Fingers interlace, linking one by one – index over index, middle over middle, ring over ring, pinkies, thumbs hooking around… gripping.

And then a fog rolls in and slowly the interlacing fingers begin to release. Breath. Relief. The fingers, hands… fade away. Freedom remains. Freedom reigns.

Worth takes place of shame.

Beauty overrides guilt.

Freedom triumphs above responsibility.

This is the vision I had in therapy. More than once I can remember my ex’s hands wrapped around my neck… pinning me against the wall or holding me down and slapping my face with sinister laughter.

And now even older wounds, yet fresh… these wounds have been rising to the surface. Sexual assault. Long denied. Wrongfully accused… myself. Eleven years it has taken me to say those words: I was sexually assaulted. Still feeling the fault, the blame, the darkness of this shame.

There has to be a villain. That’s what all the stories tell us. Someone has to pay. Since they haven’t, I must. Pay to be here, to exist, for mistakes… pay for being there, staying there, “allowing” it.

The payments are subtle, yet the tax is heavy – the tax is self-worth, give it up. Pay up. Some days the tax is a meager 10%, on others it’s 100%.

But God…

In His goodness.

In His LOVE… conquering all.

In this very moment, in this vision in my mind, takes hold of those hands. Hands of not one person, emotion, place, or thing. The hands of years of guilt, blame, shame, degradation, of darkness lurking around the corner. These hands…

Lifted.

Fading into the bliss.

Not to the darkness, the abyss, no. The bliss.

Light pours in as the fog carries away the fading of those interlaced fingers.

Like a lace woven of grace, the light trickles into the holes left by the limbs of the redwoods.

Peace takes over. Peace covers.

The worth isn’t in payment. Some sort of revenue left by the remnants of a broken soul.

You are not broken.

Instead, woven.

Created.

Freed.

Breath.

Life.

Worthy.

  1. Link to video version https://youtu.be/gJl1E4xX5HA