I grew up in a war zone. My bunker was my bedroom where I dug deep into the recesses of my inner being searching for safety. It was a quiet retreat void of the verbal landmines so carefully hidden from view, triggered by innocent questions, suggestions or requests. I feared words, never knowing when something I uttered would detonate a deadly explosion.
I also loved words. I loved to read and write them. Because a spoken conversation could bring about a surprise attack, I much preferred to write out my conversations. Today, some 50 years later, I recognize that my love for and comfort found in writing out my prayers to God is deeply tied to this early practice.
For a while during my formative teenage years (13 through 16), my mother and soon-to-be stepfather spent many weekends traveling. My two younger brothers, both legally blind, were needlessly (more for convenience than necessity) sent 2-hours away to live at a state run home for the blind.
Although I had once been responsible for the bulk of their care while my mother worked – even being required to forego after school clubs and extra curricular activities in order to care for them, help them with homework, stay home from school if/when they were sick, prepare dinner and keep the house clean – my brothers were suddenly removed from my care and I was left in an empty house – alone. I still remember the terror of being by myself in that big house as night fell. Sadly, the house provided more safety in its vacant posture than when inhabited by the adults in my life.
It was almost two years before I was permitted to see my brothers again – formative years for them, too (4 and 8 years younger than me) – I can’t imagine the terror they endured. It was a very dark and lonely time.
Today, I no longer live in a war zone. I am free to lay my silent weapons down.
My home is filled with the colors and expressions of beauty that I love. It is a warm space that offers rest, kindness, goodness and peace to those who enter. It is a place of play for my grandchildren and a respite from a busy week of work. It is a place that is filled with the artistic expressions of my husband’s woodwork and the music he creates on his guitar and ukulele. It is a place that wafts the fragrance of good meals and boasts the joy of laughter shared.
In this true place of safety, it is unnecessary for me to construct mental bunkers – but I sometimes still expect enemy attacks where no enemy exists or cast a suspicious eye on conversations that offer the goodness for which I long. It is what being raised in a war zone has cost me – I see danger everywhere.
I am learning to come out of the bunker of silence and speak, sing, shout with the freedom of good thoughts formed into good words expressed.
By God’s redemptive goodness, in my professional life, I live in a world of words. I teach and write with words. Today my words, rather than being ridiculed, battled or dismissed as insignificant, are entertained, considered, honored and sought after. It is a beautiful exchange that I am learning to accept.
But it’s a struggle.
I recognize that I don’t do well with words when I feel “put on the spot” for an answer.
The fear of words that might shame me or harm others hangs with a threatening fist raised. I know too well the crushing blow it can wield.
What do I do when the struggle to withhold my words still rages against the good?
The Psalmist said, “Open your mouth wide and I will fill it” (Psalm 81:10). The words God gives bring life out of death. I am learning to trust the words He gives and to walk out into even a potential battle to speak the truth in love.
I wonder if you can identify with my words today? I pray you will be courageous – come out of your mental bunker and face the danger of remaining bound in the fear of your words. Because good words – whether written or spoken – are needed, welcomed, honored. Good words bring life.
Christine Browning is a lover of story—including her own. She loves to hear and longs to respond well to others’ stories. A late bloomer in the field of education, it is her absolute delight to teach at Milligan College in East Tennessee. She also counsels women who have experienced trauma and abuse. Christine is the mother of three adult children, three incredible grandchildren and has been married for 42+ years to her delightfully playful husband, Tom.
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Our stories shared makes each of less for less alone and isolated. Thank you for sharing yours. Your victory is for all of us. Our victory is for you. Bless you.
correction…feel less alone
Linda, thank you for your very kind and encouraging words. Indeed, our victories encourage each other to keep on keeping on!
I so identify with your ‘words’. I grew up in a house of fighting, yelling, violence and then often months of my parents not speaking to each other. I married vowing my children would not experience that, so I stuffed everything. I have now been years trying to learn to speak up. The Lord has given me Ps. 32 numerous times “while I kept silence, my body wasted away”. I don’t know if I will ever be able to come up with what I want to say in the moment – it is always delayed. Thank you for allowing me to share in your life today.
Thank you for your posted response to my story. I am sorry that your words have been stuffed and delayed…that is a painful way to live. I love the scripture you share here…Psalm 32. It is a beautiful reminder that we were not meant to keep silent. I pray that you will be able to have words for what you want to say…even if they are first written down. There is nothing wrong with a delayed response. Bless you as you begin to open your mouth wide so that God can fill it with His words.
What a beautiful, but heart wrenching story from your life. I too have experienced some of the landlines growing up and I still look for them and expect them to blow up. Thank you for sharing this part of your life. Do you write other stories? I would love to read more posts written by you. Than you!
I am so sorry you identify so closely with the word “landmines” in my story. I pray that you will be able to walk freely, unafraid of the artillery of others. Thank you for asking about other posts — you are so kind. There are others I have written on this site (earlier in the year — March, May and August I think) and I am currently working on a book that will be published probably sometime late next year. Look for it! It will have some of my stories woven throughout along with some thoughts from my journals over a span of 25 years. Blessings to you, Christine
Dear Christine, Oh my goodness! What a world to grow up in. I was riveted as I pondered your aloneness in your house without your two younger brothers. I am so sorry for the violence and the heartache. My mother was a fifteen year old caregiver of her two younger brothers during the depression after her father died and her mother became the county social worker. I don’t think she ever got over their being placed into an orphanage which was a common custom in that day. So, hearing your story struck a very deep place. Thank you for writing and I loved your ending that reveals how you have tended to your heart and grown in new ways. “The Psalmist said, “Open your mouth wide and I will fill it” (Psalm 81:10). The words God gives bring life out of death. I am learning to trust the words He gives and to walk out into even a potential battle to speak the truth in love.”
Becky, thank you for your kind encouragement. I am sorry that your mother suffered something so similar to the pain of abandonment I felt when my brother were literally ripped away. I have often felt guilty for not being able to do something about it. Of course, as a child, there was nothing I could do. My older sister tried to adopt them but she was not of legal age so the courts would not let her. I don’t remember a lot about that whole block of years — just the loneliness and chaos. I grieve that others so closely identify and I am sorry for the “deep place” that calls up for you. I am so thankful for a God who holds and redeems our stories. Love to you, Christine
This was beautiful Christine, thank you for sharing your words.
Thank you for taking time to say so. Your words are healing balm.
Indeed: your words ring true. My refuge was not in the house: there was no safe place there. I had a “fort” in the center of three big sagebrush bushes that grew close together in a field several blocks from my house.
But the Healer found me in the midst of even the worst of it and I survived. Thank you for your story!
Oh Tedd…how thankful I am that “the Healer found you in the midst of even the worst of it…” How beautifully stated! I am so thankful that there is a Redeemer! Blessings to you, Christine
Dear Dad,
I forgive you.
I want to remember all the wonderful things about you and not let the things that I did not understand about you block out the good stuff. The older I get, the more I appreciate that you were wounded and miserable as a result. I can only hope that you truly are at peace now, and that I can let myself be at peace with you.
I am grateful to you for the basic knowledge of the following things that have enhanced my life:
• Football
• Golf
• Plumbing
• Electrical work
• Interior Paint
• Woodworking
• Basic car maintenance
• Map reading
• Composting
• Rental property management
• Sobriety
I truly thank you for my love of the following:
• Classical music
• Fred Astaire
• Sousa marches
• Old black and white movies
• Grocery shopping
• Power tools
• Horses
• Barbara Streisand
• Torkay
• Live Christmas trees
• C7 string lights at Christmas
• “Irish-ness”
• “Hispanic-ness”
• Walking briskly
• Writing poignant letters
• Picking the underdog
• Love for big dogs
• Smell of lumber
• Rollercoasters
• Potato chips
• Chocolate
• Pop
• Salad with big chunks of crunchy vegetables
• W.C. Fields
• The Marx Brothers
• Big Band Music
• Spring Mill State Park
• Laughter
• Desire for off-grid living
• Extended Family
• Mom
• My husband
• Jesus
I miss your smile, your laugh, and the way you made me laugh.
You were a tough guy who tried your best to bear your burdens with limited help. In honor of your effort, I am going to do all I can to get help with my problems from others more equipped to address them. I don’t want to endure the same misery you experienced for so long, and I believe that you would not want me to suffer as you did.
We live, we learn, we stand on the shoulders of giants and try amended approaches to deal with life. You are definitely one of my giants. I love you.
Em
Em…how beautiful!