Silent Cry

by Dorothy J. Newton

She smiled again. Everything about her reflected the peace and love of God.

  “So, I guess that explains what your passion is,” she said.

  “Right,” I said. “Nothing. Nothing is my passion right now.”

  “Think about it,” she said, sipping her tea. “I believe the Lord has a lot planned for you. This would be something good for you.”

  “Are you gonna be there with me?” I asked.

  “Yes,” she said, “if that’s what you want, I’ll be there with you. If you decide you want to see her, I’ll come with you.”

  Lunch was over. I always enjoyed lunch with Debbie, but we didn’t do it often. I knew it would be months before I saw her again. We would send text messages and stay in touch, but I was thinking, Yeah, right. Debbie doesn’t have time to check into this. She has a million things to do. She travels with Pastor Robert. She’s not going to check into this.

  Remember, I said to myself, this is not about you. You are here for her; you’re not here to be needy. In truth, I cared about her very much. I wanted her to have a friend she could lean on and trust. The last thing I wanted was to be someone else she needed to expend energy on. I felt somewhat remorseful for even sharing my problem with her.

  Thirty minutes after leaving the restaurant, my phone rang. I pulled it from my purse and looked at the screen — it was Debbie.

  “Dorothy,” she said, “I checked with Rebecca, and she has three dates open.” She listed all the dates and times. “Which one is good for you?”

  “Debbie,” I said, “I’m surprised you called, but . . . wait . . .”

  “I’ll hold on while you decide,” she said, not giving me a chance to back out. The excitement in her voice was unmistakable. Quiet, sweet Debbie was bubbling on the other end of the line.

  “Okay, let me look,” I said.

  “If you still want me there, I’ll be there,” she reassured me. “What day is best for you?”

  Pink Impact, Gateway’s annual conference for women, was just a few weeks away. I checked my calendar and picked a date after the conference.

  I can’t believe this, I thought to myself after I hung up. I just can’t believe it. Debbie took the time to ask me what I was passionate about. She was genuinely interested in me. I wanted to be there for her, and here she asked about me, getting me to open up to her and share what was going on in my life.

  I couldn’t wrap my head around the fact that she had followed through that very same day — just thirty minutes later. I thought about the excitement in her voice and how authentic and real her attention to me had been.

  The next time I saw my friend Lynn Martin, I told her, “I think I need to see a counselor, Lynn. I just feel stuck.”

  Lynn is a strong woman who loves God. Any time I went to her feeling down or dejected, she would look at me and say, “Snap out of it, Dot.” Then she would remind me of how strong I was and tell me I was not a quitter — that I could get through this. This was often exactly what I needed. She was the “tough love” person in my life.

  When I told her I was thinking about seeing a counselor, she said, “You don’t need a counselor. All you need is God, the One you have been depending on your whole life. Who brought you through everything you’ve been through? God, right? Why do you need a counselor now?”

  “I don’t know, Lynn,” I answered. “I’ve just been thinking about it, that’s all.”

  Now I was wavering a little, not sure if I wanted to go through with the appointment, but not wanting to back out after Debbie had gone to so much trouble to pave the way.

  A few days later, I saw Ingrid. When I told her I was thinking about seeing a counselor, without hesitation she said, “That’s a very good thing. I always believed you should be able to talk to somebody. You’ve been through an awful lot. It will help.”

  On the day of my appointment, I was scared to death. I sat in my car, trying to talk myself into going inside to Rebecca’s office. Why did I agree to this? I thought. You know why, I answered myself. I had prayed a great deal about this since my conversation with Debbie. I knew for sure I was supposed to do it, but I was nervous. I didn’t know what to expect or what was expected of me. I had never seen a real counselor before — Nate and I saw one once for two sessions, but I never really counted that. I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to act or what I was supposed to say.

  I got out of the car, locked the door, and went inside. Debbie was already there, and I was grateful.

  “Where would you like to sit?” Rebecca asked. Simple question, right? But I froze. Should I choose the love seat or the chair?

  “Dorothy?” Debbie reached out her hand. “Where would you like to sit?”

  At first, I wanted to sit next to Debbie on the love seat, close enough to hold her hand, because I was so afraid. But somehow I knew if I sat next to Debbie, I would be dependent on her. I wanted to be independent. If this is going to work, I thought, I’m going to have to do it on my own. Debbie is not going to be able to come to every session with me. I looked at the chair, standing there by itself — it was independent and strong, and it represented courage. I sat down in the chair.

  Rebecca suggested we pray together, and that really helped me. She encouraged me to talk about anything I wanted to talk about. I assumed this was how it worked: I would tell her everything, and then she would tell me what I needed to do to fix it. I rushed through my whole life story as fast as I could, wanting to get it all out and be done with it. I talked fast, my nervousness causing me to speed up even more.

  As I shared, tears welled up. I cannot cry, I told myself. I cannot cry. If I start crying, I might not be able to stop. That was the last thing I wanted. I swallowed hard and forced the tears back inside. I just wanted to get through this.

  “Dorothy,” Debbie said gently, “it’s alright to cry.”

  “No,” I said, shaking my head. “No, if I start, I won’t be able to stop.” I had not cried in a very long time. I believed I needed to be strong. I didn’t believe I should take time crying over things I couldn’t change.

  As I continued sharing my story, so much pain came to the surface — more than I ever expected. I kept stopping to gain composure. It felt like the floodgates were trying to open, and I was terrified that if I allowed myself to cry, I wouldn’t be able to stop.

  I wanted to finish my story. I wanted to tell the whole thing in one session so I would never have to do it again. I didn’t ever want to think about these horrible things again. I figured if I could get all this out, then the next time I came, Rebecca could tell me what I needed to do to fix things so I would no longer feel stuck.

  When I finally finished, I looked at my watch — it had been almost three hours. I knew I had bounced around all over the place as long-buried memories came rushing out, but I had done it. I felt relieved.

  “So, are you going to be able to help me?” I asked Rebecca. “Is this going to be a quick fix?”

  Rebecca smiled at me and said, “Let God decide how long it’s going to be. If you will commit, then I’m willing to do whatever I can to be a vessel for God. I just need a commitment from you.”

  “What type of commitment?” I asked. I wasn’t sure what she meant.

  “Well, why don’t we just schedule next week’s visit,” she said, offering me no clue about the length of time we might work together or how many sessions we would have.

  I was exhausted. I sat outside in my car for thirty minutes trying to compose myself. I could not believe I had just told a complete stranger my whole, painful life story.

  I flipped down the visor, touched up my makeup, and took a deep breath. I had scheduled dinner that night with a friend who was going through a difficult divorce, and I needed to put myself back together. I shifted my focus to my friend and didn’t give my experience with Debbie and Rebecca another thought. I was an expert at separating myself from painful things and dealing with the matters at hand.

  The next week, I met with Rebecca again. Then we scheduled additi
onal weekly meetings, but I wanted a quick fix. I wanted her to give me the steps to getting unstuck so I could follow them like a diet or exercise plan.

  The problem was that I couldn’t open up anymore. Rebecca encouraged me to talk about whatever I wanted to, but nothing came. I felt guilty about taking up this woman’s time. There must be other people she could help if I wasn’t taking up the appointment time, I thought. Session after session, I kept coming back, but I could not bring myself to open up again.

  “I’m so sorry,” I told Rebecca in one session. “I am wasting your time. It has been four weeks. You shouldn’t be wasting your time on me because I’m going to be okay. I’m a strong person. I’ve been through terrible things, but that’s all in my past. There are other people you can help. You must be impatient with me just showing up and not being able to talk about anything.”

  I was upset that I had dragged Debbie through my story. I was worried I might have damaged her as she sat through my entire spill. I wondered what she thought. Would she judge me? Would she see me differently? I regretted that she knew my past. I wished I’d never agreed to come in the first place.

  I genuinely felt like I had told Rebecca everything in our first conversation and there was nothing left to say. Taking up her time made me feel selfish and guilty. Every appointment was a major struggle. I didn’t want to go, but God gave me no release. I showed up, but I wasn’t engaged. I was resistant to everything. The more difficult I became, the sweeter Rebecca was. There seemed to be no end to her patience.

  One afternoon, I came home from work on a day when I had a session scheduled for that evening. I prayed, “God, this is just not working out. It was sweet of Debbie, but nothing is happening. I’m wasting this woman’s time. I feel guilty, and that is certainly not helping me feel less stuck. Other people need her. She can actually minister to them. I’m going to cancel. Okay?”

  Nothing. I didn’t hear a yes or a no — just nothing. I decided to take a long, hot bath and stay home. I would call Rebecca and cancel. I ran my bathwater and put in a CD that Gateway had given out for Mother’s Day. It was a mix of music and voices reading Scripture. It relaxed me. I sunk down in the water, letting the Word wash over my soul. Wait — I recognized that voice! Right there on the CD was Rebecca’s voice reading Scripture to me. I couldn’t believe it. I could not escape!

  I got out of the tub, got dressed as quickly as I could, and hurried to her office. “I know you want me to be there, God,” I prayed. “I feel guilty, though. I don’t understand the purpose for going. I don’t want to go anymore. Help me know what to say to Rebecca tonight so I won’t hurt her feelings when I tell her this is my last session.”

  I got to Rebecca’s office and told her what happened in the tub. She smiled. It was a turning point. I can’t explain it, but it was true.

  Continuing with the sessions was the hardest thing I had ever done, but Rebecca was persistent. She was easy to talk to, even when what we talked about seemed totally irrelevant. How could I not want to be here? I thought. Oh, well, I guess I’m not a quick fix after all.

  Session after session, Rebecca was consistent and patient. She never gave any indication that she was bored or tired of listening to me. It was a gift. For as long as I needed it, she was there. Other people would have given up on me long before now. And she wouldn’t allow me to pay her. Rebecca had prayed about it, and God had told her there should be no exchange. He told her to minister to me from her heart, not for pay. If I had been paying her, I would already have spent thousands of dollars — and I knew I would have quit. God knew I needed Rebecca. For my entire life, I had always been the giver. I had never been the recipient of anything like this.

  As my sessions with Rebecca continued, anger began to surface — anger that I had stuffed down and pushed away and convinced myself I didn’t have. I was shocked by it. I was a Christian, and I loved the Lord. I wasn’t supposed to feel like this. I had forgiven Nate, so where was all this anger coming from? It got to the point that my anger began to consume me. Every moment of my day, it was there with me — ugly, taunting, tempting me to explode. I was ashamed of it. I couldn’t comprehend how I had lived for so long with all of it buried so deep, not even realizing how much space it had occupied in my subconscious.

  To remain focused on my job and my care for King, I gave myself “containment time” during the day — time when I would allow anger to surface so I could deal with my issues. Then I would dutifully push it to the back of my mind so I could function.

  One evening, I was in a session with Rebecca, but I was still holding things back. I didn’t want to deal with one more ounce of anger. I believed I had talked about so much already that God would surely do whatever needed to be done in my life with what I had already shared. Did I really need to bring up one more thing? Then finally, breakthrough came.

  I started to cry. First a few tears — then it was like a dam broke, and all the backed-up tears burst forth. I cried so much that I thought I would never be able to stop. I didn’t realize there were so many tears inside of me that needed to be shed. It was a sweet release.

  I had felt dirty from the moment I agreed to have sex with Nate before we were married. I had never felt pure and whole again from that night. I had suffered so much. I had compromised. I had made bad decisions. My boys had suffered. I had lived with shame.

  As I cried, the tears cleansed me. God showed me that no matter what my life had been before, he could make it new again. The tears kept flowing. I felt completely poured out — emptied of all the guilt, sorrow, and shame. I was at last free to receive. It was as if the Holy Spirit took complete control over everything, and I was finally free. I didn’t feel guilty anymore. I was overwhelmed by God’s love. When the tears finally ended, I was completely spent — and completely at peace.

  Rebecca prayed with me, and God showed me a vision of a girl in a plain, white dress. It was raining. I was in the mud, and my dress was getting dirty, yes, filthy. The weather got worse, and it turned into a storm with thunder and lightning. I cried out to God, and the rain stopped. Soaking wet, I looked up to the sky, and the clouds began to break. I twirled around and around, holding my arms up to God.

  I looked up into his face and began thanking him, still twirling. As I twirled around, my dress got beautiful. I got beautiful. Suddenly, there was no dirt anywhere, just green grass and sunshine and the Lover of my soul.

  My entire body reverberated with gratitude. God loved me so much. I could feel him with every breath. I could sense him in every heartbeat. He had collected every one of my tears, and they were precious to him.

  “Rebecca, can you see things pouring out of me?” I asked. “Can you see the joy? Can you see the love?”

  It was then that I realized God did have great plans for me. I wasn’t disqualified because of my past. My past did not define me. My whole life stretched out before me — a lot of living to do. I was God’s vessel, pure and sanctified. I was holy, set apart for his perfect use.

  I was free.

  CHAPTER 30

  New

  And he that sat upon the throne said, Behold, I make all things new.

  Revelation 21:5

  I was totally free from my guilty past. I no longer felt ashamed about the choices I had made. I thought I had forgiven Nate — I thought I had forgiven a lot of people — but I had much to learn about forgiveness. Most importantly, I had to learn to forgive myself and accept God’s forgiveness without any strings attached. It was much deeper than emptying myself; it was God filling me, equipping me.

  I had never walked away from God, even in the most difficult times of my life. My relationship with him had been strong, but it had been incomplete because I closed off part of myself, not allowing God’s forgiveness to free me from shame. I had not received all he had to give. Now I freely surrendered every part of my heart, soul, and mind to him. We were inseparable, and I was filled with a joy overflowing.

  For six months, I had met with Rebecca we
ekly. After the breakthrough came, we met less often. We spread out the sessions to every other week, then monthly, and finally, quarterly checkups. I was a completely different person. On April 1, 2010, I met with Rebecca for my quarterly checkup. It was a God-ordained meeting. During our session, my cell phone rang; it was my brother, Mike, calling. Mike and I hadn’t grown up together, but we met when I was in college and had grown close over the years. My biological father was sick, and I had been making monthly trips to Maryland to visit him. Mike was calling to tell me our father had died.

  In the past, when something tragic happened to me, I pushed it down, dealing with it on my own and never sharing my pain with anyone. I got this terrible news while I was in the middle of my session with Rebecca. I talked with her about how I would handle it. I shared with her how close I had grown to my father. I had been given the opportunity to get to know him much better and had bonded with my brother and his family. I knew he was sick, but I had not expected him to die. Rebecca was there for me. She encouraged me to connect with Lynn and Ingrid and let them know how this affected me. I promised her I would.

  The following day, I went to work and told no one. I didn’t let anyone know how sad I was. But as I’d promised Rebecca, I called Ingrid and Lynn and asked them to go to church with me. Both agreed. On the way to church, I told them that my father died. It was the strangest feeling — I was not used to telling someone when I was hurting or in need. Ingrid and Lynn were wonderful. Even this small act was a breakthrough for me.

  Things with Nate were much better now. I could see evidence of change in him. He was no longer angry when he saw me. We could be civil to each other in public settings, as well as in private. I knew he and his wife had gotten involved in church, and I prayed that the changes in him were genuine — that at last he had truly found the Lord. I hoped he was also living a new life. I forgave Nate in my heart for everything — I was free, and I wanted Nate to be free also. I wanted him to have a good relationship with Tré and King. They had made their peace with him and, I hoped, with their past. I truly wanted God’s best for Nate Newton.