aunt Sheila," he said.  "This will help."   
Mom and I walked along the ocean and drove over the hills and
talked and talked and talked some more.  I told her what a failure
I felt like, that I was afraid I was letting her down.  But that
isn't how my mother saw me.  She hugged me and wept with me.  She
told me to hold on to the Lord, to take each day as it came, and
that she loved me.  I would need her words for the days that lay
ahead.   
I had hoped a week at home with my family would be enough to
strengthen me for whatever lay ahead.  Instead, it made returning
to my own home much harder.  Being in Scotland with people who had
loved me all my life actually made me feel much more vulnerable
when I arrived back in Virginia Beach.  Instead of feeling
stronger, I felt weaker, like a mere whisper of a person.  I
couldn't sleep or eat.  I felt overwhelmed by fear.   
I quickly returned to my former patterns: I would wake up at three
o'clock every morning, wide awake and afraid.   Some nights I felt
as if I couldn't breathe, and I would lie on my bedroom floor
wishing God would take me home.  "Lord, hold me," I begged.  "I'm
falling fast."   
On the job and over a national grapevine, people were asking or
surmising what was wrong with me.  I had spent so much of my life
measuring who I was by how other people viewed me.  Now I was in a
time of crisis, and many people wanted to know what was happening
to me.  How could I explain to people who called from all around
the country what I was struggling to understand myself?  I thought
I was going to drown.   
I watched my coworkers watching me.  It was obviously very
difficult for some of my friends at CBN to know what to say.  Many
of them simply stayed away I was dealing with an overwhelming sense
of failure for having let God and everyone else down, and I read
their distance as an assent to my belief that my life was over   

Many sorts of theories circulated around town.  Someone had suggested
to Pat that perhaps I suffered from manic depression and needed to
be on medication permanently.   Or, they speculated, was I simply
a pathological liar, inventing all this emotional distress?   
I did receive a few letters from friends telling me to get my act
together.  I also received one card that said God was not pleased
with me.  I hadn't seen this friend in years, and I was deeply
wounded by his words.   
I no longer knew how to do what these well-meaning friends were
asking.  I wanted so much to be able to pull myself together, but
how do you hold a mountain in place when it is crumbling from the
inside?   
It became clear to me that I could not continue as I was.  I was
worsening each day.  I was afraid to drive because at times I would
lose concentration.  At times I would find myself much further down
the road than I thought I should be, with no memory of driving
there.  It was obvious to me that I wasn't thinking clearly.   
Meanl while, in my purse I kept the precious letter from the woman
who asked me to get help.  I would pull it out and read it over and
over again.   
With every ounce of strength I could muster, I did reach out for
help.  Pat Robertson knew a little of my situation and had
expressed a desire to help.  I sat in the waiting area of his
office and wondered what to say to him.  I looked at the walls
covered in awards and letters of thanks from prominent leaders and
organizations he had helped.  My heartache seemed to fly in the
face of all the hope and joy these walls represented.   
Pat opened his office door and asked me to come in.  I sat on a
sofa beside his desk as he fetched a cup of tea for me.  He is a
very busy man, and I knew that normally a secretary would do that,
but on that day he took the time to make it for me himself He
listened as I tried to explain to him what was happening in my
life.  He asked me a few questions and told me   

how sorry he was that things had become so bad.  And then he prayed
with me.  With tears streaming down my face, I listened as he asked
the Lord to be close to me in the days that lay ahead.  He gave me
a hug and told me that his office was always open to me.   
Several months before, I had interviewed a doctor who had given me
his card at the end of the show indicating that if I ever needed
help, I should call.  I had kept his card, and after I left Pat's
office, I called his secretary to find out if he could recommend
someone in my area.  He suggested a doctor whom I already knew and
trusted.  After talking with this doctor on the phone for a little
while, he told me he believed I needed to be hospitalized.  He
suggested a particular Christian setting in Washington, D.C.   
This advice supported my greatest fear.  My father had died as a
patient in a psychiatric hospital, and I'd always wondered if I
would end my days like him-in a place surrounded by strangers,
tormented in my mind.   
Yet I knew that the doctor was right; I knew I was beyond
self-help.  The doctor said he would check for the next available
opening.  I made plans to take a leave from "The 700 Club," not
knowing if I would ever return.   
when I told Pat I wanted to admit myself to a psychiatric unit he
was very kind and fatherly, which is how he has always been with
me.  He made my decision easier than many others did.  The day
before I left for Washington, D.C.,   I had a conversation with
someone who wanted me to consider the possibility that Satan was
using me to try to attack CBN.  I was absolutely horrored to think
that could be true.   I walked around and around the lake at our
television headquarters, asking this man what he thought I should
do.  But he had no answers.  He just shook his head.  I was so
tired I could not think anymore, and the idea that the crisis in my
life was going to affect a ministry that meant so much to me was
more than I could bear.  I felt like a hypocrite.  How could I sit
on national television every day and tell people   

that if they put their trust in Christ, everything would be all
right-when things were far from all right with me?   
Those questions still weighed heavily on my mind when I went home
that night, to walk the beach and pack my bags.  I'm fine; the sun is shining.   
God is in the heavens.   
All is well with the world.   
I am dying: it is dark.   
God, where are you?   
Have you forgotten me so quickly?  
How Do You Mend   
a Broken Heart?   
Woe to him whom this world charms from gospel duty   
Woe to him who seeks to pour oil upon the waters when God has
brewed them into a gale.  Woe to him who seeks to appease rather
than to appall.  Woe to him whose good name is more to him than
goodness.  Woe to him who,   
- in this world, courts not dishonor!  Woe to him who would not be
true, even though to be false were salvation.   
Yea, woe to him who, as the great Pilot Paul has it,   
while preaching to others is himself a castaway   
HERMAN MELVILLE,   
MOB }` DICK   
I don't remember anything about the show that October morning.  I
simply knew that my suitcase was in my trunk, and when the program
was over I would drive out of those familiar gates to an
unfamiliar and, to me, terrifying world.   
A couple of staff members wanted to drive me to the hospital in
Washington, but I was determined to go alone.  I was ashamed and
afraid, and I did not want anyone to see me walk through those
doors.   
I don't remember a lot about the good-byes except for one
conversation.  I had tried to slip out quietly, but one of my
friends stopped me at my car She tried to dissuade me from this
journey, fearing that, in her words, "You might never be special
again." I looked into her face and told her there was nothing else
I could do.   

The drive took about three and a half hours.  I turned the radio on
to an easy-listening station hoping to quiet my mind, but the words
of friends and colleagues tumbled over each other.   
Over and over in my mind I replayed words I'd heard in the last
month:   
"Do you know the damage you are doing to this ministry?"   
"I always knew you would lose it someday"   
"You might never be special again."   
I started having serious doubts as to whether doctors would be able
to help me.  If I showed them a broken leg, it made sense to me
that they would be able to fix that, but how do you mend a broken
spirit?   
I'd always thought that if I just tried hard enough, I could make
everything all right.  But I had failed, and look where it was
taking me-to a psychiatric hospital.  what would become of me
there?   
By the time I got to the hospital parking lot, it was dark.   All
I could see was the low, brick building of the psych ward that was
connected to the main hospital.   
It was October and very cold.  I sat in my car for an hour, afraid
to go in.  I knew that once I walked through those doors, nothing
in my life would ever be the same.  I wondered how I ever ended up
like this.  I thought of the house I grew up in, of my brother and
sister, of a simple life in a simple town that now seemed to belong
to another world.   
As I sat there looking for the strength to get out and walk that
short distance to the hospital door, it began to rain.  I prayed
through my tears: "Lord, I am so afraid.  I don't even know if I am
doing the right thing by being here.  It feels like I am running
away, but I don't know where else to go.   Please help me."   
I got out of the car and stood for a moment watching my breath
dissipate in the chill air.  I opened the trunk and pulled out my
suitcase.  It seemed very light, and I wondered what I might have
packed the night before.  Lately, I was   

finding it hard to remember what I had done from one day to the
next.   
I walked up to the door and pressed the buzzer.  It opened, and I
walked in.  A young nurse took my suitcase and asked me to sit down
in the lobby for a few moments.  I looked around.  It was very
quiet.  In one corner of the room, a nurse was trying to comfort a
woman who was obviously distressed.  I wondered if she was a
patient, or if she had just dropped off a loved one.   
The nurse came back and took my blood pressure, which she said was
very low.  She took my temperature and then showed me to my room. 
It was simple and sparse, a bed, a table, a chair, and a small
wardrobe.  Everything was neutral and quiet.  The nurse looked as
if she were about my age, dressed in white: clean, clinical, safe. 
 
"I need to go through your things.  It's hospital policy," she
said.   
I sat on the edge of the bed and watched as she put items to one
side.  My hair dryer, my makeup, my belts and hose-anything I could
hurt myself with.  (I told her I had no intention of blow-drying
myself to death!)  She asked me if I needed anything, and then left
for the night, telling me that someone would check on me every
fifteen minutes until morning.   
I sat there, numb and cold.  How is it possible that this morning
I was on national television, beautifully dressed, part of a
respected Christian ministry, and now I am locked up in a
psychiatric ward, not even trusted with a hair dryer?   
I thought about my family.  They had all been very supportive of
this decision, but I wondered how it made my mother feel.  Did it
revive old ghosts-my father's last year in a barren hospital when
he was beyond Mother's help?   
I went to use the bathroom in my room and realized the door
couldn't be locked.  My room did not lock either.  My private
little world was over.   

I tried to sleep, but couldn't I wondered who had slept there
before me and what had happened to them.  Had their days here
helped them, or were they more disabled than before?   
I remembered a friend saying that when the pain of remaining the
same is greater than the pain of change, you'll change.  But who
was to say that this would lead to anything better?  when I had
prayed that simple prayer of commitment to Christ as a young girl
in Scotland, I never for a moment saw my life looking like this. 
I wanted to be a missionary to India, not a patient in a mental
hospital.   
I knew I was not going to be able to sleep, so I asked the night
nurse if she could give me something to help.  She told me she had
no authorization to give medication.  Her next words were both
frightening and comforting: "I'm sorry that you are inso much pain,
Sheila, and it will probably get worse before it gets better, but
you are in a safe place."   
I thought of the words of Father Marple in Moby Dick.   I had found
them quoted in a book I had read the week before.  His words went
over and over in my mind:   
Woe to him whom this world charms from gospel duty Woe to him who
seeks to pour oil upon the waters when God has brewed them into a
g.e....  Woe to him whose good name is more to him than
goodness....   Yea, woe to him who, as the great Pilot Paul has it,
while preaching to others is himself a castaway   
God had brewed my waters into a gale, and there was no calm to be
found that night.  In the midst of this violent upheaval I was
afraid that I too would be a castaway, drowned in waters too deep
for me.  I knew God was there but to what depths would he let me
sink before he pulled me out?  I picked up my diary and read the
last entry:   
Today has been the worst day of my life.  I feel so afraid and so
alone.  All my life is crumbling, and I am vulnerable and so tired. 
What if I can't find my way out of all this pain?  It washes over
me in great waves.  I want to reach out to someone, but I don't
know who.  I feel as if I am   

dying, but I am not sick.  What if no one believes me?   
What If I become such a burden that I am simply swept   
aside?  I am afraid that I am losing my mind.  God help me.   
Eventually I fell asleep-until a nurse knocked on my door at 6 A.M. 
I wondered for a moment where I was, and then it all came flooding
back.  I gazed at myself in the mirror.  I looked old and tired. 
I had no makeup to hide behind and no desire to hide.   
In search of a cup of coffee, I followed the sound of voices to the
patients' lounge.  The warm, familiar buzz of noise sounded
inviting, but as I walked into the room some of the patients
stopped talking and stared at me.  Though this was a Christian
hospital, it had never even crossed my mind that I might be
recognized.  A man in his thirties spoke up.  "Are you Sheila
Walsh?"   
"Yes, I am," I replied.   
"The one on television?" he continued.   
"Yes."   
"What are you doing here?"   
"I'm a patient," I said, stating the obvious.   
"Yeah, right, sure you are." He laughed.   
"Well, do you think I'm here to do a concert, dressed in my
bathrobe?" I asked him.   
One of the other patients advised him to stop talking and get me a
cup of coffee, which he brought back with a large grin on his face. 
"Sorry, I always say too much."   
The lounge looked comfortable and lived-in.  Well-used chairs and
a sofa were grouped around the television as if awaiting a favorite
show.  On the other side of the room were some small coffee tables
and chairs, and a few people sat there reading or writing.  I sat
down on the sofa.   
A young woman in a Laura Ashley robe came and sat beside me.  She
looked frail.  She told me her name and that she was here because
she had tried to take her own life.   "Seems kind of wild now," she
said, "but I felt so desperate, and I wanted the pain to stop."   

Some of the patients went downstairs for breakfast, but because I
was new, I was not allowed to leave the unit.   A young man brought
a tray to the lounge, and I took it to one of the coffee tables. 
I lifted the aluminum lid and saw two very tired eggs staring up at
me.  I put the lid back down.   
The group gathered in a circle for the morning devotions and to
check in with one another.  One by one they said their names and
why they were there.   
"I'm Michael, and I'm here because of suicide attempts."   
"I'm John, and I'm here with manic depression."   
When it came to me, I didn't know what to say.  "I'm Sheila, and I
don't know why I am here."   
A couple of people smiled at me as if they understood.   
When everyone had said something, they shared prayer requests and
prayed for a fruitful day for each person.   
I was taken by one of the nurses for blood tests.  (I gave them
thirteen test tubes full!)  I believed the best thing to do was to
let them run every kind of test on me.  I was beginning to realize
some people I knew seemed glad I was having difficulty.  If the
rumors were true-that I suffered from manic depression, or that I
was a pathological liar-then I certainly needed help.  If they
weren't, it would be good to have that information confirmed by a
professional.   
After I had given my thirteen test tubes of blood, I had my first
appointment with the doctor who would be working with me.  He asked
me a question that seemed strange to me: "Who are you?"   
I knew that there was a right answer, and yet I didn't know what it
was.  I told him that I was the co-host of "The 700 Club," that I
was a singer, a writer, and that I knew I was floundering.   
He repeated the question.  "Who are you, Sheila?"   
My mind went over countless photo shoots and page after page of
biographical information, but I knew that this was not what he was
looking for.  He meant the stuff of life,   

the fabric of my being, but my life was what I did, and I didn't
know what else to say.   
"I don't know," I said, as tears poured down my face.   
"I know that, and that is why you are here."   
I thought of the morning devotional reading with the other
patients:   
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?   
PS~M 27:1-2   
And so began one of the greatest adventures of my life: to face the
truth about myself, to face my fears, to let every- thing go and to
trust God in the darkness.   
I went out into the little courtyard reserved for patients.  I sat
by the stream that tumbled over the rocks and wrote in my diary:  

then greatness seems to vanish faster than the morning mist- when
purple robes dissolve beneath a touch- when crowds and cheers are
hushed and stilled and spotlights turn their faces- I stand alone,
I'm smiling in the dark.   
He who would be greatest must be the servant of all.   I hear it
now, a softer inner call.   
A softer call, "Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and
I will give you rest" (Matthew 11:28).  A truer call, "What does
the LORD require of you?  To act justly and to love mercy and to
walk humbly with your God" (Micah 6:8).   
As I sat in the quiet of the courtyard, it seemed as if the volcano
had stilled for a moment.  I watched a little bird sitting on the
bare branch of a tree, singing a few notes to itself.  The water
rippled softly over the stones.  In the peace   

of that moment, I could almost forget where I was.  But I knew that
the earth beneath my feet was not yet settled.   Over the years,
tremendous pressures had built up inside me just as the pressure
that builds before a volcano.  I could no longer ignore it. 
Vesuvius had erupted.   
Of course, I'll never fail you.   
You can count on me.   
I'm the one who is always faithfuL   
I feel my feet are slipping.   
I hear them count me out.   
I'm lost, faithless.  I'll never make it home.  
3 Hiding in the Shadows   
We shall not cease from exploration   
And the end of all our exploring   
Will be to arrive where we started   
And know the place for the first time.   
T S.  ELIOT, "LITTLE GIDDING"   
I slipped easily into the regimented routine of the hospital.  Out
of bed at 6 A.M.,  breakfast, devotions, individual therapy, and
group therapy After lunch, an art class or more psychological
testing and evaluation.  The evenings were usually free to watch
television or work out in the gyin.   
Early in my hospital stay, I was concerned about my own well-being. 
What's more, I was concerned about what would happen to people who
had been in a crisis and who had listened to me on television,
people who had prayed with me and made a commitment to change. 
Would they now throw away any good that had been done, believing
that nothing of lasting value could flow through a broken vessel? 
I was sure that some of the people who had placed me on a very high
pedestal were truly devastated when that pedestal began to crumble. 
 
I talked to my doctor about this issue for days.  He asked me who
I had been holding up as the answer: Sheila Walsh or Jesus Christ? 
I knew what he was getting at, and I knew that Jesus is the only
enduring hope for any of us.  But   

I also knew that privilege brings responsibility.  We are called to
live in a way that honors God.  Somewhere along the road, however,
I had crossed the line between pointing to the One who is the
answer, and feeling an overwhelming burden to show what that can
look like here on earth.   
For ten years I had traveled all over the world, singing and
speaking.  When I thought back on the things I had talked about
on stage, they were the things I knew God in his goodness wants for
us all; they were the things I wanted in my own life.  So when
someone would ask me to pray for her marriage, I did it with all my
heart, knowing that God would be delighted to hear the prayer.  If
someone wanted prayer to find peace in his life, I gladly prayed
with passion that this gift of God would be granted.   
Gradually, my life on stage became more real to me than my life
off stage.  When I began to feel that my life was crumbling, I
talked more.  I talked louder.  I tried to talk what- was-not into
being, as if the very act of calling it out would make it a reality
for me too.   
In the hospital I received mail from people who knew I had been
admitted.  They called me a hypocrite.  One person sent tapes of
talks I had given and copies of articles I had written that seemed
ridiculous in light of where I now was.  I had spoken so much and
so loudly that my own words came back to mock me.  Each mail
delivery felt like one more nail in my coffin.   
It was as if I had taken my two favorite children's stories and
lived one, while longing for the other.   
THE WIZARD'S WORLD   
I have always loved the story The Wizard of Oz.  As a child, I was
enchanted when Dorothy's world changed from black-and-white to
color.  Like all children, I adored the Scarecrow and the Cowardly
Lion and the ~n Man, and I wanted my very own Toto.  (I also
thought that the witch   

HIDING IN THE SHADOWS   
looked suspiciously like the woman who served our schoolmeals and
made me eat brussels sprouts!)   
Years later, I saw myself not as Dorothy, but as the little man
behind the curtain, who, when the truth was revealed, was no wizard
at all.  When Dorothy discovers that instead of being a ferocious,
larger-than-life wizard, he is just a man, she tells him, "You are
a very bad man." To this, he replies, "No, my dear, I am just a
very bad wizard."   
That is how I felt in the hospital; I felt like a very bad wizard. 
 
If the wizard in the story had lived without the bells and
whistles, he could have simply told people that they would find
what they were looking for as they continued on their journeys. 
That is what actually happened anyway.  But no one wanted to wait
that long.  They wanted a miracle right then.   
Like the wizard, I wanted to be able to make everything better for
everyone, hoping that the edges of other people's miracles would
touch me.   
It must have been a huge relief to the wizard when the grand
charade was over.  The "bad wizard" was actually a very nice man! 
I felt relief too.  It was painful but liberating to have the
curtain pulled away.  All I wanted now was to be one of the people
on the journey.   
Something about television makes you larger than life particularly
Christian television.  Whenever I would bump into viewers in a
shopping mall or grocery store, it seemed to me that they believed
I had a hot line to heaven, a number that God would pick up before
he answered calls from "mere mortals.  " I'm sure part of it was
simply that I was recognizable as a Christian; they knew they could
ask me to pray for them.  But at times it spilled over into
something that scared me.   
I remember a man who drove with his very sick wife for ten hours~
to visit me because he believed that she would be healed if I would
pray for her.  It was a privilege to pray   

for this woman, but why did he have to drive so far when God was
with them all along?   
I talked with him about that, and his answer was that God was more
likely to listen to me.  Because he had made too many mistakes in
his life, he wasn't worthy of an answer.  When he looked at me on
his television screen, he saw someone with the key to the executive
washroom.  I tried to explain that none of us deserves an answer,
that it is all God's grace, but I don't think he believed me.  To
him, it sounded too good to be true.   
How ironic.  It's as if we have taken the truth and made it a fairy
tale, and taken a fairy tale and made it the truth.   Life would be
so much easier if all we had to do was to find our way down that
yellow brick road to God, and there in the Emerald City he would
grant our every wish.  We would bring our fear and our anger and
our pain and our sickness to him, and with a puff of smoke and a
thundering voice he would take them all away.  There would be no
obstacles on the road, no enemies determined to stop us from
completing our journey-just a clear, golden path.   
The truth is that there will be a day when all sorrow and suffering
will be dispelled and every tear wiped away.   That is a promise,
but it is a promise of a day to come.  How shall we live till then? 
 
That is where my other favorite childhood story comes in.   
LOVED TO LIFE   
Now this is a glorious story!   
If you have never read The Velveteen Rabbit, please buy a copy It is
truly a gift.  To me, it is a parable of biblical import.   When
the story begins, the cloth Rabbit is plush and new stuffed inside
a little boy's Christmas stocking.  Other new toys come along, ones
that do things, ones that make noises, and somehow the little
Rabbit gets lost in the shulfie.   

In the quiet of the night, the toys talk to one another One
toy, the old Skin Horse, is consistently kind to the Rab   
bit.  One day the Rabbit asks him, "What is Real?"   
"Real isn't how you are made," sald the Skin Horse.  "It'sa thing
that happens to you, when a child loves you for a long time."   
The Rabbit asks the Skin Horse if it hurts to become real.  The
Skin Horse, who is always truthful, says that it does sometimes,
but when you are real, you don't mind being hurt.  He tells the
little Rabbit that becoming real does not generally happen to those
who have to be carefully kept.   That's because by the time that
you are real, most of your fur has been loved off.  I identify with
the~Rabbit's sigh; if only we could become real without it hurting,
without it taking so much time.   
The Skin Horse had the wisdom that is born out of time to those who
listen to their lives.  He had watched all the trends that come and
go, but he knew there is no eternity in fashion.  When new, he
himself had been loved by a little boy, and the marks of that love
were etched on the furless patches of his body, his tall hair
pulled out to string beads.   
Unlike the wizard, the Skin Horse had no bells and whistles, just
a calm surrender to the process of life, a deep awareness of what
real love looks like.  He had spent him- self on his master, with
no thought for himself, believing this was what he was made for. 
His shoes were old and worn, but they fit like a glove.   
Not so for the wizard.  The wizard was meeting a need, but he was
living a lie.  When the curtain fell back, it revealed   
a little old man sweating, huffing and puffing to maintain the
facade.  He looked as if he were about to have a heart attack.  
There was nothing comfortable or natural about his life.  The old
Skin Horse was far from being the latest thing in the nursery, but
he was loved for who he really was.  As he said, "When you are
Real, you can never be ugly except to people who don't understand." 
 

The message of those two stories was clear to me.  I could spend
the rest of my life behind the drapes, pulling levers and talking
loudly, or I could find out what I was really made for.  I wanted
so badly to be real.  It is one thing to find stories that shed a
little light on our paths, but how do we live in the midst of our
own stories when it seems as if no good can come of any of it?   
After a few days in the hospital, it became clear to me that the
Lord had been trying to get my attention for a long time.  Books I
had read in preparation for my show rang distant bells in my mind. 
I would read certain pages over and over as I compiled a list of
questions for my guests, sensing there was something I needed to
understand, but I could never quite grasp hold of what it was.   
Now I was in a place where I had the luxury of time.   Here I could
begin to look at my life.   
It had been a pattern of mine in the past to suppress uncomfortable
feelings.  I didn't know what else to do with them.  So when I was
unable or unwilling to deal with what was true about my life, I
buried it.  Even though I ended up walking on a lumpy carpet, it
had begun to feel normal.   
Denial is my closest friend-   
it keeps the world at bay;   
it makes me dance to any tune   
and say what I should say;   
it builds a wall around my heart   
invisible but strong.   
I'm always there   
but never quite belong.   
I watched as others at the clinic began to have the courage to deal
with things they hated about their lives.  One of the women lost
control one morning in a group session and threw her chair across
the room.  (She had seemed like such a nice, quiet person!)  When
she finally gained enough control to talk, we discovered that she
had been brutally   

raped as a young girl and had never told anyone.  Instead, she had
thrown herself into Christian ministry to try and numb the pain.  

The group talked together for a long time.  The woman felt that
somehow the rape was her fault, and she needed to restore the
balance in her life; she must have done something to cause this
rape, and she needed to pay for it.  She had discovered that if
she worked punishingly hard every day, she didn't have to deal with
the anger boiling just below the surface.  She believed that if her
anger ever escaped, it would consume her.  She was sure that if
anyone in the Christian organization where she worked found out
what had happened to her; they would ask her to leave.  To avoid
being found out, she had chosen to live in the shadows.  What I saw
powerfully enacted before me that day is this: You can try for
years to deny the things that are tearing at your soul, but they
will not go away They thrive in the shadowlands.   
NO SHADOWLANDS WITH CHRIST   
At the request of a counselor; I began to study the way that Jesus
lived among his friends and the way he lived among the people whose
paths he crossed.  I took a long look at two different people who
were in trouble: a woman who knew her life was in chaos, and a man
who had no idea what he would become when the pressure of life
became intense.   
The woman's story is found in John 4:1-42.  The first miracle was
that Jesus talked to this Samaritan woman at all, for Jews had
nothing to do with Samaritans.  Not only did Christ talk to this
woman, but he also asked her for a drink, which would have been
unheard of in those times.   
This woman knew she was in trouble.  I would imagine the distant
rumble had become a very familiar sound to her, as it had for me. 
Relationally, her life was a mess.  She had been married five times
and was now living with a man who was not her husband.  I doubt she
had many friends.  She   

would have been mistrusted by women and joked about among men.   
But Jesus looked at her-really looked at her-and talked to her as
if she mattered, because to him, she did.   Something about that
gaze connected with her; because the woman came clean with him. 
She had no need to step out of her shadows into the sunlight for a
stranger; but she revealed to Jesus that the man she was living
with was not her husband.  What a gift Christ gave her in letting
her know that he was aware of this and of all the rest as well.  If
he had offered her living water without ever revealing that he knew
all the truth about her; perhaps she would have let his words of
life bypass her; thinking, If you only knew.  But he loved her
enough to let her know, "I know it all, and I still love you." That
unfamiliar and glorious gift changed her life so that, even as she
was gulping it down, she was running to tell others the Good News. 
 
. "I know it all, and I still love you." That is the convicting,
convincing, liberating truth that comes from an encounter with
Christ: All is known; there is no need to pretend anymore.  I
wrestled with that truth, but it is hard to lay aside a mask when
it looks so like you, and you have worn it for so long that you
can't remember what you look like without it.   
I imagine the Samaritan was a changed woman after that day.  We
don't hear any more of her story, but after encountering Jesus, she
was fully known and fully loved for the first time in her life. 
She had looked into the face of God, and he was smiling.   
The Skin Horse was content with his bruised and battered exterior
because his fur had been loved off by someone who treasured him. 
The nameless woman whom Jesus met at the well was scarred and
bruised too, but her wounds were in her spirit.  Not until she came
face-to-face with Christ did she catch a glimpse of what she was
really made for.  She knew she was in trouble-no one had to
convince   

her of that-and when Jesus confronted her with who she was and then
offered her a better way to live, she grasped hold of it with every
fiber of her being.   
It is much more difficult to deal with the truth about your life
when you have no idea that you have feet of clay and it suddenly
begins to rain.  That's what happened with another gospel
character; Jesus' friend Simon Peter   
Peter was a rough, strong, loud, salt-of-the-earth fisherman, the
kind of friend you would lean on in a crisis.  He was passionately
committed to following Christ, wherever that took him.  When Jesus
began to talk of a different end to his life than the one Peter had
imagined, Peter was confused and hurt.  He could never imagine
leaving Jesus, let alone deny knowing him.  Surely their
relationship had come too far for that.  And yet one night Jesus
said Peter would deny him before morning.  In anguish Peter cried
out that he would die before letting that happen.   
I saw so much of myself in this man: bold and utterly confident in
his own abilities to overcome any obstacle in his way He knew Jesus
could count on him.  Christ gave Peter a glimpse into the horror
that lay just around the corner and let him know that, when it was
all over, not only would Jesus still love Peter; but he also had
ajob for him to do: "When you have turned back, strengthen your
brothers" (Luke 22:32).   
I wonder how Peter must have felt the day Jesus was executed for
crimes he did not commit.  Can you begin to grasp the horror of
knowing that, when it counted the most, you were not there for your
friend-your Lord?   
When I used to read that passage, I didn't see myself in Peter's
place.  It was very familiar to me as part of the passion story,
but I had no real empathy for Peter as a man who had to choke on
his own words-until mine came back to mock me.  Peter, who with his
own lips had denied ever knowing Jesus, just as Jesus said he
would.  Luke tells us that Peter "went outside and wept bitterly"
(22:62).  There   

was no comforting Peter that night.  What could his wife say to
him?  How could anyone take that pain away?  When Christ had needed
him most, he had been the one to drive the first nail in.  Bitter
night turned to morning, another endless day; then the darkness
closed in on him again.   
It was the first day of a new week when Mary came running down the
road, screaming to Peter: "His body is gone.  Someone has taken
him.  The tomb is empty." As words tumbled over words, Peter was
already out the door.   It was true.  The grave had been robbed,
and the body was gone.  Later that night, as the disciples cowered
in a locked room, out of control, afraid for their own lives, Jesus
came and stood among them and said, "Peace be with you!"   
They had thought they would never hear his voice again.  Peter had
thought he would never hear the word peace again.  But how could he
look Jesus in the eye?  After all, Jesus had known that Peter would
fail him, and he had.   
But history records that, for Peter; life was not over yet.  John
21 tells the following story: One morning more than a week later;
the fishermen disciples met Jesus for the third time since his
resurrection; he sat with them on the beach, cooking breakfast. 
When they had finished eating, Jesus turned and looked at Peter. 
"Simon son of John, do you truly love me more than these?"   
When Peter said yes, he did, Jesus asked him the question again.  

Peter again said, "Yes, Lord, you know that I love you."   
Jesus asked for a third time and this, to me, is one of the most
honest, confrontational, liberating dialogues recorded anywhere. 
Peter looked at Jesus, I would imagine with deep pain in his eyes,
and said to him, "Lord, you know all things; you know that I love
you."   
Peter was really saying, You knew that I would fail you, even when
I talked louder than anyone else.  You knew that I am not as strong
as I thought I was.  So you knew   
all that, Lord, you know my heart is broken now, and you know that
I love you.   
Peter was given a second chance.  He went on to become a martyr of
the early church, and as the early   
church father Tertullian wrote, "the blood of the martyrs is seed."
Peter's life and death fed the church, for from that life-changing
confrontation with Christ on the beach, he was a different man, a
man who selflessly gave himself to the building up of the body of
Christ.  "You are Peter, and upon this rock I will build my church"
(Matthew 16:18).   
"O God, I am only dust, "I cry   
and God picks up the dust   
and breathes his life once more.   
Sometimes I think we misinterpret faith.  In my own life, instead
of grabbing hold of what was wrong with it and dealing with it, no
matter how painful it was, I acted as if everything were fine.  I
thought if Ijust believed enough, then everything would be all
right.  But was I living by faith or by wishful thinking?  Jesus
never encouraged his friends to cover over the pain in their lives
but to bring it into the light, where healing is found.  Sometimes
we don't do that, because we fear being rejected by others.  Yes,
rejection may well happen, but bringing the pain to the light is
still the best way to live.   
Sometimes we simply don't want to face the truth about ourselves;
the myth reads so much better.  Sometimes we do not seek help
because it will mean we have to change, and change is painful and
unpredictable.  To me, now~ faith is bringing all that is true
about our lives into the blinding light of God's grace.  It is
believing that he will still be there at the end of the journey And
so will we, perhaps alittle bloodied, probably with a-limp and
possibly, as the Skin Horse said, with most of our hair loved off,
but we will be there.   

JUSTAS lAM   
On the second Sunday I was in the hospital, I had permission to go
to church with a nurse.  I let the singing of those glorious hymns
wash over me as we sat in the back row.  The pastor spoke about
those of us who feel we have failed God in our mission on this
earth.  I looked at the nurse out of the corner of my eye,
wondering if she had had a word with him before the service, but in
my heart I knew it was the Lord.  (That is just like him!)  I felt
as if God's presence had invaded every corner of the sanctuary.  I
couldn't lift my head.  It was as if I were on holy ground.   
The pastor concluded the sermon with an illustration.   "There are
some of you here today who feel like dead people.  It is as if you
are already six feet under; staring up at the top of your own
locked coffin.  This morning, Jesus wants to set you free.  You
simply have to let go of the key and pass it through the little
hole, where you see a tiny shaft of light."   
I listened as if I were the only person in the room.  He was
speaking to me.  This was exactly how I felt.  I had never gone
forward to an altar before; I had prayed to be accepted into God's
family in my bedroom.  I asked the nurse if it would be all right
if I spent a few moments at the altar, and she said yes.  As I
walked the aisle that day, I did not care who saw me or what they
thought.  All I knew was that I was dying and someone was telling me
where to get help.   
I knelt at the altar with my head on my hands and tears coursing
through my fingers.  All I could say was, "Lord, for- give me.  I
am sorry that I have lived a lie for so long, pretending to be fine
but being miserable inside, trying to talk things into being, too
afraid to deal with what was wrong in my own home for fear it would
consume me.  And now a lot of people will be hurt by the fallout. 
I am so sorry.  I can't make it right.  I give it all over to you. 
Show me what to do."   
When Christ confronted me with the truth about my life, his words
were the strongest and yet the most loving I   
would hear.  They would help me through the next part of {
the journey.   
Gracious Father,   
you know us so well.   
You love us so completely.   
Forgive us, we pray,   
for hiding in the shadows.   
Give us the courage to live in the light,   
for you are Light,   
and you are True,   
and we are your children.   
Amen.   
A wintter landscape   
no relief   
a cold gray blanket   
settles on my soul.     
Winter   
lam in that temper that if I were under water   
I would scarcely kick to come to the top.   
JOHN KEATS   
Scotland is known for its beautiful scenery When the sun shines,
there is no better place to be on this earth.  The trouble is that
it does not shine very often!  On the west coast of Scotland, where
my family lives, there are a lot of what we call drizzly days.  On
drizzly days, the sky is gray and heavy, the wind is bitingly cold,
and it's not really raining, it's drizzling.   The weather on days
like these is like a cold, damp blanket wrapped around your
shoulders.  People hurry home from town, from church, eager to
throw off their raincoats and boots and gather by a roaring fire,
where the misery of the elements can be consumed by the crackling
flames.   
I liked winter in Scotland.  It was quiet, and the sea could
finally be heard, since the tourists had gone home.  I would come
home from school, take off my navy and gold blazer, pull on some
jeans and a warm sweater; and head down to the ocean.  I would sit
there for a long time, enjoying the songs of the sea.  Sometimes I
would settle onto a rock, close enough to get splashed by the salty
spray.  I loved it.  That was where I did my serious praying.  Out
there, surrounded by the wind 
and the water; I knew I served an awesome God.  This was no
sideshow; this was a tiny glimpse of the splendor of the Lord of
heaven and earth.  Those winter days are part of who I am-a winter
person.  I love the reds and the yellows of the world, the brighter
side, but there will always be a place in my heart for the grays and
ebony shades of life.   
But what happened to me in the summer of `92 was different from
that gentle melancholy There was nothing comforting or familiar
about any of it.  A volcano is a splendid sight, but when it is
over; everything around it is desolate, covered in white ash-a
silent, winter landscape.   
In the spring of that year I had visited a counselor.  I felt sad
most of the time, and I didn't know why.  I just knew I was very
tired.  It was as though winter had settled on my heart with no
hope of spring.  One of our camera operators said to me one day
that I seemed depressed, but I did not really know what that meant. 
I remembered years before when I was touring in England, the same
subject had come up.  I was on the road with another artist, and a
few of us sat down one evening after the concert to eat.  Someone
said, "Did you hear about Dave?"   
A few snippets of information were tossed into the arena, and then
someone sald, "He has been diagnosed with clinical depression."   
The general response of the crowd was complete disbelief, and the
jokes began to circulate around the table.  I know that we British
tend to be a little caustic in our wit, but the general consensus
of opinion was that there is no such thing as depression.   
"He just needs to pull himself together; that's all."   
"We all have bad days; you just can't give in to them."   
"I've always thought he was a bit lazy."   
I remember arguing with them because I knew this man and it made no
sense to me that he would be pretending to be inso much pain.  But
the subject soon changed, and  ¬   
I didn't give it much more thought.  All that I knew was that my
friend was sad, and I understood that.   
I would eventually come to understand a lot more about depression. 
 
Nothing is what it seems.   
I reach for you but you are not there.   I cry for help and you are
all around, keeping me contained safe and cold within a Hall
of Mirrors.   I tell myself that this is the real world, but my head
aches and my heart aches and I know this is a lie.   
If you are on a speeding train that is out of control, and you know
that you are losing your hold, what do you do?  Do you wait till it
hits the wall, or do you jump off?  I decided to jump.  I knew I
would be hurt, but I didn't care anymore.  I had let things get to
a place where I could no longer function.   
Statistics tell us that more than thirty million Americans are
affected by depression.  One of the greatest challenges to those
who suffer with this disease is that many people do not believe it
is a legitimate illness.  I can assure you, it is.   
After a couple of days of medical tests in the hospital, I met with
the chief psychiatrist to review the results and find out what was
wrong with me.  He seemed a kind man, with an easy manner and a
strong sense of humor, which I imagine serves him well in his
chosen profession.  He told me he saw no signs of manic depression
but that I was severely clinically depressed.  I exhibited classic
signs of clinical depression: an inability to sleep (I woke up
between three and four o'clock every morning), loss of appetite,
overwhelming feelings of hopelessness, loss of memory, inability to
concentrate, loss of emotional control, acute anxiety, and an
enduring, unbearable sadness.  HONESTLY   
The doctor explained more about clinical depression.   Clinical
depression has many contributing factors, some of which can be
physiological.  Within the brain there are chemical messengers
called neurotransmitters.  When these neurotransmitters are at a
healthy, normal level, we are able to function well.  But the lack
of one or more of three chemical transmitters -serotonin,
norepinephrine, and dopamine-can be a key contributor to
depression.  He continued to say my brain needed help in replacing
those levels, which were very low.  He advised my taking a drug
called Zoloft for a while.   
I was resistant to the idea of medication for three reasons. 
First, as a Christian dealing with an emotional and mental crisis,
I was skeptical about the wisdom of resorting to pills.  Surely I
could get through this crisis without them.   The cumulative words
of so many of our guests on "The 700 Club" came back to me: "If I
had enough faith, would I be in this place at all?"   
Second, I also believed that God was asking me to look at my life
and take responsibility for where I found myself.   I believed I
needed to feel whatever pain was necessary in order to finally come
to grips with my life.  I did not want a "feel good" pill to dull
the edges.   
My third concern was the fear that I would be walking around with
a vacant look in my eyes and drool on my bathrobe, weaving a basket
and being followed by my imaginary dog, with whom I would be carrying
on a constant dialogue!  If there was any chance of this happening,
I wanted no part of a drug treatment.   
My doctor alleviated my fears.  Zoloft, he said, is what they call
a serotonin uptake inhibitor, which would slow down the rate at
which my body was using up that valuable messenger.  Though it does
not solve underlying issues that need to be dealt with, it does
give a physical boost-when you see the possibility of spring, you
have more strength to walk through the weeks till its arrival.   
     «,,- WINTER I went ahead and took the prescription and within
a few days I could already tell a difference.  Rather than numb me
to the things that I needed to deal with, it helped me regain my
balance and made me better able to face the long road ahead.   Each
morning, as I lined up with my fellow patients, I took that little
blue pill with a prayer of thanksgiving.   
AMONG FRIENDS   
Many of my new friends whose diagnosis was the same as mine were
highly motivated, disciplined people-doctors, pastors,
students-who, like me, in the midst of their apparent success, felt
the walls were closing in on them.   Each of us could have echoed
the words of Abraham Lincoln when he said,   
I am now the most miserable man living.  If what I feel were
equally distributed to the whole human family, there would not be
one cheerful face on earth.   Whether I shall ever be better I
cannot tell.  I awfully forebode that I shall not.  To remain as I
am is impossible, I must die or be better; it appears to me.   
LIncoln struggled with depression for most of his adult life.  I
wonder if anyone understood what was happening to him and stood
beside him, or did he have to walk alone?  In the midst of this
gray, winter landscape one thing was clear to me: I was not alone. 
There was a nail-scarred figure walking with me through the snow. 
 
I said, `My foot is slipping,"   
your love, O LORD, supported me.   
Witen anriety was great within me,   
your consolation brought joy to my soul.   
PS~LM 94:18-19   
In the hospital, God gave me-and other patients-clear signs that we
were not suffering in solitude.  One encounter I will never forget. 
I had been there for a couple of weeks and felt pretty much at
home.  After dinner one evening, I was   
wandering through the lobby to go to my room, when I became aware
of a family approaching the front door.  Two daughters were
supporting their mother; who was crying and moaning as she got
closer to the front door.   
I recognized that look, so I decided to hang around and give this
sad older woman a hug as she came in.  Then the strangest thing
happened.  The mother looked up at me, let out a cry, and threw her
arms around me.  When the daughters saw the scene, they too began
to cry.   
I was a little bemused.  I wanted to be welcoming, but I was
exceeding my own expectations!  Eventually, one of the daughters
pulled herself together enough to tell me what was happening.  This
lovely woman had lived for forty years with a man who brutally beat
her.  Her children had tried to persuade her to leave him many
times, but as a Christian she wanted to honor the vows she had made
to God all those years ago.  She had finally left after one
terrible beating, but was so overwhelmed with guilt and fear that
she had settled into a deep depression.  Her daughters were very
concerned about her and had spent a long time trying to persuade
her to get some help.  They could see she was sinking fast, but she
was very afraid and ashamed of being admitted to a psychiatric
hospital.   
As they drove to D.C.,  they prayed that the Lord would give her a
sign as she walked through the door-a sign that she was in a safe
place.  That's where I came in.  She had watched me on television
every day and saw me as another daughter.  When I was there at the
door; she-and her daughters-saw me as the "sign." Isn't that just
like the Lord?  He cared for this dear woman so much that he placed
us there together; at just the right moment.   
WEEPING WITH THOSE WHO WEEP   
One of the questions I continue to wrestle with is "What is real
faith?" I believe it will always be God's will to restore families,
to mend broken lives so that we can continue to walk together.  I hold that truth close to my heart as I
walk in a broken, fallen world.  What I think we as the church
lack, though, is a place to talk about how things -really are now. 
In our desire to be an inspiration to one another we often veil
what is true, because what is true is not always inspirational. 
But hurting believers whose lives are in tatters often need real
help.  If we were able to put -aside our need for approval long
enough to be authentic, then, surely, we would be living as the
church.   
Sometimes we encourage one another to live inauthentic lives.  My
mother once told me a story of an experience she had when she was
dating my father.  They twice visited a new church that placed
great emphasis on praising God in the midst of trials.  This is
obviously a scriptural mandate, so who could fault them?  At one
particular meeting, a young woman who had just lost a baby stood up
and gave thanks for the trials in her life, giving glory to the
Lord, that in him there is no need to grieve; we can continue to
march on victoriously.  My mother was horrified by this woman's
apparent indifference to the loss of her child, but the rest of the
congregation clapped in approval.  After the service ended, my mom
heard someone in the bathroom weeping bitterly in one of the
cubicles.  It was the mother who, having done the right thing, was
now expressing her genuine emotions all alone in a dark place.   
It makes me so angry to think that someone in such terrible pain
had to weep alone.  Perhaps you think this story sounds extreme,
but versions of it are played out every day -in our evangelical
communities.  We all experience loss at some point in our lives,
whether it be the loss of a marriage, a career; a loved one, or a
dream, and too often we are disapproved of by others who are
insensitive to our pain.   
I remember when the movie Field of Dreams opened.   I was living in
Los Angeles at the time and went to see it in one of those huge
theaters that seats about fifteen hundred people.  The story
concerned a man who had given up on his   
childhood dreams for his life and now felt that it was too late to
reclaim them.  He wore his disillusionment like a heavy chain
around his ankle everywhere he went.  In the movie, he is given a
second chance to do what he had always dreamed of-to play with the
baseball greats.  I am an avid people watcher; and what I saw that
night surprised me.  At the end of the movie I saw men file past
me, heads down.  I could tell that some of them had been crying. 
I assume they had identified with having a lost dream and hoping it
still might someday be fulfilled.   
I thought about that movie for a long time.  I came to the
conclusion that many of us lose our way to some extent.  We
compromise a little here and there, let go of something we treasure
for something that we are told is worth more, and sometimes lose
touch with the life we imagined we would live.   Part of that is
inevitable in the process of aging, but I believe we need to
acknowledge losses and grieve their passing.  Too many of us are
embarrassed by grief.  We don't know what to say to one another; so
we distance ourselves and say nothing.   Society moves so quickly
that we act as if we only need a few Cliff notes to deal with any
number of crises.   
I remember a colleague who was diagnosed with cancer He was
married, with children who needed their daddy around.  People made
plans to bring this man in to work one day so that we could all
gather around him and pray for his healing.  After we had finished,
the man leading the prayer time said, "Go and walk in your
healing." I'm not quite sure what that meant, but there seemed to
be a general consensus that everything was all right now.   
Several months later; the man died.  It seemed to me that we got
his funeral over with pretty quickly and moved on.  We didn't talk
about it.  There seemed to be no accountability to our words at
all, just a faint embarrassment and the unspoken indictment that
there must have been something else about the man we did not know. 
Perhaps he harbored some unconfessed resentment in his heart, or a
sin of the past was still tied
round his leg like a millstone.  When I think back to that time and
the way that we all handled it, the man who died seemed to be the
only one who was not afraid.   
losses we face, when we try to anesthetize the pain and move on,
then the suppressed anger or fear or guilt will deal with us until
we are ready to deal with those issues.   
When the Israelites were carried off into captivity in Babylon,
Psalm 137 says they sat down by the river and wept.  Jeremiah
records the despondency that lay upon the people as they remembered
their homeland.  They had lost their homes; they had lost their
joy.  God was still on the throne but his people were in pain, and
they wept that pain out.  I wonder sometimes if we think it ungodly
to mourn the changing seasons of life, as if doing so were to
question God's wisdom.  I do not believe that expressing the pain
we feel diminishes God or our faith in him.  Everything in our
lives comes to us through the gracious hands of the Lord, -but that
does not mean our lives will be free of pain.  In fact we are told
that life will include hurt and hard times.   
A time to kill and a time to heal,   
a time to tear down and a time to build,   
a time to weep and a time to laugh,   
a time to mourn and a time to dance.   
EccLEsIAsTEs 3:3-4   
If we do not tear down, we can never lastingly build.  If we do not
take time to mourn, we will have no joy in dancing, and if we do
not fall down on our faces at times and weep, we will never be
swept away with laughter.  Jesus said: "Blessed are you who weep
now, for you will laugh" (Luke 6:21).  Ironically, we seem to have
a love affair with the lighter side of life, as if any intensity of
emotion would consume us. 
Perhaps too, in the "shift-the-blame" society we live in, we have
forgotten how to weep over our sins.  David, the psalm writer,
said, "When I kept silent, my bones wasted away through my groaning
all day long" (Psalm 32:3).  1 wonder if so many of us rush off to
self-help groups because we have lost the ability to be real in our
churches.   
Lately, many articles written in fundamentalist circles have warned
against seeking psychological and psychiatric help, describing them
as tools of Satan.  It is true that among the tidal wave of pop
psychology and self-help manuals there have been many that have
served to further debilitate, but someone who is ill does need
help.  I have no time for programs that encourage us to pass the
blame to others, but it is my experience that there can be
tremendous value in taking a long hard look at our lives,
understanding some of the reasons we made the choices we made,
making peace with the past and moving beyond the past, beyond the
winter to spring.   
I now think it takes more faith to name our need than to keep
believing that something will happen and not doing anything about
it.  It takes faith to get help, to take the first painful step
toward the dream that is in our hearts.  I have stood before crowds
and delivered passionate messages on what I was believing was
possible in my own personal life, but I know now that you can look
at bricks and cement for years, believing in the vision of a home,
but until you get down on your hands and knees and start to build,
it will remain a dream.   
There is today still an incredible stigma attached to any illness
of the mind.  Countless people have told me that they suffered
silently for years, afraid to tell anyone how they were feeling. 
No intelligent person would condemn some one for having a brain
tumor, so why do many people discount or distance themselves from
a different form of trouble?  What is, is.  Depression will not go
away by pretending that it does not exist.   

While I was in the hospital, I was very shaken when a couple of
people telephoned one evening and encouraged me to leave; they
believed that a Christian shouldn't be in a "place like that." I
have heard various other attempts- some that seem contradictory to
others-to rationalize depression in the church:   
"It is a punishment from God."   
"To seek help is to doubt God's ability to heal."   
"If we suffer enough, God will be pleased."   
"It is a spiritual illness that should only be treated by God's
personal intervention."   
PERMISSION TO GET HELP   
My doctor encouraged me to face the truth about my life: to stop
running, stop making excuses, to step up to the plate and take
responsibility for my own life.   
We all need to come to a point when we will take responsibility for
our choices and our healing.  If you are struggling on alone,
sinking a little more every day, I would encourage you to get help. 
Depression is a treatable illness, and there is no shame in
reaching out for help.   
But depression is also only one of the ways we are alerted to
trouble inside of us.  Some people drink to forget; this, and other
addictions, treat the surface problem but they don't make the
underlying problem go away.  Other people are alerted by a general
disquiet in their souls, a haunting rumble that says all is not
well.  If the trouble is in a marriage, too often people want to
get help only when both partners are "ready." While this is
obviously the ideal scenario, it may not happen that way.  You can
choose health for only one person: yourself.  Yet so often people
walt and walt as their lives crumble a little more every day.  It
takes courage to ask for help, but only by asking will we find the
help we need.   
I know that those daughters I met in the hospital would have given
anything to encourage their mother to seek help  HONESTLY   
sooner, but once she finally did it they stood by her every day and
spoke what was true to her, no matter how heartbreaking the truth
was.   
One day we will all stand alone and answer to God for the choices
we have made in our lives.  It will not be enough to say we did not
get help because no one would come with us.  Life is not easy, but
we make it much more difficult when we refuse to be honest about
what we feel.  For the short- term, not being honest may seem
easier, but in the long haul, we pay a heavy price.   
When I decided to get some help with my life, I had no idea where
that path would take me.  All I knew and held onto daily was that
Jesus loved me.  As we began to uncover some painful issues, I felt
as if my heart was being ripped out of my body, but I still knew
that Jesus loved me.  We have this fact to hold onto in the darkest
nights of our lives.  It will never change.  It will always be
true.  Yes, Jesus loves me!   
Most often, what holds us back from being honest is fear.  I have
discovered that glass cages may look nice, but they are no place to
live.   
One day I decide to see if there is more   
beyond these mocking, mirrored walls;   
there is only one way out: It is through the glass.   
I cut my hands, my feet, my heart.   I think I'll bleed to death,
but the ground I am on is solid, though covered with my blood.   I
look over my shoulder to see my glassy cage, but it's not there.  

It was only an illusion,   
an illusion strong enough to make me bleed.   
If you are struggling to try and help someone who is dealing with
depression, don't worry about saying the right   
thing, just be there.  The ministry of presence is a beautiful gift
to take to a sickbed.  There is also something so healing about
touch.  Scripture illustrates the power of the laying on of hands. 
 
I know it can be difficult to deal with something that seems to
take so long to lift.  Winter is a cold, harsh season that offers
little comfort or shelter.  It is a bleak and weary landscape, but
underneath that heavy blanket, there is life new life; it just takes
time.  As I understand God's Word, it is not the pace of the race
that matters, but that we all finish together.  It's like a story
a friend once told me.   
He was watching the Special Olympics on television.   During the
course of one of the races, a Down's syndrome boy fell facedown
onto the track.  There was a gasp from the crowd as they watched
the boy's dreams being dashed on the merciless tarmac.  Suddenly
all the other runners stopped, went back, and picked him up, and
they crossed the finish line together We have much to learn from
the so-called disabled.   
There are many people in the church who live under the weight of
depression as if it were a broken arm that may well heal if left
alone.  But "leaving it alone" is not the solution.  I discovered
that depression was not the core of my problem.  Although it is a
very real illness that needs to be treated, clinical depression,
unlike manic depression, is usually brought on by external and
internal stressors.  It is the rumblings inside the volcano that
cause the eruption.  For me, depression was the flag that was
trying to get my attention.  I would be shocked by what it showed
me.   
Lord, it is dark.   
-Ican't see the path ahead of me.   You are the light of the world,
and so I ask that you would show me the way.   I have trusted you
in the daylight.   I trust you now in the night.   
Amen.   
Today I am afraid.   
My enemies are many;   
they march up to my door   
and blow with all their might.   
They take my name and tar and feather it   
for all the world to see.   
I stand and watch.   
They whisper in my ear,   
"it's all over.   
The curtain is coming down.   
The crowd is going home.   
The lights are going out."  To live with fear and not be afraid   
is the final test of maturity   
EDWARD WEEKS   
BETTER THAN GOLD   
Imagine with me for a moment overhearing a dialogue occurring in
the throne room of heaven.  The subject of the debate is how to
answer Sheila Walsh's prayer.   
"She says she is tired of being afraid.  Perhaps we could give her
the gift of courage?"   
"It might be a finer gift to remove all the things that she is
afraid of."   
"We could always bring her home if it becomes too much for her."  

A strong, quiet voice speaks up, "No.  We will invite her greatest
fears to visit her.  They will take up residence for a while.  It
is only in living with them that she will ever overcome them."   
That is how it seemed to me.  It was as if everything I have ever
been afraid of decided to take center stage in my life.   
Fear felt like a physical illness to me.  It was as though it had
a stranglehold on my heart and mind.  It made me literally,
physically sick.  It is one thing to be afraid of the school bully
or to have nightmares as a child or to hate the dark, but it is   
another thing when we carry those fears into our adult lives and
allow them to dictate how we should live.   
THE TESTS .......   
Let me take you back to my first morning in the hospital.   After
they had taken my blood, I went through hours of psychological
testing.  I was extremely tired and found it hard to think, but
perhaps that was the best scenario because I couldn't work out what
would be the right answer; I could only say what came to my mind. 
The doctor held up pictures and asked me to tell the story behind
the scene.  I answered question after question till my head ached. 
Finally, at eight o'clock at night, the testing was finished.   
A few days later that same doctor called me into his office to
discuss the results.  "The tests indicate that you are very angry
and sad inside, Sheila, but you never give yourself permission to
feel the anger or to speak up for yourself.  You need people to
approve of you.  You allow fear to make many of your choices.  It
is as if there is a huge empty place inside of you, but you don't
let anyone in.  How does that sound to you?"   
I started to smile.  I'd been there less than a week, but it had
already become ajoke among the other patients that I did everything
right.  I was even the first in line every morning to get my
medication!   
Actually, his words made me sad because they rang so true.  Fear,
anger, need for approval, loneliness-all were deeply rooted in me,
and I would soon come to see that they were all closely connected
and major factors in my depression.   
The doctor asked me what I was so afraid of.   
I gave him one answer: I was afraid of losing what defined me; I
was afraid that if you took away all the fancy wrapping of my life
and looked inside the box, it would be empty.   
But that answer led to others.  I was very afraid of certain types
of people, not because I wanted to win their approval, but because
I believed they could wipe me away   
WHY ARE YOU AFRAID?   
if they decided to.  If I had to deal with a man with a driven
personality who was easily angered, for instance, I would dance
around him mentally, taking his temperature to make sure he would
not blow.  I couldn't see that someone could be very angry with me
and say what was on his mind without destroying me in the process. 
At the deepest level, I feared for my survival.  My life was like
a tightrope, where balance is everything, and if you lose
concentration for even a moment, all will be lost.   
I was also afraid of anger itself.  I remember when I was about
twenty years old, spending a day in Glasgow with my brother.  We
were walking down one of the busiest streets in the city, when a
man came up to Stephen and gave him a pen.  It was a very basic
con, the principle being that once you actually have the pen in
your hand, you "owe" the man some money.   
My brother had had this happen to him a few times before, and he
simply decided, enough is enough.  He was going to keep the pen and
move on.  The man followed us, getting very agitated, but my
brother ignored him.  As soon as this man raised his voice,
something happened inside of me.  I was terrified.  I began to cry
and beg my brother to give the pen back to him.  Seeing my
distress, he did so.   
I couldn't explain to him why I had reacted in such an intense way. 
I only knew that when I was around anger or angry people, I feared
for my survival.   
FIRST FEARS   
I had always had some understanding of why I was afraid of anger. 
But with the doctor and later with my mother I was able to walk
beyond a painful, devastating period of my childhood-the year of my
father's illness.  One of the things that was most healing to me
was my mom's presence in the hospital.  In my first two weeks of
inpatient treatment, I worked with the doctor alone.  But later, in
the second phase of my treatment, called Partial hospitalization
Program (PHP), my mother came to be with me.   
Without my even asking, she flew over from Scotland and stayed for
a month.  I will be eternally grateful that I have a mother who has
always made it easier for me to believe that God's love will never
fail me, because her love never has.  I know it was pairi for her
to sit in sessions with me and relive what were the hardest days of
her life, but she did it unquestioningly because she knew it helped
me.   
When I look at pictures of me as a little girl before my father's
illness, my eyes are full of mischief.  As a preschool child, I was
a tomboy, fearless and full of life.  My mother declares that she
didn't get to sit down till I was five years old.  As a child I
adored my father.  He understood my tomboy ways and gave me space
to fly.  At this stage of my life, anything seemed possible.  After
my father's death, I was not so sure.   
After my father suffered his brain thrombosis, his
personality changed overnight.  He went from being a warm, fun,
kind dad to an angry, unpredictable stranger.  It was as if his
emotions were reversed-those he loved the most when he was himself,
he seemed to hate the most when brain storms shook him.  As a
child, I actually feared for my life.   
My father's death was devastating to me.  I was too young to
understand what had happened to him.  All I knew was that at the
end he seemed to be very angry with me, and then he was gone.   
As adults we understand how the brain can be ravaged, changing a
personality, but a child has no capacity for that kind of thinking. 
With the information I had as a four-year-old, I came to wrong
conclusions about my life: I must have done something to make my
father so angry.  I was determined that no one would ever again be
angry with me.  I became a very good girl who never rocked the
boat.   
When I gave my life to Christ as an eleven-year-old, I was
overwhelmed by the love and acceptance I felt from   
him.  It became my life's work to never lose that love.  But I
always wondered, if those closest to you can change their minds,
would it be possible to do something to lose the love of Jesus too? 
I had no idea what I had done to change my dad, so how would I know
what would make God look away?  As I grew and matured as a
believer, I came to know that it was his grace alone that sustained
me, but I never dealt with the roots of my passionate commitment to
perfection, and they cast long shadows.  I was afraid to be less
than "the best."   
As I grew up, I made a lot of good choices for bad reasons.  I am
glad that I did not rebel and walk away from God; I am happy that
I threw myself into serving him.  But I am sorry it took me so long
to truly understand that "perfect love drives out fear" (1 John
4:18).   
For me, the stakes got much higher as I became more recognizable. 
I enjoyed being president of the Junior Christian Endeavor at
church, and it was fun to sing the lead role in the school musical,
but as the years went on I invested more and more of myself into
how I was received and perceived by the public.  That became the
plumb line to me; it measured the value of my life.  I never wanted
to rock the boat, so I never did.   
As my life moved on and new opportunities were given me, my
successes convinced me that I was okay.  As I began to travel and
speak and sing, it was amazing to me to watch people respond to the
Lord working through me.  When I would feel lost and alone, as if
I did not belong anywhere, I was comforted by those who seemed to
be helped.  It gave me asense of purpose, of definition, to know
God was with me.   
When it became apparent to me that my public minstry was coming to
an end, and I could no longer keep going, my life felt empty and
hopeless.  When it became obvious I was letting people down and
that some people seemed happy to see me falter, I felt terror.   

TURNINC POINT   
"So, what is the worst thing that could happen to you, Sheila?" the
doctor asked.   
"I am afraid I will be swept away.  I know there are a couple of
people who would gladly destroy my life."   
"Sheila, who is your trust in?" he asked me, "Do you feel as if the
Lord has left you?" That question was a turning point in my
journey, because my answer was a resounding no!  I had written a
poem in my journal the previous evening:   
I never knew you lived so close to the floor but every time I am
bowed down,   
crushed by this weight of grief Ifeel your hand on my head,   
your breath on my cheek, your tears on my neck.   
You never tell me to pull myself together to stem the flow of many
years.   
You simply stay by my side for as long as it takes,   
so close to the floor.   
Until this crisis I had never known what an awesome companion the
Lord longs to be.  I had spent so many years trying to make him
proud of me, determined to never fail, that I missed the most
amazing gift of all: to be able, as the British poet Stuart
Henderson so eloquently wrote, "to bury my face in the mane of the
Lion of Judah."   
I watched The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe by C.  S.   Lewis
again recently.  There is so much to hear in children's stories. 
The part that is most memorable to me happens when the children are
preparing to meet Aslan the lion for the very first time.  They are
afraid to come face-to face with such a powerf'ul animal, and their
guides acknowledge the appropriateness of that reaction.  Susan
says,   
"Is he-quite safe?  I shall feel rather nervous about meeting a
lion."   
WHY ARE YOU AFRAID?   
"That you will, dearie, and no mistake," said Mrs.   Beaver.  ... 
 
"Then he isn't safe?" said Lucy.   
"Safe?" said Mrs.  Beaver.  " `Course he isn't safe.  But he's
good.  He's the King."   
Running to hide our faces in God is not like seeking the comfort
and familiarity of a childhood blanket that allows us to tune out
the realities of our lives.  God is a mighty lion, whose roar is
heard in every corner of the world.  Still, when you are in
trouble, you can hide your face from him or run to him and let him
hide you in his mane.  There you will find strength to live your
life.   
AGE-OLD FEARS   
In the Bible fear is first mentioned in Genesis 3:10, when Adam
said to the Lord, "I heard you in the garden, and I was afraid."
Fear entered our world at the Fall.  Adam was afraid because he
knew he had disobeyed God.  The peace and tranquillity of the
Garden of Eden was lost forever.   Once humankind had listened to
the serpent, good and evil became players on our stage.  From that
point in human history, fear either threw us on our faces before
God or caused us to hide our faces from him.   
David was very familiar with fear.  In Psalm 56:3 he wrote, "When
I am afraid, I will trust in you," and he cried out in Psalm 69:1,
"Save me, o God, for the waters have come up to my neck." He also
wrote these magnificent, lifesustaining words:   
The LORD is my light and my salvation- whom shall Ifear?   
The LORD is the stronghold of my life of whom shall I be afraid?  

Ps~M 27:1   
To David, fear was a reaction to forces that were coming against
him; it was not a response, not a way of life.  As   
an older man, he was able to deal with fear and the threats of his
enemies because of how he lived as a young man.   David had been a
shepherd boy, whose job was to make sure no harm came to the sheep. 
From time to time lions or bears would try to carry a lamb away,
but David was right there, slingshot in hand, ready to fight for
the lamb's life.  In the quiet, early years of his life, hidden
away in a field, he made the choices to become the man he would
later be.  If David had run away as a boy, he would have run away
as an adult; instead, he grabbed hold of his fear and reined it in. 
 
FACING MY FEARS   
Now it was my turn to rein in my fear.  Courage is developed by
embracing our greatest fears and not being deterred by them.  I
used to wait for courage, as if it were a gift that would be
dropped by heaven into my heart, instantly transforming me into the
kind of woman I imagined I could be.   
But I had to start with the kind of woman that I was and, by
pressing on, find courage.  My favorite character in The Wizard of
Oz is the Cowardly Lion.  Underneath the false bravado, the
Cowardly Lion is a very scared creature who believes that if he can
just make it to the Emerald City, he will be home free.  His
expressed intention for the journey is to ask the wizard for the
gift of courage.  As he sets off on the journey with Dorothy, the
~n Man, the Scarecrow and Toto, he encounters all sorts of hazards. 
But because the travelers are committed to one another, they risk
going beyond their comfort level.  The Cowardly Lion does not allow
his fear to disable him.  By the time they discover that the wizard
is just a man, he is no longer afraid.   
In his book Better Than Gold, Edward Weeks quotes Eleanor Roosevelt
who said,   
You gain strength, courage and confidence by every experience in
which you really stop to look fear in the face.  You are able to
say to yourself, "I lived   
WHY ARE YOU AFRAID?   
through this horror; I can take the next thing that   
comes along You must do the thing you think you   
cannot do.   
That is how things began to change for me.  I knew that in seeking
my security and strength in the approval of others, I would rise or
fall at their dictate.  Fear of anger was making it easy for me to
be controlled by angry people, but I must be controlled only by
Christ.   
I decided to start listening to what God had to say about my life. 
It was not easy, but I knew that it would give me courage to be
real with other people, to be vulnerable.   The Lord's love is a
strong love that does not flatter or overlook our sinful nature:
"For he knows how we are formed, he remembers that we are dust"
(Psalm 103:14).   
In the hospital, I began to pray the psalms out loud.   David was
passionately honest in his relationship with God.   He did not
close down as I had learned to do.  I discovered what liberty lies
in voicing my fears.  I wrote:   
WI~y do I shutter my heart?   Why do I keep it closed on days when
it seems about to break?   Why cant I let it go?   
Why can't I ask for help and admit that I'm barely alive?   I think
to voice it I'd have to believe it to hear all the sadness.   I
just could not bear it.   That's why I shutter my heart   
While I used to be afraid to name my fear, as if voicing fears
would make them more real and give them more power, I now
discovered the opposite was true.  I could scream aloud to the Lord
and still be standing.  I wasn't evaporated by my own words.   
Fear of man will prove to be a snare,   
but whoever trusts in the LORD is kept safe.   
PRoVERBS 29:25   
Fear still creeps up on me at times.  I was at a movie a fewweeks
ago with my best friend.  It was a thriller.  The little the ater
was bursting with tension, popcorn uneaten.  The murderer advanced
upon his victim.  Suddenly my friend leaned over and whispered
menacingly in my ear.  It was supposed to be funny-one of those
moments when you jump and everyone laughs and the tension is
relieved-but for that moment, I was overwhelmed with terror.  I
wanted to get up and run and hide.  I was reduced in an instant to
a terrified little girl.  When incidents like this occur, I find
that talking about my feelings to the Lord and to those who love me
takes away fear's power to rule over me.  I cry sometimes if that
helps, but I remind myself whose I am.  Fear still affects me-as it
did King David-but it does not control me.   
I sought the LORD, and he answered me;   
he delivered me from all my fears.   
PSM 34:4   
FEAR OF INTIMACY   
As I grew older, my childhood fear had grown into a general
uneasiness and a mistrust of people.  Fear and intimacy do not make
good traveling companions, so I lived a very busy, crowded,
solitary life.   
I had felt so alone for so long.  Now I began to understand that
the greatest barrier to intimacy is fear-fear of being known, fear
of being rejected, fear of facing the truth about ourselves.  John
Donne, the sixteenth-century poet, wrote these familiar but
profound words:   
No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the
continent, a part of the main....  Any man's death diminishes me
because I am involved in   
mankind, and therefore never send to know for whom   
the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.   
What Donne showed in that masterly quote is a deep spiritual truth:
We are involved in one another's lives.  Yet he hints at a human
problem: At times a fear of connection drives us away from one
another.  We are afraid to be known because we might be rejected. 
We are afraid to be known because at some deep level we fear that
the truth about us, when out in the open and reflected back to us
through someone else's eyes, will be shocking to ourselves.  So we
struggle with this human dichotomy; we long to be known because we
are lonely, and we fear being known because we may then be
loneliest of all.   
FEAR OF DISAPPROVAL OR FAILURE   
Part of coming to terms with fear has been accepting that there is
good and bad in me and good and bad in others.   Jesus' statement
"Pray for your enemies" presupposes that enemies exist.  We do have
enemies, people who would rather see us fail than succeed.  We know
too, from the story of Job, that at times God will allow our lives
to be disrupted.   The lesson for me is that God is passionately
committed to the kind of woman that I become, not to what I do.   
This simple truth has revolutionized my life.  It is the opposite
of what we hear on television or read about in the newspaper, and
is contrary to what we in the church seem to believe as well.  We
place so much emphasis on success and achievement, on
accomplishment and numbers.  But God is singularly unimpressed with
all the paraphernalia we have attached to our faith.   
I am learning that what God cares about is who I am when the lights
are off and the crowds have gone home.  It also means that whatever
comes into my life, whether it is what I would choose or not, can
be used by the Lord to mold my life if I will rest in him.   
I used to live in fear, wondering what might happen to me, what
someone might say about me.  But now as Thomas a' Kempis said in
The Imitation of Christ, I am learning to "receive all things from
the hand of God.  From his justice and from his bounty with humble
submission to his blessed will."   
One of the greatest gifts God would give us is peace of mind. 
Perhaps, like me, you feel you need to find a desert island if you
want to remain at peace.  The demands of our lives constantly
pester us, like flies on a hot summer day.   But even though life
is difficult and demanding, it remains true that the perfect love
of Jesus has the power to drive out our most devastating fears.   
While at the hospital, I still had many questions about my future. 
I did not know where I would go when I left there-if I would return
to CBN or leave Virginia Beach.  As I looked to the future, I felt
like a tiny boat on rough seas, but at least I was beginning to
understand I was not alone in the boat.   
FEAR AND ANGER   
As I looked at how my fear had manifested itself over the years, I
realized that, even though I was afraid of anger in others, I
responded to that fear with, yes, anger.  Silent anger.  I used it
as protection, a shield to hide behind.   
One writer has compared repressed anger to having a basement full
of pent-up, angry dogs.  I like that illustration, for that is just
how it felt to me.  What made it worse was that I must have somehow
snuck in the dogs when no one was looking.  After all, I am a
Christian woman, and women are not supposed to be angry.   
If a man is angry he is often viewed as a man of passion, of
principle, but an angry woman is quite another matter.  It is too
easy to dismiss her as neurotic or strident, and if she happens to
be single, well, she may as well be quiet and break out the
khitting!   
Anger born out of pain needs to find a place of release, but how do
women do that?  Many of us struggle with anger that has little to
do with righteousness.  I don't think that I have ever heard a
sermon on how to handle anger, even though I believe we have
churches full of angry people.   
As I sat in a group meeting at the hospital one morning, talking
about some of the most painful experiences of my life, someone
said, "You sound very detached, Sheila.  Some of this stuff is
pretty recent.  Why aren't you angry?"   
I was shocked and disturbed by what this other patient was saying. 
 
He continued, "You sound like you are telling someone else's story. 
Don't you care about your life?"   
I did not say much more that morning, but for the rest of the day,
it was as if I were running old black-and-white movies of my life
through my head.   
My first taste of anger-from my father to me as a child-had
affected my whole life.  I would do anything I could to diffuse an
angry situation.  Angry words or tone of voice-spoken even by
myself-seemed to me to signal something drastic about to happen. 
I never gave myself permission to be angry; when things happened in
my life that I should have been angry about, I just stuffed the
feelings down.  I packed the cellar as tightly as I could, ground
my teeth and clenched my fists and said nothing.  Occasionally,
when I wasn't being vigilant, little bits would escape, leaking out
in sudden outbursts or sarcasm, but I seldom threw those dogs any
meat at all.  The hungrier they got, the more they fought to
escape, the more I guarded them.  I talked louder or worked harder
until they tired of their barking and quieted down for a while.   
FACING MY ANGER   
It is very difficult to begin to deal with these issues when you
are thirty-five and not fifteen.  In the hospital I wrote down
everything I could think of that I was angry   
about.  But I didn't know what to do with it.  So I began to pray. 
I felt as if the Lord was the only one who could deal with the
waves of emotion that were sweeping over me and not be diminished
by them.   
Once again, the Psalms modeled raw emotion for me.   One from the
days of Israel's captivity in Babylon contains some of the
strongest language in the Bible:   
Oh Daughter ofBabylon, doomed to   
destruction,   
happy is he who repays you   
for what you have done to us-   
he who seizes your infants   
and dashes them against the rocks.   
Pslm 137:8-9   
Strong words from God's people.  Several editions of prayer books
or worship books have edited these words out.  Eugene Peterson, in
his book Answering God, says that these "Psalmectomies" are wrong,
reasoning: "They are wrong-headed because our hate needs to be
prayed, not suppressed."   
What a liberating concept: that our hate-our anger- needs to be
prayed.  Burying it will not make it go away.  Suppressing it
contaminates our souls.  If we fail to take it to God, it will leak
out and destroy the world.   
As I began to look at my own life, to listen to the things that
made me angry, I realized that my anger always sprang out of fear. 
When I felt I was being threatened in some way, I became angry in
order to defend myself-the dogs of rage would rise up to my
defense.  It was as if my trust was in the sheepdog, not the
Shepherd.  The sheepdog looked ready to devour anything that
invaded his land, so I stuck close to him.  Anger offered me a way
of gaining control when I felt out of control.   
I am learning now to trust the Shepherd to be my defender.  For me
it is a daily, sometimes hourly, relinquishing of control of my life and my destiny to God.  When I feel
myself getting angry now, I take a step back.  I go into another
room by myself, sit at the Shepherd's feet, and I tell him what I
am feeling.  When I forget to do that, or choose not to do that, I
ask for forgiveness.  I do not take this lightly.   It is no fun to
be the recipient of my anger.  Scripture, in fact, tells us to
avoid such people (Proverbs 22:24).   
For any number of reasons, many of us live on the edge of a
volcano.  So I say with Eugene Peterson, let's pray our anger out;
let's cry our hurt and pain and fear until we have no tears left. 
Anger needs to be expressed, and it is much better for us to cry it
out to God than to machine-gun our friends with it.   
One of the most wonderful aspects of our relationship with Christ
is that we don't have to talk-he understands.   When you are in
pain it is so exhausting to have to try and explain to others what
you are feeling.  What a relief it is to be able to lay down in a
field with the Shepherd and not have   
to say a word.   
There is a mystery at play here: the broken bread principle. 
Remember the story?  A little boy brings his lunch to Jesus, who
blesses it, breaks it, and passes it out to his friends to
distribute to the crowd.  A miracle occurs.  One boy's lunch
multiplies and feeds four thousand people.   There is enough for
everyone.   
We can allow fear and anger to cripple our souls, or we can bring
our devastating circumstances to Christ and ask him to bless us in
our brokenness and to feed his body, the church.  Shortly after
hymn writer George Matheson became engaged to be married, he lost
his eyesight.  His fiance'e left him.  Facing loss and an unknown
future, he could have become a bitter, angry man.  I would imagine
that he tasted both bitterness and anger, but he did not feast on
them or let them feast on him.  He took his burden to Christ, and
you and I are fed by his words: 
o Love that will not let me go I rest my weary soul in thee I give
thee back the life I owe that in thine ocean depths its flow may
richer, fuller be.   
o Joy that seekest me through pain I cannot close my heart to thee
I trace the rainbow through the rain and feel the promise is not
vain that morn shall tearless be.   We are people who need each
other.  We need each other to be honest, to struggle with the pain
of life, to look for traces of redemption in the darkest moments. 
And if the whole purpose of our lives on this earth is to glorify
God and enjoy him forever, then I believe he is the one to whom we
can bring the emotions that tear at our hearts.  As we bare our
souls before him, he will trade our unbearable burdens for a load
that we can cary   
Father God, hear our prayers.   We bring our fear to you.   We
bring our rage to you.   
We bring the broken pieces of our lives.   Teach us to live
lightly, casting our cares on you.   
Thank you that we can bury our faces in you.   
Amen.   
Fear and shame have clothed me   
like a suit of cheap perfume- impossible to point to, but felt in
every room. Paralyzed by Shame   
I lugged around inside me a dead weight   
of not- good- enoughness.   
LEWIS SMEDES~   
SHAME AND GRAcE   
It was always spring in the garden.  Every morning the sweet
perfume of a hundred different flowers melted together to create
the fragrance of the day.  The sun was warm and gentle.  Each new
day was filled with endless possibilities; good things rested under
every leaf.  Animals leaned on one another as they napped at peace
in the shade of a tree.  This was a paradise.   
A golden cord ran through the hearts of Adam and Eve that also
touched the trees, the flowers, the animals.  Nothing was untouched
by the cord that led back to the Lord of the garden.  Adam and Eve
were asleep when the serpent approached them.  He began to sing a
different song, a strange song, discordant with the melody of the
garden.  It woke them up.  "There is more," he whispered to them,
"so much more."   
Eve looked at the strange creature.  It was hard to see him clearly
because the sun was in her eyes.   
"There is more.  There is much more.  He is keeping things from
you.  You are not all you could be."  HONESTLY   what could he possibly mean, more?   
"You know so little, child," the serpent said pityingly.   "It's
there for the taking."   
Eve looked at the serpent; she looked at the tree.  God had told
them to stay away Now she wondered why.  If this truly was their
garden, surely they could do what they wanted.  Eve stretched her
hand toward the fruit.  Not an animal moved.  She took it and bit
into it-a sweet, strong taste.   
She gave some to Adam.  "Taste this.  This is better than all the
rest."   
Adam raised the fruit to his lips and let the juice run down his
face.  Just then the sun vanished behind a cloud and the animals
ran for cover.  Some of the smaller creatures were crushed in the
scuffle, but no one even noticed.  Eve felt a chill in the air. 
She and Adam looked at each other, and they knew that something was
wrong, very wrong.  So little had happened, but everything was
different.  The moment they decided to taste the part of life they
were missing, everything changed.  Their eyes were "opened," and
what they saw horrified them.   
They turned away from one another and quickly assembled garments
made of fig leaves to cover themselves.  But it wasn't enough; they
still felt naked.  All day they hid under the cover of a tree, but
in the evening, they heard God's voice.  He was asking for them,
asking why they were hiding.   
Adam and Eve tried to hide under layers of clothing.   We have been
adding to those layers ever since, not in clothing but in layer
upon layer of internal veiling.  Even Adam and Eve felt the new,
unfamiliar feeling that sat, heavy as a stone, inside both of them. 
They did not know its name, but we do: It is called shame.   
Until that cataclysmic moment, they had trusted one another.  Then,
suddenly, sin caused them to hide from God and from each other.  I
believe that the seeds of all of our relational ills can be seen in
this Genesis story.  Sin brought us into a world of fear, a fear
closely linked to shame.  PARALYZED BY SHAME   I have read several books on shame, which
seems to be defined in a variety of ways.  Most people distinguish
between guilt and shame, defining guilt as the feeling that
accompanies having done something wrong, and shame as the feeling
that you are something wrong.   
SHAME'S DEEP ROOTS   
Where would I start to explain to you a feeling that is as familiar
to me as my face in the mirror?  For as long as I can remember, I
have felt the breath of the racehorse Shame on my neck.  We are old
traveling companions.  I can be as impatient as anyone else with
the "I tripped over my dog when I was two, and I will never be able
to trust again" rhetoric of pop psychology I do know~ however, that
the significant events of early life have the power to shape our
futures.   
Look through my window for a moment, and you will see a very happy
family: a loving mother and father, three children, and a little
brown dachshund.  Suddenly, overuight, everything is changed.  A
blood clot wipes out a part of the father's brain and the picture
of "normal" is gone.   
For a while after the immediate crisis, my father was able to be at
home with us.  Dark storms blew through his mind-and our house. 
What I saw in his eyes in those darker moments, I will carry with
me for years.  I truly believed that at a core level I was a bad
person.  How else could I explain why someone who loved me suddenly
turned on me in rage?   
It became apparent that having my father at home was not a safe
choice for anyone.  He was soon gone, and within a year he had died
while in a hospital.  The puppy was gone too, because it needed too
much care during this time of crisis.   
Life moved from safe to scary overnight.  I-the younger
daughter-fell from being invincible to having to protect myself at
all costs.  Don't let anyone see inside, I would tell myself. 
Perhaps someone will see whatever it was that your daddy saw.  Perhaps that person will
leave- and you know how much that hurts.   
Although I know now that there was nothing for my dad to see, I did
not know that then.   
in the hospital, with my mom at my side, I~relived these childhood
events.  So often we perceive pain as a negative force to be
avoided at all costs.  But just as the pain of childbirth brings
new life into the world, so the pain of walking through the darkest
valleys brings the traveler to the land that lies beyond.  As Mom
and I talked through the times I had tried to erase from my mind,
I was able to bring adult perspective to childhood pain.  Just to
hear from someone that I love and trust that what had happened with
my dad was not my fault, that he loved me very much and would have
been proud of me, was like bathing tired feet in warm oil.   
NOT UP TO STANDARD   
As I allowed this fresh perspective to take center stage for a
while, I saw how for so long I had been chasing the image of a
perfect china cup.  Let me explain.  When I was a student in
London, I bought a china cup from the Reject China Shop.  It was
only a few doors away from Harrod's magnificent department store,
and it stocked the items that did not quite meet Harrod's standard. 
Sometimes if you looked hard enough, you could find a piece that
seemed perfect.  I was sure I had found such a piece; it must have
slipped through quality control.  I held it up to the light and
couldn't see a single flaw.   
With some pride in my find, I took it home and put on the kettle to
make some tea and christen my cup.  But as soon as I poured the
boiling liquid into the cup, the china cracked from top to bottom. 
The flaw that was imperceptible to the human eye was exposed by the
heat of the water.   
That was how I felt about my life.  On the outside, everything
looked great.  But if it ever got too hot, I was sure  long as I could remember.   
My first taste of "fame" was at a Christian holiday camp in
England.  I was twenty-four years old and employed by British Youth
For Christ as a musical evangelist.  My normal role was to support
other musicians and help lead worship, but for this camp I was
asked to prepare a solo concert with the band.  Graham Kendrick and
a few other friends wrote songs for me.  I thought it was going to
be fun until the night approached.  I suddenly realized that if the
concert was a disaster, I stood alone.   
I was petrified.  The day came, and the auditorium was packed.  I
had recorded two of my songs on a "single," and the record company
was there that night for the debut.   Before I went on, I sat
backstage with my head between my knees.  I felt as if I would
either vomit or pass out, but there was no time for either I heard
them announce my name.   
The concert went incredibly well.  I left the stage relieved and
thinking that now I would go out with my friends for a burger just
as we always had before, But no.  I was whisked off to the record
table to sign records.  They sold out that evening, and everyone
was exuberant.  I had wanted my life to be used by God, and this
seemed to be the breakthrough we had been looking for.   
I had never experienced that kind of manic attention before. 
Everything changed for me that night.  Christian magazines wanted
to do interviews.  Radio stations wanted my opinion on everything. 
I was no longer just a person; I was "special." At least, that is
how it seemed to me.  I soon received invItations to sing all over
the country.   
Even though that first concert went very well, it did not help my
anxiety the next time or the time after that.  I was very nervous,
so I began to concentrate on the exterior of my life.  If I had to
meet with a record company representative or an interviewer, I
bought a new outfit.  I did not make a lot of money with YFC, so I
opened store credit cards.  I couldn't bear to face new people unless I had carefully wrapped up
the outside of my life.   
As time moved on, the stakes got much higher.  And some internal
sense of radar also got much more sensitive.   The more unsure I
felt about myself, the more I picked up on people's reactions to
me.  I took things personally that I should have been able to
slough off.   
A few years later, I was invited to meet with a producer from the
BBC television network in London.  They were looking for a host for
a new show, representing the best of contemporary Christian and
traditional black gospel music.   I was chosen as the new host.   
Before the first show, makeup artists and wardrobe people fussed
over me endlessly.  We taped the show, and it aired a few nights
later.  I remember sitting with a bunch of friends watching it.  It
looked all right to me, until one of my friends' six-year-old son
said, "Wow, you look a lot fatter on television!"   
Everyone laughed, and I did too, but I was dying inside.   
A few weeks later, I was on the studio floor with the band,
rehearsing, and suddenly over the whole audio system I heard the
director yell, "Makeup!  Do something with her ears." The makeup
girl ran out and fussed a bit with my hair and then yelled into my
microphone, "I'm a makeup artist, not a miracle worker!"   
For the rest of the day, every time I turned around, someone was
looking at my ears.  I could have sold tickets.   afterwards, I
asked the girl what was wrong with my ears.   
"They stick out, dear."   
Someone else added, "We better make sure that there are no strong
winds in the studio!"   
Everyone went off laughing, and I went to my dressing room and
wept.   
The next day I looked in the yellow pages for plastic surgeons.  I
found one clinic close to where I was living.  I called and asked
how much it would be to have my ears pinned back.  She gave me two prices, one for
a general anesthetic and one for a local.  Because I already felt
guilty about spending money on something like that, I went for the
local.  I was petrified.  I hate the sight of blood, particularly
mine, but my mind was set.  As they wheeled me into the operating
room, I prayed that God would not let them mess up and cut my ears
off!   
The surgery was horrible.  They gave me four irjections in each ear
and then began to cut.  I passed out on the spot, so the general
anesthetic would have been a waste of money!  I left the hospital
with a numb face and my head wrapped in bandages, but convinced
that I would now feel better about myself.   
I did not.  My ears were no longer the focal point of the show, but
when deep distress is internal, you cannot heal that with surgery. 
 
I remember one more encounter: I was standing at a cosmetic counter
in Harrod's, waiting to pay for a tube of lipstick, when a girl
asked for my autograph.  People turned to look and see who I was. 
I smiled, signed my name, and gave the girl the piece of paper. 
She looked at it and said "What does that bit at the bottom say?" 
 
"Sheila Walsh," I answered.   
"Oh, man, I thought you were Sheena Easton," she said in disgust as
she threw the paper away.  My self-esteem went down yet another
peg.   
Deep down I believed that my imperfections had made my father turn
from me.  If I could just seem flawless to myself~ to God, and to
others-like a perfect Harrod's china cup-I would be loved.  The
truth I was beginning to realize in the hospital is that Christ is
the only perfect cup.   
THE SHAME PROFILE   
While in the hospital, I had the opportunity to attend a talk on
the subject of shame.  As the psychologist outlined the "shame profile," many of us shifted uncomfortably in
our chairs.  This is what it looks like:   
1.  Shame includes an enduring negative self-image.  No matter how
many wonderful things are happening in your life, none of it means
anything to you because of how you feel about yourself, inside.   
2.  Shame is highly `performance conscious.  "You always feel you
are on.  You are so anxious to please and to be needed that you
measure your worth by what you can produce, as if that will give
you value in the eyes of yourself and others.   
3.  Shame makes you unaware of personal boundames.   You're not
sure who you are as separate from someone else; you're not sure
where you "end" and others "begin." You find it virtually
impossible to stand up for yourself and say no.  It's easier to
allow others to make decisions and choose for you.  You reveal
inappropriate personal details of your life to people whom you have
only recently met, in an attempt to feel connected to someone.   
4.  Shame festers in people who are "wounded.  " Underneath the
surface of your life, there is a wound that has never healed.  You
nurse it and maintain it.  It gives you identity.   
5.  Shame is accompanied by a pervading tiredness.   There is no
place for joy in shame.  This means you are always tired and
weighed down by life.  Burdens overwhelm you.   
6.  Shame has a built-in radar system, tuned to keeping everyone
happy and at peace.  A sense of shame makes you overly responsible. 
You make it your job to ensure everything is running smoothly and
everyone else is happy.   
7.  Shame makes you ignore your own needs like a martyr Because
shame tells you that you are no good, you seek to balance the
scales by ignoring your own legitimate needs.  Attempts to please and appease
others are always more important than listening to and caring for
yourself.   
8.  Shame tends toward addictive behavior, which can manifest
itself in overinvolvement in work or ministry.  You are so ashamed
of yourself that you work harder and longer in a desperate search
for that elusive peace.  (This is a huge issue in the church.)   
9.  Shame has no concept of "normal.  "If you have grown up with
unhealthy behavior in your family, you perceive that to be the
norm.  You lack the perspective to know what "normal" should look
like.  For example, if you grew up with someone yelling in your
face, that became familiar to you; you don't realize it is
unhealthy behavior you do not have to live with.   
10.  Shame makes it difficult to trust others.  You tend to be very
guarded around others, wondering what their agenda is for your
life.  It is hard to let anyone in, because you're sure that person
will not like what she sees.  This behavior can border on paranoia. 
 
11.  Shame makes you possessive in relationships.  Out of a feeling
of unworthiness and fear of abandonment, you cling to the people in
your life, afraid that if they leave, no one will be there to take
their place.   
12.  Shame has a high need for control.  Life is scary to a
shame-based person; the only bearable way to survive is to maintain
control.   
It is easy to see why wounded people adopt some of these patterns. 
If the one who should protect you from pain (such as a parent or
spouse) becomes the perpetrator of the pain, it is easiest to throw
up walls, so you won't be hurt again in the future; trust becomes
a major issue.   
I recognized myself in many of the points discussed that evening. 
I had never heard of personal boundaries (we don't have those in
Scotland!),  but as I listened to what was being said, it began to
make sense to me.  For example, I   have had a very difficult time developing intimate
relationships with a few close friends.  I kept my true self pretty
guarded and safe.  But if you talked to viewers of "The 700 Club,"
they would probably disagree, saying that I am a very open person
whom they know well.  The strange thing is, it felt safe to
unburden my soul to a large, anonymous crowd, much safer than to a
few people who really knew me.  I now think I sometimes shared
things with our viewers that were really not television fare.   
SHAME, GUILT, AND SHAMELESSNESS   
Shame is so dehumanizing.  There is no dignity or strength in
shame.  It tells us that we are worthless and hopeless.  Shame is
much more damaging than good old fashioned guilt because it seems so
hopeless.  If we have done something wrong, we can make an active
attempt to rectify the situation.   But if we are something wrong,
what hope is there?   
As I uncovered the shame that had drawn me in like quicksand, I
also realized that, though it was important that I understand my
past, I could not blame my past.  Shifting the blame will never
make anything better.  It is only as I step up to the plate and
accept full responsibility for my life that I will ever find peace
and healing.   
Again, I note that there is a great difference between the
unhealthy shame that makes us crawl away into a corner and the kind
of healthy shame-called guilt-that shows us when we are wrong and
need to change our ways.   The Bible calls us to live with
integrity and humility, constantly confessing our sins to one
another and loving one another.  But it's important to remember
that this biblical call to face our sins and our human frailties is
neither the shame that makes us feel as if we must run and hide our
brokenness, nor a shamelessness that tries to release us from any
accountability to anyone or anything.   
The February 6,1995, issue of Newsweek featured an interesting
cover story titled "The Return of Shame." One only has to watch our talk shows for a few moments
to see how shameless we have become.  After working in my office
late one evening, I picked up the remote control and flicked
through the channels to see if I could find something fun on
television to unwind with before I went to bed.  I was looking for
"The Lucy Show~" but that was not what I found.  The talk show had
already started when I tuned in, but it soon became apparent that
the subject was "Married couples who are looking to make it a
threesome." The thing that made me so sad was that the couple
on stage when I tuned in were a thirty- eight-year-old woman and her
eighty-three-year-old husband.   I looked at this man who could
have been my grandfather, and I wanted to grab hold of him and
shake him and ask him where his dignity had gone.  In its article
Newsweek called for "a means of provoking shame rooted in
hardheaded compassion, the results of which would be redemptive." 
 
This is an acutely felt need.  I saw a story on CNN recently that
was capturing the aftermath of a murder trial in Philadelphia.  The
reporter was interviewing the mother of the young victim.  She had
such a ravaged look on her face.  The reporter asked her if she was
glad that it was all over and that a conviction had been brought
in.  She didn't say anything for a moment; then she said, "Do you
know what that boy said to me?  He said, `So what if I killed your
son?' My baby is gone, and that is all he had to say."   
Tears rolled down my cheeks as I saw the look of utter disbelief in
the eyes of this bereaved mother, numbed by the indifference of a
cold-blooded killer.   
I stand with Newsweek in a call to accountability, but I see very
little hope for the tide to be turned; the only hope is the church,
but I wonder if we, as the church, are looking in the right
direction.   
IT IS NOT OUR JOB TO SHAME THE WORLD   
Jesus never shamed anyone.  He called some of the church leaders on
their hypocrisy He was angry when they turned a sanctuary into a
marketplace.  But he never shamed people.
Remember the scene where a crowd of religious men threw a woman at
Jesus' feet, demanding their pound of flesh.  She had been caught
in adultery and by law should have been stoned to death.  Jesus
said to them, "All right, if that is how you want to handle this,
then let's spray everyone with the same dye.  If you have never
sinned, please feel free to throw the first stone." Slowly the
crowd slipped away and left the woman lying in the dust.  Jesus
picked her up and said to her, "They have all gone home.  No one is
left to accuse you, and neither do I-but don't do this anymore; you
are worth more than this." (I have paraphrased this story from John
8.)  Jesus also treated Mary Magdalene with respect and dignity. 
And even when he was being tortured to death, Jesus had time for
the thief dying beside him.   
Christ recognized what we have forgotten: that every single human
being on this planet has been created in the imago dei, the image
of God.  Talk show hosts and their nutty guests, women who stream
into abortion clinics, gay rights activists who yell in our faces,
must be treated with dignity and respect, because the mark of the
image of God rests upon us all, no matter how defaced it might be. 
 
I sense that the church devotes too much time trying to keep the
mud of the world off "our" shoes and too little time washing it off
"theirs." As long as we simply point fingers, why should anyone
listen to us?  It is not our job to try and shame the world, but to
love them with the love of Christ.  After Jesus looked at a man or
a woman, he or she was never the same again.  It makes me sad that
it seems Christians' voices are heard publicly only when we are
against something.  Yes, we are living in a very sick and depraved
world.  But will we draw people to us and to Christ if we stand and
tell the world they have brought their pain upon themselves and
walk away without helping them?   
Christ spoke the truth in all its heartbreaking power to everyone
he encountered.  Jesus even left the crowd to have dinner with a
tax collector who had been ripping people off for years.  We don't know what was said, but
we do know that, after this encounter with Jesus, the tax collector
was a changed man.  His heart was so transformed that he not only
repaid what he had stolen from others, he paid back four times what
he had taken and then gave half of his wealth to the poor (Luke
19:1-10).  Jesus took the fierce and piercing light of who he is to
every situation, but he went in love.   
WHEN A CHRISTIAN FALTERS   
We come to Christ to be forgiven for our sins, to be given a new
heart, and then we are asked to care for one another, to be the
church.  But too often the church doesn't know how to be the
church.  In his book Guilt and Grace, Paul Tournier wrote:   
The church proclaims the grace of God and moralism, which is the
negation of it, always creeps back into its bosom.  Grace becomes
conditional.  Judgment appears.  I see its ravages every day in all
the Christian churches.   
By our behavior, Christians say to one another that as long as we
are all performing "normally," we will walk together.  But if one
of us stumbles, then the rest of us will simply keep walking,
praying that we will learn to be better judges of character next
time.  We allow our disappointment to become distance, conrming the
worst fears of the person who is left lying in the dust: "I am a
bad person; why did I even hope that God could love me?"   
The words of St.  Paul have been very helpful to me.   Even though
he was being used in unprecedented ways to build up the fledgling
church, Paul still struggled with his sinful nature.  "For what I
do is not the good I want to do; no, the evil I do not want to
do-this I keep on doing" (Romans 7:19).  Paul made it very clear
that we are in a battle with our nature and that, at times, that
sinful nature will win out.  Paul never used that as an excuse, however; he continued to
press on to be more like Christ.   
I cry for mercy for those in the dust, and yet I understand the
fears of those who wonder what we, as Christians, are supposed to
do about the sin and confusion among us.   
Too often we Christians see only two possibilities for dealing with
human frailty: (1) we distance ourselves from those who are in
trouble, in the earnest desire that this will wake them up and they
will straighten themselves out; (2) we ignore the warnings we note
in others' lives in a desire to respect their privacy I suggest a
third way: that we speak the truth to one another, that we care
enough to reach out, and that, no matter what we find, we do not
let go.   
Like a mother sending her daughter off to college for the first
time, Paul is very careful to instruct the church in how to deal
with problems that will inevitably occur.   "Brothers, if someone
is caught in a sin, you who are spiritual should restore him
gently.  But watch yourself, or you also may be tempted.  Carry
each other's burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of
Christ" (Galatians 6:1-2).   
It was interesting to me to note that the Greek word we translate
as restore is the same word that would be used in a hospital
setting if someone were brought in with a broken limb; it denotes
brokenness and the need for time and care.   
It is also interesting that Paul's words do not come across as a
suggestion, but as a command.  At times we are reluctant to get
involved when someone is in trouble because we do not know what to
say.  While I can certainly relate to that, it is not scriptural. 
Other times we do not reach out because the person's trouble is too
much like our own, and his or her struggle is rocking our boat. 
And sometimes we simply have no mercy, or it would demand too much
of us to try and get involved.   
As I write this book, I have watched some Christian public figures
deal with crises lived out in a public spotlight.   How have we, as
the church, struggled to come to terms with what was revealed about these people? 
How should we deal with these crises?  I have noticed a variety of
responses to these people in crisis:   
1.  We must save their careers at all cost.   
2.  We should fix their problems quickly and quietly, behimd the
scenes.   
3.  Let's decide who is going to be the winner and who is going to
be the loser, and back the winner.   
4.  The quick fixes are not working, so let's walk away.   
5.  We should say we saw it coming.   
6.  Let's move on with our lives and leave them in the dust.   
I saw a television special on Mike Tyson the other evening.  It
made me think that we in the Christian community do not deal with
each other very differently than the world deals with its heroes. 
It was very clear to those around Mike Tyson that he was a man
filled with rage, but that very rage made him a killer boxer, so
instead of caring for him, they marketed and sold his flaw.   
I wonder if Christians are very different.  We see what is
happening behind the scenes with a person in public life, but that
person is so effective at what he or she does, so powerful that we
turn a blind eye.  We reason away our concern by telling ourselves,
"God is using that person." Well, God spoke through Balaam's ass,
so I don't find that argument very convincing!   
The problem that I have with the above situation is that it shows
no love whatsoever toward the person in trouble.   We walk with
them for as long as we can until the situation blows up in our
faces, and then we move on, leaving one more broken, used-up life
in our wake.   
Before I entered the hospital, many friends at CBN saw the pain in
my face and simply stayed away.  I know that divorce is a sin, and
I understand that it was heartbreaking for those who knew me to see
that become a reality in my life, but as much as I liked to avoid
anger, I found it easier to deal with those who were at least openly angry and confused than
with those who simply stopped calling.  I read their distance as an
assent to my belief that I was simply a   bad person.   
Many of these same people have since said they are sory that they
just did not know what to say, and I have come to believe that the
experience was good for all of us-after all, how else will we grow? 
Failure can be an awesome teacher if we invite Christ into the
process.  It was good for me that my friends distanced themselves,
because it ultimately forced me to face my terrible fear of
rejection and bring it to Jesus.  It was good for them too, because
it caused them to examine how we react to a life in crisis.  (In
falling short, we can ask the Lord to teach us how to be, so that
the next time someone is in pain, we will be better equipped to
deal with it.)  But at the time, the silence I encountered added to
my feelings of utter hopelessness.  I had failed, therefore I was
a failure.  The hopelessness I felt was so pervasive that I ignored
the calls of one old friend who wanted to come see me.  I felt so
ashamed that I could not look at anyone.   
SHAME AND GRACE   
Too many of us are at war within ourselves.  When that is the case,
the following questions arise: How can you extend grace to others
when you have not received it yourself?  Where do you go when you
feel flawed?  Where do you find healing when you know you are sick? 
 
For me, the only place to go was to the feet of the only One who is
perfect, the only One who fully understands how flawed I am and yet
who loves me completely.   
Jesus said, "Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I
will give you rest" (Matthew 11:28).  When our Lord was being
brutally executed, he was taking upon himself all the filth and
decay of a diseased world.  He knew that we could not make it on
our own, so he took our place.   Wherever he encountered darkness,
he brought light.  When   100  PARALYZED BY SHAME   he met people who were in hiding, he called
them out.   Whether it was a "scarlet woman" or a little man hiding
up a tree, his words were words of healing and hope and freedom. 
Isaiah told us, "The people walking in darkness have seen a great
light; on those living in the land of the shadow of death a light
has dawned" (Isaiah 9:2).   
I have a friend who is a missionary on the border between Thailand
and Cambodia.  One of his concerns is for people suffering from
leprosy in the refugee camps.  He and his colleagues began to spend
time with those men and women, doing what they could to aid them
physically and spiritually Eventually a church was born, right
there in the middle of a leper camp.  During one of their services,
a man who had been among the Iirst to make a commitment to
following Christ said, "One of the most wonderful things that has
happened to me since I met Jesus is that now I can look you in the
face.  I was too ashamed before because of my di~ figurement, but
if Jesus loves me so much, then I think that I can hold my head up
high.   
That is how it is supposed to be for us all.  Jesus has restored
our dignity.  What we sold so cheaply in Eden, he has bought back
for us at a great price.  We all struggle with our humanity, with
our soulishness, but cleansing is not found in the shadows; it is
found in the burning light.   
Many people are afraid to get help because they fear it may cost
them too much.  And it may-it may cost you every- thing you have. 
That very fear ran through my mind time and again before I decided
to get help.  What if in reaching out for help myself, I discovered
I was no longer welcome to reach out to others?  My whole life had
been focused on being a minister of Christ's love to a broken
world.   
Driving myself to the hospital, I knew those days might well be
over.  That seemed like a terrible thing to me, but I came to
realize that when something is clearly revealed to you as the right
thing to do and is supported by godly people that you respect, you
run to it with all your strength and   101  HONESTLY   leave the rest to God.  If God was finished using me in
public ministry, then woe to me or anyone who tried to revive what
he had stopped.  But if God still had something for me to do, then
all the armies of the world could not stop him.   
Everyone's story is different.  Perhaps you have been told you
should never have been born, that you were a mistake.  Perhaps you
were told you would never amount to anything.  So many things that
happen to us as children leave greasy fingerprints on our souls. 
Children who have been beaten feel at some level that they deserve
their beatings; those who have been sexually abused become
accustomed to equating anything sexual with "love." Yet Jesus said
he came to give us abundant life, life running over at the edges,
more than we could ever imagine.   
When you step out from the shadows into the storm, you may be at
the mercy of the wind for a while, but Christ is Lord over the wind
and the storms, and you will be truly alive-not just a whisper of
who God called you to be.   There is so much more to life than mere
survival!  God wants you to live, not just get through one more
day.  We can try in vain to fix ourselves, but only the One who
made us knows the path to healing.   
[I] will keep you and will make you to be a covenant for the people
to open eyes that are blind, to free captives from prison and to
release from the dungeon those who sit in darkness.   ISAIAH 42:6-7 
 When you find yourself at an emotional crossroads, you have to
choose whether you will push your emotions down one more time,
dismissing them as lightly as a summer cold, or will you stop and
listen and ask God to help you understand why your life is so
painful?  Perhaps, like me, you will find things out about yourself
that are disappointing.  I, for instance, am learning to distinguish
between healthy shame that alerts me to areas of my life that need
to change and the unhealthy ocean of shame that does not belong to
me.  At times you may be overwhelmed with sadness, but if you are
willing to sing its song for a little while, a great burden will be
cut from you and roll down the mountain.   
Lord Jesus   
your love for me is beyond my understanding.   
I am so ashamed of what I bring to you today-   
my fears, my shame, my hopelessness.   
Today I choose to come out of the shadows   
into your light,   
into your healing,   
into your hope,   
into your life.   
Amen.   
FAREWELL LESSON   
Let me end this chapter on shame with a scene that took place on my
last day in the hospital.  I had come a long way in revising my
self-image, but I still had a long way to go.   
I was sitting outside with my group enjoying an unexpected Indian
summer day Our staff group leader spoke up, "Sheila is leaving us
today, and I want you all to give her some input as to what you
perceive her strengths to be."   
I could have died!  I was very uncomfortable with the idea that
everyone was expected to say something nice about me.  I stared at
my feet.   
"You seem a little uncomfortable with this, Sheila," she said. 
"Why?"   
"Well, -you are forcing people to find something good about me.  It
seems a little staged."   
She continued, "So, is there nothing good to say?"   
"Well sure, but I have spent so much of my life trying to make
people like me ...  I guess I'm not sure I really trust their
perspective," I said. "You have sat here every day with us and listened to
input about your weaknesses.  You've never resisted that.  I think
we would like to tell you what we see in you that we really like. 
Is that okay?" she asked.   
"I guess so," I whispered.   
"I see you as strong and compassionate," someone said.   
"You make me laugh!" another added.   
"I find it comforting to be around you," someone said.   "You have
a tender heart.   
It was one of the most humbling experiences of my life, to look
into the faces of people with whom I had gone through so much and
listen to their positive appraisals.  I had spent a month looking
at my weaknesses.  All I had wanted to do was to confess my
failures to the Lord and then go and live quietly somewhere.  I saw
myself working in an art gallery or an antique shop in a small,
sleepy town, where each Sunday I would go and take my place in
church, grateful to God that he loved me and accepted me.   
The group leader interrupted my thoughts.  "You need to stop trying
to control what is happening around you, Sheila.  Be aware of other
people, and don't let your pride stand in the way of someone being
able to say, `Thank you, you have made a difference in my life."' 
 
That is part of what it means to live beyond the shame profile. 
That is the new road I set out to travel.  For years, I had denied
that shame had a choke hold on my life, but till the day I die and
beyond, I will thank God that he allowed me to finally see the
shame for what it is and walk away from it.   
It keeps me walking on the line; it holds me to the flame, yet
makes me smile as if my blistered flesh can feel no pain.   It
pulls me far away from those whose hands I long to hold; it keeps
me safe;   
it keeps me winter cold.   So now I choose to
walk away from what I know so well.   I leave behind this Judas
seed and all the lies I tell, and as I stand with empty hands upon
this valley floor I ask, dear Jesus,   
walk me through this door   
10~  Silence.   
I hear my breath,   
but nothing else.   
The world is quiet.   
I am alone.   
Someone turned the lights out   
and everyone went home.
The Longest Night   
It is not for the moment that you are stuck that you need courage,
but for the long, uphill climb back to sanity and security   
ANNE MORROW LINDBERGH   
It was so quiet.  I sat in my room, covered by the silence.  I
wondered if it was time to eat, but I didn't want to eat alone.  I
turned on the television, forty-eight channels and nothing to
watch.   
It was late Friday afternoon.  I had just completed my
hospitalization program and was due to start what was called PHP
the Partial Hospitalization Program.  I was supposed to have left
the hospital soon after lunch, but I had stayed a little longer. 
For the next two weeks I was to stay in a local hotel and return to
the hospital from 8:00 A.M.  to 5:00 P.M.,  Monday through Friday 
 
I sat around in the patient lounge nursing a cup of coffee.   I
talked to one of the nurses for a while and discovered that she too
had been a patient in this very unit a couple of years before.  I
felt as if she were giving me a gift by disclosing that she had
walked where I was walking.  I wandered back to my room to pack my
suitcase.  An older nurse came in and returned all my personal
items.  I looked at the hair dryer and smiled to myself at being
once again trusted with this "lethal" weapon.  The nurse asked if I had any suicidal thoughts. 
I replied that I did not.  I walked into the lobby to reclaim my
car keys.  As I waited for the desk nurse to unlock her drawer, I
looked around.  I remembered that first night and the fear I had
felt in being there; now I was afraid to leave.   
As I looked out the hotel window to the traffic below, I wondered
where all the people were going.  It was dark even though it was
still quite early, and the traffic was bumper to bumper. 
Washington, D.C.,  was committed to getting home from work.   
I decided I would feel better if I was a part of the sea of life
outside my door, so I picked up my jacket and walked to the
elevator.  I wondered if I looked strange.  Would people waiting
with me at the elevator whisper, "I think that she just got out of
that hospital."   
I went to the front desk and asked if there was a mall close at
hand.  The receptionist gave me directions, and I went out to my
car.  Once again I thought of how familiar the hospital had become
to me; I felt safe there.  My mother would arrive from Scotland in
a couple of days, but for now-for a weekend-I was on my own.   
I didn't know anyone in Washington, and I had not told anyone in
Virginia that I was "out." I had not, in fact, talked to anyone at
"The 700 Club" since I had left.  I felt very vulnerable.  One of
the women in my group was staying at the same hotel, but she had
plans to be with friends that first night and I did not want to
"gate crash" her time.   
I parked as close to the busy mall as I could and wandered in. 
People seemed to be falling over each other to get to where they
wanted to be.  I bought a cup of real coffee from a gourmet store;
no more decaffeinated for me.  I was back in the big world, and I
needed it fully leaded.  I sat and watched the men, women, and
children who scurried past me: frustrated husbands who found
themselves engulfed once more in a shopping frenzy; children who
wanted to stop and take in the lulljoy of some novelty that caught
their eye but who were hurried on by their parents. 
Suddenly, I felt painfully alone.  I looked into the eyes of a
woman who seemed to be carrying the weight of the world on her
shoulders.  I wondered about her life, and was saying a quiet
prayer for her when I realized someone was talking to me.   
"Sheila, we are so pleased to see you.  We have been praying for
you."   
I looked up at a woman in her forties, who was smiling as she
talked.   
"This is my husband, Bill, and we watch `The 700 Club' every day,
don't we, Bill?" Bill agreed.  "How are you, dear?" she asked.   
"I'm doing much better than I was a month ago," I said.   
"We're so glad.  We will keep you in our prayers and hope to see
you back on the air in no time." She reached over and hugged me,
and they were gone.   
I found the nearest bathroom, locked myself in and cried.  I didn't
know why I was crying.  I just felt more alone after they left.  I
wished I could have sat down and had dinner with them, to be with
someone.  I dried my eyes and decided to head back to the hotel. 
Being in the mall made me feel too lost in the crowd.   
It was now dark and cold, and I didn't have the right clothes with
me.  I had packed in a numb stupor when I left Virginia Beach. 
What on earth had I been thinking about?  I had packed summer
dresses and T-shirts, as if I were heading off on a cruise instead
of checking into a hospital.   
I reached my car and pulled out of the mall entrance onto the
highway I was suddenly afraid, as if I had forgotten how to drive
at night.  All sorts of thoughts crashed in on me, and I pulled
into a McDonald's parking lot to pull myself together.  I love to
drive, it is a passion of mine, but all the lights and the noise
around me seemed dark and threatening.  As I sat there with rain
beginning to fall on my windshield, I reminded myself that I was
not alone; God was with me.  Even though I knew the words were
true, I still felt cold inside.
Back in my motel room, I sat at the desk for a long time, with my
Bible open, its pages staring up at me.  I felt as if I were
standing on the edge of a wasteland that stretched out endlessly
before me.  The last month had been spent in trying to fInd my
balance again.  But the journey was just beginning.  I was coming
to grips with the impact my father's death had had on my life, and
I was beginning to understand the subsequent choices I had made,
but where did that leave me now?   
While I was grateful for the lessons I was learning, and, in a
sense, the storm had passed, I now sat in the aftermath looking at
the devastated landscape wondering what would become of my life. 
I knew that it could never be "business as usual" again.  Even
though I was touched by the kind and hopeful words of the couple in
the mall who expected to see me back on the air very soon, I knew
returning there would not be right for me or for "The 700 Club."  

It seemed as if the road ahead were dark and lonely.  I could not
see how far it stretched; all I knew was that it was the only way
home.   
I slept late on Saturday morning and then watched old
black-and-white movies on American Movie Classics.  I didn't leave
the room all day.   
Sunday morning when I woke up, I decided I would go back to the
church I had visited with the other patients the previous week. 
God had spoken powerfully to me there, and I wanted to hear his
voice again.  As I got dressed, I felt a surge of hope.  It was
normal to feel a little dissociated when you are released from a
hospital, I told myself, particularly when you have been surrounded
by a loving, caring staff- brothers and sisters in Christ.   
In the sanctuary I sat in the same place as before, but I didn't
see anyone I recognized.  I had remembered the singing as being
warm and strong; now it seemed lifeless.  I listened hard to the
pastor's sermon, trying in vain to hear God speak to me. When the service was over, everyone ffled out,
heading off to a family lunch or home to watch a ball game.  I
stayed and sat for a while, looking at the beautiful stained glass
windows.  Last week the sunlight had danced through them; now they
were dull and quiet.   
As I walked to my car I felt chilled all over.  I had nothing to do
until eight 0' clock the next morning, and I didn't want to go back
to my room and spend the whole day there again, so I drove downtown
to Union Station.  I sat in a little cafe, watching the people walk
by.  I tried to ignore my thoughts, but they would not go away This
is your life now, Sheila.  This is how it will be.   
I felt as if the hospital had given me a false picture of what was
real.  Of course I felt loved there; that was their job.   Of
course they listened; they were paid to listen.  But that time was
coming to an end, and now I would be all alone.   
Why had I felt nothing in church?  Where was God?  Perhaps it would
be different now-because I would be of no use to him anymore.  I
knew he still loved me and that I would be with him one day in
heaven, but for now he seemed far away I thought again of all my
lofty declarations of faithfulness to the Lord, of how I would
never let him down, and how here I was, alone and silent.  I had no
idea what I would do.  All of my life I had trained and prepared
for only one thing, to serve God-that was my life.   
Unable to think too far ahead, I sat in the Union Station coffee
shop and prayed, asking the Lord to show me where I should go now. 
 
OTHER TRAVELERS   
In the real dark night of the soul it is always three o'clock in
the morning.   
K Scorr FiTZGERALD, THE CRACK-UP   The phrase "dark night of the
soul" is the title of a beautiful work written by St.  John of the
Cross, a sixteenth century church reformer who dedicated his life to
calling people back to a life of obedience and prayer.  He was
regarded as a radical, was arrested and imprisoned, and yet the
effort to silence him gave birth to his loudest and most enduring
cry, for in prison he wrote The Dark Night of the Soul, in which he
describes his experience of being led by God to a place where, in
love, the Lord "wounds" him.  Based on this experience, John of the
Cross saw that God's divine plan leads us to a place where, through
the pain of our broken lives, we are ready to change to become more
like Christ.  Imprisonment, for this reformer, wasn't the end of
the road, but the beginning of his journey   
Many of the most inspiring books and illuminating lives have been
born out of what we would call tragedies.   The common thread woven
throughout these stories is that, in the midst of their pain, the
men and women reached for the hand of the Shepherd of their souls. 
Perhaps, like me, you can remember praying to be more like the
Lord.  But when life began to shake, it seemed as if you were
losing ground rather than getting closer to heaven.   
As I read through the pages of The Dark Night of the Soul, I was
amazed at the places that made me stop and say, "Yes, that's right. 
That's exactly how I feel." To use the words of Charles Dickens,
John was saying that this dark night was, for him, "the best of
times" and "the worst of times." He talked of the pain and the
loneliness that sat with him, and yet he was deeply aware that this
was a place to which God had led him.   Many different roads can
lead to this same dark night.  When you find yourself there, it
does not matter what brought you to your knees, what matters is
that you are there.   
In hindsight, I believe that the way home for all pilgrims is
through this bitter wasteland.  It is there when all help and all
hope is gone, that we finally learn to trust in the only One who
can teach us how to live.  We arrive at this rusted, uninviting
gateway through many different circumstances-some out of our
control and some that we have brought upon ourselves.  But if our
trust is in Christ, he will 
pilot us through the deepest valleys and we will never be the same
again.   
Of the Bible's countless examples of those who faced their own dark
night and left a little light for us to see by, none is more
poignant than the life of Christ.  Christ had never needed his
friends more than he did in Gethsemane, but they slept through his
brow-bloodied prayers.  His anguished cries to his Father pierced
the night, but the world slept through his sorrow.  He had no
shoulder to cry on, no hand to hold, no one to comfort him.  As he
was nailed to a wooden cross at the place of the skull, he cried
out the greatest fear of us all, "My God, my God, why have you
forsaken me?" (Matthew 27:46).   
Job is another example of a life turned upside down for no apparent
reason.  The darkness hit him with no warning.   I used to find
itso hard to understand why God would allow Satan to torment a man
like Job.  He lived a good life, not just a casually good life, but
a life committed to honoring God.   He lived with acute
intentionality.  "This man was blameless and upright; he feared God
and shunned evil" (Job 1:1).   
Surely, it is the whole point of our lives to fear God and to honor
him, but God wanted something more from Job.  In one day, he lost
everything.  Job's response to this catastrophe was, "The LoRD gave
and the LoRD has taken away; may the name of the LoRD be praised"
(Job 1:21).   
But Job's troubles were not yet over.  He then broke out in sores
from the top of his head to the soles of his feet.  His wife asked
him why he did not curse God and die.  Job responded that we cannot
accept good from God and not trouble.   
When the dust had settled in Job's life, as is true with anyone,
the real battle was just beginning.  For a short time after tragedy
strikes, we are borne along by the pace of events.  When the
volcano is in full force, it is an awesome sight.  But when the
lava dries and the white ash settles, it is 
deathly still.  The cold, gray blanket of winter settled onto Job's
shoulders.   
When you look at the response of Job's friends, it's amazing to see
how little has actually changed over the years.  They had no idea
what Job was experiencing.  The only thing they brought to their
suffering friend was words, which they tossed his way to see if any
would stick.  Their impatience with him is obvious; he was
disturbing the quiet of their waters, and they wanted life to be
back to normal as soon as possible.   
Before I was admitted to the hospital, I cleared my calendar of any
commitments in the months ahead.  I was booked to sing and speak at
a women's conference nine months away; I called the woman in charge
and told her I was very sorry, but I would not be able to come. 
She was very upset.  I apologized for any inconvenience I was
causing and offered to refund any money she had already spent on
promotion.  Apparently, that wasn't the problem; she just wanted me
to come.  I tried to explain what was happening to me-that I was
being admitted to the hospital the next day.  She answered, "You do
not need to do that.  I will pray for you now~ and then you will be
able to be with us and testify to the fact that God healed you."  

She was just not hearing me.  When confronted with an inconvenient
situation that clashed with her theology, she wanted it to change. 
I was in such distress that I couldn't think of what to say to her. 
She concluded by saying that she would make a few phone calls to
see if I was telling the truth.   
When someone is in pain and at the beginning of the longest night
of their lives, an endless barrage of words like those from Job's
friends and those I received from this woman is like thunder in the
desert: a loud and comfortless noise.   
Probably the most damaging counsel offered to Job came from the
young man Elihu.  He basically told Job that his life made no
difference.  He pointed out that God is God, Job was a man. 
Whatever happened in life happened, and there was nothing they could do.  He attacked
Job's commitment to integrity in the midst of his battle, saying,
"If you sin, how does that affect him [God]?...  If your sins are
many, what does that do to him?  If you are righteous, what do you
give to him?" (Job 35:6-7).   
Elihu said there was no purpose in all of Job's suffering.  I
imagine most of us in times of crisis have encountered similar
friends or are haunted by similar doubts and fears, but we need to
hold on beyond such skeptical visitors, because after they have had
their say, the Lord speaks.  For Job, God pulled back the curtain
for a moment and gave him a glimpse of who God is.  All Job could
say was, "My ears had heard of you but now my eyes have seen you"
(Job 42:5).   
This simple statement is one of the most profound in the entire
canon of Scripture.  It lays out the vast difference between head
knowledge and heart knowledge.  I have been a student of the Bible
since I was a young girl, but now I read it differently.  When I
was a child, I committed verses of Scripture to memory, so I could
carry one more Bible prize home to my mother.  When I sat at my
desk at CBN answering correspondence, I would scan the pages to
find a verse that seemed to fit each letter I received.  But now I
knew that the words that were life to me, my bread and water and
air were: "I know that my Redeemer lives, and that in the end he
will stand upon the earth" (Job 19:25).   
Even as I reread the story of Job during the weeks that followed,
I still found myself asking "why." I know that Job's story has a
happy ending, but the cost attached to the lesson he learned was
immense.  I thought of my friend Debbie, who had been struggling
for so long with cancer and was now in constant pain.  What could
I say to her?  I did not feel that I could tell her, "Hang in
there.  It gets better in the end."   
I felt as if I were a child again, starting at the very beginning,
asking the most basic questions: "What is the purpose of my life? 
How do I walk in the will of God?  How  HONESTLY   do I live in a way that makes God happy?  What does God
want of me?  What does it look like to be a Christian?"   
As I entered this new phase of treatment-and of life- God was
painfully silent.  When I prayed, I understood what people meant
when they said it seemed their prayers went no higher than the
bedroom ceiling.  Still, I kept praying, and I kept readIng the
psalms out loud; it was all I knew to do.  David had walked this
path before me and had experienced the absence of God.  His prayer
became my prayer.  I prayed out my loneliness.  I prayed out my
fear and anger.  I prayed out the agony of being a fragile, flawed
human being.   
DARK NIGHT EXPOSES SIN   
In The Dark Night of the Soul, John of the Cross clearly lays out
what he believes to be God's purpose in turning out the lights.  It
is to expose our sin, including the following elements of sin,
which I saw in my own life.   
Pride.  John of the Cross talks about the initial "heady" days of
faith, when we are overwhelmed with the love of God and
passionately committed to sharing that with others.  There is, he
says, a tendency to judge other people and elevate oneself in the
secret places of the heart.  I identify with that indictment; I
remember those days well.  I used to love it when people would tell
me that I had a remarkable ministry.  While that kind of comment
should have brought me to my knees before God, it just made me feel
a little more invincible.  At times I had longed to get help for my
life, but the price was too high; I too highly valued the respect
and recognition I was given.  It was as if I had a compulsion to
teach and an unwillingness to be taught.  Insidious pride disguises
itself to look admirable on the outside, while inside, a little
worm begins to grow.   
Spiritual greed.  Like an addict who craves a bigger and better
high, the believer craves more intense religious feelings.  It is
wonderful to feel the presence of the Lord, but our commitment
needs to be out of obedience to him, rather than because it makes us feel good.  When we
live our lives as if God exists for us-to make us happy-we have
missed the point completely.  Our childish behavior is based on
emotional thrills.  What does that self-indulgent euphoria have to
do with Calvary?  The whole purpose of our lives is to glorify God,
to say with every fiber of our beings that we exist for him.   
When I felt my life starting to shake, I looked for some experience
that would deliver me from my trouble.  I crammed my mind with
books and tapes in a frantic search of a touch from heaven.  I
never thought to stop all my doing and listen.  John says that out
of love for his children, God will take our lives and purge them in
the dark fire.   
Richard Foster writes, "For a soul will never grow until it is able
to let go of the tight grasp that it has on God." This almost
sounds blasphemous, and yet I understand a little of what he means. 
So often we cling more to our theory of who God is than to who he
really is as he has revealed himself in Christ and through his
Word.  I am grateful for the wonderful books available to help us
in our walk with God, but too often they take the place of God's
Word; we ingest the opinions and experiences of men or women who no
doubt love the Lord, but whose words should never take the place of
scriptural revelation.  No matter how gifted any of us are as
communicators, we are all followers, all servants, all seekers, and
God is the only truth on which we can stake our lives.  We are told
to make our requests known to God, to ask and keep on asking, but
we should always ask in an attitude of humility and awe, not
demanding that he live up to our feel-good television commercials. 
 
Anger and disillusionment.  As we face the sin of our spiritual
greed, we are often confronted with anger toward and our
disillusionment with God.  Often, when God calls us to "grow up" as
Christians, we respond like petulant children who do not want to be
weaned from their mother's breast.   When it seems as if God has
left us and no longer answers our prayers, we may become angry and disillusioned.  John of
the Cross says this frustration with our situation is not true
humility, which waits for God, demanding nothing, surrendering the
desire to become a "saint in a day"   
Over the years I have received many letters from Christians who
are disappointed in God.  A lot of teaching presents God as a
benevolent sugar daddy in the sky and when our lists of requests do
not materialize, we become angry with him as if he had failed to
live up to some agreement that we ourselves dreamed up.  It
requires little faith or commitment to follow someone who sits with
a magic wand, awaiting our bidding.  That is not who God is.  When
prayer no longer brings feelings of heaven, when God's Word stares
silently from the page, the disillusioned disciple walks away like
a disappointed fan whose team is in a slump.   
DARK NIGHT AND SURRENDER   
God in his mercy, out of a desire for a real relationship with us,
will continue to allow us to fall flat on our faces until all we
want is him.  He is so committed to our spiritual health and growth
that he will do whatever it takes to free us from our selfish
nature.  But this is no mindless, barbaric endurance test.  He
knows us well and loves us lavishly.   
God's purposes are for our good, never for our destruction.  We
have the comfort of knowing that God, who created us, who knew us
before we were born, and who perfectly knows us, has promised us
that he will not permIt us to be given more than we can bear.  "He
will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear.  ...  he will
also provide a way out so that you can stand up under it" (1
Corinthians 10:13).   
This is a concrete promise: At the right time God will say, "It is
enough." In the midst of the most painful times, I really wondered
if that verse were true.  I honestly believed what was happening to
me was more than I could bear, and I wondered if God had forgotten
me.  It seemed that if one more thing was laid on my back-even a
feather-I would break.  But our God is good.  As C.  S.  Lewis
said in The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, our Lion-King is not
necessarily safr, but he is good.   
In the dark night when no one is watching, we are given the
opportunity to face ourselves and surrender wholly to Christ.  I
have heard many sermons on the subject of surrender; I have sung
many songs that speak of little else.  But what does it really
mean?  For me, it meant walking away from everything I loved,
because I had lost touch with Jesus, the One whom I am called to
love.   
I had to come to a point of asking myself, "Does God exist for me
or do I exist for him?" The answer was and is very clear.  I exist
to love and serve God.  He does not owe me a thing, but I owe him
everything.   
One of the most inspiring works I have ever read is The Imitation
of Christ by Thomas a' Kempis.  Although he completed this book in
1427, the wisdom and humility displayed within its pages are
utterly relevant to life today.  Referring to the times in our Uves
when everything is dark, when there is a desolation of spirit, he
says:   
It is no great thing to despise the comfort of man, when the
comfort of God is present.  But it is a great thing and indeed a
very great thing, that a man should be so strong in spirit as to
bear the lack of both comforts and for the love of God and for
God's honor should have a ready will to bear desolation of spirit
and yet in nothing to seek himself or his own merits.   
During this dark time I saw how strong my will is.  I like to be in
control; I feel too vulnerable if I am not calling the shots.  But
now I found myself in a place where obedience- not what made me
feel good-was all that mattered.  As I read The Imitation of
Christ, I saw that it was not for me to question what God was doing
in my life or how long that process would take.  In my younger
years, it had been relatively easy for me to fast for extended
periods of time or to pray and work intensely with great
self-discipline.  Now I saw that God wanted my heart and mind as well as a focused vision. 
It is spiritual suicide to throw oneself into the work of God, only
to forget the face of God.  Step by step, I surrendered the tight
hold that I had had on my life for so long.   
As I continued as an outpatient at the hospital, it became clearer
to me that fear made me clench my fists.  I sat in sessions with my
therapist and listened as my mother talked about her own dark
night.  She described the darkest night of her journey, when it
seemed as if the very powers of hell came into her bedroom to
torment her.  All sorts of sickening thoughts tore through her mind
as she faced the reality of losing the man she loved and of raising
three children by herself.  In the midst of this attack, one "dart"
bounced off her shield of faith.  The voice said to her, "You are
all alone in the world tonight.  No one is praying for you."   
My mother knew that could not be true.  She knew that her
grandmother, a great saint of God, would never have gone to sleep
without getting down on her knees on her granddaughter's behalf.  

As I sat and listened, I saw my mother's faith rise again, even as
she told her story.  I realized that in the midst of the worst
agony of her life, she did not forget who she was.  Her identity as
a child of God, descended from a long line of godly people, charted
her through the pitch dark of night.   
One evening we sat in a restaurant and talked about the future.  I
had no idea what to do.  Everything I had been involved in for the
previous ten or twelve years revolved around a stage, and I did not
believe that long-term healing could occur in a spotlight.  Surface
wounds heal quickly, but deeper wounds take time.  So much of my
life had been built around my career, and now that landscape seemed
decimated.   
That evening, with tears running down my cheeks, I prayed a very
simple but life-changing prayer: "Father, I stand before you now
with empty hands.  Whatever you put in my hands, I will welcome and
whatever you take away, I will gladly let it go." The first step-the prayer-was relatively easy
Walking it out daily is what would prove difficult.  When I fail,
I am grateful for the mercy and forgiveness of God.  And I am
learning that because I am so strong willed, it is important for me
to surrender to God without a barrage of questions- to choose to
obey as an act of will.   
C.  S.  Lewis describes surrendering ourselves to God as the
difference between looking along a beam of light and looking into
a beam of light.  In a book of essays titled God in the Dock, he
describes this experience as it happened to him while sitting in a
toolshed.  He was watching a shaft of sunlight pouring through a
crack in the wood.  It was the only thing that he could
see-everything else was dark- until he stood up and looked through
the beam.  Then, everything was changed; he could not see the beam
at all, and yet the scene outside the woodshed was illuminated.   
We can choose to live in the darkness, observing life from the
safety of the sidelines, or we can step into the light and be given
a bigger vision.  Lewis faced his own time of agony and despair. 
The movie Shadowlands portrays something of that path of broken
glass Lewis was to walk upon in the latter years of his life.  He
was a brilliant writer and apologist who spoke eloquently on many
issues of faith, but his own taste of suffering changed his
paradigm forever.  In the movie we see him standing at a lectern
giving a masterly speech on the purpose of suffering.  The delivery
was brilliant, but detached.   
Then Lewis lost his wife to cancer.  In the midst of his pain, it
seemed to him that God was not listening, as if a door was slammed
in his face "and all that I could hear was the sound of bolting and
double bolting." In time he spoke as one who had walked through the
valley of the shadow of death.  It seems as if that is the way: At
first there is the cry in the darkness, `My God, my God, why have
you forsaken me?"   
Lewis called pain "God's megaphone": Rather than being evidence
that God does not care, pain is overwhelming evidence that he does.  When Lewis looked along the beam
of suffering, he spoke with eloquence.  After he had stood in the
place of suffering and the beam had hit him, he spoke with
compassion and grace.   
I recently read an interesting modern parable that spoke to this
issue of darkness as a teacher.  In his book, Healing the Shame
That Binds You, John Bradshaw tells of a man who was sentenced to
die and placed in a dark cave.   He was told that there was a way
out, and if he could find it in thirty days, he would be free. 
High above him, there was a small hole through which food was
lowered to him every day The man spent every waking moment trying
to build a pile of stones high enough to climb to the top, to that
tiny shaft of light, but by the time that he was close to the
opening he was exhausted from his efforts and fell to his death.  

If the prisoner had only known that one of the stones in the side
of the cave, about two hundred feet from him, had been pushed away,
he could have escaped with little difficulty.  Bradshaw concludes:
"He had so completely focused on the opening of light, that it
never occurred to him to look for his freedom in the darkness."   
It takes time to hear God in the darkness.  It will take quiet, and
quiet is a gift.  "In repentance and rest is your salvation, in
quietness and trust is your strength" (Isaiah 30:15).  None of us
would seek pain in our lives, but when you find yourself in a bleak
place, it is time to pay attention to what God would say to you in
the darkness.  You might be surprised by what he will show you
about your life.  I know Iwas.   
It is dark, Lord.   
I feel so alone.   
I am like a boat that is lost at sea.   I know that you are with me;
chart me through this long, dark night.   Amen.   
You hold the scales of justice   
so tightly to your chest;   
I wish you`d lay them down   
and let me rest there on your breast.
8   Forgiveness Comes Full Circle   
Be kind and compassionate to one another,   
loving each other,   
just as in Christ God forgave you.   
EPHESIANS 4.~2   
Let me describe for you my idea of a perfect evening.   It's cold
outside, possibly raining.  A hearty fire is burning in the
fireplace.  It crackles and dances and sings.  Abigail, my cat, is
stretched out, purring generously, her cream fur orange in the
flame's glow.   
Friends have come over and we've had a meal that we threw together
at the last moment and somehow turned out to be just right, and now
we sit as close to the fire as Abigail will allow and tell
stories-stories of our lives, stories we were told as children,
stories born in our imaginations.   
Few things are more glorious to me than storytelling.   My mother
has always been an avid reader.  She chose to leave school when she
was fifteen to help her mother with my grandfather who was ill, but
her education continued through the pages of Charles Dickens and A. 
J.  Cronin.  We grew up in a small town, but in a huge world
through the gift of stories.  I had more than a few favorites.   
I've already told you of The Wizard of Oz and The Velveteen Rabbit. 
And then there was Beauty and the Beast, 
which had all the "right" elements, including a lonely, beautiful
heroine who faced terrible danger.  Yet in the midst of this
heroine's fear, she reached out to the beast, who was transformed
by the power of her love.   
The Ugly Duckling told a different, yet similar tale.  In this
story, a lonely little fellow~ misunderstood by others, is finally
transformed into the most beautiful swan of all.   Those who had
rejected him are the very ones to tell him, once he becomes a swan,
how magnificent he is.   
The very premise of a fairy tale is that all wrongs will be
righted, that good will triumph over evil, and that, in the end,
truth will be revealed and the story will come full circle.  It all
happens within a few pages, and it all happens on this earth.   
But we do not live in Hans Christian Andersen's world.   We live in
this world.  As Christians, we know there will come a day when all
tears will be wiped away, when peace and joy will be the only songs
we know, but we have a long road to walk until that Day of the
Lord.  For the moment, we have to live with one another, with all
the good and bad that comes with it.  The sad truth is that we will
let one another down.  We will fall.  We will bruise each other. 
So how should we live in the midst of this reality?   
In the previous chapter, I talked about the first days after my
release from the hospital.  Now I'd like to walk you through four
lessons I learned on the road to forgiveness.   This road carried
me back to Virginia Beach at the end of my Washington program, but
the lessons started when I was in the hospital, well before my PHP
days.  Actually, the lessons started years before my breakdown.  
SOWING AND REAPING   
When we find flaws, we find it hard to walk with one another for
the duration of the journey.  Too often we leave a trail of bodies
behind us.  I think of situations when friends of mine were in
trouble and I believed it was my duty to them and to the Lord to help pull
them up by their bootstraps.  Based on what appeared to be
happening on the outside, I made some quick judgment calls.   
If someone lets us down, we walk away.  This happened to me.  What
was most painful was that I knew I had done the very same thing to
a friend when she needed me.   She was one of my few good friends. 
We went on trips together, sat for hours talking over endless cups
of coffee.   We laughed and cried as we shared our hopes and dreams
for the future.  Then one day she sat me down and told me that she
thought she was gay.  My first question was, "Does your husband
know?"   
Yes, he did.  I was absolutely stunned.  I had naively assumed that
this issue never reared its head among Christians.  My friend was
taking a risk telling me, reaching out to me for some kind of
support-not endorsement, but a sign that I was still her friend.  

And when she needed me most, I was not there.  All I could think of
was she must be telling me because she is interested in pursuing
that kind of a relationship with me.  I ran for miles.  She was a
friend in trouble, and I abandoned her.   
Now, years later, I sat in the doctor's office in the hospital with
tears rolling down my cheeks.  I felt crashed and thrown away.   
"What is on your mind, Sheila?" he asked.   
"I thought these people were my friends," I said.  The people I was
speaking of were those who had just walked away from me when my
life had started to unravel.  They were the people who had put an
unsympathetic twist on my "breakdown." Was Satan really using me to
attack CBN?   Was "heaven" really "not pleased with me"?   
Once I entered the hospital, more rumors had begun flying.  The
evangelical world is a fairly small place, and news, especially bad
news, travels fast.  Bits and pieces of these rumors had been
getting back to me, and I was stunned by them.  All of them were untrue: from "she's
had an affair" to "she's been hallucinating and seeing flying
things." And some people-friends-were believing these stories
without even talking to me.   
"I can't believe some of the things that are being said about me. 
It makes me wonder if we were ever friends at all."   
I was angry and I was hurt, but I did not know what to do.  I knew
that God had brought me to the hospital to give me an opportunity
to look at my life and make some changes.  It was hard enough
dealing with what was true without trying to extinguish false
fires.   
The doctor said, "Why don't you go back to your room and talk to
the Lord about this.  Write out how you feel."   
I sat down at my desk very angry.  I wrote down the names of the
people who had most hurt me.  As I sat there, another name came to
mind: the friend I had walked away from.  I tried to push that
thought away; that was not the point of today's exercise, or so I
thought.  But it became very clear to me that my reaction to her
was exactly the point I tried to reason it away-our circumstances
were so different-but the Holy Spirit would have none of that.  The
fact remained that I was now reaping in my own life what I had sown
in another's life.  Perhaps if I had been more gracious in the past
when my friend had needed me, then I would be experiencing more
grace in my own life when I needed itso badly   
My friend needed to know, as she struggled with the shame and pain in
her own life, that she had a companion in the journey.  But I had
refused to be there for her.  As I allowed this realization to
flood over me, I was horrified by what I had done.  I wrote her a
letter that day, telling her that I understood now what I had done
to her.  I asked for her forgiveness.  I knew that she might not
even acknowledge my letter, but I also knew that I had to do
whatever it took to confess that I had seriously wronged her   
Within a few days, she wrote back to me, forgiving me for what I
had done.  Her letter was gracious and magnanimous.  She truly forgave me. 
It was my first lesson in forgiveness.   
EXTEND THE MERCY   
A second lesson staated to sink in on my second Sunday in
Washington.  That Sunday a group of about eight patients hopped in
a van and attended church together.  We sat on the right side of a
beautiful, small church.  Sunlight streamed through the stained
glass, bringing it to life.  The singing inspired me.  It felt like
a holy place.   
When the pastor stood to give his message, I thought to myself that
he looked as if he had weathered some storms of his own.  I sat up
and paid attention.  He read Matthew 18:21-35, the story of the
unmerciful servant.  This man owed his master ten thousand talents,
millions of dollars in U.S.  currency.  Wanting to settle all
outstanding accounts, the master asked his servant to repay what he
owed.  When the man was unable to do so, the master decided to sell
this servant and his wife and children as slaves to recoup some of
his loss.   
Well, the servant fell on his knees and begged for mercy He asked
for more time to make good on his loans.   At this, the merciful
master took pity on his servant.  He didn't just grant his
servant's request for more time; he forgave him the entire debt.  

The servant left rejoicing, but soon ran into a man who owed him a
few dollars.  Showing no mercy, he demanded that this man pay up
immediately.  When the man was unable to do so, the servant had him
thrown in jail.   
But that's not the end of the story.  When the master heard what
his servant had done to someone who owed him so little, he threw
the servant in jail too-until he could repay the millions he had
owed.   
Matthew concludes: "That is how my heavenly Father will treat each
of you unless you forgive your brother from your heart" (Matthew
18:35). The issue uppermost in my mind that morning was my own
desperate need of God's mercy and forgiveness.  But a few days
later as I sat in my room, the rest of the story began to visit me. 
It was clear to me that God was saying, "I have forgiven you for so
much.  I have wiped all your sins away.   Because of my Son's
sacrifice, you are free.  Now extend that mercy to others."   
I did not want to do that.  I was hurt and angry, and I wanted
those who had hurt me to at least acknowledge they had done so-and
ask to be forgiven.  But the Lord would not let me rest.  I was to
forgive, and I was to forgive now.   "How do I do this, Lord?" I
prayed.  "I will just be pretending, because I do not feel anything
in my heart.  It will only be words."   
It still seemed that God was requiring something of me.   It didn't
matter if it made sense to me or if I felt like doing it.   In
obedience to this call, I began to write down the names of the
people I was angry with.  As I put some of those names on paper, I
found myself weeping, thinking of former times when there had been
peace between us-times when things had been very different.   
I could write the names down.  I could even think about
forgiveness.  But to actually forgive them-I did not know how to do
it.  For that, I needed a third lesson.   
FORGIVENESS FACE-TO-FACE   
The very next day I heard a lecture on forgiveness.  As I looked
around the room, I realized how much harder forgiveness must be for
some of the other patients than for me.   Some of these women had
been sexually molested by family members.  How do you begin to
forgive that?   
Another of the women had been brutally beaten by her husband.  What
did forgiveness mean for her?  She stood up and told the group that
she could not forgive.  It would mean everything that had happened
to her was forgotten, and she could not afford to forget.  The
doctor told her four things:   130  FORGIVENESS COMES FULL CIRCLE   Forgiveness does not minimize what
has been done to you.   
Forgiveness does not make the pain go away.   Forgiveness does not
blot out your memory.   Forgiveness is a God-given strategy for
dealing with   
the pain of life.   
As I further processed what was happening in my life, I discovered
a substantial stumbling block to my forgiving others: I found it
very hard to forgive myself, so when I encountered judgment in
others it only served to reinforce what I already believed about
myself.   
This staated even before I left Virginia Beach.  There came a point
when people did not stop by my office the way they had before.  I
was definitely no longer the "flavor of the month," as the saying
goes.  The staff seemed kind, but distant.   I was not myself.  I
was quiet and thin.  I cried too much or laughed too loudly It was
clear to people that something was happening in my life, and it was
not clear exactly how it would play out, so friends to whom I had
been close kept away   
I felt such an overwhelming burden of failure.  I had promised God
that he could always count on me, and now I could barely function. 
I felt like one of those star acts at the circus.  People had once
applauded me and watched me with fascination, but now that I had
lost my grasp of the trapeze bar, everyone stood back in horror,
watching me fall from the sky.  In my final days at CBN, no one
seemed to know what to do.   
I was wounded and utterly frustrated by letters I received from
friends before I entered the hospital, telling me to "get your act
together," and insisting that what was happening to me was "not
pleasing to the Lord." How can someone stand in front of an
erupting volcano and tell the volcano, "Don't do this"?  The
letters made me realize how conditional many of my relationships
were.  The clear message was, if you pull yourself together in a
way that makes sense to us, we will continue to be your friends. 
If not, we will have to walk away.  I began to see how I had set
myself up for this response.  I had been so passionately committed
to being the perfect Christian since I was a young girl that
"perfect Christian" was the only Sheila Walsh many people knew.  If
she was no longer there, the new Sheila was a stranger.   
After I finished the PHP program, I went back to Virginia to find
out what the next step should be.  I was going to meet with Pat
Robertson to talk about my future with CBN.   Terry Meeuwsen, who
used to fill in for me when I was on vacation, had been taking my
place temporarily until a final decision was made.  As I thought
and prayed about the future, a new seed began to grow in me.  I had
spent so many years being the one who was supposed to have all the
answers; now I wanted to be the one who was learning and growing. 
The seed grew rapidly, and I made tentative inquiries about going
to seminary.  By the time I sat down with Pat a week later, I had
been provisionally accepted at Fuller Theological Seminary.  He was
excited for me and agreed that a couple of years away from the
pressures of public life would be a wise decision.   
One of my coworkers at "The 700 Club" called me a few days later
and told me that a reporter from the National Enquirer was on my
tail, trying to get a photograph of me drooling or talking to
ducks.  I could imagine the headline: "FORMER CO-HOST OF 700 CLUB
SEEN ON BEACH IN BATHROBE TRYING TO WALK ON WATER."   
The producer of "The 700 Club" asked me to appear on the next
week's show as a guest.  Viewers wanted to know what had happened
to me, and the Enquirer would be less likely to run a story if I
appeared on television looking relatively normal.  (The story never
ran.)   
There was some debate as to whether I should tell viewers that I
had been in a psychiatric hospital, but for me it was a moot point. 
That was the simple truth, and I needed to keep telling the truth
as best I could. I was extremely nervous as I drove
through the CBN gates that morning in late November.  I had done
this same routine for years, but today was very different.  I went
upstairs to makeup.  Terry Meeuwsen, the woman replacing me, was in
my old dressing room.  I stood at the door and took a deep breath. 
As I walked in, the two makeup artists came over to hug me, both
with tears in their eyes.  It was good to see them, and they set to
work.  When they were finished with me, I looked at myself in the
mirror and thought, Well, if the nurse who took away my makeup
could see me now!   
I walked up the familiar steps to "The 700 Club" offices and along
the corridor where my colleagues had their office spaces.  One
after the other, they came out to hug me and tell me they had
missed me.  It felt so healing to be there with them, and the
forgiveness that had seemed cold on paper came to life
face-to-face.   
It was time to tape, so I.  went down to the studio.  All the
camera guys were there, including the floor director who had
rescued me from many tough on-air situations (like the bear trainer
who thought it would be easier to talk to me if he had his hand on
my leg!).  It was so good to see them all again.   
I had prayed that morning that God would help me thank the viewers
who had faithfully prayed for me-without losing it on the air. 
Pat Robertson was there and Ben Kinchiow and Terry It felt strange
to be the one being interviewed, and yet I was very aware of the
Lord's presence as I sat in that chair.  I thanked Pat for his love
and support.  I thanked those who had prayed and told them a little
of what had happened to me.  I told the audience that I had been
praying for some time that God would show me what the next step
was, and that I was going back to school for a master's in theology
from Fuller Theological Seminary in California.  I relayed how
excited I was about this opportunity to go back to the basics of my
faith and to listen and learn and grow. After I had finished speaking, Pat prayed for me, and it
was all over.  I left the set.  I decided I liked Terry a lot and,
as I've subsequently watched her, I've come to admire her abilities
as a journalist.   
Before I left the building, one of the girls I had been closest to
asked to talk to me.  We sat on a window ledge in the corridor, She
told me she was sorry she had not been there for me; she just
hadn't known what to do.  How well I understood that!  As we hugged
and said good-bye, it was clear to us that God was working in both
our lives, teaching us what it meant to love God and each other.  

I drove out of the main gates and prayed a blessing on this place
in which I had learned so much.  It was strange to say good-bye
when it had been my whole life for so long.   When I left for
Washington, I had been afraid I would not be able to return, but
now I was leaving freely and willingly I left the grounds of CBN
with a deeper appreciation for the gift of forgiveness that
liberates all those who receive it and extend it to others,
face-to-face.   
In the month that followed that final appearance, I received and
read more than five thousand letters from viewers telling me about
their own stories.  I was amazed at what I read.  Letter after
letter told of people struggling with their own depression or that
of a loved one.  I had no desire to become the poster child for
depression, but I am glad that my last appearance on "The 700 Club"
gave some people the courage to tell their own stories.  As for
myself, I was beginning a new journey   
UNBOUND!   
The Lord showed me a fourth lesson in forgiveness.   Before I left
Virginia Beach, I went with a colleague to the ballet.  It was a
modern production, which is not usually my taste, but it had a
profound impact on me.  The opening dance was a depiction of a
mother giving birth to her son.   The dancer representing the baby
stood wrapped in white cloth bandages.  Other dancers
began to unwrap them until the child was standing alone with one
last sheath of cloth around his body.  (I sense I'm losing some of
you at this point!)  The boy stood there, still convinced that he
was confined.  Then he realized that if he took a single step, the
rest of the cloths would fall away.  (Fortunately he did have
tights on underneath!)  As I watched this performance, I had an
overwhelming sense of the Lord's saying: "Sheila, you are free.  I
brought some people into your life to start the process, but now
you must walk in it."   
As I began to forgive others, they returned to normal size.  I no
longer saw them in monster-like proportions.  As long as I viewed
someone as the enemy, I gave that person some power over my life. 
But as I forgave a person, I too was free.  I saw that I could
spend a lot of time imprisoned by past failures, or I could thank
God for his never-ending grace and forgiveness and get on with the
rest of my life.   
This took me back to the lesson from Jesus' parable of the
unmerciful servant.  I had been forgiven much-and I was to continue
to reach out to others with the grace God had offered me.   
WALKING IN FORGIVENESS   
Here is a mental treatment guaranteed to cure every ill that man is
heir to: Sit for half an hour every night and forgive anyone
against whom you have any ill will.   
CHARLES FILLMORE, QUOTED IN How TO HEAL DEPRESSION BY HAROLD
BLOOMFIELD   
Before moving to Los Angeles, I continued to live in Virginia for
a couple of months after coming back from the hospital.  During
that time, I met regularly with a wise and godly counselor who
constantly urged me to ask myself in every situation, "What would
Jesus do?"   
This counselor helped me to work through the process of responding
to broken relationships.  Through all the pain and confusion, I learned that everything comes to me
through the merciful and loving hands of God.  Knowing this seemed
to shift everything, to throw open the doorway between my past and
my future.  I thought of the story of Joseph.  When he finally
revealed to his brothers that he-the governor of Egypt-was the kid
brother they had sold into slavery, they feared for their lives. 
Joseph told them not to be afraid; what they had intended for evil,
God meant for good.   
Joseph was an innocent man who had been seriously wronged, and his
story has relevance for us all.  If we have committed our lives
into God's hands, we can trust him that even the worst storms will
be used to make us more like Christ.  This was the paradigma
through which everything else in my life began to fall into place
and make sense.  The next steps were more difficult, but I knew now
where to walk.   
One of the most important steps for me was to allow anyone who felt
disappointed or personally wounded by me to talk to me.  My natural
instinct is to stay away from what might be painful, to write
people off and move on, but that is never the way of the Cross.  I
lived that way for too long, and it is the way of the coward.  I
want to deal with life honestly, seeking restoration wherever
possible.  I used to believe that pain was a negative force that
would destroy me.  I do not believe that anymore.   
One of the hardest things I did was to talk to a man who had hurt
me through his letter, which I received just before I went into the
hospital.  As I drove to his home, my heart pounded in my chest. 
We were both a little guarded at first as we sat at his kitchen
table, drinking coffee.  I told him I had wanted to see him because
I knew he was angry with me and I wanted to give him an opportunity
to say what he had to say face-to-face.  I listened as he spoke
about the confusion he experienced, as he described how helpless he
felt to do anything.  I told him that his letter had hurt me, but
I was sorry for the pain I had caused.  We only spent a couple  
of hours together, but the chasm
between us was gone.  We are friends to this day.   
I accepted all those who were disappointed in me and gave them
space to feel angry and wounded-even to walk away.  If I knew
someone had something against me, I went to them and asked them to
say what was on their hearts.  In each case, I tried not to be
defensive but to really listen and ask for forgiveness where there
was a wound.   
In one instance, I had hurt someone through a careless remark and
knew that I had to ask for forgiveness.  I hardly knew the person
but had heard through the grapevine that he was angry with me.  I
called his secretary and asked if he would see me.  We arranged a
meeting for the next day.  As I rode the elevator to his office, I
had no idea how the meeting would go.  I only knew that I had an
apology to make.   
I sat in a busy reception area as people rushed in and out of a
maze of offices.  The man came to meet me and asked me to follow
him.  He sat quietly, waiting for me to begin.  I told him I had
come to ask for forgiveness.  All sorts of excuses rumbled around
in my mind, but none of them warranted utterance.  I had wronged
another human being, and that was all that mattered.  The man was
more than gracious and warmly accepted my apology.  Minutes later
I rode down the elevator, a humbled, grateful woman.   
Whenever names or faces would come to mind and I felt some of the
old resentment stirring, I would immediately begin to pray for
those people, that God's blessing would be upon them.   
What happened in the weeks and months that followed was an
incredible learning experience for me.  Some of those people are no
longer in my life, and I have had to take time to grieve over that,
accept it, and move on.  The best gift of all, however, is that
with those who continued to walk with me, no matter how rocky it
got for a while, I have a depth of friendship that I never before
knew was possible.
A FAITHFUL STORY  
 I an~ convinced that nine out of ten people
seeing a psychiatrist, do not need one.  They need someone who will
love them with God's love and then, they will get well.   PAUL
TOURNIER,
GUILT AND GRACE
I have a story to tell that is far more
wonderful to me than all the stories I have tucked away in my mind
for a rainy day, because it happened to me.  When I was at my
lowest point, I had a friend who chose not to leave me, who refused
to let go of me even when I was at my worst.  We had worked
together before I started at "The 700 Club." He had been part of
the team that managed my career, but we had not seen each other in
some time.   
This person heard I was in trouble before I went into the hospital
and tried to contact me, but I did not return his calls.  At the
time, I felt I was beyond help and could see no purpose in letting
someone try   
He faxed me while I was in the hospital, but I ignored the faxes. 
Even so, he and his wife decided they would not give up on me.  And
when I was back in Virginia Beach after I left the hospital, he
flew in from Nashville to tell me just that.   
I remember sitting in a restaurant with him the day after I was
released from the hospital.  He spoke very succinctly: "You need
friends right now, and we are here."   
During the next few weeks and months, I went through all sorts of
changes.  Old fears rose to the surface.  I wanted to give up, but
he would not let me.  Not once did he try to make light of what was
happening to me or gloss over my responsibilities.  He spoke the
truth strongly to me, wrapped in a blanket of assurance that he and
his wife were with me for the rest of the journey He was committed
to continuing the process that began in the hospital no matter how
long it took. I will never be able to adequately
thank this friend and his wife for the gift they gave to me. 
Without them I doubt I would be standing where I am today-in peace
and rest.   
That kind of friendship is what the Lord intends for us all to
have.  That's the way it was supposed to be.   
A PLEA FOR UNDERSTANDING   
Much of this chapter on forgiveness has focused on my journey of
mending broken relationships-of forgiving those who had caused me
great pain and of asking forgiveness from those I had hurt.   
I end this chapter with another true story, this one from another
century.  It is a story that teaches a lesson of forgiveness.  This
time, I will tell you the moral of the story before I begin: Many
of the judgments we make of one another-judgments that cause great
pain-are preventable, because they are based on misunderstanding
and misinformation.   
This story came to life for me while I was in the seminary during
a course in church history.  It was wonderful to be back in a
classroom, to be surrounded by people who wanted to learn and grow. 
By the third semester, we had moved to recent history.  For my
finals, I chose to write a paper on covenant theology and the Salem
witch trials.   What happened in that little Massachusetts town in
1692 should never be forgotten.   
Salem was a Puritan community that lived under a "covenant of
works" and a "covenant of grace." This covenant of grace became a
noose around the neck of many believers.  Being accused of a sin
was tantamount to being separated from Christian fellowship.  If
you confessed to the sin you were accused of, you received the
"grace" of being welcomed back into the community.  If you did not
confess, you were damned in the eyes of the church.   
The dilemma at Salem was this: What did you do if you were accused
of a sin that you did not commit?  Did you lie and say you were guilty in order to be reinstated into
fellowship?  Or did you tell the truth, claim your innocence, and
face banishment-earthly damnation?  Quite obviously, great power
lay in the hands of the accuser.   
In Salem, when some parents felt their children were becoming
apathetic in their faith, the community emphasized revivals.  In
the winter of 1692, the religious fervor was high.   
At the same time as these revivals were occurring, a few of the
young girls began to meet with the minister's slave, ~tuba.  A
Carib Indian, ~tuba regaled them with tales of magic and folklore. 
The enthralled girls began to exhibit strange behavior, fainting,
and screaming.  The pastor, afraid of displays of emotion, made
them fast and pray to quiet their souls, but this only served to
make them more excitable.   
Then the hammer fell.  The girls began to accuse several women in
the community of witchcraft.  (Why, no one knows.)  The situation
escalated until more than a hundred innocent women came under
suspicion.  The accused knew their options: Confess to a sin that
they did not commit and be restored to the community, or truthfully
deny the accusation and be executed.  Between June 10 and
September22, nineteen men and women and two dogs were hanged for
witchcraft.  One man, Giles Corey, was pressed to death between
rocks.  When given one last chance to save himself, he simply said,
"More weight.   
Twenty years later a court annulled the convictions, and all the
girls who had accused the unfortunate victims admitted that their
accusations had not been true.  But twenty people were dead and
families had been destroyed.   Worse, they had been executed by
people who loved God and who believed themselves to be the chosen
remnant.   
Today, our world is littered with broken, bitter people who need
love and instead receive judgment.  By love, I do not mean a soft,
quiet thing, but a powerful force for good.   Love breaks down and
builds up.  It is transforming.  Judgment, however, brings condemnation
and fear.  It is cowardly because it distances itself from the pain
of life.  Rather than healing what is bent, it cripples and
abandons.   
True love, the love that speaks the truth and yet refuses to
abandon others, gives people an opportunity to change.   It even
motivates them to change.   
Perhaps God will bring someone to your mind as he did with
me-someone who needs your love in the same way that Christ loved
you.  It is never too late to start again.   
Dear Father, who forgives all our sins, who showers us with mercy
and compassion, teach us to love as you love; teach us to forgive
as you forgive; teach us to live as you lived.   For Christ's sake, 
 
Amen.   
Late into many nights I sat alone   
weighing the emptiness,   
handling this stone.   
Day after day lost in the noise,   
stifle the sadness, muffle the voice,   
and then the hammer fell;   
it took the house as well.   
Let it go, let the whole thing go.
9 The Companionship of Brokenness   
Religion is for people who are afraid of going to hell.   
Spirituality is for those who have been there.   
Ross V.  MEMBER oF A.A.   
I'd been a patient in the hospital two weeks.  It was Saturday, and
on the weekends our daily schedule loosened up a bit.  On Saturdays
we could "play."   
The sun decided to battle the November chill and bless us with a
gloriously warm day The staff encouraged us to vote on what we
would do.  Some of the younger women wanted to go shopping.  Others
voted for the Smithsonian.  I cast my vote for an art exhibit of
the works of several French impressionists.  Two of the guys voted
for a bait and tackle shop (which had about as much chance as my
art exhibit!).  We were stuck.   We had to choose a place everyone
would enjoy   
A staff member suggested we do something outdoors on such a pretty
day, and we agreed.  I suggested a picnic by the Potomac, but the
bait and tackle guys were less than thrilled.  Eventually we
settled on a volleyball tournament.  I was horrified.  I've never
been good at sports, especially when it comes to getting something
over a net.  I tried to dream up another idea, but it was no use. 
I was stuck.  The days of doing whatever I wanted were over. The decision made, I went to my room and grabbed a book,
thinking I could read while the others played.  It's hard to
explain what it is like to be confined to a hospital for a time and
then be taken on an outing.  I have flown around the world, sung to
royalty in the most beautiful theater in London, played to a
capacity crowd at the Sydney Opera House, but none of those things
gave me such joy as sitting in our little bus, heading off for a
Saturday in the park.   
I felt alive and free and happy-that is, until they put up the
volleyball net.  The bait and tackle guys, who were team captains,
began to pick teams.  When one of them called my name, I explained
that I wasn't going to play; I would be reading.  When the man
insisted I be on his team, I replied that I did not know how to
play and had as much desire to learn as I had to stick my hand in
a blender.  Then he told me not to be so selfish.  I was shocked. 
What does he mean?  I thought.  I'm doing him a favor!   
The man was obviously hurt by my unwillingness to risk looking like
an idiot.  I realized that I had not thought about how my decision
would affect others-I was too aware of how it affected me.  I hated
to do things I was not good at and had always played to my
strengths.  Reluctantly I agreed to join the game.   
I would love to tell you that out there on that field I discovered
the hidden athlete within me.  I did not.  I was actually worse
than I thought I would be.  If you never try something, you can
hold onto the myth that you might be very gifted if you ever
decided to give it your best shot.  Out there on the field, I gave
myself to it-and all myths were dispelled.  As a volleyball player,
I am truly awful.  The funny thing is, I had a wonderful time.  I
had more fun that day, doing something that I was abysmal at, than
I had during some of the most successful times in my life.   
My team sized me up immediately and worked with me.  I had no idea
that it could be fun to do something you have no talent for, if you
are doing it with people you care  HONESTLY   
Up until that point, I had always felt uncomfortable when people
laughed at me; I viewed it as judgment and rejection.  But when I
started to laugh too, I saw that the laughter was a simple
acknowledgment of my humanity.  We were not laughing because I was
a terrible person, but because I was a terrible bowler!  I thought
back to moments in my life when I had been unable to laugh, when I
felt shamed by my failure.  All sorts of pictures flashed before
me.   
I was twenty-two years old and working as an itinerant singer and
speaker with Youth For Christ.  One evening I was performing at a
military camp in Germany A thousand men and women filled the
auditorium-an old building that needed some serious repair, as I
was soon to discover.  The camp commander introduced me.  I walked
on-and fell through a hole in the stage.  The wood was rotting in
places, and my right leg had found the perfect spot.  There was a
moment of quiet horror until, realizing I was unhurt, the audience
began to roar with laughter.  The whole thing must have been very
funny-but I was dying inside.  I felt like such a fool.  I
struggled through the concert, but couldn't wait for it to end.  I
had been given the perfect icebreaker, but, instead, it became an
ice maker inside of me.   
My thoughts moved on.  time after time I had withdrawn from people
when I thought they perceived me as a failure.  I always knew that
my life encompassed joys and sorrows, successes and failures,
moments of glory and moments of pain.  And one reason I had led
such a lonely life was to protect myself from the reaction I might
get when the darker side of my life took center stage for a while. 
I protected myself from rejection by showing up only in situations
where I could win.  That is a very safe, but miserable place to
live.  Now I was learning to enjoy the companion ship of
brokenness.   
Coming to terms with the reality of my own limitations as a human
being was so liberating for me.  I was reminded of the story of a
Sunday school teacher who asked a student, "If good children are green
and bad children are red,what color would you be, Mary?"   
With the honesty of a child, she replied, "I'd be streaky"   
That is the truth for my life.  I am streaky.  In fact, we are all
streaky One writer has said that there is a crack in every- thing
God has made.  This is not, however, a license to live in a
careless way in hopes that our subsequent brokenness will teach us
more about the grace and mercy of God.  As Paul said, "What shall
we say, then?  Shall we go on sinning so that grace may increase? 
By no means!" (Romans 6:1-2).   Instead, our weakness should lead
us to deeper humility and greater dependency on God.   
LONG ARMS, HIGH WALLS   
The hospital program included an art class.  I couldn't see any
point in this at all.  I have no talent for design and wondered how
this was supposed to be therapeutic.  In one of our sessions, we
were given a piece of clay and told to model a figure that
described our lives.  I sat for a while, staring at this lump of
clay I did not know where to start.  "Just do it, Sheila," the
teacher said.  "Don't think so much about it." I took the clay and
began to mold.  When I had finished, I was surprised by what I saw. 
I had made a little girl who lived inside a walled circle.  She
looked like a normal girl except her arms were twice as long as
they should have been.   
"All right, class, you can stop now," the art therapist said.  We
were asked to walk around the room and look at one another's
models, and then to say what we saw.   
"Well, Sheila's is a giveaway!" someone said.  "Arms long enough to
reach out and help others, but no one gets to touch her" As I
looked again, I saw it too: a wall that kept me safe, arms that
made me useful-a lonely life.   
LOVED TO LIFE   
As I mentioned in connection with the shame profile, if you asked
regular viewers of "The 700 Club," they might well had a problem with intimacy, they may not have believed you.   But
there is a difference between bleeding all over people and sharing
your true self at an appropriate level.  To satisfy a deep desire
for connection, I did all I knew how-I spilled myself over the
camera.  A healthier tack would have been to be totally open with
God and myself and to have had an honest, vulnerable relationship
with a few close friends.  From that strong base of connectedness
and security I would have been able to be transparent with my
audience out of the fullness of my life, not in a desperate attempt
to connect with people whom I never saw face-to face.   
As each day in the hospital passed, I learned much from other
patients about being vulnerable and transparent.   At times, their
honesty shocked me.  They would voice their doubts and fears and
allow others that same privilege.  They seemed to gain strength by
that very honesty; their faith was not diminished by their words,
but honed and refined.  I thought of the philosophy of Alcoholics
Anonymous, where people introduce themselves in the most basic
terms: "I'm Simon, and I'm an alcoholic." Surely that should be on
our lips as the church: "I'm Sheila, and I'm a sinner."   
Once I got out of the hospital, my doctor assured me, I would find
new friends as long as I continued to be open and vulnerable.  He
was right.  Everywhere I went, I found "real people"-who reminded
me of the velveteen rabbit, loved- scrubbed to life.  In my days of
trying to be perfect, life had been all about me.  Now that I had
had some of my fur "loved off," I realized that my life was
supposed to be about others.   Now I was "real" too.  When you
carefully guard your image, you don't take risks to reach out to
others; you dispense your time and love in tiny portions.  Jesus
was never like that.  He lavished himself on the great strugglers
of the world, those who wrestled and failed with their humanity He
talked to them, he listened and lovingly spoke the undiluted truth. 
In his letter to the church in
Thessalonica, Paul said, "We loved you so much that we were
delighted to share with you not only the gospel of God but our
lives as well" (I Thessalonians 2:8).   
Teach me to feel another's woe, To hide the fault I see; That mercy
I to others show, That mercy show to me.   ALEXANDER PoPE   
AN ANGELS MESSAGE   
The older I get, the more I realize why God gave us each other, and
why Paul spoke so powerfully about the body of Christ.  I've
learned that as I take the first step in reaching out to others, I
receive back the grace I give.  In the hospital I was lonely, so I
befriended another lonely girl in our unit, and neither of us were
alone.  I was sad, and as I reached out to someone else who was
crying, I was helped too.  We need one another so much more than I
ever realized.   Sometimes help is standing right beside us, but
because it does not look like what we prayed for, we can miss it. 
I almost did.   
It was 1990.  My life was very busy with ten live television shows
a week.  My secretary, Pat, was a gift from God.   She could get
through mountains of work and still remain calm and clearheaded. 
Every day, many people called asking to talk to me, and she was
gifted in knowing which calls I should take and which could be
handled by our team of counselors.  One evening, when I was about
to leave, she said there was a call she thought I should take.   
little did I know that an angel was on the line.  I was familiar
with some of the details of this woman's life because one of our
field reporters had produced a feature segment on her.  She had
been raised in a very disturbed home, sexually abused by her mother
and father.  When a young teenager, she
had hit the streets of Hollywood as a prostitute.  Her street name
was Angel, and she had a Mohawk haircut that was all the colors of
the rainbow.  Our introduction was a strange one.   Angel and a
friend had decided it would be fun to rip off a Christian
bookstore.  One of the tapes she stole that night was mine.  She
liked how I looked.  My hair was short and spiky then, and because
I was wearing a leatherjacket, she decided to listen to my tape. 
(A bookstore in Dallas refused to stock that tape, because they
thought I did not look like a Christian.   Angel must have agreed!) 
She liked the music, and shortly after that she was invited to a
church, where she gave her life to Christ.  She wanted to get off
the streets, but that's hard to do if it's the only life you've
known.  And for Angel, her street friends were her family   
Angel had written to me many times, so it was nice to finally put
a voice to her letters.  When she called that night, we talked for
a long time.  It was clear she wanted to live a new life, but she
struggled daily to walk away from the drugs and alcohol that made
her former life bearable.  I made a commitment to her that day-that
I would be there for her, to talk when she needed to.  Over the
next two years I saw her a number of times.  She came to several
concerts I gave in her area, and a couple of times she came to
Virginia Beach.  On one trip she was a guest on my show.  It was so
refreshing to have someone as honest and transparent as Angel; she
gave us all a lot to think about.  Whenever she phoned, I would
pray with her and offer a few words of encouragement.   
When I was released from the hospital, I met up with Angel again. 
It was incredible to see the growth and changes in her life (and in
her hair color!).  We talked about her life and how she was coping,
and then she asked me how I was doing.  I said I was fine.   
She looked at me for a moment and said, "Why do you find itso hard
to let people get close to you?"   
I was surprised by her question.  This was not how our relationship
worked.  I was the one who asked her questions and tried to help her.  She
smiled at my discomfort.  "It's all right for you to need people
too, Sheila," she said to me.   
After I moved to L.A.  in the spring of `93, Angel and I saw more of
each other.  I was amazed at her ability to deal with everything
life threw at her.  No matter what happened, she kept on walking
with God.  And drastic things did happen: Shortly after her
decision to give her life to Christ, she was diagnosed with a brain
tumor.  The operation to remove the tumor was successful, but it
resulted in a stroke, leaving the left side of her face paralyzed. 
Over time, she made a remarkable recovery; she fought hard to get
well, which is why her phone call late in the summer of `94
devastated me.   
"It's back," she said.   
"What do you mean, it's back?" I asked.   
"The tumor is back.  I have another brain tumor"   
I couldn't believe it.  Why should one person have to endure so
much?  Angel had no family support, no loving mother to stand
beside her all the way, as I had.  She had just finished two years
of hard work to recover from her last surgery.  Having no money,
she was sent to the welfare hospital in Los Angeles.  I remember
visiting her.  When I think of a hospital, I think of pristine
floors, clean white uniforms, and the utmost care given to the
health and well-being of the patient.  This place was another
world.  The bathroom I visited on my way to Angel's room was
filthy-there were two huge cockroaches on the floor.  Angel lay on
a bed with one sheet over her.  Through the open window~ the dirt
and smog of L.A.   washed over her.  She was too weak to speak, so
I sat and held her hand.  I talked to her doctor; who said he was
pretty sure they had caught it all this time, but only time would
tell.   
The next day she seemed a little more lucid, and we were able to
talk for a while.  I left the hospital that day with tears burning
my eyes and Angel's parting words searing my mind: "Can you imagine
how awful it must be to be in here, Sheila, without Jesus?  I am so
blessed." She fought hard again, through seemingly endless
complications, and made it to the other side.  As she became
stronger and more independent, I called less often.  Other issues
were pressing at me, and my full schedule at school was demanding. 
I guess I thought she did not need me as much any more.  Angel
thought otherwise.  She called me one day and asked if she could be
candid.   
"Please do," I said.   
"I want to be your friend, Sheila, not your project.  I think you
need me just as much as I need you.  If that's not what you want,
then I will understand and walk away, but I want to be clear with
you."   
I didn't know what to say Shocked by her words, I grew a little
defensive, but one lesson I was learning was to really listen to
people.  She continued, "God has used you in my life in so many
ways, and I will always be grateful for that, but I want to help
you too."   
I knew she was right.  I viewed our relationship as a one-way
street.  God had used me to help her, and so I had adopted the role
of expert.  And now I was confronted with my arrogance.  Here was
a young woman who had faced so much sorrow in her life and yet,
through the grace of God, she was walking close to him.  She was
taking a risk in confronting me, but she loved me enough to speak
the truth.   She was calling a spade a spade.   
Angel's frankness reminded me of a story about a Christian school
that placed a great emphasis on the Bible and learning the ways of
God.  An enthusiastic young teacher at this school was talking to
her eight-year-old students.  The teacher said, "Children, what is
gray, has a bushy tail, eats nuts, and climbs trees?"   
The class was silent.   
"Come on, children," she encouraged.  "This is not difflcult.  What
is gray, has a big bushy tail, and gathers nuts?"   
Again there was silence, until a little boy timidly raised his hand
and said, "Well, I know that the answer is Jesus, but it sounds
like a squirrel to me." That's what I love about
Angel-she calls a squirrel a squirrel!   
More than that, Angel is a tangible answer to a specific prayer. 
I had asked God to weave me together with a few people with whom I
could live the rest of my life.  It is easy to pray heady prayers
about the body of Christ, but it is wise to keep our eyes open,
because sometimes the answers come in unexpected ways-they did with
Angel.   
POOR IN SPIRIT: THE FELLOWSHIP OF SUFFERING   
The quote at the beginning of this chapter; from a member of
Alcoholics Anonymous, is becoming more true for me everyday.   
Religion is for those who are afraid of going to hell. 
Spirituality is for those who have been there.   
Religion speaks of rules; spirituality speaks of life.  I think of
the parable of the rich man and Lazarus: The rich man had every
luxury life would allow, and at his door lay a beggar who had
nothing.  For him a good day meant eating the crumbs that fell from
the rich man's table; all he hoped for was a little mercy The rich
man knew the plight of the poor man, but he was deaf to his cries
and blind to his desperate condition-until it was too late.  When
both men died, the poor man was carried to the final comfort and
consolation of Abraham's bosom, and the rich man awoke to the
burning torment of an eternal hell (Luke 16:19-31).   
Jesus said, "Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the
kingdom of heaven" (Matthew 5:3).  Covered in the garments of
religion, we are like the rich man in that we feel invincible,
cushioned from the brokenness of the world.  But true spirituality
makes us poor in spirit; it brings us to our knees in wretched
awareness of our sinful nature.  We worship at the feet of the One
who has made us clean-the One who took our suffering upon himself
and in whose suffering we have fellowship.  Philippians 3:10 says,
"I want to know Christ and the power of his resurrection and the
fellowship of sharing in his sufferings."   
The fellowship of suffering changes one's view forever-nothing
looks the same anymore.  The camera guys at CBN used to tease me
about what they called my "mall ministry." Quite often, people who
had seen me on television would stop me in the mall and talk for a
while.  Sometimes they would ask me to pray for a member of their
families or for personal crises.  It drove friends who were
shopping with me nuts, but I saw it as part of myjob.   
Shortly after I was released from the hospital, I was wandering
through the mall one evening looking for Christmas gifts for my
family.  I was standing at a counter; waiting to pay, when I
realized someone was looking at me.  I caught her eye and smiled,
and she came over to me.   
"I know you must be busy, and I don't want to keep you, but I would
be very grateful if you could say a prayer for me if God brings me
to your mind," she said.  I looked into her eyes and saw such pain. 
I recognized that look of barely holding yourself together.  "Do
you have time for a cup of coffee?" I asked her We sat down in a
quiet corner; and she began to talk.  She asked if I remembered
reading about a terrible road accident the previous week.   
Yes, I had been horrified at the loss of a man and two little
children.  "That was my family," she said.  We sat there for a
while holding hands, tears pouring down our cheeks.   There was
nothing to say, nothing that would make it any better.  After a
while, she dried her eyes and got up to leave.   We embraced, and
she looked deep into my eyes and thanked me.  In one sense I didn't
"do" anything.  I didn't come up with any clever words or magic
prayers.  We had just sat for a while together; two people who love
God, sharing the heartbreak of life and death.   
The old Sheila would have prayed for that woman and hurried on,
feeling self-satisfied that I had done a good thing.  THE COMPANIONSHIP OF BROKENNESS   But this time I really saw her;
and we touched for a moment and left knowing our only hope is the
Lord.   
HEAR ME OUT   
There is much in Scripture about listening to one another.  And
I've learned that when you are at peace with God and with yourself,
you can extend grace to others who are in pain, even to those who
snap at you.   
After I had been at seminary for about a year, a friend asked if I
would be a guest on a radio talk show.  I wasn't sure I wanted to
do anything in the public eye anymore-or if God wanted me to-but
after consulting with close friends, we thought it would be good
for me to accept this opportunity.  There is still such a stigma
attached to being in a psychiatric hospital that if even one
person was helped by my story and the lessons I'd learned, then it
would be time well spent.   
So I went on the air.  For the first hour everything went smoothly,
and then I saw the interviewer frown and shake his head.  When he
threw to a commercial break, he told me they had a woman on hold
who wanted to say something to me; she was angry.  He said he was
prepared to drop the call, but I asked him not to.  I could not see
any purpose in hiding from the genuine emotions of others.  If she
was angry with me, it would be better that she got it out than
allow it to fester.  When we were back on the air, they put the
caller through.   
"I am very angry with you," she said.   
I could hear the emotion in her voice.  In anger, she was very
close to tears.  "Can you tell me why?" I asked her.   
"I certainly will," she said.  "Is it true that you are divorced?" 
 
"Yes, it is." I replied.   
"I am so disappointed in you!" She began to weep.   
"I understand that," I said quietly.  "I am too."
I asked her if we could talk some more after I was off the air. 
She was obviously very distressed, and we needed some time.  I
finished the show.  Later; from home, I called her, and we talked
for a couple of hours.  Her husband, a leader in a local church,
had recently left her for another woman.  After twenty years of
marriage, he was gone, and she was left with a broken heart and
unanswered questions.   She was angry with me, she said, because
"if people like you get divorced, perhaps it makes people like my
husband think it is all right for them."   
What could I say to her?  She had every right to be angry.  I
simply listened and cried with her and told her how sorry I was. 
All that any of us can do is to live in line with the Word of God
and keep our arms open to one another.  At the end of our
conversation, she was kind enough to say that she was not really
angry with me; she was just very broken and very alone.  She had
needed a chance to speak, to be heard, to cry out, to beat her
hands against the wall, to have someone hold onto her in the midst
of her pain.   
From that caller; I learned that we all need to hear beyond what is
said to what remains unsaid just under the surface.  This is a
broken, fallen world, and we will fail one another miserably.  But
if we will learn to reach out to and hold on to each other through
the maelstrom of words, we will find companionship on our journey
that makes the dark days that much more bearable.   SOMEONE NEEDS
TO TAKE THE FIRST STEP   
It was always winter in the village, but no one seemed to mind. 
The memories of spring and summer were so distant, they sounded
like a whisper from a pleasant dream.   
The streets were lined with house after house, each with its own
trim yard.  Villagers smiled and greeted each other on the streets
and talked to one another over their fences.  No one was quite sure
how it had happened, but those fences had become
electrified-like the fences around a farmer's pasture.  If you
broke through the fence, the electric shock would jolt, maybe even
kill you.   
Village life was smooth and still.  Very little happened to disturb
the peace of the villagers' quiet lives.  Oh, several years back
there had been the incident with old Sam Hill's dog, but no one
liked to talk about that anymore.  Sam should have known better
than to let the dog run free.  At least the dog didn't suffer, they
reasoned; the current had killed him quickly.   
Sam's neighbor, Sara, was sad at the time, because she knew how
much Sam had loved the animal.  It had been his closest companion
for years.  But life moved on as it inevitably does.   
Then one winter's day, a neighbor heard a strange noise coming from
the bottom of Sara's garden.  It was a low and constant moaning. 
People looked over her fence, and they were shocked by what they
saw.  Sara was lying in the snow, holding herself like a child,
rocking back and forth, back and forth.   
Some neighbors went back into their houses, convinced that Sara
would not want them to see her "like that." A few stood and stared
as if they had paid for tickets.   
Then someone cried out, "Look at Sam  What's he doing?  He's lost
his mind."   
Sam was walking toward Sara, heading for her yard.   
"Stop, Sam!" they cried, but he was deaf to all but her cry.  As he
touched the fence, the current ran through him, but he kept walking
until he reached Sara.   
Then the strangest thing happened.  As he sat beside her in the
snow, cradling her in his arms, a shaft of sunlight broke through
the cold, gray sky and rested on their heads.   
"It could have killed you, Sam," Sara said.   
"I know, my dear, but I knew that cry.  I have heard it in my head
for so long.  I didn't know that you sang that song 
too.  Let's go in now.  I'll make tea." And that was just the
beginning.   
The world needs more Sams.  How about you?   Dear Jesus,   
You left behind the gThry of heaven   
to walk with us on earth.   
As the current of our sin ripped through your heart,   
forgiveness was on your lips.   
Teach us to risk reaching out to those who cry alone.   Teach us
how to love.   Amen.   
I tore down the dark and dismal drapes that hung like dead men on
the gallows.   
I threw open the windows   
and cried out as the sunlight spilled into this   
silent room   
as surprised as I   
And as my eyes became accustomed   
to this fierce and searching light,   
I realized it was time to laugh again.
10   Following the Shepherd   
Men are disturbed not by things,   
but by the view which theY take of them.   
EPIC TE TUS   I've read that Michelangelo was seen one day pushing
a large rock down into his sculptor's "studio." His neighbors
watched the ferocious effort he put into moving it, inch by inch. 
When one of the spectators asked him what he was doing, he replied,
"There is an angel in here who wants to come out."   
I believe that God will lovingly push us inch by inch to chip away
the hard edges of our lives, to refine us into a work of art in
which others will see his hand.  Though such refining is never
easy, it is what we were created for Too often we settle for a mere
existence when the hope of life in all its glory and pain is
waiting inside the rock.   
Just as Michelangelo's neighbors didn't see the hidden treasure
before them, what we see-about ourselves, others, the past, the
future-is often a matter of perspective.   One night, while at a
ballet, I sat behind a woman who I thought I recognized as a friend
I had not seen for a while.  I couldn't wait for the first
intermission so I could surprise her.  As the curtn fell, I tapped
her on the shoulder and said
hello.  When she turned around, I realized my mistake.  She was a
he!  Seeing this person from a different angle, I realized he did
not look anything like my friend.  (She doesn't have a beard, for
one thing!)  A different angle further defined the truth.  Andso it
is with life.   
When I was eighteen, my favorite book was Hinds Feet on High Places
by Hannah Hunnard.  It tells the story of a young girl named Much
Mraid, who chooses to leave the valley of fear where she has lived
for years and follow the shepherd up into the mountain.  Time after
time she wants to stop and go back to the valley because the road
ahead looks all wrong.  Whether or not she continues her ascent up
the mountain depends on whether or not she will trust the shepherd. 
 Just before I left Virginia, a "700 Club" viewer sent me a new
copy of that book, and I began to read it again.  Suddenly, I saw
myself in this young girl's position, full of fear, lacking in
trust, subject to every wind blowing around her.   
As I read, I took particular note of one thing: At every key point
when Much Mraid chose to trust the shepherd and take one more step,
the shepherd gave her a stone to keep.  At the end of her long
journey, when she finally "died to herself' and was given new legs
to run with, she was taken-by two traveling companions, suffering
and sorrow chosen by the shepherd-to the top of the mountain. 
There she saw that each rough, colorless stone had become a
beautiful jewel for her crown.   
I believe that God, like the shepherd, would have us live trusting
him at every turn.  It was hard for me to let go, to truly trust
Christ for my every breath, but as I continue on this journey now,
I know as deep as the marrow in my bones there is no other way to
live.  What I used to know in my head, I now know in my heart.  It
is one thing to believe in the ability of a surgeon to perform life
or death surgery on your body; it is quite another to allow
yourself to be put to sleep and submit yourself to his knife.
FOLLOWING THE SHEPHERD   As we trust, God is faithful to give us
the spiritual rewards outlined in Psalm 23. I have loved this psalm
since I was a child, when I learned to sing it to a wonderful old
Scottish melody named "Crimmond."   
In moving to California, I began to experience the Twenty-third
Psalm in a new way.  The territory was new.   The road was scary. 
And at every turn God beckoned me to trust.  He wouldn't let me
down.   
THE LORD IS MY SHEPHERD, I SHALL NOT BE IN WANT   
As I prepared to leave Virginia Beach, it was sad to say good-bye
to friends and colleagues, yet I felt anchored by a new hope I had
not felt before.  When you have faced the worst there is to know
about yourself and experienced the gift of grace, life is new and
wonderful.   
In April 1993, I had flown out to Los Angeles to sign up for school
classes and to find a place to live.  My search led me to a pretty
apartment in Laguna Beach, close to the ocean.   
On June 1, I left Virginia to drive to California My friends were
horrified that I was driving across the country by myself, but I
was excited about the adventure.  One friend baked enough cookies
for the entire trip.  Another taped herself reading stories to me,
and one of my best friends (who had been Pat Robertson's security
guard) gave me a baseball bat in case I ran into any trouble at a
truck stop!  I took five days to drive from coast to coast,
stopping off to see friends in Indiana and Colorado.  I enjoyed
every moment of the trip.   
I arrived in California with only enough furniture to fill a
one-bedroom apartment and enough money to pay my rent and tuition
for three months.  In material terms, I was returning to the early
days of my full-time ministry, when life had been a constant
adventure of watching God faithfully provide not more than I needed
and not less.  Over the years I had accumulated a lot of "stuff'
that demanded to be maintained.  And while I knew the Lord was the
giver of all that is good, I had lost that sense of depending upon
him for my daily bread.  Now I had left the "stuff' behind
to live a simpler life.   
Once in California, I still needed a few basics: a refrigerator, a
washer, a dryer.  I shopped around and the best price I could find
was eighteen hundred dollars for the three.  While that would have
been nothing to me before, it now stood in front of me as a
challenge.  I asked the Lord to show me what to do.  And he
answered in a way I never expected.  Before I had left for
California, a friend in Virginia had asked if I would sing a song
for a project he was working on for children in China.  When he
asked me if I had a fee, I said no, I wanted to do it simply
because I believed in what he was doing.   
Now; months later; I wandered down to my mail box in Laguna,
enjoying the beautiful California sunshine, and found a letter from
my friend.  In it was a check for eighteen hundred dollars.  The
Lord had provided my need-to the dollar.   
Just as David had recorded in the Twenty-third Psalm, I was able to
say I was not in want because the Lord was my shepherd.   
HE MAKES ME LIE DOWN IN GREEN PASTURES   
Each morning in California I walked along the beach with the water
lapping at my feet.  I sat with a cup of coffee and my Bible on a
favorite rock, bathing in the presence of the Lord.   
To me, there has always been something very healing about the
ocean.  It speaks of the power and majesty of God, and yet as I
watch it flowing gently over a rock, taking years to change its
face, it reminds me of his tenderness and patience as well.   
I found my new, simple life quite liberating.  There's something
very basic about "green pastures." Sometimes, however; we aren't
content with green; we want "greener." Without realizing it, I had
become consumed with things, using them to fill the emptiness
inside me.  Now I did not need to crave things, because the dark
places in my life were being daily filled by the friendship of God. 
 
I still spent time with a counselor; a godly, older woman.   Each
week we would look at what a Christian woman should be-how to be
strong and yet gentle.  I would wake up in the morning smiling,
having slept all night with no bad dreams.   Just as surely as God
had led me to a dark valley, he was leading me to a place of peace
and restoration.   
HE GUIDES ME IN PATHS OF RIGHTEOUSNESS   
I remember my first day of classes.  Was I nervous!   Since the
class was at night, I had all day to "look forward" to the unknown. 
What if I couldn't make the grade?  One of the aspects of clinical
depression is the inability to concentrate; what if I couldn't do
the work?  There was only one way to find out.   
I arrived on campus early, in case I couldn't find the right
classroom.  Carrying a clean, white legal pad and three new pens,
I was the first to arrive.  I had a choice of any seat, and took
one near the back.   
At exactly 6:30 P.M.,  Professor Nathan P.  Feldmeth looked up and
welcomed us to a new term of study.  Then he led us in a prayer of
thanksgiving for the privilege to be able to study and learn and
grow.  The class was in early church history.  "This is our
history," he said.  "Let us start at the very beginning."   
What a gift to someone who had lost her way!  It might not sound
appealing to some-to find yourself back in a classroom again-but I
welcomed it.  I was hungry to learn more about the ways of God, to
rebuild my life on a solid foundation.  I sat in that classroom
overwhelmed by the goodness of God.   
From that time on, each course I took put a piece in the puzzle for
me:
Christian ethics, the writings of C.  S.  Lewis, Paul and the
church, the foundations of spiritual life.  There could have been
no greater gift than these classes were to me. I worked hard and gave myself to the discipline of
learning.  And I had a lot to learn.  When I did not know how to
format a paper for a master's class, I found the professors more
than willing to teach me, now that I was not afraid to be taught. 
 
I surrounded myself with good books and good friends who shared a
heart to become more like Christ.  Although I was alone more than
I have ever been, in the library, living alone, I was never, for a
moment, lonely.  Now that I had found my voice, I was able to ask
for prayer or simply for company.  As I immersed myself in the
Bible, I formed a firm foundation for my life built on the
character of God and not on anything I might have to offer I felt
whole.  God was leading me on a new, right path.   
I WILL FEAR NO EVIL, FOR YOU ARE WITH ME   
When I had visited California in April to sign up for classes, a
friend had called and asked me to stay a little longer and attend
a "life-changing seminar.   
"I really think it would be good for you, Sheila," she said.  "It
has had a tremendous impact on our lives.  Please say that you will
think about it." She and her husband profusely recommended this
seminar that had helped them discover who they were.   
I assured her I would think about it, but after we said good-bye I
was not sure I wanted to go to an intense four- day conference.  I
was tired of making changes.  I had been out of the hospital only
a little more than four months, and the thought of another
life-changing event was a lot to swallow.  But there had been
something in my friend's voice that sounded different to me, and
that difference was even more pronounced with her husband.  He had
always seemed a little cynical, but there had been no trace of that
in his voice when we had spoken on the phone.   
Even though I knew very little about the content of this seminar;
I decided to go.  I was to be at a hotel in Anaheim, close to Disneyland, by eight o'clock on
Thursday morning.   The conference would run through Sunday night. 
If it was too much for me, I figured I would just go and ride Space
Mountain.   
My friends had asked me to come with an open heart, prepared to get
some feedback about my life.  I was learning to be open to
feedback, but it was still a relatively new concept to me.  It had
been my experience that if you appeared successful, people tended
to come to you for advice.  They don't usually take the risk of
telling you where they think you need to shift your perspective. 
(Though perhaps I gave out signals that I was not open to that kind
of input.)   
On Thursday morning, I remember thinking to myself, I hope this
isn't a big cheerleading session where we all tell each other how
wonderful we are.   
I should not have worried!   
Forty of us sat in a circle.  The instructor began: "This is not a
seminar.  This is your life.  Who you really are will show up in
this room at some point over the course of the next four days.  You
will receive from this experience exactly as much as you put in. 
Our purpose is to come to grips with what Christ meant when he
said, `Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your
soul and with all your mind....  Love your neighbor as yourself"'
(Matthew 22:37, 39).   
Well, at least he uses the Bible, I thought.   
The first day was spent responding to questions and choosing a team
partner for the weekend.  I chose a tall girl who had smiled from
ear to ear since she'd walked in the door Over the next four days,
with our partners and with the larger group, we were given numerous
opportunities to receive and give feedback about each other's
perceived strengths and weaknesses.   
A few of the lines of feedback I received included "You seem very
angry" and "I see a mixture of strength and self-
pity" and "You have compassion for others, but you are very wounded
and you hold yourself back."   
It was hard to listen to total strangers tell me my flaws.   I
would not recommend walking up to someone in the mall and asking
what that person thinks of you, but in the context of this
seminar-a controlled, supportive setting-I was willing and able to
hear what was being said.  I had prayed that morning that God would
continue to teach me how to be more like Jesus, so I chose to stay
open and not close down.   
I was surprised at how accurate some of the observations were.  I
thought I had come so far in my growth, and yet I still had big
strides to make.  That weekend was not exactly "the valley of the
shadow of death," but it was a valley of shadows-and in that valley
God was with me.   
In one of the days that followed we listened to a song called "Man
of the Tombs" by Bob Bennet.  The song told the story of a
demon-possessed man chained outside a village.   At times, in an
intense rage, the man would burst the chains that held him.  But
even though he could break free of his external bonds, he could not
free himself from the demon within.  The point was clear: It is one
thing to be in trouble; it is quite another when the trouble is in
you.   
Each word of this song spoke clearly to me, but one line pierced my
heart: "He mistakes his freedom for being free." As I sat there
listening, I saw myself clearly A part of me was still bound by my
tendency to hold other people responsible for what had happened to
me.  I realized that I alone was responsible for being apathetic
about my life, discouraged, steeped in self-pity   
I got back to my room at eleven o'clock at night.  Even though I
was exhausted, I sat and thought for a while, reviewing my life
through this new paradigm.  I was where I was today by my own
choices; no one else could be held responsible.  It was as if my
world was being turned on its head. This new awareness of responsibility was
bad news and good news rolled into one.  It was bad news because I
had to once again focus myself and take responsibility for my own
life.  It was good news because, if I was responsible for my
present and future, then I could change.   
It is very hard, sometimes painful, to change, but it is ultimately
more painful to refuse to change.  Can you imagine how sad it would
be to lie on your deathbed full of regrets because you never had
the courage to reach outside of your comfort zone?   
In truth, I was angry.  I had been feeling sorry for myself, and it
had to stop.  As I took in the truth that my sin held the Lamb of
God pinned to a tree of torture, there was nothing left to say in
my defense.  All I could do was fall down on my face and worship as
his blood washed over me.   
I went to bed that night worn out, but strangely at peace.  Facing
what is true was both heartbreaking and liberating.  There was no
more need to hide or dress up my life or live alone.  Rather, every
day I knew I could bring my sinful nature to Christ in confession
and ask him to continue to fill me with the Holy Spirit, transforming
me into his image.   In the valley, God was with me.   
As the weekend progressed I threw myself into every part of it,
aware that it was a gift to be able to spend time with people who were
also so committed to change.   
YOUR ROD AND YOUR STAFF THEY COMFORT ME   
In Scripture, the rod is always used for correction.  It is
portrayed as the tool God uses to discipline his children.  As a
child I was spanked only twice that I can remember; both times I
really deserved it.  Yet, I knew without a doubt that my mother
loved me-it was painful for her even to speak harshly to me-and I
never made the same mistakes again.   God does not turn a blind eye
to the sin or foolishness of his children, but his discipline is
just and merciful, and when it is over, if we have not stiffened our hearts in
rebellion, we are changed; we look a little more like him.   
I recently adopted an abandoned cat from the humane society I call
him Max.  When Max was brought in by someone who had found him
lying by the road, he was almost dead-unconscious and covered with
blood.  When I saw him he had just had his stitches removed and a
drainage tube taken out of his back.  What attracted me to him were
his eyes.  He has the kindest cat eyes I have ever seen.  I asked
if I could hold him, and he nestled in my arms, purring like an
engine.  I told the nurse I couldn't believe how sweet he was, and
she replied, "The ones who have been through a lot are usually the
most tender."   
I took Max home with me.  What ajoy!  Then one day, I noticed that
he was walking with a limp-though he didh't seem to be in any pain. 
The vet explained that Max had torn a tendon.  No, he wasn't in
pain, and I had options.  I could leave the leg as it was and Max
would be fine, but he wouldn't be able to jump as high or run as
fast as he had before.  Or Max could undergo surgery and get the
tendon repaired.  I thought about the pain of putting him through
another operation.  Would it be worth it?  I decided to go for it. 
After all, he had given me so much joy he deserved the best that
life could offer.  The surgery would be incapacitating for a short
time, but then Max would be back to his former self-able to do
everything he set his sights on.   
I saw parallels in my own life.  While it is painful to allow God
to perform surgery on our hearts, every time we submit to the
knife, we become a little more like we were created to be.   
God often allows other people to be part of the painful process of
teaching us to be like him, but he does not take delight in the
destruction of a brother or sister.  It is clear that we are to
hold one another accountable for our lives, but when discipline is
necessary we are to do it with tears in our eyes.  Because not one
of us knows what tomorrow will bring, let us sow mercy in the lives
of others, so that God will be merciful to us.   
I painfully remember a dinner with my good friends Frank and
Marlene at one of my favorite Laguna Beach restaurants.  I love
Indian food, and this particular place served some of the finest
Indian cuisine I had ever tasted.   During dinner, Frank said
something I disagreed with and I told him so, strongly after a few
silent seconds, he said to me, `Do you know how it makes me feel
when you talk to me like that?"   
I said no.   
He said, "I can't hear what you are saying because you are so
angry; your anger is all I hear."   
We were quiet for a while, and then I turned to Marlene and asked
her what she thought.  Marlene recounted a day trip the two of us
had taken together, and asked me if I remembered what I said to her
in the car park.  I did remember-but my version was different from
hers.  My recollection was that she had said something I thought
was out of line, and I told her so.  She said, "I agree with you
that what I said was probably wrong, but I do remember how stupid
it made me feel to have you talk to me in the tone of voice that
you used.  You were so angry with me."   
It was a sobering evening.  When two people I love told me the same
thing, it seemed wise to pay attention.  I woke up the next morning
to a beautiful day I called a counselor and asked if it would be
possible to "squeeze me in." Yes, she could.  I told her what had
happened the previous evening, and that I wanted to change, but
felt stuck.   
During the course of the next hour and a half, the counselor
listened, asked questions, and provided some wonderful insight. 
One of the practical things she suggested was to write out the
phrase "God loves a woman with a quiet and a gentle spirit." She
told me to put it on my refrigerator door and pray for it every
morning.  I did that, and I believe God is helping me to change.  
The turning point for me was listening to the input from
people I love without being defensive.  I realized I was what I
call a "quiet terrorist," someone who didn't look like an angry
person, but who liked to quietly control things from the sidelines. 
I now value genuine feedback from close friends very highly People
who love us want us to be the best people that we can be.  Change
is painful, but it gives birth to a new quality of life.   
And it takes courage to confront one another in love.   It is still
hard for me at times to be as open as I need to be, but I work very
hard at it.  It is especially difficult for me to own up gently
when I am upset with someone because my natural tendency is to say
nothing.  Of course, the anger eventually seeps out in subtle ways. 
I realize now that this is sin.  When I harbor feelings in my heart
that I don't lovingly tell the other person about, then I am
controlling the situation rather than giving that person a chance
to respond.   
Still, I have to choose to do this.  Some lessons I've learned are
easy for me to act on, but this one is not.  What I remind myself
of in these situations is that it is God's expressed purpose for us
to walk in the light with one another, so I do it-not because it
feels good, but because it is right.   
Friends who confront us with our weaknesses but never build us up
are like "Job's comforters" who tear at us piece by piece.  In his
book With Open Heart, Michel Quoist tells of hearing the news that
a good, generous friend of his had died, "defeated by depression."
Quoist imagines what the funeral is going to be like and knows that
praise will be heaped upon the dead man and his every virtue
extolled.  As he thinks about that scene, he says, "The tragic
thing is that just a fraction of it [while he was alive] could have
perhaps saved him."   
We all need to hear encouragement.  We need our strengths to be
named and appreciated.  On the other hand, friends who never speak
what they perceive to be true about our sin or our failures are like
tightly wrapped umbrellas that are full of holes: You think you can
count on them until the rain begins to fall and you find yourself
soaked to the skin.  We need to love each other so actively that we
speak both words of challenge and words of hope.   In their book
Disciplines for the Inner Life, Bob and Michael Benson say there is
no truth toward Jesus without truth toward our fellowman. 
Untruthfulness destroys fellowship, but truth spoken in love cuts
false fellowship to pieces and establishes genuine brotherhood.   
In the psalmists' day, a shepherd's staff was used as a tool to
guide and to lean on.  It is one thing to believe that Christ
carries a staff; it is another to lean on Christ and be held up. 
The hooked end of a staff also pulled a lamb back from the brink of
disaster, nudging a straying lamb back on to the road, into the
flock.  The letter from the woman suffering with cancer that began
my healing process in 1992 was, in a way like the Shepherd's staff
tugging at me.  God in his grace nudged that woman to let me know
that she saw me and knew I was in pain.  I still have and treasure
her letter, which is a comfort to me.   
David states that he is comforted by both the rod and the staff of
the shepherd.  At one time I would not have understood that,
because I viewed discipline as a pain to be avoided.  Now I see
that discipline is surely a gift to be treasured if I want to live
a life pleasing to God.   
YOU PREPARE A TABLE BEFORE ME IN THE PRESENCE OF MY ENEMIES   
Let me take you back to the weekend conference where I first
learned to accept feedback about my weaknesses.  One of the final
exercises of the conference was designed to have the group, who had
been through a lot of intense exercises together, choose a leader. 
Everyone was required to cast a vote by giving a "yes" to the
person he or she chose.  As I stood there, one person after another
came to me and said, "I choose you."   
I did not want to be the leader As far as I was concerned, those
days were over.  I just wanted to live quietly One of the seminar
leaders stood behind me as the numbers grew and asked me, "Are you
listening?"   
I was listening, but I did not know what to do with what I heard. 
I thought back to a movie I had recently watched called The
Mission.  In this film, Robert De Niro portrayed a man whose
actions had led to the death of his brother.  A consuming guilt ate
at him like a cancer.  Then he was given an opportunity to help
some ruissionaries carry supplies to a new mission base at the top
of a mountain.  The climb was brutal and bloody but he insisted on
carrying all the supplies tied to his back.  Each time he stumbled
and slipped back down the unforgiving stone face, someone would
offer to step in and help him carry his burden.  But he always
refused and continued to drag himself to the top of the mountain. 
As he reached the summit, a native Indian approached and cut his
burden from him.  As it rolled off his back, the old man looked
into De Niro's face and began to laugh.  De Niro too began to
laugh, and laughed until he cried.   
There comes a time when we have to let the past go.   On the cross,
Christ paid for our sin.  He took our load upon himself.  When we
have received the grace to repent in brokenness, when we have done
all that we can to right any wrong, we need to allow Christ to cut
our burdens from us.   We cannot be defined forever by our
mistakes; rather, we need to be defined by the anointing hand of
God, who calls us to worship him and serve him with humility   
As people placed their confidence in me that night, I knew I was
loved and forgiven.  But I hesitated to "hear" them, because I felt
being forgiven did not mean I was ever to return to a leadership
role.  When I voiced that feeling to the man who stood at my
shoulder, he said, "Are you insisting on being in control again, or
are you willing to listen?" I thought about what he said and realized
one of my oldest fears was still at play-the fear of being
rejected, of making enemies.  If I simply removed myself from the
game, then no one would have a chance to vote me out.  I needed to
stop protecting myself.   
I decided, from this point on, to walk in honesty with others,
knowing that some people would vote against me.  If enemies rose,
I would need to respond with humility, but not in fear.  With a
"table set before me in the presence of my enemies," I could hold
my head high in the confidence of the Lord.   First Peter 5:6 says,
"Humble yourselves, therefore, under God's mighty hand, that he may
lift you up in due time."   
If others look to me to be a part of their journey-to be a leader-I
do not have the right to walk away I have to rely on the knowledge
that Jesus is the one who places value on my life, no matter how
good or bad others think I am.   
As he lay in a Roman cell awaiting execution, Paul wrote to his
friends in Philippi, "Rejoice in the Lord always.   I will say it
again: Rejoice!  Let your gentleness be evident to all.  The Lord
is near.  Do not be anxious about anything" (Philippians 4:4-6). 
Paul was in the clutches of Nero, an evil, brutish emperor who
delighted in the suffering of others.  History tells us Nero would
hold feasts on the palace grounds and illumine the proceedings with
the burning bodies of Christians.  Yet Paul was not afraid of this
petty potentate.  He had been through the fires of suffering, and
his sights were set on a land Nero could not touch.   
First John 4:18 says that "perfect love drives out fear." God will
do what it takes until that love is perfected in us.   And as we
listen, he will show us the next step in our ministry-the work he
has anointed us to do-whether it is quietly singing songs to young
lambs or publicly proclaiming his grace.   
I've mentioned my friend Marlene.  She is a constant encouragement
to me to continue walking a transparent, simple life, humbly before
God.  One day Marlene called and
asked if I would be available to speak at a women's breakfast in
Costa Mesa.  I was hesitant, as it had been about two years since
I had been involved in any kind of public ministry.  But Marlene,
in her own unique way, reminded me we are called to comfort one
another in the same way we have been comforted.   
I said yes, and in faith I stood in front of this group of
beautifully groomed women, wondering if any of them would be able
to relate to my story at all.  I told them about my experience in
the hospital and about the grace and mercy of God as I faced my
greatest fears.  Tears flowed as we drew closer to one another.  It
was different from anything I had experienced before.  There was
nothing standing between those women and me.  I was not "the
expert." I was a fellow pilgrim.   
When the meeting was over, we stood and talked for a while.  One
woman told me she had been struggling with depression for years and
had never told anyone.  The woman beside her gave her the name of
a good Christian doctor.   Another told me her daughter was in a
psychiatric hospital.   She had never shared this with others for
prayer because she felt it would stigmatize her child forever.  We
stopped there and then and prayed for her.  It was amazing to me to
be part of the body of Christ in action.  I will never forget that
morning.  It has multiplied over and over in other situations.   
I would imagine that in your circle of friends or acquaintances
there are many who feel isolated, who long to live an honest,
transparent life before others and before God.  I know that
wherever I speak or sing now, I am overwhelmed by the desire I see
in people to live such a life.  It seems we are beginning to ask
ourselves some of the more important questions of life.   
If you have "been through the valley" perhaps God has anomted you
to reach out and ask others around you to face the important
questions of life: Do you know who you are?   Do you long to say
what you really think, rather than what you think you should say?  Do you ever ask
yourself who your real friends are, because you keep your life so
guarded?  Are you enjoying the awesome freedom that comes from
realizing that Christ knows everything about you and loves you
passionately?  Are you really living, or you just surviving?   
AND I WILL DWELL IN THE HOUSE OF THE LORD FOREVER   
The Twenty-third Psalm ends with these words: "Surely goodness and
love will follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in
the house of the LORD forever." What a promise!  I begin each day
with a prayer of thanks that I am living in the midst of God's
abundant, full life.  I have good friends who love me and whom I
love.  We speak the truth to one another and support one another. 
When the Lord brings to my mind something I need to "deal with," I
make a commitment to do so at the first possible moment.  When I
find old resentments coming to the surface, I stop and immediately
pray for that person, asking that God's mercy and grace will visit
that person in ways he or she has never known before.  My life
feels light.   
I have known the Twenty-third Psalm since I was a child, but now I
know this psalm:   
I whisper your name   
and before it sounds on my lips,   
you are here by my side.   
Too blind to see,   
too afraid to ask   
it took the loss of all I had   
to discover who I am.   
Some nights are darker than the sea bed with no moon,   
but a stronger light   
that fits me like a baby in the womb   
moves me through the mist,   
and I would live a thousand nights without one star   
to know that when I whisper your name here you are.   
This earthly life is merely the overture to our eternal life with
Christ.  Overtures give you a taste of what is to come, but if you
left the theater after these preliminary bars of music, you would
miss the masterpiece.   
David was a man who trusted the Shepherd.  That trust and humility
strengthened the very marrow in his bones.  It is a wonderful way
to live.  It brings dignity and peace to the human heart.  There is
a poem that paints a passionate picture of the kind of man David
was, the kind of woman I want to be.  I would love to share it with
you.   
IF   
If you can keep your head when all about you Are losing theirs and
blaming it on you, If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you
But make allowance for their doubting too, If you can wait and not
be tired by waiting, Or being lied about, don't deal in lies, Or
being hated, don't give way to hating, And yet don't look too good,
nor talk too wise:   
If you can dream and not make dreams your master: If you can
think and not make thoughts your aim; If you can meet with Triumph
and Disaster And treat those two impostors just the same If you can
bear to hear the truth you've spoken Twisted by knaves to make a
trap for fools, Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
and stoop and build them up with worn out tools:   
If you can make one heap of all your winnings And risk it on one
turn of pitch-and-toss, And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about the loss; If you can force your
heart and nerve and sinew  FOLLOWING THE SHEPHERD   To serve your turn long after they are
gone, And so hold on when there is nothing in you Except the Will
which says to them: "Hold on!" If you can talk with crowds and keep
your virtue, Or walk with King- nor lose the common touch, If
neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you; If all men count with
you, but not too much, If you can fill the unforgiving minute With
sixty seconds' worth of distance run,   
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it, And-what is
more-you'll be a man, my son!   RUDYARD KIPLING   
It came so soft one winter's night;   
I never heard the door   
or felt it dance into the room   
and sail across the floor.   
It crept upon my shoulder   
and kissed me on the head,   
and joy became a friend of mine   
to call me from the dead.   
For so long I have felt this need   
but never knew its name   
until its warmth began to melt   
my snow-encrusted frame.   
I see a look upon my face.   
I know it came to stay  
I never will forget this winter's day
Lightlless of Grace
The word grace emphasizes at one and the same time   
the helpless poverty of man,   
and the limitless kindness of God.   
WILLIAM Bicly
Susan was very quiet at breakfast one morning.  Her father asked if
she was feeling all right, and she mumbled something under her
breath and left the room.   
"I don't know what has gotten into that girl lately," her father
said anxiously to his older daughter.   
"Oh, Dad," she said, "you are so blind when it comes to Susan.  You
always make excuses for her.  She's a dreamer and she's lazy She's
always been lazy."   
The father looked at his older daughter and smiled, "Perhaps you're
right, Anne," he said, "but you have always been very hard on her." 
 
"Well," Anne replied, "I don't have time to sit here and argue with
you.  I have a busy day.  I'm meeting with the vineyard accountant
this morning, and I am going to go over his books with a fine-tooth
comb."   
"But we have had the best year ever, and Peter is a family friend. 
I trust him completely."   
Anne smiled as she looked down at her father, "That's why you need
me, Father," she said as she left the room. As he finished his coffee, he thought for the millionth
time about the difference in his daughters-one weighed down by the
world and the other carried on the wind.   
He left the house, climbed into his Range Rover, and took off to
look for Susan.  He found her sitting under a tree, more asleep
than awake.   
"Susan, I know there is something on your mind.  I wish you would
talk to me," he said.   
"I don't think you would understand, Dad," she replied.   
"Why don't you give me a chance," her father said.  "I love you.  

Susan looked into her father's eyes, "I want to leave this place." 
 
"What do you mean, you want to leave?  Do you need a break?"   
"It's not that, Dad," she said.  "I know that when you are gone,
Anne and I will be two of the wealthiest women in this area.  You
know Anne-she'll be quite happy sitting around in her slippers
counting her money, but I want to do some thing now, while I'm
still young enough to enjoy life."   
Her father looked down at this daughter, so close to his heart, and
asked her, "Is this-leaving-something you've been thinking about
for a while?"   
Susan was quiet for a moment and then she answered, "It's all I
think about."   
It was very quiet at dinner that evening.  At the end of their
meal, the father asked his daughters to bring their coffee into his
study.  He looked at the two faces, one so intense, one so
restless.   
"I have made a decision about my estate," he began.   "We have done
very well for several years in a row, and I have decided to sell
some stocks and bonds and give Susan her share of the family money
now."   
"What?" Anne cried.  "This has got to be a joke.  She couldn't
manage her allowance when she was ten years old!" "I have made my decision,
Anne," he said.  "It will not affect you.  Everything here will be
yours.  You will own the vineyard and all its assets."   
Anne stormed toward the door.  As she left the room, she turned to
Susan and said, "You are so selfish.  All you think about is what
makes you happy.  Dad has poured his life into us and now you just
walk out of here as if you own the world.  I hope I never see you
again as long as I live."   
THE REALITY OF GRACE   
The word grace is now as familiar to me as wind or rain, although,
as a reality, it is something that was quite foreign to me until
recently.  Grace was never meant to be rationed, something we
nibble on to get us through tough times.  It is meant to soak us to
(and through) the skin and fill us so full that we can hardly catch
our breath.  My problem was that I had such a tight grasp on my
life, there was very little room into which grace could be poured. 
 
The day I committed myself to the hospital, no one was more
disappointed in me than I was.  I had failed at my marriage, and I
had let down people who were counting on me.   I saw this same
disappointment mirrored in the eyes of friends.  I mulled over some
of their words:   
"Do you know the damage you are doing to this ministry?"   
"I always knew you would lose it someday."   
In the hospital, the doctor asked me what right I had to be angry
with others who were disappointed in me.  Wasn't I disappointed in
myself?   
Yes...  and the thought was driving me deeper and deeper into
despair.   
Then came that glorious morning in a small church in Washington,
D.C.,  when the pastor said, "There are some of you here today who
feel like dead people staring up at the top of your-own locked
coffin.  This morning, Jesus wants to set you free.  You simply
have to let go of the key and pass it through the little hole,
where you see a tiny shaft of light." I walked to the altar, dragging my shame and grief
behind me.  I knelt, with my head in my hands and lead weights on
my feet, and, at the foot of the cross, confessed my utter
hopelessness and helplessness to Christ and asked him to forgive
me.  At one point, I felt compelled to look up.   As I did, it was
as if Jesus himself were standing before me with outstretched arms,
saying, "Welcome home, child, welcome home."   
I stayed there for a while, basking in the radiant forgiveness
being lavished upon me.  It was one of the most humbling moments of
my life.  A gift had been given that would never be taken from me. 
I knew this to be true because I had done absolutely nothing to
earn it, and it was given me in my most unlovable hour.   
That afternoon, we were taken to a supermarket and given thirty
minutes to shop.  Supermarkets usually drive me nuts because there
are so many things to choose from, but I didn't feel that way this
time.  I walked over to the fresh produce section and looked at the
different kinds of apples.   Everything seemed so wonderful!  It
was as if I had never been alive before.  I wanted to hug myself,
I felt so free.   
Everything was different from that day on.  I threw myself into the
remaining weeks of therapy.  Grace gave me the courage to face my
biggest fears and the harshest truths about my life because it held
on to me and never let go.  I felt an overwhelming thankfulness
deep in my bones.  I knew I could never pay for this awesome gift,
but it had my name on it, and it would never be taken away.   
The joy that springs out of grace is so different from mere
happiness.  I was happy when my brother graduated with distinction
from university I am happy when I listen to my sister sing.  It
always makes me happy to talk to my mom.  Happy occasions have
always helped me forget about the things that make me sad.  But the
experience of joy is different, deeper, because it knows the whole
story.  Grace embraced all that was good and true and all that
was bad and faithless about me.   Grace is love with its eyes wide
open.   
True grace is so overwhelming you are compelled to extend it to
those around you, whether they deserve it or not.
George MacDonald said,   
Whether a man pays you what you count his debt or no you will be
compelled to pay him all you owe him.  If you owe him a pound and
he owes you a million you must pay him the pound whether he pays
you the million or not.  If owing you love, he gives you hate you,
owing him love, have yet to pay it.   
That is a truly joyful and liberating way to live.  Your mind is
set; your path is clear; you need not depend on the reactions of
others to determine how you will react to them because you have
already made your choice.  Grace takes the initiative to live with
passion and compassion; it does not play it safe, but lavishes
itself on others, just as grace is daily lavished on us.   
Deep joy comes at unexpected moments.  I felt it well up in me as
I sat in my first class at seminary, but I also felt it when my
friends lovingly challenged me about my attitude and my anger.  I
recognized the truth of their words and the correction of the Lord,
and I am not afraid of either anymore; I hear both as a deep
expression of love and commitment.  I don't always welcome such
correction immediately, but I hear it as a calling to be the person
Jesus sees me to be.   
This morning I watched a show on television that made me sad.  The
subject was teens who have no respect for their parents.  A
fourteen-year-old girl with a face of marble stated she hated her
mother.  The mother sat beside the girl and said she regretted the
day she gave birth to her.   As I looked into the eyes of the angry
girl, I saw an angry but very scared child who had no anchor in
this world.  In the militant sixties we cried out for freedom, for
no rules, for the right to live as we choose.  And today the
results of those terrible wishes are being played out in homes all
across America St.  Augustine said, "Thou hast made us for
thyself, O Lord, and our hearts are restless till they rest in
thee."   
We were not made to live as unrelated beings, unaccountable and
adrift.  We were made for transparency and truth, for roots and
friendship and community.  This is possible only by the grace of
God.  There we find a place to make peace with ourselves-the good,
the bad, and the ugly.  I used to look at my reflection in the eyes
of friendly people who did not really know me.  What I saw was
favorable, but it did not bring me joy because it was such an
incomplete picture.  Now I look at myself in the eyes of those who
know me and love me, and I feel safe and grounded.   
Grace is something that is deeply rooted in my mother, who gives
freely out of a full heart.  We had some tough times financially
when I was growing up, but I can't remember ever worrying, because
my mother carried her load lightly, dependent on and comident in
the grace of God.  She laughed with me and cried with me and
cheered me on.  When I made a bad decision, she reminded me of the
mercy of God.  She never shamed me but called me to keep pressing
on.   
Such fixed love and grace is a foretaste of heaven.  I did not want
anyone to write to me or call me when I was in the hospital, but
the moment my mother said she wanted to fly over to be with me, I
did not hesitate.  I knew it would be painful for her to see me as
I was, but I also knew she was unafraid of pain, and I welcomed her
companionship.  My heart truly breaks for those who have not
experienced that kind of love in human flesh, but my prayer would
be that you would find that love in God.   
THE SECOND CHAPTER   
Let's return for a moment to the story of Susan and Anne.  Because
of her father's generosity, Susan now had everything she'd ever
dreamed of.  She took a suite in the Beverly Hills Hotel and began
to throw money around as if it were grains of sand.  She
waltzed down Rodeo Drive, enjoying the attention her lavish habits
attracted.  That night, she sat in the lobby bar sipping champagne,
wondering what to do with her first night of real freedom.  An
exquisitely dressed man asked if he might sit with her, and she
gladly said yes.  They drank for a while, ate dinner, and then he
suggested going back to her suite.  Susan woke up the next morning
with a pounding headache and a stranger beside her.  She rolled out
of bed and went into the bath- room to splash some water on her
face.  She looked at herself in the mirror and thought, "If Anne
could see me now!"   
Still laughing at the thought, she came back into the bedroom and
ordered some black coffee and toast.  When the stranger awoke, he
showered and dressed.  As he was leaving, he told Susan about a
party that night in Malibu.  He scribbled down the address and then
was gone.   
She went to the party.  It was like nothing she had ever been to
before.  Music blared from the speakers around the pool, spilling
out onto the beach.  That night Susan was initiated into another
world-a world of cocaine and hedonism.  For six months she went to
and gave the best parties.   She woke up in a different place each
morning.   
But after two years, all her money was gone.  Her inheritance had
dripped away like snow in the sunshine, and with its demise her
phone stopped ringing.  She stood one morning looking at herself in
the mirror of a cheap apartment.   Her skin was sallow, and her
hair hung limply on her thin shoulders.  She thought of her father. 
She knew he would be heartbroken to see her like this.  She wished
she were home, but it was too late for that.  She had ruined
everything, and there was no going back.  She remembered Anne's
words and knew she would not be welcome.   
TOOC0OD TO BE TRUE?   
In his marvelous book Shame and Grace, Lewis Smedes tells the
story of the day Robert E.  Lee surrendered to Ulysses S.  Grant.  The defeated general expected to
be humiliated and imprisoned along with his men.  Instead, he was
treated with dignity and respect.  Grant told Lee to tell his men
they could go home and that Lee, too, was free.  As Lee mounted his
horse to leave, Grant saluted him.  Now that is grace!   
When we come to the foot of the cross, we deserve to be shamed and
rejected.  Instead, we are forgiven, loved, and invited into the
family.  Does that sound too good to be true?   It's too good not
to be true!  God has left us in no doubt.   
My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in
weakness.   
2 CORINTHIANS 12:9   
We are justified freely by his grace through the redemption that came
by Christ Jesus.   ROMANs 3:24   It does not, therefore, depend on
mans desire or effort, but on God's mercy.   ROMANs 9:16   I love
to look at old family photographs.  I have one favorite of my
sister and me.  She is about four, and I am about two.  There is
such a look of life in our eyes, as if it had never crossed our
minds that we were anything but two of the niftiest kids on the
planet.  Grace gifts us with that childlike security that
everything is going to be all right.   
I recently hosted a television special featuring a man who has a
remarkable ministry in India.  I wanted to familiarize myself with
a glimpse of the religious climate in that exotic and overpopulated
country, so they sent me a film to review.  I was shocked by
footage that included seated men with knives through their cheeks
or metal hooks in their chests in an attempt to please and appease
their multitude of gods.  The men worshiped at temples, with rats
crawling all over them.  They degraded
themselves in any way imaginable in order to earn favor with stone
statues that brought them no comfort in this world or the next. 
Contrast that scene to true grace: There is nothing that you or I
can do to make ourselves worthy of the gift of grace.  We cannot
earn what was born in the heart of God.   
Grace is not meant for only special occasions.  I still tease my
mom about her "good" clothes.  When she buys a new suit or dress,
it will hang in her wardrobe for eons, waiting for just the right
occasion.  I, on the other hand, most often try to squeeze into a
new outfit in the car on my way home from the store.  God's grace
is not a suit meant for Sundays; we should wrap it around our
shoulders every day of our lives.   
I read a story the other day about a severely disfigured man who
falls in love with a beautiful young woman.  He is so ashamed of
his appearance, he wears a mask to cover his entire face.  Over
time he wins the heart of the woman because he is kind and gentle
and loves her so completely.   They live happily together for many
years, until she asks him to take off the mask.  He is afraid of
revealing his ugliness to his beautiful wife, but she is determined
to know him fully.  He stands before a mirror and slowly peels this
facade away.  Astonishingly, when it is removed, there are no
scars.  He had been made whole by his wife's unconditional love. 
In the same way, through the sacrifice of Jesus, God does not see
the ugliness of our fallen humanity when he looks at us; instead,
he sees the beauty of his Son.   
There is a bakery in Laguna Beach that makes the best peanut butter
pie on the planet.  When I go in, I always look to see who is
behind the counter.  My heart sinks if it is the younger woman who
works there, because she cuts such small pieces.  But if it is the
older woman, my heart sings.   She lives life generously, and this
attitude is reflected in her pie cutting.  There is nothing stingy
about this woman.  She smiles not only with her eyes and her face,
but with her whole body.  Even though I don't know much about her,
she has the look of someone who has weathered some storms in her
time and emerged a stronger, more tender woman with a big heart.  

Can you imagine how the world would be transformed if we all chose
to live with gracious, generous hearts?  Can you imagine the peace
we would encounter if we set aside our petty differences and
narrow-minded prejudices and embraced one another as we have been
embraced by Christ?  This kind of living would transform everything
it came in contact with.  Consider the woman who broke her jar of
expensive perfume over the feet of Jesus.  Even though she was
criticized by others for the recklessness of her act, Christ
reprimanded her critics, telling them they did not understand what
she had done.  There is no better moment to pour your love out on
another.  Carpe diem: Seize the day!   
I treasure my volumes of the collected sermons of Charles Spurgeon,
who spoke about grace with such depth and simplicity.  He described
returning home one evening after a very busy day when he was
suddenly confronted by the text, "My grace is sufficient for thee."
He thought about the words for a while, and then their meaning came
to him in a new way: "MY grace is sufficient for thee." He said he
burst out laughing, it was so clear.  "It seemed to make unbelief
so absurd," he wrote,   
It was as though some little fish, being very thirsty, was troubled
about drinking the river dry.  The river said, "Drink away little
fish, my stream is sufficient for thee." Little faith will bring
your souls to heaven but great faith will bring heaven to your
souls.   
All we have to do is humble ourselves before God.  As we move
toward him, we will see him running to meet us.   That's what
happened to Susan. COMING HOME   
She was so tired.  She had walked for miles, catching an occasional
ride from a stranger.  She rehearsed her words over again in her
head: "Dad, I know I have blown it, and I don't expect you to
forgive me.  I would just be very grateful if you would let me work
in your office."   
Back at her father's house, Anne was standing at the property line,
talking to her father about increasing the price of this year's
chardonnay.  She could tell her dad was not listening.   
"What's wrong, Dad?" she asked.   
"Look," he cried, "in the distance, doesn't that look like Susan?" 
 
Anne could only see the dust.  Suddenly her father took off
running, as if his very life depended on it.   
Still down the road from the gate, Susan's eyes were downcast, but
she looked up as she heard a noise growing louder, nearer.   
She stopped dead in her tracks when she saw it was her father
running toward her.  When he was just a few feet away, she began
her prepared speech.  "Dad, I know that I..."   
She was cut off in midsentence as her father threw his arms around
her and spun her in the air, his tears washing over her dusty neck. 
 
"Welcome home, Susan.  I've been waiting for you every day." There
was no "Where have you been?" or "Why didn't you call?" There was
only the outpouring of love from a father to his daughter.   
Anne, however, had a much different reaction to her sister's
return.  "I can't believe you, Father," she said angrily.   "This
idiot leaves here and wastes all the money you and I have worked so
hard for, and then she just shows up, looking like a wreck, and you
expect me to be happy?" Her whole body shook. "Listen, Anne," the father replied, "I thought your
sister was dead, but she has come back to us.  Everything here is
yours.  Can't you just be happy that our family is whole again
 
"I have stayed by your side and worked twelve hours a day to make
this business run smoothly," she cried.  "You expect me to be happy
that the one person who let us all down is home?  That is not fair,
Father"   
"This is not aboutfair, Anne," he said.  "This is about family."  

WELCOME HOME, CHILDREN   
You probably recognize this story as a retelling of Jesus'
wonderful parable about the prodigal son, who left and then
returned home.  The world is full of "grace robbers~ like the
prodigal son's brother and Susan's sister Anne, but we mustn't let
them rob us ofthejoy that comes from being welcomed home by our
Father.  When God gives us new coats to wear, we shouldn't let
anyone pull our old rags out of the trash.  Just as we are, right
now, God could not love us more.  He is inviting us to join the
swelling numbers of people around the world who have renewed their
commitment to loving one another as they have been loved, and who
have determined to extend to one another the grace that has been
lavished on them.  God reminds us to look back to that tiny stable
two thousand years ago where, as Chuck Swindoll has written in
Grace Awakening, "On that first Christmas morning, when Mary first
unwrapped God's indescribable Gift, grace awakened."   
If you have lived for years under the exhausting burden of guilt
for having left home and squandered your inheritance, it is time to
return to the Father whose arms beckon you home.  Grace may have
awakened on Christmas morning, but our redemption was completed in
Christ's death and resurrection.  We may feel incredibly unworthy
(and we are), but we must remember that God loved us so much "he  
gave his one and only Son, that
whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life"
(John 3:16).   
I think again of the movie The Mission, and the look on Robert De
Niro's face as his merciless burden rolled down the hill.  Suddenly
his life was light again, and this same joy is waiting for us too
if we will just bathe ourselves in the incredible lightness of
grace.   
At the cross, at the cross where I first saw the light, And the
burden of my heart rolled away, It was there by faith I received my
sight, And now I am happy all the day!
Gracious Father,   
where do I even begin to thank you for the love and mercy and grace
you have   
showered upon me?   
You changed my heaviness for a lighter life, my sorrow for Joy,
my shame for love and acceptance.   
Help me to be a channel of that grace that came to stay.   
Amen.
Master strokes across a faceless canvas-   
bold moves, color splashes over stones,   
unfettered, young, full of dreams.   
Beneath his brush the impossible comes to life,   
awesome and intimate.   
I stand amazed, silenced by the gift;   
then he dips my finger in the paint   
and I become part of the picture.   
I feel so smalL   
It's like finger painting with Picasso,   
but as God takes my hand   
the paint on his melds with mine.   
A new color is born.  
12   Stand Up and Walk   
There must be always remaining in every man's life   
place for the singing of angels.   
HOWARD THURMAAr   
A young boy stood and stared at the door for a while, wondering
what it looked like on the other side.  He pressed his ear to the
wooden entrance and listened, but he couldn't hear a thing.   
I want to knock and go in, he thought, but I can't do that until I
know my name.  He knew the ancient story that the one who lived
behind the castle door was the one who gave life meaning.  But how
could he approach the wise one if he did not know his own name?   
The boy fell asleep by the doorway.  The next morning, he set off
to find out what his name was.  He ran into two of his school
friends and asked them, "Do you know my name?"   
They looked at him, then at each other, and walked away laughing. 
 
He went into the little church on the edge of the village green and
asked if he could speak to the minister.   
"I'm sorry, Son, he is very busy," said a woman who was arranging
flowers. "But you don't understand," the boy said.  "It's
important.  I want to ask him if he knows my name.   
"That's quite enough of that nonsense," said the flower lady.  "Now
run along."   
The boy sat by the bank of the river and looked at his reflection
in the water Tears rolled down his cheeks, and he felt somewhat
hopeless.  People either did not know his name or were not going to
tell him.  He lay for a while, sobbing into the soft grass.  Then
he jumped at the touch of a hand on his shoulder.  He looked up. 
To his surprise, he was back at the door, and it was open.  He
looked at himself, covered in grass stains, with mud on his knees. 
He had planned to wear a new suit to meet the wise one, once he had
learned his name.   
He knocked very quietly on the unlatched door, and a voice like
music told him to come in.  He saw the owner of the castle standing
by a window, looking out over the village.  "I, um, I didn't want
to come until I knew my name, but   
Unable to finish speaking, the boy stood with his head bowed, tears
dripping on his shoes.   
The man walked over to the boy and put his arms around him.  "My
son," the man said, "if you wanted to know your name, you should
have come here first.  I am the only one who can tell you.  after
all, I am the one who gave you your name.   
LOOKING FOR "ME" IN ALL THE WRONG PLACES   
This boy's story is like my own.  I have chased the world looking
for the answer to the basic question of who I am.  It seems crazy
to me now that I did not think of going to God alone to find out
who I am.  But like the boy in the story, I had such a desire to
please him that I wanted to have everything in place before I
really presented myself.  For a long time, I thought my salvation
rested in making myself useful to the Lord and that somehow, by
spiritual osmosis, I would find myself in the process.  Part of
that is true; we are blessed by helping others.  But like most lies,
which start with something true but then get distorted, my good
intentions led me astray.  The more I tried to "give out" even as
my own well was running dry, the more the "real me" disappeared. 
In time, all that was left was a smiling plaster shell.   
I remember how I felt when I read the first review of my debut
album.  It was a very favorable critique, and I read each line as
if the reviewer were talking about someone else, not me.  When it
sunk in that they were talking about me, I pasted the bits that
made me feel good onto some of the emptiness in my heart.  Later,
when it became clear that the BBC show was going to be a success,
the British TV Guide did a two-page story on "Scottish girl makes
it big in London." People began to stop me on the streets and ask
for my autograph.  I was now the girl on television.  This persona
was much bigger than me, and I felt a little lost in her shoes.   
When I moved to America, my life became much more complicated.  I
love this country, but I am very disturbed by the way Americans
view success, particularly in the church.   As I became well known,
especially after I moved to Christian television, I was looked on
as a "special" kind of Christian, a cut above the rest.  My persona
was the perfect place to hide.  I didn't have to wonder who I
was, everyone knew.   Yet, like many successful people, I was
miserable on the inside, because I had no real sense of self.  It
was as if I had lots of beautiful threads, but no fabric to hold
them together.   
I often look at my mother as someone who is as firm as a rock and
who knows who she is.  She struggled through the loss of her
husband in his thirties and devoted herself to raising three
children under the nurture and care of God.  I used to wonder if
she were miserable and simply putting on a brave face for us, but
I know now that is not true.  I have come to the conclusion that
there is nothing more important in this world than to be at peace
with the Lord and yourself-and she is. I started out on this journey with the best intentions in
the world-to love and serve God-but somehow, somewhere, I took a
wrong turn and got lost.  When I was a teenager, I knew I was in a
lot of pain inside, but I did not have a clue what to do about it. 
I decided my mother had enough to worry about without dealing with
my unnamed feelings.  I know she tried to reach me, but I decided
silence was my best defense.  Emotionally, I had fallen down a
well, and I couldn't climb out.  I relate that time in my life to
a line by Norman Cousins, who wrote, "The tragedy of life is not in
the fact of death, but in what dies in us while we live."   
I can look at several points in my life where the Lord gave me an
opportunity to get help, but I did not.  I was too afraid.  I
believed that if I let others into the deepest parts of my life, I
would lose myself.  I know now that that is not true.   The only
way for me to find my way back home was the destruction of the
fragile mountain I had built around myself.   
FALLEN CASTLES   
A long time ago, in a country far away, a dark, bleak castle sat
high' on a mountain.  The wind sounded like tears as it wrapped
around the castle walls.  Though they never heard her, the
villagers below the castle knew a young girl lived deep inside the
granite walls.  She'd built the fortress herself.  Every spring the
girl would walk down to the waterfall in the village square and sit
for a while, Out here in the open the people would approach her and
talk to her about their lives, but they were never invited to the
castle.  Then, as suddenly as she had appeared, she would be gone,
encased again in her tomb of stone.   
One day the village people awoke to a terrible noise coming from
the castle.  It sounded as if all the wind and rain and thunder in
the world had gathered there, and above it all they heard a cry
more terrible than anything that had ever tumbled down the steep
mountainside. The people gathered in the village square and
listened.   Suddenly the castle walls shook and great cracks ran
through its granite walls.  "What shall we do?" they asked.   "We
know the girl is in there."   
"There is nothing to be done," said the village elder.   "We must
wait."   
All day long the cries continued as, stone by stone, the castle
fell into pieces.  For three days, the castle crumbled.   Some
people left, feeling the girl had brought it on herself; others
watched, fascinated by the spectacle.  A few stood side by side
with tears running down their cheeks.   
At the end of the third day, the castle was little more than a pile
of dust.  The tear-stained villagers climbed the mountain.  At what
was once the castle door, they saw a body lying deathly still.  The
elder stooped down and picked up the girl.  She was still alive,
though for days she lay in a deep sleep somewhere between death and
life.  Finally, one   
day she opened her eyes.   
The villagers knew the castle had taken the girl years to build,
each stone resting on the next.  It had meant so much to her. 
Should they tell her it was gone?   
The elder spoke tenderly.  "We do not know what happened, my dear,
but it is all gone."   
She looked at the group gathered around, taking in every face, and
then she smiled.  "I know it is gone," she said.   "I pulled out
the first stone."   
That is how my life seemed to me.  What had looked like a castle
had been a self-made prison separating me from the rest of the
world.  The first stone pulled out of my castle wall was a
desperate cry to God for help.  He was not sentimental about the
walls I had erected around me; he allowed the castle to crumble in
order to save the life of my lonely, walled-in soul.   
I know that, as a human being, I am made in the image of God.  That
truth is like a river that steers me through my life.  Because of the sacrifice of Christ, I am forgiven
for my sins and restored to fellowship with God.  This covenant
engraved into the hand of God is secure; it is eternal.  As a child
of God and a member of the body of Christ, I belong with the
fellowship of believers.  We are family forever.   
People were made for community.  While it is wonderful to have a
home to love, a place of peace, we often use that place of rest as
a place to hide, to isolate ourselves from one another.  But homes
are not eternal.  Relationships are the only things that have
eternity written all over them.  We need to "find ourselves" in
Christ and in relationship with one another.  It is in relationship
that we see our strengths and our weaknesses and find the courage
to change.   
Have you ever thought that you would not know who you were if what
you did for a living was taken away from you?  Often, it is not
until we lose our jobs and our homes and all of our "stuff," that
we see clearly who we really are.   For me, it was as if Jesus had
walked into the temple court- yard of my life and turned over the
tables.  As the dust settled and I surveyed the broken pieces all
around me, I knew this might be my last chance to walk away from
what was not real and find what was.   
NEW OPENNESS   
When I think back to my 1993 move to California, I remember those
first few days so well.  I had arrived two months before classes
began so I could settle into my apartment.  It was such a happy
feeling to open the door and walk into the freshly painted shell of
my new home.   
I sat on the floor by the window and poured out my heart to God. 
I thanked him for giving me safety on my crosscountry journey and
for his constant companionship.  Everything was new.  It was as if
I had been born all over again, with only a few scars to remind me
of where I had been.   
Just hours later, the movers arrived with my furniture.   As they
brought in the boxes, I unpacked them.  They teased 
me about all the books I had as they carried
box after heavy box into the apartment.  I offered to make them
lunch, and we sat down on the floor to eat.  I was filled again
with a sense of the dignity of human life.  As we broke bread
together, I wondered about their stories.  It is so easy not to see
people, to rush past with no eye contact, guarded and insulated
from life.  I thought about the men in the homeless shelter I drove
past every day in Virginia Beach as I rushed to get to my "safe"
studio-where no one could touch me- to talk about the love of God. 
 
I thanked the moving men for their kindness as they left, and they
shook my hand and wished me happiness.  I slept like a baby that
first night and woke to the sun streaming through my window.   
My first prayer request after I arrived in California was for God
to give me a friend.  I knew how important it was for me to be
connected to the body of Christ.  One day I received a call from a
woman who said she had heard I had moved to town; did I want to
have dinner sometime?  I had never met her, though we had several
mutual friends.   
The first night I met Marlene, I knew I had found a friend.  She
was real, and said what she thought without measuring it out slowly
to gauge my reaction.  It was obvious that she had a passion for
Christ, and she made me laugh.  What more could I have asked God
for?   
NEW DISCIPLINES

It had taken me a long time to come to that place of quiet inside. 
In that place I found the invigorating value of the disciplines of
solitude, fasting, meditation, and prayer.   As I said earlier, I
had fasted before, but only as a desperate attempt to find God in
the midst of clinging to "religion." Fasting, for me, was like the
waving arms of a drowning woman, never an offering to God or a
heart-response of obedience to a call to fast. I had spent a lot of time alone before, but I was never
quiet.  My meditations were interrupted by the sense that I had no
self inside.  I had to look in the mirror to see if I was there. 
Like the boy in the story who waited outside the castle door, when
I prayed, I stood outside, refusing the invitation to come in
because my dress was dirty.   
What had been on the outside of my life was so noisy and present"
that it had become the whole song.  Now all of that was gone, and
the new song Jesus put in my heart came from inside.  As part of my
life, I began to take time out to be quiet, to listen, to let my
heart and mind slow down for a while.   
I've thought about what my friend at CBN said to me before I left
for Washington, "Be careful or you might never be that special
Sheila Walsh again." She was right!  I am no longer "special" in
the way that I had been, and I am glad!   
RUNNING FREE-FOR A PURPOSE   
When we left the Velveteen Rabbit, he was learning what it cost to
become real and the pain of the process.  He was also about to
discover what a rabbit was made for.  He did become the boy's
favorite toy, occupying the place of most importance in the
nursery.  But one day, the boy became sick with scarlet fever.   
Some adult came through and cleaned out the nursery, tossing the
rabbit out in a sack of rubbish to be burned the next morning.  As
he lay in the sack, the rabbit wondered what use it was to be loved
if it ended like this.  A real tear ran down his velvet face, and
a flower sprouted where it fell.   Out of the blossom stepped the
nursery fairy who carried the rabbit off to a place where all the
"loved, real" toys lived.   She put him down on the grass and told
him to run.   
He found that he actually had hind legs!   
He gave one leap and the joy of using those hind legs was so great
that he went spikiging about the turf on them.   
He was a Real Rabbit, at last, at home with the
other rabbits.   
This beautiful children's story contains many profound truths.  It
is pair~ to go through the process of becoming a transparent,
authentic human being.  It takes time, and we do not control its
schedule; that is in the hands of God.  At times, it seems as if
the process is shut down and we are abandoned in the darkest night
of our lives.  Each step takes courage and faith to keep walking,
especially when it looks as if the road is leading us back to roads
we have walked before.  In the end, however, we begin to understand
what we were created for.   As we continue to walk, we find others
who have been made real as well, and the journey continues with
them.   
Jesus did not set me free so I could wallow for the rest of my life
in my new freedom and joy, but rather so the grace and space that
had been gifted to me would be shared with those around me.   
TO COMFORT AS WE HAVE BEEN COMFORted   
Dietrich Bonhoeffer was one of the few voices to speak out against
Adolf Hitler's maniacal plan for Europe.  When Hitler came to
power, Bonhoeffer left Germany and pastored a church in England. 
But when he received a call to return to his homeland to head up a
seminary for young pastors, he accepted the call.  There he refined
his teaching on community (which has been published and is left to
us), but at a price to himself: On April 8,1945, he was hanged in
Flossenburg for refusing to bow the knee to anyone but Christ.   
Bonhoeffer recorded that all Christian community springs out of the
truth that we belong to each other only through and in Jesus
Christ.  Richard Foster, in his book   
Devotional Classics, quotes Bonhoeffer:   
The Christian lives wholly by the truth of God's word in Christ
Jesus.  If someone asks him, "Where is your salvation, your
righteousness?" he can never   
point to himself, he points to the word of God in Christ 
 
Jesus which assures him salvation and righteousness.   
As we gather together, we meet one another as carriers of the
message of salvation, speaking what is true again and again as we
are faced with a world of lies and confusion.   What we have
received from God, we extend to one another.   That is why there is
no hope for peace or grace outside of Christ: We can only give what
we have been given.  As Bonhoeffer writes, "Our community with one
another consists solely in what Christ has done to both of us."   
If we begin to view our brothers and sisters as those in whom
Christ actually dwells, I believe we will behave differently toward
one another.  As I reflect on the many bitter squabbles that take
place within the church, I realize we all need to have our hearts
broken by God.  Arrogance and divisive behavior have no place in
his kingdom, but they will stay with us until we humble ourselves
before God and get a clear picture of ourselves.   
Jesus told his friends not to be concerned about the speck in a
brother's eye, but rather to take care of the logs in their own
eyes.  I used to find that difficult to understand.   It was clear
to me how it would apply in certain circumstances, but not always. 
Having been dealt with by God, that verse reads very differently to
me now.  When I find myself becoming angered by the behavior of
others, it is usually a good sign that I had better pay attention
to something in my own life.  So often we attack others because of
what we see of our own flawed humanity in them.   
I read somewhere of a young man who, when he told his rabbi he
really loved him, the rabbi replied by asking, "Do you know what
hurts me?" Confused, the young man asked why the rabbi posed such
an irrelevant question.  The old man looked at his enthusiastic
student and replied, "How can you love me, if you do not know what
hurts me?"
NO NEED TO SCRAMBLE FOR FIRST PLACE   
There is an event held every summer in Estes Park, Colorado, for
the Christian music community.  The day schedule features seminars
and competitions for up and coming artists, and at night concerts are
given by established artists.  If you're on at night, you get
twenty minutes to showcase your music.   The tension backstage is
ridiculous.  We artists get up on stage as if we all needed brain
transplants and there is only one brain available-which will be
awarded to the artist who gets the longest standing ovation.   
What used to happen to me up in that thin mountain air was that I
wanted to be the one whom God spoke through.   Now, it is good and
right to pray that God will move among and speak to his people, but
to long to be the one through whom he speaks-as if that would make
that person seem more spiritual to others-is an erroneous concept. 
We can dance through hoops for one another, raise the dead, and
speak with the eloquence and authority of a prophet, but if we do
not love each other, we are simply a noise in God's ears. 
Elizabeth O'Connor said itso beautifully in Journey Inward, Journey
Outward:   
Whether a man arrives or does not arrive at his own destiny... 
depends on whether or not he finds the Kingdom within and hears the
call to wholeness-or holiness.  ...  He does not have to scramble
for a place in the scheme of things.  He knows that there is a
place which is his....  Life becomes his vocation.   
CHALLENGE   
God gives each one of us unlimited resources in Christ to rise
above small earthbound dreams and to live lives that reflect
eternity in our hearts.  But it is hard, even heartbreaking
sometimes, to step out from behind our masks and be known.  But
even though it is hard now, it will be much harder if we leave it
until later.  In Mere Christianity, C.  S. Lewis wrote that "the cowardly thing is also the most dangerous
thing." He used the example of a mountain climber facing a climbing
task that is very hard to do, but is also the safest thing to do. 
If he bypasses it, hours later he will be in far worse danger.  He
goes on to say,   It may be hard for an egg to turn into a bird: it
would be a jolly sight harder for it to learn to fly while remaining
an egg.  We are like eggs at present.  And you cannot go on
indefinitely being just an ordinary, decent egg.  We must be
hatched or go bad.   
When there is something physically wrong with our bodies, we accept
that, to be healthy, we have to deal with the problem.  People who
ignore the body's warning signs don't always get a chance to live
to regret it.   
It is the same with our hearts and our souls.  God in his
compassion gives us signs that all is not well, but it is much
easier to ignore them and just keep walking.  A sickness in our
souls is much more dangerous than a weak heart or a few cancer
cells.  I do not want for a moment to minimize the pain and trauma
of disease, but when our hearts are at peace in Christ, we can say
with Paul, "For me to live is Christ, to die is gain" (Philippians
1:21).  What is most tragic is to never really live at all. 
Perhaps your own path is strewn with the garbage of the past.  Many
adults today are held hostage by childhood traumas with which they
cannot make peace.   
I ask you with all my heart to open yourself to embarking on the
only journey that leads to life.  As long as you have breath in
your body it is never too late.  If, like me, you have buried your
anger and shame for so long that you are severely depressed, there
are many wonderful Christian treatment centers and godly counselors
available.  Or ask a trusted friend to recommend someone.  There is
nothing to be ashamed about in reaching out for help.  It takes a
lot more courage to step out into the darkness than to stay in the
prison in which you may currently be living. By the same token, if your husband or wife or
someone you love is in trouble, you should reach out to him or her
as well.  Sometimes we are afraid to reach out in case we can- not
put the pieces back together again, but it is much worse to deny a
problem until the whole thing explodes and the pieces are scattered
to the far corners of the earth.   
One of the letters I received after appearing on "The 700 Club" to
say good-bye was from a well-known Christian speaker who wrote to
me from a drug and alcohol rehab center.  He said he had lived in
misery for years, torn between the success of his work and the
devastation in his private life.  He wanted to get help many times,
but knew it might cost him everything.  He had finally found the
strength to walk away from the addictive spotlight to a place where
he could be made whole.  His letter reminded me of the words of the
martyr Jim Elliot: "He is no fool who gives what he cannot keep, to
gain what he cannot lose."   
Many human platforms and the trappings of success will one day be
left behind and only things built in honesty and integrity with
Christ will endure.   
THE ESSENCE OF LIFE   
I know that someday I will stand before almighty God and give an
account of my life.  I have made many mistakes that Christ has
graciously covered with his blood, but the greatest mistake of all
would have been to ignore the call to come out of the darkness and
show myself.  We can continue to take care of the outside of our
lives, or we can turn away from what will not last and ask the Lord
to show us who we really are.   
I spent a lot of time grieving over the picture of who I am without
Christ.  I will not forget it, and I have asked God in his mercy to
never let me banish that picture from my mind.  It may seem like a
nightmare to face all that is true about ourselves, but when we
combine it with the glory of who we are in Christ, it is a gift that will take us
through the night until the morning breaks.   
During the course of writing this book, I was invited to speak and
sing at a retreat for staff and key supporters of the ministry of
my good friend Joni Eareckson Tada.  in the worship service on the
final morning, a man slowly made his way to the podium to read the
Scripture.  Born with cerebral palsy, he had been through years of
speech therapy and was now willing to read in public.  He read from
2 Corinthians 12:7-9: "There was given me a thorn in my flesh, a
messenger of Satan, to torment me.  Three times I pleaded with the
Lord to take it away from me.  But he said to me, `My grace is
sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness."'   
As I listened to this man read, I saw with my own eyes the truth of
those verses lived out in front of me.  Flying home that day I
realized that we are all disabled; it is just more noticeable with
some of us than others.  Some of us are blind or in wheelchairs,
while others of us are angry and bitter.  What matters now is what
we are going to do with our disabilities.  If the man who had
battled cerebral palsy had kept himself locked away, embarrassed by
his disability he would never have brought so much to us during the
service that day Only in surrendering ourselves to living
transparent, accountable lives,- can we be God's picture show to
each other and to the world-a visible, tangible demonstration that
God is real.   
I know it is hard to change after having lived one way for so long,
but it is not too late; you just have to seize the moment and
begin.  You are not alone.  Christ will be with you every step of
the way.  There is a place for each person that no one else can
fill, and there is something you bring with you, when you step Out
of the shadows, that no one else can bring.  Perhaps like me before
I began my own journey, you feel you are locked inside a prison. 
Butjust beyond those prison doors there are people who are cheering
you on.  If you'll just try the door, I think you'll find that it is
open. Prayers are heard when children pray,   
though sometimes it takes years   
to find the strength to listen   
to the truth behind the tears.   
Her body grew, as children do;   
inside she lived alone,   
a little girl,   
her spirit bruised and trapped beneath a stone.   
But one day in her prison cell,   
a tiny shaft oflight   
began to burst through bars ofsteel   
and lift the dead of night.   
And as the little girl looked up   
she saw herself all grown,   
and the hand she took   
that led her out   
looked strangely like her own.   
The man at the pool of Siloam waited for thirty-seven years for
someone else to help him.  Then Jesus came along and said to him,
"Rise up and walk." Often, we have wasted much of our lives waiting
for someone else to take that first step of healing for us.  I say
to you, in Jesus' name, "Rise up and walk!  Come out of the
shadows, step into the light.  You were not created to merely
survive, you were made to live.
I woke up to a beautiful December morning with the sun
shining softly through the windows of my room.  It was December
3,1994.  I lay awake for a while listening to the sounds of the
street below.  Christmas shoppers were out in force, and I could
hear Bing Crosby singing "O Little Town of Bethlehem" as the music
drifted up from the hotel lobby beneath my room.  I looked at the
beautiful dress that was hanging on the outside of the wardrobe and
the silver slippers on the floor.  Today I would be married in
Charleston, South Carolina, to a wonderful man, a true gift from
God.   We had chosen this elegant city as it was where Barry, my
husband to be, was born.   
I thought back to the rehearsal dinner of the previous evening and
smiled.  The room had been filled with people who knew us well. 
Barry's mother's speech was so forthright and funny that she stole
the show.  My family and close friends had flown in from the United
Kingdom for the wedding and as my brother, Stephen, spoke in my
father's place, I was reminded of how rich I truly am.  I have a
family who loves me unreservedly, a man whose kindness and strength
have won my heart, and a future secure in the grace and mercy of a
Father who sees all, who knows all, and who loves us all.   
I am grateful for a new season, a new beginning in my life.  As I
take this step into the future, I pray that God will use the
lessons of the last years to shape our marriage, to sustain us as
we serve him, and to help us live a life worthy of his calling.  
If you are interested in having Sheila Walsh speak at your church,
conference or special event, please contact her office at:   
PO.  Box 150783   
Nashville, TN 37215  
Gifts for Your Soul   
Sheila Walsh   
This book of devotional meditations will nourish your hunger for
deeper intimacy with God.  Sheila Walsh turns her attention to the 
 
basic truths of the Christian life.  Honest and refreshing,
Sheila's writing encourages readers to exchange life in a spiritual
rut for a renewed passion for Christ.  She says, "I spent so many
years on the external surface of my life that my inner life became
weed-choked and overgrown.  That is why I wrote this book.  Not
because I have great answers but because I have a great hunger to
know God, to learn how to love, to care for the part of my life
that is eternal.   
Here's what readers of this great devotional are saying..   
If you've read Honestly, you know Sheila speaks truth that grips
your soul.  In Gifts for Your Soul she goes deep, and the words are
even richer.   Her work is a gift in the midst of the struggles and
realities of life.   Stephen Arterburn   
Cofounder and Chairman, New Life Clinics   One of Sheila's most
fetching qualities is her ability to present material with a
freshness and newness that draws the reader closer to the Lord.  
Her thoughts, vibrant and simple, show great compassion and
empathy.   Barbara Johnson   
Spatula Ministries   Sheila's insights on forgiveness and grace
were especially meaningful for me.  Follow her toward Jesus-and
unwrap gifts for your own soul.   
Patsy Clairmont   
Best-selling author and speaker   
Gifts for Your Soul is packaged in a size that makes it perfect for
gift giving and devotional use.  Pick up your copy at a local
Christian bookstore.   
Gifts for Your Soul - Hardcover ISBN: 0-310-20975-7  We want to hear from you.  Please send your comments about this   
book to us in care of the address below.  Thank you.   
Grand Rapids, Michigan 49530   
http://www.zondervan.com