Matthew 19:14 (NIV)
14 Jesus said, “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.”
I believe true healing takes place when the unmet needs of a persons childhood are addressed. Children forced to face adult situations before they are emotionally mature enough are stunted in their emotional growth. It's almost like they are left in shock, unable to move forward. Healing comes from the inside and works it's way out. The use of alcohol or any other means of escape, stops you from facing the hurts and until you face the hurt you can't heal it. You have to feel it to heal it. Acceptance is the first step. You have to be able to say, "I am an alcoholic, I am an addict, I am addicted to food, sex, movies, relationships, or whatever else keeps you from facing the hurt.
I have always pictured my wall as circular, very tall, no windows or doors. On the inside is this dirty little messy haired girl. She doesn't talk much. She just sits there, emotionless. I don't really recognize her. She doesn't look familiar at all. I don't even know her. To be honest, I don't really want to know her, because she holds all the pain. She still has all the detailed memories. She holds me back with all her needs. I wish she would go away. It doesn't seem to help to keep her locked up in there, not as much as I would like.
Many years ago, a friend of mine asked me to write a story for him. He was an alcohol counselor working with a group of men who laughed at the whole "inner child" concept. He thought they laughed because they didn't understand. He wanted me to write something that would help them. It was a little tough writing a fairy tale for grown men. I had to keep it short and sweet. I had to keep it interesting. These were alcoholics, sure of their toughness in drinking others under the table. Once upon a time was not going to work. Okay, let's get real they were drunks wanting to find peace. I will try to remember the story I finally handed over for story time. Ha.
There was an island just far enough off the west coast that the people kept there were not able to swim to the mainland. The people kept there were all men, conjoined twins, a very odd bunch. What made these twins different enough that the country felt they needed to be shipped off to an island, was the way they were connected. They were joined at the fingertip. The pointer finger. They were always pointing at each other. One twin stopped maturing at a very young age, two, maybe five, or even ten, while the other continued to grow into an adult. It would seem easy to separate them, joined only at the fingertip, but it was impossible, because the immature twin held the heart, the heart that kept them both alive and the blood it pumped to the adult was received through that fingertip.
Daily life on the island was quiet. The men resented the boys. These children had caused them to be banned to an island. They were forced to care for the children to keep themselves alive. They did nothing beyond the basic survival needs. These children were dirty and very unhappy. All day they saw the other children and wanted to connect with them, to play, but they were not allowed. The men never smiled, barely talked to each other except for to complain about the child they were stuck with. When a child dared to show excitement at the sight of an animal or another child, they were immediately scolded.
One day one of the men walked out into the ocean to bathe, dragging his boy with him. As he washed himself, he kept looking at the boy and his dirty face. The little boy was trying desperately to hold back a smile, maybe even laughter as the waves tickled his feet. Then the man accidentally splashed the boy. He couldn't hold back any longer, the laughter exploded from him until he was so weak it was difficult to stand. The man realized he was laughing too. He decided to wash the boy and as his hands caressed the boys back and cleaned between his toes, they continued to laugh. The man enjoyed the boy and his laughter. That night, instead of giving the boy what was left of his food, they shared it. They talked. Before going to bed, the man told the boy a story that their mother told them every night before they were shipped to the island. When they went to bed the man allowed the boy to share his mat, but in order to do this the man was forced to wrap his arms around the boy. They immediately fell fast asleep.
The next morning, when the man woke, the boy was gone. He looked around, he examined his fingers, he was breathing. He put his hand to his chest and he felt a heartbeat. He knew the boy was inside of him and would be a part of him forever.
Yeah, it was silly, but it worked.
I believe true healing takes place when the unmet needs of a persons childhood are addressed. Children forced to face adult situations before they are emotionally mature enough are stunted in their emotional growth. It's almost like they are left in shock, unable to move forward. Healing comes from the inside and works it's way out. The use of alcohol or any other means of escape, stops you from facing the hurts and until you face the hurt you can't heal it. You have to feel it to heal it. Acceptance is the first step. You have to be able to say, "I am an alcoholic, I am an addict, I am addicted to food, sex, movies, relationships, or whatever else keeps you from facing the hurt.
I have always pictured my wall as circular, very tall, no windows or doors. On the inside is this dirty little messy haired girl. She doesn't talk much. She just sits there, emotionless. I don't really recognize her. She doesn't look familiar at all. I don't even know her. To be honest, I don't really want to know her, because she holds all the pain. She still has all the detailed memories. She holds me back with all her needs. I wish she would go away. It doesn't seem to help to keep her locked up in there, not as much as I would like.
Many years ago, a friend of mine asked me to write a story for him. He was an alcohol counselor working with a group of men who laughed at the whole "inner child" concept. He thought they laughed because they didn't understand. He wanted me to write something that would help them. It was a little tough writing a fairy tale for grown men. I had to keep it short and sweet. I had to keep it interesting. These were alcoholics, sure of their toughness in drinking others under the table. Once upon a time was not going to work. Okay, let's get real they were drunks wanting to find peace. I will try to remember the story I finally handed over for story time. Ha.
There was an island just far enough off the west coast that the people kept there were not able to swim to the mainland. The people kept there were all men, conjoined twins, a very odd bunch. What made these twins different enough that the country felt they needed to be shipped off to an island, was the way they were connected. They were joined at the fingertip. The pointer finger. They were always pointing at each other. One twin stopped maturing at a very young age, two, maybe five, or even ten, while the other continued to grow into an adult. It would seem easy to separate them, joined only at the fingertip, but it was impossible, because the immature twin held the heart, the heart that kept them both alive and the blood it pumped to the adult was received through that fingertip.
Daily life on the island was quiet. The men resented the boys. These children had caused them to be banned to an island. They were forced to care for the children to keep themselves alive. They did nothing beyond the basic survival needs. These children were dirty and very unhappy. All day they saw the other children and wanted to connect with them, to play, but they were not allowed. The men never smiled, barely talked to each other except for to complain about the child they were stuck with. When a child dared to show excitement at the sight of an animal or another child, they were immediately scolded.
One day one of the men walked out into the ocean to bathe, dragging his boy with him. As he washed himself, he kept looking at the boy and his dirty face. The little boy was trying desperately to hold back a smile, maybe even laughter as the waves tickled his feet. Then the man accidentally splashed the boy. He couldn't hold back any longer, the laughter exploded from him until he was so weak it was difficult to stand. The man realized he was laughing too. He decided to wash the boy and as his hands caressed the boys back and cleaned between his toes, they continued to laugh. The man enjoyed the boy and his laughter. That night, instead of giving the boy what was left of his food, they shared it. They talked. Before going to bed, the man told the boy a story that their mother told them every night before they were shipped to the island. When they went to bed the man allowed the boy to share his mat, but in order to do this the man was forced to wrap his arms around the boy. They immediately fell fast asleep.
The next morning, when the man woke, the boy was gone. He looked around, he examined his fingers, he was breathing. He put his hand to his chest and he felt a heartbeat. He knew the boy was inside of him and would be a part of him forever.
Yeah, it was silly, but it worked.
“Critics who treat 'adult' as a term of approval, instead of as a merely descriptive term, cannot be adult themselves. To be concerned about being grown up, to admire the grown up because it is grown up, to blush at the suspicion of being childish; these things are the marks of childhood and adolescence. And in childhood and adolescence they are, in moderation, healthy symptoms. Young things ought to want to grow. But to carry on into middle life or even into early manhood this concern about being adult is a mark of really arrested development. When I was ten, I read fairy tales in secret and would have been ashamed if I had been found doing so. Now that I am fifty I read them openly. When I became a man I put away childish things, including the fear of childishness and the desire to be very grown up.”
― C.S. Lewis
― C.S. Lewis
No comments:
Post a Comment