The Day I Became Wonder Woman

February 23, 2018

If you are reading this, you may have been following our marriage journey.

You may have listened to this really honest podcast or read this blog post when I wrestled with leaving.

Well, I have an update. And it is good. So, so good. 

I did not want to pray. I did not want to get triggered again.

Whenever I was triggered (something reminded me of the painful, resurfaced memory I have been walking with this last year-and-a-half), I went from living normal life to suddenly feeling like I was upside-down in the middle of the ocean.

The only way I have been able to describe this feeling is “dying.” I can hardly breathe. I cannot speak. I am nowhere. Floating. Dead. It has happened at least 100 times in the last year.

“Every time I am triggered like that,” I told Matt during one of our recent discussions, “the triggering compounds. It is made worse. It takes over more of my body.” I reached a point where I felt physical pain from it—a psychosomatic, tearing infection in my chest. It felt like constant internal bleeding.

“There’s no way this is God’s will for me.” I can live with same-sex attractions, I can handle some tough things in our marriage, but this? This re-traumatization over and over? No. I was done.

And so, we prayed.

We began the prayer by asking God to bring me to a place where I felt safe and could hang out with Jesus. My “Safe Place.”

My usual go-to spot holds a pond, fields, and beautiful reeds. But it was different this time. It did not feel safe. It was noisy, and dark and scary—like a bomb just went off. A baby was crying. The sky was pink and grey and hazy. I could see a form of Jesus across the pond. But every time I walked toward him he was repelled by me like the same poles of magnets trying to come together. Then I saw another Jesus walking around. And another and another. I started yelling at a one of the Jesuses, but he ran from me.

My real-life self told real-life Matt what I was seeing. He could tell I was not with real Jesus. “Do you need to go somewhere else?” Yes. I did. I asked God to take me somewhere else.

The beach. I’d been to this part of Lake Michigan’s shore many times before. I buried my feet in the sand. The sun was setting. The waves lapping the shore. No one was here but me. I was cold, but not terribly so.

I invited Jesus to be with me, and instantly he was. The real one.

I wasn’t as angry at real Jesus. I didn’t have enough energy to be mad. Instead, I shared the honest below the honest: “It hurts… so much.”

I could tell Jesus got me. “I’m not too much for him,” I told Matt. I did not see Jesus’ eyes flicker like I had seen many others do with a look of, “Oh shoot. What do I do with her? Same-sex attractions and trauma? Hot. Mess.” They throw the “Too Much” stamp on my head and move on.

Not Jesus. Jesus was confident–confident but sad for me. 

I rested in feeling known by him.

Then suddenly, we were flying over the water. It was peaceful but purposeful. I could guess where we were going.

I was right.

We went to where the trauma happened, but it was a different time of day—4 p.m. instead of morning. The lights were off, but the sun cut through the windows, making oblong shapes on the ground.

I looked around the room. My three-year-old self was there. She looked down at her legs, confused and scared. What happened? she seemed to ask.​

I knew her real, little girl self was somewhere in this house playing, but her soul was stuck here. A friend said to me recently, “You are stuck.” I was. My soul has been stuck here for years.

What happened? 

Suddenly, it was morning: when it all went down. I was no longer looking down at this little girl, I was her. Matt asked me questions, but I could barely speak. I didn’t know what was happening, just that something was happening. I was confused. And paralyzed.

I could not move. I could not speak. A stranger was hurting me, but I could not do anything. I wanted to be rescued. Where was the Rescuer?

I could see Jesus trying to step in to break the bond between me and a stranger, but he could not break it. Why couldn’t he break it?

“Can you speak?” Matt asked. Suddenly, I realized my mouth could work. Barely, but it did.

“Get away from me. Go. Get away. I don’t want you.”

Little kid sentences. Nothing extraordinarily powerful-sounding. Just the simple phrases of a three-year-old. “Get away!” A little louder this time. “Get away from me.” The evil moved one inch away.

I knew there was more than one person in this room seeking to hurt me. There was a host of shoulder-to-shoulder evil behind this stranger. “Get away!”

It moved two inches from me, but it was not far enough. “Holy Spirit, come! Help Laurie,” Matt prayed. In my mind, I grew in age, size, and strength. I could stand. I could use my once-dead arms and legs. I was a giant. I wore battered armor, and had incredible strength. I was a warrior. I was Wonder Woman.

I could see the Holy Spirit like a bright wind helping me, but there was something (someone) else needed. I needed another warrior. “Matt, can you pray?” He paused, and then stepped into the scene. He was a giant, too, and had new-but-dinged up armor. We fought side-by-side. Blocking, hitting, pushing, fighting.  The evil backed up twice as quickly.

Us plus the Holy Spirit was enough. It always is.

The darkness fled the room until there was no more.

Jesus was there again. He was laughing, clapping Matt and me on the back. “That was awesome.” He was proud of us, but not overly impressed. He was not like, “Phew! Evil is vanquished! You did it!”

It seemed…normal. What we did seemed great but normal for Christians.

I smiled over at Matt—my co-warrior. There were going to be more battles to fight together.

Zara Walker

Then it was 4 p.m. again. Little girl Laurie was back in the empty, dark room. Looking down at her legs. Her stuck soul there. 

“Can you go to her?” Right-now Matt asked. “Comfort her? Tell her she is going to be okay?”

My armor clinked as I walked to her. I could tell she still felt confused and scared, but somewhat more confident. She knew a battle happened. The evil was gone.

I bent down, and scooped her up. I held her close. My wordless actions told her all she needed to know. “It’s going to be okay. You are safe now. I’m here. We all are.” I nodded toward Jesus and Matt.

Real-life Matt was crying.

Little Laurie felt comforted, but needed something (someone) more: Jesus.

He came up to us holding the softest, white, sparkly robes for her. He covered her shivering body. He hugged her tight. He sat her down and guided her toward the door while talking softly with her. His tone was purposeful but sad.

“I’m going to use this, dear one.” As he spoke, I could tell he was thinking of all the other pain I would endure after this three-year-old one. Jesus knew he would use those moments, too. He would not leave me alone in them to suffer.

When Jesus and Little Laurie reached the door, they stopped. Jesus turned and looked at me in my Wonder Woman getup. I was sweaty and a bit bloodied-up from the battle. Jesus smiled and then bent, whispering in Little Laurie’s ear loudly enough for me to hear. “You are going to be her one day,” he said, gesturing toward me. 

Little Laurie’s eyes grew wide. Her jaw dropped as she turned to Jesus. “What? Really?”

She laughed, and he laughed. “Yeah! You are!” (Jesus is really good with kids.) She smiled proudly.

I couldn’t help but think, “Yeah, you will become me one day, but it is because of the pain. It is because of the trauma. You will get this strong by walking through it with Jesus.” I ached for her while I hoped for her.

I wonder if this is how Jesus feels for all of us all of the time: You get this strong because of the pain. I ache for you, and I hope for you.

I watched Little Laurie and Jesus leave. I knew she was going to school. She was going to train to become me.  It wouldn’t all be painful; she would have a lot of fun, too. But she needed to learn how to become Wonder Woman in the School of Suffering.

***

Matt closed the prayer, and I opened my real eyes and looked real Matt with new eyes. He was still a warrior, I just didn’t see the spiritual armor.

“When did we forget we were co-warriors?” he asked. 

I didn’t know. Sometime over the last year? We cannot forget again. The mission bonds us. We need our co-warriors in this real-life battle against the rulers and principalities of this dark world.

I did an inner assessment:  I could breathe again. The inner bleeding felt cauterized. All that remained was hope and love.

Praise God. I am finally free.

I am a warrior.

1. Respond: What do you think? Can you relate? What stands out to you?

2. Consider: Would you like to do this process? Here is more of the backstory: I have been in counseling for a year strengthening what my counselor calls my “adult brain” so I could engage in this process without getting triggered and “dying.” I had tried to do this type of prayer over a year ago, and I just…faded. Everything went black or red.

I needed some time to grow in counseling, and honestly? God needed to teach Matt and me stuff that we could only learn in the School of Suffering. The time for healing was this day, but what we learned in suffering before this day was necessary.

If you would like to engage this process, ask God for the right person to walk with you. Reach out to us if you want to learn about who we know who could journey alongside you.

3. Remember: I am not done. I believe that this “spiritual memory” will have profound lasting impact on me (as I have done things like this with other traumas before and they have had ​profound lasting impact), but I am not done-done. I am not sanctified. I have a lot more growth to do, but I am SO GRATEFUL for the freedom right here and right now.

4. Know: God loves you so much!! If you have a weight like this you have been carrying, carry it to Jesus. God longs to give good gifts to his kids (Matt. 7:11). Praise God. He is real, and he so loves you. I pray you can see more than a glimmer of this today.