While I am not absolutely certain that I have an accurate understanding of imprecatory Psalms, I do believe that those who prayed such prayers were likely doing so in obedience to God’s decree, “Vengeance is Mine, I will repay”. I believe that those that prayed such prayers were likely very close to God. I believe that they must have had an enviable relationship with Him that they utterly trusted Him and they delighted in pleasing Him and delighted in communing with Him. I believe that those that prayed such prayers likely communed with Him frequently. I imagine that God was as real to such people as someone standing next to them wearing flesh and bones. I have decided I want that type of relationship with Him! I want that solid of a faith in Him! I prayed about this very thing this morning. Then something amazing happened! I received something that I wasn’t looking for, but am so grateful for this affirmation!
As I prayed, the memory of something very intense came to the forefront of my mind. Something I had not thought about in at least a year if not longer; something that I refer to as, “My D Day”; my day of decision. It’s probably a good sign that I have forgotten the specific day this occurred, but I still remember the month and the year; it was May of 1986. I had everything I had ever dreamed of and more. I had a loving, Christian husband and two wonderful children. I had love, security, acceptance… I had peace. I became a Christian, deliberately, in August of 1984. I say ‘deliberately’ because when it was beneficial, I was baptized as a young girl, as a teen… several times, actually. Almost every time I changed foster families I would end up being baptized again. I had quickly learned that every time I did that, it not only pleased my new foster parents, but it put me in good standing and out of trouble for a period of time. At least until they realized that the decision was not a decision of the heart. Oh, I didn’t know that at the time. I didn’t realize I was manipulative and worked what ever I could to my advantage. I was as sincere as I knew how to be.
I married in 1977 and my personal struggle with faith began before I started ‘attending church’, before I became a Christian. I started my first journal in 1982 – when I began searching for answers; what did it mean to be a Christian. How does one know what to believe, who to believe – there were so many faiths from which to choose. The Children’s Home had engrained in me the belief that there was only one way to God… what if I chose the wrong way? Could I rely on the Bible to reveal the right way to me? Could I trust the Bible to truly be The Word of God? All of these questions and likely some I’ve forgotten, plagued me for a couple years before I made that deliberate decision in 1984.
Suffice it to say, the decision had been made and I was actively involved; teaching the two and three year olds, teaching VBS, participating in “Prayer Sisters”, going to Lectureships and Ladies Retreats. I was happy. Life was good! No, life was great! And then it hit. The deepest, darkest depression I’d ever experienced and hope never to again! My troubled and abused childhood flooded my memory, accusing me of being unworthy of the blessed and happy life I was living, robbing me of my joy… of my peace. Events that I had experienced and forgotten about were now flooding the majority of my thoughts. I became more and more dysfunctional; getting lost in the fears of my childhood of failure, of being abandoned again, of being unwanted, unloved, unneeded… unnecessary. Depression loomed darker and heavier with each passing day. Thoughts of suicide were never far from my mind. I just wanted the fear and pain in my heart to go away. My husband never knew from one day to the next if he would come home to find me… well, dead. I knew I was making him miserable and that made me even more miserable and only affirmed the accusations in my mind of my inadequacies and unworthiness. It culminated in what I refer to as, “My D Day”. (See more about my 'D Day' in The Journey Begins)
The memories are so vivid. I walked out into the pasture behind the dairy on which there was a stock tank. I felt as though I would explode. I felt rage, fear, desperation, and confusion – all of it spiraling out of control. I saw my husband watching me walk that direction, I heard him call to me. I didn’t answer. I was on my way to do something, but I didn’t know what I intended to do. I knew I wanted it all to end and end now. I took nothing with me. With empty hands and a full heart of turmoil, I walked until I reached the stock tank. I stood there, my eyes blurred from hot, angry tears. I was shaking. I was so desperate and chastised myself for not bringing a knife or a gun… something to use to get the deed over with quickly. I looked at the water in the tank and watched it respond to the breeze that was blowing that day. I saw the reflection of the clouds in the water which caused me to look up, which in turn, caused me to think about God. Suddenly, I had a target at which to direct my anger. I raged at Him. I cringed while doing so, but still I raged on. I circled the tank a few times, I think I was stomping around it because it seemed the more I emptied my heart out to God (no, I did not realize that’s what I was doing) the more intense I felt the rage. At one point I looked up and saw my husband in the distance, watching me. I knew what he was thinking, I’d seen the look in his eyes every day when he left the house – what was I going to do? Would he need to dash out to me to save me from myself? This only intensified my anger. I hated what I was feeling and I hated what I was putting him through! I hurled all of this at God. At times, it almost felt as though I wanted to make Him mad, mad enough to respond to me. ‘Look at me! I am here! I am in pain!’ I knew I had a Savior who had saved me from my sins. I needed a Savior who could save me from the turmoil, anguish, and despair churning within me. And I was demanding that He come to save me, right now.
I had reached my limit. I could handle no more. Even though all that I ‘knew’ about faith had me feeling as though I was treading on thin ice, talking to God the way I was, I continued raging at Him. I feared I was being ungrateful for the sacrifice Jesus made on the cross for me. I feared I was being ungrateful to God for sending His Son to die for my sins. I do not remember everything I said to Him that day. But I do recall saying that I did appreciate that He gave Jesus to save me, but as bad as it sounded, it wasn’t enough. Going to worship, studying the Bible, teaching class, performing my Christian duties – something was missing. I didn’t know what it was, but I was certain that if I had it, I would not be struggling with the decision of whether or not to end my life. At one point, I accused God of holding out on me. I said that there had to be something more! This can’t be it. And while I didn’t intend for it to be a threat, I can see how it would sound like one; I said that I realized I was taking a risk, talking to Him the way I did. I told Him that I realized that if He wanted to strike me down, He could, and I said that I wouldn’t care if He did, that He would be doing me a favor. I said that one way or another, the intense turmoil that kept me having to make the decision day to day, to live or die had to come to an end. I either needed to die and get it over with so that my family could move on, or I needed it put behind me once and for all and move on with living. But where I was did not constitute living. It was a pathetic existence that I could no longer tolerate. ‘Either let me live, or let me die. Don’t leave me here!’
I finally talked out all of my rage. I was empty. I stood for a while, then sat on that gravelly bank and watched the water, wondering what would happen next. And that’s what people always asked me, for years afterwards when I would tell of my D Day. “What happened next?” I always felt disappointed that I had nothing to tell them. I didn’t know what happened next. All I knew is that somehow, I found the strength to get up from that bank and walk home, ready to continue looking for the answers – not knowing, at the time, that I still had to find the right questions. I answered, “What happened next?” by saying that soon, a process began that continued over several years. That process took me from that struggling, dysfunctional state to one of a growing faith in Him.
This brings us to today and the prayer I was praying, starting out about the imprecatory Psalms. Remember what I stated? ‘I want that type of relationship with Him! I want that solid of a faith in Him!’ I told Him this in prayer and it was at that point that my D Day came to my mind. Do I think this a coincidence? No. Do I think it was triggered by something else going on relative to that day? I definitely do not. I think that God brought the memory of my D Day to my mind to demonstrate something to me, and while He was at it, He answered a question – He answered, ‘what happened next’ so that I would have an answer ready the next time someone asks. He laid His hand on my heart to let peace replace the turmoil and to give me strength to continue searching for the answers. I didn’t know it at the time, but I was looking for Him. The ‘something more’ I insisted existed somewhere, was Him! I wanted an intimate, personal relationship with my Creator, my God, my Lord and my Savior. I didn’t want a set of do’s and don’ts. I didn’t want a formula, a recipe, or a new Christian project in which to get involved. I wanted Him. I needed Him! It would take several more years before I began asking the right questions. But eventually, the right questions were asked and He answered… just as He answered me today… demonstrating to me that I am closer to Him than I was on that day of decision back in 1986. My faith is not perfect, it is not complete. My relationship with Him needs improvement. But today I received affirmation – He caused me to look back at how far I’ve come since that turning point in my life, My D Day.
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