Category Archives: abuse

What About The Children?

It is better to be from a broken home than to live in one.”

I wish I knew the name of the pastor I heard on the radio who offered up that stunning statement. I’ll admit my surprise knowing it was a pastor who said it. I remember smiling to  myself and exclaiming aloud, “Thank you.” For what he shared is something rarely heard.

For an abuse victim who dares to reveal to her friends and family members her inclination to leave her abuser, she often hears something quite different than what the pastor asserted. She will more likely hear, “What about the children?”

There it is: an emotional trump card, a ticking time bomb. Any convictions about escaping the emotional harm she and her children might face on a daily basis are at once upended and she finds herself catapulted into visions of an unavoidably disastrous future. Could it be that perhaps separating from the abuser will only make things worse? Is it true that a child is better off in an abusive household where both parents are present than in a broken home?

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If You Die For Her, She Will Live For You

At my church like many other churches they have a Men’s Ministry group, although I feel the name should be changed to “Men that chivalryMinister.” Anyway, I am always baffled when I am around men and they comment about how they seem to have a hard time connecting with their wives. Or when they share their displeasure of their marriage to me. This happened a long time ago in case someone is lurking and being nosy.

Now, first of all I must let it be known that I certainly do not occupy the corner of the market on wisdom in marriage, nor am I an expert on anything but knowing one thing for sure and that is that Christ came for restoration, and that we should seek restoration in all relationships if possible. I say “if possible” because it takes two to tango.  Free will is involved. But when two persons’ will is to be restored and they seek the great Restorer then all things are possible.

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Letter to Abusive Husbands (My Husband Wrote This)

Mr. Religious-Abuser,

My name is Doug Burrell, co-founder of a ministry that helps women who are married to super religious, super anointed, scripture spouting, pharisaical vipers who are full of dead men’s bones!

If you’re reading this letter, it most likely applies to you. Who in the hell do you think you are treating a precious gift from God the way you do?  I know how you play the game;  how you are always faithful in church and how you put on a great smile with everyone you meet. How you are falsely charming to everyone BUT your wife! I know you have the pastor and many others fooled into thinking you’re the next best thing since sliced bread. Well guess what? I know it’s all a lie! That’s right! You’re just a scared little man, afraid that everyone will find out who you really are. That’s the reason for the show. Your entire life is an act, and you know it!  News Flash – The world doesn’t revolve around you, and NO you’re not special at all!

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Praying For The Right Thing

Does God always answer our prayers? It is a question that begs an answer. How can it be that the abused who seeks respite from his or her condition through prayer for years receives no relief?

Is it that God is not listening, does not care, or wishes for the abused to remain in their terrible condition? Or maybe none of those is correct. Maybe He is answering our prayers, but not the way we expect.

In the midst of ongoing heartache, for many years the consistent, intentional prayer of my heart was that God would open the eyes of my abusive spouse and restore our relationship to wholeness. Now the Word says that if I “have the faith of a mustard seed,” the mountain will be moved. So I prayed for more faith. And because Paul wrote that, “love never fails,” I prayed that God would make me more loving. I also believed that my prayer would eventually win the day because, “the fervent prayer of a righteous man avails much.” And in His miraculous name, I anticipated the ultimate, favorable answer to the singular cry of my heart: “Lord, save our marriage.”

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The Bench

The Bench

“Please,” the man said, “if you wouldn’t mind,”

And at first I believed he was thoughtful and kind

He pondered a moment, then pointed to where

A rustic old bench sat under the stair

 

“There are others whose dress is better selected

Whose hair and accoutrements are more keenly collected

But you may observe and keep watch from that place

A distance apart from the revelers’ gaze”

 

Although his words pierced as a sword through my soul

I timidly moved to my place in the hole

Knowing I never would join in the fray

And the bench became my companion that day

 

My ragged appearance could not match the rest

Yet my heart beat the same inside of my chest

As I stroked the rough planks of the bench where I waited

My dream of acceptance would not this day be sated

 

Countless long hours the bench was my friend

Neither shame nor my loneliness came to an end

For my eyes held no beauty, my gait showed no grace

The bench’s cruel judgment was etched on my face

 

‘Til the moment a man came, looked into my eyes

Smiled, took my hand in His, to my surprise

He led me so tenderly, whispered, “There’s more,”

And I feared He might ask me to sit on the floor

 

I could not still my heart from its penitent race

As He tenderly pulled back the hair from my face

“You are lovely,” He said. “It is so clear to Me,

You are patient and gentle and kind as could be.”

 

I gasped in His presence, it was clear He had seen

Every tear I had wept, every anguishing dream

And He smiled and He pointed to the front of the hall

Before all of the guests who had come to His ball

 

“You will never again sit away from the throng

On that horrid old bench where you do not belong

For you are My princess, honored and blessed

From now ‘til forever you’ll be properly dressed

 

“You have not been forgotten, you have not been alone

I have seen you seated back there from My throne

Receive all I have for You, My darling, My prize

Today I will relish the light in your eyes”

 

How tragic to see, if I only had known

The bench was a stop on my way to His throne

I’d have held my head high, been proud of my name

For the bench and my value were never the same.

 

 © 2012, Cindy Burrell, All Rights Reserved