At about fifteen, I was sitting on our home’s back porch when I saw a memory play out in my mind, like a flash, without solicitation on my part.  But it was the memory of my parents waking me up in the middle of the night and motioning me to stay quiet so as not to wake my siblings, and to put on my robe and come downstairs.  I’m guessing I was around eight, because I put on the pink Strawberry Shortcake robe my grandma had gotten me (around that age) and followed them downstairs to the well-lit kitchen.  My parents were standing there with a large box in the middle of the floor.

They told me to pick out my favorite toys and put them in the box.  I thought it was a game, and hurriedly selected my favorite toys to fill the box.  After a few trips to the box, my mom explained something in my behavior that was particularly displeasing (I can’t recall what), and then told me to put my shoes on.  My dad picked up the box and the three of us walked outside into the night sky, where we walked past the tire swing and the clothes line, down to the fence line.  My dad put the box in the burn barrel and lit it.  I don’t remember the walk back to the house.

I do remember waking up the next morning and wondering if it was a dream or if it had really happened.  I went downstairs and looked for all of those toys I remembered putting in the box, and they weren’t there.

Obviously I had repressed that memory for a number of years.  I don’t know why it came back on that particular day, but I do recall the feelings that came with it, mainly horror, shame and confusion.  I did not know what to do with that memory, and was not comfortable telling anyone, so I put it on a shelf in my mind.

About a decade later, I had my first child and she was just a few months old.  A block down from me was a garage sale, and I put her in the stroller and headed to it.  A box on the floor in the garage caught my eye.  It was full of assorted wall papers.  I was drawn to three rolls, all the same.  I am not a fan of wall paper, but was compelled to buy these three rolls.  I liked the coloring, with a muted antique look.  I bought them and maybe a couple other small things and we rolled back home.

I put my daughter down for a nap and began to unpack the stroller.  I was more curious about these wallpaper rolls and set them on the table.  I rolled one out to see the pattern and was quite startled to see it was a Holly Hobbie print.  Immediately I had a flash memory recall of myself as a four year old, sitting in a child’s rocker in the corner of the living room, cradling a Holly Hobbie doll in my arms, rocking.

I was adopted at four years old the day after Christmas.  My new parents gave me a Holly Hobbie doll.  This was the first time I remembered it was burned with the box of toys.  Silent tears slipped down my face, and I heard the Spirit say, “I will replace everything the enemy has stolen from you.”

This was one of my most poignant encounters with healing from trauma.  I had not sought it out, did not know what to do with the memory recalls or the silent suffering stuffed in the recesses of my fragmented heart. 

I only told my husband about this.  The house we lived in did not have an appropriate room for the wall paper, so it sat in a closet, but still — I had that encounter with the God who sees our suffering.  I knew He cared.  There was a tangible reminder.

About three years later and two kids later, we loaded up our family to visit another family with small children for Christmas.  We were going to sing carols and share a Christmas soup meal together.  We were both on limited budgets with small children and had agreed to no gift exchanges, so I was startled when Catherine pulled me aside and pressed a small box in my hand.  She simply said God had told her to give it to me.

There was a card with it and all it said was, “As near as I can remember, I was eight years old when my parents gave me this.  God asked me to give it to you.”  In the small box was a child’s necklace with a Holly Hobbie pendant. 

This is the God we serve.  This is the God who knows us intimately, who loves us.  He sees our pain and knows our afflictions.  He is keenly acquainted with our sorrows and sufferings.

It would be a few years later and a different house before that wallpaper was hung in a spare bedroom.  By the time it was hung, there was a small collection of Holly Hobbie paraphernalia, including a tattered Holly Hobbie doll, almost all given to me by random people at random times.  It was my reminder that God sees, God knows, God cares. 

I don’t know how God is going to heal your trauma, I just know He wants to.  He knows every part of it, and that includes the emotions that got damaged, the way it rewired your thoughts and made you cautious instead of free-spirited, guarded instead of accepting, and a number of other things I haven’t listed. 

For me, I was able to move through the stages of healing by acknowledging the reality of the experience, but in the presence or company of my loving God who did not wish this for me.  I was able to bear the reawakened pain because He accompanied me in the midst.  It’s not that it didn’t hurt, it’s that I wasn’t alone in the hurt.  He began to teach me, through this and dozens more to come, that He can be trusted to heal even what appears damaged beyond repair.

It just took time, time to feel what you could not handle at the age of the trauma.  Those feelings had to come to the forefront, and I had to acknowledge them.  Then I could give them to Him.  And all the lies that came with the trauma had to be exposed for what they were.  There were lies that told me I was unworthy, undeserving, and unwanted.  One by one, the Spirit of God began to deal with me by replacing the lies with truths, but His Truth. 

I’ll share more of this journey of healing from trauma in the weeks to come.  I just want you to know you do not have to live in the trauma for the rest of your life.  Healing is possible and available.  

Today I am in my third house from that experience.  The Holly Hobbie room was sold with the second house, and the only thing that made the trip to my current house is the Holly Hobbie doll and necklace.  They sit on my bookshelves as quiet reminders that God saw my pain and healed it.  It doesn’t pain me to see them anymore.  It brings me great comfort and joy and reassurance about the One who created me.  That’s available to you and anyone who wants free from the impact and effects of trauma.