“I wasn’t finished!” Elsa stomped her foot and ran to the living room. We were watching Mary Poppins and my sweet two and a half year old granddaughter had come to the end of her allotted thirty minute screen time and I needed to turn off the video.
Jane, Michael, Bert and Mary Poppins were on their merry-go-round horses and beginning to gallop off into the spring meadow. It’s a glorious moment in the movie. But I respect my children’s parenting wishes and told her we’d watch more tomorrow.
My heart hurt disappointing her understandable desire. She took the fly swatter that hangs on a hook and ran to the living room and swatted the floor and again said, “I wasn’t finished!”
Something about that sentence, “I wasn’t finished” brought tears to my eyes. I could hear her quietly rocking in her rocking chair. I was so proud of the way she self-soothed and cared for herself after being so frustrated. We soon went on to another activity, but I realized that I had some processing to do with what had been triggered in me with that sentence.
I began thinking of all the moments in my life that I could say, “I wasn’t finished.” Last month, in The Allender Center facilitation group, I wrote and read about a summer school experience in college. It was our third time for our group to be together and we have come to care deeply for one another. We are learning how to listen as we carefully watch and hear how another person tells their story.
The group is made up of folks who have already been through the certificate program and are being trained to facilitate story groups. It is demanding because we are invited to go far beyond merely being heartbroken for our losses and tender to our wounds.
The work requires pursuing the parts of the story where there is passion and life and where there is fear and death. For our deepest traumas we need more than mere encouragement and empathy. We need someone who will read the story and pursue the hidden tracks to our heart.
I shared about being on an archeological dig in the wilderness of Colorado the summer after my junior year in college. I was sleeping in a tent with two other girls. The final night of the dig, my professor came into the tent and raped me.
I described the smells, the night air, the dirt floor, his drunken stupor, my debilitating shock, and how I froze. I have come to learn that it is common to freeze in trauma. I had always presumed it was my fault that I did not say no; it was my fault that I could not find my voice or push him off.
I understand far better how my whole life was set up to not speak, to endure violence, and presume it was my fault. If only I had done something different, my mother would not scream at me or my father would have not raged.
I now understand why I froze. I have also learned how I was expected to be submissive to authority figures and wouldn’t have thought it possible to confront an authority like my professor.
In the morning, I awakened for kitchen duty with my professor and acted like nothing had happened. After breakfast we began loading the jeeps and then seventeen of us flew home to different parts of the country. I never returned to that university. It was an incident I buried for fifteen years because it was so shameful. When our son was born, I realized I needed to seek counseling.
I had thought that being married to a man who’s calling is to those who have been sexually violated was enough vengeance against evil. I claimed the verse, “what evil intended for harm, God intended for good.” (Genesis 50:20)
I had thought that standing on the street corners to reach out to our city’s prostituted youth was validation that I had worked through all the issues. So, when I had finished reading my paper and our group leader said to my peers who were trying to enter the sadness—“What did you most notice in Becky’s story?”
My group cared for me well, but our brilliant leader noticed something that the group had not named. The focus had been on the horror and heartbreak of the harm. That is understandable. But what the leader asked the group to name was where my heart seemed to be most alive and passionate in the reading of my story.
She asked the group to consider where I seemed most free. There were just two sentences that she captured. I knew exactly where she was headed and it felt beyond wonderful to have that named.
I had written:
“Fifteen college students from other universities along with two professors set off for six weeks of site surveying for Indian remains in the most beautiful setting imaginable. Herds of wild horses would gallop by and eagles which soared overhead was other-worldly to an Ohio girl.”
I had read those sentences with my eyes almost closed, breathing and remembering the beauty of the time and the place in the Rocky Mountains. I have no clue how she knew to enter that doorway.
She said, “Didn’t you see her? Didn’t you feel her freedom? Didn’t you hear her say that after three years of an abusive relationship she finally left Ohio? Didn’t you get how hard that was and then weren’t you there with her when she read of the eagles and the wild horses?”
My group pursued my heart. They named places in the rest of the story where I had buried my dreams and lost the passion that once had been so alive in me. They took me to the horror of “a dead girl walking” and cared for me in that moment of changing my major and giving up what I had loved so dearly.
It was an exquisite ending to our third training weekend and since I was the last to tell my story, our time was short and there was less time to process what I had experienced. From there we all left and as it goes, life took off and I did not reflect of the loss that had been named.
A month later, Elsa’s sentence triggered my tears. “I wasn’t finished.” I wasn’t finished, I really wasn’t. I had escaped an abusive relationship with a boyfriend in Ohio and transferred to a university in Colorado. I had changed my major and was excelling in Anthropology. I loved being out West and loved the school and I loved being alive. And then my breath was squeezed out of my body and my voiced silenced even more.
Like many women, I felt ashamed and ruined after what wasn’t my fault. Yet, I blamed myself. I thought being twenty-one years old caused me to be guilty. I buried the secret and moved on. I eventually sought healing and counsel about the rape, but you see, I never mourned the wild horses I lost.
When our group leader began naming the eagles, the wild horses, the excellence in my studies I was back in that moment feeling the joy, the exhilaration of that summer and the absorption in my major.
People ask, “why go back to sad places in your life.” It is not an easy question to answer convincingly to someone who believes it is wrong or useless to return to sorrow. All I can say is that in sorrow and in the care of wise guides, your broken story comes to be holy as you taste the tears of God.
It is life changing. Research shows that our brains actually change when we tell stories of loss in a safe setting. The puzzle of who I am and who I am meant to be unfolds with resurrection hope even for someone who is sixty-three years of age!
I have felt the Father’s delight and love in renewed ways. There is so much more to my story than I thought. And there is so much more tenderness from Jesus to experience. I hear my Savior say, with a bold, playful and fierce twinkle in His eye, “I wasn’t finished!” And He isn’t. He who died for me and said, “It is finished” also invites me truly to a brand new, wild, freeing life. I am not finished and apparently neither is Elsa or Jesus.
Becky Allender lives on Bainbridge Island with her loving, wild husband of 36 years. A mother and grandmother, she is quite fond of sunshine, yoga, Hawaiian quilting and creating 17th Century reproduction samplers. A community of praying women, loving Jesus, and the art of gratitude fill her life with goodness. She wonders what she got herself into with Red Tent Living!
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As someone who was raised to keep silent about evil, I resonated with your story. Thank you for sharing. For me, at sixty-three, I, too am not finished. I feel like I am just beginning–to write and tell the story of how God’s love brought good out of evil in my life. God keeps reminding me that He “is doing something new” in my life, and I trust that the best is yet to come.
Madeline, thank you for sharing. Hooray for just beginning at at sixty three! I love that God is reminding you that He is doing something new in your life. And what a lovely, life bringing attitude you have with trusting that the best is yet to come. I am glad you resonated with my story.
Thank you Becky……your offering this morning opened the door leading to my room called…. “I am not finished’… “I never mourned the wild horses I lost” are certainly words to sit with.
Elaine, I love that you have a door to a room of, “I am not finished”. I pray that this room allows for goodness, mercy and life!
So beautiful, painful, vulnerable and hopeful! There is truly something profound, “beyond wonderful” that happens when someone names the thing our heart most wants to be seen. I am grateful for the glimpses I’ve had of that wild, beautiful woman who has so much life and passionate wisdom in what she offers…and I’m so glad you’re not finished!
Janet, thank you for reading this entry and commenting with your insightful words. Your depth rings deep in person, on the phone and on the written page. Yes, it was an unimaginable joy when my group spent time with me in the hallowed mountains with the eagles and horses. Jesus is bringing them back!
Wow Becky…my hunger and desire to return to what “lit me up” as a young girl was ignited as I read your words. As always, thanks for naming, sharing, and inviting others.
Oh, hunger and desire is so good!! I hope you sit with that and ponder what was lost and what can be gained with hope and love and faith. I am excited for you.
Thank you Becky, for sharing priceless, beautiful hope for more. Thank you for braving the dark waters of contempt to scream “wait! I’m not finished!” I love your deep passion and hope, you are contagious!
Dear Autumn, thank you for naming the dark waters of contempt…as they are thick and deep and have silenced over and over again. Thank you for helping me see that I can swim and not be swallowed! I am glad we have caught each other’s passion and find each other’s hearts “contagious!” How glorious.
Simply Beautiful. Thank you.
Joanie, thank you. Thank you.
Oh Becky! May your heart run wild as the horse and fly as free as the eagle.
Robyn, that you! What a glorious reply that ignites desire to be wild and free. I hope I do and continue to do so with courage and love.
So proud of you, my friend, for opening up about this horror and sharing your reflections of it with us. I taste and see that the Lord is good here despite the evil. Wild horses and a “Jolly Holiday” indeed! How can anyone be finished with beauty such as that?
Thank you, Kelli, for cheering me on. Thank you for your wildness that believes and trusts and causes you to run with beauty to get what you want.
Becky, what a lavish gift this is; exquisitely woven. The wild, free, running, soaring part of you has always been so present. To hear of how that true part of you has been assaulted, told by you with such care, took my breath. I love that evil does not win with you. You are rare among women.
Thank you, Jan. I hold dear your words and will ponder for days to come the sweetness and goodness of them. Thank you.
The reminder I needed this morning, Becky; to taste the tears of God in our story. Thank you. Such a sacred offering – sharing both the rape and the eagles – low and high. I’m working on paper 4 for the next Certificate weekend and wrestling with how to hold both the sorrow and exquisite beauty of the land traversed. Once again, you shine light on how to continue moving. I’m glad you aren’t finished yet. 🙂
Thank you, Timi. I am fortified by your words to stay “unfinished”. And, yes, “to taste the tears of God in our story” is a holy gift to begin to grasp. May the paper flow easily.
Whoopee, my lovely friend! I love the way you’ve written this story of heartbreak with the clarity of kindness, tenderness and hope. I love how you’ve modeled the redemptive power of sharing our stories in the presence of women who desire healing and holiness. I love how God is continuing to bring you into passionate freedom where you can laugh and dance and share the open space of never-ending possibility with everyone around you. I love you.
You crack me up! I love your “whoopee” and yes!!!!! Laughing with you is one of the healings Jesus has blessed me with to soar and run for Him. Thank you for being a part of revealing my story and loving Jesus with a bigger and wilder heart. I love you, Annie.
Thank you Becky, this touched my heart deeply.
Renee, I am so glad. Your heart is so good and big and ready for so much more. I bless your heart that was deeply touched by reading my words. May Jesus be glorified.
Dear Becky, I have literally feasted on your story today…”The puzzle of who I am and who I am meant to be unfolds with resurrection hope”…Such a lavish offering to us – Thank you.
Gina, that you for your feasting on my story. Thank you. Your words go very deep and I am humbled and awed with God’s love for me and all He is redeeming. I am not finished….
Beautifully written, shared and honored. So grateful for your life and story. Thank you
Mylinda, thank you for you very kind words. They mean a lot. May your story you write be shared and honored with love also.
Thank you so much for sharing Becky. May your heart fly free with the eagles and explore with the wild horses. So glad that you are allowing the wounds to have healing salve placed upon them. You are truly one of the most amazing women I know.
Dear “Survivorcreativity” I do not know who you are and to read the last sentence is quieting of my soul…. Thank you. You leave me astounded and quiet and without words.
hey Becky…it is joan…and what I said is so true! So amazed by you!
Becky, thank you for sharing such a vulnerable and beautiful piece of yourself. Your words, your story, your voice is one that this hurting world so desperately needs to hear and you are brave and kind to share them with us. I love when you say “….in sorrow and in the care of wise guides, your broken story comes to be holy as you taste the tears of God.” How stunning and beautifully profound. Thank you for helping me taste the tears of God through the holiness of our broken stories. I love you dear friend and I am especially glad that your not finished!
Thank you Laurie! Thank you for being there as a wise guide and than a friend who pursues and ponders even more with me. Thank you for your love and encouragement to write. May the tears of God we have the privilege to taste allow us to soar like the eagles and run wild like the horses. And it is true…I am not finished. I am glad we are sojourning together.
Well I’m just sitting crying alone in my office over the beauty of your story. And your writing. And you.
Cary, thank you. I miss you. And your words are such a compliment since, you are the writer! Thank you for the years you have believed in me to write….it’s happening and feels really good.
Precious Becky,
Oh how my heart broke when I read your story! It mirrors my own in a profound way. You are brilliant and brave in the telling. You have invited me into explore some graveyard places in my own story & have taught me how by sharing your experience or redemption. Thank you does not seem sufficient, but will have to do now!
Wow, Jean! It is surprising to hear you say my story mirrors you. Thank you for validating my story…and so, then also your story. The paradox of being brave is an unfolding story for me and may it be for you too.
Such a privilege to read this…I was astonished and challenged by your candor. Thank you for the honor of hearing your story.
Mary, thank you for your astonishment! I too am astonished! More and more each day, I remain astonished by His grace and love. Thank you for reading this entry. I am honored by the time you took to read it and respond.
Becky, this is such a lovely and tender read. There is a beauty released in your exquisite vulnerability that touches my heart deeply. Bless you my friend, bless your wild life, bless the Eagles and the horses…they resonate in your passion today!
Mary Jane, thank you for reading and allowing it to touch your heart. I am blessed by your life and blessed by your blessing of mine. And you cause me to remember, bless and embrace the wild horses and eagles. Wow. Thank you.
Oh Becky… Your post just floored me. “I wasn’t finished yet…!” feels the unending anguished cry of my heart for my whole life!
My heart grieved with you as you wrote,
“In the morning, I awakened for kitchen duty with my professor and acted like nothing had happened. After breakfast we began loading the jeeps and then seventeen of us flew home to different parts of the country. I never returned to that university.”
As sat and read your words my mind was flooded with memories of all those “unfinished” places in my life where; “I wasn’t finished yet either.” I wrote down just a sentence for each as they came like there just on the tip of my tongue.
There are many pages that are yet unwritten; but I was wondering if I could send this “List” to you just to get your perspective. I will also be taking them to my therapist tomorrow.
The memories have most always been there but the long subdued emotions are yet buried just below the surface. But your post has cracked the thinning veneer and given me a new avenue into my grief. Thank you.
I do not know your name….so I just say….bless you for all that was stirred and all the holy unfinished things you are painstakingly writing down to take to your therapist today. I am grateful a thinning veneer has been cracked with my post. This might have been the greatest affirmation of my writing I have ever gotten. May the tears of God warm your heart to enter grief with a wise guide and allow healing in your body, mind, spirit and soul. I will pray right now for you.
Closing my eyes now, standing in awe of the wild horses and soaring eagles with you Becky. Thank you for pointing us to know our sorrows and testifying that grieving with loving others, invites us to experience God’s wildness, glory and beauty. I’m so thankful that Jesus is never finished, and you are right that is freedom.
Anna, thank you for your kind words. Thank you for closing your eyes and seeing the wild horses and the soaring eagles with me… and please add you and Chris in the picture too! I bless you and all that you keep saying to God, “I am not finished yet.” Because, Anna, I am watching all that you are doing and I say with a fiere and loving twinkle in my eye….”Wow, Anna, is definately not finished yet!”
Thank you Becky, each paragraph so precious as the story is unfolded. I especially love the last paragraph. The picture of Jesus with a bold, playful, fierce twinkle in his eye is one I love and need to remember.
Tracy, you are so kind. Thank you for naming the paragraphs and highlighting the last one. May we both remember that paragraph and may it spur us on to love and good deeds and freedom to run and soar.
There is something so revealing and beautiful to me in your sharing. I hear where your group members “named places in the rest of the story where I had buried my dreams and lost the passion that once had been so alive in me. They took me to the horror of “a dead girl walking” and cared for me in that moment of changing my major and giving up what I had loved so dearly.”
What painful losses for you…I feel your pain. And what ground you are taking back from evil in the pursuit to “dig” into and find your own true heart. I so see you on that “archeological dig” for something absolutely valuable beyond measure…your own heart….and the hearts of others. What could be more precious than that? Such amazing redemption. So, so beautiful. Thank you for sharing. You and your heart are such a gift.
Thank you! Yes! As you write, “to go back to that archeological dig to reclaim what is absolutely valuable beyond measure… my own heart…and the hearts of others.” You, Christine, are an amazing “seer: and writer!!!! Wow. I love what you wrote. Thank you. You are a gift to me.
Oh so beautiful and poignant… I felt a kindred spirit in your words, Becky, and I once thought being ten years old caused me to be guilty. But like your broken story, mine too has become holy as I’ve tasted the tears of God. (What a beautiful, intimate way to describe the healing hand of God in our lives!) How far and deep He’s taken me into those sad places in my life, but the beauty and freedom that have been born there are unlike anything I’ve ever seen or experienced before. It’s been life-changing for sure, and it’s only left me wanting more. I’m so glad He’s not finished.
Bless you for your young heart that felt guilty when you were ten years old. I am grateful that your story has become holy as you have tasted the tears of God. Thank you for what you wrote and I raise my glass to you and say, “Hallelujah, you are not finished and either is God!”
Just invited to enter my own story again today, validate its depth, and honor the way it shapes how I step into each moment of my life. I’ve worked a lot on my story but the valley of the shadow of death extends farther still. I took a long walk, drank a finely crafted beer (hope that’s not offensive), and decided the journey would be too dark and dangerous. Then I stumbled across your writing. Not sure how to express how it moves me but oh how it does. Thank you for inspiring courage in your own courageous telling of your story. May many, many others step onto the path.
I praise God that you stumbled on this website and read this entry that has inspired you to be courageous and not call the journey of your story to be too dark or too dangerous. Thank you for your gift of telling me this. I will pray for deep victory for all that the spirit is calling you to do. Love to you, Wendy.
Becky, You were created for wild horses and the wind blowing through your golden blond hair, life with a wild man and the gift of sharing your story that offers others a space to share their stories of loss. You look stunning upon the wild horse of your journey. May your journey take you on to the mountains of your dreams. I am grateful for your words and for your life. Love, Valerie
Dear Valerie, oh my, how your words warmed my heart. I think you are absolutely right. It seems so new and sweet. Thank you for every word you wrote and especially, “May your journey take you on the mountains of your dreams.” I pray that I follow Jesus’ lead on that wild horse. I am grateful for you. Love, Becky.
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What a privilege to glimpse at “the hidden tracks to your heart”. I cherish you, Becky, and now have deeper understanding of your godly exquisiteness. You exemplify God’s power in bringing goodness from evil potency. Your resultant tenderness has embraced and encouraged me many times.
Thank you, Sue, for your encouraging and very kind words. You have been a shepherd/friend to me many times. Thank you for how you embody Jesus and hear Him and how you follow Him and bring others along. I have loved being in the flock you lead on in His name.
Thank you for sharing with so much authenticity. It was a real blessing to me, and as a MFT, working with a lot of sexual abuse victims, I can share your story, so they can receive hope in their story…along with Jesus’ story, where He was stripped naked, and physically violated, shamed and humiliated so He can identify with them, and heal them, with HIS-story.
I needed to read this today. The final assignment for the certificate program is due today. It took me awhile to press the send button. Your writing is a perfect reminder for me . . what we are to be about. You do it well. Willing to be so vulnerable . . ongoingly gives me courage. It’s a new thing for me to be willing to listen to story and feel the pain of others. And telling my story.
Thank you
So proud of you for listening to other’s and their stories and then feeling pain. Thank you for telling your own story to others.
Puzzeled. I think you meant to send this comment somewhere else. I commented on your post in 2015.
Thank you for taking time to read and to write a comment. It is so good to be encouraged and so sweet to have a fellow sojourner who is stepping out in new ways to be a testimony of Jesus’ faithfulness.
Reblogged this on Work.in.Progress and commented:
Wow! Wow! Wow! I have multiple stories this touches deeply in my life. I am so thankful for Becky and her words.
Thank you. Thank you.
Oh, Becky … Tears. Speechlessness. I’m a fifty-ish missionary living in Europe who has only recently begun the hard work of facing the traumas of my life — from days of childhood clear through to this first term on the field. So much heartache. So many wounds, piled one upon the other, until I have WEPT for the woman who seems to have been left behind. “Where is that woman who had so much vivaciousness and love of life?” I cried to a friend several months ago. “She’s gone, and I don’t know what happened to her.” (I weep, even as I type those words.) Finally, six weeks ago, I began to meet with a counselor who is helping me to tell the story of my wounds, and to process the traumas of my life. It’s a painful work, but I’m thankful today for the kinship of your story, and the encouragement to press on. Your words are a beautiful validation for entering into the dark parts of our story for the healing that comes as we identify passions left behind that need to be reawakened, and new ones (born out of our wounds) that we need to embrace. Thank you for courageously, beautifully telling your story.
I am left speechless, Laura. Thank you for your very affirming words. The world does not see a purpose in the return to sorrow for healing and freedom. I am grateful for the counseling that you have chosen. I pray for great and deep healing so that you will be set free and live more fully with joy.
Your courage to enter the pain of this story and your freedom to share it brings me to tears for myself because of the years of denial by my family that there has been sexual abuse in our family. For over 30 years I have been silenced by their hatred of me for disclosing it and getting help. I have lived in fear because of their threats to reject me if I speak about it. It is not safe to have any stories in our family. Even though I no longer talk to anyone in the family about the sexual abuse, all these years later I am still being blamed for making family gatherings uncomfortable. I have faced many fears through the years, but as I approach my 70th birthday I am worn out from living in fear of family rejection if I speak the truth. I am taking some time to rest and take care of myself. I don’t know what it will look like, but I believe that I am on the threshold of a “new thing” God is about to do in my life. I can “see from afar” the freedom from fear and shame that is ahead and a life-giving renewal of the passion that had inspired my creativity and desire to write. My story isn’t finished!
Dear beautiful Marilyn, yes, absolutely, your story is not finished yet! Thank you for sharing from your heart and letting me know a bit of your valiant path that you have chosen. Dan and I have often remarked how lovely you are and how we always are blessed by seeing and being with you. I will pray for family healing and that the family gatherings will change from uncomfortability to trust and curiousity and understanding. May they find the freedom which you have embraced. I will pray for the blessing of rest as you take care of yourself. I will pray against the evil one who is filled with hatred as you shine bright and stand strong. I send love and hugs across the many miles.
You just inspired another gal from Ohio! An email from Red Tent strangely showed up this morning, as I only go there a couple times/year. I love how God spoke to you, “It is not finished.” He was faithful to redeem another part of your story. Your sharing enkindled hope and desire and drew my heart toward trusting God’s timing. Thank you, Becky.