“Why?”
“Because, in my limited and imperfect experience, I have found that women who struggle with sexual sin were often abused as children. Were you, as a vulnerable child, abused by evil men? Were you unable to escape from the evil things done to you? This is where we must begin, Sarah, with those men.
“To what end?” Even in her sorrow, a hard edge had crept into Sarah’s voice.
“That you may forgive them.”
Sarah stilled, and her lips thinned. “Forgive them?”
“Yes. Although Minister Liáng and I have preached many times on forgiveness, I believe this area of your life has escaped the working of God’s word. I believe this is where the falsehood resides, where the stronghold draws its strength.”
“You do not know what they did to me.”
“No, we do not,” Rose said. “In the decade I have known you, I do not believe you have shared with anyone about your childhood.”
Carmichael asked, “Have you hidden these abuses away rather than bringing them into the light, Sarah?”
“I-I have no wish to exhume what is dead.”
“But are these memories truly dead? If they have been dealt with scripturally, then they will have no hold over you. However, what I contend is that these memories are very much alive, and, to this day, you hold these evil men accountable for their trespasses.”
“As I should! What they did was—is—monstrous. Unconscionable!”
“You must forgive them, for your own sake.”
“Me? I must forgive? I was the one whose stepfather molested and sold her into prostitution! I am the victim—and these men do not deserve my forgiveness!”
Pastor Carmichael exhaled. “There is the lie, Miss Ellinger; that is the stronghold speaking, the stronghold’s deception.”
Sarah looked at him with suspicion. “What do you mean?”
“You declare these men do not merit forgiveness. Do any of us? No. Not one of us is deserving of forgiveness. Here is the lie: That they must warrant your forgiveness.”
“But they-they—”
“Did you hear how you prefaced your objection with ‘but?’ We cannot use ‘but’ as justification to disobey God. Miss Ellinger, I believe the Lord has revealed the stronghold in your heart—a judgment against men. All men.”
Sarah looked from Carmichael to Rose and back. “A judgment? I do not understand.”
“You refused these men forgiveness, not realizing that your unforgiveness gave Satan a foothold in your heart. Your wounds festered over years of abuse, and you became angry, filled with rage—an uncontrollable rage that erupted whenever you were offended.”
“No! That is not true, I—”
“Yes, it is true. Those who know you best attest to it. And when your anger fed upon new transgressions—both real and perceived—Satan’s hold on you grew stronger. Your anger strengthened to the point that you passed judgment upon an entire class of people, upon all men.”
Sarah folded her arms. “I do not believe you.”
“You spoke of Lola as a snare. If you did not hate men, if you were able to form a godly attachment to a man, would she have ever tempted you?”
“But these men . . . men, in authority over me. Men like you,” Sarah spat, “who abused and degraded me!”
Carmichael tried again, gently. “Does not your response support my point, Miss Ellinger? That you have judged all men and found them guilty?”
Sarah’s anger, never far from the surface, was close to erupting; she was only able to keep it in check because what Carmichael insisted seemed similar to what another man had said to her not long ago:
. . . It is not me you dislike. No, Miss Ellinger, to put it plainly, you do not like men. It should have been obvious to me the day I met you, but I see it plainly now: You are trying to make me—and every other man on the planet—pay for the misdeeds for which one or more men are guilty.
Sarah’s lips parted. Is it true? Do I hold all men guilty?
“Sarah,” Rose whispered, “please allow us to help you. Will you tell us of your childhood?”
“It is too painful to dredge up.”
“We shall be with you in that painful place.”
“Why? Why is it so important?”
“Because,” Pastor Carmichael said, “the Lord requires that you forgive those who abused you. It is the only way you will ever be free of the rage and free to move on with your life. You must call these men out by name and offense and fully forgive them.”
Sarah shook her head. “No. I shall not.”
Rose dabbed at her eyes. “But if you refuse our counsel . . . if you will not obey God’s word in this, I have no other recourse . . .”
Sarah stared at Rose. “Wait. You are saying if I do not bare my secrets, I must go?”
“You know you must, Sarah. I am sorry, but yes.”
Still quietly and with gentleness, Pastor Carmichael urged her. “Please, Miss Ellinger. Let us help you. Tell us, and we shall stand with you. We shall neither condemn nor abandon you; we shall help you overcome this stronghold.”
Sarah gripped her skirt with both hands. Is it true? Is this what is wrong in me, what the Lord has been trying to tell me?
But I cannot forgive them! They . . . what they did. But if I do not, Rose will cast me out of Palmer House.
As her eyes darted about the room, finding neither rest nor escape, her hands crushed and wrung the folds of her skirt. She began to moan softly and to rock forward and back.
It was apparent to Rose and Pastor Carmichael that Sarah was in the throes of a great internal battle.
“Sarah, Jesus is waiting to free you. Give way to him,” Rose begged her.
But Sarah became more agitated; as she swayed, she dug the nails of one hand into the back of the other, gouging the skin and drawing blood.
Rose tried to pull her hands apart. “Sarah! Stop! You are hurting yourself!”
Carmichael helped Rose; they each grasped one of Sarah’s hands—but she began to keen and weep in her distress.
Carmichael put one palm to Sarah’s cheek. “Miss Ellinger. Look at me, please.”
Sarah blinked and stopped moaning. Her eyes fixed on Carmichael.
“Miss Ellinger, perhaps you could begin . . . with your mother and your childhood home?”
“My mother?”
“Yes. Did you love your mother? Was she good to you? And where did you live as a child, Sarah?”
Sarah seemed to take to Carmichael’s suggestion. “My mother . . . I loved her very much, but she became sick with consumption. She knew she was dying, and I was only eight years old. She had no one to entrust me to, and it worried her. We . . .”
Without warning, Sarah’s body went slack; her eyes became focused far away.
“We . . . lived in upstate New York. Albany. Our home was across the street from a beautiful park—with many trees, a pond, and ducks. We went there every afternoon. I rolled her chair along the edge of the pond, you see, when she became weak, and we would feed the ducks. She dearly loved to feed the ducks, and the tulips in the park were so beautiful that year.”
“It sounds lovely, Sarah,” Rose murmured.
“It was. I was happy, even though Mama was ill. But . . . one day, in the park, a man approached us. He said his name was Richard. Richard Langston.”
MORE THAN AN HOUR LATER, Sarah finished, “After Judge Brown purchased me from Willard, he brought me by train to Denver and then to Corinth. You . . . know the rest.”
Sarah was exhausted. Rose’s hankie was drenched with her tears; Pastor Carmichael’s expression was grave.
“You have shown yourself valiant, Miss Ellinger, and I wish you to know that you are no longer alone in your battle against these horrors. Mrs. Thoresen and I are with you.”
Sarah nodded once. She stared at nothing; her visage was open and stark.
“What was done to you injured you in ways I, as a man, cannot fathom, for it is so abhorrent, so very wrong. I grieve over w
hat was done to you—what men did to you! Evil men hurt and broke you, Miss Ellinger, but take courage—Jesus came to heal the brokenhearted.”
Carmichael hesitated. “Before we go further, I would like to pray.” He did not wait on Sarah or Rose’s agreement; he simply closed his eyes and spoke aloud.
“O Lord God! I deeply repent; I bare my soul and repent before you, O God.”
Sarah’s eyes fluttered. She became alert, and her lips parted in confusion. She slid her eyes toward Rose and found her similarly perplexed.
Pastor Carmichael, however, demonstrated no uncertainty. He continued in a strong voice. “I repent, Lord, for myself and for all men everywhere: I repent of the mistreatment of women, the exploitation of sacred trust, and the abuse of authority. O God, you know the sinful hearts of us all. If not for your grace and mercy early in my life, I could have committed such unspeakable evil. I could have used the female form to satisfy my selfish lusts. I could have damaged the fragile hearts and souls of the beautiful female creatures made in your image and likeness. I could be guilty—even of the misuse of my pastoral office.
“Therefore, I repent before you, Lord, and before Mrs. Thoresen and Miss Ellinger. I am grateful for your unmerited forgiveness and for the new birth that saved me from my own evil inclinations—for I confess that, in myself, in my flesh, there dwells no good thing. I know and acknowledge this.
“So, Lord God, I repent. I repent for what men like myself did to my sister Sarah. Lord, please give her the grace and the fortitude to forgive me and then to forgive the men who have abused her. I ask this, Lord, in the name of Jesus.”
When Pastor Carmichael opened his eyes, he reached for Sarah’s hand. “Miss Ellinger? Sarah? Will you forgive me?”
Sarah’s breath caught in her throat. “But . . . but you have done nothing to me.”
He nodded. “I know—nevertheless, you have a judgment—a stronghold—against all members of my gender for what a number of us have done to you. Today, we shall break the back of that stronghold. Thus, I plead for your forgiveness, Miss Ellinger. Please. Will you forgive me?”
Although Sarah understood that Carmichael was innocent of trespassing against her, when she tried to say the words, they stuck in her throat: She could not bring herself to say, “I forgive you.”
“You are sensing the power, the strength of that stronghold, Miss Ellinger. Satan will not give up his fortified position easily. He knows that if he can keep you here, he can keep you forever. I remind us all of what Matthew 6:14 and 15 tell us:
“For if ye forgive men their trespasses,
your heavenly Father will also forgive you:
But if ye forgive not men their trespasses,
neither will your Father forgive your trespasses.
“Miss Ellinger, if you do not forgive the trespasses of others, God the Father will not forgive you. For this reason, Satan will fight—and fight dirty—to keep you from obeying God in this. He will fight to maintain his hold over you. If you truly wish to be free—free of this bondage—you must determine to speak forgiveness over every individual who has ever abused you—beginning with me.”
“Wh-what if I do not feel forgiveness? What if I harbor hatred and anger in my heart afterward? Am I not merely parroting words? Am I not a hypocrite?”
“Not if you forgive in faith. God has given us free will. What we will to do, what we choose to do, determines our obedience—our feelings do not. When we declare our obedience to the Lord, our emotions must, soon after, fall into line with our will. Speak your forgiveness over me, Miss Ellinger. It is the first step in your deliverance.”
Sarah did not move.
“Please,” he said again. “Please forgive me.”
“I—” She sighed. “I-I do. I forgive you.”
“Thank you, Sarah. From the bottom of my heart, thank you. Now . . .” he drew a deep breath, “let us deal with the men who did you such grievous harm. Let us begin with Richard Langston.”
Sarah shook her head. “I do not think I can.”
“I shall help you, Sarah. I am willing to lead you in prayer, but it must be you who breaks through the stronghold into freedom. Will you pray with me?” He closed his eyes. “Jesus, because of your cleansing blood on Calvary, I am forgiven.”
Sarah bowed her head and repeated, “Jesus, because of your cleansing blood on Calvary, I am forgiven.”
“I declare that you, Jesus, that you are my Lord. I surrender in obedience to you. I hold Richard Langston before you and declare, ‘I forgive you, Richard. In the eyes of God Almighty, I forgive you. I forgive you for misusing the sacred trust my mother placed in you. I forgive you for abusing me, for stealing my childhood and my innocence. I forgive you for selling me. I forgive you for every wrong you committed against me. I now release you from judgment so that the Holy Spirit can seek you, convict you, and bring you to godly sorrow, true repentance, and salvation.’”
Choking and gasping, grappling and fighting against her long-lived habit to spew recrimination, not forgiveness, Sarah slowly repeated the words Pastor Carmichael prayed for her benefit.
“Now this, Miss Ellinger: ‘I forgive you, Richard Langston, and I renounce hate, bitterness, accusation, and punishment. Richard, Jesus has taken your punishment, if you will but receive it—but despite what you choose, I forgive you so that I can be free of the bondage of judgment.’
“Lord God, please be merciful and save Richard Langston. I ask this in Jesus’ name. Amen.”
Sarah was sweating profusely; with Rose still clutching one hand and Carmichael the other, she shook from head to toe, but she prayed as Carmichael led her.
“Now, Willard Abernathy, Sarah,” and Carmichael began to pray.
Her voice quavering, Sarah followed Carmichael’s lead . . . until something within her, something holy and righteous, rose up and burst from her.
Sarah’s voice rang out of her own accord. “O God! In the name of Jesus, I forgive Willard! I forgive him, Lord, I forgive him! I repent of my bitter hate toward him and toward others. I repent of my accusations against innocent men. I repent of my hostile, judgmental attitude. Lord, please forgive me! Please forgive me! Please forgive me!”
She fell to her knees, praying, begging, pleading for forgiveness and granting it to every man she could recall, even to the nameless ‘gentlemen’ who had paid for her in Corinth, and to the guards who had beaten and raped her.
Rose and Pastor Carmichael knelt beside her, rejoicing and weeping over her as the power of God swept down upon them in sweet, sweet, healing virtue.
MUCH LATER, IN THE darkest hour of the night, Sarah awoke. She had been drained when she climbed into bed, but she had been through too much to sleep well. She had tossed and turned until now, she had awakened.
She sat up and stared though the deep shadows of her room, reliving those difficult hours. Regardless of her obedience and despite the move of the Holy Spirit earlier that evening, her repentance had left her spent and empty.
Hollow.
Alone.
She was not at all convinced that the sin in her life would release its hold on her just because she had repented. As she sought the Lord, all she could feel within herself was that vast emptiness.
O God, my God! Have you left me?
The beats of her heart crashed in her chest, one upon the other, in an agony so great she felt she could not bear it without crying out. It was all she could do to whisper, when she wanted to scream, grieve, mourn, and keen her pain.
“Oh, Jesus!”
Hopelessness so deep she thought she would drown in it swept over her. She clenched her hand and stuffed it into her mouth to keep the low moans within her; she bit down upon her knuckles, bit down and tasted blood.
O God, please help me! Speak to me! You know I love you—but please! Deliver me from this despair that consumes me!
Her breath came in great gasps, and she cried aloud, “Oh, Jesus! Oh, Jesus, I am so afraid! Do not leave me, Jesus! I shall die without y
ou! Please!”
Then . . .
A breathy warmth caressed her cheek, and the scent of . . . perfume? wafted nearby, its fragrance sweet, reminiscent of flowers and sunbaked tree sap. She searched in the dark but could see and perceive nothing.
Then she again felt his presence. His presence! It swelled and grew until it filled every corner of her room and pressed in on Sarah, until she was surrounded, swaddled, and sheathed by it. And then a Voice cracked like thunder, so loud that it eclipsed the pounding pulse in her head:
SARAH! it boomed.
Sarah quailed before the rolling reverberations. She found herself face down on the floor, pressed there by the weight of his Presence.
Sarah! the Voice commanded, Lift up your head, for your redemption draws nigh.
“Yes, Lord!” she cried.
In obedience, Sarah somehow dragged herself up to her knees; she tipped her face up as though to sunlight. “H-here I am, Lord!”
Like a gentle soaking rain, living water pattered upon her upturned features.
“But now thus saith the Lord
that created thee . . . Sarah,
and he that formed thee . . . Sarah,
Fear not: for I have redeemed thee,
I have called thee by thy name;
thou art mine, Sarah!
When thou passest through the waters,
I will be with thee;
and through the rivers,
they shall not overflow thee, Sarah!
When thou walkest through the fire,
thou shalt not be burned;
neither shall the flame kindle upon thee.
Fear not, Sarah, for I have redeemed thee. I have called thee by name. You are mine.
“Jesus,” Sarah gasped. “Yes, my Jesus! I want to be yours, all yours.”
You are mine.
Fear not, Sarah Redeemed.
You are mine.
Chapter 18
Sarah climbed from her bed early in the morning, sensing that something within her was different. Changed. A cloud of peace enveloped her. She probed and prodded at that peace—tenuously at first, then more rigorously.
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