Does your bag smell?

I guess if you put rubbish into a bag.. and keep putting rubbish into the bag. All sorts of rubbish. Kitchen waste, remainders of meals, out of date stuff from the fridge.. it starts to smell. So you find some different stuff to throw in to cover the smell. Layers of newspaper maybe.. or tie up the bag. Yes. That's what we need. A new bag. So lets stuff the old bag out of sight somewhere. A new bag. Hurrah. We can put lots of waste in here.. until it gets full, and it is replaced by a new one..

We carry on, thinking we are being smart. Do you suffer from bad smells? someone asks. What me? Nah. I'm good. I don't suffer from odour like others.. Meanwhile, subconsciously we tie another bag and stuff it out of sight.

Then, one day, something unexpected happens. We realise that we can't move anymore. The way to the front door is blocked, as is the way to the back door. We can't get out, but can't work out why. The fact that the place is littered with all these smelling leaking rotten black bin bags somehow escapes our attention.

We double our efforts. Work harder. Put it behind us, move on. Claim some Bible verses. Pray saying God, help me to move. And tie another bag. We get tired. We push on. We get ill. We push on. Must try harder..

Until we can't. A person close to us tells us that they can't live with us anymore. Our bodies shut down, meaning we can't work. We feel exhausted, anxious, stressed, emotional - and not sure why.

Lord, make me know truth in the inward parts. For we will know your truth, and we will be set free.

Truth about what I've hidden. Truth about the effect of my dad on my life. His anger. His irrational rage. His control. My mum. Her need to keep the peace, thus supporting my dad. Not allowing us to make our own decisions. Not being able to discuss feelings/emotions as a child. Having to pretend all was fine as we were paraded at church. After church. After church. Dad ministering. Us pretending to be the perfect family. Standing on a platform in front of hundreds giving my testimony. At 6 years old. And 7. And 8.. and every year until I left home. Rage, anger, violence, Hallelujah. Rage, anger, violence, smile.

And the effect that this had on me as a child. Predisposed to being abused without standing up for myself. So being bullied at school. Until 13. When God did something. But nevertheless. Being bullied. Why? Because I was weak? No. Because I was stunted, a freak? No. Because I'd been bullied by my dad, and my mum stood by and did nothing. Turn the other cheek. Blessed are the peacemakers. Honour your parents. Hey, bully me because I haven't been taught to stand up for myself.

Then add all the years of crap that I've pushed into bags since then.. lots of bags to clear out. Lots of truth to be applied.

Yes, yes, it's great that I'm in this place. It means that I am starting the hard hard process of clearing junk out from my system. But you know what? It's really really painful.