Recently, I had someone say to me, of my grandfather, “At least you know he’s rotting in hell.”
It took me aback for a minute. I was a little startled, actually. I’ll be honest, it is not something I ever, ever think about. Hell in general, or my abuser’s residence there. I am a Christian, but hell is not really on my radar. When people talk about karma I tend to have the same reaction- usually because when most people reference it, it sounds an awful lot like revenge. Like they’re expecting someone to count up the tally marks on the wall and make it fair, eventually.
I don’t think it works that way.
I was reading Accidental Saints by Nadia Bolz-Weber, recently. One of the approximately 82 times I stopped, marked a page and made my Favorite listen to me read something aloud was when I came across this:
“Because in the end, we aren’t punished for our sins as much as we are punished by our sins.”
I think that’s what I think. I think the only thing worse than being harmed is being an agent of harm. What a way to move through the world. My grandfather, someone who should have been a shining example of unconditional love in my life, was a black hole instead. Not only did he not illuminate, he took light away. He was a force of darkness.
What could possibly be worse than that?
I believe in God. I believe in a God who redeems everything. I didn’t always. I remember talking to my pastor during the worst of my divorce, and he quoted Romans 8:28 to me,
“And we know that in all things
God works for the good of those who love him,
who have been called according to his purpose.”
I tell you what- I was not buying what he was selling. My pain felt pointless. Pain for pain’s sake.
What’s funny is that he quoted that passage to me on the heels of telling me that my marriage was not redeemable. It didn’t occur to me at that time, but later I wondered at the juxtaposition of those two seemingly incompatible concepts.
I get it now.
My marriage could not be saved, could not be fixed- it was not redeemable, but my divorce was. My divorce was the catalyst that set me on the path to where I am today. If I was still married, I wouldn’t be writing. Bank on it. The situation was redeemed because it shattered me so completely that I started being honest and speaking my truths because I simply did not know what else to do.
So what of my abuse? And my abuser? For most of my life, the idea of that particular trauma having some redemptive value was an anathema to me. Offensive, even. My pain was too all-consuming, too raw for me to accept that as the truth. Some bad things are just bad, right?
What if that’s not true?
I would not wish what happened to me on anyone. I will work the rest of my life trying to prevent it from happening to others. That’s the redemption. I wouldn’t be able to do what I do if I didn’t know that trauma from the inside. The boneyard of my childhood provides the very materials I am using to build a ladder to help others climb out of the shame and the destruction. You know how you’ll be in a museum and you see a Robert Rauschenberg combine- all these found objects, this JUNK coexisting in the same real estate as priceless objects? The materials are worthless- it is what you DO with them that makes them treasure, that assigns value, that redeems.
Maybe that’s why I don’t need my grandfather to rot in hell. I believe he and I were given the same building blocks, the same materials. I believe someone stole his light, as he stole mine. I am certain beyond certain he was in pain. Hurt people hurt people. Rather than give his pain a job, he gave it teeth and claws. He weaponized his anguish.
How awful. How completely tragic. Hell, right here on earth.
I had a long conversation with my friend Matt the other day. He is a survivor of abuse as well, and he is hilariously funny and wise. We talked a lot about forgiveness, and what that can look like, and how it’s more complicated with some people than it is with others. He has a book coming out in March called Finding God in the Ruins: How God Redeems Pain. I cannot wait to read it, especially given that who he is and the way he lives his life is as clear a testament to the truth of that idea as anyone I’ve ever met.
Redemption needs finagling, not because we are inclined to make sure it is happening even when it isn’t but because we have misunderstood it. We have believed that redemption is possible only minus a death. We’re okay that Jesus had to die for his redemptive story, but personally we’re not looking to get into all that. There is no redemption in death, we think. But we are wrong.
I don’t pretend to know how redemption works or to fully understand the ins and outs of God’s grace- but I wonder if He hasn’t found a way to redeem my abuser’s pain, too. I wonder if with each survivor stepping into the light, who finds this safe place to share their stories, the vise-like grip that darkness had on my grandfather’s soul is loosened a bit.
I hope so. I honestly do.
The Like button isn’t working for me, but I did like this! x
I am so moved by your words. Every. single. time. So grateful to you for trusting enough to share them with us.
I want to be you when I grow up.
PS, I’m 46…..
In Others' Words says
I’ll be 45 in ten days. And I think you should dream bigger!! 😉
Elaine Nickerson says
Wait. Your birthday is Christmas?!
In Others' Words says
No, the 15th.
Daily Presents/Cadigan Creative says
Yes. Gorgeous, Laura. Love you. xoxo
In Others' Words says
I love you, too. xo
Kendra Fauth-Edwards says
Thank you so much for sharing- always touches my heart. Matt is also a friend of mine and I can’t wait to read his book. He is the one that suggested that I follow your blog.
The like button isn’t working for some reason but I love your post, even though I’m not religious I have found forgiveness and I have my own relationship with God that has allowed me to move forward with my life. I write about in my own blog. Redemption is different for everyone. At least, that’s what I believe. I don’t think about Hell either when it comes to my abusers. I have forgiven them and now I simply don’t have a need to wish them any harm. Something my great-aunt said to me once that I believe in to this day, “Never wish any bad on anyone who has hurt you. God knows what they did and he will take his own vengeance if and when he sees fit.” That statement frees me from feeling like I have to hate in order to have justice.
The whole idea of afterlife really bothers me. I don’t want to think about it. I don’t want to think about my dad swirling around somewhere checking in on me or whatever. That’s just creepy. And, like you, hell as a concept isn’t really on my radar. I don’t even feel qualified to say if he belongs there or not, he was as tortured a soul as the rest of us.
We’ve talked about redemption in Sunday school class (of course, I don’t get to discuss my real issues with religion, God, redemption, forgiveness, grace, etc there) and people always get hung up on if someone repents the last few minutes of their life, is grace truly available for them, and I think the answer is supposed to be yes, but it never seems to sit well among people.
But I agree with you. If it were true, then there’d be the realization of the harm you caused, if you do truly repent to the depths of your soul. The knock you on the floor knowledge of what you’ve done. And if you were monstrous up to the end, and then really weren’t, maybe even that minute in time would be so horrific as to feel like eternity.
But that’s not the normal, anyway, don’t you think? I agree that people who hurt others are probably hurt themselves (or are truly just evil, sociopathic, whatever, and then they probably qualify as both.)
But someone like my mother — she’ll never understand or know the harm she’s done. She’s not capable of it. And I have to be okay with that knowledge. Because I can’t change it. I can’t make her capable of love.
Even so, I don’t want her to rot in hell. I suspect in some ways she has all her life. Why should I wish more upon her?
A couple years ago, I learned a particular person is a deacon of his church.
That bothered me so much.
How can I barely go through the door of a church, feeling so stained and unworthy, and he be a deacon?
But I wouldn’t wish hell on him, either. What’s the point?
Sometimes I might wish he had more fallout, to match mine.. but he doesn’t, and really it’s not my place to inflict it, either. It wouldn’t accomplish anything. Only spread more pain around, and goodness knows, there’s already enough for the having. It wouldn’t help mine, I know that.
I know — I’ve been circling around words, trying to figure out my real thoughts — but here it is. I don’t care what happens or doesn’t happen to any of them. I only want all the pain inside me to cease, or at least lessen. I care more about my outcome than theirs. I don’t think them being in pain or not being in pain, or being in hell or not being in hell, does a single thing to help me.
I don’t mean I don’t care what happens to them — because I do care. I just meant whatever happens to them doesn’t change my reality. Not in any single way.
It’s still December, and Christmastime, and family visits, and fake, cheery smiles, and working so hard to pull it off while dying inside – and I’ll do it because I always do, and my family deserves it, and I can’t imagine the thought of anyone else suffering or not suffering changes any of that.
But deacon of his church, really?
That one, I’m not so sure about.
Beautiful and thoughtful, as per usual. : )
This was simply amazing. I am a new blogger..notingnicole and this has really inspired me! Thank you!
Thank you once again. Your words always make me thoughtful and inspired.
I’ll be 45 in ten days. And I think you should dream bigger
Busy Sweet Mom says
Tricia W says
There is no glory in living solely in the pain, I like the analogy of using junk or something thought to be of no more use and making something new and better and beautiful out of ir. Thank you for your insight as each post helps me heal a little more, and forgive all of the parties involved .