Privileged

Many years ago, HERE, I followed the Way of the Cross in Jerusalem: the Via Dolorosa. This is the route through old Jerusalem that Jesus walked on the way to his own crucifixion. At various points along the way, there are little signs that indicate the various points at which certain events happened as Jesus carried his cross towards Golgotha (the Place of the Skull). By the end of the Via Dolorosa, The Husband's sleeve was rather moist from my tears, and my snot.

The 3 points that affected me the most were the parts where Jesus stumbled. At one point, his hand reached out towards a wall to support himself. I looked up at the wall and saw a depression where hundreds of thousands or even millions of people had placed their hands. My head was filled with noise, smell of blood, sweat and the vision of a man weighed down by the crushing burden of a huge wooden cross.

All Christians know that Jesus bore the cross for our sins. That all the pain and wickedness you and I inflict upon the world found themselves tearing into the flesh of Jesus. We sinned, and He had pain.

And then He died.

At many times throughout my life, I have had trouble reconciling the pain I suffered with the God that I know. Growing up, I was caned daily (at least twice a day). Sometimes, blood dripped down my calves. On occasion, I was made to eat vomit as punishment. I was still only a small child. 

Then, after getting married, I had to endure a mother-in-law who kept up a stream of criticism, undermining, character assassination to friends, neighbours and relatives. My mother-in-law presumed to own me and mine for 30 years. 

Little micro-aggressions, every day, a few times a day for 30 years.

Of course, I have entertained thoughts of revenge and retaliation. I have wanted often to inflict pain on my perpetrator just to assuage my own. For some strange reason, when the moment came to take revenge, I could not bring myself to do it. Yet, inside me, there was still angst and negative energy... and so much anger.

The thing that brought me comfort were the images of Jesus walking the Way of Sorrows towards Golgotha, and towards his own death on the cross. The thing that brought comfort was to witness as if I were really there, Jesus' pain as He walked, stumbled, fell along the Way of the Cross (the Via Dolorosa). 

The Via Dolorosa translates into the Way of Sorrows from Italian.

You see, as a fellow journeyman along the road of Life, I consider that sometimes, God makes me carry crosses for others. They sin towards me. They hurt me. I bear the cross of their sins, in the same way that Jesus bore the cross for my sins. Since I am autistic, I often do, say things or hurt people without meaning to. I am grateful that they too bear the pain I inflict on them, without hurting me back. They bear the cross for my wrong doing.

Together, as we all go through life, and you bear my cross and I bear yours, we all then arrive at a place of love for each other, which is definitely a better and happier place than one filled with a whirlwind of revenge and anger.

I am grateful to all those whom I have hurt (and who did not hurt me back). They have borne without complaint, the cross of my sins towards them. There are many such people whom I have hurt, and who did not take their revenge on me. In turn, I also think God would be pleased that I willingly, and without rancour, bear the cross of other people's sins visited upon me.

All the physical and mental abuse I suffered as a child, I bear that as a cross for my mother. I am not doing it for her. I do it because God wants me to. All the emotional abuse I suffered from my mother-in-law, I bear that as a cross for her. Again, this is what pleases God.

Of course, it is unfair. Nobody said it is fair. To our human minds, what goes around should come around. Why do I have to bear 5 decades of pain and suffering whilst my abusers live good lives to a ripe old age? I don't know. At this point, I am past caring. I only know that it was God's will, and I submit to it. If Jesus could do it along the Via Dolorosa, then it gives me strength to submit as well.

As I step forwards into the future, working to inject God's love into families and alleviate the emotional pain of children, I am also first to admit that God has blessed me as richly, as my crosses were hard to bear, and I am grateful. 

To stumble under the weight of 2 very heavy crosses was my privilege.

Looking back, I am glad that I chose to bear the 2 crosses like Jesus did. It was hard and at times, it felt like God had forsaken me. I am glad that I did not live my life in a whirl of vengeance and bitterness because that would have poisoned the love I have with The Husband. That would have poisoned my children's growing up years. I did not pass my pain and suffering onto them. Only my own blood was spilled along with my sweat and my tears. The clean, crisp and refreshing joy that now pulses within my family, has washed away the blood, sweat and tears.

There is now, only love... and God's glory.